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ms-demeanor · 2 months

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Going off that post about nutrition and science, I'd love to hear what you think of the 5:2 diet/The Fast 800 and its creator, Dr. Michael Mosley. For context: in order to get an NHS-funded breast reduction (it's a gender thing, but also just a general quality-of-life thing), I need to be a certain BMI, so I've been referred to a weight management clinic. The lady I've been seeing initially just put me on a low-carb diet (130g or less of carbs per day, with an aside from her about how bullshit Keto and BMI limits for treatment are), but now she's said that, if I wanted to speed up the weight loss, I should include the 5:2 diet: 5 days in a week where I eat "normally", and 2 fast days in which I restrict myself to 800kcals. I did a little looking into it myself, and found that 5:2 - which I HAD heard about before - is now being sold as part of "The Fast 800", with Dr. Mosley being the creator of it. I was shocked by that, because I was already a fan of Dr. Mosley's work (he has a podcast called "Just One Thing" that I really liked, and thought contained reasonable-sounding advice), and yet having a diet plan that he's clearly making money off of does immediately make me feel suspicious. I've borrowed his "The Fast 800" book from the library, both to find out more about the diet I've been put on and to see if it's at all backed by evidence, and he does cite a bunch of scientific studies which seem to back up his ideas, but I don't know how valid they are, and I don't just want to accept them at face-value (especially since he's a "we got fat completely wrong in the 80s, therefore we should eat a Mediterranean diet!" types). Obviously I'll go with what my weight management lady suggests, since she's obviously more qualified to talk about it than I am, but I am curious to know what you think, and whether I'm right to be distrustful of all of this.

I am, generally speaking, against any diet for rapid weight loss. They're not sustainable so people gain the weight back (often with more weight getting added on).

There have also recently been findings that suggest that BMI cutoffs for top surgery are detrimental to patients as patients in higher BMI categories are more likely to have minor complications like UTIs or to be readmitted, but are not likely to have major complications or be at risk of significant harm from having top surgery. I don't know if anybody will listen if you bring up that study, and I know that GCS is fraught in many places for many reasons.

I'm also just.

I'm so mad. I'm so fucking mad! I'm so mad about this!

One of my best friends is a guy who was pressured into a pattern of disordered eating and unhealthy exercise in order to qualify for top surgery; since then he has not been able to eat in a healthy way and has struggled with alternating between exercising to the point of harm and other destructive behaviors that make him unhappy and unsafe. And he didn't need that. He didn't need any of that! He needed a very safe surgery that had perhaps a slightly higher risk of minor complications at his size and instead he got top surgery and an eating disorder! I hate it! I'm so fucking mad about it!

Also as near as I can tell Michael Mosley qualified as a psychiatrist in the 90s, spent very little time working as a psychiatrist, and then became a media personality. From what is visible on his website and every biography I've found for him he apparently doesn't have any background in nutrition beyond whatever is standard for someone in medical school (which is NOT MUCH).

Hey I just looked at his website and this is straight-up fucked up.

Anybody recommending an 800 calorie a day diet for 2-12 weeks in a context that is not heavily medically supervised can fucking choke. That is *ridiculously* dangerous and the website says that this can improve insulin resistance but there are a shitload of studies about people on crash diets like this *developing* insulin resistance (oh hey like my friend who became prediabetic after his rapid significant weight loss).

Also in regard to the studies he cites on the website, the "two years later patients are still going strong in their diabetes improvements" it's really important to put shit like that in context

at 5 years 13% of the original intervention group were in remission from their type two diabetes; the average weight loss experienced by the intervention group as a whole was 6.1kg compared to 4.6kg in the control group. That's 1.5kg lower for the people who went through a twelve week medically supervised very low calorie diet compared. That's an average difference of 3.3 pounds between "starvation diet" and "no diet" for the Americans in the audience.

Yours is the second comment I've seen that has been leery of the Mediterranean diet, btw, and the Mediterranean diet is fine. It's very achievable and not super gimmicky and is based on very reasonable reassessments of fat, not the hardcore "you are fine to eat 100g of fat a day" kind of attitude that you get from the keto crew. There isn't really one Mediterranean diet and it certainly isn't low carb (which the bits from Mosely's website seem to indicate it is).

So, no, honestly I don't think much of Mosely and I'm very sorry you're in this situation, that sucks and I hate that they're refusing you treatment until you undergo an exceptionally difficult and potentially harmful weight loss excursion.

I know you're probably stuck with that and it's bullshit and I think it fucking sucks and unfortunately the medical advice you're likely to get is "eat in a significantly disordered manner at least until it is time for surgery" and it blows. That just fucking sucks.

If you're looking for rapid weight loss that you don't plan to sustain (and you shouldn't plan to sustain it, it won't stay off) you may want to look into body building forums for how they discuss cuts. It's still disordered eating and it's still not healthy, but at least they're effective and can tell you what supplements will keep you from becoming malnourished while you prepare for surgery. This is a terrible idea. I don't actually want to give this advice to anyone but bodybuilders are the exact kind of people who know how far and how fast they can push weight loss while having an awareness that it isn't really good for them and it won't stay off.

I cannot overstate enough how much I hate the thought that people are being encouraged to rapidly starve themselves in order to prepare to recover from surgery. I am so sorry and I'm so mad and

#tw weight loss #tw diet talk #tw disordered eating #tw calorie restriction

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e-claire · 1 year

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Misophonia sucks so fucking hard and no one anywhere ever wants to talk about it. Literally the only people I've ever had listen to me about my Misophonia are other people with Misophonia. So fuck it, Misophonia Awareness Post or something, I want to vent.

Allow me to describe what it is first for all the lucky people who aren't fucked over. Misophonia is likely an Audio-Processing Disorder (Potentially some form of Synesthesia) in which certain sounds trigger a fight or flight reaction. Trigger sounds can vary and sometimes after long term exposure it can create a reaction to the visuals associated with those sounds. It is possibly genetic, there is no known cause, there is no known treatment, there is only suffering and ways of generally kind of reducing that suffering. When I hear people chewing I am filled with a rage that can only be described as "Bordering on a primal desire to Kill." and there's nothing I can do about that. A family member or friend takes a bite of something crunchy and I have to sit there and exist with thoughts of pounding their fucking skull into paste with my bare god damn hands and then afterwards I have to go back to "being normal". I have to just pretend that didn't happen, I can't do anything with those emotions, I can't put them anywhere, I can't talk about them with anyone or gain any understanding or sympathy from others for having them.

When I see someone chewing food anymore it's borderline impossible for me to remain in the room with them for any more than a few seconds because the mere sight of them chewing makes me physically ill and inspires in me a sense of deep disgust and panic that I could never ever hope to describe.

I tell people about what it's like and I get one of four reactions :

"Oh I think I have that too" With a weird amount of curious excitement at the concept of having a fun new quirky thing to mention in conversations. This means that they don't have it, and they'll then proceed to list off a couple different things that literally no human being likes to hear and how much that thing "annoys them". This makes me want to kill myself.

"Wow, Yikes." Through a grimace. This means I was too open about how it makes me feel and they now think i'm a either a freak, liability, time bomb, or over-dramatic, and will do everything they can to avoid the subject in the future so that I can't make them uncomfortable. This makes me want to kill them AND myself.

Immediately eats something really loudly to set me off as a "joke". This means that they're an obnoxious piece of shit that I have to try my absolute hardest not to beat to death with my bare hands. This makes me want to kill them, if that wasn't already obvious.

"Oh. So that's what this is called." This means they have it, and we can both engage in a brief period of mutual trauma sharing that helps us know we're not alone, and that our curse is unfortunately shared with others. This makes us both somewhat melancholy, and kinda ruins the vibes until something fun happens.

And then we get into the "How do you make the pain stop", and good news! You can't. There is no way to make it stop. But you can make it hurt less with ✨Spending Unbearable Amounts of Cash✨

You can buy a billion different types of earplugs that will all do great at muting the world but always leave you incredibly unaware of the world around you and leave you fucked in-terms of listening to media.

You can buy normal headphones that will kind of work but never mute the world around you anywhere near enough and vaguely frustrate you constantly, but hey at least you're a bit more accessible! Try combining these with a combination of rain and static noise playing at all times in the background for an extra layer of silence :)

You can buy ANC headphones that cost infinitely too much money and are almost always built to break so that they can farm cash from you in repairs, but the ANC is so useful despite not working perfectly that you can't really exist without it so you're gonna spend 200+ dollars every couple years because you don't have a choice, and spend every single day 24/7 wearing hot heavy over-ear headphones! Use the Rain and Static Noise combo with this as well for the best ANC effect.

And inevitably, all of these options will give you hearing problems, potentially make you aware of new trigger sounds, and always leave you a step behind everyone else when a conversation happens. Pro-Tip : For when the sounds are really intrusive and you're on the verge of a breakdown, Combine ANC with Ear Plugs and the R&SN background audio to basically kill noise in it's entirety for a little while :)

AND NOW WE GET TO THE PART WHERE I SAY WHAT THE FUCK CAN YOU NORMIES DO TO MAKE OUR SUFFERING LESS FUCKING CONSTANT.

Listen to us. Don't ostracize us for experiencing emotions we can't control and don't mean or want to act on. If you can, try your best to do the trigger noises quietly, and try your best not to do the trigger visuals in-front of us. We know it's not something you can control entirely, but if you can make the effort to make our lives suck less, we'll really fucking appreciate it.

And if you try to get back at us during a fight by eating something really crunchy to abuse our disorder for your benefit, I swear to god I will hunt you down personally and subject you to the most violent and painful torture I can manage before killing you and hiding your body somewhere no one will ever find it so that your loved ones never have the closure of knowing if you died or if you're still somewhere out there. Thanks for reading even though I know you didn't because the length of this post is frankly unhinged and i'll probably only get like 2 likes at best.

#Misophonia #Misophonia Awareness #Actually Misophonic #Disorder Awareness #Mental Health

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babyjakes · 6 months

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forever and a day | 54. you didn't.

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summary | a story in which america’s favorite captain gives a new life and family to a five-year-old girl who has suffered well beyond her years at the hands of hydra.

characters | dad!steve rogers, girl/willa rogers (original character)

warnings | AU similar enough to OU to include spoilers to many Marvel movies (Age of Ultron and beyond). action and fight scenes with violence and killing. injuries/mild gore. mature themes related to and semi-graphic depictions of child abuse/neglect, past CSA and CSM, and their aftermath (emaciation, wounds, scarring, etc). medical abuse (including sterilization) and experimentation. ptsd/trauma symptoms in a child (developmental discrepancies, de-humanized behavior, detachment, extreme fears). medical treatment of CSM and other aftermath of abuse.trauma-informed therapeutic treatment of ECT. minor mentions of disordered eating. themes relating to abuse of power/authority and immoral interrogation tactics including SA (with brief depictions.) evil!Tony Stark.

[Steve]

If the night at Bucky's had been an isolated incident, I wouldn't have thought much about it. Unfortunately, in the days that have followed, things have only seemed to get more and more difficult for Willa.

It started the following morning, when I woke up around 5:00am to find the little girl in the bed next to me, bawling her eyes out. I had quickly switched on the bedside lamp, checking her over to see what was the matter, and I found her to be in the grips of a seemingly hellish night terror. She had no mind channel open, no crimson glow, so there was no way for me to know what she was dreaming of. Immediately, I had gathered her in my arms, rocking and soothing her as best I could while simultaneously hoping to rouse her from her torturous sleep. But it was no use; she was far too deep in the nightmare to break free. She flailed and sobbed and sputtered incoherently for hours, and all I could do was hold her and watch. By the time 7:00am rolled around, she finally woke up, and at that point she was inconsolable.

I couldn't get anything out of her that entire morning. She had fought her way out of my arms and crawled deep under my blankets, and I simply had no heart to remove her. I tried coaxing her out with the promise of cuddles, breakfast, and even her favorite movie, but nothing worked. Eventually, I decided to leave her alone and let her determine when she felt safe to come out, but she ended up staying there for most of the day. When she did finally emerge, she was a puddle of tears, her eyes begging for comfort and reassurance. But at the same time, she wouldn't let me come anywhere near her. When bedtime came around again, I offered to let her sleep with me in my room for another night, and she surprised me greatly by agreeing to it.

Through the night, she had another horrific nightmare, one so terrifying that it sent her jumping out of the bed in fear when she awoke. As soon as she saw me waiting for her with the lamp on, a deeply concerned expression drawn on my face, she grew so afraid of being punished that she began hyperventilating, eventually passing out from her compromised airflow. In the agonizing process of her panic attack, she wet herself again, and it was at that point that I decided I needed to speak with Jenny.

"Did anything happen in the days leading up to her shift in behavior that might've been cause for such a regression?" the mild young lady asks as she sits across from me in the living room. Resting back against the soft cushions of the sofa, I pick apart the past week in my mind, ultimately unable to identify anything.

"No," I sigh with a shake of my head. "There were small incidents here and there, but that's always the way it's been with her. Nothing major happened, at least, not that I can think of." It's now later in the morning, and Jenny and I are wrapping up a last-minute session I requested while Willa plays in her room. The doctor started off speaking with the child herself, but after half an hour or so of not getting much response at all, she decided to come out and work with me instead.

"I see," Jenny notes, scribbling something down on her legal pad. Closing up her pen, she brings her eyes up to meet mine, a familiar sense of warmth and patience lingering in her gaze. "Steve, with everything that Willa's gone through, her road to recovery isn't going to be as smooth as any of us would like it to be." I nod, not sure where the doctor could be going with a statement like that. "And even though things seem like they're getting worse with her, this is actually a pattern that's seen quite frequently with survivors of abuse and trauma who've recently escaped. Willa's body and mind were suppressing a lot of emotions, a lot of fear during her captivity, and even at the tower due to the things Tony did; her system couldn't handle addressing these feelings, so it shut them out. Now that she's in a truly safe place, with a safe person who only loves her and takes care of her, those things are beginning to show themselves because it's safe for them to." A wave of relief washes over me as the woman finishes her explanation, and I let out a deep hum.

"So this... is normal?" I ask. She nods.

"It's a difficult part of the process, since it might seem to both of you like things are getting worse when they should be getting better, but it's really just a sign that her body and mind are ready to start doing some deeper repair."

"I see. That's..." my voice trails off as I bring a hand up to brush through my hair. "That's so good to hear," I finish honestly. "I was really worried that I had done something wrong, or was messing up in some way."

"I don't think you need to worry about that, Steve, not at all. You're doing a phenomenal job with Willa. She just adores you." A faint smile crosses my face as I think of the little girl, and how much love and care I hold for her in my heart as well. "As far as dealing with her new or returning behavior, I'd recommend allowing her to get it out, as much as you possibly can. A big part of her might just need to respond in the way her body originally wanted to. She might need to go through the act of being scared or crying or getting sick, since those were all responses that were made impossible for her up until now. In regards to the increased accidents, it's a very common indicator of sexual trauma in children. I know it's frustrating, but try to be as patient with her about it as you can."

"No, no- it's not even frustrating," I assure her quickly, meaning the words with all my heart. "Really, it's not. It's not a hassle when it happens, not at all; it just makes me so worried."

"I know it's alarming to see her regressing in that sense, but it's totally normal and shouldn't pose an issue permanently as long as she remains in a safe environment where she isn't violated sexually. We're just meeting her where she's at, if that makes sense, and where she's at might go forward or backward for a while before we really start making linear progress. I know you know this already, but Willa is in many ways somewhat younger than five still, at least internally. And that's okay. We just have to let her exist at whatever developmental age she's at."

"And you think- you're sure it's okay? That I'm kind of, well- I don't know, kind of 'babying' her, as Tony would say?" I ask, wanting to be sure the doctor still approves of my controversial approach. Jenny smiles, allowing me to relax even more with relief.

"Yes, that's completely acceptable. Actually, it's probably very therapeutic for her system to be allowed to have those critical early childhood experiences that she was deprived of for so long. Whatever helps her feel safe and secure, even if it's meant for younger kids, is completely fine."

"Good," I nod, feeling slightly more sure about myself as a parent from all of Jenny's encouragement. "I'm sorry she wasn't up to working with you today," I apologize again, "I told her you were coming and asked her to do her best to be open and honest, but... I don't know. At the same time, I don't have much heart to push her."

"It's completely fine," Jenny reassures me once more, shaking her head at my persistent apologizing. "Therapy isn't ever something that should be forced upon a child. She'll talk when she's ready." Glancing down at her notepad, she offers, "I was wondering, though, if maybe the three of us could wrap up the session together? I believe Willa's still playing by herself in her room, and a lot of times children can be demonstrative of what they're thinking or feeling through the ways that they play. Maybe we could sit in with her for a little bit, if you don't mind?"

"I don't mind at all," I tell her, earning a smile as she rises to her feet.

"Alright, then," she says with a nod. "I'll let you lead the way."

Leading the woman back through the house, I stop just outside the child's half-open door, knocking a few times against the sturdy wood before pulling it the rest of the way open. Willa sits on the floor beside her bed, a few toys scattered around her as she holds a small wooden doll in her hands. Her big green eyes meet mine warily, and my heart sinks as she begins to tremble. "Hey sweetheart," I greet gently. For a moment, I remember that just a few days ago, she would beam every time I entered the room. Realizing that we're back to such a state of fear and uncertainty, a tinge of disappointment builds up inside of me. But then, I remember the doctor's words, and I'm able to remind myself that Willa's behavior is actually probably a good sign, in some weird way. "Things are starting to show themselves because it's safe for them to."

"Your daddy and I were wondering if we could sit and play with you for a little bit," the young lady's soothing voice overlaps her previous words running through my head. A look of skepticism forms on the little girl's face as she glances between the two of us, but thankfully after a few more moments, she nods. "Wonderful," Jenny says with a smile, and we enter in, both sitting a few feet back to give the child some space.

"What're you playing, Willa-bug?" I ask in a gentle tone, now able to get a better look at the toys she's taken out of her boxes. She has a bathtub and a sandbox from a dollhouse set, as well as Captain America and Ironman figurines, and the little brown-haired doll she's holding in her hand. The clothes are half torn off the doll, the hair messed and tangled. Big, frightened eyes look from the doll to me, and then back. "Who've you got there?"

"Willa," she says simply, holding up the doll that seems to represent herself. I nod.

"Is Willa getting dressed?" Jenny asks politely.

Swallowing hard, Willa shakes her head. "Off," she mumbles, removing the toy's purple dress and placing it on the floor. She then removes the doll's underwear as well, leaving it completely naked. Next, she reaches over and picks up the sandbox, opening up the cover. Almost urgently, she begins to dig, not stopping until she's created a little hole in the center. Then, she takes the Willa doll, placing it in the center of the hole. A lump forms in my throat as she buries the tiny pair of underpants with it, not paying any mind to the dress.

"Oh, you're... is Willa playing in the sand?" I ask, trying to understand the child's actions. Not giving a response, Willa simply continues with her scene, picking up the Ironman action figure and extending its arm. Clumsily, she begins using the plastic hand of the figurine to begin shuffling sand back over the doll that represents herself. "Willa, sweetie, what- what is Ironman doing?" I question carefully.

Once the wooden doll and her underwear have disappeared completely beneath the sand, Willa extends the other arm of the superhero's body, making them now both stick out straight. With a concerning amount of force, she begins jabbing the hands into the sand, uncomfortable sounds of plastic and wood colliding as the man apparently attacks the girl. Glancing over at Jenny, I see that her brow is furrowed in concentration. All I can hope is that she's understanding what Willa's actions mean, because to be completely honest, I have no idea what to make of any of it.

After several more moments of the violent motions, Willa finally stops, putting Ironman's arms back down and dropping him to the floor. Sifting through the sand, Willa pulls out the wooden doll, shaking her off slightly before finding her purple dress and redressing her. Turning back to the sandbox for a moment, she uses a single finger to re-bury the underpants, causing my brain to ache with questions and concerns. When satisfied with the way the piece of clothing is hidden, Willa picks up the bathtub, once again removing the doll's dress before placing her in the tub, coming to what seems to be a stopping point.

"Sweetheart?" I ask quietly, unable to even form my thoughts into a question.

"Can you tell us what you're doing, Willa?" Jenny fills in for me. "Willa's taking a bath now?" The little girl nods. "What about Daddy? He's with you when you take baths, right?" she continues, picking up Captain America off the floor and offering it to the child. To my surprise, Willa shakes her head, pushing the doll away. Jenny lets her. "No help from Daddy? Okay, that's okay, hun," the doctor says quickly, wanting to avoid upsetting the chidl.

"What was... what happened in the sandbox, honey?" I ask, not sure if I should be asking so many questions but ultimately too worried to refrain from doing so. Willa flinches slightly at my question, her bottom lip quivering as she gives me nothing but silence in return. "Okay, it's okay, sweetheart," I coo soothingly, not wanting to push the subject too hard, "that's okay, you don't have to tell us."

"How about you keep playing, sweetie," Jenny suggests, "it's okay. You said Willa was in the bath?" The small girl nods, looking back down at her toys before pulling the doll out of the tub, redressing her in her purple gown. Then, the child surprises both me and the doctor by repeating the same exact process all over again, starting with digging out the underpants in the sandbox, putting them back on the doll, and then completely undressing it.

My brow creases in perplexion as I watch Willa 'play,' her motions almost seeming like a routine or ritual that her body knows by heart. She repeats the entire scene once, then twice, and by the point in which she's buried herself a third time with her underwear, preparing the Ironman doll to perform his assault, I finally speak again, causing the child to pause. "Willa," I breathe, my heart pounding faintly in my ears. "What are you doing?"

Her wary gaze rises to meet mine and she blinks, her arm beginning to tremble as she clutches the action figure tightly.

"Could you explain it to us?" Jenny adds, her voice laced with concern. "What is Ironman doing to Willa?"

"Why is she buried with her underwear?" I ask, earning a glance of warning from the doctor. Sighing, I take a moment to breathe, not wanting to say anything I might regret. "What is- sweetheart," I murmur as I notice the poor thing's eyes filling with tears. "What is Tony doing to you?"

"Hurting me," she concedes, her voice barely loud enough to hear. Her big green eyes peer up at mine and beg for what she's too afraid to out loud: to not hurt her, myself, to not be angry with her for expressing her feelings with her toys.

"Okay, Willa-bug," I nod, not completely understanding but deciding that at the moment, I don't really need to. My biggest priority for now has to be showing Willa that she's safe and that she's not in trouble for what she's admitted. "What if- how about Daddy comes and helps you?" I offer hopefully, taking the Captain America figure from Jenny carefully and holding it up for the little girl to see. "How about Daddy comes and protects you?"

"N-no," Willa refuses, picking up her sandbox and holding it slightly closer to herself, almost in a protective manner.

"Why not, sweetheart? How about Daddy comes and- comes and makes Tony stop, stops him from hurting you," I try, reaching out with the figure and trying to place it in the sandbox with the other two characters. Unexpectedly, Willa jerks it away, bits of sand spilling out from the sides as a look of anger forms on the child's face, a look I've never seen before. "Willa, please-" I insist, extending a hand to take hold of the sandbox.

But to my complete surprise, instead of pulling back again or allowing me, Willa throws the entire thing at me, sand dumping all over my clothes as she snaps, "No. You don't. You didn't."

As the dust settles into my lap and I blink away the sand from my eyes, I'm met with the sight of Willa staring back at me, any indication of anger or frustration completely drained from her face. Her eyes are as wide as saucers as she gawks at me, as if she, herself, can't believe what she's done. And before I can say anything, before I can reassure her or even try to calm her fears, she's jolted up onto her feet, running right out of her bedroom door.

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ambrossart · 2 years

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DANCING WITH MYSELF

— PART FOUR

summary: eddie crashes senior prom hoping to steal a dance with his dream girl, chrissy cunningham. instead, he spends the night stuck in the women’s restroom with you—her snarky, insecure best friend. ❖ pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader ❖ word count: 2,244 ❖ genre: fluff with some angst ❖ series status: complete ❖ warnings: no season 4 spoilers, some coarse language, body image issues, allusions to eating disorders, typical teenage insecurities, angst, jealousy, anxiety, secret crushes, childhood memories, happy ending, lots of 80s music one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten

He doesn’t know my name… Seriously?

It bothered you more than you cared to admit, Eddie Munson not remembering your name. You’d known the guy since middle school. You talked to him on a near-daily basis… okay, “talking” might be a little inaccurate; mostly you just made snide comments about him under your breath. But he always heard you. You know he heard you because he would always get annoyed and glare at you, just like he did tonight.

Between your sophomore and senior year, you shared a total of eight classes together, and you spent half of them sitting directly behind him. Were you really that forgettable? You expected that kind of treatment from conceited jerks like Andy Hauffman and Clay Howard, but you didn’t think Eddie Munson was that self-absorbed.

Now you felt hurt and betrayed… not so unlike Julius Caesar.

Et tu, Eddie?

You must have been wearing your disappointment on your face because as soon as you rejoined the group, the first words out of Jason Carver’s mouth were, “What’s wrong? Hey, did that freak do something to you?”

“Hm? Oh… no, that’s not…” You saw Chrissy staring at you with a worried expression, so you tried to wave it off like it was nothing. “I’m fine, really.”

Jason put his hand on your shoulder, gave it a small squeeze. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

He frowned, unconvinced. “Well, you should be careful around that guy, okay? He’s dangerous.”

You scrunched up your face. “What? Eddie’s not dangerous. I mean, yeah, he looks all mean and scary, but he’s really just a big geek. It’s kind of hilarious, actually…” You trailed off, letting your eyes wander back toward the entrance, where Eddie Munson was standing around all helpless and miserable, looking like a sad little puppy with those big, round brown eyes…

For a second, you felt bad about how you treated him, but only for a second.

You clapped your hands together. “Anyway, shouldn’t we be heading in? Get this prom party started? If the future king and queen don’t make an appearance soon, the peasants will surely riot.”

Jason continued to watch Eddie with a suspicious glare. Then he gave a faint nod to his friends. “Come on, guys, let’s go,” and he went up the stairs first.

You and Chrissy walked side by side, a few steps behind everyone else.

“What did he want?” she whispered.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“Oh… He just wanted my extra prom ticket.”

She gasped, delighted. “And…?”

“And… I flipped him off and told him to go to hell.”

Chrissy cringed. “Ugh, of course you did… You know, did it ever occur to you that this might be your Pretty in Pink moment? I mean, think about it: Chance gets food poisoning, so you’re stuck going to prom alone, and now who shows up but Eddie Munson, of all people? You don’t have a date. He doesn’t have a date. I dunno about you, but to me that sounds like quite the coincidence.” She smiled a wide, positively sunny smile.

You scoffed. “He didn’t want a date, Chris. He wanted my prom ticket. It’s not half as romantic as you’re making it out to be.”

“Well, maybe if you actually talked to him like a normal person…”

“Hey, I talk to him.”

“No, you tease him. I know you think that’s the same thing, but it’s not.”

“Well, it’s not my fault. The jokes are just there, floating all around me. I have to grab ‘em or else they’ll die for nothing. And he’s such an easy target… everything he does is so over the top. It’s like he’s begging me to mock him.”

“Well, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

“You know, I’ve never really understood that expression. Why are you trying to catch flies with either of those things? Just get a bug zapper and fry the suckers.” Chuckling, you went to take the next step, but Chrissy grabbed your elbow and yanked you back.

The gravity of her demeanor was startling.

“Look, you’re running out of time. Is this really how you wanna end your senior year?” She raised her eyebrows, hinting at knowledge only she possessed. “Think about it.” Then she went up, leaving you stranded on the step.

Well, that’s easy for you to say… You’re basically a goddess in this school.

You glanced back to where Eddie had been standing, but he was already gone.

School dances had always been a sore spot for you.

Before tonight, you had only attended one school dance: the Hawkins Middle School Snow Ball in 1981. The night started out like a dream. You put on your favorite dress. You wore your hair differently, spent hours in front of the mirror getting it just right. The gym was decorated like a silver and blue tinsel wonderland, and you were having the time of your life: eating cookies, drinking punch, laughing with Chrissy and all of your friends. Then the DJ played your favorite ABBA song, and you truly felt like the Dancing Queen. It was magical.

But then the first slow song came on over the speakers: “Endless Love” by Lionel Richie and Diana Ross, and you felt the atmosphere… shift. It snuck up behind you and caught you completely off guard. All around you, couples came together naturally, drawn to each other from across the gym like magnets. One after another, they paired up without a word, and you were left stranded.

Alone.

Chrissy, being the considerate friend she was, asked Preston Bailey to dance with you. Yeah, Preston was a real Prince Charming. He looked at you in your favorite dress and just shrugged; then his arms sort of flopped out like two wet noodles. It was absolutely humiliating.

For the sake of your pride, you said no to Preston Bailey and his pity dance. And despite your pride, you spent the rest of the night crying in the girls’ restroom.

You’d never felt so unwanted and unloved.

And now, while you stood atop the balcony overlooking the dance floor, while Alphaville’s “Forever Young” droned on and on in the background, while couples swayed with their arms lovingly wrapped around one another, you felt all those old, ugly emotions come flooding back.

God help me, you thought and began your slow descent into Hell.

You found your group’s table right away, beneath a sheer canopy of white and gold. It was draped with white linen, decorated with candles and roses, and set perfectly for six, everyone’s seat denoted by a pretty white place card. Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham, Andy Hauffman and Heather White, Chance Gallagher and…

You picked up Chance Gallagher’s card and ripped it in half twice, then tossed the pieces over your right shoulder.

Jason pulled Chrissy’s chair out for her, and she thanked him with a smile.

“I’m gonna go grab a slice of cake before it’s gone,” Jason said. “Do you want vanilla or chocolate?”

Chrissy said, “Oh, no cake for me, thank you. My stomach’s still a little upset from dinner.”

“Oh…” Jason reached out and tenderly stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s probably just, you know, from all the excitement.” But when she looked at you, her eyes suddenly became downcast.

Jason frowned. “Well, okay… Y/N, what about you?”

“Either one’s fine,” you said. “I don’t discriminate against cake.”

Jason snorted a laugh. “My kinda girl… All right, I’ll be back.”

Once Jason left, Chrissy said to you in a quiet voice, “I really am fine.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but I know what you’re thinking… and I’m fine.”

“Okay…”

And now Frankie Goes to Hollywood was telling you both to “Relax.”

You picked up a paper ballot and a tiny pencil. “Just don’t let the pressure of tonight set you back, Chris. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

You drew an X next to Chrissy’s name.

A short while later, while you were picking at the crumbs from your cake, Chrissy and Jason left to go greet some more of their friends. That’s when you spotted a familiar face at one of the nearby tables. You got up and went over to him, plopping down in an empty chair.

“Hey, Jeff,” you said over the music. “You’re looking pretty snazzy tonight.”

Jeff turned his head and smiled. “Well, look who it is… What brave soul asked you to prom?”

“Chance Gallagher.” You looked away. “But he’s dead now.”

“What?”

“He got food poisoning… I tagged along with Chrissy and Jason.”

“Oh… a threesome, huh?” He grimaced. “Well, that’s brutal.”

“Yup.” You stole a bite of his cake. “Hey, where’s your date?”

“Tara? She’s over there with her friends. I forgot to make dinner reservations, so now she’s giving me the silent treatment… Apparently, I ruined her prom night by making her eat a hamburger.”

You shrugged. “What’s wrong with a hamburger?”

“Right…? See, we should’ve just gone to prom together.”

“Well, you didn’t ask me.” You went to take another bite of his cake, but Jeff pulled his plate away.

“Umm, excuse me,” he said with a lighthearted chuckle. “I’m still eating that, you know.”

You smiled sheepishly and put his fork down. “Sorry.”

Then you leaned back in your chair and looked around for a minute, searching for nobody in particular. “So Eddie the Genius forgot to buy a ticket, huh?”

“Oh, you saw him?”

“Yeah, he tried to bum one off me… Naturally, I refused.” You folded your arms over your chest and went quiet. “Would you believe he doesn’t know my name?”

“What?” Jeff drew away from you, dumbstruck. “No way… No, I refuse to believe that.”

“I promise you, he doesn’t. You should have seen the look on his face, Jeff. It was like I’d just asked him to recite the first seven digits of pi.”

“Really…?” He slumped back in his chair. “Damn!”

Out on the dance floor, the tempo picked up as the DJ drove into the next track: “Dancing With Myself” by Billy Idol. That’s when Grant came bursting out of the crowd and collapsed against the table, red-faced and sweating, huffing and puffing with exhaustion.

“She’s trying to kill me,” Grant said. “Oh my god, she’s trying to kill me!”

Behind him, Megan Mulrooney was bopping away to the beat and singing at the top of her lungs: “If I had the chance, I'd ask the world to dance… And I’d be dancing with myself, ah, oh, oh-oh, yeah…”

You smiled at Grant. “What’s up, Lord of the Dance?”

Grant bent his head and wheezed. “Shut up, Y/N.” Then he grabbed Jeff’s cup of punch and gulped the whole thing down.

While he was drinking, Jeff said, “Hey, man, get a load of this: Eddie doesn’t remember Y/N’s name. Can you believe it?”

Grant wiped his mouth with a napkin, then dabbed his forehead, too. “Yeah, I’d believe that.”

“What?” you said. “Why?”

Grant laughed a deep, sinister laugh. “Oh, come on, you know why… The Shrieking Queen’s Catacombs? Does that ring any bells?”

“No,” you said, but Jeff gasped.

“Oh my god," he said. “‘The Bargain from Below!’”

Grant nodded. “‘The Bargain from Below.’”

“What?” You sat up in your chair, looked at Jeff, then Grant, then back to Jeff. “‘The Bargain from…’ Oh… Oh, come on, you can’t be serious. Guys, that was back in middle school! He can’t possibly still be mad about that.”

Jeff said, “No, he’s definitely still mad about that.”

“Why?”

“You kinda ruined the whole campaign.”

“Yeah, but how? All I did was accept the demon’s bargain.”

“You weren’t supposed to accept the demon’s bargain!”

“But he was offering me the ultimate power...”

Jeff and Grant bellowed with rage: “YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO ACCEPT THE ULTIMATE POWER! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE RHETORICAL!”

You threw your hands up, not getting it at all. “Well, if it was rhetorical, then Scottie shouldn’t have let me accept it in the first place. But that’s not my fault. I was totally playing by the Dungeon Master’s rules.”

Jeff said in a small voice, “Yeah, but you didn’t have to kill Eddie…”

You smirked. “Well, the demon demanded a blood sacrifice.”

(What? You can’t do that! Scottie, tell her she can’t do that!)

(Actually, I think it adds an interesting dynamic to the story...)

(Dude, what the fuck? No, it doesn't! It totally ruins the story. Now she has the ultimate power and she's just gonna tank all the monsters!)

Jeff said, “Admit it, you did that on purpose.”

You held in a laugh. “Okay, fine, maybe I did… but I wasn’t expecting him to get as mad as he did. I was just trying to add some spice to the story, and he acted like I killed him in real life. Then he stormed out of Scottie’s basement and said I completely ruined D&D for him. Overdramatic much? Come on, it’s just a game…”

Jeff and Grant shook their heads in condemnation and your shoulders sank. “So, what, now you’re saying he’s totally blocked me from his memory? And all because of some stupid campaign that happened a million years ago? Please, that guy needs to get over himself.” You got up and stormed back to your table.

When you were out of earshot, Grant said, “I’m guessing we shouldn’t tell her about Eddie’s plan, huh?”

Jeff winced. “Not unless you have a death wish.”

____________________

PREV // CURRENT // NEXT

#eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #chrissy cunningham #jason carver #chrissy x jason #eddie x chrissy #stranger things 4 #st4 #ambrossart #dancing with myself #dwm #fanfiction

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exchangestudentnova · 4 days

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I just read your Yandere vampire OM brothers and I was wondering what about yan vampire Lucifer and MC who has a blood clotting problem like they cut their hand or whatever and the blood keeps pouring nothing you dramatic bit still like Woah u good??? (don't feel forced to do this btw, also I love ur writing!!!)

hey anon!! I sorry for being this late to your request, I hope my writing is a fine apology for that.

Haemophilia is one such genetic disorder where the person's blood doesn't clot easily. Although it is a reccessive gene, you were born with one. It did not pose much threat to you due to the advances in medical treatment keeping you alive for so long, so you never worried too much about it.

You did worry about it when you were asked to come to Devildorm for one year. "One whole year?? How am I supposed to survive there!?" You somehow managed to purchase almost months and months of medicines in your little suitcase, but ofc you were bound to run out of supplies in the far future.

Today was one such day. You counted the leafs of medicines left, and all of them were empty. You were being reckless by not keeping an eye on the medicine, and now you have none. Worried, you were trying not to panic in your small cozy room. After taking deep breaths, you came to a conclusion that asking Lucifer to help in this situation would be the best. With that, you went to the kitchen to fulfill Beel's craving of eating your handmade food.

The pot boiling with water and the sound of you cutting the vegetables filled the kitchen. "You called for me? Sorry I was busy with some student council work" you turn your head towards the source of the sound, a soft smile conquring your lips as you meet your eyes with him. He, with a click in his step and his long, black clock hanging from his broad shoulders came up to you and engulfed you in a hug. " how have you been MC?" he spoke in your ear as you continued your chopping. "I am well Lucifer, and yes I did call for you. I need to go back to the human world."

"But why?"

"Because I need to- ouch!"

You took your eyes off of the food to look at Lucifer, which was a bad idea because you now have a cut on your finger from moving the knife wrong. It hurt a bit, but to Lucifer, it seemed as if you have lost half of your body's blood.

"How could you be so careless!? Show me your finger" You could see that his eyes have started to dilate, his fangs have started to appear. Yet he is not even thinking about drinking blood. Instead his eyes, althought appearing to be bloodlustly, are actually filled with concern.

"Did you eat your medicines??"

"Ah, about that...." you told him about not having them, and he sighed. "Well wait here, I have some with me. Don't move from your place and stop cooking" Before he left the kitchen he spoke some words and created magic that collected the blood dripping from your hand. Now you had a small bubble of blood floating in the air that was oozing out.

Lucifer came back within two minutes and handed you the medicine. " Thank you so much Luci, but what will you do with this bubble of blood?" He just gives you a knowing look and brings his tongue near the bubble. You blush slightly as he savours the exotic taste of your blood, the medicine acting fast and stopping the bleeding.

" Why are you blushing MC? Your blood is only for me to taste. Now sit down, grab a dessert from the fridge, and let me finish dinner"

PS: anon you did not mention if Lucifer and MC are in an established relationship or not so I tried to write it in a way that you can insert a romantic/platonic relation between them^^ and also thank you for supporting my writing I appreciate it^^

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #lucifer #obey me x reader #obey me luci x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #obey me fluff #obey me lucifer fluff #lucifer fluff #vampire lucifer #yandere vampire lucifer #yandere lucifer #yandere lucifer x reader

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sheabutterbitch · 1 year

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work update: almost finished with my first week!

I didn’t go into detail about what I’ll actually be doing — I’m a clinical therapist at a women’s only residential treatment center. The criteria is largely trauma, addiction, and disordered eating.

I truly love this environment and being able to support and advocate for women from all walks of life is a dream. I feel so privileged that they’ve allowed me into their healing space, and I’m learning far more from them than they could ever learn from me. Women’s mental health treatment is so complex and as the intersections pile on (race, ability status, class, etc.), it can feel near impossible to recover from life’s adversity.

Very excited to learn and grow here, especially in the area of addiction. I didn’t previously have a huge interest in addiction treatment but this environment has totally changed that. We work to treat a multitude of addictions including sex / porn addiction which, for women, it can be difficult to obtain treatment in this area.

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felgueirosa · 5 months

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if it’s not too triggering, why were you institutionalized for being picky? (If it’s too personal feel free to delete this ask, sorry)

Hi! It's no problem, it is triggering, but i think about it a lot, and it is something i sometimes shared on here, after it just happened, because i was in shock and had to let people know and to reach out like hey? has this happened to anyone else? but right after that it became too hard to put words to and too triggering to talk about so i talked about it less.

but its a story i want to tell now and am becoming more okay with telling, because i want people to know what happens to people, what happened to me, and what could very well happen to me again

and also, it just so happens i have been thinking about it a lot recently and thinking how to tell my story because i have been psyching myself up to tell my girlfriend.

so like. suuuuuuuuper long story below the cut. can be very triggering, its a very upsetting story. tw for like. institutionalization (obvs), suicide, medical abuse, eating disorders, psychiatric abuse, parental abuse (?)

I was kind of institutionalized. At first, it happened almost 9 years ago, I remember the anniversary every year. I was 16, my doctor recommended I be put in a childrens hospital eating disorder program. I have ARFID, no one really knew what it was at the time. I've had it since i was an infant and went from doctor to doctor and no one had ever seen anyone like me or knew what to do. One doctor said I wouldn't live past 21 if I continued to eat the way I do, but clearly that was not the case.

I am forever astounded by the amount of people I run into on here and online in general who identify as having ARFID or being that level of picky eater, though talking with some of them more in depth, it seems like they are often not on the level of pickiness i am on and seem to have experienced less shame and be more open about discussing it though everyone is different and impossible to tell.

I was excited for the program at first before it started. I thought they were going to help me and I would finally be a normal person. I was so tired of being harassed by random strangers, laughed at by waiters, and ridiculed by my family. Every person I made friends with I had to at some point make a terrifying confession to and going on dates (for the small regrettable amount I did it in high school) was near impossible when I had to show the part of myself that I was most ashamed about and hated the most on the first date.

I thought at the program I would find specialists who would sympathize with me and help me and would fix me. And when I got there, before anything even happened, I had to sign all these papers, and my parents did too, and I didn't know what they were, I didn't question it. What I signed didn't even really matter anyways, I was 16. And the first day I brought my phone with me and a book, and my bag with some other stuff. But after I signed everything, they took everything I had away, and we went to this room with all these doctors, 'my treatment team', I had never met them before, they barely looked at me or talked to me, but they talked about me and my 'treatment plan' and they were never caring to me, never talked to me like a person.

The plan, as it was for everyone, was that they give you three meals a day, of whatever food they bring you, you have to eat all of it by the time an alarm they set goes off, you have to drink every drop of water they give you, have to use every packet of sauce they give you. If you don't do this, you get moved down a 'level' and you get privileges taken away. Things like watching tv, or being around other patients, but most of all, I found out that being moved down a level just meant you usually get locked in a room by yourself for a few hours because that happened to me. a lot.

i was very upset when i found this out. this was not helping me. because as i found out, it turns out no one really knows a fucking thing about helping people with mental illnesses or eating disorders or developmental disabilities even though the medical establishment likes to talk about how much it has progressed. they don't know a single fucking thing.

so i finally went out to the common room with the other patients. i was crying very hard and told the doctors that was it i wanted to leave i didn't want to be part of the program. but they told me it was too late i already signed the consent forms. so i don't know if medical consent/institutionalization is still like this almost 10 years later, if someone was lying to me or if this is true, but my mom also told me the same thing, and apparently if you consent to this kind of thing you cannot take it back. which by definition, makes it not consent.

i remember sobbing in the common area with the other patients (they were all girls, about same age as me), and there was another new patient, also sobbing. the other girls tried to comfort us and talk to us, but the orderlies (i don't really know what else to call them, all they really did was sit and watch us and make sure we didn't do anything that wasn't allowed. they were all college girls. they were extremely mean to us, they thought we were being dramatic) wouldn't let them, we weren't really allowed to talk to each other much and we weren't allowed to touch each other and we very specifically for some reason were not allowed to comfort each other.

i was crying especially hard because i knew that this program was expected to last for a couple months. but as i talked to the other girls there the small amount i was able to, i found out that most of them had been there for much longer than a couple months, many of them for over a year. i managed to catch my parents as they were leaving from dropping me off and talking with the doctors (i had only been there still only like 3 or 4 hours) and screamed at them to get me out of here. my mom seemed really shaken by the way i was acting and the doctor told her not to worry and i specifically remember him saying "they all act like this at the beginning".

it is something i will never forget because every time i tried to convince my mom to get me out of there she seem conflicted based on the fact that the doctor said that. and it hits me every time that all the doctors, the nurses, the people working there, can see children. children. acting like that about what they are doing to them and think they are doing the right thing. i will never forget it ever. and every person who came in after me did the same thing! because it was prison! it was punishment! for having a eating disorder! for being autistic! when i was able to talk to my mom, she kept saying "we are not trying to punish you" and the more times she said i realized she was trying to convince herself.

i ate some of the foods they gave me but i never got used to them like they said i would. i just got knocked down a level every time and got locked in a room. and the thing is, unlike most media and reports about mental wards or asylums. it was a nice hospital. it was brand new. the room i was locked in was not a padded room. one of the walls was just a window. and in some ways, that made it worse. because it looked out on a highway and i saw all the cars going to and from work, going to the store, going to eat. and they were so free and they could go where they wanted and eat what they wanted and when they wanted and they weren't locked in a room. and they passed this hospital and had no idea what was happening to me or to anyone else here and it made me so angry and so defeated. i felt so close to being away from a waking nightmare but i knew i would never get there. a year!!! i could be there for over a year.

a year without going where i wanted when i wanted. no access to my phone. i wasn't allowed to see my friends. i wasn't allowed to read my books. i wasn't allowed to eat what i wanted when i wanted. i did therapy a few times a day but it was more like an interrogation. when i was a high enough level to be in the common room, i sat in the corner and did puzzles obsessively so i could just dissociate and focus on the puzzles. eventually the therapist told me i wasn't allowed to do puzzles anymore because it was "distracting from my recovery" and i "wasn't thinking about my eating" (i don't know what the fuck i was supposed to be thinking about). it got to the point where i felt like i didn't have ownership of my own mind anymore. i wasn't allowed to dissociate. i wasn't thinking about what they wanted me to be thinking about.

they told me if i "was good" (aka if i reached a high enough level, not going to happen) i could write them a list of 100 songs. they would load all the songs on an ipod shuffle to loan to me. but only after they listened to all of them first to make sure they were appropriate. they told me if i "was good" maybe i could see my best friend for a few hours for one weekend. a few hours. for one weekend. i was understanding how truly controlling the program was. seeing a friend for a few hours once a month is a privilege. listening to a few songs they approve is a privilege.

but it didn't matter. i realized after the first day that obviously i had to kill myself. i was already in a pretty bad place before the program and was passively suicidal but i realized instantly that i could not live like this and if i was going to be stuck here indefinitely then my only way to escape was to end my life. i didn't have a plan at that point but i knew for certain i was going to do it. the loss of control, the violation, the loss of body and self was unbearable.

every morning they had us strip and then weighed us and did an ekg. why did they have us strip and do an ekg? it doesnt seem like it has much of a point. they watched us go to the bathroom. it all seemed like humiliation and violation for the sake of it.

even after the second day i had realized that i didnt want to be fixed or get better and i had to come to the very quick realization that there had never been anything wrong with me. when i went to therapy they asked me questions like "don't you want to be able to go to restaurants?" "don't you want to be able to eat with friends?" and i realized none of that had to do with my health. the reason i had problems with restaurants was because they didn't accommodate to me and the reason i had problems with friends was all social. all these reasons i had for wanting to be fixed and all these reasons they had for me to want to be fixed were other peoples' problems. the way people treated me was not my problem.

for your treatment plan, one of the first steps was to admit in group therapy that you had an eating disorder and what your problems were (i fucking know) and that would get you more privileges but i decided i wasn't going to do that because i didn't have a problem, my "problem" was everyone else's problem and the way they treated me. so i refused to every session and got locked in the room every time for this. they fucking hated me for it.

if you can't tell how long i was there for based on this. i was only there for a week. because after a week our insurance came back and declined to cover the program. i always hate myself that it was a week. it doesnt feel long enough. for the amount that it did for me. for how much it does to me almost 9 years later. it doesn't feel like enough.

i got home and screamed at my parents. i was so angry. my mom had allegedly been trying the entire time to get me out of the program, but my dad had been trying to keep me in. when i got home my dad had taken away my phone and my laptop and said he wasnt giving them back. i screamed at him and cried and he threatened to call the hospital and have them lock me up forever. i was terrified, i tried to get away from him, to hide. and he got out his phone and took video of me, at my worst moments, he claimed to show to the doctors. i ran away. for a few hours. i had nowhere to go. i ran about a mile. and then sat down outside the rec center and cried until it got dark. and then i went home.

i had nightmares that i was still there for months. it never ended. i was so paranoid about everything. i thought people were coming to lock me up. i couldn't draw any attention to myself or i thought i would be locked up. every time we drove anywhere near the hospital i thought my parents were taking me back there. i was so paranoid i couldn't sleep i couldn't sit i couldn't do anything i had to be looking out for everything and i trusted no one. i walked around, angry at everyone, that they were so carefree in everything and they had no idea what happened to me. i was angry it happened to me and they were worried about things that had no importance. i was angry when adults thought they knew more than me and i felt i had been through more in life at 16 than they had at their age. was it true? i'm not sure.

i think the most important thing i learned, whether true or not, besides not needing to be fixed, was that i could never trust anyone and never ask anyone for help again. i thought they would help me and i was excited. for some time, i thought it was my fault. at least partially. but now i am angry. i was 16. who would do that to a 16 year old who was looking for help because of how people had treated them?

for a while after i talked about arfid a ton on tumblr and also on wordpress. i created the actuallyarfid tag but became disillusioned when so many people in the tag just talked about wanting to get rid of it or their progress in getting rid of it. and eventually i couldn't even talk about it anymore. it was too tied to everything that happened and i was still so ashamed of it. it was to triggering. i stopped.

i think for similar reasons i have stopped associating so much with the autistic community online. i think it has jaded me so much to see so many people who have only had the slightest negative consequences of being autistic and do being autistic like putting on and taking off a coat after something like this happened to me. it was in this program that doctors first told my parents they think i am autistic though i wasnt diagnosed until later. i recognize now that having arfid is part of my being autistic but i don't like to talk about it in the context of having arfid because i don't feel like i 'have' anything. it is just me being me. and i use autistic as a label when i need to explain my needs and differences to people quickly and its fun to make jokes about being autistic sometimes but i dont like to constantly identify myself that way.

my parents are "health" nuts (fake garbage health bullshit) so they were still convinced my eating was going to kill me and many years later have taken me to see several nutritionists. and all these years later, after doctors many years ago declared i had a problem and would die, most of them did not see a huge problem with the way i eat. one of them in particular who i love and have seen over and over again at the behest of my parents has pointed out many things to me. there are plenty of adults who don't eat or barely eat fruits and vegetables. there are plenty of adults who eat the same thing every day (bring the same thing for lunch at work everyday anyone?). the world does not end. if you are different and you do it. then you are a problem and you need to be fixed. but if it is within socially acceptable norms, then it's okay.

i've always thought that some day i wanted to write about what happened to me publicly. in a paper or something. i want people to know. that this happened to me. that this happens to people. still. that it could very well happen to me again. though i'm not sure i could take public response if i did write about it. and after i got out of the program, i wrote it all in a journal, but then ripped it up and shredded it because the words weren't enough. they were so insignificant and i could never ever find the words to capture how horrifying it was what happened to me and how badly it ruined me and destroyed me. it changed my whole life and my perspective on everything. but i think now, almost 10 years later i am starting to find the words. and i think now i am less scared.

#i think now survivingpsych tag would like to look #i think this is the best i have ever written or explained it #most emotional and most explaining why #survivingpsych

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drsarahhewes · 2 months

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Eating Disorder Therapy: A Breakthrough in Virtual Eating Disorder Treatment

In recent years, the field of mental health care has witnessed remarkable advancements, particularly in the realm of eating disorder therapy. Dr. Sarah Hewes, a pioneer in this field, has introduced a groundbreaking approach to treatment through Evergreen Teletherapy.

This innovative platform offers virtual eating disorder treatment that is both accessible and effective, revolutionizing the way individuals receive support and care.

Understanding the Need for Eating Disorder Therapy:

Eating disorders, such as anorexia nervosa, bulimia nervosa, and binge eating disorder, are complex mental health conditions characterized by unhealthy relationships with food, body image disturbances, and often severe emotional distress. These disorders not only impact physical health but also significantly affect mental well-being, relationships, and overall quality of life.

The Limitations of Traditional Treatment Methods:

Historically, accessing treatment for eating disorders has been challenging for many individuals. Traditional in-person therapy may be hindered by various barriers, including geographical distance, scheduling conflicts, and the stigma associated with seeking help. Moreover, finding specialized eating disorder treatment near one's location can be a daunting task, further exacerbating the challenges of seeking support.

Evergreen Teletherapy by Dr. Sarah Hewes:

Evergreen Teletherapy offers a solution to these barriers by providing virtual eating disorder treatment that is convenient, confidential, and tailored to each individual's unique needs. Led by Dr. Sarah Hewes, a seasoned therapist specializing in eating disorders, this platform combines evidence-based therapeutic approaches with the accessibility of telehealth technology.

The Benefits of Virtual Eating Disorder Treatment:

Frequently Asked Questions about Virtual Eating Disorder Treatment:

Q: Is virtual eating disorder treatment as effective as in-person therapy? A: Yes, research has shown that virtual therapy can be just as effective as traditional in-person therapy, particularly for treating conditions like eating disorders.

Q: How do I know if virtual therapy is right for me? A: Virtual therapy can be a suitable option for individuals who prefer the convenience and privacy of online sessions or who face barriers to accessing in-person care.

Q: What types of therapy are offered through Evergreen Teletherapy? A: Evergreen Teletherapy offers a range of evidence-based therapeutic approaches, including cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT), dialectical behavior therapy (DBT), and mindfulness-based interventions.

Conclusion: Embracing Innovation in Eating Disorder Treatment

As we continue to navigate the complexities of mental health care, embracing innovation is essential to ensuring that individuals receive the support and treatment they need to overcome eating disorders. Evergreen Teletherapy, led by Dr. Sarah Hewes, represents a significant step forward in this journey, offering accessible, effective, and compassionate virtual eating disorder treatment.

By harnessing the power of technology and expert therapeutic guidance, we can empower individuals on their path to recovery and healing. In conclusion, if you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, don't hesitate to seek help. With Evergreen Teletherapy, support and healing are just a click away.

#eating disorder therapy #eating disorder treatment #eating disorder treatment near me #virtual eating disorder treatment #Dr sarah hewes

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frenchfrysword · 4 months

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Happy new year otherbuckets!

I had a crap fucking 2023 and I feel like a reanimated corpse. But at least I can say I think I put my eating disorder behind me? All that had to happen was to get my heart broken in such a way that nothing mattered and by the time I regained control of my auto-piloted shell/body, it was so big that I didn't feel like starving myself for a zillion trillion weeks.

July and August were INSANE because our sweetheart of an oldest cat (Buttons, from the Cabanel post) has hyperthyroidism. She didn't sleep, so neither did I. She's on meds now and it seems under control, but I still get panic attacks whenever she is restless of wakes me up multiple times per night.

Therapy wise... Idk. I just started a new therapy and they keep asking me what I expect from them. Fuck if I know. They have no online info, no leaflet, they're the last resort for people who have had all the treatment insurance can cover... I'm just desperate. (Also beating anxious thoughts that what I thought was a side effect might be cancer... Nope nope nope)

In 2024 I should really be mindful of the paths I chose. I have been metaphorically bleeding out for years now, I need to change that. I want to live my life to my rules, my values. I just don't know how, I feel stuck.

Anyway. I might quit my meds in the near future and then get back on tumblr. It was really funny that as soon as they medicated me after me begging for it for ten years, I was immediately dopamine-supplied enough to leave tumblr.

#personal #life update

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spacefoxy · 1 year

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Do you think Eric may have been dealing with an unidentified mood disorder that caused his moodiness?, I also heard he could go hot and cold and do you think he may have been dealing with unresolved issues in his life?

Sorry it took me a moment to get to this one!

Again - disclaimer - I cannot say things with 100% certainty. This is just my own opinions that I have come to from all the material I have consumed. Do not take this post as absolute facts.

Now that that's out of the way. We hear about his moodiness a lot from Carrie, who dated him at the end of the 80's. Paul has also mentioned his silent treatments, which range from '87 to '90. Bruce has also some stories from HITS tour and yeah Crazy Nights too, where Eric would sulk in silence on the tour bus etc. So yeah, he was moody. That we cannot deny.

Lets go back to what Paul said about him agonizing about not being the original drummer. Peter was equal with the other guys, and he contributed so many songs! Peter has a vocal on damn near every album before Eric joined. Eric wanted to be in a band where he could do that ever since he became a huge fan of the Beatles - but once he got into KISS, he was a hired gun. He had a salary and a contract and he did not get to take part in any meetings where the band was discussed. He just got a memo after the fact. That has got to sting! G&P clearly tightened the reigns on the band during the 80's, there's no doubt about that. Perhaps having been burned by Ace and Peter (cause c'mon we all know what that was like) they took more and more control over decisions and every album became a battle of who gets to have how many songs on the album between them. I believe there were stories of "well if he gets that song, then I get this one" type of situations. Eric would bring in material, but if neither of them could make it their song to sing, they were rarely truly interested, I feel like.

So imagine about a decade of very limited ability to contribute to the band, which was eating him up for sure. He was apalled when Vinnie was offered a lead on the next album (which became Animalize) after only having just arrived in the band and not even having a proper contract with them. The only thing that was truly Eric's, was his drum solo. He was free to get as creative with it as he wanted. And he loved the interaction with the fans. That was the only thing that was truly his and he held onto it for dear life.

Why am I talking about all this? Because I feel like his increasing moodiness has a direct link to all this. The first instant of his moodiness on record comes from the Crazy Nights tour, especially the European leg of it. What happened during this time? Paul suggested they get rid of the drum solo. (Gary Corbett said the words used were "No one wants to hear that shit anyway" but take that with a grain of salt obv). They wanted to play more songs on the set and the drum solo took too much time. This was a devastating blow to Eric. I can imagine him being already wound up about not being allowed to properly contribute to the band and now they're coming for his solo too. So he started sulking and giving the silent treatment to the others. (which seems to be his go-to thing)

The same situation happened during the HITS tour, where all of the solos got axed at the beginning of the tour because they wanted to play more songs. They had just hired a tour manager who had said to Eric he hates drum solos. So yeah, they had already gotten off on the wrong foot and now his solo was being taken away *again*. What's worse, they only played Little Caesar once, during a rehearsal show, and dropped it immediately. So yeah, he was moody.

A lot of the counts of moodiness from this time come from Carrie, who honestly had no idea what was happening in the band. And the way she treated him sometimes was bordering on abuse. She'd be heard screaming at Eric or the famous making him sleep on the floor when he didn't even do anything to deserve it. If we look at her current behavior and the frankly disgusting way she treats people, yeah I can see her doing this shit to him.

So if we recap, he was stiffled artistically, people were coming after the only thing he had total control over in the band, and his girlfriend was a person he wasn't sure he wanted to stay with for the rest of his life and he was getting there in age. No wonder he was moody.

Sure there could have been stuff we never got to know about but I feel like the picture is painted quite clearly by following these leads. Now do I feel like a 40 year old man sulking instead of voicing his grievances is childish? Absolutely! LOL But that was his style... Oh Eric..

#Anonymous #oops I wrote a novel again

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babyjakes · 2 years

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forever and a day | 40. i believe you.

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summary | a story in which america’s favorite captain gives a new life and family to a five-year-old girl who has suffered well beyond her years at the hands of hydra.

characters | dad!steve rogers, girl/willa rogers (original character)

warnings | AU similar enough to OU to include spoilers to many Marvel movies (Age of Ultron and beyond). action and fight scenes with violence and killing. injuries/mild gore. mature themes related to and semi-graphic depictions of child abuse/neglect, past CSA and CSM, and their aftermath (emaciation, wounds, scarring, etc). medical abuse and experimentation. ptsd/trauma symptoms in a child (developmental discrepancies, de-humanized behavior, detachment, extreme fears). medical treatment of CSM and other aftermath of abuse.trauma-informed therapeutic treatment of ECT. minor mentions of disordered eating. themes relating to abuse of power/authority and immoral interrogation tactics including SA (with brief depictions.) evil!Tony Stark.

[Steve]

“Alright Cap, as much as I’d love to stay up longer and keep talking… I’m pretty beat,” Bruce admits from across the table. Glancing down at my watch, I see that it’s nearing 11:30pm. Willa was put to bed a while ago; after she went down I decided to venture back out into the rest of the group. The overall mood throughout the evening has been positive. More than anything, it just feels good to be back with all of my friends. Tony and I haven’t shared a single word, but for now, I’m okay with that. Being the first night back, he probably figured both Bucky and I would want some space. I still don’t know how I’m going to approach him about what happened to Willa at the airport. Something needs to be done, of course; I’m just not sure what yet.

For about a half-hour or so now, it’s just been the doctor and I, as everyone else has retired to bed. Our conversation has mostly been about Willa. Bruce was able to pop in before I put her to bed to check over her. In talking with him, he’s gone over some options we have in regards to treating her burns. He said that she got very lucky, and that he was fairly sure she had a good chance at a full recovery. This news has been a huge relief. Really, the whole conversation has meant a lot to me. It’s clear that he’s been worried about Willa ever since we left, and now that we’re back, I’m glad that I can place so much trust in the man in charge of her medical care.

“Yeah, it’s getting pretty late, huh?” I nod understandingly. Bruce rises from his chair and smiles at me, his eyes softening as they meet mine.

“We’re glad to have you back, Cap. You and the little one were greatly missed,” he speaks genuinely.

“Thank you, Bruce. It’s great to be back,” I say, returning the smile. He nods at me, then turns and heads for the hallway, leaving me alone in the large open living space.

Taking a moment to close my eyes, I draw in a long breath through my nose, allowing my muscles to relax. It’s been quite a long day. I can’t wait to climb into my own bed and get some much-needed sleep. But before I can do that, there’s still one more thing I need to take care of…

Opening my eyes again, I stand, pushing my chair under the table. I make my way over to the kitchen and pull out a pot, filling it with water in the sink. Setting it down on the stove, I turn the burner on medium, watching as tiny bubbles begin to form at the bottom of the metal pot. Going into the spices cabinet, I rummage around until I find the small green tin I’m looking for, all the way at the back. Carefully, I open up the old rusted box and pull out a packet. Lavender. I remember on Wanda’s first night at the tower, she asked for a cup of lavender tea. “It helps when I’m anxious,” she had told us. Ever since, I’ve made sure to keep a fresh stock on hand.

Pulling out a second packet for myself, I close and return the tin to the cabinet. When I come back to the pot, the water’s boiling steadily, and I flick off the burner, grabbing two maroon mugs and pouring them each full with the water. Tearing open the paper envelopes, I drop a pouch in each mug, the strings dangling over the sides delicately. With a mug in each hand, I return to the table, setting one down at the head seat and one at the chair beside it. Taking a moment, I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I just hope she’ll open up to me. When she snapped out of her panicked state earlier, she was trying so hard to act like she was fine. But it’s painfully obvious that she’s not. And I don’t know how to help her if I don’t know what’s wrong.

Taking another deep breath, I make my way over to the hallway, walking quietly across the wooden floor until I reach the teen’s door. A faint glow shines out from underneath it, telling me that her lamp is still on. Knocking lightly against the wood a few times, I call in softly, “Wanda? It’s Steve. You still up?”

Soft shuffling can be heard from behind the door; soon, it opens in front of me to reveal the teen. From the looks of it, she’s changed since I saw her earlier. She’s pulled her hair up into a messy bun and wrapped herself up in a white blanket. With the hallway lights now hitting her face, I can really see how sick she’s truly become. She’s much skinnier than she was the last time I saw her, and the bags under her eyes are deep and dark. the girl glances up at me, and I try to keep my heartbreak from seeping onto my face.

“Hey kiddo,” I breathe, momentarily at a loss for words. Up until today, I’ve always seen Wanda as just one of us adults. Of course I’ve known that she’s a teenager, but she’s just always held herself to such a high standard of presentation that it’s been hard to tell her apart from the others. Peter’s obviously the baby of the team, and I honestly would usually forget that he and Wanda were similar in age. But now, looking at the broken girl in front of me, it’s really sinking in how young she is, and maybe how wrong it’s been of me to treat her like something she’s not. “I made us some tea,” I say finally. “Will you come sit with me?” A look of great hesitancy flashes in her eyes. “I just wanna talk.”

“Nothing to talk about,” she mumbles quietly.

I raise my eyebrows gently at her, trying to hold onto her gaze. I know that’s not true, I want to say, but I don’t want to push her into anything, especially not right here in the hallway. “It’s lavender tea. Please? I’ve missed you,” I try. Wanda sighs, her eyes dropping to the floor.

“Fine,” she gives in. Smiling at her gratefully, I lead the way back through the hallway and out into the common space.

The girl follows slowly behind me, her feet dragging painfully beneath her. A warm, rich lavender scent hits us as we enter the room, and she looks up for a moment, a softness forming on her face. Walking her over to the table, I pull out the chair at the head for her. Carefully and slowly, she lowers herself down. I take a seat next to her, wrapping a hand around my mug.

The teen peers down at her own and brings her shaking hands up to clasp it on both sides. The mug rattles slightly against the table from her quivering, and I’m concerned to find that tears have built up in her eyes. “Wanda,” I begin sadly. “Hey-”

“Sorry,” she mumbles, bringing a shaking hand up and wiping at her eyes harshly. “Thank you, Steve. You- you didn’t have to do this.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I murmur softly, “and of course; I just hope it helps, even a little.” Wanda raises the mug to her lips and takes a swallow, her tears spilling over and running down her cheeks as she blinks. Setting her mug down, she dabs at her face with the blanket. Her eyes stay low, unable to face me. “Wanda,” I say again, wrapped up in so much sadness and worry for the poor girl. “Can you look at me?”

“I’m sorry,” she replies again, shaking her head. “I’m just- I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” I reassure her quickly, “it’s okay to cry. I won’t judge you for that.”

“I’m fine, I-I promise. I-” She chokes on her words, hiccuping as another round of tears hit. “-I-I’m fine, Steve.”

“Wanda,” I breathe, wishing so badly I knew what was troubling the kid. “Please. Tell me what’s going on.” Her head hangs low, her gaze locked on the table beneath her as she continues to cry, not even attempting to wipe away the evidence anymore. Her tears drip down onto the surface, forming a puddle next to her mug. “I promise, no matter what it is, it’s safe to tell me. I just wanna help you, kiddo.”

“D-don’t call me that,” she snaps coldly, the edge to her voice taking me aback. “Please,” she continues after a moment of silence, softer this time, “just don’t. I-I’m not a kid. Not yours, or anyone else’s,” she says coldly, her voice laced with a thick venom of hurt. “I’m not a child. I need to stop acting like one.”

“No. Wanda, stop,” I beg, hating how hard she is on herself. “You’re still a kid, to me and to everyone else. I know we don’t act like it, and we should. I’m sorry, Wanda. We put way too much pressure on you. You have an old soul, and wisdom well beyond your years. But in the end, you’re still a kid. And we don’t take care of you like we should.”

“I don’t need taking care of,” the girl shakes her head. “I’m not Willa, or Peter, or- or…”

“But you’re you, Wanda,” I tell her softly, and her eyes finally find their way up to meet with mine. “And you deserve to be cared for too, just like Willa and Peter.” A fresh round of tears build up in her eyes as she keeps her gaze locked on mine, a sense of overwhelming longing appearing on her face. Her bottom lip begins to tremble and I lean in closer to her, asking her gently, “Please, Wanda. Will you let me take care of you?”

She blinks, a stray tear trailing down her cheek and off her chin. What she says next sets off a familiar alarm in my mind, her words dripping with vulnerability. “Y-you won’t believe me.”

“I know you think that, and I don’t know how I could convince you otherwise, but I promise you, Wanda, I promise you: I will believe you. I know you wouldn’t lie to me. I know you’re scared; you’re terrified, and that’s okay. I’m right here for you, I just need you to let me in.”

The teen takes in a shaky breath, closing her eyes for a few seconds as if to collect herself. When she opens them again, she looks back over at me, fear lingering in her gaze. “I-I didn’t want it,” she stammers. “I promise, I-I didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, not understanding.

“I tried to stop them- I tried, but they h-had my hands wrapped up and- and th-they were stronger than me, and I-I-”

“Woah, okay. Slow down. Deep breaths,” I murmur, not wanting the girl to work herself up into a panic attack. “Who was this? Was it when you were back in captivity?” Wanda nods, her fragile frame shaking against her chair. “Do you know who it was?”

“Th-they came every day to question us… there were three of them. Th-they didn’t give their names.”

“Okay, and you said they had your hands wrapped up? So you couldn’t use your powers?” She nods again in confirmation. “Okay. And they brought you to an interrogation room?” Another nod. “What did they do to you in there?”

Her head falls and she chokes back a sob, her hands squeezing into fists as they rest against the table. “I swear, Steve, I didn’t want it, I-I tried to make them stop, b-begged them to stop,” she stutters. “I screamed ‘no’ over and over… th-they just taped my mouth shut when they got sick of it… or th-they, th-they shoved their…”

My heart drops into the pit of my stomach as my worst fears are confirmed. “Oh my god. Wanda,” I breathe, shaking my head in shock.

“Please,” she whimpers, her eyes still squeezed shut as tears pour down her face. “I-I’ll show you the bruises, I-I’ll let you see the memories, please, Steve, please believe me.” And as I continue to watch my friend sob quietly in her seat, an overwhelming urge washes over me to just hold her, to somehow show her that the information she’s shared is safe with me.

Rising slowly from my seat, I approach the crying girl, reaching out my arms and wrapping them gently around her. At the contact, she only sobs harder, leaning her face against my shoulder. With little difficulty, I lift her up and carry her over to the couch, sitting down and placing her on top of my lap. Even though she’s always been a small girl, the lack of weight I feel on top of me is highly concerning.

I take a soothing hand and begin running it over her hair, talking softly to her as she cries. “I believe you, Wanda. I believe you,” I promise her.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” she sobs into my shoulder, and I shush her gently, shaking my head.

“No, no sorry’s,” I coo. “You were so brave to tell me. I’m so proud of you, kiddo.” The girl only clings to me and continues to cry, and I keep my hand running over her hair, rocking her slightly back and forth, hoping the movements won’t be too obvious but still enough to somewhat soothe her.

“D-do you hate me now?” she asks through her tears, her head pulling back to look me in the eyes. My heart breaks all over when I see they’re filled with fear.

“No, of course not. I could never hate you, Wanda. What those men- those monsters- did to you says nothing about you as a person. You’re still good. You’re still so incredibly good, all the way down to your bones.” A slight hint of relief appears on her face, but she remains mostly wary. Brushing back her stray bangs out of her face, I lock eyes with hers. “Look at me, Wanda.” She does, her eyes filling with tears once more. “You are good. Still as good as you’ve ever been. They didn’t take that from you.”

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#faad #faad: i believe you #eun's writing #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers series #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #hurt/comfort #steve rogers x child!oc #dad!steve rogers #the avengers #avengers fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfiction #captain america #captain america fanfiction

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