#i have NEVER received a single fucking DIAGNOSIS much less any FUCKING HELP

[nexus-nebulae]

stupid fucking broken body

#low health #i haven't had a single second of feeling no pain in my entire memory #i can't do a single thing without hurting #not even laying completely still in bed completely flat and straight #i can't even lay like a goddamn corpse without being in pain what kind of fucking bullshit body is this #i did a symptom assessment and the symptoms list was more than twice as long as my phone screen #and the text was fucking TINY too aha #there isn't a single part of my body that works like it's supposed to and that's not an exaggeration #so many people always assume it's hyperbole but it never ever is #everyone always assumes i hyperbolize and dramaticize and exaggerate and play it up for pity #or whatever other insidious shit they always assume I'm doing #to a point where I'm starting to HAVE to play it up now because nobody will fucking listen #and if the only thing that works is 'im literally fucking dying' then fuck me i guess #they treat me like a boy who cried wolf without ever even bothering to fucking check if i was right #and I'm surrounded by fucking wolves now but everyone's so busy ignoring what i say they can't even see the fucking wolves #i first started getting joint pain when i was FOURTEEN and i have gotten *how many treatments?* #ABSOLUTELY FUCKING ZERO. #i have NEVER received a single fucking DIAGNOSIS much less any FUCKING HELP #and it has been OVER SIX YEARS #and i have been telling my doctors over and over that i am rapidly deteriorating and won't be able to MOVE for much longer #and they WON'T EVEN SET ME UP WITH AN APPOINTMENT WITH THE SPECIALIST CLINIC. #i am so fucking angry and so fucking tired and I'm quite literally reaching my fucking breaking point #i haven't had this bad of a mental state since my ABUSIVE GASLIGHTING TRANSPHOBIC ABLEIST EX #and if THIS is making me revert back to THAT then IT'S FUCKING SEVERE AND I SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN HELP YEARS AGO #i am fully and wholly being genuinely neglected and left to die #and the ONLY person who seems to genuinely give a shit about me is about just as restricted by circumstance and health #so we can barely even help each other even if we want to

[wizkiddx]

work with me

this is for @worldoftom 'lolbrosgetsicktoo' challenge event thing - go check it out bcos lots of much better writers have got involved too✨! I'm v new to these things but I tried :) the prompt was: 'would you quit whining and just get in the bath' . (also look at me acc posting sort of regularly, who'd of thought?!?!)

warnings: sickness / fever (more dramatic than it needs to be) / LOTS of medical inaccuracies

summary: when tom doesn't take advice and ends up very ill, very far from home, there's one person whose stuck dealing with it

“Please Tom… I need you to work with me!”

It wasn’t his fault he was being a complete nightmare, though your patience was wearing off somewhat.

For context, you were in Morocco, where he had been filming part of his next film, which only made trying to take care of him that bit harder.

Everyone got ill sometimes. It wasn’t his fault.

That was the mantra ringing through your head, even if you had a more challenging time believing it. Tom wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to joke about it. HOWEVER, what he was less good at was heeding warnings. He was a white boy in Morrocco; the health and safety briefing had literally been aimed at him. Had he taken the advice not to eat any dodgy looking meats at the market?

Of course not; that’d be boring.

Everyone else was fine. You’d all sampled Morroccos culture without giving yourselves the worst case of food poisoning you’d ever witnessed. But not Tom - possibly one of the only ‘indispensable’ people on the set. If you, or one of the minor characters, or even the director, had got ill - the show could continue.

When you’d been rudely awoken by your phone going off, you’d known instantly. It was as if you’d told him not to take a bite out of the weird burger once you were away from the eager view of the street vendor. Sure enough, with bleary eyes, you hissed at the brightness of the phone screen before seeing ‘Tom H’ on the screen.

“Y/n?” His voice was croaky, but just from the single call of your name, it was clear he was feeling sorry for himself.

“Are you okay? It’s late T.”

“Um I… can you come over? You…you might need the key I’m - um- in the bathroom.”

As his stylist, it technically wasn’t part of your job description to also be mother when he was sick, but (unfortunately for you) after the 3 years working side by side with him - you were also friends.

Which you were almost regretting by the second time rinsing the toilet bowl clean after he’d evacuated what seemed to be the majority of his vital organs into it. Honestly, it was impressive how he managed to keep going.

That had been at around 4 in the morning- the doctor had been called at 8, coinciding beautifully with his 5th toilet extravaganza. Once the doctor had confirmed your original, if completely unqualified, diagnosis of food poisoning - you hadn’t been able to bite your tongue. Perhaps an ‘i told you so’ might’ve slipped past your lips, but Tom was a bit too out of it to argue back.

You’d been given firm advice from the doctor - he said little sips of water, rest and control his temperature. It all had seen pretty simple - though the action? Not so much.

It wasn’t his fault, yet Tom was not super compliant. You and Harry had both been taking turns in practically forcing him to take sips of water, having to turn off ‘modern family’ till he did. The blackmail had put you both in his bad book.

Honestly, thank the lord Harry was here too. You’d woken him up at seven, begging for help and since then, you’d tagged teamed. While one was looking after Tom, the other was phoning the director, the doctor, and the crew to inform them of the current situation.

Again, of all people. Why’d it have to be Tom?

Mainly because you knew how mortifying he found this. He didn’t like people fussing over him, never had. He liked to work hard, liked to make people happy - definitely didn’t like to feel a burden. Perhaps what made him feel ten times worse was that he knew he was inconveniencing the whole production team massively.

And yes, as you’d unhelpfully reminded him, it was ‘his fault’.

The lavish hotel room, big bathroom and pretty efficient AC still didn’t manage to mask the pungent in-the-back-of-your-throat smell from the bathroom. At the doctor’s advice, who had been a little concerned at Toms fever, Harry had cranked the AC on high. It had forced you to steal one of Tom’s big hoodies and a pair of joggers- you hadn’t left his room since he first called you, still wearing your tiny pyjama shorts and an old tee.

“Please turn the air con off.” His little voice whined from where he was lying, huddled up under the covers. Perched on the other side of the double bed, but over the covers with your laptop on his lap, you could actually feel him shivering with the chills. It felt like you were torturing the poor boy.

“T you know I can’t. It’ll make your fever worse.” The way he looked up at you, like a little Labrador that you were refusing to pet, actually pained your heart.

Okay, so yes it was his fault, but you weren’t mad, you just felt so awful for him.

“Please I’ll- I’ll pay you more.” His voice was hoarse; though he denied a sore throat, it sounded like the constant sickness was burning his windpipe.

“Tommm” you pouted, sticking your bottom lip out “I don’t want your money, want you to get better.”

Apparently giving up, brown eyes shot you the filthiest look in disappointment, rolling to face away from you. You thought he was giving you the silent treatment in a huff, but instead, he was praying on the weaker one.

“Harry, I’ll buy you that set of golf clubs-“

“NO!” You had to interrupt before Harry would say yes - because from the way his younger brother shot up from the arm chair, he was about to. Scowling eyes slowly focused back on you in annoyance, making you huff - shutting the laptop and kneeling on the bed to face him. After pressing the back of your palm to his forehead, which was scorching hot, you sighed. “I know you feel shitty and I’m so so sorry but I’m trying to make you better. So shut up, drink this and go to sleep!”

Like a child scorned, you received another death glare however, then he complied, taking a sip of the water you offered before lying back - huddling even tighter.

And it had been relatively peaceful for a few hours; Tom seemed to be getting some sleep - even if he was tossing and turning. Eventually, a prescription that the doctor had requested worked its way through the system, Harry getting a text to say he could go pick it up. The nearest pharmacy was probably a 30 minute drive from the hotel, so he left as soon as.

This left you alone with Tom, where the situation only descended into more chaos.

Almost as soon as Harry had left, Tom had stirred with a grunt. All it took was one look at his face for you to know. Both of you leapt up and flew into the toilet, Tom once again getting very familiar with the Moroccan toilet bowl.

This time though, when he had leant backwards, he’d sort of lost control and flopped most the way - you catching him before he could hit his head on the tiled floor.

“Woah, easy there!” It wasn’t like he’d passed out, but the look in his eye as he slumped into your lap… he wasn’t all there either. “Hey Tom… you with me? Tom?”

Lazily he blinked up at you, not really replying except for groans of half-formed words.

Deciding this had all got a bit direr, you almost sprinted back into the room, grabbing your phone and returning. He was still on the floor, his thumb and first finger pressing into each eye - groaning again.

“Hey Tom? I’m gonna call the doctor you need anything?” He whined in response, stopping only when you stroked his sweaty hair back, most of your attention on dialling the correct number.

The solution he’d given wasn’t pretty: Tom’s fever was too high hence why he was all woozy and groany. Until the doctor could get over with the stronger medications, you needed to lower his temperature in other ways or take him to hospital. He’d absolutely hate hospital, but the other choice? Boy, was he not going to like it either.

Ignoring Tom’s croaked question of what you were doing, you busied yourself switching on the bath taps. You let the water run until it was the right (very mild) temperate, then turned back to Tom, who’d managed to work himself up to sit against the sink unit.

“The doctor says you need it.” His brain was foggy, his mind was slow but your tone told him enough to know something was wrong with the bath. “Just take your clothes off and then I’ll help you-“

“Absolutely fucking not.” Good. He was still with it enough to argue.

“I am just as uncomfortable as you are Tom, but we both know you can’t stand up without fainting, so you are going to need my help.”

“Y/n!”

“Keep your boxers on and it’s just like a fitting! I’ve seen you have those before!”

It was clear as day just how emasculated he felt, especially because he knew you were right. Sitting up at this current moment was a push; there was no way he was getting in the bath without some help. Defeatedly he nodded, but gave you a piercing look to turn around before he started wiggling himself out of the flannel pyjama trousers and light cotton t-shirt. Most confusingly, he still felt freezing cold, yet he had long since learned not to argue with you - especially when your justification came from the advice of a doctor.

Your cue to turn around came in the form of an extra angry-sounding grunt- the look you got when you did wasn’t much better either. It was a weird contrast, though, having someone who physically appeared so indestructible (a superhero for crying out loud); to have been absolutely beaten to a pulp by a few mouth fulls of weird meat. You had seen his bare torso before, although it still wasn’t something easy to get used to - making you clench your teeth together just slightly. A very welcome view.

Perhaps you looked just a little too long at the man who was technically your boss, hunched angrily on the floor in nothing but his calvins - another grunt shaking you out of it. By now, the bath was almost full and you hurried to shut off the water, feeling your cheeks heat up as you cursed silently to yourself.

“Okay come on, gimme your arm.” Begrudgingly Tom followed your request, slinging his arm heavily over your shoulder as you crouched beside him. As strong as he looked, you knew right now he felt powerlessly weak - all that muscle was just going to be almost dead weight.

Now it was your turn to grunt and groan as you pulled Tom up to stand, him focusing on blinking away the headrush he got.

“Come on T work with me here.” Getting him to the side of the bath wasn’t too difficult, the issue came when he stepped with one foot into the bath and yelped, instantly withdrawing as if it was a literal ice bath.

The sudden movement had you both losing balance, ending with Tom sitting on the edge of the bath and you leaning over him, in between his legs, and slapping your hand on the wall opposite purely so you both didn’t end up in the bath.

“Tom!”

“It’s like ice water!”

“Its lukewarm like the doctor said!”

“It is not its from the fucking arctic!”

“Oh for god sake!” Exasperated, you paced up and down the bathroom shaking your head at his ridiculousness. This was ALL. HIS. FAULT.

You came back to him with an ultimatum.

“It’s this or the doctor said I had to drag your ass to hospital.”

“Nooooooo.” The 25 year old seemed to convert into a whiny three year old again.

“Those are the two options. So will you PLEASE quit complaining and get in the bath.”

Keeping up the toddler persona, Tom huffed but reluctantly nodded in agreement - you had come up trumps. It didn’t stop him yelping when you helped to lower him in. His breath was shaky, as a response to the ‘cold’, but he was firming it. At least when you felt his forehead after a couple of minutes, it certainly seemed as though the fever was starting to ease off .

“You can go if you want.” His voice was murmured and as you looked up at him, he did his very best to avoid your gaze.

“Not a chance, if you drown on my watch, Nikki will never forgive me.” At the very least he seemed to appreciate your joke, scoffing a little with a small nod. “If you don’t want me here I get it. As soon as Harry’s back, I’ll swap with him.”

“No! It’s not that its… I’m just an ass when I’m ill.”

“A self aware ass, though.” Again he chuckled a little, as you folded your arms on the edge of the porcelain tub, resting your head lying to one side. “You had me pretty scared there for a moment, you know?”

He nodded a little, creating a wave of ripples in the water which you watched to avoid his gaze - which you knew was tracing all your features inquisitively.

“Hey it’s in the job description, always a bit dramatic... I’m sorry though I should never of called you- don’t know why I didn’t just get Harry.” In response you tutted, taking a moment to lean up and push his sweaty curls back a bit.

Just because you could, it was allowed in this moment.

“’m glad you did.”

“Yeh me too” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut in the easy silence of the bathroom. You kept a vigilant eye on him for the next 20 minutes, checking the temperature of his forehead using the back of your hand, whilst he seemed to finally get a bit of proper restbite, appearing like the worst had passed. You had no idea what was taking Harry so long; in fact it was the doctor that arrived first- who you ran to let in (not wanting to leave Tom asleep in the bath one bit).

Whilst the doctor did all his checks, taking his temperature properly this time, satisfied that it was much more manageable. He still wanted to set him up with some oral rehydration rescue packs to get his hydration status a bit better and give some anti-sickness tablets and antipyretics.

Having actually been getting some rest before all the prodding and poking, Tom was back to being a grumbling dick - now not wanting to leave the bath (the irony was real - making you roll your eyes). Once again, he appeared embarrassed to have you see him like this, so you left the doctor to help him get out and changed- instead going down to reception to get a fresh set of sheets, as he’d done a pretty impressive job of sweating through the old ones.

Even if tired and grumpy, when Tom exited the bathroom, he looked much better - he was walking himself without the doctor’s help. Which honestly was such a relief because when he had passed out on you, you genuinely were terrified. Thankfully the doctor stayed for the next 20 or so minutes, which was just when Harry returned with a bag of medications - which were now wholly redundant, given the doctor had already supplied everything.

“What happened?” Harry asked you in a hushed voice, whilst Tom was distracted with getting his medications. Recounting the story of Tom pretty much passing out, Harry grimaced for you, then launching over to give you a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” That was a novel idea, you hadn’t really thought about yourself at all - but honestly, you were a bit shaken, having been running on adrenalin for most of the night.

“I-uhm… yeh I think so… just-just was a bit scared, I guess? Felt bad too because he didn’t want me there but-“

“I can promise you Y/n, he did want you there. Just probably embarrassed he wasn’t all manly and that…” With a nod, you smiled softly at the frizzy-haired boy.

Whilst working with Tom, it also meant getting pretty close to his younger brother. The two Hollands were almost attached at the hip, which you were very much okay with.

It was weird though... your relationships were completely different. Harry was just your brother, through and through. He wound you up like a sibling but also knew you as if he had your whole life. With Tom… it wasn’t that. Arguably, you were closer to Tom, but on a different level. It was more exciting, more nerve-wracking and heartwarming all at the same time. Honestly, you couldn’t get your head around it properly.

“Hey, you’re probably shattered. Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep? I got it in here.” You knew Hary was trying to offer something nice, and now all the excitement had worn off, you were unbelievably shattered. But you didn’t like the idea of not being there, as a just in case.

“Uhm, I think I might just stay, you know?” And he did, with a deliberate, knowing smile, he nodded.

He knew you were worried. He knew Tom had really really scared you. He also knew how much you cared about his brother.

Just like how Harry knew Tom wanted you there, even if he felt embarrassed. Well, anyone would- when you are passing out half-naked in front of the one person that really matters.

It was just at this point that the doctor was done, giving Harry instructions about the rest of the day, when you made a beeline for the bed. Tom was propped up against the headboard, still with a pale sullen look and tired eyes, but a bit less clammy and more human. He cracked a smile as you crawled up onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to him.

“How’re you doin’?”

“All drugged up, just feel fucking exhausted.” Instinctively you reached up to feel his forehead, really appreciating the fact it felt almost normal.

“Join the club mate, I had a 5am wake up call too.” You almost whispered, intending to make Tom laugh, but instead only getting a pout.

“I am sorry, a-are you going to go back to your room?”

“Nah” Tom’s eyes didn’t light up, except the fact that they very much did. “Can’t trust you not to get into trouble while I’m gone Holland.”

“Thanks.” He laughed weakly before shimmying down on the bed, so he was much more comfortable. “And thankyou, I-I’m sorry I’m a dickhead and made your life-“

“Shut up Tom!” Laughing, you lightly slapped his arm, also leaning down on the bed, so you were lying facing him. “You’re all feverish; go to sleep before you say something stupid.”

There was a long pause, Tom just gazing deep into your eyes, because he was pretty sure what he was thinking was nothing to do with the dodgy unidentified meat he’d had the evening before.

“What... like asking you out?”

…..

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so stupid.”

~~~~im really not sure how I feel about this one, let me know what you thought ;) ~~~~

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter@hollandfanficlove

#tomholland #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n #hurt comfort #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #harry holland

[samtheflamingomain]

new diagnosis, who dis?

Well boys, she was a good temporary label, CFS was, but the science has finally caught up to my galaxy brain.

And that galaxy is uncharted territory.

I've got "idiopathic hypersomnia" (IH). I love when they say what they mean. Translated literally from Latin, it means "too tired (hyper+somnia) without explanation (idio+pathic)". Because it's shorter to say, will require less explanation, and the two are almost the exact same disease, I'll be referring to it at narcolepsy type 2.

There's no cure, no treatments, and few studies. The few that have been done show absolutely no improvements, and all end with "inconclusive". Long story short, nobody gets better once they get sick, usually around age 21, just like me, and it's all downhill from there.

Let's just quickly describe it for clarity. Narcolepsy 1 causes tiredness and sudden muscle paralysis or "sleep attacks" and traces back to a gene mutation that's treatable. N2 is characterized by having extreme tiredness but no paralysis, and no association with that N1 gene. You have to be sleeping an average of 10h/night (check) and have a normal-looking sleep study (check). The reason my doctor changed me from CFS to N2 is because a) he only just learned of it and b) I don't have a lot of symptoms of CFS, pretty much just the tiredness.

Practically, nothing has changed. I'm still fucking tired. But now I know there's a near-0 chance that I will ever feel awake again.

CFS patients are about 50/50 when it comes to successfully managing fatigue with medication and making life mostly "normal". A lot like depression, it can become a matter of throwing a dart at a board of drugs to try and hoping one's a bullseye eventually. Now there's no board.

So... not the best news. In fact, this is probably the worst news I've ever received. In one 45-minute phone call, any hope I had of getting better was completely obliterated.

My psychiatrist has been working with me for about 6 years. I've tried every drug under the sun for every goddamn mental illness, but there's one (1) symptom that has never, ever changed: my level of exhaustion.

While tiredness is a common feature of mental illness, every single time my psychiatrist asks what my biggest concern is, it's that I'm still tired. 10/10. I'm currently on the highest dose of Adderall and I don't have ADHD. I should be tripping on meth, but instead I'm nodding away as I type. It's a good thing I've never given into the obvious temptation of doing cocaine, because even cocaine would not make me wake up.

I've never had jet lag, but other people who have N2 find it helpful to explain that it feels like you're always living with jet lag. For me, it's like living with an anchor around my brain weighing it down. The kind of tired that just absolutely knocks you on your ass.

And it never. Ever. Ever. Goes. Away.

In many ways, I'm grateful to have found my forever diagnosis (hopefully). I scored a perfect 50/50 on the diagnostic test, and alongside what appears to be a completely normal sleep study, I'm pretty sure they've finally gotten it right. It's common enough that it's being studied, but rare enough that there's not much money in making drugs for it. So I'm extremely, extremely depressed and hopeless.

I thought one day I'd be better. I really did. I'm a pretty jaded person, but today I realized just how much holding onto that sliver of hope that I'd one day "wake up again" was keeping me together. I've always wanted to travel the world. That's out. Same with holding down a full-time job. CFS, like depression, can be hard to treat - but it's almost never impossible. Now the opposite is true. Chances are 99/100 that I won't live long enough to ever wake up rested ever again in my entire life.

If I'm not living to hopefully one day get better, what am I living for at all? I always say I can't imagine living another week/month/year of this, but I always do, because there was always that chance that the right medication was just around the corner, and my life would "begin" again.

But now, the "right drug" isn't "just around the corner" - it's stuck in traffic on the DVP West at rush hour. From the day a disease gets recognized to the day it's cured is not going to be any less than 15-20 years.

I'm seeing my family doctor (GP) in a week. At that appointment, I will be requesting a MAID evaluation. One cannot obtain legal euthenasia in Canada when you only have a mental illness, or an illness where recovery is possible. Now, I have an incurable neurological disorder with 0 quality of life.

I'm not waiting another 7 years. I'm not waiting another month. I did my time. If I'd known it was never going to change from day one, I wouldn't have bothered slogging through it. So why keep going now?

Maybe I'll stick it out a bit longer, try and experience a few things on my bucket list, but 90% of that list involved me one day being awake.

This is it. The last straw. The final card in the shitty hand I was dealt in life. Deal me out.

#idiopathic hypersomnia #narcolepsy #sam #depression

[samsoleil]

you can now read the homeschooled au on ao3! or you can keep reading here. in this installment, the boys go to a mall for the first time and have an Experience™

(cw for sensory overload, if that's something that doesn't quite butter your bread roll)

One day, Sam realised that their dad was just a person.

He can’t remember the conversation, if it could be called that, in its entirety. But what he does remember with a surreal vividness is seeing Dad’s face, cold and hard with rage and frustration, and thinking, I don’t understand. Real life doesn’t have those scenes where the camera cuts to the perfect moment to explain the characters’ motivations. Dad had a whole life before Sam and lives most of his existence separate from Sam, with his own ideas and interpretations and some sort of equation that added one dead wife and two kids and came up with the mess that’s been Sam’s life so far. This experience of the world, a mark of being human.

And that thought was like a spotlight had been shone on Sam’s little corner of the world, this glaring thing, an unavoidable truth. It isn’t always there but, when it is, it’s inescapable. If Sam’s honest, it’s fuelled the fire in more than one of his arguments with their dad. Sam wonders if this is how Eve felt after biting into the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, cursed with a realisation that can’t ever be unlearned.

But Dean’s different. Dean’s life isn’t this impossible, untouchable thing like Dad’s is; it’s Sam’s life, too, this thing they share, and Dean lives life more than anyone else Sam's met. Admittedly, Sam can name the amount of people he's actually met, beyond the handful of cashiers he's made uncomfortable eye contact with, on one hand. But he can't imagine that anyone who's ever spoken to Dean has left the conversation thinking, Well, he doesn't experience life as much as I do.

That’s not the point. The point is, Sam’s become accustomed to the concept that people in the real world have thoughts and feelings and lives that Sam will never know. But he and Dean had wanted to try going to a mall for lunch, instead of their usual cafés, and Sam had no idea that you could find this many people in a single place.

"Wow," he says, standing with Dean in the doorway.

There really are just so many of them. Parents with their kids, old couples, gaggles of teenagers laughing and shouting. Sam sees a group of girls around Dean's age in bright colours, hair falling in a sheet around their shoulders. He sees two young parents with their baby, jostling them up and down as they wail, drawing dirty looks from a couple of older women chatting over coffee. Everything is fluorescent bulbs and colour and sound. It's wonderful. It's horrible. There are so many of them and Sam has no idea who any of them are. It’s the Tree of Knowledge again, if biting into fruit was comparable to plummeting off a cliff, and he doesn't think he’d be able to handle feeling like this all the time. It's almost too much, to think that everyone here is just as alive as Sam and Dean.

Sam reaches out slightly to tangle his fingers between Dean's. Dean's hand relaxes easily, less soft and larger than Sam's, and grips him reassuringly after Sam's fingers are threaded with his. He feels better, after that. He watches the small family as the baby suddenly stops crying, their mother pressing a pacifier into their mouth and receiving a gummy smile. Genetically, a person's DNA is half their mother and half their father. Sam has a matching theory about himself as a whole. Half of Sam is characters from books, TV shows, movies, and half of Sam is Dean.

He follows after Dean as they move out of the doorway, away from Sam's sudden movie moment, and they melt into the crowd. It's even worse once they get in there, and Sam keeps overhearing snippets of conversation, fragments of this bustling chaos of lives.

"-working Friday, and I don't know if-"

There's a girl with an ear full of piercings, silver and solid, wearing all black with ripped jeans and a leather jacket-

"-assignment? I haven't-"

-and the sun streaming in through one of the windows flashes off the glass of one of the stores, momentarily turning Sam's vision white, and it's enough to make his eyes sting-

"-Sarah, Katy, wai-"

-while the air is filled with the scent of a hundred different foods, sweet as spun sugar one second and then the smoky thickness of meat, and Sam's head turns to follow the smell of flowers carried by the curls of a dark-skinned man in jeans-

"-long black, two sugars. Do you ha-"

-who greets an older woman with greying hair, and Sam turns back to face the direction they're heading and sees a crowd of people too thick to move through.

"-believe, I mean, it was so-"

He squeezes Dean's hand. Dean squeezes back. Sam squeezes again, and they have a back and forth for a minute or so as they wait for a space to open up in the crowd ahead of them. Sam knows what the person at the counter is ordering and what the people at the table behind them did for their weekend and what Donnie did to Amy, did you hear?

I heard, Sam thinks viciously, Everyone in a ten mile radius heard, can you shut up?

And then he feels bad, because it's not their fault it's so loud in here. He can barely hear himself think. He can't even hear himself breathe, can just feel his lungs inhaling and exhaling in his chest. The functional unit of the lungs are small sacs called alveoli that have walls one cell thin, and the culmination of Sam's can usually run a five minute mile but today, now, they're barely keeping him standing.

"-diagnosis, it all happened so fast-"

It's been a minute since he last squeezed Dean's hand, so he squeezes again. And Dean squeezes back, hard, and that seems to help the frantic energy building in Sam's body, so when Dean starts to relax his hand Sam squeezes again and he doesn't let go.

"-don't know what I'd do-"

And Dean looks back, and something must show in Sam's face, because then they're moving, the crowd be damned. Someone brushes against Sam and he feels every part of it, too aware of the fabric of their shirt brushing against Sam's flannel. Someone else steps on the side of his shoe and he wants to step on them back, wants them to finish the job, wants to break out of his body. Dean's squeezing Sam's hand hard enough that he feels the bones in his hand shift, but it's all he has, right now. The rest of him is too busy paying attention to everything else.

"-rotten leaf in my salad, I want-"

There's a group of children laughing and stumbling over their feet, their mothers following behind with gentle smiles and chattering conversation, and Sam feels this tug of want-

"-failed my midterms, so I just-"

-and there's someone in a bright, multicoloured jacket holding hands with a girl dressed in all denim, laughing as they reach up to gently grasp her chin and lean in-

"-loud in here, do you want-"

-so Sam looks away, and no matter where he looks there's another person, another family, another store, another thing bright and beautiful and he can't take it, okay, it's just too much-

"-I said, that's crazy, no way-"

-for him to handle right now, the everything of it all, the thought that, all this time, the entire world has existed just outside of their motel room and he's barely a part of it.

"-beautiful, Mary-"

Sam's heart jolts in his chest.

I can't do this, he thinks desperately, still moving with Dean, pulled along by him, his hand encompassed by Dean's. He tamps down the visceral urge to just lie down here, press himself into the tile and be consumed. He sidesteps a puddle of someone's chocolate thickshake, his stomach turning over. He can feel the slick of his sweat between Dean's large, warm hand and his own. Part of him wants to tug away to dry his palm on his jeans, but he feels like he might fall apart if he does.

Dean leads him into a store and the temperature change shocks him, sending shivers cascading down his spine, and Sam feels suddenly unwell, like when he has the flu. But it's quieter in here, the cacophony of the mall muted by the racks of clothing. The fluorescents take all the red away, leaving Dean wearing an ugly brown flannel, and that sick feeling grows stronger. Sam closes his eyes, letting Dean guide him. He flinches at the clatter as Dean pulls something off the rack, the hanger tapping plastic against metal railing, and lets himself be swept along, around a corner and into a changing room, Dean pulling the curtains closed.

Sam bypasses the bench to sit down on the floor, gaze fixed on where the curtain brushes against the faux wood linoleum. He can still hear the chatter in the store, muffled as if underwater.

Dean crouches down in front of him, breaking his line of sight, but Sam can't move. He can't stay still. He's going to fall apart. He's going to turn to stone. He wants to run, run, out through the mall and back home, he wants to crawl into Dean's chest and stay there forever and never go outside again. Fuck outside. Outside is overrated. Outside is filled with people who couldn't give less of a shit about Sam, going about their days while he falls apart in the middle of a food court. Outside is filled with people who aren't Sam and Dean, living TV lives while they spin out on some highway in Nowhere, America.

"Sammy?" Dean says, and it's so loud, what the hell, Dean.

Sam untangles himself from his little ball of limbs to silently shoosh him, and he watches as the tense line of Dean's shoulders relax infinitesimally from where they were hitched up around his ears, all worry. Dean bats his hands away gently, fine, fine, he'll be quiet.

What happened? asks the moue of Dean's mouth, the furrow between his brows.

Sam shrugs.

That's not an answer.

And Sam knows it's not, but how is he meant to explain it when even he doesn't know what happened? It was just everything, all at once, and it crept under Sam's skin and into his head and he couldn't escape it. He looks up at Dean, helpless, and Dean's hands come up to cradle his face and it's alright. It'll be okay. Sam tips his head into the warmth of Dean's skin, lets his eyes fall closed.

Someone laughs from in the store and Sam flinches, then feels Dean's hands move to cover his ears instead. Sam sighs and leans into Dean's chest. He expects to hate it, being touched, worries that he'll want to shed his skin in a heap at the feeling of it, but it's Dean. Sam presses his forehead into Dean's ribs firm enough to bruise, and Dean pulls him along as he reshuffles on the floor so that Sam is between his legs, wrapped in warmth, anchored to the world. He moves his hands away from Sam's ears and Sam, with a bitter-sick feeling of betrayal, clamps his own over them, pressing hard. But Dean puts his hands on Sam's back instead, rubbing soothingly, and that's better than anything else.

A few moments pass, quietly, just the two of them. Sam’s still stuck in his head, which is tuned into the world like a radio turned up too high, but he does his best to focus on the smooth movements of Dean’s hands up and down his back, fingers running over the knobs of his spine. They’re called spinous processes, and they lengthen throughout the cervical spine but are mostly the same size in the thoracic spine. Sam checked. Dean kicked up only a little bit of a fuss. And when Sam realises that he’s playing that memory in his head, eyelids heavy, he notices that he’s feeling a little better.

As if reading his mind, Dean moves his hands to rest on Sam’s arms, and Sam settles back. He takes his hands away from his ears, blinking hard. His chest feels a bit tight, but he’s okay. He conveys as much to Dean, who looks over him, expression doubtful. But when he sees Sam watching his face he plasters on a grin, rubbing Sam’s arms quickly through his shirt before he moves back, too.

Dean signs for Baby. They don’t have to stay.

Part of Sam wants to leave, but it feels like giving up. And he wants to try the mall, was excited until he became overwhelmed and, if he tries, he can make the adrenaline feel more like anticipation.

“I want to stay." He accompanies the words with their signs. “Can we get pizza?”

Dean kept bringing it up in the car, subtle as a truck, and Sam saw some slices of a vegetarian pizza through the glass of one of the counters. It’s an easy choice to make. Sam doesn’t really feel like pizza, but he knows that Dean will try to cheer him up the same way he cheers himself up. And it works, for the most part. Dean just hasn’t quite realised that the main reason why is because Sam likes seeing Dean happy.

And, fine. Sam knows Dean needs him to be happy, too, and maybe that plays a bigger part in it all than Sam would care to admit. He knows that if he asked to leave, they would be as good as gone. It's enough to make him feel lightheaded, sometimes, the things that Dean would do for him. And it's not even because he has to. He chose Sam, over their dad, over hunting, over the chance to be free from Sam's drama forever. So they'll stay, and they'll get pizza, and they'll buy jackets and underwear and Dean's paraphernalia, and then they'll be gone. Sam just needs to hold on for a few more hours.

Dean beams and Sam feels his cheeks flush in response. Dean's so, so proud of him. He circles Sam's heart through his shirt and Sam feels something bright and beautiful settle in him. It’s contagious.

"That's my boy," Dean says, ruffling Sam's hair.

Sam pushes him away gently, reaching up to fix his hair, and Dean rocks back, still wearing that easy smile. Sam has to look away, eyes settling on the amulet sitting on Dean's chest and shining dully in the crappy change room lighting. Sam doesn't know how he does it. Sam knows better than anyone that life isn't always sunshine and roses but, even with Sam losing his grip over and over, Dean's still here. Maybe it's selfish, but Sam can't help but be desperately grateful. He wouldn't trade where they are now for anything. They're alive now in a way they weren't before, and Dean seems to be genuinely enjoying it. Sam wants to love existing that much.

Dean stands and offers him his hand.

One day, maybe I will, Sam thinks, and he reaches out.

#spn #spn hssd au #spn fic #supernatural #stanfordsweaters #still tagging you in these! #spn sam #spn dean #kael.txt #YALL I AM STILL LOSING IT OVER THIS AU..... i will not recover i will not improve that is a promise #if anyone is reading this and wants to see something. please please let me know.

[chickenfreeblog]

chicken i'm a teacher and i feel like a lot of the advice given to teachers for how best to support students with adhd comes from the neurotypical community. things like chunk information into smaller parts, give frequent breaks, use fidget toys, etc. and maybe that's all good advice (??), but is there anything you wish teachers would do differently? things that would give your brain the best chance of learning?

oh man this is such a good thoughtful question & one that i hope every teacher thinks about, but i know it’s tough so i really appreciate that you are!! i think the ones you gave are pretty good practical tips, honestly? i’m hoping other people will jump in because i just have my experience to speak from.

a couple things that i would say that are less... concrete but just stuff i wish my teachers had known:

- the formal dx isn’t everything / don’t assume that kids are neurotypical

i know there’s a lot of paperwork and stuff around these issues for you guys, so this can be a little tough to manage. one thing that happened to me though and that i hear a lot from friends is just like..... it’s hereditary, and also there’s a lot of stigma around being neurodivergent, especially in older generations? i know my mom really pushed back against anyone that suggested that i had adhd, because she has the exact same symptoms and was kind of like Why Are These Teachers Using This Parent Teacher Conference To Call Me a Big Freak. i know other parents that just think it’s too weird to have an nd kid and basically picked any possible weird workaround over getting an actual diagnosis. i think a lot of teachers kind of look at formal dx as a way to separate kids who are lazy but normal from kids who have “real problems,” and that can get really super gnarly if you’re, y’know, a ten year old whose parents just don’t believe in the idea of adhd for whatever reason.

- don’t assume that kids aren’t trying?

i know there’s totally just some kids that need more motivation for whatever reason, but...... i think the flipside is that..... you can also just put a ton of pressure on a kid who is genuinely trying super hard? i think a lot of teachers have a little bit of an idea that there’s a series of magic words that they can say to properly motivate a kid, and then presto, they’ll follow directions and be Fixed. and definitely they mean well!! but also i think you can really easily make a kid shut down if they’re trying their absolute hardest & none of the adults around them are perceiving it at all? it honestly was pretty traumatic to want to be good at school So Badly and still have every adult be constantly like okay...... we need to talk about why you’re lazy and don’t care and why you’re shitty at this, actually. i think my best teachers just really had a sense of humor about the fact that i was going to misunderstand stuff or forget deadlines and that it wasn’t a matter of them teaching it badly or me not caring to learn.

- if you figure out how to work with one kid with adhd..... congratulations you figured out how to work with one (1) kid with adhd

this is something that autistic people have talked about a lot, but i think it also really holds true for adhd? my partner and i always make each other a lil crazy because despite having Same Guy Disease we have uhhh completely opposite needs. jay’s dyslexic mcfuck and he wants verbal instructions and someone to talk to basically every waking minute or he’s like I’M BORED I NEED TASKS NOW!!! IMMEDIATELY!!! I’M POKING THE WORLD WITH A STICK. DO SOMETHING. whereas i..... cannot interpret verbal instructions worth one good goddamn and if you give me strict instructions and deadlines with no wiggle room i’ll simply get claustrophobic and die. like my ideal school situation is someone gives me a textbook full of problems and they sit in another room and never speak to me unless i have a question. genuinely. i know there’s some skepticism in ed about learning styles, but i do think for people with Sensory Stuff that just being... more thoughtful about how information is delivered and how they’re receiving it can really help? a lot of adhd people really struggle with written info or verbal info, and if you’re relying 100% on one option it’s... kind of impossible for them to Do School in any real way.

- just have a sense of humor / support kids if they figure out a way that works for them?

i kinda mentioned this earlier, but i think a lot of people fall into the trap of thinking that they can motivate every kid into doing things The Right Way, and then a lot of kids just shut down instead? genuinely the teachers i got along with the best were the ones that just.... kind of sat back and accepted that like, i was not native to their environment and wasn’t going to be able engage with stuff the way they envisioned. i took the same math teacher for three years of high school because at one point i just started ignoring her lectures & doing homework during every class. instead of confronting me about it she just was kind of like “weird!!! not technically a sin though!” and we?? got along great after that? like literally better than i had ever gotten along with a teacher until then. i didn’t even know you could go to math class and not cry! amazing. i won’t say i was ever super great at math, but i went from being the kid getting Fs on every single test and never turning in homework to being a pretty reliable B+ student. she totally could’ve gotten offended in that situation since she was trying dang hard to give an interesting lecture, but having her just kind of go “weird! okay” and not be like Callout Post: This Child Is So Annoying made such a huge fucking difference for me (shoutout to ms. butler thank you for letting me graduate high school etc etc)

let kids see other life paths without judgment

kind of in line with the motivation thing, but i think like.... yes kids with ADHD can absolutely thrive in academics, but also make it clear that it’s not a catastrophe if it’s not a good environment for them? there’s so much rhetoric around “you have to do well in 1st grade so you can get into harvard and be a lawyer” or whatever, and i think kids who struggle pick up on that more than people realize. i remember really genuinely feeling like there was straight up not a future for me if i didn’t find a way to just like.... get a new brain??? and i wish i’d had positive role models for the idea that like. you can have a cool interesting life even if you’re very bad at sitting in a lecture!! it’s fine!! maybe you can’t be an astronaut or whatever but it’s still worth trying to graduate and see what’s out there

OKAY my two practical tips: let kids wander the fuck around AND also. start a knitting club

okay this is just for me but lmaoooooooo my elementary school teachers thought i was gonna SIT STILL??? and THINK???? at the SAME TIME???? i don’t even do that as a 25 year old. please. you know those bikes that like power electricity generators? that’s what a hyperactive brain is like. if they’re not moving they’re just not doing anything. 

also yeah knitting club. you gotta. my 4th grade teacher sucked so bad on every single front listed above and she hated me soooooo much but she did teach me how to sit through a 30 minute meeting without crying. fucking around with string and sticks IS adhd culture probably. idk.

#sorry this is so many words but obviously i think about this Constantly hjgs #hope some of it helps!! also feel free to ask questions or wtv #anon #ask

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #375

“why do i see her, the never-ending night  /  why do i see her, wearing nothing but the dark?”

Who’s one person who changed how you viewed something? I hold Rhett & Link responsible for "curing" my homophobia. I went through a phase where I shipped them like CRAZY, and they're still my "OTP," and it really made me question why I had such a disgusting belief. The switch was officially flipped when listening to their podcast with Hannah Hart, who discussed growing up as a lesbian surrounded by homophobia. Let me tell you, it felt fucking good to let that repulsive belief go. It was my former religion that tied me to it, but it could no longer be an excuse to me, even when I stayed Christian a while longer. And here I am now as a bisexual woman who wants to deck younger me dead in the face. :') Were you ever scared of driving? What scared you about it? I am TERRIFIED of driving. I'm most scared of getting in a wreck and killing somebody, something I would never. Ever. Ever. Forgive myself for. I'm also petrified of, once again, getting in a wreck and I wind up paralyzed from the neck down. The most memorable time that you skipped school, what did you do? Nothing very exciting. What was the last topic you did thorough research on? Why? Toxic masculinity for an essay in college. What is a dish you absolutely love, but hate to prepare yourself? I don't cook, so. Of the many different American accents, which one is your favorite? New York. Is there anything hanging from the doorknob in your room? No. Why did you move to where you’re living now? Because we had to get out of our former house because the growing mold problem was a health hazard (especially for Mom, given her then-recent cancer diagnosis), and our family friend newly owned this house as a part of the former resident's will. Said resident knew Mom as well and the house problems, so she wanted Tobey to help us into this house anyway. What’s your opinion on wearing pajamas in public? Do you yourself do that? I literally couldn't care less. I do it a lot. Do you usually fill up at the same gas station? No; Mom just pays attention to the price. Are you currently looking for a new job? No. I don't plan to until I'm done with TMS therapy. Are any of your relatives musicians? No. Have you ever had an asthma attack? Thank goodness no. My mom has asthma and I have seen her have an attack, so I know they're terrifying. Have you ever been in a hospital and not felt safe? There was one occasion during a psych hospital stay that my roommate had WILD anger issues. She would explode out of seemingly NOWHERE, to the point once or twice she had to be put in solitary because she would literally scream and damage shit, like throwing tables and such. She scared the piss out of me to the point I finally plucked up the courage to tell the nurses that I needed a different room. What’s the highest fever you’ve ever had? I don't remember. Have you ever been hospitalized for a day or more? At psych hospitals. I think my shortest visit was just shy of a week. Have you ever had surgery? Two. Are you lonely? I'm admittedly very lonely. Are you mad at someone right now? No. Do you eat late at night? I sometimes need a small midnight or so snack because I cannoooooooot sleep when my stomach is growling. If I'm in basically any sort of discomfort, I have extreme trouble sleeping. Who do you miss? A lot of people. I miss Jason, Megan, Mini, Hannia, Emily, Journee... I don't feel like dwelling on those I've lost. Who do you admire most? Mark. If you could transform into any animal what would it be and why? Maybe a cat. Quick, agile, stealthy, majestic, well-equipped to defend itself... sounds pretty good. Are you more artistic or mathematical? Definitely more artistic. Which supermarket do you usually shop at? Wal-Mart. When was the last time you went to McDonald’s? I'm not sure, but it's been a while. Maybe around a month. What was the last chocolate bar you ate? I believe I had a 3 Musketeers because I was really craving one. Who was the last person you talked to on Skype/video chat? The woman who was doing my evaluation to determine if I was a good fit for TMS therapy. Can you remember the first time you ever talked to the person you love/like? Does he/she remember? I think I might have a vague idea, but I don't really remember. Would you be able to have a relationship with someone you didn’t find attractive, if they had a nice personality and treated you well? Yep. It sounds cheesy, but I do mean it when I say a beautiful inside blossoms into the body itself for me personally. Does the last person you kissed have brown eyes? Yes. Have you ever really liked someone to begin with, then changed your mind about them? I guess you could say Girt, because I had a pretty big crush on him when I started HS. We were just friends for way too long that when we finally dated years upon years later, it felt much too weird. He really was my "brother from another mother" by that point. Has anyone ever told you that they wanted to spend the rest of their life with you? Aaaaand he left. :^) If you decided to dye your hair, would you choose to go lighter or darker? Lighter. I want to dye my hair pastel colors so very badly. Do you know what the Enneagram is and if so, what’s your type? INFP. Do you listen to Mayday Parade? I only know "Terrible Things," which I positively adore. Do you have trouble falling asleep at night? I have an extremely hard time sleeping at night. It's honestly one reason I sometimes sleep so much during the day. Are you on a laptop, desktop or phone/iPod? A laptop. Have you ever been so angry that you screamed out of nowhere? I've screamed into a pillow. What’s the longest movie you’ve ever watched? I dunno, maybe over three hours? What was the last thing you watched on Netflix or Hulu? I have no clue. What do you think about your current relationship status? I mean I miss being in love and having someone who sees a future with me, but I know in the deepest part of me that it's wiser that I stay single until I figure some things out. Of most concern, I don't have a job or even a confident sign I'll have one soon, I'm not in school headed for a career, I don't drive, I don't cook... I'm a liability, financially and in other ways. It wouldn't be fair to my partner or even myself to go into a relationship with a heavy risk of heartbreak because I'm taking too long to get to where I want to be. I'm 25 now - if/when I get into a relationship, I want forever, and I'm not wasting time on anyone for almost inevitable failure as romantic partners. I want to AT LEAST have a steady job before I enter another relationship. How many people have you kissed? Three or four. Do you go out on dates? I have no one to go on a date with. Do you kiss on the first date? I never have and probably wouldn't, but I guess if things went very well and I was really into the person, maybe I would. What’s the farthest you’ve gone with someone? Doing to do. Would you rather receive a stuffed animal, flowers, or chocolate? I'd really appreciate any. I think flowers are sorta overrated though honestly, like someone ripped some healthy flowers from their roots and doomed them to a quickly-approaching death, but society still has a part of me thinking "oh that's sweet." I think more than anything, I'd be crazy over a meerkat plushy. Or would expensive jewelry just be fine? You really don't have to do that for me; I don't really wear much jewelry at all anyway. Odds are you'd be wasting your money. What’s the cheesiest romantic gift you’ve ever received? I don't know. Do you like romantic poetry? Yessssssssss. Have you ever been rickrolled? I'm unsure. Do you like bologna? Yeah. It was my favorite lunch meat as a kid. Have you ever had a nose bleed? Yes. Have you ever puked on a fair ride before? No, because I don't go on rides that generally induce that sort of risk. What animals have you ridden? Just ponies. What is your parents' idea of grounding you? Taking away my access to the computer. Dragons or unicorns? Dragons! Do you wish vampires existed? Uh, no. At the moment what is your favorite song? I'm going through another phase of really digging "Castle of Glass" by Linkin Park. Have you ever been pantsed? No. What is your favorite magazine? I don’t read any. Did you ever like Barbies? Do you currently like Barbies? I never really was, I just played with them when my little sister wanted to. I was more into playing with my dinosaurs and Pokemon and stuff. I'm not into them now, either. What’s your favorite hit song right now? I don't know what songs are "hits" right now. What’s your favorite element? (fire, water, air) Fire, aesthetically. Have you ever been to a wild party? Nah. Do you put on a robe when it’s cold? I don't own a robe. Is the last person you kissed gay? She's demisexual. What breed was the last dog you saw? She's some sort of hound mix. We think there might be dalmatian in her, too. What type of day are you having? It's been all right. I'm just REALLY not feeling this damn heat. Driving an hour and back to the TMS office in a car that has no A/C is agony. Have you ever thought about getting your nose pierced? It's been pierced multiple times, and I want to do it again, but this time with a nostril hoop versus a stud so the goddamn thing stays in. Do you prefer warm or cold weather? I have an incredibly strong preference for cold weather. Fuck the heat. Like just 70*F is "too hot" to me. Who was the last person you talked to in person? My mom. Do you hate the person you fell hardest for? No. Do you like rain? Yes, but I don't like being caught out in it. I just like looking at and listening to it. Have you ever liked somebody and never told them? Yep. Do you like to cuddle? If I really like you and it's not too hot, yeah. Are you shy? I'm excruciatingly shy. If you were paid 1 million dollars to spend the night in a supposed haunted house, would you? Hunny, I'd do that for free. Which do you like better- zebra print or leopard print? I'm not really a fan of either particular pattern on anything but the animal. Do you have any stickers on your car? I don't have my own car, but Mom has one that allows her to park in her old school's parking lot. Do you watch Pretty Little Liars? No. My sister Misty, tho

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''her silent language'' by dark tranquility

[pentaxed-a]

it’s been a few months since jonathan byers actually became friends with one steve harrington && one billy hargrove- though, evidently so, one would be more unwilling to admit friendship with him in public than the other. but all three of them are teenagers who know that something’s wrong with this town- that this place held a secret they couldn’t dare spill. maybe that’s what got them all to hang out originally, but jonathan couldn’t tell you for certain what it was that kept them together. they just kept coming back together, no matter how rough it seemed to be in the beginning with the tension of the past from steve && current tension due to the creep rumors from billy. but after a couple of months, they were alright with each other. 

that was also the point in time that jonathan realized something was wrong. 

he wasn’t quite sure what was going on at first- he noticed he had been beginning to feel more fatigued && sluggish, unable to get through the day without feeling as if he had run a marathon. there was also the fact that he seemed to be more prone to colds, little short bursts of fevers && coughing that left him wondering where they came from or where they went. bags formed under his eyes- at first, they weren’t too noticeable && neither was the pale skin. but the more as time went on, the more he began to realize he was looking quick... well-

sick. 

each day brought only a little bit of weakness. each week it began to grow noticeable. after another month or so, jonathan thought something seemed off. his mother did, too, so she took him to see the same doctor will had been seeing. neither of them had been too happy when they didn’t receive an actual answer at first, the doctor refusing to give up his theories && only told them to keep bringing jonathan back each week. every appointment, he’d ask jonathan questions about his life && if there might’ve been anyone he fancied. jonathan always said no- he didn’t believe he had anyone he truly liked that way currently, but he’d always talk vaguely about steve && billy as if they had hung the moon && stars with their own bares hands, no matter how much they seemed to annoy him or anger him. the doctor nodded along with what jonathan said, always seemed calm && placating. 

it wasn’t until blood flew past his lips during a coughing fit as he was talking about his friends did the doctor give them an answer. 

❛ there isn’t a name for it quite yet, ❜ he had said.  ❛ obviously, you’re the first person who’s had this- but we believe it’s been caused by... you know. in short terms, son, your organs are shutting down one by one- slowly rotting from the inside out. && with the way you’re talking about those friends of yours... ?? we believe that your unrequited love might be the cause. we’ll try to do what we can to help you, but what i recommend for now is trying not to spend so much time with them. let the feelings die so you can live. ❜

ha. 

he had said that as if jonathan had the will to do so. 

of course, at first jonathan had been quick to denial. theres wasn’t a single damn way he could’ve fallen for steve && billy- not both of them. it was already looked down upon for daring to think of more than one person like that, but to think of more than one man like that ?? it couldn’t happen.  it would never happen. but jonathan could never bring himself to just keep himself from hanging out with them anyway- he still loved them as friends dearly. besides, he was certain steve at the least already knew something was up with jonathan... so jonathan needed to be able to tell him he was fine && be able to act the part. so he did- he proceeded to shove the thought that this disease could be caused by having some sort of feelings for steve harrington && billy hargrove, proceeded to hang out with them like nothing was truly wrong. because that was just ridiculous. 

it takes a month && a half after the diagnosis, a month && a half of slowly coughing up blood, 5 && half months of knowing these two for him to come to the conclusion that the doctor might not have been so wrong about his feelings after all.

it only gets worse after that. 

but does he let it show ?? hell no. 

so now he’s here at the harrington house while his parents are gone for the millionth time that week, sitting cross legged at the foot of his bed && laughing at something stupid that steve said while billy is lounging actually on the bed, rolling his eyes. billy makes a remark that has steve shoving at him. it’s a good time of jonathan laughing while he watches them wrestle with each other... but soon the air turns serious as the boys send each other a look, billy’s angry && almost begging steve while steve ignores it, turning to jonathan. 

he wanted to tell jonathan something- it was important && he needed to know if jonathan would be their friend no matter what they said. 

❛ of course, ❜ he says.  ❛ what’s going on ?? ❜

steve was nervous before he spilled the beans- news that has jonathan feeling both relieved that this was a possibility && absolutely broken because then it wasn’t. he could already feel his insides churning, already feel his body beginning to heat up in a feverish battle against his own feelings, already feel his organs begin to just decay at an accelerated rate. he wasn’t sure if that’s quite what’s going on but it sure felt like it. 

steve && billy were dating. they were into dudes, which made jon happy, but they were into each other, which just- 

❛ hey, that’s... that’s fine- ❜ he chokes down the urge to cough, smiling at them. billy looked inches away from either fighting or fleeing.  ❛  we’re all okay, i promise... i don’t think of you any different. ❜

after that, there’s a relief in the air from the two. they go back to talking, but jonathan is distracted- it’s getting harder && harder to keep his lungs placated. after a couple of minutes, he’s excusing himself to use the bathroom, scurrying about to his destination before he could receive an answer from anyone. he’s hurrying down the halls, farther away from them as he slams himself through the door to a luxurious bathroom. he barely makes it to the sink before coughing racks through his frame, wet && harsh- blood spills from his lips in an amount he hasn’t seen before... it’s dirtying the pristine white of the sink’s bowl && even some of the counter space as it spills from his lips, falling down his chin. 

god he can’t stop coughing, usually it passed by now... what- 

his questions are answered when something more solid seems to lodge in his throat for the briefest second, almost making him choke before it suddenly lurches up && out his mouth. it lands among the blood among the sink. it was... quite a sight. there was the pure white of the sink && the beautiful silver of the drain, both tainted by the harsh red of blood && the sudden black mass that came from within him. he’s confused as to what it was before he remembers what’s going on inside of his body. 

the small mass was a piece of him. 

his body is shaking && there’s tears rolling down his cheeks in small streams from the sheer force his coughing had hit him with. he just kept staring at the mess in the sink, only brought out of his thoughts when there’s a knock on the door && a concerned voice asking him if he was doing alright. his breathing quickens as he looks around, panicking- they couldn’t see this fucking mess, much less steve’s fucking parents. he needed to clean this up- fuck did he lock the door ?? he’s moving to try && gather toilet paper to get this cleaned up, but his knees couldn’t hold his weight anymore. he’s sent to his hands && knees, which gets what blood had gotten on his hands to transfer onto the tile. he cursed to himself before he yells at the door, voice hoarse. 

❛ i’m- i’m fine, just give me a minute- !! ❜

@trnedbitch​

#[ TW ;; BLOOD ] #[ TW ;; TERMINAL ILLNESS ] #[ TW ;; SICKNESS ] #[ TW ;; COUGHING UP BLOOD ] #[ TW ;; DECAY MENTION ] #[ j o n a t h a n. ] - sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪ sᴛᴀʏ ᴏʀ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪ ɢᴏ ?? #[ TRNEDBITCH. ] - ɪ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴢɪᴘᴘᴇʀ && ᴄɪɢᴀʀᴇᴛᴛᴇ ʙᴜʀɴs- sᴛɪʟʟ ʀᴏᴄᴋɪɴ' ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴏᴏᴅɪᴇ #[ HBIEJBIES. ] - ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀɢᴜᴍᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ && ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀᴄᴇ ᴏɴ #chicken nugget #<-- thats the tag i'll track this with rjnfkwren #god i cb #1415 words of pure angst bro #ur welcome #i cant wait for this #it bouta get angstyyy

[northsidefabray]

By My Side

Who: Quinn & Hunter @northsideclarington 

What: Morning talk

When: Nov 20, Morning

Where: At Ivyhill, Quinn’s bedroom

Notes: Quinn talks to Hunter about his lack of sleep and they talk a little about their situation with Sebastian ( @northsidesebastian ) 

Quinn

Sitting at her vanity after a shower, Quinn looked at Hunter's reflection in the mirror. He looked almost as good as she felt. The past couple of days had been rocky at best. For as much as they tried to keep moving forward, it was hard. Quinn had always been the one holding onto faith but now that faith hurt and when they were alone at night, it was impossible not to think about what was missing, the thing they both felt like a giant void. It had taken a little while for Quinn to actually sleep but she'd managed a couple hours every night, sometimes taking a quick nap in the middle of the day, but it hadn't passed her attention that Hunter was awake when she dozed off, and still the same when she woke up. Whatever sleep he was getting was even less than she was. 

Setting her brush down on the vanity, Quinn turned to face him. "Babe?" She waited for him to look over before she spoke. "I think you should call in a favor and take tonight off."

Hunter

Hunter was sitting at the small table that was in the bedroom, his eyes narrow as he read through some of the mails he had just received, which contained blood analysis results he was waiting so he could make a thorough diagnosis in the morning when he was back at the hospital. "Hmm?" he responded softly, still not looking at her until he was done reading that last line in the email, then he snapped his head back up so quickly it gave him a mild headrush, which was no surprise with the little to nothing amount of sleep he was getting lately. As much as he loved Quinn, as much as being with her made him feel like the luckiest man on the face of the Earth, it was impossible for Hunter not to look pass the sense of emptiness there was sometimes. 

And he could tell Quinn felt it too. He could see it in her face, no matter how much she tried to hide it, and he knew she could see it in his face too. It was such a strange feeling. How could anyone feel so happy, and yet so empty at the same time? And that gave way to many sleepless nights, and endless days of work at the hospital that he got himself, even if he didn't have a shift. It was easier not to feel when his mind was somewhere else. That was his drug.

 "What? No..." he said, maybe too quickly, then he shrugged. "There's no need for that, babe. I mean-" He grinned. "I always have time after work to have my wicked way with you."

Quinn

He looked pale to her, something that had been happening a little more every day. Quinn had tried to talk it away with logic, decide he just needed something to eat, or some time off. But her heart was sure now why he looked so broken and it was no wonder. They both felt it but just as he had taken care of her when she broke down, she would always take care of him. At his comment, Quinn giggled and shook her head, "Not because of that. Though I don't mind a repeat of that anytime you want. I really liked the whole belt thing.." Standing up, she walked over to where he had been sitting and made herself comfortable on his lap. Her arms curled around his neck. "I know you haven't been sleeping," she said. "It was hard for me too so I tried not to make a big deal of it before but.. whenever you aren't sleeping, you're working, and.. I'm just worried about you." Her fingers curled gently through his hair. "You're getting luggage under your eyes, baby."

Hunter

Hunter chuckled and saved the email before he was pushing the laptop away, just in time to have Quinn sitting on his lap. He put his arm around her waist and looked up at her, his heart warming with the fond way she was looking at him, so much love and awe wrapped up in a single look. "I just have a lot in my mind, with work and such-" he said with a slight shrug, as if he was also shrugging her reasoning off. He frowned when he made that comment about his eyes, although that wasn't exactly news; he could also see them every time he looked in the mirror. "This year's residency is getting harder as days go by, that's all baby."

Quinn

Quinn frowned, not because she didn’t believe him - he was very busy at work. Though her job wasn’t simple by any means, it wasn’t nearly as demanding as Hunter’s. It required him a sacrifice a lot, including nights of sleep sometimes, but she couldn’t let it go at that. Not when she knew everything he was feeling in addition to the countless hours he spent helping children. “I know it is, baby, and I don’t want to push that aside like it’s nothing. We knew this whole process would be taxing, to say the least, but..” Quinn stopped herself. Even before she said it, there was a swell of undeniable ache. It wasn’t just about not being loved back. Her heart could break into a million pieces and each shattered shard would still love both him and Sebastian. It was what they lost. It was their best friend, his sister, their confidant and yes, lover. It was for Sebastian and his pain, and how easier it was for him to be around people that didn’t make him feel like she and Hunter did. Quinn took a breath, held it, and when she let it out, she whispered, “I miss him too.. and.. and it hurts all the time.”

Hunter

Hunter looked down when Quinn said, sadness filling his eyes and also his body, which seemed to deflate with every breath he took. "I don't-" he begun to say, his voice breaking only a little. "I can't give up on him..." he said, then looked up at her. "I love you so, so much Quinn... But this hurts... It hurts so bad. And I wish it didn't. I wish I could just say fuck him, and forget about him, and simply not care that he's fucking his way around town. But I can't. I want him back, Quinn..." He shook his head and looked down again. "I'm sorry..."

Quinn

The darkness that grew in his eyes told her everything she'd needed to know, and it made her heart constrict with a hurt she wished she was able to fix. Her fingers trailed down his arm and back up, fingers curling in the longer pieces of his hair, little touches to give comfort and promise him he wasn't alone. "Hunt, no.. you don't have to apologize. Not at all," she said, voice soft. "I feel everything you feel, and I want the same thing. I'm not unhappy with you at all. I love you so much, and if I hadn't had you here with me, I would have completely lost my mind." He was the only reason she'd even been able to start sleeping again instead of sitting at her window and worrying endlessly about their best friend, and the other piece of their heart. 

"It would hurt a lot less if we could stop caring,” Understatement of the century, and knowing he was out there, hurting, mindlessly using people and she couldn’t help him was a knife in the heart every second of the day, “but that's never going to happen with us. The three of us have too much history, and mean too much to each other to just let go. I've lost faith in a lot of things lately but the only thing I won't lose faith in is us; the three of us." He was right though. Maybe a selfish part of her wished she could stop caring but that wasn't a possibility, for either of them. "I keep waiting for him to come back to us.. and I have to believe he will. But until he does.. I love you, and I need to take care of you. I need you to take care of yourself."

Hunter

Hunter sighed and held her hand so he could kiss it. "I don't want to lose faith in us either. I won't." He looked at her and smiled fondly. "But I do feel like I have to apologize. I mean... I don't want you to feel like you're not enough for me, Quinn. It's just that... Ever since I've known, I've loved you both. I can't help it." He twined their hands together and shrugged. "I'm fine. I... I'll be fine. I promise."

Quinn

"I don't feel that," Quinn said, catching his gaze so that she was sure she could see the honesty in her eyes. "If anyone in the world can understand how it feels, it's me." She trailed her thumb along his knuckles. "I love you with all of my heart, but I love him with all of it too. It's not easy to feel this way. I'm happy with you and I feel good when we're together, but I also know what it feels like to be more." It was confusing but it never took away from the way she felt about him. Looking down at their hands laced together, Quinn nodded, "You're absolutely right you'll be fine because you have a very persistent girlfriend who will always take care of you. Stay home tonight, okay? For me?"

Hunter

It was amazing how something so confusing and complicated on paper  was actually so easy in their eyes. They had no problem with sharing their love, as long as it was between them three, like it had always been. Anyone else outside that circle was an intruder, and they would always look at them in that way. Sebastian wasn't quite at the level just yet, but they truly hope the day would come when they could fully commit to their poly relationship, damn the consequences and damn that town. He looked at her and smiled. "Okay, fine. I'll stay. Just tonight, okay? And I do have to leave early in the morning."

Quinn

"Just tonight," Quinn repeated with a nod of agreement. She let go of his hand and reached up to brush her fingers through his hair. "And please.. don't be afraid to talk to me about this, okay? We're all hurting right now, especially him, and until he's ready to stop running, we're all we have." Of course there were friends and family, people who cared about them and they cared for, but it wasn't the same. She, Hunter, and Sebastian had formed something much stronger and deeper as children than most people ever formed in their lives. "I want to help you sleep. I can't handle if anything happened to you too."

Hunter

Hunter sighed softly as he let her words sink in and then nodded. "I promise. I won't keep anything from you about this again. Or about anything else." He chuckled and kissed her gently on the lips. "And how you want to help me do that? Do you have some special tea I don't know about?" He smiled and bumped their noses together.

Quinn

Quinn closed her eyes against the softness of his lips pressing against hers. A small smile grew then when he spoke and she shook her head. "You're such a bone head," she said with a laugh, curling her arms around his neck to hold them close together. "Maybe I will make tea," Quinn smirked. "And we'll take a bath, and I'll rub your back. I'll only sleep when you do." Giving him another soft kiss, the woman let out a small sigh. Somehow they'd take care of each other, love each other, and wait.

#para #para: by my side #para: hunter #quinnxhunter

[the-lewdest-concubine]

How do you manage your schizophrenia? If you don't mind me asking ofc. Don't answer if you don't feel comfortable. (:

Nah bro.  It’s 100% okay.  I tend to be fully open about this online because its a condition that scares a lot of people...because they don’t fucking know what it actually entails...or they don’t understand that you CAN in fact live a normal life with “serious” mental illness in many cases.  But like, if you don’t talk about it...then people stay fearful and uneducated.  And LMAO...I don’t take shit from anyone.

I'm technically Schizoaffective, which is like the diagnosis of schizophrenia plus a diagnosis of bipolar...so it's a little different than someone who is only schizophrenic. But like I'm very torn on this issue.  

The more I tend to read studies and what not, the more I find that schizophrenia/schizoaffective tends to look a lot different between males and females--so females tend to present with mood problems earlier in life that are negative symptoms--meaning something is taken away (depression, blunted affect, withdrawal from life, etc), whereas males tend to present first with positive symptoms (hallucinations, delusions, hearing voices) and receive a schizophrenia diagnosis right away, regardless of whether their mood is affected.  Hence the literature tends to say that males develop the disorder earlier (late teens-early 20′s) and females develop it later (late 20′s-early 30′s).

So like me, I was first diagnosed with depression, then psychotic depression, then bipolar, then schizoaffective once I could prove that I had psychotic symptoms outside of an extreme mood.  It seems like the older I got (and thus the longer I went untreated), the more symptoms I had, until I could pretty much write down that I experience every single symptom of schizophrenia that exists in the DSMV. I really wonder what would have happened if my initial signs of depression and what I call my "sterile mind" allowed me to be considered a possible "future schizophrenic"...and then if I'd been given medications early on, if I'd have progressed into what I now live with.  Especially since no matter what I took, those traits would get “better” but I’d never actually recover.

But I generally control mine with daily medicine. In the morning I take Wellbutrin (an NDRI) and Vybriid (an SNRI) to manage the mood symptoms. Without these medicines, even just not taking them for a day, I will start randomly crying, refuse to go outside, not talk to people, and feel basically like a dried up husk inside...even though outwardly I appear to be showing emotion. Like its super weird...I'll be either crying or incredibly irritable and agitated...but my brain feels blank inside. No feelings, no thoughts...just annoyance in the fact that my body is just expressing stuff that I don't really actually feel, lol. At night, I take my antipsychotic which right now is Latuda, which is a 2nd gen medicine falling into the category of neuroleptics.

I also go to therapy every Tuesday...which like, it used to exist to try and help me deal with my anxiety and depression aspects of working again after being on disability so long. But honestly, since it took a decade of medication trial and error to both find a diagnosis and get proper treatment...my biggest problem was just the fact that I essentially had a decade of my life stolen that most people use to build themselves. All of my friends were working full time jobs and had been for like 5 years. They were buying houses, and having retirement funds. Some were having children--others said no to kids but traveled the world. Like it was like the world around me had gone on and I'd been frozen in suffering, unable to progress from essentially being 18 to being 28 when I got the correct diagnosis. I have missing memories from periods of cognitive pseudodementia that constitute years of time that other people have built lives from. And being that age and having nothing to have or say for myself for a decade other than "I survived, didn't kill myself, I cry less, and I only remember about 3 out of the last 10 years" was just kind of hard to swallow compared to what was expected of someone my age and socioeconomic class and education. THAT is what I needed to uncover and process before I could move on and function well in the world.

Other things that help me are getting regular sleep. One of my old medications (Geodon) gave me brain damage and ruined my ability to regulate sleep/wake...so I ended up developing narcolepsy when I was around 25. So the bugaboo there is that without medication to treat that, I'll be exhausted all day, but when I do sleep, it's very light/not deep and restful. So I do have some medicines that regulate that--Nuvigil allows me to stay alert during the day, and I either take melatonin at night or Lunesta if I truly cannot sleep.

Any anxiety that I have, which tends to be exacerbated by psychosis (I mean you try lying in bed and hearing some strange lady screaming in your room with nobody there to be found, or suddenly believing that people on the radio are playing songs with lyrics that are talking about you, or watching strange creatures or corpses pop into existence in your livingroom) I treat with the drug Klonopin, which is a benzodiazapine. Lol, like it's amazing how much psychosis can progress if you have nothing to stop the feelings of anxiety, when your brain that already isn't thinking correctly, then drives itself further into places with NO rational thoughts. Like only when I'm relaxed and calm can I be like "gee...it makes zero sense that a mythical being is standing in my living room--perhaps it’s not actually real?”So yeah...medication and coping strategies is the short answer. TL;DR is above.

But thank you.  I hope this gives some insight into what living with this sort of thing is like.  I may write the madness espada...but I’m in much much better shape.   

#out of lust #about vixen #mental illness cw #Anonymous

[redditnosleep]

Z is for Zodiac

by Zchxz

I stared down at the amorphous gray blob on the file in front of me in disbelief.

“Is it-”

“Malignant?” The doctor finished for me. I nodded, reaching for my wife’s hand for some semblance of comfort.

“It’s too early to tell. With your permission, I’d like to keep Hannah overnight. Run some tests, just to be on the safe side.”

My mind went blank as I eagerly signed paper after paper. My little girl, my world, my everything…

…How could she possibly have cancer?

My mother used to say only three things could change a man: god, love, and death. Many other events and beliefs may come close to altering one’s life for the better or worse, but for the most part the soul remains unmoved. I may yet be young, but this much I know for sure.

I never thought I’d ever love anyone more than Marissa, but the second my baby girl Hannah looked into my eyes for the first time I was smitten. I spent every waking moment - and many unawake - with my daughter, watching her grow and experience everything with the utmost joy.

Marissa, on the other hand, hardly took a month off work before going back to the research hospital. Her friends told me they thought she’d gone mad, but then again her friends had never been terribly loyal. By the time the diagnosis came around, they’d all left.

I supposed we should have been prepared for it, all things considered. Not many kids are reading at a fourth grade level at 26 months.

“Your daughter is gifted, certainly,” the doctor spoke to me and my wife. The two of them had gone over the charts privately that morning, knowing I’d be of negligible input with my liberal arts degree. Nonetheless, they did their best to explain it to me.

To be perfectly honest, it felt more like when my parents used to sit me down before a lecture. “We just don’t want you to follow in your brother’s footsteps” was their excuse for academic torture. The polite explanation a justification for the bad news you could smell coming a mile away.

“Skip it, I’m sure Marissa can fill in the details for me later, Dr…?”

“Please, call me Eli.”

The doctor only continued after receiving her confirmatory nod. He looked at me with those soft, cornflower blue eyes that gave off the scent of a smile without the corresponding mouth. At times, I wondered if he might be the reason Marissa wound up staying late to “finish up some research projects.”

“I was worried. Hannah’s growing so quickly, I didn’t want it to be like…”

I held up a hand. She didn’t have to explain. Both her parents, god rest their souls, passed from strokes out of nowhere. To think our baby girl could vanish from our lives so quickly, I would have done the same thing.

Not quite a half hour later I’d left, my wife staying behind to help monitor Hannah’s tests.

The following months passed torturously slowly, my daughter having to stay at the hospital and away from me for lengths of time I hadn’t planned for until she reached 18. I visited as often as I could, though with the experimental nature of her treatment many areas were off-limits to a mere civilian.

Eventually, I proved enough of an annoyance that they moved some sessions to a less restricted wing. While I couldn’t be by her side when my wife and Eli worked the big, scary machines and poked her with all kinds of needles, I was finally allowed to sit in on her psychological evaluations.

It was there I finally met her mentor, Olivia.

“Daddy!” Hannah squealed, running into my arms as I lifted her up, spinning her around twice before putting her back down.

“Hey there pumpkin-head! How are you feeling?”

“Okay!” She giggled with my favorite smile of hers before looking back to her mentor. “Can we play blocks now?”

The woman nodded with a smile. “You’ve got quite the special girl, you know,” she mentioned towards me.

“I’m… well aware.”

The three of us began taking turns playing a heavily modified version of Jenga, Hannah explaining new rules nearly every time one of us touched a new block. And though her mind had developed so rapidly, she still had some fine motor functions that needed work. Ones that quickly toppled the tower we’d been building.

“Oh no!” I joked, laughing at the mess she’d made.

“You moved it!” She accused Olivia.

“Hannah, be nice. It’s okay, we can build it back-”

“No! She MOVED IT!”

The scream felt almost tangible somehow. As I gathered my thoughts Olivia had retrieved some orderlies who escorted me out of the room, taking Hannah back to the wing I couldn’t visit. Looking through the bit of glass in the door, I swore the blocks had moved again.

“I’m really sorry you had to see that,” Eli put a hand on my shoulder out of nowhere. “Some of the medication has some unfortunate side effects. Outbursts, and the like.”

“…Yeah. How’s she doing, anyway? Feels like forever since everything started.”

He stared me down, a blank expression. The man hardly seemed to have any wrinkles at all.

I caught myself before he could speak. “I mean, not that I’m not really grateful for all the work you and the hospital have been doing for her. For us. And all pro-bono…”

Eli laughed without smiling. “Not to worry. I have faith that this will all be over sooner than you think.”

I coughed and opened my eyes after hearing the door close downstairs. Marissa had finally gotten home from the hospital, another long night. I looked to see the clock read 12:26, slumped out of bed, and put on my slippers.

Rubbing my eyes, I thought back. Hannah had been undergoing her treatments for over two years now, and every time I asked how things were progressing Eli dodged the question one way or another. My wife had grown distant in that time - normally a late night would mean 8 or 9. Hell, we’d even changed churches to waste less time away from the hospital.

I grabbed the leftover coffee from the fridge, poured two mugs full, and put them in the microwave. Soon enough Marissa entered our kitchen sporting her usual blue and white uniform.

“These long nights are getting a little crazy, Mar. You sure you can’t-”

“I’m doing important work, I’ve told you this I don’t know how many times.”

“I know, I know.” The microwave dinged and I brought the mugs to the table. “And Hannah?”

“She’s number one. Always has been.”

I could sense something beyond fatigue in her words. Frustration? No, but perhaps a smidgen of regret. We had the same conversation every week, and being the coward I am I avoided an argument as best I could. I knew she was working hard, but I couldn’t get the idea of Eli all over her out of my head.

“I’m sorry, Mar. It’s gone on long enough, you need to tell me a little more than ‘it’s going well’.”

She shot me a dirty look that made me make my next mistake. A mumbled, but audible, “I’m sure Eli’s doing well, too.”

“Excuse me?”

I stepped up. Already crossed the line, so why not? “You heard me. I hardly see you anymore! Our daughter’s been in your labs for months on end and you tell me nothing? I can’t even remember the last time all three of us were in the same room together. Much less the last time you and I-”

“Fucked?”

“Well. Yeah.”

She swallowed a deep gulp from the mug and tossed the rest at me. I raced to take off my undershirt, the liquid burning more than a few hairs off my chest as she raged at me.

“You want to know why we haven’t fucked, Jeremy? Because I’ve been working my ass off day in and day out trying to get our daughter ready. You think I’ve been fucking Eli all that time, is that it?” She laughed as though the accusation couldn’t be further from the truth. “The man’s practically a psychopath he’s so emotionless. Not to mention he’d hardly be able to get it up with all the dr-”

She stopped, pulling back on her spitted words. Her face had turned red and she breathed heavily, wet marks forming at the corners of her eyes. Though my body and mind ached I couldn’t help but feel bad for pushing her this far.

Of course she wasn’t cheating on me.

Of course she was doing everything for our daughter.

Marissa stormed out of the room, leaving me the couch without another word. I hardly slept another wink that night, my thoughts focused on many things that all came back to one slip of the tongue.

Whether it was intentional or not, what did she mean when she said she was getting our daughter “ready”?

Ready for what?

Over the next few weeks, every time I visited the hospital I stayed longer than necessary. I got there early, I left late. I brought a book with me each time, but while it may have seemed as though I was making progress through the latest self-help instruction manual to get my life back on track, I made careful notes about every single person I saw.

Which doctors passed through the hallways and at what time. When the orderlies took lunch. What they ate for lunch. The color pen Eli kept in his jacket pocket. What Olivia wore to our sessions.

I became a wealth of knowledge about everything that went on everywhere I had access to.

My chance came on a Thursday, when one of the guards had called out sick. I’d been getting the other one coffees regularly as an excuse to chat him up, and by the time his replacement showed up he bolted to the bathroom so fast he didn’t even notice his badge go missing.

Marissa was sound asleep by the time I snuck out.

For such a well-guarded research hospital, getting through security was a breeze - it’s amazing what matching clothes and a badge will do. I easily passed through all the regular checkpoints that normally closed after visiting hours; hell, half the lights were out in the place.

Come to think of it, the whole area seemed surprisingly empty for a hospital.

I made my way to the restricted wing, scanning doorways for any signs of interest. I didn’t know where Hannah slept, but I could at least try to find Eli’s office.

The door wasn’t even locked.

I flipped on a lamp by his desk and began carefully looking through any files I could get my hands on. I’m no expert so I skipped trying to crack his computer, and nearly every cabinet either wouldn’t open or didn’t have any documents in them.

Only two drawers opened: one labeled “1913,” and another labeled “1991-” with a few blanks, presumably to be filled in when it got full.

The files in the first drawer were essentially useless. Everything with any sort of content had been redacted to the point of being completely black. Why he kept these files I couldn’t guess.

The other drawer contained a couple dozen folders, 26 in all. I couldn’t make sense of any of the labels, and quickly rifled through them to see if I could find Hannah’s charts somewhere.

What I found disturbed and confused me far beyond my knowledge of, well… anything, really.

Some files contained details of murders, drug trafficking, and things that I can’t even begin to describe. Events about creatures that didn’t exist. Devices and abilities that defied physics.

By the time I saw any photos, I nearly vomited. From then on I scanned the first page of each folder as briefly as possible.

Eventually, one page listed Hannah as the subject. A folder with the word “ZODIAC” in bold font.

I began scrambling to read through it all when I heard someone at the door clear their throat.

Eli.

“I expected you might find your way here sooner or later. Far later, in this case.”

“What are you doing with my daughter? What are you really doing with her?”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to read the files. Or…”

“…or what?”

He smirked, the folds of his face creasing the skin as though he’d never developed laugh lines. Eli moved his head away from the door, and I followed like the sucker I’d become.

I struggled to keep pace with him. The man seemed determined, like the kind of person who’s so obsessed with their work they don’t sleep, ever. After a few turns he began talking.

“As you may have guessed by now, this isn’t exactly a hospital, though we do indeed perform delicate research. I’ll spare you the details since they won’t make much sense to you and I really don’t have the patience.”

He nodded to a guard who moved out of the way of large elevator doors, mentioning for them to have Olivia meet us in the observatory.

“Long story short, around 26 years ago our scientists discovered an anomaly. We’ve been running tests ever since - the ones in that cabinet you very illegally sorted through - and, well. Humanity has been tremendously impacted by the results thus far.”

We entered the elevator and began to descend. “You’ve arrived at quite the fortunate time, of course. Many of our subjects have developed abilities - gifts, really - and while some are far less stable than others, I personally believe your darling little Hannah has been selected for a very important purpose.”

The descent took a full 26 minutes. Though it felt like Eli finally revealed some truths to me, making sense of it all would be an entirely different matter altogether.

What kind of gifts was he talking about?

And what the hell had Marissa actually been working on all this time?

“That day with the blocks,” Eli explained. “Hannah first noticed Olivia’s presence of mind. And, as you might not recall, she formed her own.”

I thought back to how the blocks had moved after we’d left the room. Or had they moved when she screamed?

“Telepathy, telekinesis, emotional massaging, presence of mind, supernatural - call it whatever you like. You will at the very least be pleased to know that tonight will be Hannah’s final test.”

The elevator doors opened, revealing a smallish deck overlooking a large, circular room. Olivia joined us as we walked towards the window to witness the events to come.

Just over two dozen guards stood around the edges of the chamber, all wearing the same blue shirts and white pants I’d grown tired of seeing. A minister dressed in all black kneeled at the center, a handful of others mixed between. By his side stood my little girl.

The people in the middle all faced a sort of altar as they chanted under their breaths. I couldn’t make out what they said, and by the time I felt Olivia’s hand on my shoulder I realized I’d been slamming my fist against the glass.

“They can’t hear us, but don’t worry. It’ll be alright.”

She was right. I felt myself calm down almost immediately. Of course everything would be fine.

I even smiled with a sigh of relief when the minister slit Hannah’s throat.

“Twenty-six. Take her, and rise once more!”

The blood poured out of her, floating in the air as spectral hands emerged from beyond. The bony fingers touched the dark liquid gently, as though to test the power that would soon be theirs.

“Huh,” I wondered aloud, in an elevated daze. “So this is Zodiac?”

Eli smiled. “No.”

Hannah’s eyes sparked with life and she yelled out. “NO! IT’S MINE!”

The blood began retracting into her neck as the priest looked around to his flock. The guards began to look to each other in confusion, clearly not briefed on what to do in this circumstance.

“This isn’t,” the man in black began. “What are you doing? You can’t-”

Hannah threw out a hand towards him and in an instant his entire body exploded into a mess of viscera that froze in time, hanging in the air as pieces of his former being.

She let out a shrill shriek, the kind only children can produce, that rattled the walls and sent the guards to their knees, desperately covering their ears. The others near Hannah tried to reach her, blown back anytime they got close by a strong gust of air.

The spectral arms reached out to close her mouth, working quickly to end this nonsense.

No - they weren’t reaching.

Hannah was pulling them towards her.

Her yell twisted into several tones without stopping, each sonic pulse sending out a wave of energy. Blood from the dead priest began to twitch and pull, eventually getting sucked into my daughter’s body without leaving a trace.

The bones began fragmenting, falling into the black hole that sucked everything into Hannah’s slit throat. The altar itself cracked and shifted as the pitch raised rapidly, a simulated doppler effect.

A moment later, everyone in the room but Hannah was gone. Nothing more than dark stains on the ground and walls.

I snapped out of whatever trance I’d been in, noticing Olivia had gone completely white in shock. Eli gave me a wink, then moved towards a switch that began lowering our deck.

“What th-”

“Patience, Jeremy.”

Soon enough the glass raised up and I ran towards my daughter to make sure she was alright.

I stopped short, watching her lick the blood off her fingers. The stains in the room had disappeared in the short moments I’d had my head turned away.

Eli began to clap, walking slowly towards the middle of the room. “That, my dear… That was Zodiac.”

He let out a deep sigh, as though years of pent-up frustration were finally alleviated. “You cannot possibly imagine the difficulty I’ve gone through for this. Putting up with that insane Meisberger and his ridiculous cult. Paying off the sheriff’s department. Keeping the drug money flowing. Preventing anyone else from unlocking the secrets of the sphere?”

He chuckled. “My goodness has it all been worth it. To finally meet you,” he said, opening his arms to Hannah.

Eli began to kneel, but Olivia grabbed his shoulder and punched him in the face. “It was supposed to be me! You told me I was the one!”

“Yes, well obviously I was lying.”

“You piece of…” She turned to my little girl and focused on her small form. “You little bitch, we’ll see who’s th-”

And then she turned to liquid, the same way the reverend had.

Hannah spent no time pulling the remains into her being, the matter sliding through her veins and disappearing in her throat.

Was this really still my daughter?

“Now then, it’s all settled? Kill him if you want, but do tell me what else must be done. I simply must know the rest, how to use it all!”

Eli bent over, begging up to the bloodied four-year old in front of him. She looked at him with disdain, then glanced over to me and smiled.

“No.”

“Wha-”

Once more, the human in front of her turned to reddish black chunks before making their way to her form. She swallowed hard and skipped over to me, grasping my hand with a smile.

“I’m so hungry, daddy. Won’t you help feed me?”

I only recall the following moments as memories. I like to think my mind put up a wall to lock all that horror away, then took pilot of my body as my daughter - or whatever she had become - led me through the halls to another guarded room.

Everyone in our way became that fleshy mist before becoming absorbed.

We finally reached a room that contained two halves of a dark spherical rock. Meteorites, I think they were. Hannah reached out to pull them towards her through the air and put them together. The pieces shifted and warped and shrunk down into a large black pearl, which she has worn around her neck ever since.

When we got home, after putting Hannah to bed, I found my wife’s body hanging from the ceiling fan in our room. Whether she killed herself or someone in Eli’s control killed her, I may never know.

What I do know was written in the brief note she mailed to me, set in her will.

My sweet Jeremy,

If you’re reading this, it’s because I’m dead. I cannot state how terribly sorry I am for everything, and though I can’t possibly explain most of what’s gone on, and what you may experience, there are a few things you need to know.

Hannah is not our daughter - not technically, anyway. She was created by the Initiative, and given to us after I discovered I couldn’t conceive children. I know this may come as a shock, but please know that she loves you as any child would love their father.

The details surrounding why they created her were never revealed to me, however I have come to believe that their plans for her are nothing but nefarious. They may go as far as stealing her from us right under our noses through kidnapping or lies. If I have seemed complicit in any such events, it was because they threatened to kill you.

What I do know is whatever will happen to her will usher in a new era. One of pain and suffering, as those with access to her power will use it to crush their opposition and suck the life from the world. These people are not sane, Jeremy. If I cannot stop it, and you receive this letter before it’s too late, you have to do something.

I can’t believe I’m writing this, but if it comes down to it you need to kill her before they perform the ritual. If it is completed, all hope is lost.

I hope from the bottom of my heart you will never have to read this letter. Please know that I did my best. I love you.

-Marissa

#creepy #horror story #author: Zchxz #alphabet stew series

[secretgiftsforshaman]

I wrote 2826 entire words before I collapsed last night

I have been seriously struggling this academic quarter. And I seriously struggled last academic quarter. As I did in undergrad, and in high school, junior high, and elementary. But I do not have any learning disabilities. And you have some idea of how smart I am in general, but I’ll share one specific example about just how very academically intelligent I am. On the SAT, I scored 700 in reading, 730 in writing, and 780 in math and I did not study for it. I spent most of the test bored and waiting for the allotted time to run out because I finished nearly every section way early. Early enough that at one point I had enough time to leisurely leave and use the restroom and came back before everyone else had finished. The only reason I did not score a perfect 800 in math because I missed *exactly* one question. I can still remember and visualize exactly which one it was – and only I missed it because it was the second to last one of the last math section and my brain read the word ‘diameter’ and was tired enough that my brain went ‘oh cool, radius’ even though I could have easily solved that problem when I was 11 or 12 (if you haven’t already gone “wow, she’s got some serious perfectionism issues” then now would be a good time for you to do so).

All of this to say: it has never been a question of not being able to understand the content. Very, very rarely in my entire scholastic lifetime have I ever not understood what was being taught to me. It is – and always has been – a matter of not being able to sit down and do the work.

One of the rubs of being so smart (especially when also socially inept – I don’t think I’ve ever had a formal diagnosis, but I would be astonished to learn if I wasn’t somewhere on the autism spectrum) is that your sense of self-worth is all too easily conflated with your intelligence and academic performance, placing massive pressure on yourself to be good at school, ‘cause that’s one of the few things I was reliably good at. 

Most of my school-age bullies, particularly the loudest ones, were just as smart as I was: all enrolled in the same accelerated classes, but they didn’t struggle the way I did, and they definitely saw it, and made sure I knew they did. They could all do their homework and turn things in on time, but I just couldn’t sit down and do even the simplest assignments sometimes – let alone the big projects and reports, not without crippling deadline pressure. My parents and teachers also tended to view the situation as if there was some kind of issue with me, too: that I was lazy/disorganized/not ‘applying myself’/needed discipline and punishment and then I’d be fine – alllll of that unhelpful bullshit.

Nobody thought that I wasn’t smart enough, though. Clearly, I was always great on tests: sit me down and ask me what I know and if there’s a definitive correct answer then odds are good that I knew what it was, so I excelled in math and science, and I took great comfort from knowing what I was doing and working familiar problems over and over. But having to go find sources for research and report on something or answer essay style questions – anything subjective or humanities-ish – was my kryptonite. I couldn’t ever say “this is enough information, this is complete and I’m done now” – once I started searching I’d drown in all of the information available and not be able to pull myself out with just enough to get the job done. I would become paralyzed simply by the thought of needing to sit down and do schoolwork, so I’d avoid it and distract myself with reading or anything else BUT schoolwork. And if I ever fell behind (which ALWAYS happened because that’s what happens when your avoidant coping is your default), then it was like pouring anti-napalm on everything: I’d be even more frozen and unable to function, like cold terrified acid licking through my veins. I have been a student most of my life – 21 and a half years to date – and the entire fucking time I’ve been limping along like this, always hoping at the start of each new term that This Time, somehow, I could Just Do It Already The Way I Should Be Able To, but over and over that optimism has crumbled to ashes in that undying flame of fear, paralysis, self-disgust, and despair.

I am able, now, to identify and name what I have suffered from my entire life, the condition that I was made to carry so much crippling SHAME for, that I learned to hide almost completely from all of my loved ones for over a decade so nobody would see that shame and decide to think less of me.

I have anxiety and complex PTSD. 

Where one ends and the other begins isn’t worth the effort of trying to tease them apart. The DSM-5 is an imperfect tool and no diagnosis is a uniform monolith – anxiety, PTSD, depression, and every other name of every other illness is merely a professional shorthand for “all/most of these symptoms are present.” It makes much more sense to treat my anxiety and PTSD as a single condition. Moreover, I have a strong suspicion that my endocrine disorder, PCOS, was triggered by the chronic stress/elevated cortisol and insulin (because one of the most socially acceptable ways for our nervous systems to regulate and soothe themselves when under stress is with food), and if it isn’t completely just part of the same thing, then it’s LARGELY overlapping with the anxiety/PTSD (I know that my mother and grandmother suffered in a very similar way in school, and I know that the PCOS is tied to inherited/ancestral trauma, so it makes every kind of sense if the anxiety/PTSD that we all have is related as well). 

I have had a generalized anxiety disorder diagnosis on my chart for years, and I’ve known, in my rational brain, that I’ve needed to get it under control to feel better and function in school (and to be honest, with almost all other professional/adulting things too). But thinking about what I need and actually DOING something about it are such utterly different things. It has only been in the past few weeks that I have been able to admit to myself that I need real, professional help to overcome this condition – and to ask for and start receiving that help. There is a big culture in my family, especially us women, about ignoring our own issues and focusing on helping other people first (I know I must have written to you about this before), so this has been a massive step for me. 

For a while I’ve been struggling to stay on top of my classes, and have fallen behind in all four of them, and the feeling of being overwhelmed has only increased exponentially. I’ve wanted, desperately, to go to an emotional ER so many times the past month, so much so that I found myself wanting (and knowing on a deep level that my body needs) some kind of pharmaceutical support to get me through the fucking day and allow me to do some of the massive, teetering pile of backlogged work. Upon hearing about my experiences of paralysis and dysfunction, and scoring very high on the anxiety diagnosis questionnaire she used, my doc, who rarely reaches for her Rx pad off the bat, suggested putting me on Clonidine (non-addictive, originally developed for hypertension) especially after my double-checked at-home blood pressure reading was 154/80 (which is consistent with STAGE 2 HYPERTENSION in an otherwise healthy and young TWENTY-NINE YEAR OLD for fucks sake)(insert emojis denoting ABJECT PANIC here).

I am comforted by the fact that my doctor, who I’ve seen since I was a tweenager, has shifted in the past few years to specialize in treating addiction and substance dependency, so if there’s anybody who I can trust to medicate me without causing a chemical dependence it’s her (thank GODDESS). Dr. M agrees with my perspective that the meds are just a temporary measure to alleviate my symptoms enough to function, and that the true treatment is the therapy work that I’ve been trying to do for myself, but there’s only so much you can do all by your lonesome, no matter how many self-help books you read (and goodness knows I’ve read a TON).

So I also finally started seeing a therapist (!), and just admitting some of this out loud to another person has been so profoundly healing. Our second session was this past Wednesday, and I was able to start opening up and telling her that I think my anxiety traces back to ancestral trauma and how I feel called to use a bottom-up, somatic approach (hence my recent interest in shamanism, ritual, soul retrieval, transpersonal psychology, etc., which she’s totally accepting of; again, THANK GODDESS).

One of the many many many self-help books that I’ve had my nose in is “The Instinct to Heal: Curing Depression, Anxiety, and Stress Without Drugs and Without Talk Therapy” by David Servan-Schreiber, MD, PhD (which I started reading like a day before I finally admitted that I needed to take drugs and do talk therapy *laughing at myself emoji here*). Servan-Schreiber beautifully articulated the relationship between our neocortex: the newly, highly developed, outer portions of the brain where our logic, reason, cognition, and consciousness arise from, and our limbic system: the older, more primitive inner section of our brains that controls our unconscious, autonomic physiological processes (like breathing, digestion, heart rate, etc.), trauma, instinct, intuition, and emotion, and is therefore far more deeply and intensely connected to the body (and bodily held memories) than the neocortex. 

I’ve been running around in my rational, conscious, neocortex mind *thinking* about all of my issues and traumas and everything for ages, and I understand so much about these things on that rational level – but that is miles away from the irrational, unconscious, limbic bodymind where all of those traumas actually ARE and continue to play out over and over as if they’re still happening. This is something that my therapist helped me understand – our neocortex understands that this is a different time and the thing that happened in the past is over and done and we’re safe now, but the limbic system has no sense of time. In our irrational reptile brains, everything still exists the same as it did all those years ago as if it never stopped happening. THIS is where our inner wounded child lives, where a soul fragment likely fled from for safety in the midst of the unendurable whatever-it-was that precipitated the trauma response, and where the empty spot is where it needs to be called back to still resides, open and waiting and longing. 

THIS is why I’ve felt called towards the irrational, mystical, shamanic modes of healing: I’ve done as much as I can with my rational mind, which cannot be used to solve an irrational problem or heal an irrational wound, which is what all trauma is. A couple of weeks ago, when I asked you for your help as a shaman with conducting a soul retrieval, this is the kind of work that I was starting to realize that I need to do. The crazy Thing That I Did that I told you about (and meant to describe for you more at the time but I was exhausted and desperately needed the rest instead) was a small and beautiful spontaneous retrieval of a part of me when I was seven, a part that was thirteen, and a part of me as a young infant that I brought to my own breast in recognition that I was both deserving of my own love, nourishment, and care, and capable of being a loving, heart-centered parent to myself. I felt all of the past, younger versions of me that I’ve already been gathered in concentric circles within me, and all of the older versions of me that I’ve not yet been spiraling around me, and my ancestors and guides and spirits and all of the love and kindness that anyone has ever directed towards me gathered around all of me like a compassionate embrace, and I think that it was that experience that gave me just enough of my soul back, just enough juice and magic that I could start digging my teeth in and taking the steps I needed to take to seek treatment and get my legs back underneath me.

As amazing and beautiful as that experience was, it wasn’t everything that I need in order to heal. I want to do a soul retrieval/healing ritual to unfreeze the part of me (and the part of my mother, grandmother, and other ancestors) that is stuck in that root trauma – where the anxiety, complex PTSD, PCOS - where all of that junk stems from. I don’t yet have much sense at all what that’s gonna look like, but I know that it’s gonna be the biggest damn spell I’ve ever cast, and that I don’t think I can cast it alone. Watch this space.

I do think, though, that preparing for that is the thing to do for now, by accumulating small things on multiple fronts – growing my strength, calling back small parts of me, telling more and more loved ones about my truth, chipping away at the stack of things to do, continuing with meds and therapy, contacting my professors and possibly the department/program admin (with a letter from Dr. M in hand documenting my diagnosis and treatment) to let them know that I need help I’m figuring out how to make up for assignments that I haven’t turned in and make sure that I can continue next quarter and not get kicked out of the program. I’m still carrying a lot of fear of failure/expulsion around this (and anxiety = paralysis = inaction for me, even though I desperately want to fix it) – especially after handling myself so badly in a similar situation at the end of last quarter. When you’ve got a minute, I’d appreciate a pep talk about broaching the subject with them.

All in all, I’m doing well and things are looking up in a way I’ve NEEDED them to start looking up for literal decades. I’ve even been able to start telling my mother about how badly I’ve been doing (she knows I’ve seen my doctor and started therapy and meds) and allowing her to see that pain and struggle after years of hiding it from her out of shame has been scary but such a relief. But Goddess Knows I’ve got A LOT to do still. Just cause I’ve finally struck a match and can navigate a little better doesn’t mean I’m out of the dungeon yet.

I began the meds just yesterday, and I’ve spent the day decompressing (never been a better time for me to have a few days all to myself kitten-sitting for some friends while they go to a tiny, COVID-regulation compliant thanksgiving visit with their family in Portland). Drowsiness is a listed side effect of Clonidine, and I was really worried that my prescribed dose was too high after being soooooo tired yesterday and today after I took the pills, but my increasing suspicion is that I’ve just been so high-strung and hypervigilant (hello super premature hypertension!) that the anti-anxiety/BP-lowering drug just uncovered the chronic e x h a u s t I o n that was already (always) there, rather than them making me drowsy when I wasn’t. So I’ve spent the day eating my friend’s leftovers (she’s an AMAZING cook) and cat napping with the two sweetest little troublemakers you ever did see (I’ll send pics!). 

I think that FINALLY being able to relax like this was what helped me to begin to be receptive and start opening up (and connecting with you!) again. Anxiety = I clam up, my libido nosedives, and my pelvic tightness/vaginal armoring gets painful and rigid – all bad prospects for wild, sexy, blooming Love-Lust-and-Light fun. I was so glad to reconnect with you – and that you reminded me that I need to get this out and I can process it and heal it by sharing it with you – that our Sacred Space is still there for me to use and pour my pain and magic and consciousness out into.

I think that’s all the most important developments. I’m excited to hear all about all of your new developments, processing, perspectives too. 

And now I’m gonna go to bed. One nap today was NOT enough to recover from  goddess-knows-how-long-I’ve-had-this chronic fatigue. I’ll talk to you soon

I love you, Άδης

Your Εκάτε <3

[obaewankenope]

my life in a nutshell (or twenty damned paragraphs because ‘brevity, what is thou?’)

so i’m ill. my joints and muscles are flaring up with pain again. i’m getting constant migraines. my vision keeps blurring. i can’t walk more than twenty paces before my legs feel like jelly spaghetti. my forearms are nothing but shooting pains along the nerves which is  n o t  f u n. and i am suffering something awful with ibs (irritable bowel syndrome), alternatively known as The Time of Farts That Kill and Three Hour Toilet Escapades.

i went to my job centre appointment today with my sick note. got that copied and they’re sending it off because i refuse to send it in the post when a) i can’t make a copy of it and b) if it gets lost in the post, they’ll blame me. because it’s sent internally, they can’t accuse me of anything.

i received a letter from uc saying i’m no longer entitled to ANY payments from them because of the sanction they gave me - a 2.5 month long sanction btw.

i need to call them up and demand request a mandatory reconsideration because they’re really dragging this out now and i feel like just slitting my fucking wrists ffs. i don’t even want to call them. the very idea of just waiting for them to answer me on the line, telling them the circumstances, listening to the faux fucking ‘sympathy’ that’s really ‘judgement’, and being left in limbo even fucking more... i’d rather rip my own skin off and it’s really fucking tempting right now (my skin is itching for me to do so fucking fuck).

i’ve signed up to this thing online where i review books and might get paid for them (not all of them tho) but like, even a £1 a review from them makes a difference at this point.

i’ve been told i can’t get another eye test through the nhs because my last one was too recent (tho since they keep sending me letters about it i have no fucking idea) and so i’m stuck with this single pair of glasses that i don’t think are as helpful as they were.

i’ve stopped taking my amitrypline medication because the side effects were horrific and i felt more unstable on them than i’ve ever felt before in my life. i don’t know if they’ve caused some of the stuff i’m experiencing now but i recently noticed that i keep getting a tingling sensation in my face, sort of like pins and needles, and there’s a significant decrease in sensitivity on the left side of my face compared to the right.

i’ve had numbness and tingling issues for years now but the hypersensitivity i have from being autistic sort of counters it to some degree because, when i’m asked “can you feel that?” and the doctor pokes my leg, i answer “yes” because i still sort of can. even when i’ve mentioned “i feel it less though” it’s like it’s just something irrelevant and to be dismissed.

idk if anyone has followed me long enough (or cared about my personal life tbh), but about two years ago, back when i first started trying to get doctors to take me seriously, i genuinely believed that my symptoms were potentially MS related. this was before my brother’s diagnosis of fibro, so i assumed “i have a cousin with MS that zig-zags her body and the things she’s described match a lot of the things i have”. doctor i saw back then dismissed it though.

i’ve tried to contact my rhuematology specialist to sort of my medication and, maybe, see if there’s anything to my worries about this. but i s2g, if i get dismissed again i might scream. i mean, i’ve never had an MRI. when i asked for one two years ago, i was told point blank “we won’t waste the money on you to have a scan” and i just- wtf? MRI scans are incredibly useful for diagnosing and ruling out a multitude of conditions/illnesses/injuries. not only that, but they can help reveal problems or issues that you don’t even know about that could be dangerous or harmful ffs. but it’s a “waste of money” to spend right...

still bitter about that.

mason is doing better than he was but he’s still had some bloody pee today. we think he’ll be okay but we’re keeping an eye on him. the money for his treatment came from the amazing people on here who donated and i can’t thank you enough for that! we made sure to buy additional toys and change the litter we use as well to see if that makes any difference overall. so far, i think it might be. and none of that would have been possible without ya’ll sending money so thank you from the bottom of my cold, shrivelled, cat-shaped heart.

i’m pissed off at my lecturer for what he said in monday’s class when we complained about the one-and-a-half hour long video he made us watch with no subtitles on fucking philosophy of all things. he told the class that we need to be engaging with material at this level and have no excuse to not bother to do so.

he says that in a class about disability studies.

he says that as a blind man who is disabled.

he says that in a class where i am and who he knows has a neurodevelopmental disorder.

he says one of the most intellectually ableist things i’ve heard a fucking lecturer ever say and doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with it and i just- what the fucking fuck.

fucking pisses me off so much. he already pissed me off last term with the way he worded things in private conversations after the whole ‘left classroom because group I was working with for a presentation were assholes’ thing happened. it’s so. i don’t think i have words.

or the energy.

gods but my life has gone to fucking shit lately.

#personal #read by all means but don't reblog pls

[hollywayblog]

One in Ten: Living With Endometriosis

At eighteen, Rhiannon should have been bright-eyed and beginning her adult life. Instead, she was bed-ridden, depressed and pumped full of hardcore painkillers to manage her severe and mysterious chronic pain, which affected her legs, pelvis, abdomen and back. She’d always had painful, heavy and sporadic periods, but now she was never not in agony. It wasn’t until she underwent an invasive laparoscopic surgery to have an ovarian cyst removed that she discovered the reason: Rhiannon – like one in ten women – suffers from endometriosis.

Endo-meat-tree-what-us? Endometriosis. Despite the fact you probably know someone who has it, I’m guessing you have no idea what it is. Well, endometriosis is a condition in which tissue similar to that which lines the uterus grows elsewhere in the body. This invisible illness – which can be life-altering and debilitating even when managed properly – has neither a known cause nor a known cure. And despite being as common as asthma or diabetes, those who suffer with endometriosis – almost exclusively women – fail to get the treatment they need.

Though the reasons for this are complex and plentiful, the most crucial component of any issue is awareness – you can’t fix a problem if you don’t know it exists. That’s why I decided to sit down and have a chat about the realities of living with endo with my sister Rhiannon, who has not only endured the illness for fourteen years, but managed to thrive in spite of it.

That wasn’t always the case.

Rhiannon’s first sign that something was wrong was a period that came every two weeks instead of four, and was brutally heavy and exhausting. She went to the doctor and was assured that this was normal (hint: it’s not) and she would just have to get used to it. Over the years, her period became more than frequent and irregular. It became debilitating, forcing her to spend entire school days in the sickbay with nothing but ineffective Panadol to quell the hot, raking pain.

This, too – she was told – was normal. (It’s still not.)

But by seventeen, the pain was no longer contained to the days in which she was bleeding. She went to the doctor again and finally she was granted some tests, which eventually led to her diagnosis – eight years after that first symptom.

Eight years sounds like a long time, and it is. Yet the average is actually TEN years. How does that even happen?

When you live in your body every day, it doesn’t take a genius to know when something’s not right, but Rhiannon has had her pain dismissed by doctors in a million different ways. She was told it was normal, it was all in her head, the pain would go away if she just lost some weight. She was labelled as a hypochondriac instead of receiving the help she needed. This, sadly, is not the exception but the rule when it comes to the diagnosis process for endo and many other women-specific maladies.

The fact is, doctors are not sufficiently educated about this illness or how to diagnose anything more mysterious than a head cold. They are trained to write prescriptions, not to solve puzzles. If your problem can’t be fixed with a pill they just don’t know what else to do with you, and so it’s easier to simply write you off as hysterical.

And girls are so used to feeling shitty we don’t demand better. It’s drilled into us from pre-puberty that everything is gonna hurt. You’re gonna bleed from your vag, then you’re gonna push a human out of it, then you’re gonna go insane for a year or so while your eggs dry up. Also, you’re gonna be paid less than a man for no reason and have your heart broken a couple dozen times. Womanhood is pain.

That’s the story, and it’s what gets us accepting burdens we don’t have to carry. This means getting women to recognise that their symptoms are actually symptoms and need to be diagnosed is hard enough, getting a doctor who’ll take you seriously is harder, and if you can get that far, actually getting diagnosed is, in itself, not easy.

It can only be truly detected through laparoscopic surgery. If you go through the public system you’ll go on a lengthy waiting list. If they do find endo – and not finding it doesn’t mean it’s not there – they will remove it at the same time. This may provide some relief, but it’s not a cure by any means.

After Rhiannon’s first surgery, she was told that they had found and removed endometriosis. That was all the explanation she got. No one told her that it would most likely return – she thought she was cured, and was treated to a few blissful months of feeling healthy for the first time in almost a decade.

You can imagine how harrowing it was when the pain returned. She ended up not only in her GP’s office but also in the emergency room, having experienced pain attacks so intense she didn’t know what else to do but call an ambulance. No matter where she went, no one knew what to do with her. She was told by medical professionals that endometriosis could not be causing this reaction because she had already had every inch of it removed in surgery (blatant misinformation). It didn’t seem to matter that all her symptoms – chronic pain, vaginismus, irregular periods (where the pain was even worse), painful bowel movements, nausea and more – were strongly associated with endo, and that there was no reason whatsoever that it could not have returned. The widespread ignorance and misinformation about her illness caused her several more years of tears, stress and yet more pain.

Finally, after ongoing doctors’ appointments and doing extensive research of her own, Rhiannon came to terms with the fact that she did, in fact, have endometriosis – a chronic illness that she would live with indefinitely. She had always thought that she was pursuing a diagnosis so that she could be fixed. She couldn’t have anticipated that the diagnosis would be the worst part – that the life she had envisioned for herself was no longer an attainable reality.

Chronic pain and fatigue meant any conventional job was out of the question. This brought on a feeling of hopelessness and uselessness that came not only from inside herself, but from others who couldn’t reconcile the image of an externally fine young woman with a person in crippling pain. Much like mental illness, it’s not easy to drill into people that just because you look one way on the outside, it doesn’t mean you’re healthy. Even people who understand in theory struggle to support in practice, becoming frustrated when you dare to actually show symptoms. The fact is that a person who suffers from an illness cannot be reliable in the same way a healthy person can, but it’s hard for humans to conjure sympathy when the visual triggers aren’t there. If you trip over and get a head wound your friend will understand why you can’t come to lunch – they’ll probably even ask you if you need anything. Invisible illnesses are trickier, and can cause a lot of internal shame, guilt and social anxiety.

The depth of this subject can make your head spin. It encompasses so many issues – feminism, mental health, invisible illness, the medical industry. Sex and addiction come into it, and so does compassion and empathy. My biggest takeaway, though, is the strength of women, and I witness this in my sister every single day.

From being bed-bound, to a close call with prescription painkiller addiction, to finally rediscovering her real passions and pursuing them wholeheartedly, Rhiannon is a shining example of the power of a positive mindset. It’s about, she says, focusing on what you CAN do – acknowledging your limitations without creating ones that don’t exist, and realising that happiness is a choice you make and not something that just happens.

Rhiannon has written stories since she was a kid, but decided like so many of us to pursue the more conventional career path. She was heartbroken when she realised that she wouldn’t be able to work as a midwife – but a few years later she had an epiphany: although she had an interest in nursing, it had never been her true passion. Now, Rhiannon is a full-time writer. And really, she was always supposed to be one. Some days she still can’t do much more than curl up in bed with a hot water bottle, but she is making her own rules, chasing her dreams however she can. And that is so fucking powerful.

 Special thanks to Rhiannon Fontana for sitting down with me to talk about this. Please check out https://www.endometriosisaustralia.org/ for more information, mark March down in your calendar as Endometriosis Awareness Month and share the love! Share this article, make a donation or just reach out to an endo warrior and let her know you’re there.

You can also support Rhiannon by purchasing her novel, Oblivion, here.

#endometriosis awareness month #endometriosis #endo warrior #feminism #fight like a girl

[tiredbiplantlady]

bipolar ask posted by loloren69 

General:

1. Type 1 or type 2? 

I don’t really know. I could speculate as a psych master’s student, but I don’t feel comfortable making that call. I only know my therapist told me I was bipolar, said I was manic, and described mania to me and specified my behaviors that fell in line with that, no doubt about it, which would indicate bipolar I

2. Self-dx or professional dx? 

Self-suspected, professional confirmed 

3. Are you currently hypo/manic, depressed, mixed, stable, or not sure?

Hypomanic at the least, but it feels like I’m coming down because I’m exhausted for the first time in a while and 6 or 7 days of barely sleeping  

4. Do you have any other mental illnesses/disorders? 

I’ve had a diagnosable form of nearly every anxiety disorder in the DSM at different times since childhood and was diagnosed with various disorders from ADD to dysthymia and adjustment disorder. I consider my only other still-valid diagnosis to be PTSD, but it’s in remission.

5. When did you first start having symptoms? 

In retrospect I’d say the mood problems started around 15, but it got way worse in 2014 and worse still in 2015. the depressive symptoms were out of control and may have been a mixed episode (age 22) 

6. When did you realize/learn that you have bipolar? 

I suspected it briefly as a teenager even though I didn’t know shit about it, but didn’t think about it again until the past year and then the past few months my therapist identified symptoms I described as hypomania and in the last week as mania 

7. Have you ever received a misdiagnosis?

I don’t know if my former diagnoses were necessarily “misdiagnoses” - I think symptoms change over time, new things come up, other things trail off. I think one professional can see symptoms and call it one thing and another professional can call it something else. It’s complicated and subjective. 

8. How self-aware are you on a scale of 1-10? 

LMAO I am the most over-analyzing, self-aware person - easy 9 or 10

9. How many people know about your bipolar disorder? 

Couple people. I’m skeptical about talking about disorders, especially new diagnoses because I’m insecure about what people think because I’ve received several from different professionals, and outside people tend to just see a shifting diagnosis and think I’m making shit up “new year, new diagnosis” always gotta have “something wrong with me” to talk about. Which isn’t how I feel and labels don’t really mean shit, it’s the symptoms and their treatment I care about. A label is just a fast way to describe something complex. sorry it took a while to figure out what was wrong and i went thru many labels before landing here

10. Are any of your family members bipolar? 

Two formal diagnoses/very related diagnoses that I know of (grandma - MDD w/psychotic features, highly likely undiagnosed bipolar based on past behaviors (delusions, hallucinations, yelling on top of a roof, etc. police called, institutionalization), uncle - bipolar I w/psychotic features). some others I suspect, imo

11. Name three fictional characters you relate to and/or headcanon as bipolar. 

Uhhh Ian Gallagher. I’m not creative with this right now and I haven’t thought about this at all. 

Hypo/mania:

12. When hypo/manic, do you get euphoric, dysphoric, angry, creative, social, or several of the above? 

It depends. It seems like I get euphoric, creative and social sometimes, and euphoric, agitated (not angry), and dysphoric other times. But those cluster together

13. What has been your longest hypo/manic episode? 

I think it was from November 2016 to January 2017, so like 3 months, but it was the first “episode” I noted and kept even some track of after the fact. I may have had others in the past. 

14. Have you ever had a psychotic episode? What symptoms did it include? 

I’ve had two depressive episodes that I can specifically certainly note that included delusions (lasted just over a month to two months) of the somatic variety. 

15. What kind of impulsive decisions have you made? 

Where do I start? Over-spending, over-eating, drinking to excess, impulsive risky sex/sexual situations/hypersexuality, getting tattoos/piercings (kinda goes with spending, but I mention it specifically because it’s permanent), long-distance travel without telling anyone where I was going, cheating, lying, not thinking ahead and it hurting people, falling in love, ending relationships, general recklessness and selfishness. I’m sure there’s more and I’m not proud of it in the slightest, so please don’t think I am. 

16. What’s the most money you’ve spent in a single day while hypo/manic? 

$200-300

17. What’s the longest you’ve gone without sleep? 

Period...um. I couldn’t say. Probably 2 with NO sleep and with minimal sleep (3-4 hours) over a week

18. Are you a creative type? Have you ever made a poem/song/other artwork about being bipolar? 

I’m creative, but I don’t write about being bipolar because I never fully considered myself to be so until recently. I’ve written about mood instability and trauma a TON tho. And much of my art work is and always has been about duality, mixed emotions, extremes, and highs/lows. 

Depression:

19. When depressed, do you get suicidal, bored, anxious, guilty, or several of the above? 

It depends, but I’m mostly unmotivated as fuck and empty. I start feeling worthless and unlovable and I hate myself. Sometimes I feel suicidal, but have never attempted and won’t. I’ve self-harmed and planned how to kill myself, but was never intending to do it. I’ve spent the majority of my life in a state of constant anxiety so there’s that, especially when depressed. Irrational guilt and sluggishness are common for me with depression. Once in a while my mood dives along with my energy, but my mind is over-worked and highly anxious, which is when the delusions I’ve had occurred. 

20. What has been your longest depressive episode? 

Fuck...months upon months. I couldn’t tell you. Maybe even a year or more, which is why I was misdiagnosed as dysthymic as a teenager 

21. How do you cope with depression? 

In the past, I didn’t. I suffered massively. Now, I’m still not so great with it. I talk in therapy and I write, but even still I tend to stay in bed and feel numb/mope/distract myself with anything I can. I tend to be able to function enough to go to school because I feel like my life and future depends on it, am anxious as fuck, and do my best but end up with late work, being withdrawn and feeling doomed to fail, believe I’m doing far worse than I am and that I’m awful and don’t deserve to be there

22. Are you a sleep-all-day depressive or an insomniac depressive? Do you overeat or lose your appetite? 

It depends, but in the most recent past, sleep-all-day and overeat. But I’ve been sleep-all-day and no appreciative and I’ve also been insomniac and overeat (2013-14) 

23. When is the last time you cried or had a breakdown? 

Tuesday August 1, 2017 (9 days ago) 

24. Have you ever self-harmed? 

YUP. Razor blades/cutting, punishing binge-eating, starvation, and abusive risky BDSM/relationships/sex 

25. Have you had problems with substance abuse? 

Not really, but I’ve drank a little lately 

26. Have you ever attended AA/NA/etc? 

No 

27. Have you ever attempted suicide? 

No 

28. Have you ever written a suicide note?

Yes, but it was just to get it out. I threw it out after I wrote it. 

Other symptoms and treatment:

29. Do you ever dissociate? 

Y U P 

30. Do you ever have hallucinations? If so, what are they? 

No hallucinations. I’ve thought I’ve heard shit before, but I’m pretty sure it was a fluke and I want to believe in ghosts so. Call me crazy if you want, but what the fuck ever. I’ve had delusions only 

31. Do you see a therapist? Do you feel like it’s helping? 

Yes and yes 

32. Are you on any medications? Do you feel like they’re helping? 

No, not anymore, and I fucking hate anti-depressants, refuse mood-stabilizers and anti-psychotics and maybe want to keep having some anxiety meds

33. Have you ever been hospitalized? 

No, and I want to keep it that way 

34. Have you ever attended group therapy? 

No, but I’ve conducted roleplay group therapy baahaha

35. Have any of your symptoms gotten worse over the years? 

Yeah, I think the manic shit has gotten worse over the last 2 years 

36. Have any of your symptoms gotten better over the years? 

I think the depressive stuff has gotten a little better, or maybe just less frequent  

37. Do you have a favorite coping method? 

What does that mean...healthy or unhealthy...I guess I like meditation and I fucking miss working out A LOT. I like drinking as an unhealthy thing, but I’m sure I’ll hate it as much as I hate binge-eating once it catches up to me if I let it get that far. I’m tired of gaining weight after the 80 pounds I lost, and it’s really fucking with my self-esteem, makes me feel frustrated and sick 

38. If you could choose to be neurotypical, would you?

 No 

#meandmine #mental illness/// #general tw #self harm tw #alcohol tw #drugs tw #suicide tw

[mysclerosis-blog]

The Story So Far

Hi, I'm Jacob. A lot of people call me Fent/Fenty, I'm 24 and I have relapsing multiple sclerosis.

That's all I can think about a lot of the time; that and I see most of my life through the scope of MS. I'm new to this, you see. I was only diagnosed in January after more than a year of trying to find out what was actually going on with me.

I've never been a stranger to fatigue, due to being diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome at 12 years old. On top of that I've had experiences with sciatica causing nerve pain and reduced sensation through my legs and especially feet.  It wasn't until I'd developed a tremor in my right hand and a lack of coordination in my my limbs in November 2015 that I had any idea something was wrong. I've always been a drummer for as long as I can remember and at the start of my symptoms fresh off the back of a music degree (contemporary world jazz music, to be exact) with first class honours. Not for much longer. Not in the same way at least. Around this time I met my love, Jessica. She lives 300 miles away but I have a car and since we met online a few months ago we've fallen deeply in love. Throughout all of what's happened through my journey with multiple sclerosis so far, she's been so patient and understanding that even in my fearful attempts to show her how hopeless my future is or whatever feeble thing I've been telling myself, she's stuck by me and shone a light on me that is honestly about the only thing that's kept me hanging on at times. Enough mush for now though, on with the story...

The uncertainty of when or if my tremor and coordination problems were going to return shook my confidence, already having lost a lot of my skills. Since then I've barely played, and I've not written a piece of music since either, being more disenchanted with music than I thought I could ever be. More on this later though.

I opted not to go to have a referral to a neurologist right away, thinking it would just go away. Over the coming months a whole load of other interesting things happened though, including intermittent (and PAINFUL, let me tell you) cramping of all of the muscles on my righthand side, often making me fall to the floor on my side until it passed. The symptom I notice most, though, is the reduced sensation in my feet and up my legs. Having mistaken this for another, very persistent, sciatica flare-up, I was stretching very frequently and noticing no real improvements. Even my chiropractor said she couldn't find a single knot or tight muscle in my back. On July 9th it will be a whole year since I had complete and uninterrupted sensation in my feet. Happy anniversary...

Fast-forwarding to when I finally saw a neurologist in September 2016, he couldn't see much wrong with me and took my symptoms to be an exaggeration of my natural essential tremor, caused by my underlying health (my degree and life events around the time had really worn me out) and said there was a very minimal chance it could be something more sinister and if I wanted, he could run some tests. Yes please!

In November I had an MRI and a blood test done, the results of which were published around Christmas. There was a long wait to actually be told the results by my neurologist, but in the meantime I'd had an appointment with a psychiatrist who had actually seen my MRI results and told me (erroneously) that I probably had Wilson's disease - a super rare disease affecting copper metabolism that can cause neurological symptoms. Great, I thought. I can get treated for that, get this copper out of my brain and be back to my normal self in no time, right? Well, as I found out almost a month later, and I can't stress this enough; hell fucking no. On the plus side, I now have a few minutes of conversation to fill with facts about Wilson's disease if it ever comes up in conversation... which I'm not expecting to happen any time particularly soon... Anyway, my GP had printed off the radiologist's report on my MRI scan, which didn't have a diagnosis, but described what the images showed. Now, I'm the sort that will research things I don't understand, particularly when it comes to psychology and biology. Doctors probably hate me. Regardless, in amongst the jargon like "T2 weighted" and "FLAIR", whatever they meant, and wherever the areas of the brain were whose names I couldn't remember for you if you wanted me to, I spotted a word I'd never seen before. Demyelination.

D e m y e l i n a t i o n.

That doesn't sound like copper to me, and it doesn't sound like the telltale characteristic sign of copper deposits in the brain á la Wilson's. And google shows no results for "Wilson's disease demyelination" (Remember i said that doctors probably hate me?). Well, googling demyelination tells that the most common demyelinating disease is multiple sclerosis. Right, okay... That thought can stay buried deep then...

And it did. Maybe it was one of the other demyelinating diseases. Maybe it was something easily fixed. Maybe it wasn't that. Maybe it was something. I'd take a medical anomaly, anything, at this point. But in my head I think I knew. I went to the neurologist's office for my followup appointment January 16th 2017, and then this all became a little bit real. And then a lot real. I'd heard of multiple sclerosis. I had no idea what it really was. I has no idea about it at all really except a small amount I'd read the weeks previous. But there are some sentences you expect to never apply to you that all of a sudden do.

"I have multiple sclerosis", I would say out loud, almost with a smirk, trying to tell myself. Trying to make myself believe it. But I couldn't. Not yet. The only real positive I've heard today is that the MRI I'd had in 2014 to check for ear canal obstructions was clear, so it's less than two years I've had this. But still, it's hard to focus on a small victory such as that when, still, "I have multiple sclerosis" isn't a lie anymore.

And so begins the dissociation. And the reading. So much reading, so much information, so many different opinions and 'cures' and fixes and treatments and advice and research and studies. But I'm convinced I'm going to be the first person with this disease that completely beats it. For a few weeks. And here comes a relapse.

I'm not so bulletproof now. I can barely walk without tripping over my feet and my legs are spasming ridiculously. I need help to walk and my left hand is so slow and cramped up. I can barely feel anything from 6 inches above my belly button and my nerves HURT. What luck that I'm meeting my MS specialist consultant neurologist this week though. Some oral steroids  (first prize for 'worst taste on earth', congratulations methylprednisolone!) have me sorted out and somewhat bulletproof again, but the reality is starting to set in now. My consultant has given me the names of two treatments to research; Tysabri and Lemtrada. Yay, more reading. Cos I haven't had enough existential crisis by this point.

Next come the lows, lower than many of the lows I've experienced before in what I wouldn't describe as an easy life. Those stories are for a different day, perhaps a different blog, I haven't quite decided yet. Getting to grips with this disease and the uncertainty of every day is an interesting task; rarely a boring one and never an easy one. I feel like I could spend a week or so of solid typing of my negative feelings and setbacks but I won't. Not yet...

Anyway, moving swiftly to the present day. It's June 30th. It's 6:00 in the morning and as usual, I haven't slept. My preordered copy of the PS4 remastered version of the Crash Bandicoot trilogy (a hugely important part of my youth, and in the present day) is set to arrive in a few hours. I'm typing on the laptop I bought to make my five days receiving Lemrada next month more palatable. I now own a trumpet and an acoustic guitar and have about 1/4 of a drum kit set up. I'm somewhat motivated to get back into music; writing, recording, playing and the time away from it all has changed the way I think of myself as a musician. I'm actually getting excited about music again. Jessica and I are still together and every day she gives me inspiration to keep living, and for her and our future together I hold on until the end of the day each day. Sometimes barely but I haven't failed at that yet so that's something to take pride in. Time will tell where else the river will take me; piss knows I had no idea it would take me where I've already been so I've stopped expecting the scenic route by now. Life still feels like a bit like being on an unfamiliar planet, and one I'm not quite fully welcome on at times, but in amongst my fears for the future, both near and far, there's a glimmer of hope.

#multiple sclerosis #relapsing remitting #ms #rrms #lemtrada #chronic illness #fatigue #paraesthesia #disability #my story

[thejamesoldier]

Opia

Hi everyone! So this is part one of the ABO Verse fic I promised to post. I finally got around to writing it and voila! Let me know what you think pretty please? It’s kinda short but every first chapter is right? xxx 

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Summary: The a/b/o verse where Hydra fucked with Bucky’s hormones and temporarily made him a Beta (because they take orders better) as the Winter Soldier, but now that he’s safe at Stark Tower, Tony hires Y/n to help re-orientate him back to his natural-born rank as Alpha.

Tags: Angst, fluff, smut (duh), and everything else I can’t remember right now lol

Tagged Lovlies: @softforseb, @mrtinslydia, @wine-and-space-donuts, @aislinsekhem, @creideamhgradochas (lemme know if you wanna be tagged x)

(oh and I did this lazy crappy last minute minimalist cover, but I would love if you guys submitted your own covers :) Sexy, angsty, whatever you want idc but I’d love to see some!!! You guys are way better at graphics than I am lol)

                                                     Prologue 

Opia n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel                                      simultaneously invasive and vulnerable

Chapter 1 - Who the Fuck is That?

Silence reigns over the group. 

Tony cockily lifts his chin a tick, the scent wafting from his neck boasts that he’s proud of himself. 

“Why couldn’t you have just gotten him a kitten?” Steve mutters into the calloused flesh of his large hands that are currently cradling his face. 

A specific type of exhaustion strains Rogers’ voice (hint: it’s not the sleep-deprived kind) as Bucky, standing beside him, goes ram-rod straight, body stiff, pulled to full height…erect. Bucky’s eyes widen so much it’s like they’re preparing to pop right out of his skull.

You blink owlishly at the entirety of the Avengers standing in a haphazard circle around you, just as shocked and profoundly confused as they are.

“Tony, that’s a person.” Natasha states point blank after a couple beats, before her nostrils flare and her Alpha nose scents something else that’s equally, if not more, alarming, “Tony that’s an omega.” 

Everyone cranks their gazes slowly away from you and back to Tony. ‘EXPLAIN’ is the silent word that’s unanimously yelled at Stark. 

He does an insecure little shoulder roll before clearing his throat,

“When I was – whenever I was, you know…lost I always had Pepper,” Tony begins like he’s reading the opening hook line to an epic story (A quiet ‘here we fucking go’ sounds from Clint). “My Pepper, she never let me down, not once. She’s honestly the only person on this entire planet, and quite possibly in this universe, that I truly trust my entire self to.” Tony pauses and quickly eyes everyone in the room, “No offense. But anyway she can handle it, me, she can handle me and all my baggage and hold me up, hold up all my weight when I need to lean on her. Metaphorically speaking of course, although I shouldn’t cast judgement upon the subject since I don’t know for sure if she could physically hold up all my dead weight, Pep probably can, actually she’s damn strong–,”

“Tony!” Natasha interrupts, voice tight and impatient as she flashes a quick analyzing side glance at you before returning her attention back to Tony.

“Right,” Stark huffs as he gets himself back on track and re-focuses his gaze on Bucky who suspiciously, purposefully, is avoiding looking at Tony or you or anyone for that matter. He seems quite fascinated with the plating on his metal arm at the moment. “In short, I got Barnes his very own Pepper Potts…but sorta in reverse. You know because Pep is my alpha and I’m the omega and Bucky is an alpha and this woman here is –” 

A fierce growl interrupts Tony’s tangent. Everyone’s eyes snap back to you. 

Your teeth are bared with fury, your hands are balled by your stiff sides, and your brows dig low into the sharp glare of your gaze.

“I. Am. Not. An. Animal. To. Be. Sold.” You punctuate each sizzling word with a snarl, staring mostly at Tony but everyone receives your message loud and clear none the less.   

Tony Stark (you scent him expertly: Omega, wild sage, unburnt coal, tang of molten iron; highly intelligent according to the complexities of his scent layers) looks genuinely confused before narrowing his eyes challengingly against your glare.

“Didn’t you respond to the ad I put up looking for a caretaker with the natural-born rank of Omega?” 

You freeze, remembering the ad and that you did submit a resume, but not remembering seeing anything about Tony Stark or association with the Avengers for that matter.  

“Yes but–,”

“Who specializes in Alpha current duty, ex-military, or veteran patients?”

“Yes! Bu–,”

“Equipped for severe PTSD episodes?”

“Yes b–,”

“Has a Harvard Masters Degree in Scenting?”

“Yes–,”

“Another Masters from Harvard on The Science of Bonding?”

“Ye–,”    

“Trained to help Alpha Re-Orientation?”

“Y–,”

“Certified in The Rut Rehabilitation Program?”

You practically shriek the growl you let out to get Stark to shut the fuck up. Damn this rich know-it-all asshole. I mean he went and memorized your entire resume…who fucking does that?

After Tony goes silent with this infuriatingly knowing smirk slapped on his stupidly groomed face, you take a steadying breath. Everyone had been watching you two speak, their eyes jumping back and forth from each Omega. 

“As I was trying to say,” You shake your head a little, letting the hair around your neck stir your scent into the air making it stronger for the others to smell, making your presence known – demanding respect and attention. “There was no mention of your name Mr. Stark, or who the patient was.”

“Why does it matter who the patient is?” Steve Rogers (you scent him too: Alpha, rainwashed lilies, old red city brick, dewy firewood ash; revealed as one of the most fiercely loyal alphas you’ve ever encountered as other people’s scents [especially the man with the metal arm] is bonded so deeply with his own) suddenly interrupts, sounding extremely defensive. 

You observe the Captain’s body posture with finessed skill, quickly gathering that what he’s defensive of is the man with the metal arm standing beside him. Quickly you turn your attention to the patient in question. 

When your eyes land on Bucky, something within him clicks. Maybe its the way you’re looking at him - evaluating, sizing up – or maybe its your scent, but whatever it is it makes that oddly familiar but uncomfortably foreign Alpha instinct kick in. James stretches and arches his neck subtly like a prancing stallion, parading the now visible steady beat of his heart pulsing against the thin skin connecting his neck and shoulder. In effect showcasing the unmarked skin canvas where the bond bite goes…

Bucky’s stance is wide and low and strong and completely inexorable, like not even the sun’s gravity could uproot him. His arms and shoulders are not held but simply energized and rolled back to highlight the blatant plane of proud muscle bloating his chest. He gently shakes his head to seem like he’s trying to get his bangs out of his eyes, but really the intention is more like that of a male lion showing off his mane. Bucky’s long dark hair tousles over the horizon of his shoulders, allowing for his scent to scatter and permeate the air thickly and temporarily override any other smell. 

It takes Bucky longer than it should to realize what he’s doing, and in his gap of clarity you take in all of him that’s being shown to you – sight and scent– and you instinctually respond right back. 

You formally present yourself to James Barnes. 

You arch the low curve of your back, winking you behind at Bucky and showing off the sensual dip right above your ass. You work your body with such practice, so prettily. Bucky can’t help but take a silent breath in when he realizes you’re not done yet. You push your chest out in a subtle but obvious way – coy like, and unlike most omegas who drop their chin and gaze down from the superior stare of an alpha, you lift your chin higher, teeth clenching tight to show off the shape of your jaw, and eyes ablaze with sure challenge. You may be presenting yourself, but you sure as hell weren’t submitting. There is a huge difference that the media likes to make interchangeable. 

No one has been able to claim you, meaning you haven’t accepted anyone’s courtship yet. “You are too powerful for an omega” or “You’re too much to handle” they all say. Sometimes people even mistook you for an alpha, which always made you laugh like a loon. So not only did you present to Sergeant Barnes, but you sized up this alpha ballsy enough to declare himself formally to you. The pretty ones were always the weakest you had found, so you made the mistake of grossly underestimating Bucky. You thought he was way too goddamn handsome to be your equal, he would bow (or more like stomp and pout like the others have) out of your courtship within the day. Wrapping up the exchange you drag your amused and judging eyes up and down Bucky’s offered picture once more before looking away from him and back to Tony. 

“Oh I’m not going anywhere near him.” You state professionally unapologetic, with your arms crossed and your chin still raised high to match your single lifted, unimpressed eyebrow.  

Steve Rogers’ protesting mouth hangs open and Bucky has the audacity to look cautiously offended.

“Well why the fuck not?” Stark accuses you suddenly, quickly defending the alpha’s honor interestingly before Captain Rogers could cut in. 

Your nostrils flare as you take a calculating whiff of the offending alpha: James’ natural scent is heavy but hidden well and undetectable under a spray of thick confusion, crippling heart ache, self-loathing, fear, fury, guilt, and every negative emotion that the human heart is capable of feeling; like the smell of fresh summer fruit suffocated by the chemical blanket of pesticides. 

“He smells like death yet he is not physically dying, he is suffering by invisible hands but mostly by his own, I can barely register his rank as Alpha…” Your diagnosis trails off as you watch doom shade over Barnes’ face and he caves in on himself, hiding in the great shadow of Rogers beside him. You shake your head with finality, “No, I dare not get any closer.” 

“So what they say about an omega’s enhanced sense of smell is true?” You look at the man they call Sam (You scent him as: Beta, crisp Madagascar vanilla, green pine needles, what you imagine a cloud tastes like; he is impeccably compassionate as proven by the scent signatures of his friends worn proudly on his skin), noticing how he is trying to deflect all the attention off of James and onto something else. 

“Some omegas are more gifted at the art of scenting than others, yes,” You confirm for the informed and observant Beta giving him an acknowledging nod, a swift but genuine dip of your chin, before continuing, “And I went to school for years to study it, so…”

Sam catches your subtle sign of respect with a bit of surprise but quickly returns the gesture by nodding back. 

“So you’re one of the gifted ones are you?” Tony remarks bluntly with no awe and very little humor in his tone. 

You almost crack a smile at how much you seem to threaten Tony now that you are showing yourself to be a more dominant omega. Of course him being the only omega surrounded by not just multiple enhanced Betas, but many super human alphas, naturally Tony would be over protective if not a little (a lot) possessive of his friends-family-nestmates-pack. The overwhelming evidence of this intangible familial intimacy (you picked up on everyone’s mixed and complimenting scent signatures the second you walked in) pollutes the very air you breathe. The aggression of his pheromones practically attacking your nose wasn’t offensive to you, it was actually rather touching. 

Society likes to boast that the Alphas are the ones that get all possessive and over protective, and while that can be true most of the time they have it backwards. Alphas tend to display their aggression or displeasure very bluntly, while omegas are more manipulate and crafty about it. It’s the omegas that you really need to watch out for.

You square off to the powerful omega and only raise an eyebrow at him. Despite his very unsubtle impatience with you, you can’t help but respect the Stark for his deep and undying love for everyone in the room. 

How lucky they all are to have each other, to be apart of such a large strong pack, you think while quickly editing yourself internally to make sure no one picked up on your slight shift of attention and thought process through your scent. You doubt anyone here could possibly catch that kind of scent signature, but the red head agent Natasha (Scented as: Alpha, burnt cinnamon, bitter green apple, crushed jasmine, pheromone levels reveal her to be of peak fitness – lethal – top of the food chain, Apex Alpha) is staring at you like she is learning the inner workings of your soul so you best over estimate just to be safe. 

 “So you decline the job?” Captain Rogers barks short tempered at you, still highly defensive of Barnes. You don’t take offense to it at all. You scented that the pair of them shared a bond that went deeper and was thicker than blood.  

You flick your gaze back to his bold protective blue one, squaring your shoulders off and meeting him straight on as your eyebrows lower in confusion. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You said you wouldn’t dare go anywhere near him.” Steve says icily like he’d very much like to take Bucky and leave. His survival instincts on high alert. Huh, maybe when you finish helping Barnes, Rogers should be your next client because even as an Alpha, he shouldn’t be emitting this amount of survival pheromones in a room full of friends and one stranger. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help him,” You explain simply to not just Rogers but Barnes and Stark and everyone present. “It’ll be a process, and I can’t guarantee anything because it’s really up to Mr. Barnes, but I can pledge to do my best to help.” 

There’s a few beats of silence as you scan everyone, scenting them and matching that smell with names as you go –

Clint: Beta, the vague smell of feathers, mint leaves, fresh churned butter

Wanda: Alpha, what you imagine stardust to smell like, ripe cherries, the taste of copper

Vision: Alpha, no defined smell other than Vibranium and strangely a hint of paprika

Thor: Alpha, the unplaceable aroma of freshly pounded metal (although you can’t determine which kind), upturned soil, and ozone

Bruce: Beta, old black ink, zing of something potently chemical, and wild grass

“I have papers for you to sign, prices to discuss, and living quarters to grant,” Tony suddenly booms, promptly interrupting your systematic scan, as he comes up to you and whips out a glass slate that lights up when he touches it. 

You take one last meaningful glance at Bucky who (is he blushing?) blatantly is avoiding everyone’s gaze by staring at his boots, him and Steve curled into each other like two worn magnets, before following Stark out of the foyer. 

Part Two

YAHTZEE! Okay lemme know what y’all think xx

#abo verse #alpha!bucky #omega!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x y/n #Nikki writes