#yes the symptoms track yes it is the best explanation i've found to this

[elytrafemme]

the vast majority of the reason why i’ve abstained from getting a professional diagnosis is practical-- i already have a therapist (she just doesn’t like to diagnose, it’s not part of her practice but within her qualifications). it would fuck up my insurance in the long-term and complicate other systemic processes. i don’t need medication nor do i need accommodations so having a diagnosis wouldn’t really help me. it opens the floor to traumatic experiences, will likely cost a lot of money, and would again be trapped on my record for years upon years. 

but jesus christ, i wish i had half the confidence that other people can have with self-diagnosis. because even if i have my therapist basically stating that she thinks bpd explains several of my symptoms, and having said that the best way to explain my experiences to other people is by using bpd as a reference, i still cannot wholly convince myself that this is the issue. and i have researched for years and years so it isn’t that, i just. i need someone to look me in the eyes and tell me but if i get that, i get the rest of this too.

#nightmare.personal #it's also hard with BPD because. and i'm not saying this in a way of like ohhh haha it wasn't that bad [was objectively awful] #my childhood by any objective measurement Was Not Terrible #like yeah i have disorganized attachment patterns but that's iffy. it was non-abusive. things weren't great but they were damn good. #stuff just got messy once i turned eleven but by then you're basically old enough for that to not matter as much #but even then like. things are consistently Not Horrible for me i have lived a remarkably lucky life #and like there's the missing puzzle piece of it all but i'm beginning to suspect that whatever i imagine i repressed never truly happened #and if it did it wouldn't matter i'm never going to remember. so the point is like #yes the symptoms track yes it is the best explanation i've found to this #but there are still holes in this diagnosis and i'm never going to feel secure in it #and i'm exhausted and i just want to know that i have some kind of explanation #because even if it causes people to treat me kind of shitty at least they know why i act like this #but if that's not the right explanation and i have to go back to square one #having no kind of reasoning behind why i act so uncharacteristic very suddenly or why i get really hostile apropos of nothing #and then send you texts threatening sh before messaging again like hey do u wanna see this funny video #getting into relationships and treating them icily before jumping in so deep that they become my everything #i can't go back to the time where there was nothing to explain it. where people just didn't know why i acted like this #but i don't know if i've reached an actual explanation or if i'm just desperately searching for anything to fix this #and if anyone could tell me objectively in a way that i believed. that might destroy me but it could also fix this #neg #God i'm exhausted

[ladykeane]

hi! i just read the fic 'clausura' on ao3 and i really liked the premise so could i request something with reg helping bertie through a panic attack in the bertie's blog verse? i've been having quite a few recently and i wish i had someone like reg to help me through them. thank you!!

Prompt (finally) filled! I hope you don’t mind Nonny, but I switched the script and had Bertie help Reg instead.

I try not to put too much real world strife into this series, but I think COVID-19 is too invasive to ignore. Wash your hands, follow medical advice, and keep calm and carry on. Also practice good mental self-care if you don’t have a household Wooster to do it for you!

‘Who was that Scottish chappie, Reg?’‘Bertram?’‘You know, the one who always banged on about schemes and gangs and aglets, or something.’It took me a moment to detangle the meaning of my beloved’s question.‘You may be referring to the poet Burns, and the oft-quoted excerpt of his poem “To A Mouse”:“The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley,an’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, for promis’d joy!”’‘That’s it. Someone ought give him an editorial spot with The Independent.’‘I fear it would be a posthumous one, Bertram.’‘Oh. Shame, that.’

I suspect that Bertram was musing on the peculiar times that we curently find ourselves in: a land of toilet paper scarcity, face masks, and widespread uncertainty. He had just come home from a foraging trip through the local supermarkets. Though he looked somewhat the worse for wear, had scored a few bags of root vegetables, some bulk wet wipes, and a good four kilograms of cat litter. His Code of the Woosters had driven him to volunteer for the onerous task. I quickly moved to prepare a pot of his favoured Darjeeling.

My own onerous task for the day had been an earlier phone call to my mother, informing her that the intricate and expensive planning that we’d gone through for my wedding to Bertram would, for now, amount to naught. The immediate future was a grey fog, and no-one could say for sure when it would be safe to re-schedule the ceremony.‘Was Rani alright when you phoned?’ Bertram asked, casting an errant shred of packing foam from his hair, before scrubbing his hands raw under the kitchen tap.‘She bore up. She wishes to give the catering company a very stern phone call for their refusal to refund our deposit. But as she is currently so busy at the medical centre, I doubt she will find the time or energy.’'I imagine the old girl has her hands full with panicking tabloid readers, eh?’'Quite so, Bertram. She told me that more of her time has been spent counselling healthy young people with the sniffles, than administering to her truly vulnerable patients.’'Blackguards. May they all run out of loo roll!’'Indeed.’We then passed a more sedate afternoon over our laptops. Bertram meticulously tended to his famous blog, while I prepared some documents for a fastidious client, keen to protect her assets against the variable economic climate. The cats, who were quite pleased with our increased presence in the flat, snoozed together on the tabletop between us.As I rose for a second cup of tea, I considered their purring, languid forms. Not for the first time, I urged myself to maintain my my sangfroid. It was in unsettled times like this that my reputedly cool demeanour was truly put to the test. While I would not confess to being a total control freak, I do appreciate order and consistency a great deal. It is the environment in which I best flourish, and I confess that the mounting chaos around us had been persistenly pricking at my nerves.

As I poured the remaining tea, I recieved a phone call from an unknown number.'Hello, this is Reginald Jeeves.’'Good afternoon, Mr Jeeves, I’m calling from Bethnal Green Medical Centre. I understand that you are a co-worker of a Mrs Beatrice Akinyemi?’'Yes, she is a paralegal at my firm.’ I felt my insides begin to clench.'Have you been in contact with Mrs Akinyemi within the last fourteen days, sir?’'I saw her at the office just a few days ago.’'I am obliged to inform you that she has recently tested positive for COVID-19. Given your recent contact, you and your household will be obliged to self isolate for a minimum of fourteen days, and monitor the onset of any symptoms. Have you or any of your houshold members experienced a high fever or persistent coughing?’My words stuck in my throat, and my heartbeat accelerated.'Sir?’'Is Bea alright?’'She last reported some mild flu-like symptoms, but she is not currently in a critical condition. As she is not in a high-risk category, her prospects of a full recovery are good. Can you please confirm if you or any of your household have been experiencing related symptoms?’’…No.’'Are any of your household members over the age of sixty, or do they have a pre-existing autoimmune condition?’'Paul… he’s not in my household, he is my co-worker. He and his husband are-’'We will be contacting Mr Seppings, to advise him of this development.’'Thank you.’'Should you develop any symptoms, your household will need to remain in self-isolation for a further fourteen days. Please refer to the NHS website to keep up to date with any developments. And do try not to worry too much. These are necessary precautions, which are in place to minimise the spread of the virus. You and your colleagues will likely be fine, long-term.’I nodded tightly, unable to find further words.After an uneasy pause, 'Have yourself a good day, Mr Jeeves.’ The line went dead.

The last I had seen of Bea had been last Friday, shuffling listlessly out of the office doors, laden down with a loot of groceries. She had two loud, hungry teenage sons at home.I thought of Paul and Anatole. Both were ex-smokers, their lungs still in the process of repairing decades of damage. I thought of my mother, swamped with desperate patients, a face mask clamped over her mouth.

I was suddenly unable to get enough air into my own lungs. My throbbing hearbeat seemed to overtake everything, pounding in my throat and my ears. I gripped at the kitchen counter with trembling clawed fingers. What was worst was the blank terror in my mind, my inability to think my way out of the paralysis. This godawful panic had saturated its way through my whole body.

The kitchen door opened behind me, Bertram bearing his own empty teacup.'Reg…?’ His voice was delicate.I tried not to sob as I felt tears escape my eyes.

After a few moments, his slow, slippered footsteps approached, and he softly draped his slender form upon my back. His arms slipped around my waist, and he rested his head on my shoulder. With my sharp, jagged inhales, his curls began to tickle my face.I could feel his own breaths, deep, even, tender. His body was a reassuring weight, and his hands began stroking up and down my arms.

'Come with meAnd you’ll beIn a world of pure imaginationTake a look and you’ll seeInto your imagination…’

We’ll beginWith a spinTravelling in the world of my creationWhat we’ll see will defy explanation…’

As he sang, my heartbeat gradually slowed, falling in time with the unhurried tempo he had set. The tear tracks dried on my face.I found my words once more. 'Willy Wonka, Bertram?’'Well… you look like you could use some chocolate.’

He sat me down, and presented me with a family block of Cadbury’s along with my refreshed tea.'That was Bea’s GP. She has tested positive, so we must isolate for the next two weeks.’'Ah, well.’ He broke off a large piece and popped it in his mouth. 'It was bound to happen to one of us, sooner or later. Knowing Bea, her immune system’s already got the dratted thing running scared. Have you called her?’Tightness constricted my throat again, and Bertram was surprisingly astute. He rested his hand on mine. 'She’ll be alright, I promise you. So will the others. Anatole’s arsenal of garlic-heavy dishes will will be a formidable first defence, for one thing.’

I exhaled heavily. ’…I haven’t had such an episode of panic since secondary school.’ I felt a layer of shame now pressing upon my ravaged core.Bertram tsked. 'Oh, I got panic attacks all the time at Eton. Must have been all the stress from constantly dodging my house master’s fury. It always helped to cocoon myself in bed. I hope that the spindly Wooster corpus provided a passable impromptu shock blanket for you!’He laughed lightly, then his gaze settled on mine. I was pulled into a lengthy embrace. He spoke no more, instead imparting all that I needed through his sweet, balmy presence.

***

'You wouldn’t believe what a help my Simon has been,’ Bea told me, her congested voice even more distorted through the phone. 'Made a pea and ham soup last night that was actually edible. He even found a carton of my favourite ice-cream at the back of the Tesco freezer!’'So your appetite is still sound?’ I questioned.'Yeah, just have to deal with this bloody cough. Otherwise, staying in my PJs and binge-watching telly all day has been quite the holiday. The doc told me I’ll likely recover just fine.’'I am relieved to hear it.’'You just make sure you’re looking after yourself, Reg.’ Her tone had turned stern and auntly. 'Though I’m sure that that Bertram of yours is nursing you well proper. Do as he says, alright?’'I will be sure to.’'I’m gonna start on season 3 of “The Crown”, now. I promise I’ll keep spoilers to myself. Talk soon, love.’'Take care, Bea.’

I hung up, turning my attention to Vasily, warm and pliant in my lap. I scratched his ears and he purred deeply.'Dinner will be ready in about five, Reg,’ Bertram announced from the kitchen. 'Is beans on spelt toast with sauted red onions alright?’I chuckled to myself. 'That will be superlative, my shaman.’

#fanfic prompts #bertie's blog #jeeves and wooster #jooster #covid-19 #competent!bertie #h/c #panic attack