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Take a second to sign this petition, it’s so so so close to its goal!

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WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK???????????

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I don’t know if anyone shares this experience or anything, but as someone who has PTSD, nostalgia is…a very different thing compared to what non-PTSD sufferers feel.

Nostalgia, with PTSD,  doesn't just cause flashback or a trigger. It’s a slow stew of wonderful times, happy memories, and positive emotions for things I once had, subtly peppered with the pain of my trauma. 

Every image, every thought, every single thing that makes me nostalgic and reminds me of my trauma is like food with an aftertaste. It feels good, and you want those old times back, but then the memories start rolling in. you start realizing that what you had wasn’t all good. 

My trauma gives me a weird distance between what I used to love and my current self. I want to enjoy what I used to, and to an extent, I still do, but there’s still fear. There’s still anger. There’s still something there to remind me of what hurt me and what broke me, and the experience is so bizarre that trying to even just write about it feels odd. It’s like…if you’ve never experienced it, I’ll never be able to explain it to you. Sometimes I wish I could, because people who don’t have PTSD have, in my experience, a hard time grasping this concept and this feeling, and even how to help with it. I don’t know how to help this feeling, I just live it.

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@spongeson

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righto, i’m bored s o

reblog this and send me an ask with your name in it, and i’ll make you a moodboard based on what your name reminds me of!

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reblog & put ur answers in the tags pls: are u a depression shower or a depression nap person

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If you’re around 18 and you dont find this nostalgic I feel bad for your childhood

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Humanz got me feeling some kinda way…

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Feeling hated by my online buddies, bored and alone. Anyone wanna talk?

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Thinking that @spongeson and I need to get some matching Bee tats when she gets here!!

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Disney AU where literally everyone is gay. (click each gif to read explanations)

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I have never read anything and have it feel so true before in my entire fucking life.

”?!” makes a sound in my head, but I can’t describe what it is.

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Local smol hiss (Charleston Addams, Hissquire the ball python) wishes to congratulate the Sticky Frogs for starting out being legless but growing legs! He will continue to check in on how the Sticky Frogs use their hoppy legs every day, while patiently waiting for his own!

Good afternoon Charleston Addams, Hissquire! 😀🐸🐍 Thank you very much! Gumby sends you a smile and many pats! She likes your fashionable onesie and thinks you have a lovely kind face! 😊🐍She hopes it is treatie time at your house soon! 😀

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This. THIS.    When I was 8, I was outside playing with my 2 brothers. The night before had been a big storm, and there were glorious big puddles filling the pot holes in our driveway and down the sidewalk. Our house was right on the corner and the fence was set up in a way that during these big West-Coast storms all the random garbage and crap from the neighborhood would blow right into our yard.    So it was after one of these storms that we were playing outside, running around in rubber boots playing some sort of made up puddle version of tag. One of the things that blew into our driveway was a magazine. You know how magazines have that shiny, slippery cover? Yeah. That was facing up, slick with rain when I ran over it; rubber boot sliding along the page and I fell in a classic black-and-white movie, comedic pratfall onto the cement.    I could not get up. The pain was immense. I had landed right on my tailbone area and there was pain shooting down my legs. My brothers ran inside to get the evil bitch old lady that was our babysitter at the time as I lay bawling and gasping for breath through the pain. She came out, told me to stop crying and forced me to my feet. After that she dragged (literally, because each step sent a wave of pain throughout what seemed my entire body) me to the bathroom where I was put into a hot bath. I have always hated baths, preferring to shower ever since I could bathe myself (6 or so). It was embarrassing to have her undress me, see me naked and yell at me when I couldn’t get out after about 20 minutes. She screamed at me, saying that if I didn’t want to listen to her then I could just stay there. I lay in the bath until the water went cold, I missed lunch, I was hungry and I cried for hours until there were no tears left.    After a few hours my parents got home and that devil-woman babysitter (I seriously hate her, she did so much bad stuff to me and my brothers and convinced my parents we were making it up or exaggerating. Of course they believed the only other adult. Another long story for another time….) convinced them that I was fine, just ‘being difficult’. The pain had calmed slightly from the initial injury, and my eyes were dry from crying for hours earlier. My mom and step-dad lifted me out of the tub and put me to bed, believing her when she told them it wasn’t anything to worry about.    The next few days were intensely sore, but I made it through them somehow. A couple weeks later things seemed normal. A month or so after the injury, however, I noticed new problems; Sitting was painful, standing for long periods was painful, laying down offered relief for a few moments, but I had to keep switching from side to side because it would start up again. I would wake up in the middle of the night crying, complaining of burning lower back pain and what my mom labeled “growing pains” in my legs. Children’s Tylenol did nothing; it would take ages for me to fall asleep with a hot water bottle and my mom soothing me. This went on for years.    It wasn’t until 4 years later when I was 12 that I had convinced my parents enough (or they were tired enough of these nightly sessions…) that I was first taken to a doctor. He whisked through the door, listened to my list of symptoms and within 2 minutes diagnosed my lower back pain as “bad posture”. I tried to protest that it seemed completely stupid, but he pushed back and added that the chairs in school could also be to blame. “Try using a donut pillow,” was my only ‘help’ before he was gone.    My mom wanted to help, and so she bought me the pillow. I gave it about a 2 weeks, dutifully lugging it to school despite the embarrassment and teasing from the other kids. It did nothing. It wouldn’t as “bad posture” or the seats at school (which somehow didn’t hurt the other kids but just me??? Logic fail) was not the cause of my problem.    Fast forward another 4 years. I was able to convince a different doctor when I was 16 that there was something wrong. I insisted that the amount of pain I was in was not normal. Other people my age didn’t complain of the lower back pain I had from school, PE, big backpacks and part-time jobs. He agreed to do a single x-ray. During said x-ray I felt like the technician was photographing it too high up my back (my issues are definitely within the pelvic region - not between my shoulder blades). Sure enough, I get called back to the doctor’s office the following week and he says nothing is wrong. I insisted on seeing the x-rays and they were indeed too high up. Nothing I said convinced him to send me back for a re-do. So I continued living with daily pain in my back, legs and hips.    When I was 18 I was giving my new little brother a “pony ride”. He was just old enough to hold on to my shirt, about 18/20 months. Crawling on the living room carpet as he giggled behind me, I heard and felt a massive POP; a huge wave of pain washed over me. I screamed for anyone in the house to come and get him off me (being so little, I didn’t want him to fall and get hurt) and my mom rushed in. As soon as I felt his weight lift off me I let myself fall to the carpet. I blacked out for a moment. I literally could not get off the floor. My mom and older brother helped me into the car. We went to the ER. They said I “over-exerted” myself and gave me a shot of muscle relaxant before sending me home. No scans, no diagnostics just asked what happened and decided based on pure talk.    A year or so later I was bringing a load of laundry up from the basement. The same pop happened and I was left in a crippled over position. My mom once again helped me hobble out to the car and to the ER. No scans or tests once again. Just another “what happened” talk, a shot of muscle relaxant and this time a prescription for 15 x T3′s. I made those 15 pills count. Only the worst of the worst of my symptoms made me cave and take one. With those being my only source of some relief I had to make sure I made them last - my own family doctor wouldn’t prescribe them to me.    I’m nearly 26 now. Daily I experience a deep burning ache, sharp stabbing pains that have no known trigger (I can be sitting comfortable or moving it doesn’t matter), difficulty walking and going up or down stairs (I use a cane now), pressure and pain in my joints throughout my hips and knees, extreme fatigue, pressure headaches from my neck and those same “growing pains” in my legs - despite me being done growing for nearly 10 years now. Just sitting here writing this I’ve had to shuffle and move numerous times because of out-of-nowhere knife-jabbing pain under my coccyx.    I now have a consistent cycle of my back seizing up every few months, going to the ER because I cannot walk and don’t have a family doctor any more (my city is in a crisis right now to get more doctors for people) and being told its just a strain or poor posture or me working too hard. After each ER trip my symptoms are worse, but I have to suck it up and adjust to the next level of pain I’ve reached because I can’t find anyone to take me seriously. This has been at least 6 times.    Now before you go on about how “You shouldn’t go the the ER for just pain” or “That’s not an emergency -you should have just found an open walk-in clinic to go to” I ALSO LOST CONTROL OF MY BLADDER SEVERAL OF THESE TIMES. A quick web-search will tell you that any time you have any form of incontinence after a back injury it may be life-threatening or may result in permanent disability. SO I HAD EVERY RIGHT TO GO TO THE ER AND GET CHECKED OUT. Yet, despite telling the check-in staff, nurses and the doctors that this had happened they did nothing.    OTC stuff does nothing. My last hospital trip was 2 weeks ago. The doctor there didn’t send me for any tests despite me begging for some sort of diagnostic imaging. His only test was having me lay on my back and he lifted each leg up. Told me I herniated a disc, but didn’t care to look at which one or if there was more than one. The whole visit took 4 hours, but I was only looked at for 3 minutes. He suggested yoga. I told him I did back injury stretches every day and had been for 10+ years. He outright told me he wouldn’t even x-ray me unless I spent 5 years actively trying to “cure” this. I tried to insist that I’d been fighting for 18 years already, feeling defeated already through hot tears; a mix of pain and anger that yet again I wasn’t being taken seriously. It didn’t sway him and I was sent away with 6 x 1 mg morphine pills. SIX. ONLY SIX.    For comparison; My senior grandmother was given 30 x 5 mg pills when she bruised a rib. She never even felt pain bad enough to take them and flushed them down the toilet. I cried. It would have been such sweet relief for me.     (PSA: don’t take anyone’s meds but your own)    I can’t even get a prescription for them because I only have access to walk-in clinics - they are not allowed to prescribe narcotics, even with a proper prescription history of them. After 2 days and taking 5/6 pills, I decided to hold on to that last one in case I really needed it. Despite debilitating pain that made every movement excruciating I was going to save it for something worse to come. It’s sad, because I’ve lived like this for so long that I’m always waiting for the next level. On the 5th day from the ER trip my fiance finally convinced me that it really was bad enough and to take that last one. I was relaxed for about 45 minutes before it started to wear off.    Only a few months ago I went to a new walk-in clinic after one of these episodes. The doctor did the knee-tap test with the little hammer. My legs jittered side to side wildly instead of the gentle controlled sway out and back in. From that test alone he said there are signs of permanent nerve damage. PERMANENT NERVE DAMAGE. I am going back to him to start working towards a full diagnosis. I finally have someone who is willing to take a chance on me having something really wrong and finding out what it is.  After 18 years. With wait times as long as they are for tests and specialists, and me not being able to take any time off work to speed things up, I am not expecting to find out just what is wrong with me for another 2 or 3 years. I’ll be nearly 30. I have already lived the majority of my life in daily pain.    Self diagnosis whether big or small is crucial. You live in your body and know when things aren’t right. Do your research at libraries or online, talk to people, find out what possible causes there could be. Then FIGHT. FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHT TO A PROFESSIONAL DIAGNOSIS. PUSH TO GET AS MANY TEST DONE AS YOU CAN. DON’T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER. IF SOMEONE DOESN’T CARE MOVE ON. YOU DESERVE HELP. IF HELPING YOURSELF IS ALL YOU HAVE ACCESS TO THEN DO IT. NO ONE DESERVES TO LIVE WITH ILLNESS - MENTAL OR PHYSICAL. DON’T LET THEM BELITTLE YOU BECAUSE YOU DID RESEARCH ONLINE AND ARE WANTING THEIR HELP TO RULE THINGS OUT OR COME TO A PROPER CONCLUSION. IT SHOULD BE THEIR JOB TO GUIDE YOU THROUGH THAT JOURNEY. tldr: Injury to my back when I was 8, I’m 26 now and just starting to get help. Self-diagnosis is important. If you don’t fight to get a professional diagnosis then no one will. Love yourself and don’t take no for an answer from doctors because you are young or self-diagnosed.

Do you support minor self diagnosis?

I started cracking my knuckles in fifth grade. My parents asked me why, and I told them it made the pain go away. My parents told me that I was too young for my joints to hurt, and that I would ruin them if I kept cracking them.

By the time was fourteen or fifteen and entering high school, I hadn’t stopped cracking my knuckles. The hurt more, and the relief was more. I was convinced that I had arthritis.

My parents told me that I was too young to have arthritis.

Fast forward thirty seven years when my joints take a dive and I cannot even get out of bed on some days. I take chemo therapy pills twice a week, and I have two injections of chemotherapy ever four months. I have to take two medications every day just to manage the pain the chemotherapy doesn’t cover.

This at least allows me to get out of bed and on most days it allows me to go to school. It doesn’t make the pain go away, and on bad days I want to cry it gets so bad.

The diagnosis? Early Onset Rheumatoid Arthritis.

It went unchecked for twenty five years, my immune system eating away at my joints like a buffet even though I wanted to go to the doctor from day one.

If I had gone to the doctor and I had been wrong - they found nothing - well, we would have been out a few bucks for the doctor’s visit.If I was right - and I was right - I would have been treated for 20 years.

If I had gone to the doctor on my insistence that I had arthritis at fifteen, I would not be in pain today. This would have been treated twenty years go.

Do I support minor self diagnosis?

Yes. Absolutely.

I would rather a minor self diagnose and be wrong than a minor ignore their body and suffer for 20 years like me. No one is harmed by listening to a minor and taking their concerns seriously. But that minor might be harmed for the rest of their life you ignore them.

My choice is always to listen to the minors about their bodies.

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Doggos 101.