#*takes a breath* i've been working hard on this psych shit lately damn

[slippery-minghus]

huh. so like. transitioning from childhood into adolescence was really really hard for me. hard enough that even stating it like that is novel, rather than just "i was really weird and probably evil when i was 12" lol. but it just occurred to me how... autistic that was. the struggle with change. nevermind that from ages 10-13, my parents' relationship was worse than it ever had been as they approached divorce, and the tension in the house was enough to have set shit on fire but...

before my very eyes, things i enjoyed as a child were suddenly not fun anymore. i'd turn on a show i liked, one of the very few, and an episode i would have enjoyed the day before was mind-meltingly stupid. all of my toys—which because my mom substituted healthy love with giving me things, i had a lot of—dropped one at a time from my very short list of things that were fun. (un-dx'd autism also made playing with toys... boring as shit. could only put barbie in so many outfits. and i was too averse to social things to put her in Situations) what i did to my barbies when i finally couldn't stand them anymore was... it wasnt good.

and looking back at it through this lens though... i finally have an answer to the shocked and disgusted "what the hell was wrong with me??" it was because i was angry. i was scared. my parents were fighting all the time and i knew long before then that i couldn't rely on them for jack shit, so i had absolutely no recourse for dealing with the changes my brain was going through. changes i was going through while trying not to be abused, going through puberty (even as an adult shifts in my hormones make me extremely volatile), being bullied/ostracized by my friends and classmates, struggling for the first time with my grades (even though i was "Gifted"!), and of course, trying to fix my parents' marriage and their mental illnesses. all while having a brain that is particularly averse to change.

no wonder i was angry. no wonder i was scared. i was so alone. it was one of the rare occasions i actually acted out, and with the way i built my psyche to survive, no wonder that memory instills me with immediate shame. it was so unlike me to act out for a reason...

and i think back to another memory... one i hold very close to my heart. not because it was one where i was cared for, it's not even good. i think back to the brief stint when i was ten or so that mother put me in therapy for my "anger issues" (and i went unnoticed as autistic yet again. i know intellectually as an adult my mom just wanted to help... but that stint in therapy only reinforced the blame and the brokenness in me). one day, the therapist had me fill up this sandbox with figurines. she had so many to choose from, and it was so much fun. i'd never played with anything like it before. i remember i built a city, with ins and outs and lots of activity. but in the corner, closest to me, behind a wall where the rest of the city wasn't looking, i placed a little baby and an angry tiger. nobody could see how much danger i was in. nobody wanted to see. it was a quiet death.

[phobiadeficient]

If you wouldn't mind, could you do a scout x fem sniper? I've seen stories of both females or femscout, but not very often does fem snipes get any love.

welcome to “this request got out of hand and i basically just wrote 5k words of scout tf2 being a goddamn simp”

(no warnings)

-

How the fuck was it that Scout kept ending up head over heels for women who both could and would kill him without any hesitation? Hell, maybe he had a type of something. Who knows?

And he’d kind of done a joke about it, when he heard there was a girl on the team, right? Been all ‘hey, hell yeah, at least boredom won’t be an issue!’, right? And then he’d gone to meet the team and for a minute he’d figured it was the Pyro since he didn’t exactly see a lady and the flamesuit didn’t give out much information. But then he’d seen the figure sitting off to one side facing away from him with the wide-brimmed hat pulled down low and the big shooter’s glasses and the crossed arms and the braid that just barely reached her back and he pieced together some stuff. So he walked over and introduced himself with a handshake and all because he was trying to be polite to everyone up front, good first impression and all, and apparently then he made a mistake, because he called her ‘Miss’.

And then suddenly that handshake turned into his wrist being bent in completely the wrong direction, and her standing up and holy shit she was tall and her voice was way deeper than he’d expected as she calmly informed him that if he called her ‘Miss’ again she would be packing him up in a burlap sack and sending him on a long roll down a short pier, and in fact that her name was Sniper and he could call her that and only that, clear?

So pretty much she was way more intimidating than he would ever be and he was a little annoyed with himself about how hot he found that.

Just his fuckin’ luck, that his nerves got the best of him so bad whenever he really had a thing for a girl, made him act like such an idiot. And he already kind of had his shit wrecked in front of the team once and he wasn’t looking to be turned into the official laughingstock of the group, so he tried his best to leave her alone and steer clear of her before he looked like a complete idiot.

It was just that holy shit she was tall, and every once and a while he would see her in the common area reading a book—like, an actual one—and her voice was kinda gravelly and she could pop a guy’s head from a hundred and fifty feet without even thinking about it and this one time when most of the team was waiting outside the infirmary for Medic to fix them up from battle she fell asleep in the chair across from him and her glasses were all crooked and her hat was lopsided and it was just really really cute—

Okay, so he had a thing for her. The main issue was that he didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

Because, like—she was so fuckin’ cool. And he hadn’t talked to her much for not wanting to look like an idiot reasons, but he’d gathered that while she wasn’t, like, twelve PhDs or mad doctor kinds of intelligent, she was pretty damn smart. And she wasn’t exactly Doris Day or whatever, but he thought she was pretty in a different sort of way. In a could-kick-his-ass kind of way. And also she had a bunch of freckles, which he was just all about.

But he didn’t have the best track record when it came to cool, smart, attractive women wanting to associate with him. Namely, they just straight up didn’t. Mostly they called him annoying or laughed in his face when he hit on them.

Which you would think would start to hurt less after a while, but boy, would you be wrong.

Then again... hey, his luck had to turn around eventually, right?

That’s what led to him putting on the only shirt with buttons that he owned and a pair of nice-ish pants and strolling all the way out to the camper van she lived in instead of the room they had for her in the base.

He knocked, and for a good ten seconds he didn’t hear anything at all and thought maybe she wasn’t even in and he’d have to do a walk of shame all the way back, but then he heard the sound of movement within and a good ten seconds after that, she opened the door.

She was clearly trying to wind down after work, down to her tank top but still in her boots and shades for some reason, and most notably she was holding that big fuckoff knife she always carried into battle. She stared at him, expression flat.

“Uh,” Scout said, eyeing the knife, thrown entirely off of his game for a second.

She went to shut the door again.

“Aw, c’mon, wait a sec!” he whined in protest, stopping the door with his hand. “I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“You had a look on your face like you were planning to ask me to prom,” she deadpanned, and he flushed.

“Did not!” he protested.

She sighed hard, opening the door again. “Alright, then what’s all this, then?” she asked, gesturing loosely at his outfit with the knife.

“Uh,” he started, and fought hard to kick his brain back into motion, to try to piece back together the script he’d had in his head, but they were already wildly off track. “Uh, I was uh—I was just, y’know, I was wondering, if you’re—are you uh, busy?”

She stared at him. “...Am I busy,” she repeated, and he realized how dumb that sounded. Of course she wasn’t busy. None of them except maybe the eggheads were ever busy.

“I uh I meant did you have—y’know, plans or anything? Tonight?” he tried. She raised an eyebrow. “I mean y’know because I was just kinda wondering if maybe you’d wanna go and uh—and get a drink or somethin’. With me, later. Uh, tonight.”

“Mate, you wanna take another run at that without the stutter?” she asked, voice still flat, but her expression had shifted a little, the slightest quirk to her lip.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, shelving his pride for the moment. “Do you wanna go get drinks with me tonight?” he tried, and forced a hard stop at the end, biting his tongue before he could keep rambling and ruin it.

She looked at him. Moved to lean her shoulder against the door, to cross her arms. He glanced at the knife and back up to her face again. Her expression was hard to read.

“What, at a bar? In town?” she asked, tone a little lighter.

“I mean, yeah, sure, whatever’s cool,” he shrugged. “I’ve—I’ve got a motorcycle. Or, uh, I could borrow Demo’s car maybe, he uh, he’s really cool about lending it to me whenever as long as like, like if I’m heading to get food or something I bring back somethin’ for him, and I gotta pay for gas if it’s a long way or whatever but I figure that’s probably fair since I’m the one usin’ it most of the time anyways, I figure that’s a fair trade-off—“

“Scout,” she cut in, and he shut up. She paused. “Rather not go to a bar, if I’m being honest.”

His shoulders sank. “Oh. Uh, yeah, okay, that’s—that’s fair, I uh I totally get it—“

“But I‘ve got drinks here,” she cut him off again, voice raised a little to be heard over his mumbling, and when he looked up she had an eyebrow raised again. “Swing by ‘round nine or so, yeah?”

“Oh. Oh! Uh, no, yeah, totally!” he agreed quickly.

“In something besides the polo, if you don’t mind,” she deadpanned, head tilting to look at his shirt pointedly. “Aren’t exactly a fancy establishment.”

“Sure, okay,” he nodded, and shuffled on his feet for a second before taking the cue and starting to head off back towards base. “Uh, see you then!”

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmured. A pause. “And if you bring flowers I’m locking the door on you!”

“Hah, sure!” he laughed, and waved, and she went back inside.

Two hours later, a few minutes after nine, he’d changed into something more closely resembling his usual outfit, and noted that Sniper had also changed, just a little, putting on a different shirt he’d never seen her in. He realized belatedly that he’d never actually seen her out of the clothes that made up her uniform. It was a nice shirt. He tried extremely hard not to stare at her chest. He mostly succeeded.

And he was proud to say that if nothing else, he could at least hold his alcohol as well as she could. Most of the guys made fun of him and said he was probably a total lightweight, but he wasn’t actually that bad, mostly on account of eating full meals and getting a lot of exercise. She drank a brand of beer he didn’t know shit about, and it wasn’t the worst he’d ever had. And they talked a bunch, about work mostly, but he went on a bunch of tangents in the middle about other stuff, music and movies and home and stories about all his brothers.

Luckily for him, she was apparently pretty patient, and didn’t get annoyed with him and tell him to leave. Mostly she just sat and listened, nodded along occasionally, snickered at a joke every now and then (which was a grand slam victory every time). And by the time he looked at the clock and realized it was pretty late and he needed to head back, maybe it was just the buzz of the alcohol, but she seemed more relaxed, her usual deadpan replaced by the slightest little smile. She offhandedly mentioned that she wasn’t busy around the same time next week, and maybe they could hit an actual bar or something that time.

And he was through the fuckin’ moon over that already, then he was standing outside the door and trying to agree and make sure she was serious as best he could, stammering like a dumbass probably but she already knew he was a dumbass so it was fine, but then he wasn’t stammering because she tilted his face up and kissed him full on the mouth for one, two, three seconds before pulling back and saying she’d see him later and shutting the door behind her.

And he was about halfway back to base when his brain turned back on, and only barely managed to talk himself down from sprinting directly into the common room and announcing what had just happened to the entire team because holy shit he was pumped. But no, no way, he had to keep cool about this. He didn’t know the most about Sniper, but he knew enough to figure she probably wouldn’t be psyched about that.

So instead he just chilled out and wrote in the date and time on his calendar with minimal exclamation points and calmed down.

Mostly.

And, well, he knew he had kind of... a thing, about jumping into relationships a little too quickly, about zooming around the bases and then promptly striking out next time he tried to talk to a girl again, about seeming like he wasn’t really taking things seriously so the girls he dated also didn’t commit super hard and then lo and behold they think he’s a two-weekends-wonder and wander back off again and leave him by the wayside unless they get bored and circle back, then rinse and repeat.

He knew it was partly his fault, and if he wanted to get taken seriously he should really slow the hell down, and god damn it he was committed to not completely fucking this one up, if nothing else then because any kind of messy breakup was gonna make the next god knew how long out in the desert a real problem.

So he kept his hands to himself as best he could, relying more on bumping elbows or jostling shoulders so she didn’t get the wrong idea, kept the flirting exclusively verbal, and kind of joking even then. 

But also at the end of that actual bar date then she’d kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him, and she tasted sugary like whatever those technicolor drinks of hers had been called, and she only jokingly complained about how he tasted like tequila, and she smelled like leather and dust and somewhere under that, vanilla—wait, was she wearing perfume? Had she put on perfume for him? Holy shit.

And they were like, right outside the camper, mostly because she’d had just a little bit of trouble standing up and he wanted to make sure she didn’t fall and eat shit on the way back since he was doing just a little bit better, but he had to remind himself over and over, no, no, take it slow, c’mon idiot, don’t ruin this. And so he inched back, kept just a little more distance, and it didn’t take long before Sniper pulled back and glanced him over, from the hands placed at a nice, respectful point on her waist to how he was visibly trying to reorient himself.

“Sorry, mate,” she said, a little quirk of her lip to indicate a smile. “Too much?”

“Uh,” he said, and was cut off as Sniper leaned in and gave him a parting peck on the mouth, followed by a short one to his cheek. “It’s, uh, fine, just, y’know. You’ve had a lot to drink and all and so have I and, y’know, I don’t wanna rush or nothin’—“

“Sweet of you,” Sniper cut in, and that smile was ticking up just a little further. “But it’s alright if you just don’t feel like more than a date, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, nodding and then processing what she said a second later. “Uh. I had fun! This was good. Great! Kicked ass!”

“Again soon?” Sniper asked. “Not next weekend, got other business to do, but soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, totally! Uh, I’ll see you around, uh,” he said, and he had to tip up onto his toes to give her a kiss on the cheek, and then he was bumbling his way through a goodbye.

And then he was in his room jerking off to high heaven, muffled into his hand, mind full of mixed drinks and leather and vanilla and quirked lips and desert heat.

He held himself together for two more outings, once more to a pub and once impromptu in the middle of a Sunday to get tacos from a place Scout liked. And he held himself together almost the whole way through another date in the camper—Sniper made it pretty clear that she liked the privacy of it—even though half of it was spent sitting together on her bed, idly drinking soda and beer and talking about nothing in particular.

But then she was leaning in against his side, a warm weight there, and he couldn’t just not kiss her with her that close, and then he felt her fingertips inching below the collar of his shirt, and it was so damn hot in the camper and he reached for his own shirt and glanced at her with “is this okay?” right on the tip of his tongue but she kissed it right out of him and urged his shirt up and off in a moment.

And before he knew it he was lying on his back and she was half-draped over him, practically pinning him down and kissing him until his head spun and his heart thumped and he hoped to god that she wouldn’t feel that he was getting pretty damn hard already.

“Uh, I-I-I uh I don’t wanna uh, assume nothin’ but uh—“ he stammered out when she leaned back briefly, only to shut directly up when he realized she was taking off her shirt and dropping it off to one side, moving back in to kiss at the place below his chin. “Uhhh but y’know uh I wanted to—to ask, uh, can I—?”

Sniper took hold of his hands where they were lying tangled against the sheets and placed them at her now-bare waist, settling back up to kiss him again, a hand carding into his hair.

“Uh yeah okay,” he mumbled against her lips, and tentatively at first his hands wandered, one sliding up her lower back and feeling out the ridges of her spine and the other hesitating around near her ribcage.

Hesitation, trying to just deal with how wildly unexpectedly good she was at kissing when it got down to it, before his hand trailed up farther, farther.

A pause just as his fingertips reached the edge of her bra. He managed to untangle enough to get a breath in, inhaling to ask a question. “Uh so is it okay if I—?” he started to stammer, then she caught hold of his chin, tilting it up to face her. She had an eyebrow raised at him, expression firm.

“Scout,” she deadpanned, and he shut up. “If you start doing something I don’t like, I’ll bloody well tell you. Unclench, mate. I can handle myself. Stop babying me.”

He gulped, nodded, and reached up to cup at one breast firmly.

“Bloody finally,” she sighed, and sank back in to start kissing a line up his neck.

He felt overheated again, cupping and squeezing and just feeling out her torso, namely what was hidden under firm fabric, fixated and aroused. It wasn’t until his fingers slipped on the cup and he pinched just over where he figured a nipple was that he managed to wring a noise out of her, a soft sound in the back of her throat, and it made his whole body thrum. God. Fuck. God. And she tolerated him playing around for quite a while—patience and all—before getting impatient and tugging his hand around to her back, and seemed pleased that he knew how to handle a bra hook without fumbling. And then he got that burst of confidence, and he was using the arm around her waist to haul her up a bit so he could throw his mouth into the mix.

He talked a pretty big game, he knew that. And he also knew that he did exaggerate a little bit about stuff sometimes. Or a lot. Or made things up.

But he really did actually know what he was doing in bed, honest, even if he usually ended up fucking things up outside of the bedroom often enough to ruin it for himself before he even got there.

All he knew was that Sniper seemed to be caught off guard by both the enthusiasm and his ability to figure out how exactly he could make her feel good, where to kiss and where to suck and overall what he needed to do to get more little noises out of her.

He had his free hand a solid distance down the front of her slacks, sliding with purpose against the front of her underwear and idly admiring the heat of her through the fabric before his brain caught up with him, and then he was pulling back a little. “I, uh, I don’t have—uh anything to uh—“

She hummed, lifting his chin and planting a kiss to the corner of his mouth before leaning over to try to fish through a drawer without needing to untangle from him. Impatience took hold of him fast, made his mouth wander across the expanse of her neck, made her fumble and swear and take just a few extra seconds to pull out a strip of foil squares, tearing one off and dropping it on his chest.

By the time he managed to fumble open the wrapper she’d stripped her slacks off and settled back into place straddling his hips, and he choked on air briefly when she settled back further, weight and heat against where his pants had gotten very tight very fast. She had that quirk to her mouth again. His head was spinning. He reached down to pop the button of his pants, pretty sure he was like, going to die otherwise.

And then condom-kitted fingers were teasing at her, and he watched the way his playing and exploration made her face draw up tight, the way breath puffed out of her unevenly, watched her thighs tremble when his thumb drew soft circles just against the nub hidden just a bit further up between soft folds and fuzz and—

She groaned a plead under her breath just before she teetered over the edge, and it made his hips buck involuntarily, which rocked her and sent her back down much harder than before, and she cried out, thighs going tense, and he felt like he’d touched a live wire watching her jolt through it and back down again, jittery and desperate to move but just barely holding himself back.

She panted hard on the way back down, and some of her hair was sticking to her face with sweat, and she blinked down at him after a second, and her eyebrows furrowed after a few moments.

“...Are you holding your breath?” she asked, eyes narrowing, visibly puzzled.

He exhaled and inhaled and the second he had air back in his system his mouth was running a mile a minute. “Yeah sorry I just y’know I was kinda worried I was gonna start just kinda yakkin’ away there and I didn’t wanna like fuck up my concentration or like throw you off or nothin’ because I kinda do that sometimes and it sucks so I really try my best not to fuck it up like that anymore y’know because uh—“

She rolled her eyes lightly at his shenanigans, moving to stretch briefly, taking a deep, satisfied breath.

“—because y’know heat of the moment stuff I kinda end up just goin’ on and on and on about shit and I don’t just mean in like a dirty talk kinda way even though it’s also that too I just mostly mean like in a sorta just rambling about like—

She reached back over to the strip of foil squares, snapping one off and shifting a short ways further down the bed—not that there was much room, but she managed.

“—like just kinda how gorgeous y—people—uh, girls, I meant girls—!”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but otherwise let him keep babbling, just pulling his pants and briefs a short way down his legs and ripping open the foil square with the help of her teeth.

“—uh y’know just how fuckin’ good-lookin’ girls will be because like holy shit y’know? And it’s just like y’know I’ve gotten like compLAINTS—“

His voice rose up into a yip for a moment as she rolled the condom on in a swift motion and squeezed on the upstroke, and he swallowed hard to get his voice back to slightly less shaky, needing to glance away, face flushing at the way the noise had made Sniper grin.

“—uh like about me talkin’ way too much so I figured just better safe than sorry and I’ll just shut up to begin with unless I’m like makin’ sure everything is totally kosher but also you told me to shut up about that too and I didn’t w-w-woah, hah—“

He trailed off with a wheeze followed closely by a very embarrasing squeak as she started to sink down, and he promptly clamped a hand up over his mouth to prevent further noises and found that an added benefit his own shutting the hell up meant he could hear the way she hummed, her shaky breath, the soft sound that rose up in the back of her throat when she’d finally settled.

She finally took a short breath, hummed again, and looked down at him. Her face was flushed down to her collarbones, and her freckles faded into that flush, and she had that quirk to her mouth again. She took hold of his wrists, pulling his hand away from his mouth and where it tangled in the sheets, and instead set it against her chest, the other to her waist. “None’a that,” she murmured, and he nodded quickly, and then she shifted her legs, settled her weight, and started to move.

It took all Scout had just to keep his hands from shaking as he stroked at her skin in rhythm with her movement, watching her move with appreciative, hungry, slightly-awed eyes. His thumb rubbed circles around one nipple, and it made his breath catch seeing the way she bit her lip to keep quiet, the way her eyelids fell that much further, feeling her internal muscles fluttering.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he breathed, honestly and enthusiastically, and she looked up at him, and the quirk of her lip seemed almost sheepish and so he continued. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you. You’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Her lip quirked that much further. “No need for the flattery, there,” she breathed back, voice similarly low. “You’ve already in bed with me.”

“Ain’t flattery if it’s true,” he shot back, and squeezed at her breast and made her jolt into a harder motion for a moment. “I’m serious, look at you! I’d sit here and watch this all day if I was allowed, you’re like every painting and sculpture and drawing all rolled up into one, and even then you’re better because those can’t drink me under the goddamn table.”

She huffed a laugh, thrown off her rhythm and falling still for a moment as she grinned down at him as if not entirely sure what to do with him.

“I’m not jokin’!” he insisted, and he was smiling too, even as his breath returned to him. “If I could just sit around with a view like this all the time, it’d totally ruin me. I’d probably sit there until I starved to death and then the last thing I’d ever do was thank you for the fuckin’ privilege.”

“You’re a sap, Scout,” she said, clearly going for a tone of vague disapproval, but she couldn’t quite wipe the smile off of her face.

“Guilty,” he shrugged, and was only a little surprised when she suddenly leaned down to kiss him, and he smoothed hands up her back to hold her there for just a few seconds longer when he thought she was about to pull back away.

“Well,” she murmured, half against his lips, and then sat back up and steadied herself, rolled her shoulders. “Bit refreshing to hear sweet rather than just filth, but either works for me, yeah?”

And she didn’t exactly give him a chance to respond before she was back in motion, so he just nodded again, head falling back briefly.

“God, you feel good,” was all he managed at first, drawing the nail of each thumb down her sides like seams. When that went pretty well, he continued down the outside of her thighs, then back up the inside starting at her knees. “All hot and—and slick—fuck—“

He took hold of her hips and helped support her weight, started rolling his hips along with her rhythm in increasing force until her breath caught alongside every thrust.

“That good, huh?” Sniper asked, and she was grinning again.

“So fuckin’ good,” he agreed, voice dropped, trying hard to keep his head on straight but finding it increasingly difficult.

The room felt sweltering, and the heat alone was making everything spin. That, combined with the heat and weight of another body on top of him—

“Fuck,” he swore again from behind clenched teeth, rhythm faltering as suddenly he felt just a little too close for a moment, and she echoed the sentiment, reaching a hand down between her own thighs, eyebrows all screwed together and thighs trembling. “Wait—“

He brushed her hand aside and found her clit within a moment, rubbing firm circles against her and feeling like the king of the fuckin’ world at the way that made her cry out, rhythm ticking up in speed.

“C’mon,” he urged, and she panted, choked on a moan, and that was it for her, making a series of bitten off noises.

He clenched his teeth and tightened the muscle in his thighs and held on and held on, and only once she was back to limp and out of breath did he slide out and tug himself over the edge. He would’ve been embarrassed about how loud he was as he finished, but it was soothed pretty quickly by the way Sniper settled forward to lay against his side, pressing a brief kiss to his temple and another just below his ear.

“Holy shit,” he breathed in a very unsteady voice, and managed to get his arms to move to lie more comfortably, an arm over her waist. “You’re fuckin’ incredible.”

“Not bad yourself,” Sniper murmured, voice a hum, sounding much more relaxed and much less grumpy than usual.

“Again soon?” he managed, tilting his head towards her.

A hum of affirmation, a pause. “You’re sleeping here, by the way,” she informed him, squeezing with the arm around his chest.

“Hell yeah,” he murmured. “Uh. I wake up kinda early, just so you know.”

She hummed again. “You gonna do the whole nine yards, cook breakfast and all that nonsense?” she mumbled in a deadpan.

“Well usually it’s ‘cuz I go for a run in the morning,” he explained, “but sure, if you want. Got plenty of exercise already, huh?”

A light smack to his flank only made him giggle more, and he felt her shaking her head at him. “Hooligan,” she chided like a term of endearment, and that was when he became certain that he hadn’t fucked everything up.

Well, yet, but he figured if he made it this far, maybe he really did stand a chance.

[jenna-jayde-the-renagade]

So my life has gone to shit.. I dont trust anybody anymore, and honest to god I cant help but keep thinking of ways to end it. My mom keeps telling me how to feel about this whole thing, that I should be grateful that i got in finally to see a specialist. Reality is I dont even trust those subhuman animals anymore, and frankly they're gonna have to earn my trust. After 4 fucking years, my life, my future being ruined. My mental health going downhill, all for the second time now. Add on to that, I dont get any meds for the pain so this has pushed me into addiction now for a second time. I've been dehumanized and humiliated, treated with nothing but the utmost disrespect while being stigmatized for being mentally ill, transgender and a recovering addict for most of it. They ignored me for 4 years, my body is damaged, and frankly help just might have came too little too late. I wont just suffer through the next one, the next time this happens I'm gonna end my life, my suffering on my own god damn terms. Atleast I still have control over that..

Fuck the canadian healthcare system. Some days I honestly just want to start selling drugs, and fly to a country where I can just pay to play and get the best care in the god damn world. Cause 4 years now I've been telling them to refer me to a specialist, I've been telling them that it's probably crohns or some other GI issue. They need to do a colonoscopy and a scope to find it, so that's what I would ask for. I would never get it, so i more or less gave up on the healthcare system. They would leave me on the floor thrashing in pain for hours. Treating me like a drug addict in withdrawal when I didnt even have any opioids in my system. I would be lucky if I got an IV for fluids, and even more lucky if they pumped me full of a bunch of over the counter drugs and others that didnt work like gravol, tauridol, buscopan, zofran, and haliperidol. I would tell them each time, that this was the hundredth time they tried gravol, and it doesnt help people when they're screaming in pain. They treat the nausea. Its bullshit because I am in so much pain that its making me nauseous and until they get rid of the pain, the vomiting is just gonna continue. They always treat me like I'm full of shit, and when I turn out to be right and continue puking, thrashing and screaming in pain, they just get angry at the fact they were wrong. Our doctors and nurses are a bunch of sociopathic, apathetic adult children who in my experience take pleasure in watching you suffer. The worse I get the more they smile. They are so stupid, blind almost because if their stupid fucking machine says I'm ok then I guess it's all in my head. They only think that theres nothing wrong with me because theyve only ever done a blood test or an xray. Never ever once have they done a single test that would have found the issue, crohns cant be found just on a blood test. The emergency room doctors think it can be, my family doctor and everybody else I've talked to says otherwise.

On January 1st I was having another flare up, and they shoved me in the psych observation room because they genuinely didnt want to deal with me. They ignore me, and I keep going in because I want help. I dont want to end up relapsing again cause I cant take the god damn pain! But nope, I get treated like a crazy person now.. they did it against my will. And they even tried to take my phone and my keys. I was puking constantly, I needed water to keep hydrated and they left me for 4 hours, locked in, no meds, no help or nothing. So I just cracked.. I had nothing to barf in, to wipe my nose with, or to wipe the cold sweat off me. So I puked in every corner of that room, I puked beside the bed especially because a mop wouldnt fit in there. I pissed in the corner, I would hack up some phlegm and spit it all over the floors and walls, I blew snot rockets on every surface too! After a while some nurse came in and gave me a barf bag. I threw it on the floor and just continued to puke over every hard surface in the place. I was puking every 5 seconds I swear, and the doctor finally came in at 3 hours and 15 minutes. At 3.5 hrs they give me two pills. I straight up tell them there is no point in even taking them. I couldnt even keep water down and these people are stupid enough to make me take pills? Come on. You need to hold it in for atleast an hour to see even the most minimal affects. I was puking every 5 seconds, to the point that I puked before I took the pills, and I puked them out the moment after I swallowed. They had given me a fucking gravol tab, and some Ativan, the latter of which I couldnt even hold under my tongue long enough. I barfed it onto the floor when it was half dissolved. They come back with this clear liquid shit in a shot glass. I swallowed it right after I puked. The liquid burned my insides, and i puked that shit out even quicker. I asked them to give me IV medications for that exact reason, I always ask for IV medications cause its literally a waste of your time and mine to just pump me full of pills when I can't keep them down and they hurt my tummy as they dissolve. They tell me to just "breathe deeply and relax" and to "just try jayden, you gotta try", so then I try, and when they end up being wrong, and I can't take shit. They end up saying that I'm manipulating, that I'm drug seeking or I'm not trying hard enough to make it work. Absolute bullshit, over the course of 4 years I have quite literally told them what to do. I have multiple family members with this disease, and my grandmother was ignored like this too. She told me to ask them for a colonoscopy and a scope, and to ask them to treat the pain, not the nausea cause the pain literally causes the nausea. The sooner the pain is gone the sooner I can be normal and tell them what's going on. Instead I'm left to suffer in the worst pain a human being can feel. I get treated like shit and told it's all in my head. I gave up on getting a diagnosis in year two. I just want to shoot dope whenever the pain comes. Dope atleast takes it away, after all they would be giving me some of the strongest shit they have at the hospital if I was some boomer with a sprained ankle. It would take the pain away. Thats for sure. Being a mentally ill, drug using, autistic tranny they just see that. I get nothing. No help, no answers, not even some relief when my screaming can be heard far and wide.

I want to die right now, and I keep trying to think of a painless way to do it.. buying $400 worth of street fentanyl and slipping into a nice, peaceful opioid coma seems like a wonderful idea right now.. that would end the fucking suffering atleast..

I wont be wearing a colostomy bag. Colostomy bags arent sexy, they are fucking disgusting and you cant just be body positive when you have a fucking bag full of your own shit hanging off you, and your only way of having penetrative sex sewed up permanently and taken away from me. Not like I could even be a decent fuck for anybody at this point anyways. Its painful to shit, let alone anything else. I dont want to give up food either. I love food, food is literally my life and the only way I have to bond with certain people! Like my family for example. Nothing makes me just want to slip.into that coma more then the worry of the future.

Will I be sitting at a family gathering eating bland gluten free, dairy free, all organic 100% vegan fair trade horse shit on a plate while my family actually gets to enjoy the food I used to be able to eat? Moms spaghetti, grandmas meat pies, the baked goods, fresh tomatoes out of my garden and others. A good fucking steak even? Cause honestly a birthday isnt a birthday if I dont have my birthday meal.

I know for a fact my body is damaged from 4 years of suffering. I used to bounce back, now it takes the wind out of my sails for a month.

Needless to say, I just want to fucking die more then anything else. Positivity and anything I love is gone, and all that I have left is knowing that Alberta health services, coast mountain health services, providence health services, and interior health services have all fucked me in the biggest way humanely possible. So thankful for free fucking healthcare!!

You get what you bloody well pay for!!