#Hey the anti anxiety med you prescribed works really well and I do still have several left

[beauty-grace-outer-space]

Didn't even make it til 10AM without sobbing at my desk this time.

[andhumanslovedstories]

Interesting when you have a moment where you see how much you’ve changed since you started doing something. Calling surgeons used to really freak me out and I’d really prep, and I’d write out everything I might need and everything I might say, and I would really hype myself up, and if they spoke to me in a tone that was less than effusively happy, I was like “oh god they hate me. and are correct to.” And then the other night, I had a post-surgical patient with inadequate pain control, so I called the surgeon to be like “we need more,” and she was like “I’ll give you X,” and I was like “that’s not enough,” and she’s like “we’ll start slow,” and I was like “okay cool talk to you later.” Which, looking back on, is a very funny way to end a call with the on-call surgeon at nine pm.

To be clear, while this surgeon was more conservative with opioids than I thought was appropriate, she was also very responsive and easy to work with. When I called back the second time around midnight, like “hey girl patient is still doing So Badly,” the surgeon was like “okay, what do you think we should do,” which stymied me for a second before I laid out exactly what I thought we should do. We had a back and forth that ended up that tripling the dose of everything the patient was getting, plus adding another powerful anti anxiety med. Then the surgeon, in a tone of voice so sleepy (and she was back at the hospital by five am that morning), was like “cool, I think that’s good,” and I was like “hmmmm well the thing is actually I would love an additional one time dose of oxycodone right now while we’re in the midst of the pain crisis.” And by god we clawed that patient down to 8/10 pain and they got a whole 20 mins of sleep that night. Not my most impressive sounding pain management story, but with how much agony we were starting with, this patient is one of my biggest successes in a while. Anyway that entire conversation would have been impossible for me two years ago. Also if surgeons don’t want to get phone calls after hours, they should prescribe more than one dew drop of dilaudid every four hours for someone who just got thoroughly stabbed for seven hours.

[kirksfattitties]

asks you can smell the privilege and internalized ableism radiate from

(tw for ableism and other bigoted implications)

i’m bad at reading tone but even i understand that this is 100% you being condescending and trying to cover it up with smiley faces and false sincerity. and i don’t appreciate that.

before i get into deconstructing your shitty ableist argument, i want to explain the reasons i believe in self diagnosis (self-dx):

even professional diagnosis doesn’t start with a doctor diagnosing you. there has to be a reason for seeing the doctor. some people see a doctor in their adult life because they’re struggling, some people are taken by their parents, some people are referred or suggested that they see a specialist. whatever it is, you don’t just see a doctor and they magically give you a neurodivergency. people have neurodivergencies before they see doctors and even if they NEVER see a doctor.

the psychiatry system is flawed in MANY ways and to say that it isn’t means you’re denying the experiences of people with less privledge than yourself. also like psychiatry isn’t gonna suck your dick. you don’t have to be a bootlicker lol

in many places (hi hello i’m from america where our government tries to indirectly kill us by not providing us with adequate healthcare! i and many other people have many issues we can’t get fixed because simply our government cares more about the economy than us), seeing a psychiatrist or a therapist or going to a mental hospital or WHATEVER is INCREDIBLY expensive. and to assume that everyone has access and enough time/money/energy/transportation/whatever to do all of that is classist and elitist.

ANYTHING medical (including mental health) is biased towards white cis men. most studies are done on white cis men/boys. because of this, people who aren’t white cis men (or people who aren’t perceived as white cis men) are often not diagnosed. the system is racist. the system is sexist. the system is transphobic. people don’t know how to diagnose autism or adhd or personality disorders or other neurodivergencies or even mental illnesses in black people and other people of color, in women, in trans people, etc. and GOD FORBID someone be in multiple (or all) of those categories. saying “just go get diagnosed :)” is a privileged statement to make.

shocker! the psychiatry system is also ableist. if you’re already diasabled (whether it be mental or physical) and you see a doctor about ANOTHER disability? the doctor is most likely going to shoot you down. or at least be weary about someone having mutliple disabilities.

also most people who diagnose are neurotypical. they have never and will probably never experience neurodivergency so they can never fully understand it. they operate off of stereotypes of neurodivergent people and usually only stereotypical behavior of neurodivergent white cis men (which, as i mentioned before, is problematic for anyone who isn’t a white cis man). neurotypical diagnosers don’t know the neurodivergent culture and aren’t trained to recognize very common things (like masking for example).

a professional diagnosis can also be weaponized. not everyone can get a professional diagnosis because there are some neurodivergencies (such as autism and personality disorders) and mental illnesses (like depression) that can have legal and medical respercussions to have in your record. trans people can be denied medical and legal transition for being professionally diagnosed. people can lose custody battles for being professionally diagnosed. a professional diagnosis can be used as justification for taking away someone’s body autonomy (especially if that person is also physically disabled).

a LOT of neurodivergencies also have some type of symptom (or symptoms) that make it difficult to interact with people. troubles recognizing facial expressions, troubles understanding certain phrases and types of speech, paranoid about people, audio processing issues, being nonverbal in an environment that doesn’t accommodate for it, overstimulation, extreme social anxiety, discomfort in new situations, problems with eye contact, and a lot more. because like. for many nd people, interacting with people is very difficult and stressful. and hey. if you want to get a professional diagnosis? take a WILD guess what you have to do? FUCKING INTERACT with people! LIKE?? JEHDJJDKEKKDKDKDS. do you know how many professionally diagnosed nd people i know who made their appointment COMPLETELY on their own without help from a parent or family member or friend? LITERALLY ZERO! and i know A FEW nd people who have professional diagnoses! so if someone has social issues that prevent them from doing tasks like calling and making an appointment, showing up for an appointment, talking during the appointment, etc and ALSO doesn’t have familial or friend support (because newsflash! people who are friends/family of disabled people can still be ableist)? almost impossible to get a diagnosis! plus, the diagnosis process is TIME CONSUMING. not everyone can focus on a task for that long and not everyone can miss work/school for that long.

so those are the reasons i support self-dx. (although there’s probably more that i’m forgetting but i have adhd and it’s hard for me to remember things!)

so hopefully you now understand my reasons for believing in self-dx, and perhaps even you’re pro-self-dx now because before you were just uneducated on these issues and how they impact people who aren’t you.

but in case you’re still anti-self-dx and probably hate already-marginalized neurodivergent people, let’s talk about this horrendous ask (series of asks, actually) that i got sent. i feel like i can feel the self hatred and internalized ableism OOZING from this ask and into my inbox, so thanks for that i guess /s

“Sometimes people who self diagnose can take away from those who are actually nd, even sometimes from themselves.”

starting out strong with the ableism on this one by separating people into “self diagnosed” and “actually nd” people. self diagnosed people ARE actually nd

there’s not a limited number of nd resources. this isn’t a math equation of only x amount of people can be nd because there’s only y amount of resources. more people realizing they’re nd will actually MAKE more resources for nd people and will bring more awareness to being nd

even IF someone self diagnosed, and they go back on it later, what harm was done? they learned some coping mechanisms? they made some nd friends? neither of those are problematic and i think they’re both actually very helpful. i think nt people SHOULD learn more about nd people and stuff because i think that will lead to WAYYY less misunderstandings and WAYYYY less ableism

“There are many people who fake nds for attention,”

hey anon, what fucking world do you live in that nd’s are cool enough to fake having? because i would LOVE to live there. like, i literally had a post about my personality disorder (which i will not be specifying) i had to delete because people were sending my anons about how i was “scary” and “threatening” now that they knew i had the personality disorder i have. last year i left a discord server because the ableism i was recieving from not only the members of the server, but the mods as well. there are very few people i know irl who i tell about my personality disorder, but when i tell people about my adhd, they start treating me different. they infantalize me and make fun of me and use “jokes” about stereotypical adhd behaviors to alienate me and they even TELL OTHER PEOPLE without my permission. i was SEVERELY bullied throughout elementary and middle school for being nd. i have been refused job and educational opportunities as well as literal medical attention for being nd. people aren’t “faking” being nd, and if they were they probably wouldn’t be doing it for long because it’s not something that’s EASY to deal with.

kinda ironic that you’re saying people can’t diagnose themselves but that YOU can tell when someone is faking their diagnosis. that’s both hypocritical and a double standard.

masking exists. if you think someone isn’t “acting nd enough” they’re probably masking because they’ve been fucking bullied and harrassed. also you’re probably basing whatever you think nd is on stereotypes. not every nd person is sheldon cooper lol.

this is a side note but can we talk about how you’re literally just taking transmed rhetoric and molding it to fit nd people? like. you really come onto MY NONBINARY NEURODIVERGENT blog and expect me to validate your recycled “but what about the REAL [insert group] people?” ??? like grow up, elitist. you’re not better than anyone else just because you lick some boots 🥾 👅

“and claiming that self diagnosis (and this is just what I interpreted) is just as valid as professional diagnosis”

it is 😌

the only difference between self diagnosis and professional diagnosis is that a professional diagnosis can also get you medicine. not every neurodivergency needs meds and not every neurodivergency can be treated (at this time or even ever). for example, my pd (self diagnosed) doesn’t have a specific treatment but multiple symptoms of the pd (all professionally diagnosed) have specific treatments and medicines that work, so patients are given/diagnosed with/prescribed those instead. also, medicine doesn’t work for everyone! and sometimes people are allergic to or take medicines that will conflict with any new medicine.

“can really devalue the account of someone who actually has a disorder”

here we go again with that “self diagnosed” vs “actually nd” bullshit. literally just say you hate poor people n minorities and leave lol

someone having a different experience than you isn’t devaluing you, but if you’re the one who always has the spotlight maybe you should use your privledge uplift other marginalized people instead of feeling angry when everything isn’t all about you 100% of the time

“I have a second ask”

i don’t want it

“Plus it can be damaging for a person if they self diagnose wrong.”

how? what if they learn information that they wouldn’t’ve otherwise known like coping mechanisms that help them with their own neurodivergencies? that’s definitely not a bad thing

i think it’s funny that you bring up that people can self diagnose wrong and don’t even MENTION that doctors can diagnose wrong. like. you know. the people who GIVE OUT MEDICINE to people. i think it’s MUCH more dangerous when a PROFESSIONAL diagnosis is wrong. what are self-dx people with wrong diagnoses gonna do? read up on nd tips? maybe smoke some weed? drink some coffee? that’s about all they can do with a self-dx. but if a MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL gives you an INCORRECT diagnosis, they can ACTUALLY fuck you up.

“I was recently diagnosed with PTSD, a disorder which I would have never considered I’d have.”

that’s great about your professional diagnosis! i don’t know you but i’m glad you’re finding out about yourself and getting the help you want and/or need /srs

sorry if this sounds blunt, but honestly i’m not surprised you never considered you could have PTSD. based on your asks, you sound like you have a lot of internalized ableism you need to work through and a lot more research about neurodiversity you need to do. being anti-self diagnosis is a common belief among a lot of people with internalized ableism and a lot of these same people are the ones who have no issue with and even SUPPORT auti$m $peaks. many nd organizations that are run BY nd people (like asan) actually support self-dx.

“If I had of diagnosed my own symptoms and then started treating myself or taking precautions based on my self diagnosed "condition", it could of really hurt me.”

how? taking precautions to preserve your mental health is NEVER a bad idea. i’m not ptsd, but someone i care deeply about DOES have ptsd and has shared a lot of the precautions and coping mechanisms for ptsd with me and honestly they’ve been incredibly helpful. it’s almost as if different neurodivergencies and/or mental illnesses have overlap and that’s why there’s a whole community for us to be able to share these resources and information with each other!

the same person was rejected a formal autism diagnosis because of their ptsd, plus the fact that they’re transgender and the fact they have symptoms of adhd. it’s not really my place to talk about their experience with professional diagnosis, but i’ll send this post to them and allow them to add on their experience in a rb if they’re comfortable with that. but it’s almost as if their experience with the professional diagnosis process was unhelpful, harmful, ableist, and transphobic 🧐 and unfortunately this is a pretty common experience

“Also, by self diagnosing, I devalue the account of a person with the disorder l assumed I had.”

how? if someone thinks they’re nd, they have a legitimate reason for thinking so. either they have another neurodivergency than the one they thought they had, or they’re neurotypical and need to figure themself out and have a need for support. either way, they learned more about the specific neurodivergency, more about the nd community, and more about themself. i don’t see how that’s a bad thing.

if you think self-diagnosed people’s experiences inherently have less value, that is straight up ableism. especially considering that other marginalized identities and minorities have trouble getting professional diagnoses, you might also be bigoted in some other way. or at the very least, refusing to acknowledge your privilege.

“only one more I promise”

i don’t want it

“I understand that doctors are expensive and professionals can get it wrong,”

okay. if you understand this, then dm me your information so i can bill you for the cost of my professional diagnoses, the cost for my therapy sessions, the cost for my medicine, and the cost for transportation to and from all these places. PLUS the cost of the work and school i’ll be missing for these sessions. 🤲

“but self diagnosis can be really harmful to yourself or others.”

nah, you’re just ableist and a gatekeeper lol

“If you feel like you have a disorder, go see a psychiatrist, you may have it.”

[remembers when i went to a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with two major symptoms of a personality disorder and said i had other symptoms of the pd as well but refused to diagnose me with the actual personality disorder because i was a minor at the time and he told me “kids don’t have personalities so they can’t have personality disorders”. i understand being weary about diagnosing children with personality disorders because they aren’t fully developed but this dude straight up told me that i didn’t have a personality. this man literally only worked with children so that means he literally never diagnosed personality disorders. this man was literally just lazy and didn’t care about his patients. this man also refused to believe me when i told him the medicine he prescribed me made my symptoms worse and even made me hallucinate. he ignored me and refused to change my medicine so eventually i just changed psychiatrists and they put me on a new medicine that DIDNT make my symptoms worse and DIDNT make me hallucinate. also i looked it up after our session and apparently ONLY people with my pd and related ones experience hallucinations on that certain medication. it’s almost like his refusal to diagnose me and ignoring my symptoms/concerns harmed me. this man also constantly misgendered me and told me that homosexuality and transgenderism should’ve still been in the dsm. like golly, it’s almost as if being queer and neurodivergent in an extremely conservative state is harmful and dangerous. and that psychiatrists aren’t immune from being homophobic and transphobic and ableist.] but yes :) perhaps i should see another psychiatrist in this conservative state :)

“I don't want to undermine anyone's actual experiences, but it can be dangerous.”

then stop undermining people’s actual experiences :)

no ❤️

“If you feel like something's wrong, go see a professional.”

the whole point of the neurodiversity movement is that there IS no such thing as a “normal” brain, so saying that neurodivergent people have something “wrong” with them is ableist.

💰 🤲 hand it over

“I don't want to offend, I just don't want anyone to get mislead or hurt. :)”

you absolutely meant to offend. you literally said that self-diagnosed people’s experiences aren’t valid and have less value than people who have professional diagnoses

i know more people who have been (and personally have been) mislead and hurt by professionals than by simply existing as a self-diagnosed person

also i want to say that being pro-self dx is NOT being anti-professional/formal diagnosis. i think that people should absolutely get a professional diagnosis (if they are able to without negative repercussions)! being pro-self dx is more inclusive of marginalized people (like people of color, women, lgbtq+ people, people with multiple disabilities, etc). pro-self dx is simply just saying that professional diagnosis isn’t the only option

(neurotypical people and anti-self dx people don’t add anything; pro-self dx neurodivergent people are allowed to add with their experiences if they want)

[batskulldrag]

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

Trigger warnings for abuse mentions, I still don’ t know how to link my chapters

chapter eight, i’ll be honest, there are no Oc’s in this thing. everyone is gonna be a youtuber or a dream daddy character. if you look up dream daddy, you’ll see who cameos where. 

Chapter Eight: Gives You Hell by All American Rejects.

               Virgil looked around the office. This totally looked like a child therapist’s domain. The walls were littered with posters and every flat surface had a figurine or a plushie of some cartoon character. He absentmindedly pet the stuffed bear that shared the couch with him.

               Ok, I’m calling it. He concluded in the silence. I’m just gonna get one of my uncles. There’s no shame in that right?

               Yes, there is.

Damn it, you again. That voice was starting to sound familiar.

“Hey-ya Virgil.” The shrink beamed as he walked in the door. “I’m Dr. Picani, we’ve met.”

“Yeah,” Virgil sighed. “You prescribed the anti-anxiety meds.”

“How are those working out for you?”

“The valium makes me tired. But they said that it might.”

“Are you having to take it a lot?”

“Uncle Logan gave me one a couple of nights ago. They don’t really let me decide when to take them.”

“That’s fair. It’s pretty habit forming.” Picani nodded. “Like Krabby Patties, but drugs. Why did Logan give you one of your pills?”

“I…” He looked around, could he trust this guy? “What happens to this information after we’re done?”

“The society of the blind eye erases all of it.” Picani smiled. “I’m not going to tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about. That’d breach my doctor/patient confidentiality.”

“That applies to minors?”

“I mean, I have to tell your guardians. But I’m sure they know what you know.”

“I had a nightmare that night.” Virgil focused on the stuffed bear. “I woke up screaming.”

“What was this nightmare about?”

“Stuff.” Virgil pulled his legs to his chest as a barrier. “The uncles burst in for some reason.”

“I’d wager because you were screaming.”

“Yeah. Anyway, they couldn’t calm me down. And honestly that’s all just a blur to me. But they couldn’t shut me up, so Uncle Logan gave me one of the pills. It was all kind of surreal.”

“In what way?” He held out a hand like he was giving Virgil the question. “It sounds like they handled it really well.”

“I wet the bed.” Virgil said harshly. “Like a fucking toddler.”

“That’s some pretty strong language there. Sounds like you had quite the nightmare.”

“That’s what Uncle Patton said. And that’s all he said.” He mimicked Patton’s voice. “That must have been a doozy of a nightmare kiddo. If you wanna talk about we’re right here, but if you don’t, we’ll just get you cleaned up and you can go back to sleep.”

“And that upset you? Do you feel like he was patronizing you?”

“No.” Virgil yelled, frustrated. “I feel like I still have bruises from last time my dad caught me wetting the bed!”

“And you’re upset because Patton keeps catching you off guard?”

“Yes. I don’t know what he’s gonna do. I-I think he’s probably gonna keep being nice, but what if he doesn’t?”

“Virgil, I like to equate my patients to cartoons to help them understand this.” Picani said, tipping his folded hands towards him. “And you are very much a Raven.”

“Like I eat roadkill? I mean ravens are cool and all, but I don’t follow.”

“Ok, Raven is from a cartoon called Teen Titans, it’s about teenage superheroes.” He explained. “Raven is a half demon born from a terrifying being called Trigon. He plans to use her as a sort of gateway to the apocalypse so he can rule their dimension.”

“Cool.” He perked up. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Well, Raven’s father saw her as nothing but a means to his end and would constantly torture her to control her. Mostly by haunting her mind, and this led her to be very guarded around the other titans. Because she didn’t know who she could trust.”

Virgil felt cold. The doctor suddenly seemed very far away, but still painfully close. Who was this guy? How could he sit there in his round glasses, his button up shirt, his tan cardigan and his frigging pink tie and read his mind? How?

“No?” Virgil whispered, balling himself tighter.

“No, she didn’t know if they would reject her, or betray her or what. Fathers are important and knowing you can’t trust the one person who is supposed to protect you can make you put your guard up. It can even make you try to guard yourself against kindness.”

The power of Christ compels you, get out of my brain!

“So, you can see the parallel, can’t you?”

“I guess,” Virgil pulled up his hood. “I mean, my dad just kind of used me as a prop. Signing me up for all kinds of academic stuff without asking me what I wanted. Because what he wanted was a kid he could show off. Someone who could be seen and not heard. Someone submissive. I signed up for wrestling without telling him just so I could have something that was mine. Something that didn’t fit in with his mold. But he found out. And he put a stop to it.”

“How, if you’re ok with me asking.”

“He went ahead and told the coach and the rest of the team that I was taking medication for bed wetting. Which there is for some reason a medication for. It didn’t work, I think it was a placebo.”

“You were still wetting the bed in sixth grade?” Picani looked concerned.

“Yeah, they all thought it was hilarious too.” Virgil sneered.

“I don’t, that’s a serious sign of emotional abuse.”

“Really? I thought there was just something wrong with me.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, a brain tumor or something.”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve just been under a lot of stress.”

Virgil pulled his hoodie down over his legs.

“Are you cold, or do you just not want to talk to me?” Picani smiled.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Ok, we won’t talk about Payton anymore.” Picani offered. “We can talk about something else.”

“There’s nothing else to talk about.” Virgil clenched his fists. “I only exist as an extension of him. Only doing the stuff he deems proper, only talking to the kids that he allows. Which is a dwindling list. Like I said, I’m just his prop. It’s like, you know when a gay dude dates a girl because he doesn’t want to admit he’s gay. Even to himself.”

“Yes, I’ve seen a lot of those.”

“It’s like that, but one step further. He gets to show off what a smart kid he has, and that somehow validates him. Like his sperm is awesome or something.”

“Well, I’m not here to analyze your dad. We’re here to talk about you.”

“What about me?”

“Well, we know that, like Raven, you feel like you need to have your guard up. But within the show Raven started letting her guard down around her friends and they helped her deal with her issues with her father. They all even defeated him in the end. But the point is that she couldn’t have done it alone. She needed them to help her grow past what had happened.”

Virgil put his feet on the floor.

“How am I supposed to know when to let my guard down? What if I let it down for the wrong person? What if I get hurt again?”

“You don’t have to tear down all your walls at once. And you don’t have to do it for the first person you see. I’m not telling you to make a total change. No one can rewrite their entire personality after just learning something once.”

“Is that from a cartoon?”

“Yes. But it’s true.”

“I guess.”

“It is, and Raven didn’t do a complete one eighty right away either. She let her walls come down slowly. And that is what I want you to do. Ok?”

“Ok.”

“We don’t have to discuss the abuse in detail right away. And you don’t have to tell the whole thing to your uncles just yet either. I just want you to understand that if Patton or one of the others is being kind to you, it’s just them being nice. No motives, nothing you need to protect yourself from.”

“Ok.”

                                                                             #             #             #

Patton sat anxiously in his side of the glass. He thought these things only existed on TV. He watched guiltily as a guard brought Payton in. He was dressed in orange and had his wrists cuffed. Patton felt as if something just injected him with ice water. Payton sat down, glared at him through the glass and picked up the phone one his end.

“I figured you’d turn up eventually.” He said coldly. “Let me guess, you want custody of Virgil.”

“I wanted to talk.” Patton dropped his shoulders.

“What could we possibly discuss? The weather? Well, the weather in here is climate controlled.”

“Payton, I want to help you.”

“Bail is going to be set at something you can’t afford. You can’t possibly help me.”

“We can get you counseling or something. You don’t have to be angry.” Patton bit his lip. “You don’t have to lose your son. You can…”

“Change?” Payton finished for him. “That’s the problem. I don’t want to. I don’t see the problem with wanting a well-behaved kid. Or a promising career. Do you?”

“No, but…”

“Then why is the way I’m going about it so wrong?” He cut off.

“Because they’re investigating you for doing illegal stuff from when you were a lawyer. Because you got arrested for child abuse. Because your actions effect other people.”

“There it is.” Payton pointed at him. “By that logic, I can’t put a criminal in jail because being in jail would make him so unhappy. And defense lawyers are Satan because they defend bad people without thinking about the victim’s families.”

“Why is everything always an extreme with you!?” Patton stood up. “I ask you if you want help and you try to deconstruct society.”  

“Aren’t you worried that your anger is affecting other people.” Payton smirked.

“Pay, please.” Patton sank back into his chair. “I don’t want to have to do this. I want to help you.”

“I don’t want your help. Serve your papers and go.”

“Payton please! If this is truly just an act, then for the love of God drop it right now! You don’t need to do this to be powerful. You don’t need to be powerful. So, can you at least drop this smooth tough guy thing for me. You don’t have to act like this for people to like you. You can change if you want to. I don’t care that you don’t feel things the same way as everyone else, I just don’t want you to hurt people. You don’t have to be isolated!”

“Too bad you didn’t leave those papers sooner.” Payton said coldly. “Then you could have stormed off after your little speech. But now we both have to sit in it.”

Patton stared at his brother in shock. He felt tears leaking down his face. He was losing it, he was losing Payton, he was losing this argument.

“I’m sorry.” Patton choked. “I’m sorry you feel like you need to act this way. I’m sorry I have to do this to you. I’m sorry you don’t want my help. I’m sorry you don’t wanna be my friend. And I’m very sorry you don’t want to change.” He stood up. “I gave the papers to the guard. Maybe you and me will meet sometime between here and eternity. And you can apologize to me and admit you were wrong.”

Not wanting another snide comeback, Patton hung up the phone and walked away. He sat in the car and cried for a long while before going to join the others. Virgil was just coming out of his appointment as he arrived. Naturally, Patton ducked in and hugged him.

“You ok?” Virgil laughed. “I was only gone for an hour.”

“I just needed a hug, kiddo.” Patton smiled in response.

Logan grabbed Patton’s shoulder knowingly and Roman nodded at him. Virgil looked at them curiously his lips parted slightly and his eyes thoughtful. He clearly knew something was up, but probably not what.

“You ready to rebuild your wardrobe after a whole week of quarantine?” Patton ruffled the kiddo’s hair.

“Sure. It’ll be nice to get out of the house, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit!” Roman slapped him on the back, almost knocking him over. “Now, settle a bet between myself and Logan. Are mummies and zombies the same thing?”

“No,” Patton answered quickly. “I don’t even see a single similarity between a mother and the undead.”

Logan groaned. Not unlike a zombie.

“Ok, mummies and zombies are not the same thing. Like even at all.” Virgil explained.

“I know, zombies don’t raise you.” Patton agreed.

“Are you really going to keep that up?” Logan asked, murder in his eyes.

“They’re both undead though.” Roman objected.

“Vampires are undead, are mummies vampires?” Logan retorted.

“Look, if a zombie bites you, you turn into a zombie. If a mummy bites you, the worst that’s gonna happen is you get tetanus. And you need to hit zombies in the brain to kill them, to kill mummies you have to break the curse or set them on fire.” Virgil continued.

“Between this and the ‘Jack is the bad guy thing’,” Roman pointed at him teasingly. “I’m really starting to not like you.”

Virgil dropped his shoulders and looked shocked. Like, genuinely shocked. He wasn’t just playing along.

“No, don’t get upset!” Roman immediately yelled. “I was only kidding. I was just trying to be funny. I still like you.”

“I knew that.” Virgil blushed and looked at his feet to save face.

“Ok then kiddos.” Patton put his arm around Virgil’s shoulder. “Let’s get going.”

They rode in a pleasant combination of silence and joking around. Patton sighed. They were just like a family.

“Virgil.” Roman sounded surprised. “Someone wrote ‘you’re gullible’ on the ceiling.”

“Joke’s on them.” Virgil didn’t look away from the window. “I can’t read.”

“Roman, if you wrote on the ceiling, I swear…” Logan started angrily.

“I didn’t. The joke is you tell someone that you’re gullible is written on the ceiling, and when they look there’s nothing there. Then you smirk at them because they fell for an obvious lie and are in fact gullible.” Roman explained quickly and tiredly.

“Hey uncle Logan.” Virgil chimed in. “What did this Virgil guy do to wind up as hell’s tour guide anyway?”

“He was in purgatory for not believing in God, but he was considered a perfect person. So, he couldn’t go to heaven or hell. That’s why they had purgatory.”

“What did he do that was so awesome to be considered Mr. Perfect?”

“I believe Dante liked him because he was a poet when he was alive.”

“That’s it?” His disappointment was audible.

“Even I don’t like the writer character concept.” Roman sneered. “It reads like self-insert fan fiction.”

“Isn’t the inferno self-insert fan fiction of catholic doctrine?” Patton asked looking back at Roman and Virgil. The Italians as he would now call them.

“Ok, Patton broke literature.” Roman sighed.

“By that logic, which is perfect.” Virgil began. “All writing is fanfiction. It’s alternate universe fanfiction of real life.”  

“No.” Logan stumbled on his words. “I don’t like that.”

“I was wrong. Virgil broke literature.”

“Oh, good we’re here.” Logan sighed with relief.

Patton looked up at the front of the thrift store. It wasn’t too crowded for a Saturday.

“Ok kiddo,” Patton turned around to explain. “I know this is probably not what you’re used to, but we usually find cool stuff in here. We don’t have to replace everything at one place.”

Virgil looked at the store curiously, the back at Patton.

“Can I pick out my own clothes? He had a glimmer in his eyes.

“Yeah, we weren’t gonna do it. You’re a big boy.”

“It’s important to have your own style.” Roman added.

Virgil’s eyes lit up at the prospect of this newfound freedom.

Was there anything you were allowed to do? Inner Patton grumbled.

While they were in the store Virgil hung around Patton. The furthest he ever got away was about three feet. They bumped into each other a lot.

“Virgil.” Patton said softly. “You can go look at stuff. You don’t have to follow me.”

Virgil looked around tensely. He somehow had no idea what to do. Patton turned around and rubbed his temples. This wasn’t right.

“Let’s have the fashion orientated one help him shop.” Roman swooped in. “Nothing against you Padre, but you have three loud Hawaiian shirts and you still wear socks with sandals.”

“Just don’t dress him like Elton John.” Logan prodded, appearing behind Patton and wrapping his arms around him.

“I don’t dress like Elton.”

“You wore a feather boa on picture day.”

“You wore a dress to school once.” Patton added.

“I was Cinderella for Halloween.” Roman defended.

“How’d you find a dress your size?” Virgil mumbled, utterly baffled.

“Large and extra-large.” Roman moved his hands to the beat of the words. “Now let’s find you some new things.”

Roman led Virgil off.

“I thought you might need one of us to rescue you.” Logan explained.

“I’m really upset.” Patton said bluntly. “Virgil either acts like an adult or a little kid. It’s not right.”

“I know.”

“It’s almost like Payton broke him.”

“I know.”

“He’s so skittish around us.”

“I know.”

“It’s like he expects us to hurt him!”

“I know.”

“I don’t know if I’m doing this right.”

“You are.”

“I thought you were gonna say ‘I know’” Patton sighed.

“You knew that I know.” Logan hugged him tighter. “You needed to hear that you’re doing a good job.”

“What about this?” Virgil showed up out of nowhere, holding a purple, plaid flannel shirt.

“Where did you come from?” Logan looked at him startled.

“Virgil,” Patton sighed. “You can pick out your own clothes. You don’t need our approval.”

“What if I come back here with a dress?”

“We already established that Roman wears dresses sometimes.” Logan shrugged.

“That wasn’t a one-off joke?” Virgil leaned back. “He did that more than once?”

“Well, they made an issue about him wearing the dress on Halloween. So, he wore a dress for the rest of the school year.” Patton explained.

“And then more and more people started joining him.” Logan looked at the floor. “Including Patton and me.”

“And Remus started showing up in tight leather skirts.”

“Who’s Remus?” Virgil tilted his head.

“Roman’s twin brother. I told you about him.”

“They named him Remus?” Virgil squinted. “But Roman’s name is Roman. So, that makes them Roman and Remus. Like Romulus and Remus?”

“Hey,” Patton chirped. “You get it.”

“Their father was a history teacher.” Logan sighed.

“And their mom got no say in what to name them.” Virgil smiled sarcastically.

“I guess not.” Patton nodded. “Now, you go off and get some more clothes.”

“I’ll be back with a nice dress.” Virgil pointed sinisterly as he backed away.

“He is cute.” Logan agreed as Virgil left.

Virgil reappeared with Roman in tow. Roman looked a bit annoyed.

“What about this?” Virgil held up a black long sleeve shirt grey flowers going up the sleeves.

“You don’t need to sign off with us.” Logan sighed.

Roman looked at them as if to say, ‘now you know.’

“But is it ok?” Virgil really didn’t grasp this.

“Virgil, I draw the line at lingerie. Don’t come back here with sensual undergarments.” Logan explained flatly. “Aside from that, we trust your judgement on what you want to wear.”

“It’s beautiful.” Patton said blankly. “Go find some other cool things. And don’t worry about approval. Feel free to show us anything cool, but no more asking if it’s ok. Ok?”

“Ok.” Virgil nodded. He smiled at them and pulled up a grey shirt with a raven on it. “Quoth the raven; nevermore.” He recited happily.

“I didn’t know you were interested in poetry.” Logan smiled.

“Poe-atry?” Patton added. “Get it, pun intended.”

“Pun always intended.” Virgil added seriously.

“He’s a poet, and he didn’t know it.” Roman recited dramatically.

“Why must you always make dad jokes?” Logan sighed.

“Oh, lover’s tiff.” Roman teased. “We’d better let them have a moment alone. Come on Virgil, let’s find you some pants.”

The two walked off back into the aisles.

“While we’re here we should get some books on parenting.” Patton said flatly. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I completely agree.” Logan paused. “On getting books that is. I think you’re doing fine.”

“I left Virgil to try a few things on.” Roman came back to them. “He seems to be having fun.”

“That’s good.” Patton looked at the floor.

“What did Payton say?” Roman said softly.

“He doesn’t want my help. He doesn’t want my friendship. And he doesn’t want Virgil.”

“Maybe that means he won’t fight us for custody.” Logan lied, and they knew he didn’t believe that for a second.

“Logan.” Roman sighed. “We all know that Clod Frollo is going to fight us tooth and nail. Whether he has a chance to win or not. Thanks anyway.”

“That’s just evil.” Patton stared intently at the ground. “It’s not like we’re fighting over a toy. This is a person. A person he’s more than willing to torture just to spite me.”

“What do we think of this.” Virgil interrupted, mimicking Roman’s voice.

Virgil stood before them in a floor length, strapless prom dress. The purple satin flowed off his gaunt shoulders like water. He held the top portion up with one hand as he modeled it cockily for them. There was a glimmer in his eyes that the other three hadn’t seen before.

“I know you’re joking. But you totally work that dress.” Roman’s voice got gayer. “But you probably need something with straps. You’re not as well-endowed as an eighteen-year-old girl might be.”

“Are you saying I can’t wear this because I don’t have boobs.” Virgil took on an effeminate tone and did several hand gestures.

Once he stopped holding the dress up it slid down around his waist. He went red and pulled it back up in an instant.

“I’m gonna go change before someone steals my clothes.” He said quietly.

“Well, it certainly is a good thing you don’t have bosoms.” Roman joked to lighten the mood. “Or you would have flashed the whole store.”

Virgil looked at him, beet red and pointed one hand accusingly.

“Don’t think you can get out of giving me one of those crappy beaded necklaces.” He said, barely holding back laughter.

Virgil walked off and Roman fell to the ground laughing as soon as he was out of sight.

“It looks like he’s gained a little bit of weight since he’s been with us.” Patton observed awkwardly.

“And that rash seems to have cleared up.” Logan agreed.

Neither of them wanted to be the one who was shocked at how skinny Virgil actually was, or to have to point out how many yellow bruises still marked his skin. No one really wanted to mention that he weighed all of ninety-five pounds. Not now, not while he was happy and acting like a kid again.

“I love him.” Roman broke the tension, wiping away tears. “Adopt him faster.”

“I’m glad he’s happy.” Patton smiled.

“We’ll pick up a few books on nutrition as well.” Logan added. “I’d like him to regain the weight healthily.”

Virgil rejoined them with an armload of findings.

“No dress?” Roman faked disappointment.

“It didn’t work with my hair.” Virgil mimed fluffing long hair.

“That’s ok kiddo,” Patton ruffled his hair. “We’ll find you a dress for prom.”

Virgil laughed softly and stared down at his feet. Patton pulled his hand back. These were always the moments when Virgil’s anxiety would pop up. Patton was tempted to think that he had post-traumatic stress disorder. And after thirteen years of that kind of abuse who wouldn’t.

“You ok sweetie?” Patton knelt to eye level.

“I’m fine.” Virgil looked up at him, his eyes were watery. “It’s just kind of dusty in here.”

“Ok,” Patton pretended to buy that. “How about we try to find you some shoes? You and Officer Joan don’t exactly have the same feet.”

“Shouldn’t we wait until I get the cast off?” Virgil rubbed one of his arms. “Otherwise my shoes are gonna wear out at different time.”

“Shoes don’t wear out at the same time anyway.” Roman swatted the idea out of the air. “My left shoe always disintegrates at least a month before the right has any problems. And I’m a dancer, I go through shoes twice as fast.”

Virgil looked at him as if he didn’t know what to say.

“Well.” Logan clapped his hands, which made Virgil jump. “There’s no harm in looking. And whether you choose to wear the shoes before or after you get your cast off is up to you. But you need shoes regardless.”

“I’ll help you look.” Roman hooked his arm around Virgil’s shoulders. “I know it’s tempting to just get the cheapest shoes you can find, but pricier shoes are much cheaper in the long run. Shoes are an investment.”

“Mama always said that if you’re gonna spend money you should either get new shoes or a new bed. ‘Cause you’re always in one or the other.” Patton added happily.

“And Patton says to get the cheapest pants you can find, ‘cause you know you’re gonna take them off as soon as you’re in the door.” Roman teased.

“Not in front of Virgil.” Patton mumbled harshly.

“Why not?” Logan stabbed him in the back. “If you plan to continue taking your pants off Virgil is going to see it at some point.”

Virgil looked up at them questioningly, there was a glimmer in his eyes. Probably hope.

Maybe we should just tell him. Inner Patton suggested. But I don’t wanna tell him and end up losing him. That’d be the ultimate blow. To make that kind of promise and not be able to keep it. I can’t put him through the stress of a courtroom drama. And I certainly can’t give him hope just to take it away. And I really can’t do any of those things in the middle of a thrift store.

“Come on kiddo.” Patton ruffed up his hair, which was very soft now that it was clean. “Let’s find you some edgy footwear.”

They walked in silence towards the shoes.

“Hey Kiddo,” Patton looked down at his nephew. “I bought shoes from a drug dealer. And I don’t know what he laced them with, but I’ve been tripping all day!”

Virgil beamed up at him and laughed his poor little repressed laugh. Roman sighed; Logan face palmed. Life was good.

“I like that your drug dealer is your go-to guy for shoes.” Virgil smiled. “Is he your sole supplier?”

“Yep, he always gives me good shoes and some drugs to boot.”

“How are his prices? Would you say they had high tops?”

“Some are stiletto sharp.”

“I hope he’s not too Sketchers-y.”

“No, he’s a really Nike guy.”

“Does he know how to shoe the cops away?”

“He sure Adidas.” (Addi-Does).

“I will end you both!” Roman stopped them. “No more dad jokes.”

“Agreed,” Logan added. “That was painful.”

“You two never did get my sense of humor.” Patton pretended to sob.

“Maybe their shoes are too tight.” Virgil offered flatly.  

Patton ruffled Virgil’s hair once more.

“Glad to see you’re swimming in my end of the gene pool. The fun side. The side with all the pool floaties.”

Virgil smiled at him in return. Could this be it? The moment he isn’t body tackled by fear when he was with them? Was he finally comfortable? Virgil rubbed his arm and smiled awkwardly. The uncertainty danced in his eyes. Maybe next time.

They reached the shoes and found a familiar figure dressed in gothic attire. His shoulder length black hair draped over his pale face as he examined a pair of boots. Similarly, his black cloak draped around his white shirt and black vest, enveloping him in a shadow.

“Damian!” Roman called out to him happily.

“Salutations fellows!” Damian returned eagerly, holding out his arms. “It has been ages since I’ve seen you.”

Patton darted over and hugged him.

“I know,” He sighed. “We’ve been swamped with things and we were kinda under quarantine. Did you know scarlet fever and strep throat are the same thing?”

“Yes, I did learn that they were one and the same.” Damian smiled. “I was a bit disappointed.”

“Oh!” Patton suddenly looked over his shoulder. “You haven’t met Virgil yet!”

Patton saw that Virgil was standing right where he left him. Virgil stood there, mouth agape and eyes sparkling. He radiated pure awe.

“Looks like you have a fan.” Roman commented shooting a grin in Damian’s direction.

“Virgil,” Logan said calmly. “This is our neighbor Damian.”

“You look awesome!” Virgil yelped. “You look like one of the cool vampires! Or, someone straight out of Henry James! Did you time travel here, or are just awesome in the present?”

“I assure you I’m from this time era.” Damian smiled warmly. “And I am charmed by your appreciation for the gothic subculture.” He bowed with a flourish. “You must be Virgil.”

“I am.” Virgil squeaked, still star struck. “I’m staying with my uncles until…” He looked over his shoulder at Logan, then he looked at Patton. He shrugged. “Until something happens, I guess.”

“Well, I do hope your stay is pleasant. And that this unforeseen event is a good one.”

“I’ve had a good stay so far.” Virgil perked up. “Hey! We have the same color eyes.”

“I noticed. But I’m afraid mine are colored contacts.”

“I don’t think I’d have the guts to poke my own eyes.”

“It’s not quite that bad. And one does get used to it.”

“Say, Virgil.” Roman added eagerly. “Damian has a son around your age.”

“Really?” Virgil looked between the two of them. “Is he ok to hang out with?”

“Well, he has the occasional rebellious teen moment.” Damian said, trying to mask concern. “But he is a really sweet young man. And I’m sure you two would get on like a…” he paused. “I’m sure you two would get on.”

Virgil looked to Patton for permission. Patton smiled and gave him a thumbs up. Maybe he just needed reassurance this time around. Maybe he won’t be like this every time like he was with the clothes.

“Cool.” Virgil turned away from Patton. “I’d like to meet him sometime.”

“Will the four of you be attending Jenna and Julian’s barbeque for Memorial Day?” Damian asked, turning to Patton.

“I hope we can make it.” Patton smiled. “It’d be a good way to introduce Virgil to everyone.”

“That is true.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “Food often softens the blow of social interaction.”

“We’ll make a goth out of you yet, Logan.”  

“Maybe you can get some kids to sign your cast.” Patton ruffled Virgil’s hair.

“Yeah, that does sound cool.” Virgil smiled at him, a pensive look in his eyes.

They continued their banter with Damian and managed to find a pair of black sneakers in Virgil’s size. With their clothes mission finished Patton took Virgil for a lap around the miscellaneous section to see if he could find anything to spice up his room.

“Do I need to have stuff in my room?” Virgil asked, trailing a bit behind him. “I don’t know how long I’m gonna be here.”

Patton paused. Did Virgil really think there was a chance they’d ever let his dad get him again?

“You’re gonna be here a while Kiddo,” Patton reassured. “At least as long as I have a say in it.”

“Ok, but I read that kids in foster care normally end up back with their parents.”

“Who said you were in foster care?” Logan emerged from behind them. “You’re staying with us for at least another seven years. That’s the minimum sentence for arson in this state.”

“So, he’s really going to prison?” Virgil looked skeptical.

“Well, he did break the law.” Patton put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. He flinched and relaxed.

“But don’t people like him always get off with stuff? He a huge list of people that he was blackmailing, and no one caught on. His law practice is dodgy at best, no one said anything. And…” He trailed off. “No one did anything.” He whispered.

Tear started showing in his eyes and he trembled at the thoughts coming at him.

“No one did anything when my grades dropped from A’s to F’s. They just assumed I was stupid. No one did anything when I lost twenty pounds because a can’t eat without throwing up anymore!”

Patton wrapped his poor anxious little baby in his arms.

“It’s ok. It’s ok. You’re safe now.” He soothed, stroking Virgil’s hair.

“What about when he dislocated my elbow?” Virgil’s voice became a sob. “Or when I ‘fell down the stairs’ they didn’t even check if he was lying about the morphine. There was no way he’d know if I was allergic to it because I’d never had it before. They could have checked!”

“Patton maybe you should take him out to the car.” Logan said quickly. “Roman and I will pay for everything and be right with you.”

Patton nodded and gently pulled Virgil towards the door and managed to get him out without a struggle.

[ducklover52]

On the close #WorldMentalHealthDay I wanna say how proud I am of my friends going to therapy and taking care of themselves.

Also how jealous I am.

warning: this is a very long/extremely personal post. if you don’t wanna get into it, basically, I’m proud of you for going, I’m proud of you for trying, I’m jealous of your strength, of finding a good fit and sticking it out to do so. I wish us all the strength we need to ask for help (we’re not weak, but I know that it feels that way, especially when you’re deep in it), the resources to make it work, and the success of finding someone/something that works for you.

I promise, you can stop here. goodnight.

No? Then strap in because this went on tangents I wasn’t even planning on and I’ll admit I even got lost along the way. I think I picked it back up at the end but oof, it took a minute to get there and that transition isn’t good. Okay here we go:

I saw a therapist a few times during my senior year of college. My ex had started seeing one earlier. I had gone with him a couple times and he helped convince me that it was time. I had lost my mom two years earlier. I thought it would help and he said it would.

His guy wouldn't see me/didn't have time to? I don't remember what exactly the issue was. He gave me a number. I called her and we set up an initial meeting, with my ex's help. I never had the "strength" to ask for help by myself. He came with me the first couple times, just to the appointment itself-not into our meeting. I stopped asking him to go with me after a couple weeks. I was over him. I didn’t want to see him at all in my life and I hated associating him with therapy.

I didn't like my therapist. I didn't think she really understood me. I told her about feeling rejected when I didn’t get cast in the last musical of my college career. She basically said oh well. I told her about the stress I was feeling to get my requirements done. She said make a list. I had a list; I’d been checking off my degree audit since freshman year. I didn’t feel any connection. I stopped wanting to share and started feeling judged. I had always been anxious about seeing her to begin with. I stopped seeing her January before I graduated. I had to miss an appointment to go to the regional theatre festival. I never called to reschedule. It wasn’t a good fit.

I met a guy at the festival. We fell fast and hard. We both had issues. He had someone to see/talk to about it. I didn’t. I remember being jealous of having a doctor who prescribed anti-anxiety meds. I also remember him needing substances to assist the meds, or replace them when he couldn’t get his prescription refilled. I didn’t envy that. When I had had enough of being ignored, as he lived 3hrs away and I was the only one willing to make the drive, I started seeing other guys.

Or rather, I started getting really drunk at parties. The “cast party” of my only time stage managing included getting really drunk at the student conductor’s apartment and playing strip spin the bottle. Sorority parties would lead to making out with a sister’s formal date or going home with a guy I’d known since freshman year. I’d talk with them for a week or so before making up shit about not wanting to date an underclassman since I was graduating. Once I actually started dating one of them, after bonding over our parents passing away. I decided he was too good for me, especially after I had gone to visit the theatre guy one night and the next day had to drive straight from Charleston to a Chipotle date and almost ran out of gas getting there. But that was right before finals, so the timing worked for me.

Before graduating, I started rehearsing for my first post-grad show. It was community theatre near my house, my best friends were in charge, and I was just happy to get a production credit and work with my friends. A friend in the cast started making friends and I followed suit. About a month in I was dating one of the leads.We spent almost every day together. We also drank together almost every night, but we were young and didn’t think anything of it. I thought this was it. I had always wanted a showmance and I got it. We talked about our feelings, about his ADHD, how he went to therapy every week. I thought I found someone else I could really connect to. I shared how I’d struggled with my self-image all my life, how I’d tried therapy but didn’t like it, how I wanted to try again but didn’t know where to start. I thought he could help. I thought he could save me.

But three months in and a party with my high school friends tore us apart. I still don’t really know what happened that night but it threw my into a whole new depression. It didn’t help that we had just agreed on a new show to audition for together. And of course we were both cast. And he started dating another cast member. I tried not to care but I was hurt and jealous. And he kept reaching out. He said we could be friends and I was desperate for attention. When I couldn’t see him I acted out by sleeping with a friend.

He acted upset but never really cared. He told me I needed to see and talk someone to help myself move forward in life. Then he’d stop for a day or so before coming back, usually while drinking. And she found out, though it’s not like I tried to hide it (hey girl, how’s it going) cause I was selfish. When she’d had enough she called it quits. I thought maybe we could go back to before. He stopped coming around. My heart was broken all over because their relationship ending didn’t mean ours would start again.

I had gotten on tinder while I was fooling around with him. During that time. I had matched with and started talking to my now bf. I don’t think he was really looking for anything then. We’d go through slow periods where I’d doubt myself and my worth if he didn’t reply. Eventually my bf ended up ghosting me. My ex had given me the contact info for a new therapist. I’d call the number and hang up before I stopped ringing. I’d visit the website and see how much I could do without giving them my info. I was nervous to start again. I didn’t know if I could trust these people, after they guy who showed me to them had given up on me. I never did get into contact with them. 

My bf came back into my life about 5 months later. But this time when we started talking we didn’t stop. We finally started dating. When I got moody, I tried to express how I felt and why. He did a good job of expressing his feelings and telling me how much he cared. I hadn’t experienced that in a while that I was feeling so good about us. During this time, my dad was dating someone. She and her two kids moved in over that summer. Shit got complicated. She and her kids destroyed my life. I leaned on my bf as much as I could, but we were long distance. My sister had just gotten engaged and she and her then fiance were doing some premarital counseling. She had had a lot of issues coming from my dad and his then fiance and it led to us all needing to go to a session.

During the one or two we attended, my sister tried to explain how we felt about our dad’s fiancee taking over. They’d ask me to chime in and I wouldn’t be able to speak for myself. I was scared. I was still living with my dad at the time and I couldn’t be honest about what I was feeling or experiencing. I was singled out during these sessions and asked about my mental health history and things I didn’t feel comfortable discussing with or in front of my family. I shut down. I was asked to find my own help or see someone else to discuss these things. And I couldn’t get the attention off me. At the time I felt picked on and judged. Like I did when I first talked to someone in college. I felt discouraged. I was scared.

Since then I’ve been kicked out of the house I grew up in, I’ve fought with my bf about the same topics I don’t even know how many times, and I’ve had a couple of the shittiest years to date, including things that I’m still not quite ready to discuss, even in anonymity on the internet. And through this all, and what I was eventually trying to make my way back to, I’ve known that I should probably be seeing someone. I have friends who are in therapy and I’m jealous. I want the relief that comes with sharing your thoughts and feelings with someone who’s job is to help you make sense of it all. But I’ve never found that. I don’t know what it’s like. I don’t know where to find it and I don’t know where to look. And now I’m off my dad’s insurance and couldn’t even afford it if I did.

I don’t know how to end this, except to again, praise those of you are seeking the help you need/want because good for you, you deserve it! We all do. If you’re not currently seeing a professional but you want to, I wish you nothing but success in finding someone you jive with because I know it’s not just a one and done situation. And to those of you like me who don’t know how to go from here, or how to reach out, or even what you want/need, I wish you clarity to figure it out and resources to try to make it work. I hope we all get what we need and deserve in the end.

[auk-blogs]

Shitty things that happened when I last went inpatient

At the CSU, I was denied access to my fidget toys (I am autistic AND ADHD) even though I specifically picked out ones that couldn't possibly be harmful - a stuffed animal, a Tangle, a glitter tube, etc.

Every time I tried to inform the nurses at the nurse's station that I was feeling extremely anxious, IF I got their attention at all they would just tell me that "there's colouring pages and puzzles in the dayroom" like. No?? I actually wanted some kind of medication mayhaps a sedative because I was going fucking NUTS

I was denied my ADHD pill, Vyvanse, because and I quote directly, I wasn't "working or studying or anything." No. That's not how it works. I needed that pill in order to think in a coherent manner for more than 2 seconds.

Actually the denial of my Vyvanse might be why I was so goddamn anxious? YOU try not getting anxious when your thoughts are all over the place and just keep getting faster and faster.

The other patients kept playing horribly bloody, violent, and graphic movies. Like WHY do you even HAVE a DVD that has a scene where a pirate has to do abdominal surgery on himself with no anaesthetic?? That's just. That's just pure Trigger(TM) on a shiny DVD.

There was this ONE FUCKING PATIENT. Cheri. I will hate Cheri until the day I die. She managed to always get ahead of me in her wheelchair and she would sit and simper with her watery eyes and her wobbling lip and her wringing hands and this horrible look in her eyes... The nurses always paid more attention to Cheri than me even though I was fucking articulating that HEY I NEED HELP FOR (X) THING and Cheri refused to speak.

Sweater Guy turned my room's light off in the middle of the night. I was insomniac and reading. And also the only patient in my room. Sure it's not a crime or anything but it's really fucking annoying. I wasn't bothering anyone, why not just let me read my book in peace?

For a while the only time I saw the therapist was as she was speedwalking down the hallway to leave for the day every evening. She wouldn't even make eye contact with me.

It wasn't until I finally snapped and told them that I had figured out at least 3 ways to attempt aliven't on that ward that they finally realised that yes, I DID NEED SOME ACTUAL FUCKING HELP.

The CSU led me to believe that the next place I was going to was going to be a long term facility. I took that to mean at least a month if not more. I was ready to finally get some serious help that I'VE BEEN TRYING TO GET SINCE THE END OF 2016.

The CSU had a max stay of about 3 days, btw.

Well I got to Peninsula and it turns out that "long term facility" means 5 to 7 day stay. So... Not what I was led to believe.

I was strip searched, I believe is the term. Yes, I was forced to strip pretty much naked to confirm that I wasn't bringing any contraband on my person (despite me checking in voluntarily).

Like I've related before, I was "relieved of" my comfort items - my hardcover journal, some books, and my drawings. The journal and drawings in particular had content I wanted to share with the therapist(s) at Pinensula and I never got to.

When I got anxious about not having my journal/comfort item back, the staff were very apathetic to my literal BEGGING and just basically told me to suck it up and deal with it.

For some reason hardcover books were contraband?? Like what was I gon do, give someone a whack on the head? Anyway they offered me a composition book BUT IT WASN'T MYYYY JOURNAL and as any autistic knows one cannot simply replace a comfort item with a lower quality replacement.

When I, AUK, got too anxious and overwhelmed to deal anymore - Lizzie took over and threw a massive fit. We don't think we got chemically sedated, but we did get hoodwinked into going to a more "secure" ward and then when Lizzie was still pissed off, they manhandled us into a "blank room."

In the new ward, I was relieved of my clothes, my slippers, and pretty much what was left of my dignity. I was made to wear paper scrubs instead of proper clothes.

If I wanted to use the toilet or shower, a nurse would sit at the door with it propped open watching every move I made. No privacy. I eventually only used the bathroom once every morning and only showered once while I was at that ward.

The medication lady (unsure of her status - nurse? Doctor? Idk) refused to keep weaning me off my Lexapro and instead yanked me off it entirely. I'd been on Lexapro for a good while and uh. Ever hear of SSRI withdrawal? It is HORRIBLE. I still think she was totally unprofessional about that and should have fucking known better.

I am overly sensitive to sound and nobody would turn the fucking radio off. (All it played was Christmas music, too. *shudder*)

When I asked for more food, I never got it. I was so freaking hungry by the time I was released.

I'm pretty sure that the coffee was decaf because I got out into the world again and suddenly couldn't handle even half-caf. That means that the nurses were openly lying about the caffeine content - they repeatedly said it was full caffeine coffee.

There were supposed to be groups on that unit but like ...none ever happened? It was like the staff were so busy doing stuff that I couldn't see, that they didn't have time to do their jobs with the patients.

Did I mention that the manhandling left bruises? On my upper arms and also my right buttock from where the men forced me to sit down with all 200 lbs of me onto a concrete floor. Ouchies.

On my discharge notes, somebody wrote a note telling me to stop taking my birth control (which I take to regulate horribly heavy and long periods, not because I am sexually active). The discontinuation of the birth control was never verbalised to me. Never. Not once. There wasn't even an explanation in the note either.

Pinensula put me on what they said was an anti anxiety script but I looked it up and it's actually an antipsychotic. So if you go tell someone that you're anxious, you're psychotic? Like. What? (I understand medications can be used for more than one purpose. But I've been consistently prescribed meds that don't match with my self reported symptoms, and even meds that aren't MEANT to be used for the purpose they were prescribed to me for.)

I got so overstimulated while on the unit that I begged for earplugs. They didn't help at all, even when I combined them with a pillow over my head too. And then they went and turned the radio LOUDER.

(Although not relevant to me, there was this one patient who went ballistic over a hair being on her unpeeled orange ... She had been fiddling with her hair right before eating and she was the only one with that hair texture and colour on the unit... Yeah she threw a fit because she got one of her hairs on her unpeeled orange. Sigh.)

Did I mention that both the CSU and Peninsula are mostly for detoxing people? They just throw detoxing addicts and people who are having purely mental health problems in together. It is a bad system, because people like me who just need mental health support are often triggered by the detoxing addicts, and we get ignored by staff because the detoxing addicts are a higher priority I guess? They're certainly more dramatic.

My mum later told me that she was told that I was likely to be released early because I was "cooperative." Of fucking course I'm cooperative you absolute nitwits, I checked in voluntarily because I've been suicidal for like 16 years and I want some fuckin HELP

My mum tried to bring me a small stuffed dragon as a birthday present (yes, I was inpatient on my birthday). The stuffed toy was not allowed through because it was contraband. FUCKING HOW IS A LITTLE PLUSH DRAGON CONTRABAND? Mum articulated her distress as somethinf like "I just wanted to bring my autistic spawn something stimmy on their birthday" like fucking hell man, don't ever go inpatient if you are neurodivergent because they sure as hell won't allow you to have any coping mechanisms that aren't staying quiet, staring at nothing, and using dried up markers on a badly designed colouring page.

Anyway sorry this got so long. There's probably even more stuff that I forgot about.

Storal of the mory is don't go inpatient in Southeastern Tennessee, kids. You might be fucked up now but they will definitely fuck you up worse.

[itspatsy]

you're out on the bottomless sea

Summary: All Jessica wanted was some pizza rolls, but first she had to peel a drug-addled teen idol off the floor. (or: everything good Trish ever learned, she learned from Jessica.)

Read at AO3. 

Jessica trudged through the door, boots dragging and bookbag crashing against the marble floor of the foyer. Dorothy would've scolded her about making scuff marks, but sadly, what she didn't see wouldn't hurt her. It was Friday and time to toss off the week's bullshit, so she made a beeline for the kitchen with a hankering for some inexplicably delicious cardboard flavored junk food. At least that was the plan. But of course, bullshit was inescapable in the Walker home, and as she passed by the sitting room, she saw something that forced to stop in her tracks.

She sighed dramatically. Maybe next time, Totino’s. As much as pizza rolls of questionable nutritional value called to her, she figured she should probably do something about the busted up, glassy eyed child star slumped by the couch.

Again.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence lately, and it pissed Jessica off each and every time. Not so much at Trish. They had reached something of a truce, a friendship even. They weren't some twee secret sharing bosom buddies kind of shit or whatever, but what they had was still… nice. It was good to have a friend. Jessica had always hung out with a small group of other social outcasts, but they were never tight, and they got all weird when she came back to school after the accident. She and Trish hadn’t known each other before that and had only gone to the same school in the barest sense of the word. Trish was usually away filming or doing publicity, and they ran in entirely different social circles when she was actually there. Jessica had assumed she was some stuck up, empty-headed, spoiled rich kid with an oversized ego and probably a cocaine habit to match.

But as it turned out, it wasn't as easy for her to hate on a spoiled rich kid when the kid was doing all the work and when she was living in the kid’s house benefiting from the money. And mercifully, Trish herself turned out to be different than Jessica expected. She wasn’t entirely wrong with her first impression: Trish was more than capable of being a snarky, sneering brat, and while she didn’t really mess around with illegal drugs, she was never far from a pill bottle, but she was also cool and whip smart and funny and good-hearted. And her taste in music was actually pretty decent, all explosive angry girl rock, not the mind-numbing bubblegum pop Jessica had anticipated. Really, nothing about Trish was as bad as she anticipated. And honestly, who was she to pass judgement on an occasional streak of bitchery? She wasn’t that lacking in self-awareness. She'd have to hate herself too. Or, you know... hate herself even more than she already did. Whatever the case, she liked Trish, and it was hard to be angry at her.

Her mother was another matter altogether. Dorothy Walker was a dangerous whack job and a nightmare to live with. Jessica was able to get by mostly unscathed because Dorothy just... didn't give a shit about her, and she was honestly glad for it, even though she knew it definitely wasn't how adoptions were supposed to go. Trish, meanwhile, was always directly in her path of destruction. Getting slammed into a wall by a superpowered teenage freak might have spooked Dorothy, but apparently nothing could stop her from being a calculating, child abusing assclown. Jessica could threaten and intimidate, but she couldn’t be there every time Dorothy was near Trish, and the woman had her own leverage now that she knew of Jessica’s powers. The fact of the matter was, Jessica was an orphan kid with nothing to her name, and Dorothy was rich, powerful, and well-lawyered. She only had so many options available to her while living under the Walker roof.

And two of those options right now were A.) eating some goddamn pizza rolls or B.) peeling Trish off the floor. As always, option B won out. But she didn't have to be nice about it, so she stomped into the room, bent down, and roughly shook Trish’s leg. “Hey! You alive?”

It took a moment, but Trish turned her head in Jessica’s general direction and grinned. The bloody nose and busted lip colored her teeth red, and her sunken, glazed eyes stood out even more against her ashen complexion. It was kind of creepy. Like Night of the Living Dead creepy. Jessica pulled back her hand, ready to throw a punch in case Trish had suddenly developed a more carnivorous diet.

Her brains appeared safe, as Trish finally slurred out, “Oh, hey, it’s Jessie. Real nice to see you, Jessie. Where’ve yoooou been all day?”

Jessica inwardly cringed at the nickname. That was a Dorothy thing. Trish didn’t use it unless she was being a condescending ass and trying to pick a fight. “At school.”

“Oh, yeah, school. Like the normal kids do.” Trish looked contemplative for a moment. “But then why were you there? Shouldn’t you be in the ‘gifted’ program?”

Trish giggled at her own stupid joke, and Jessica rolled her eyes. She grabbed Trish’s arm and hoisted her off the floor, maybe a little more harshly than strictly necessary. She lurched forward into Jessica, unable to keep her feet about her, and Jessica shoved her onto the sofa. She crashed back into the cushion, still giggling.

Jessica sneered. “You look like shit. Maybe I should take pictures, send ‘em to the tabloids. How much do you think they’d pay to get proof that perfect Patsy Walker is just another drug-addled fuck up of a child star?”

Trish’s eyes turned hard, or as hard as her strung out state would allow, which was pretty unimpressive, frankly. A fly could knock her ass over right now, and she was a scrawny thing even on a good day. “Fuck off, Jessica,” she growled, but her baby bird voice just further undermined any intimidation factor. It was honestly just sad.

And ugh, okay, fiiiiine. Maybe what she said was kind of low. She thought all the anger was for Dorothy, but maybe she was kind of angry at Trish too. Not for the bleeding on the carpet, obviously, but more the part where she was blitzed out of her fucking mind, and Jessica was the one left dealing with it again. Though she knew the drug habit wasn’t exactly Trish’s fault either, and that just made her feel more guilty for being a dick to her when she was in her "most vulnerable state" or whatever psychological mumbo jumbo a shrink would've called it.

As they'd gotten closer, Jessica had gotten the low-down on the pills, and in an utterly unsurprising turn of events, Dorothy's negligent parenting featured heavily. Basically, Trish once had a panic attack on set when she was 13, so Dorothy took her to the doctor, and she was prescribed an anti-anxiety medication. Pretty standard and what you might expect from a decent parent, right? Of course, when it happened a few more times, Dorothy took her back and made the doctor up the dosage to eleven. By that point, Trish was practically a zombie on set, and that just wasn’t acceptable either. So then came Adderall in an attempt to offset the effect of the benzo, which was insane but also classic Dorothy, and hey, as it turned out you could get more work out of a girl that was hyped on speed, and it just snowballed from there.

Trish told Jessica she resisted at first, said she hated the way the meds made her feel. But as it almost always did, Dorothy's browbeating and bullying prevailed. Now Trish took them willingly, gratefully even. And too damn often, in Jessica's opinion. It wasn't as bad when Dorothy was off schmoozing with producers and ignoring them for days on end, but if the mom-ster spent any time hovering on set or at home, Trish would start popping pills, which led to fucks ups, which led to more abuse from Dorothy, which led to more pill popping until Trish could barely string a sentence together or was bouncing off the walls. It was a fucked up cycle, and it was getting worse. She'd come home one too many times to find Trish slumped at the kitchen table or, like, flying around the room talking a mile a minute and waving a bleeding hand because she hadn't realized how hard she was holding a glass.

It was becoming a problem. Like, the kind of capital P problem that would result in a Very Special Episode in some 80s sitcom, and it was not something Jessica was equipped to deal with. She could absolutely see the appeal of being barely conscious when Dorothy Walker was breathing down your neck, but she dreaded the possibility of finding the least annoying person she knew dead on the floor from an overdose. And maybe she took her fear out on Trish sometimes, and maybe that wasn’t fair, but maybe it also wasn't fair that she had to worry about her friend dying like that.

Whatever it was, being mean to Trish always made her feel like a creep, so she sighed, resigned to her fate. “Stay here. I’m gonna get something to clean you up with.” She went to the bathroom and grabbed a few wash clothes, wetting them in the sink. Then she grabbed the first aid kit. She looked longingly at the kitchen as she passed it on her way back.

Trish hadn’t moved at all.

Jessica sat beside her and brought the washcloth up to her chin slowly. She jerked away, apparently surprised even though Jessica had telegraphed her intention. She brushed her fingers through Trish's hair a little to ease her, then held the back of her head and brought her face to the cloth, gently wiping at the dried blood. It didn’t look as bad with the blood gone, but it wasn’t great either. No broken nose, but her left eye was already beginning to bruise, and the lip would take a few days to heal.

“Isn't there some rule about hitting you in the face or something? Or is your mom trying to change the theme song? 'I wanna be your abuse poster child’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it."

There was a long silence, and Jessica worried she might have pushed too far. Trish had a dark sense of humor that could rival her own, but it had to be the right moment. And maybe the right moment wasn’t just after getting her face smashed by her shitty mom. Or maybe it was, because Trish smirked and let out a chuckle.

"Haven’t you heard? Bruised is the new black. She’s just making sure I stay up to date with the latest fads.” The smirk dropped, and she ran a tentative tongue across the cut on her swollen lip. “Anyway, we wrapped for the season, and I don't have any public engagements coming up for now. So." She gestured to her face.

“What about school?”

Trish shrugged. “She’ll just keep me out for a few days if it’s not healed enough by Monday. The school doesn’t really know the filming schedule, and it’s not like they’ll ask the set tutor. Besides, makeup does wonders.”

That was true enough. Trish had an assortment of methods to hide the bruises, though they weren’t usually so obviously placed as her face. A little concealer here and there, bracelets, sleeves, scarves. Jesus, scarves ga-freaking-lore. People probably thought it was some trendy statement piece, and "gosh, that Patsy Walker is just so fashionable, isn't she?" but really Dorothy just liked a go for the neck.

She wasn't as subtle as she liked to pretend either. People knew. They had to. Sometimes they added to it, like the crapass producers that nodded along to Dorothy's sniping comments about the rail thin starlet standing to lose a few more pounds. Everyone else just let it happen. The doctors that prescribed enough medication to down a grizzly bear, let alone a tiny teenage girl. The directors that waved off Dorothy's cloying "please excuse us" smiles and pretended not to hear the yelling through the office door. The actors that saw their co-star flinch every time her mother walked on set. The make up artists and costumers that covered the bruises. The set tutors that didn’t even argue when Dorothy cut lessons shorter and shorter. Hell, even the craft table workers that watched her smack a cupcake out of Trish's hand and shove a handful of celery at her. Not a word from any of them.

Then there were the agents and publicists, working double time to cover it up and keep it quiet, making sure the Patsy brand and origins stayed shiny and wholesome, the American Dream at work. Such humble beginnings, just a little girl and her mom, poor but hardworking, rising to fame and fortune with a little luck. A great American success story, and a girl who could be you.

Trish didn't want their help, didn't want anyone saving her, but Jessica didn't know how they all stood by and pretended to ignore it. She guessed that was how the entertainment industry had always worked, its golden legacy, abuse or at least a blind eye to it for the sake of one more dollar. Most of them likely didn't care at all. And the ones who did were probably too scared to speak out for fear they would conjure the all-powerful, fire-breathing industry lawyers that would force them out of their jobs, destroy their reputation, and leave them with nothing. Money grubbing or apathy or self-preservation, whatever the reason, they all relied on the It's Patsy cash cow and didn't dare disturb the unspoken balance.

How did you fight a system so full of structured indifference and greed and self-protection? Jessica figured you didn't fight it. You just tried to escape it with whatever scraps of yourself you could carry with you. She knew Trish had the strength to make it out, but she worried more and more each day what would be left of her when she did.

“Where did Mommy Dearest get to anyway?” she asked.

Trish inspected her nails, appearing completely disinterested. “Passed out drunk by the pool? Tormenting some producer’s beleaguered assistant? Giving blowjobs to the entirety of the Teen Choice Awards voting panel? I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

Jessica almost smiled. “Can’t we dig up some evidence against her or something? Tax evasion? Embezzlement? I mean, she’s done worse, but sometimes you gotta catch them with the smaller stuff. Like Capone, ya know?”

Trish made a mock scandalized face. "C'mon, Jess, don’t talk about her that way. When Mom's not smacking me around, piling me with pills, shoving my own fingers down my throat, pimping me out, hoarding my money, or adopting kids for publicity and then ignoring their existence, she's…” Jessica raised a questioning eyebrow and Trish smirked, continuing, “...still a total hellspawn incapable of human empathy or feeling."

Jessica laughed. “Truer words.”

If her coherence and vocabulary were anything to go by, Trish was sobering up, which was good as far as Jessica was concerned. Apparently not so much as far as Trish was concerned, since she was stretching an arm to the end table where her pill bottles were scattered.

"Hey." Jessica reached out and stopped her, knowing it was probably going to provoke a fight but not giving a shit. "Don’t."

“Don’t what?” Trish snapped.

“I think you’ve had enough already. What do you even need them for? She’s not here.” But I'm here, she wanted to say. Stay here with me.

Trish scoffed, shaking her head. "God, what do you even care, Jess? What difference does it make to you?" 

Of course, she just had to be right about it starting a fight, and now bitter, belligerent Trish was in full action. Always a pleasure, that one. Hadn't they just been cracking jokes and laughing? Things always turned on a dime in this house. But shit, Jessica could be snotty too. “Because then I have to clean up the mess.”

Trish rolled her eyes. “Oh, come off it. You don’t have to do anything. You could just skulk around your room, stick on some headphones, ignore it all. But you don’t. You've never been able to keep your nose out of it." Jessica was still holding Trish's arm, could feel the tension, see her fist clinched tightly. Her nails weren't long, but it was enough to leave little red moon crescents on her palm. She did it often, and Jessica knew it had to sting. Which was probably the point. 

"What's all this about? What do you really want?” Trish asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Goddamn, now she was acting paranoid. This was quickly escalating into uncharted territory. Jessica shrugged a shoulder, trying to remain casual, but she was becoming increasingly agitated herself. "I don’t know. Aren't we supposed to be family now or whatever? Isn’t that what family does for each other?"

"Family?" Trish sneered. "What do you even know about family?"

Okay. Okay, then. It was just a day of low blows, wasn't it? Trish was usually careful not to mention Jessica’s family unless Jessica brought it up first. Which was basically never. For a damn good reason. Seriously. Shit. Just... shit. It wasn't... what the fuck? It felt like her head was collapsing in on itself and her skin was was trying to peel itself off, and okay, yeah, casual was out the window now, it flew the nest and got swiped out of the sky by a feral cat.

Trish made to push her off but she held tight. Held hard. Harder than she intended or realized. She wasn't there, and she didn't know. Trish gasped in pain, and Jessica quickly let go, coming back to reality. But now she had a different reason to want to throw herself in a hole and collapse the dirt around her. Red marks were already forming on Trish's wrist, as if she needed more bruises. Except this time it was Jessica that caused them. What was wrong with her? Why did she always fuck everything up? Why did she always cause the most harm to the people she loved?  

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't--"

Trish laughed sharply, like acid burning through concrete, and it made Jessica feel even sicker. If they were already filled up with this ugly bitterness and self-loathing, how would there ever be room left in them for anything else?

"Why apologize?" Trish asked. "I'll probably just think it's from Mom in the morning anyway. Well, assuming you don’t flush my pills or something, since you’re suddenly so concerned about it."

Jessica felt a surge of anger, but it wasn't at herself this time. Fuck guilt. This wasn't her fault. This wasn't even about her. She was just trying to do the decent thing, and she was getting crucified for it, getting her dead family thrown in her face. It was so goddamn typical. She tried to keep her voice even and measured, and she just barely managed to grit out, “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Well, I never asked for your help," Trish snapped. "Just leave me alone already!”

“God, would you shut up!” Jessica shouted, jumping to her feet and just done, done with all the bullshit, the self-pitying destruction. It was selfish. So fucking selfish.

Trish flinched and hunched in on herself, obviously anticipating some withering verbal assault or a raised hand. Usually Jessica would've felt terrible for causing a reaction like that, for making Trish feel unsafe, but this time it just spurred her anger further. She prowled the floor. “Has that stupid wig cut off circulation to your brain? What don't you get about this? Is it really so crazy that I’m tired of finding you passed out? That I’m worried one day you won’t wake up? That I hate that nothing I do seems to help? Well, excuse me if that's too goddamned pushy for you! I don't give a shit. I'm not going sit around with my thumb up my ass while you kill yourself.”

Trish looked at her, wide-eyed, taken aback by the outburst. And a little guilty. Good. Maybe she was finally getting through that thick fucking skull. She came to a stop in front of Trish, calmer. “You know what? I think I get some of it now. This snotty tantrum of yours. I bet you don’t even know how to deal with this, do you?”

Trish took a troubled breathe. "With what?" she asked, voice barely audible.

“Someone caring about you. You asked what I know about family? Well, I know a whole lot more than you, asshole. My parents loved me unconditionally even when I was being a whiny shit. And my brother was an obnoxious little dweeb, but I would've done anything for him. Just because they’re dead doesn’t mean I don’t remember what it’s like to have a family and be loved, okay?"

Trish looked absolutely fucking miserable now. She opened her mouth to make excuses, to apologize, to something, but Jessica didn't care. She wasn't finished. "You're the one who doesn't know anything about family, all right? You don't know anything about being loved or loving someone. You don't know shit. You’re used to people wanting something from you."

Trish couldn't even look at her now. She was doing everything possible to sink further into the couch, make herself small and weightless, just dissolve herself right out of existence. But Jessica wasn't going to let her, not now and not ever.

“Look at me, please." Trish didn't move, so she grabbed her shoulders and shook them a little. Finally, Trish turned her head up to meet Jessica's eyes, and shit, she was crying, she'd never seen her cry before. But there was no walking this back now, so she pressed on. "Listen. I like you for you, and I don’t want anything from you except to be your friend, okay?"

Trish just looked at her, tears rolling down her cheeks, jaw clenched tight, and body trembling lightly. But there was hope in her eyes, like she couldn't believe what Jessica was offering but so badly wanted it. Jessica brought her hand up to wipe away a tear with her thumb. "Okay?" she repeated, gently. She didn't really know where this well of tenderness was coming from, when she'd become capable of it, but it seemed to work. After a long moment, Trish nodded. She raised her hands, one pulling Jessica's away to grasp it and the other wiping at her face.

Touching Trish like this, holding her hand, Jessica realized it was the most physical contact she'd had in awhile. Dorothy almost never touched her, except for photo ops, and that had decreased as public interest in the adoption waned… and after Jessica slammed her into the wall. She was fine with it, preferred it even. She didn't need to be touched. Did she miss the feeling of her mother running fingers through her hair or rubbing her back? Her dad kissing her forehead or playfully tugging at her ear? Or even her brother's arms around her neck, choking the life out of her during a begged for piggyback ride? Of course, she missed it, but that wasn't her life anymore. It wasn't fair, but she just had to accept it. Maternal affection from Dorothy Walker left a lot to be desired anyway. She touched Trish all the time. Shoving and prodding and squeezing and pulling. Dorothy hugged her sometimes, if there were cameras around or to use as a subtle warning gesture in public, arm across a shoulder and nails digging in hard enough to leave marks under her shirt.

She thought maybe Trish could use a real hug. She thought maybe she could too.

Before she could have second thoughts about it, Jessica sighed and sat back on the couch alongside Trish. "This is going to be awkward, but I'm going to hug you now, okay?"

Trish blinked at her, eyes still red. “Ummm... how about you don’t do that?”

Jessica went for it anyway.

She was right. It was awkward. She didn't really remember how to hug. Last her parents were alive, she'd been the epitome of disinterested, disgruntled teenager, giving half-hearted pats on the back or dodging hugs entirely because they were lame. She regretted it now, wishing more than anything she could take her parents and her brother in her arms again. But hindsight didn't mean much, except to help her appreciate what was in front of her, so she put all of that feeling into holding the person in her arms now. She felt hesitant hands on her back, and then finally arms coming round her sides, squeezing hard, desperately.

They stayed like that for a long minute, until she felt Trish wince. She pulled back, worried she hurt her again.

"It's okay." Trish waved a hand dismissively, but her other hand went to her side. Knowing she wasn't going to be able to brush it past Jessica so easily, she added, "It wasn't you."

Jessica knocked the hand out of the way and went for the hem of Trish's shirt.  Ignoring her protests, she lifted it up and found a bruise across her ribs. Unlike a few yellowish marks littering her back, this one was red, fresh. It was going to look brutal in a few days and would definitely hurt like hell. Jessica once again found herself caught between violent anger and weary resignation, the most popular emotional exports of the Walker household. But Trish didn't need her rage and righteous indignation, especially not right now, so she settled for a scoff instead. 

"Christ, man, did she hit you with a chair?" Trish grinned wryly, a little blood left on her teeth. "What is this, the WWE? Nah, it's more like..." she paused and poshed-up her accent into a snooty English cadence, "Ms. Walker with a Nickelodeon blimp in the library."

"How is Clue better than the WWE?" asked Jessica, skeptically.

Trish turned up her nose. "It's more classy."

Jessica chuckled, relieved they were back to joking. All this talking about feelings shit, having to actually verbalize what she felt in her blood and her bones, it was way past her comfort zone, and it was freaking exhausting. But snark she could do. "Maybe one day we’ll get lucky and find Dorothy hanging from the studio rafters with the Patsy wig around her neck."

Trish smacked at Jessica's leg in excitement. “Oh! Or come home to find her tragically crushed beneath a Teen Choice Awards surfboard.”

They broke out into laughter and started coming up with the wildest, most outlandish, and comical death scenarios they could imagine. Maybe it was messed up to joke about Dorothy dying, and maybe they were sick fucks for even thinking it. Or maybe it was just the best way to deal with all the shit. Gallows humor, right? Catharsis. It felt good to laugh, and it made everything feel a little less hopeless, like things didn't always have to be this way.

Eventually, their laughter turned to wheezing giggles and finally contented sighs. In their hysterics, they'd ended up pressed close, shoulder to shoulder, legs twisted together. Trish grabbed her hand again with both of her own, holding it so carefully and gently, as if she was some rare, precious thing, and maybe that was exactly what she was to Trish.

"Hey, Jess? Earlier... you said you feel like nothing you do helps. But that's not true. Just you being here and like... actually caring about what happens to me? It makes a difference. I know there's finally somebody on my side. Is that what family's supposed to feel like?"

Yeah, that was it. Jessica squeezed her hands back, knowing that would be answer enough. Then she cleared her throat and asked, “Want me to get the Saran Wrap?”

Trish smiled, her head dropping to the side and resting on Jessica’s shoulder. “In a little while.”

[studypsychh]

Hi, so I was looking through your blog and I saw that you mentioned taking anti- depressants. Would you mind sharing your experiences with them and how they have affected you? My doctor has suggested that I take them and I'm a bit nervous.

hey! no problem I’m happy to share. my first experience of being prescribed anti-dep’s wasn’t for depression but for chronic pain, so i got given 10mg of amitryptaline. the dosage was low but it completely whacked me out. they were drowsy meds and it took SO long to sort my sleeping pattern out on these. tbh i don’t think amitryptaline is prescribed much anymore, your doc will most likely prescribe SSRI’s like citalopram or sertraline.

i got put on sertraline around November 2016? its all a hazy blur tbh. i did notice some side effects. my social anxiety increased on this, i started feeling really anxious in public spaces. i was first put on 50mg and honestly, i didn’t feel different.

after 4 weeks of being on antidepressants your doctor makes you book an appointment to see how its going. when i went back, i was honest and said that they weren’t helping me. she bumped my meds up to 100mg. i noticed an increase in anxiety again on the upping of my dose, getting panic attacks which i seldom get. but for a while, my depression did get better. i was in my third year of uni at the time, and i felt better managing my workload but at the same time, i was struggling with a lot of existential depression.

when i first went on meds, i really struggled with the “acceptance” of it. my mum personally really dislikes antidepressants (she’s a therapist) so i kind of ingrained her stigma, unfortunately. also at the time i was battling orthorexic disordered eating whilst being v*gan, whilst consists of a very anti med culture.

i do still struggle with low mood and intrusive thoughts. i started therapy in May and I’ve been going twice a week for the past month. at the moment, i still take my meds, even though i still struggle with my mood. i think everyone is different, tbh. my friend is doing great on citalopram and manages her depression very well, whilst my meds don’t really take the edge off much. 

im also really aware that i should go back to my doctor and say they’re not really working. it does take time figuring out what medication is best for you. sertraline may not be the best for me, there may be something better out there. I’m a bit put off at the moment tho, i don’t want to deal with side effects and withdrawals. at the moment I’m just trying to navigate my way through my depression, seeing what works for me. at the moment, a mix of therapy and anti depressants is where I’m at.

i would say this: don’t be put off by what other people say about meds. talk to your doctor about the specific symptoms your experiencing, whether its anxiety, panic attacks, low mood or intrusive thoughts, or just lethargy ect. they’ll hopefully find the right medication for you. 

also, don’t be disheartened if suddenly your not miraculously better, i know i was! keep persevering. it may benefit you immediately but it may take time. hopefully you have a good doctor you can talk about it too. i would say find a good support system too. i isolated myself far too much when i went on meds, you kinda have to put in a little work to get some good out of it. keep trying, challenge negative thoughts, maybe see if therapy will benefit you. 

sorry for the very long answer. meds have been a complicated experience for me. my nervousness about going on meds soon disappeared, taking meds now feel normal to me. i hope your experience is much better, let me know if you need any extra help or advice! 

[anything-advice-blog]

(Urgent, tagged bp123) A few years ago I was seeing a psychologist because I had self harm problems and my parents were not impressed about it and wanted it gone. After seeing her for 7 months she told me that I probably have bipolar II and that I need to see a psychiatrist to get medication, but my mom is the kind of person who 'doesn't believe in mental illness' so she cancelled all of my future appointments and we never went to get medication. (Part 1)

Urgent bp123) Neither of my parents have said a word about it. Ever. At the time i was 15 and so I couldn’t go to the doctor on my own, and even though she was just denying my issues, I was kind of happy that she was treating me like a normal person again instead of walking on eggshells around me and acting like she didn’t know me. When I turned 16 I was going to go to the doctor but I started thinking maybe I’m not bipolar? And if my mom found out I went she would really really hate me so (2)

(Urgent bp123) it’s been 3 years since I was originally diagnosed and i STILL haven’t done anything about it but I don’t know how much loner I can take it. I keep wanting to bring it up to my mom but she makes comments all the time about ‘crazy’ people SPECIFICALLY bipolar people so I think she’s just pushing it down and trying to ignore it but it really hurts. I keep almost calling to make the appointment and then chickening out. If I can’t use my parents insurance I can’t afford meds anyway (3)

(bp123) I know you guys aren’t medical professionals but lately I haven’t been sleeping enough because I work night shifts and I’m so scared I’m going to spiral into a manic episode. With bp II you usually have mild manic episodes and I can handle those but I’m feeling like I’m spinning out of control and I’m so so scared of myself I’m so scared I’m going to do something impulsive and bad and I don’t know what to do (I wasn’t sure if this was urgent enough so I’m sorry if I misused the tag) (4)

Hey lovely, 

Have you tried speaking to your parents again? Maybe not focusing on the bipolar part but focus on the fact that you feel manic and you fear that you may do something that could harm yourself? Iterate to them the severity of it? I know that it can be hard to even begin to explain how you feel to people and it’s even harder when they’re people who don’t want to listen or believe. So it may help to explain to them what it feels to be bipolar. What you feel, the thoughts you have, etc. So instead of saying “I feel happy and then I feel sad sometimes” it can be helpful to say “I’m constantly anxious. I can’t sleep. I think about harming myself.” Because these are real issues and it can help you see a doctor even if it’s just a primary doctor. If you can get them to take you to a regular doctor, you can talk to your doctor about the sleeping issue. They can help and prescribe some melatonin to help you sleep better or more. They can prescribe some anti-anxiety medications that can help you deal with every issues. It will not the treatment you need but it can help you while you either convince your parents to take you to get actual treatment for BP II or until you can afford treatment on your own. 

I would also recommend you look into some self-help books. You shouldn’t try to manage this on your own but it’s not a bad idea to try and help yourself outside of therapy as well. You know yourself better than anyone else so if there’s something that you can do on your own time that’ll help, with therapy, it can be the most effective method of managing bipolar. These are a few suggestions 

Keep a daily journal which can track your mood. You’ll be able to monitor if you’re having periods of extreme high or low mood, and identify if you need to get help.

Develop a schedule. Routine is important in keeping your mood stable. Organise a schedule and try to stick to it regardless of your mood, to help maintain stability.

Take your time to make decisions. Or ask others such as a trusted family member or friend to help you make decisions if you’re feeling impulsive.

Build a good support network. Family and friends can help you manage your day to day symptoms by giving an outsider’s perspective on your mood, and they can be there when you need to talk about your more difficult moments.

Join a support group. It can be really reassuring to hear from people going through similar experiences. Support groups can offer great advice and comfort.

Alternative therapies. Some people have found things like yoga, pilates or other regular exercise helpful as a way to help manage their mood.

Learn to relax. Relaxation is great for helping reduce stress.

(source)

If you’re in school, I would recommend that you talk to a school counsellor. if you’re a college student, many campuses offer free counselling sessions for their students. Look in your community and see if the health centre offers free counselling. Please remember that professional help and treatment are advisable. Anything else should be a supplement or a temporary treatment plan until you can see a doctor about your disorder. I hope this helps you for now. 

Don’t give up in talking to your parents or try to find ways to seek help. If you think that you are a danger to yourself, please contact your local emergency service. 

Always by your side,

Kelly

[blockheadbrands]

Mental Health and Cannabis: Anxiety and Depression

Andrew Ward of High Times Reports:

Can you really treat depression and anxiety with cannabis?

Anxiety and depression are all too common in the world. According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America, 40 million American adults, or 18.1 percent of the population, are affected each year. As such, people suffering from an anxiety disorder are more likely to go to a hospital at a rate of three to five times more than others. A variety of factors can lead to the development of such a case. This includes genetics, personality, and life events.

Despite just about every person being susceptible to the condition, only 36.9 percent of anxiety disorders receive treatment.

That figure may be a bit lower than the actual number of people receiving self-medicated treatment. In recent years, cannabis has represented a favorite, mostly non-addictive option for those medicating, with or without a medical card. That said, “mostly” should be highlighted in the last sentence as cannabis use is not a surefire, across the board solution for people suffering from depression and anxiety disorders. 

Despite studies on the subject existing, the issue is like most others in cannabis, where it currently lacks enough data for conclusive findings. Over the years, clinical support for cannabis use to treat anxiety and depression has wavered depending on the study. 

The Center for Disease Control‘s information unsurprisingly walks the government line. It states that marijuana can lead to an array of adverse effects from disorientation to suicide. Though, in the latter’s case, the CDC does note that a link between its use and grave self-harm is not established. 

Most published studies are likely to mention that cannabis and mood disorders are both incredibly complex. Dr. Susan A. Stoner (yes, really), discussed the complexity of the two in a June 2017 study, noting just some of the vast factors involving the two. 

“The endocannabinoid system appears to play an important role in responses to stress and anxiety. The two primary active ingredients of marijuana, THC and CBD, appear to have differing effects with regard to anxiety. Pure THC appears to decrease anxiety at lower doses and increase anxiety at higher doses. On the other hand, pure CBD appears to decrease anxiety at all doses that have been tested. There appears to be tolerance to these effects over a short period of time with regular use.”

Mike Robinson is the founder of the Global Cannabinoid Research Center in Santa Barbara, CA. His experience with the subject runs two-fold. “I’m not just a patient, I’m also a published researcher so I likely have an edge over the average consumer on what to use.” The former director of communications for the American Academy of Cannabinoid Medicine has a California medical card and uses both CBD and THC to manage his day. “No pharmaceutical medication has ever helped me like cannabis and extracts do. Without it I’d likely be unable to do much as it’s replaced literally dozens of pills taken daily,” explained Robinson in an email. 

Dr. Stoner’s findings and several others suggest that cannabis use works in the short-term but can lead to increased substance abuse and increased depression. However, many patients, both state-approved and self-medicating, stand by its long-term use.

Brad Zale has dealt with anxiety since he was 10, and depression since 15. This included having daily panic attacks and feeling depressed for weeks at a time. He has a Florida medical card and uses cannabis to help him recognize irrational thoughts and relax. He reports still experiencing depression but not for long periods. “I am more optimistic but realistic about situations.” 

Zale is like many who have turned to cannabis as their sole medication. He began using marijuana in October 2016 and claimed to have gotten off of nine drugs. “I was taking a variety of pills for anxiety, depression, pain, and ulcerative colitis-related issues. Since then, I have only taken cold medicine and maybe the occasional Benadryl.”

Melissa Gumley uses marijuana to address anxiety and depression she’s dealt with her entire life. These issues coincide with ADHD and manic depressiveness. Previously, she had spent years on Adderall, Ritalin and Vyvanse and was prescribed mood stabilizers and anti-anxiety medications that left her with horrible side effects. Today, she uses cannabis to feel what she calls “even,” where she doesn’t experience “radical ups and downs but a nice middle ground that’s consistent.”

But cannabis wasn’t always an option she wanted to explore. Beginning at 15 in recreational settings led Gumley to have several adverse experiences. She went back and forth on using cannabis medicinally but changed her mind over time. The availability of more information helped prompt her decision. “When the west coast started legalizing and the quality improved and information was widely being spread, I got back into it. I started researching the benefits of cannabis from a medical standpoint. I was unhappy with prescription meds and decided it couldn’t hurt to try,” she wrote in an email.

Others found themselves using cannabis after a traumatic experience, sometimes without even realizing it was medicinal. That was the case for freelance cannabis writer Max Ballou, who began using every day after they were raped in college. Ballou wrote how cannabis helped them cope after their attack. Unlike the findings presented by some studies, Ballou credits marijuana for not using other drugs. 

They also incorporate regular mental health check ups with their primary physician into their treatment regimen. “For me, having mental health support goes hand in hand with any holistic wellness regimen. Without someone to talk to about what was causing my suffering, which was a psychological wound, I’m not sure cannabis on its own would be enough to heal.”

Amy Hildebrand is a recent college graduate on the front lines of the subject thanks to her personal experiences and work in the cannabis space. That includes serving as chair of the board for this year with Students for Sensible Drug Policy as well as 4Front Ventures. 

While cannabis and other drugs can play a part in treating a person’s condition, it can lead to some troubling outcomes. Hildebrand, a significant consumer since 15, explained how large consumption has led her to think she was depressed at times. 

Today, she continues to use cannabis each day in Illinois, where she is not a medical patient. As such, her cannabis may not always serve its purpose. “I don’t have control over the product that I’m using. So sometimes it helps. Maybe it’s got a certain terpene in it or it leans more towards an indica or whatever it is that works for my anxiety. But there are other times when I’m now able to realize, ‘Hey, this is an acute effect of the weed you just smoked manifesting and increasing anxiety.’”

Depression and anxiety disorders are some of the most commonly linked conditions to medical cannabis use. While its efficacy remains debated, anecdotal findings suggest many have found some relief from its use. That said, results are mixed and can vary, especially when a person is without a medical card or access to legal avenues where information is much more clear and available. 

Gumley worries that the divide between legal and illegal states will further cause an information gap in cannabis consumers. “I wish I had some guidance when starting my cannabis journey but the truth is I didn’t. It’s trial and error. You must be patient and take your time finding what works best for you.” 

She mentioned several tips to those looking to medicate with cannabis. One stood out in particular. She wrote, “Like all meds you need to let your body adjust and learn to let it work with you. I do most of my design work using cannabis but it took years of practice before I could smoke and then sew and pin fit complex projects. There is a learning curve.”

TO READ MORE OF THIS ARTICLE ON HIGH TIMES, CLICK HERE.

https://hightimes.com/health/mental-health-cannabis-anxiety-depression/

[sarcasmfics]

Stuck In The Middle: Chapter 6

Summary:  Sarah is a scholarship recipient working at Stark Industries. Her job? To break the super-serum! But when she falls, literally, into the arms of those super soldiers, will she lose their trust when her work is stolen? At this point, it’s PG (some swearing), smut to follow, but mostly fluff and some anxiety(AO3 link here) BuckyxOFCxSteve, BuckyxSteve, OFC, OFC!scientist, poly relationship

Chapter 6: 

The first month went fairly quickly. Between getting back into the swing of working in a lab, learning Bruce’s quirks, and taking in the overwhelming amount of new information I was learning, I was exhausted. I caught lunch with Bruce sometimes, but he seemed to meet with Renee quite frequently. After running into Bucky in the cafeteria, either him or Steve would just happen to be there, even though they had a fully functional kitchen in their apartments. I didn’t mind though; hanging out with them helped me get to know a few others, and I was really feeling at home.

I’d spoken with Nat a few times, but Wanda seemed to be a bit more open and friendly. Nat usually hung to the side while giving witty commentary; she knew how to make everyone laugh and everyone blush too. Wanda greeted me with a big hug when we met, offering to show me around the nearby shops and to visit her apartment any time. We chatted for a bit and she laughed when I showed her the picture of Bucky, Steve, and me with the Captain America impersonator. It was quickly passed around and soon it became everyone’s favorite story.

By Thursday, I was so tired, that by the time I made it to my room, all I wanted to do was sleep, but I was that weird kind of tired where no matter how long I shut my eyes, I couldn’t sleep. My phone ping’d a few times and I sat up, yawning as I opened the chat.

Steve: hey sweetheart, are you coming up tonight?

Bucky: I found some movies at Tony’s we can watch

I sighed, running my hands through my hair (which really needed to be washed). I wanted to see them, but I knew that the second I sat on that couch, I’d pass out. Not to mention I’d gotten a bit grumpy at the end of the day; we’d spent the afternoon solving a few problems, and mine didn’t seem to want to work out.

Me: sorry guys long day at the lab I’m beat

Bucky: you’re no fun :P

Steve: can we do anything for you?

Me: nah, I’m kinda grumpy rn think I’ll stay in

Bucky: okay, well call us if you need anything doll

I smiled down at my phone before forcing myself out of bed to take a shower. I knew that if I took a quick nap, I’d never get up. As I climbed beneath the warm water, I shut my eyes, wondering what was going on at home. Home, I’d had such a hard time calling it that, but as much as we disagreed, they were still my family. I only spoke to my parents during the holidays when I’d call for the obligatory ‘Merry Christmas’ conversation. Otherwise, my brother kept me updated, mostly through text. Although he moved out of the house, he still stayed local, working at the town’s small school district doing custodial work while coaching baseball.

He didn’t agree with everything they believed in, but he’d fallen in love with his high school sweetheart, and she was adamant that they stay close to the family, citing that it was a great place to bring up children. He didn’t have the heart to disagree, so they moved out (after the wedding, of course). Last I spoke to him, they were still trying for their first kid. I still had one unread text from him on my phone; I’d been avoiding it since I moved into Stark Tower. I’m sure he knew.

But it wasn’t just his text message I was avoiding. The red notification of a voicemail reminded me that I needed to make a decision. I’d looked into it before, but I’d never been to therapy. My doctor, who prescribed the anti-anxiety meds I was on had suggested it when he heard I was moving to New York for this job. I was way out of my comfort zone, he’d said, and he couldn’t have been more right. I knew Stark had a whole medical ward that employees could use, but I didn’t want anyone to know about this or my meds. They’d think differently of me and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to look weak or incompetent. No, I’d do this by myself, but finding a way to hide it from Steve and Bucky would be tricky. The decision was made; I’d call tomorrow.

By the time I finished my shower, I put on my pyjamas and cleaned up a bit, tossing my laundry into the basket and straightening out the mess of papers on my desk from earlier today. Bring the work back, I’d thought, you’ll definitely think better later! Maybe I was shooting too high at this point. Once my desk was straightened up, I turned on the tv and climbed into bed. Before I knew it, I had fallen into a deep sleep.

***

What was that annoying noise? Slowly, I turned over, burying my face into my pillow until consciousness fully hit me; my alarm was going off. When I glanced up at the clock, I realized that I’d overslept, being in such a deep sleep that my alarm didn’t wake me until now. I had enough time, thankfully, and got dressed and ready fairly quickly. Before heading out, I grabbed a protein bar from my stash and headed up to the lab.

“Happy Friday,” Bruce greeted as I made my way into his office.

“Happy Friday,” I replied, holding back a yawn.

“Late night?”

“No,” I shrugged. “I’m just a lot more tired than usual. I didn’t do so much high level work in my previous classes, so I guess I’m getting a bit fried quicker than usual.”

“Yeah, that’ll happen sometimes. Did you take those home yesterday?” he asked, nodding toward the notes in my hands.

“They came back with me, but they didn’t get looked at. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Sometimes the answers elude us. What do you say we get started?”

Bruce and I worked together on the some of the tougher work, explaining a few new concepts to me as I took vigorous notes. After, he helped me through the problems I couldn’t solve the day before, naturally taking a pedantic stance in front of the white board. Once I’d had my ‘ah-ha’ moment, we moved on to the work left over. If I felt intimidated by the work at this point, how was I going to make it through my dissertation?

As usual, Bruce took his lunch with Renee and I made my way down to the cafeteria, seeking out a cup of coffee. Just as I placed the ceramic mug beneath the karaffe, it was snatched away by a random hand. “Hey!” I practically growled, turning to find Bucky behind me, holding the mug above me with a smirk on his face.

“Hey back,” he winked.

“Buck, come on, I need my coffee.”

“Kiss first?”

“Fine,” I sighed, and pecked him on the cheek. “Now coffee.” He handed the mug back to me and, once I had filled it, followed me to a quiet table in the corner.

***

I’d left lunch a few minutes early on the guise of wanting to get some extra stuff done before Bruce returned. He hadn’t gotten back yet from his daily lunch appointment with Renee, so I closed the lab door and made the phone call. Ten minutes later, my first appointment was set for next Wednesday.

---

Thanks for reading!! <3

[sarcasmoverlordxo]

Stuck in the Middle: Chapter 6

Chapter 6 is up!

Summary: Sarah is a scholarship recipient for Stark Industries where she plans on doing her pre-thesis research. But when she falls, quite literally, into the lives of two super soldiers, are her butterflies just a crush? Or something more? And when her research is used for nefarious purposes, will she lose the trust of not only the Avengers, but the two men she’s fallen for?This story contains mostly fluff, eventual StevexOC and BuckyxOC (poly relationship). There are no content warnings in early chapters. They’ll be listed as necessary. 

Chapter 6:

By Thursday, I was so tired, that by the time I made it to my room, all I wanted to do was sleep, but I was that weird kind of tired where no matter how long I shut my eyes, I couldn’t sleep. My phone ping’d a few times and I sat up, yawning as I opened the chat.

The first month went fairly quickly. Between getting back into the swing of working in a lab, learning Bruce’s quirks, and taking in the overwhelming amount of new information I was learning, I was exhausted. I caught lunch with Bruce sometimes, but he seemed to meet with Renee quite frequently. After running into Bucky in the cafeteria, either him or Steve would just happen to be there, even though they had a fully functional kitchen in their apartments. I didn’t mind though; hanging out with them helped me get to know a few others, and I was really feeling at home.

I’d spoken with Nat a few times, but Wanda seemed to be a bit more open and friendly. Nat usually hung to the side while giving witty commentary; she knew how to make everyone laugh and everyone blush too. Wanda greeted me with a big hug when we met, offering to show me around the nearby shops and to visit her apartment any time. We chatted for a bit and she laughed when I showed her the picture of Bucky, Steve, and me with the Captain America impersonator. It was quickly passed around and soon it became everyone’s favorite story.

By Thursday, I was so tired, that by the time I made it to my room, all I wanted to do was sleep, but I was that weird kind of tired where no matter how long I shut my eyes, I couldn’t sleep. My phone ping’d a few times and I sat up, yawning as I opened the chat.

Steve: hey sweetheart, are you coming up tonight?

Bucky: I found some movies at Tony’s we can watch

I sighed, running my hands through my hair (which really needed to be washed). I wanted to see them, but I knew that the second I sat on that couch, I’d pass out. Not to mention I’d gotten a bit grumpy at the end of the day; we’d spent the afternoon solving a few problems, and mine didn’t seem to want to work out.

Me: sorry guys long day at the lab I’m beat

Bucky: you’re no fun :P

Steve: can we do anything for you?

Me: nah, I’m kinda grumpy rn think I’ll stay in

Bucky: okay, well call us if you need anything doll

I smiled down at my phone before forcing myself out of bed to take a shower. I knew that if I took a quick nap, I’d never get up. As I climbed beneath the warm water, I shut my eyes, wondering what was going on at home. Home, I’d had such a hard time calling it that, but as much as we disagreed, they were still my family. I only spoke to my parents during the holidays when I’d call for the obligatory ‘Merry Christmas’ conversation. Otherwise, my brother kept me updated, mostly through text. Although he moved out of the house, he still stayed local, working at the town’s small school district doing custodial work while coaching baseball.

He didn’t agree with everything they believed in, but he’d fallen in love with his high school sweetheart, and she was adamant that they stay close to the family, citing that it was a great place to bring up children. He didn’t have the heart to disagree, so they moved out (after the wedding, of course). Last I spoke to him, they were still trying for their first kid. I still had one unread text from him on my phone; I’d been avoiding it since I moved into Stark Tower. I’m sure he knew.

But it wasn’t just his text message I was avoiding. The red notification of a voicemail reminded me that I needed to make a decision. I’d looked into it before, but I’d never been to therapy. My doctor, who prescribed the anti-anxiety meds I was on had suggested it when he heard I was moving to New York for this job. I was way out of my comfort zone, he’d said, and he couldn’t have been more right. I knew Stark had a whole medical ward that employees could use, but I didn’t want anyone to know about this or my meds. They’d think differently of me and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to look weak or incompetent. No, I’d do this by myself, but finding a way to hide it from Steve and Bucky would be tricky. The decision was made; I’d call tomorrow.

By the time I finished my shower, I put on my pyjamas and cleaned up a bit, tossing my laundry into the basket and straightening out the mess of papers on my desk from earlier today. Bring the work back, I’d thought, you’ll definitely think better later! Maybe I was shooting too high at this point. Once my desk was straightened up, I turned on the tv and climbed into bed. Before I knew it, I had fallen into a deep sleep.

***

What was that annoying noise? Slowly, I turned over, burying my face into my pillow until consciousness fully hit me; my alarm was going off. When I glanced up at the clock, I realized that I’d overslept, being in such a deep sleep that my alarm didn’t wake me until now. I had enough time, thankfully, and got dressed and ready fairly quickly. Before heading out, I grabbed a protein bar from my stash and headed up to the lab.

“Happy Friday,” Bruce greeted as I made my way into his office.

“Happy Friday,” I replied, holding back a yawn.

“Late night?”

“No,” I shrugged. “I’m just a lot more tired than usual. I didn’t do so much high level work in my previous classes, so I guess I’m getting a bit fried quicker than usual.”

“Yeah, that’ll happen sometimes. Did you take those home yesterday?” he asked, nodding toward the notes in my hands.

“They came back with me, but they didn’t get looked at. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Sometimes the answers elude us. What do you say we get started?”

Bruce and I worked together on the some of the tougher work, explaining a few new concepts to me as I took vigorous notes. After, he helped me through the problems I couldn’t solve the day before, naturally taking a pedantic stance in front of the white board. Once I’d had my ‘ah-ha’ moment, we moved on to the work left over. If I felt intimidated by the work at this point, how was I going to make it through my dissertation?

As usual, Bruce took his lunch with Renee and I made my way down to the cafeteria, seeking out a cup of coffee. Just as I placed the ceramic mug beneath the karaffe, it was snatched away by a random hand. “Hey!” I practically growled, turning to find Bucky behind me, holding the mug above me with a smirk on his face.

“Hey back,” he winked.

“Buck, come on, I need my coffee.”

“Kiss first?”

“Fine,” I sighed, and pecked him on the cheek. “Now coffee.” He handed the mug back to me and, once I had filled it, followed me to a quiet table in the corner.

***

I’d left lunch a few minutes early on the guise of wanting to get some extra stuff done before Bruce returned. He hadn’t gotten back yet from his daily lunch appointment with Renee, so I closed the lab door and made the phone call. Ten minutes later, my first appointment was set for next Wednesday.

**

Thank you so much for sticking with me! Things will be getting pretty interesting soon :)