#I guess I just need to vent

[vetrenar]

Again, a sudden note: is there some reliable source on what being 'neurotypical' implies? I mean, how far it may go before it stops to be "typical"?

Because well, I'm going to pretend that I'm postponing writing a new chapter for my fic because my work decided to work my ass into the ground, and it's even true, but also. This summer started with a tragicomic episode of me getting into (sorta) official relationship and being there for exactly 1 (one) day, followed by quite of realization that "if you think 'no' while saying 'yes' because It's an excellent chance so don't waste it and It's my trauma that hinders me and I should try and work through it, there won't be some magical curse lifting or Disney-style happy end. There will be only a total, mind-blowing realization that well, you really don't want this and actually never wanted and maybe your trauma has nothing to do with this". Costed me a really nice friendship, alas. Still probably for the better.

Anyway, this episode initiated a little dive into psychology literature. And well. I don't like labeling and absolutely not a fan of self-diagnosing (I'm working in a lab, for heavens sake. All my experience is about searching for proofs and scientific articles and objective evaluation) but. My knowledge about the spectrum become a little bigger, some new, unexpected details came up, and there are just... so many pieces of puzzle that fit this picture better that any other I went through. And this is the first time I ever had such an overwhelming feeling of "ah. It explains this" that becomes only bigger the more I get into the subject.

But at the same time, ASD is kind of new fashion trend at TikTok now and there's nothing easier than to pathologize youself (I so much adore that part in Three Men in The Boat where the protagonist got to read a medical encyclopedia). And, being a (mostly) functional adult, there is no way I will be able to get an official evaluation in my country. And even if there was a chance, I'm definitely on the high-functional end, so it wouldn't make much difference anyway.

Still, it would be nice to know more. Especially about what the "norm" is. Because again, everyone have their little habits and quirks and WTF actions and the previous year showed me how fragile the sense of normality is and how incredibly far mental self-defense mechanisms can twist one's perception of the world, and some of criteria for ASD sounds like "I thought everyone do that". And quite often a description of a "neurotypical" person looks like some strange, incredibly boring creature without hobbies or the inner world that always behaves "normally" and that I never met while they(we?) should be a majority of the population? Like, to understand a pathology, one should first learn what a norm looks like and etc.

Argh. Why the world needs to be so complicated.

[persephoneandherhades]

When my wife decided she was polyamorus and wanted to have partners outside of our marriage I didn't know enough about polyamory to know the signs that would lead to our now pending divorce. (Disclaimer: true polyamory includes the consent and communication of all parties involved and is not a bad thing. I have nothing against polyamory practiced correctly or people who are truly polyamorus.) I consented to one night stands so long as she told me who, where, and when so that I could come help her if she got into any trouble. I'm protective of her and she seemed fine with this as a safety precaution and she has never been in a situation where I needed to use that information. This was all going fine until she caught feelings for someone. Before I really knew what was going on they were basically dating without calling it that. They exchanged I love you's and everything before my wife asked to be able to label the relationship dating since I had previously only agreed to casual hookups. This is the point where true polyamory is left behind. I felt like I couldn't say no or my wife would be incredibly unhappy even though I was very uncomfortable with this situation. I wanted my wife to be happy so I said yes and from that point on her other partner became the center of her life. Later it would be her other many partners, some I know about others I don't. From the time she started dating other people, I became nothing more than a glorified roommate to my own wife. We never had sex, she never wanted to hang out with me anymore, getting her to just hold my hand was a struggle. I asked for these things to change over and over and every time she promised she would and never did. I should have left but I was convinced that she still loved me like I loved her and I wanted to spend my life with her. I thought it would get better but it never did. She quickly moved from one other partner to several with a menagerie of casual hookups mixed in and all the safety precautions were chucked to the wind. She contracted HPV from one of her partners and gave it to me one of the few times we had sex. This is how I found out she hadn't been asking her hookups or partners about sti's or insisting on any kind of protection. I still have to get Pap smears every 6 months because of this HPV. Because I already had a history of depression and I am getting no emotional or physical support, I eventually start spiraling into a depressive episode. I start seeing a therapist again but I was so in denial about all of this that I don't tell her the whole story. During all this I'm telling her what a hard time I'm having and that I need her and she does nothing. As soon as I agree to go back on antidepressants, I get laid off work and loose my insurance. My mental health drops further. I can barely take care of myself much less keep our home clean. Getting up for work for my new job is a struggle. I'm exhausted all the time and I still can't sleep. It's at this point that she threatened to divorce me if I didn't start improving. Obviously all that did is make my depression even worse. It also set into motion the chain of events that led to me filing to divorce her. I remembered that I deserved to feel loved in my relationships or I didn't have to stay in them. I remembered that I deserved to be happy. I reflected on how far I had sunk and how much I had accepted even though i didnt like it or wasn't comfortable with it. I realized that she had replaced me with her other partners and just stayed with me for the stability and financial gain. I deserve better than that. So here I am. I am filing for divorce less than 3 years into my marriage. Every shred of my self confidence and worth lay is shreds at my wife's feet.

The worst part of all of this is that none of it was intentionally done to hurt me. This woman is so genuinely oblivious to the needs and feelings of others that she has been baffled that I am so hurt by her and her actions.

It would hurt less if she had done it all on purpose.

[problemnyatic]

executive dysfunction really is a complete fucking nightmare. all the decisions you could make, but you won't. All the things you know you should do, you want to do, but you won't. Yeah yeah we all know it's a symptom but it feels and looks like just.... deciding not to be responsible.

It's easier not to, so i guess I just won't. I promise it's not laziness, I swear. It's not me just giving up on things that affect more than just me, I swear. Maybe if I say it enough I could hope to believe it myself.

[chaosinplural]

i feel like the tragedy of being aroace is that i’m never going to be anyone’s favorite person. like at some point everyone’s favorite person is going to be whoever they have sex with and kiss and i’m never going to want that. hell i don’t even have a best friend now but even if i do i’ll still be second to their boyfriend or girlfriend or husband because that’s how the world works

[a-leg-without-fear]

Fucked Up Leg

Wanted to throw my hat in the proverbial ring and try out writing about St. Matthew Murdock. This fic is a little dark as it deals with what I go through with my chronic pain. This is why I am Leg and leg is Me.

Ship: Matt Murdock x GN!Reader

Rating: 16+

Wordcount: 1,733

Warnings: cursing, depressive thoughts, talk of doctor visits, talk of dealing with medical issues, an extremely comforting and loving matt murdock

It was half past 9pm when your leg started aching. You sat on the leather couch with a book in your hands and a blanket over your lap. The billboard across the street shined blinding yellows and blues in through the windows, shadows chasing each other along the edges of your vision. The scent of the dinner you’d shared with Matt, fettuccine alfredo with roasted chicken, floated through the air and settled around you. You could hear commotion in the apartment below you. You assumed there were some new neighbors moving in with how much foot traffic there was, but you weren’t quite sure. You, of course, didn’t have Matt’s senses. 

At first, the pain was just a slight twinge, a dull ache. A deep rooted uncomfortableness that seeped from your hip socket and spread throughout your upper thigh. Knowing this was only the start of a quickly worsening night, you retreated to your and Matt's bedroom in an attempt to keep weight off your leg.

Matt was out on his nightly patrols. He had left at around 8, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead and promising to be back before 2am. At the time, the firm deadline appeared a blessing. Usually you would be left in the dark as to how late Matt would be out. Hearing him give you a set time made you breathe a sigh of relief. Now, however, you thought of how far away that curfew seemed as you settled into your shared bed, bracing for the pain to get worse.

You laid on your right side, gingerly placing a thin pillow between your thighs. The little bit of separation between your legs tended to help relieve some of the pressure on your hip socket. You let your knees bend naturally as you tried to get comfortable. The lights from the billboard were less bright in the bedroom. Partially due to the angle of the beacon in the night, but also due to the paper you’d taped to the windows in an attempt to block out any and all light. You could feel the silk sheets slide against your bare legs as your shorts hiked up beneath the covers. You plugged your phone into your, thankfully, long cord that stretched long enough for you to use it on your side. 

You faced the bedroom door, the right side of the bed empty. Not intentionally, as you’d keep off your left leg anyway, but because Matt would lay on the side of the bed between you and any danger. He was sweet like that, always putting himself in harm’s way for you and others. You chuckled to yourself as you began scrolling aimlessly through your phone. You knew for a fact that if Matt could take your reoccurring pain and put it in his leg to give you relief, he would. He would in a heartbeat. Sacrifice his own fighting ability to give you a chance of being able to dance again.

God, you missed dancing. You used to go to dance classes every week, sometimes multiple nights in a row. Letting yourself flow to the music as you followed choreography, bouncing from foot to foot, swaying your hips, laughing when you would mess up. For years that’s how you kept active, kept busy, kept happy.

Until your leg decided to say “fuck you,” that is. The doctors assumed it was “just too much dancing” that did your leg in. What started as a tear in the cartilage in your hip joint spread throughout your thigh as other problems arose. Stress fracture in your femur, a worn ACL, torn muscles under your kneecap. A seemingly never ending list of problems made you debilitated, forcing you to use a cane and, in extreme circumstances, a wheelchair. The doctors tried physical therapy, medication, and even surgery. But the problems kept reappearing. You would have fine mobility and limited aches for a good few months, maybe even a year. But sooner or later that dull ache would find itself rooted in your hip. And you’d just have to strap in for a long ride.

About 10 minutes after you’d laid down the pain got worse. The ache turned into a sharp jab, like someone had stabbed you in the hip and kept the knife there, sliding and slicing to create waves of pain that lasted for minutes at a time. You clenched your jaw as you tried to remain focused on your phone. This wasn’t anything you hadn’t been through before. You could handle this. Of course it felt like a hot poker was stuck in your hip socket, but that was just a regular Tuesday for you.

Then the muscle above your knee twinged. A redhot spark of pain you could feel in your teeth. The pulsing shocks permeated throughout your entire leg, not just your knee. Stacked with the ache in your thigh it was beginning to be unbearable. 

Your phone fell from your hands as your eyes squeezed shut. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shuddering and wincing. Nausea began to build in your stomach and your head began to spin. The muscles beneath your skin started to jump and twitch. You blew a sharp gust of air out of your nose.

“Fuck me,” you whispered. Why? Why, when things are going great, your leg practically lights itself on fire? Just last week you’d helped Matt take out a handful of bank robbers, dodging blows and landing punches like Black Widow herself. Matt had even been impressed at how well you maneuvered yourself. You kicked and squatted and jumped like there was no tomorrow. And not a muscle was out of place the next morning.

Laying in bed, arms wrapped around your trembling body, leg having a tantrum. All you could do was resign yourself to this neverending feeling of hopelessness. Will it ever get better? Is there some magical cure you just haven’t found yet? What are you doing wrong? You could feel yourself spiral in your depression, the minutes and hours blending together to become an ongoing existence of pain. It felt like a rock had sunk itself to the bottom of your stomach. Your heart was racing, anxiety coursing through your veins. Was this what would become of your life? You would be reduced to nothing, just a leg on fire attached to a motionless husk? Would you ever be able to dance again?

“Sweetheart?” a voice rang out from the living room. A familiar, tentative tone laced with concern. Your eyes snapped open to see Matt. Standing just beyond the doorway, all dressed in black, cloth mask in hand, chocolate eyes looking in your general direction. His dark hair was matted to his forehead from the exertion of his nightly outings.

You cleared the edge of pain from your throat, then said, “Yeah?”

Matt was kneeling in front of you on the bed before you could blink. His brow was so tightly furrowed you had the briefest thought it’d stay that way. Warm, large hands began flitting across your body.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Was someone here?” he asked in a flurry of questions. One of his hands landed on your jaw, fingers trailing across where your pulse flowed strongest. The other ended up tangled with your own as you tried to quiet him.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m okay,” you breathed. You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his bruised knuckles. Matt’s fingers held your hand tighter as he let his eyes fall closed, his breathing slowing. You knew this was what he did when he sent his senses out, listening and smelling and tasting and feeling your body better than you could. His awareness diving deep beneath your skin to seek out anything abnormal.

When his eyes fluttered open, his gaze landed on your chin and a frown settled across his lips.

“It’s your leg again, isn’t it,” Matt said, not posing the phrase as a question. He already knew the answer.

All you could do was nod, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You could feel the grief of decades of pain and sorrow build along the walls of your throat. Your breathing grew ragged as the tears broke free and slid their way down your flushed cheeks. What if he grew tired of you? Grew tired of constantly needing to take care of you, tired of dealing with the bursts of pain you needlessly endured. A man of his skill, his charisma, his fighting ability. Surely he wouldn’t want to stay with someone as encumbered as you.

No further words were exchanged between the two of you. Matt gingerly slid his arm beneath your head, letting you cuddle against his chest, as his other arm pulled your torso close to him. His body curled around yours, as if the pain you were feeling was an outside source and he was the shield that protected you. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and breathed his comforting scent, cinnamon and smoke, in. Hot tears trailed their way from your eyes and stained his shirt.

“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere,” he said, lips pressed to the shell of your ear, saying exactly what you needed to hear as if he knew. He slid one of his legs between your thighs, replacing the pillow that was there originally. At first the movement was a shock to your already agonized body. Then, the extra bit of space between your legs lifted some of the pressure on your hip joint. You sighed shakily against Matt’s neck.

The two of you remained that way, Matt’s leg between your thighs, his arm beneath your head, your face tucked against his neck, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into your side. He whispered sweet words of reassurance every now and then. Saying he loved you, he wasn’t going anywhere, he’d help you find a way to fix your leg. 

You knew that soon he’d have to get up to go to work. You knew he’d unwind his limbs from yours, would give you the softest kiss you’ve ever felt, and promise to be back with your favorite foods.

But until then, you would stay tucked in against your Devil. Your guiding light. Your comfort when things were dark. Your relief from a fucked up leg.

[amphibianaday]

day 1522

[lazylittledragon]

there are so many things i could scream about the watcher situation because i'm So upset but i think i can summarise it through a comment i saw on The Video that said something like "we didn't care about anything more than text on a black background. all we wanted was You" and. yeah.

[ali3nboyfriend]

i see a lot of talk of fellow adhd and autistic folk feeling like they’re too much for other people but i don’t see a lot of talk about feeling like you’re not enough. low energy adhd and autism where it takes a lot of effort to use words so your way of showing affection is to sit there and vibe in people’s presence but it comes off like you’re not paying attention or it’s not “active” enough to count, or forgetting to reply to DMs (or like i said, Words Hard), and it again comes off as you not caring or ignoring people. it’s really hard to be putting in so much effort to maintain friendships you value only for that effort to not be seen, or to be read as apathy, or for it to be seen but still not be what other people want. even worse when you try and talk more and be more active in a relationship but you end up burning yourself out because you don’t have enough energy to maintain it.

[clonedchaos]

Welp, as I was googling some images for Yasammy week, I came across a thread and turns out one of my favorite Jurassic YouTubers is homophobic and a Yasammy hater…

(More ranting in the tags)

[mormonforgetmenot]

I love being queer and I love being a mormon, but there are times when I'm just so tired.

[zzoupz]

this socializing thing is hard, man.

[puppyeared]

its so hard to watch time pass when things like careers and assignments exist. what do you mean im supposed to take that seriously

[vonn13]

Neil should have absolute shit hearing from growing up the way he did. Gunshots without headphones? Repeated headtrauma in all likelihood? Hello??

[reasonsforhope]

Welp, officially just got called a parasite living off my parents for the first time for being disabled. In person and not on the internet, even. Check that one off the punch card

Anyway @ fellow disabled people: we're better than their fucking asses and NONE of that has to do with our ability to work or not work or participate in capitalism. So go us, for having the strength to Put Up With This Shit, Whether We Like It or Not (It's not, the answer's not)

[hylianengineer]

Currently experiencing my first period in six months (due to birth control. Hadn't had one since the dosage changed, thought I was free from this shit) and I haaate it so much. I dont even feel that bad I'm just. So. Tired. Regrowing the lining of an organ is exhausting. I want to stay in bed and take a nap but instead I have to go to work. Ridiculous. Unreasonable.

[ineffablefool]

gahhhh the last few weeks I have been starving for fics or art where Aziraphale is clearly, legitimately fat (with adoring attention paid to his physical features which are associated with said fatness) and also clearly, legitimately loved ("desired" would be okay but oh give me cherished, give me treasured and held dear and, again, adored)

and I know that this is one of those things where I should just be the change I want to see in the world, but the last few weeks I have also been [flops face-first onto bed and doesn't move for 45 minutes], so clearly that is not happening