#honestly I should get a therapist just to talk about my interpersonal relationships

[kushamiqueen]

Uhhhhhhh it's probably because it's that time of the month but,,,,,,

Should I download bumble again? Should I just... talk to men???

[uhgood-girl]

why jikook?

i've been asking myself this a lot recently bc well, why them? why not tkook? or ynmin? hell, jihope even, they're underrated as hell honestly, have you seen that hot tub video? hobi was ready to unhinge his jaw to swallow jimin whole (and who (jk) could blame him.)

but jikook, in a not joking way, hits different. they always have. it's been years at this point that i've been deep in this rabbit hole (within the larger bts rabbit hole, my god, how deep does it go) but i don't recall making the conscious decision to fall in.

maybe a little background?

i'm a fake love army. actually, if we're getting technical, i'm an outro tear army bc it was in the comments of the freshly released fake love music video that i saw someone recommend outro tear if i enjoyed fake love and then it was over for me. extremely not fake love at first listen, who's voice is second on this track? i NEED to know. i'm a yoongi/rapline bias to this day. fake love still fucks though, don't get me wrong, it's a never skip for me.

for that first year and then some, i consumed backlogged content like it was my day job. i am a prone to hyper-fixations hermit, basically, who was going to stop me? my therapist? nah, she picks her battles.

i watched everything i could get my grubby little hands on like someone would be testing me on it later. (shoutout qdeoks, you were so real) i didn't open stan twitter for the first time till probably the end of 2018, really just in time to be slapped in the face full force with the shitshow that was a hate campaign against these boys i was deeply invested in by then, the likes of which i had never experienced in an online space up to that point. it was a truly, truly wild era, don't ever let anyone tell you differently.

all that to say, i've been here for a hot minute and i developed my own first impressions on bts and the members as individuals in a vacuum. no one had to point jikook out to me, they stuck out on their own.

potentially relevant disclaimer before we continue: i am really really queer. i grew up in the united states conservative deep south and had to change high schools my sophomore year bc i was outed and then violently ostracized for being in a relationship with my same sex best friend at the time. it is safe to say i have a lot of feelings about and experience even when it comes to having to be low key (understatement lol) about who you love. i am not here just to make my barbies kiss.

actually, on that note, jikook wouldnt even be my chosen barbies out of bts. if we're in true fantasy delulu hours here, i would want yoonjin to be real. god, that would be the stuff, they're so old married as it is. peak romance.

i think the first place jikook ever truly caught my attention were the memories dvds. jimin has always been a sweet, bby angel taking care of all his members but i remember thinking that he seemed to pay a little extra, special attention to jungkook. and of course, why not, jk's the maknae after all. all of them have always been doting on him and deservedly so. but in those briefly shown really serious, quiet moments, jimin was often first in line. a spot very easy for him to obtain tbh as jk never seemed to be very far from him anyway. maybe if you've never in real time lived the satellite jeon accusations (hi pandemic army, bless you, i hope you make it to 2025 when we have them all back without restrictions) you might find them easier to dismiss but it was so consistent back then in all of the content being released. and once noticed, i don't know how anyone ever un-notices it. but i was in deep before i even realized the water was boiling.

should i talk about why not tkook? or ynmin, for me? i'm just pulling those as examples bc i know they're the popular contenders here but all joking in the beginning of this post aside, none of the other members interpersonal relationships, in any configuration (sadly, RIP yoonjin romance), have ever struck me as anything other than puppy crush/deep friendship/family. and that's not bc i don't think over half of those men aren't queer in some form or fashion because WHEW, that is an entirely different post and we simply do not have the time to unpack rn but it's not for lack of looking.

i started in a vacuum, but i have by no means stayed there, i walked in all of those front doors and sat down and said "convince me." i've got the time and lack of life, i am ready to be won over. what have i missed?

to this day i still regularly try and check my own confirmation bias, i'm obviously looking for jikook at this stage but i'm still ready on my toes if any of the others want to get crazy. (yoonjin i am rooting for you, we're all rooting for you)

and i'm not here to really persuade or sway anyone one way or another either. there are a 1000 other blogs on this site that can probably offer you better explanations, specific clips, and detailed break downs of moments throughout the years and even then people are going to see what they want to see. i just wanted to write some of my own thoughts down finally.

though...i guess if i had to point to any one single piece of "evidence" it would definitely be tried and true gcf tokyo? but if watching that the first time didn't ring through you like a gunshot, i def don't think there's anything i could say beyond that.

honestly, i think so much of "why jikook" for me boils down to the pit in the bottom of my stomach that i used to get when i first began to notice them. when i got past the initial warm fuzzies inspired by the sincerity of their interactions, my immediate second emotion was concern.

i remember the first time i heard some of the other boys make an offhand joke about them being a couple and i got anxious, fast. i thought hide, hide better, please be safe. i began to pay extra attention to the other members in general too when jikook would do things and felt like i could sometimes see a similar anxiety to my own in their expressions. for a long time, i just worried about them and where i saw other people rejoice in their more obvious moments, i was slow to celebrate.

despite my initial hesitation, it's now been about 5 years since the first time they ever made me double take. they're a few years younger than me but i feel like we've been growing up together. (parasocial? idk her.) they're less conspicuous these days, and for lots of obvious reasons, but i feel like overall, their confidence in themselves and each other is quite high. i know that's probably a funny thing to say in light of this last week especially, but i stand by it. i've seen this song and dance before. i have managed my own expectations in the past, taken full steps back only to be beaten anew over the head so many times with enough "coincidences" i felt borderline foolish to try and deny anything. jikook are truly some sort of neuro-spicy pattern recognition drug, i swear.

and i've never really gotten to talk about any of this with anyone before! i'm shy irl, and shy online apparently bc i have just been lurking around the outer lines of this circle this whole time like some creepy creep but i've decided i'm over it. fuck it. growth.gif. idk that i have anything important or new to contribute to the conversation but my god, no one else seems to let that stop them so i might as well take my turn on the soapbox, no?

so 📢 JIKOOK REAL (?) jikook sus. jikook make bandaged queer little heart go boom boom.

[johnnyprofane1]

How to Get Diagnosed #ActuallyAutistic in Just 26 Years

First off, this is not a poor-me story.This is a journey to #AutisticJoy story…

I’m a singer/songwriter, pretend Rock Star with a decent following… after at least 5 other careers.

I’m also #ActuallyAutistic. Or my fave hashtag… #AutisticAF.

Two most frequent private-message questions I get?

Not about lyrics, my guitar playing, or even my mohawk…

1. Could I be autistic?

2. Should I get a diagnosis?

Well, here’s my way-long, way-detailed, way genuinely autistic answer…

I was born in 1953. Long before autism or Asperger’s were widely discussed in medicine or popular culture. More or less, just beginning in the 70s.

At least by 1957, at 4, I knew I was “different.” Family and neighbor kids told me so.

A lot.

In kindergarten, a teacher reported I was unusually creative, but “stayed to myself.” After 2nd grade intelligence testing, I was tagged “gifted.”

But my behavior was “odd.” Solitary. Formal in speech, a know-it-all. “Insensitive to context,” liked talking and playing in class. “Inattentive” to lessons.

I had one close friend at a time… In fact, only one I remember in all of primary school. In 4th & 5th grade. Jeff.

Wonder what he’s been up to the last 56 years…

My intelligence: uneven. My reading skills were off the chart, but verbal learning, most of education at the time, was difficult for me. Math tested high, but I was so impulsive on quizzes, I needed remedial classes.

Tests were a silly game to me. It was fun to be the first-one-done. I couldn’t have cared less about grades. I’m a process-, not results-oriented guy.

And most glaring? I was disliked, even hated, by schoolmates, cousins, perhaps even parents.

I was a target for mockery, hate speech, bullying, physical and sexual attack, and later molestation. And universal disappointment: “You’re not living up to your potential.”

A history of dozens of jobs, dozens of relocations, lost years in a cult, lost years in badly matched relationships…

And honestly? A history of causing great pain to others. Inadvertently perhaps, but not always. Then circling back to the couple of decades in what most would label a “cult…”

Something was just not right with this picture.

I first sought diagnosis at 17 following suicide attempt #1 in 1970. The experience was horrific.

I felt badgered by the therapist, “I know you have a secret you want to tell me.” I wanted so badly to please her. But had no idea what I was feeling, much less why.

As still happens under great stress, I temporarily lost language ability. I became mute. Which has several times been interpreted as “resistance,” “guardedness,” or even “passive aggression” by “helping” professionals.

I didn’t try therapy again until my first year in grad school, 1980. The psychiatrist summarily dismissed me without a plan when I didn’t respond to imipramine (an anti-depressant)– possibly I pissed him off. I seem to have a talent for stepping on therapist toes.

But in 1991, I entered the mental health system and essentially never left. Every new psychiatrist, psychologist, therapeutic social worker confidently diagnosed me… with something entirely different.

Between 1991 and 2016, I was diagnosed with adjustment disorder, major depression, type II Bipolarity, rapid cycling bipolarity, malingering, borderline personality disorder, dissociative disorder NOS (including discussion of multiplicity), PTSD….

There have been additional discussions of various anxiety disorders (especially social anxiety), attention deficit, schizophrenia, TIAs, stroke damage…

Pretty sure I’m leaving a few out.

With each new diagnosis, each and every professional confidently told me he or she had nailed it.

This time…

And they could help.

I was medicated accordingly with imipramine, Prozac and all the modern SSRIs, Welbutrin, Effexor, Lithium, depakote, tegretol, gabapentin, klonapin, lorazepam, respirdal, the occasional syringe of haldol, provigil and other narcolepsy drugs, sleep aids, supplements like fish oil, more I’ve forgotten….

And offered suggestions of Abilify, Seroquel, other anti-psychotics, electro-shock (ECT)…

As well as therapies including Jungian, supportive, interpersonal, analytical, psychodynamic, cognitive, task-centered, solution focused, dialectical behavior, cognitive behavioral…

I was myself a counselor from 2001 to 2011. Strange, but true.

Not one of these interventions helped me materially.

Not one.

And I experienced some very concerning side effects: tics, emotional numbness, difficulty thinking, feeling like a stranger in a strange mind. I totally gave up on treatment and medication in 2011. Bouts of suicidality ensued.

A very few friends and one wife threw the term autistic around over the years, but I never followed up. It seemed so unlikely. I was so bright. So articulate. Even somewhat successful… for a few months at a time.

And without conscious awareness, I had become adept at hiding the fact I was actually dysfunctional… perhaps the majority of the time.

Plus, I could pass for “normal” by masking… when not under stress. I learned by junior high to practice my favorite classmates’ neurotypical behavior in the bathroom mirror. Hide stimming, meltdowns, panic attacks, the total autistic burnouts lasting sometimes months, years…

In 2011, the intimacy of the most successful relationship of my life forced me to look inwardly as deeply as I could in order to avoid losing my third wife. (We are still together, deeply in love, but live in separate houses a few hundred feet apart. She needs breaks from my intensity. I find even her company exhausting after a few hours.)

My now-third wife had a family member with “high-functioning” autism, what we used to call Asperger’s (and what we now call, simply, autism). Watching this young boy negotiate his world was like watching myself in a magnifying mirror.

We had so many behaviors in common. Mine were just somewhat better disguised. With my wife’s encouragement in 2012, I began reading articles, books, online forums…

In 2016, when we separated briefly, I finally re-entered therapy. This time, I contacted various experts in adult autism through Indiana University’s Indiana Institute For Disabilities Community (IIDC).

Bingo.

Every symptom…Explained.

Every “flaw” in my character… traced back to this pervasive developmental diagnosis.

I am making progress in a kind of task-oriented counseling. Working on strategies to accommodate characteristics that just ain’t gonna change…

But the key gifts that external, credible diagnosis gave me:

Accepting I really am different, with very different needs from neurotypical folks.

Providing for those needs, as I discovered them. For instance, understanding my “special interests” are not hobbies. They are central to my survival. My job.

Reducing stimulation, sensory & social. Accepting I will have few intimate relationships in my life and becoming cautious about “friendships,” only those few folks who take the long, long journey to know and like me. After a lifetime naively assuming each new stranger was a new friend, my motto became, “Don’t like me? Don’t hang.”

Spending unashamed time… alone. I have a radical need for autonomy, while simultaneous difficulty managing independence when any other human is present. As much as I crave intimacy, I must manage my time with humans. Say less than 5 minutes with a stranger before anxiety or panic sets in, maybe 2 hours with my wife. Which brings me to…

Over the last few years, I’ve not only experienced reduction in anxiety, depression, suicidality, dissociation, night terrors, meltdowns, panic… I’ve come to realize my natural state.

Finding love. My neurotypical wife and I respect, admire, encourage, and desire one another. Pretty much a first for me.

Autistic joy.

Not disease…

Joy.

When I’m creating words or music, walking alone in Nature, watering my garden, cooking, fermenting pickles, making bread, decorating, yard sale-ing, reading, loving my pets, meditating, even shaving…

I’m in the flow.

There is no time. There is no space. No surroundings. No memory. No pain. Just lizard-warming-in-the-sun…

Joy.

Everything that restricts that joy? Gotta go. Good riddance…

So, diagnosis?

Yeah.

That’s my story.

And this time, I’m sticking to it.

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 21

NOTE: Read chapter 20 first, posted right before this one as I’m posting two chapters today.

////////////////

Myka nurses a top-shelf scotch as she stares out into Cardiff Bay, thankful the hotel bar's deserted at this late hour. Several boats glide silently by then disappear, docking near twinkling lights beyond her view. Are their crews winding down from a jam-packed day like hers? If so, she hopes theirs was less taxing interpersonally.

Her latest sale was rather tenuous, having dragged on for months beforehand. The museum was selling; then they weren't, then they were, to the point where it was hard to keep track. But Myka, ever vigilant with correspondence, managed to convince the assistant director to convince the director she was the one to sell to, should they sell. Though having to go that extra mile isn't a one-off occurance as Los Angeles doesn't hold the weight of New York.

After several phone conversations, they agreed to an in-person showing, but not until after the holidays. So here she is, in Cardiff, three months into the New Year, having taken the train in from London after an early morning work appointment there.

Upon arrival, she was whisked away to an unexpectedly late lunch with the assistant director, the director, and several key museum administrators. Which was fine overall, but she'd liked to have known earlier, so she could have prepared on the train. She was given a tour of their modern and contemporary wings afterward, then paraded around the inner workings of their offices.

The staff all had stars in their eyes when greeted by the assistant director. He was a relatively new hire, earnest and knowledgeable, but straight out of a PHD program. She saw right through the tours; they were meant to impress her, to compensate for his lack of real-world experience. She acted impressed, so this sale could finally be over.

He instantly took a shine to her, which, honestly, happened way too often. If she had a dollar for every dude that came on to her, she'd buy a nice bottle of whiskey to drown them out. But part of the business was finding an "in" with clients, so she didn't read too much into it. She'd let it run its course to get what she came for but keep her distance. But then the invitation to tonight's museum fundraiser threw her for a loop.

Did he think she was interested in him, for real? He was handsome enough, but just a kid, so maybe he didn't know the rules yet. She'd invested so much time negotiating; it'd be a shame to lose the acquisition now. So she agreed to his plus one but left early and sent all the right signals. After Luiza, she treated everyone with due diligence, right from day one.

She swirls her scotch in her tumbler then swallows a generous swig. Thoughts of Luiza are still fraught with guilt. Last fall was a hell of a rollercoaster ride.

Luiza's advances marked the expiration of Myka's scorned lover schtick as if the headcanon she'd so careful parked in was towed away overnight. By morning, the entire block was filled with cast trailers and a film crew. The only clue to where she was moved was a flimsy list pinned to a pole. When she found her new location, the surrounding neighborhood was unrecognizable. Familiarizing herself with the new landscape took time.

“I was chapado. We both were," Luiza had pleaded, and added, in her defense, that her friends had egged her on. She was disappointed Myka didn't feel the same way she did, but admitted her follow-through could have been better. And if Myka'd found someone she cared for…well, good for her. She hoped they could still be friends.

Myka couldn't decide, in her bleary, hungover state, if Luiza was sorry or faking it. In fact, she'd hoped Luiza would be gone, too embarrassed to face her actions. But there she was, being an adult, or, desperately hanging on to her mark. "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer" was all she could think of, so she agreed to keep Luiza around.

Luiza stayed one more night before taking off for a two-month residency, because what more could she glean from her, anyway? Myka played the friend she was before but was on pins and needles the entire time. The minute Luiza left town, she found a payphone and called the number Morgana gave her. She arranged for a meeting as soon as physically possible.

It became clear, once she met the woman, it wouldn't have been a stretch to fake-date her. Morgana clearly knew how to twist reality efficiently. But now, much to her horror, the woman said she should follow the Abigail angle. In the meantime, she'd get in touch with Morgana and arrange for a sweep of her apartment. Morgana would look into Luiza's intentions as well.

A light, blinking rapidly, draws her out of her thoughts, its origin, a vessel built for pleasure rather than commerce. The sight of revelers on the deck sends a shiver up her spine; it must be colder on the water than on the dock. Then again, they're probably immune to the chilly weather if alcohol is powering their party. She downs the last of her drink, and as it burns down her throat, signals for another.

Is it a holiday here? She'd heard something about a St. David's day, but she's not sure that's today. Holidays aren't her favorite thing lately as her last few holidays sucked.

Thanksgiving was awful, to say the least. Abigail came to visit, but Luiza did too, as she'd insisted on meeting Abigail in the flesh. How could she say no without raising suspicions? She had no choice but to acquiesce.

With no word from Morgana, she'd become increasingly paranoid, merely a vessel following a strict set of rules. She cursed Helena for disappearing, leaving her pining away, worried sick, upping the stakes so high she had to abandon all autonomy. But then again, if Helena hadn't intervened, she'd probably be incarcerated, her career ruined for good. Her whole world was collapsing in on her, her agency stripped of meaning. How did Morgana do this every day without it crushing her soul?

But Thanksgiving, wow, that was a trial by fire. Both Luiza and Abigail took her aside, acknowledging what a hard day it was for her considering the events of last year. As the day progressed, Luiza pushed her towards Abigail while Abigail pushed her towards Luiza. She ran out for more wine to get a breather, her apartment too small to contain their competing personalities.

But the real slog came after Luiza left LA when she had to broach the subject of a fake relationship with Abigail. She needed somewhere they wouldn't be overheard, so she suggested going on a hike. She picked Mount Hollywood as it was easy to get to and packed with tourists. Rather ironically, when they arrived, it was partially closed due to a movie shoot.

"I need to tell you something," Myka said, pressing against the fence, scanning the vast valley radiating out from Dante's View. "Luiza's spying on me."

Abigail's laugh, nearly a bark, came out so loud, the couple next to them moved farther away. "If you don't want to date her, that's fine, but Myka, really."

"I'm not sure who she's working for, but it's someone looking for Helena."

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

"She's your friend!"

"I'm not so sure." Myka looked around, too many people milling about snapping photos. "Let's walk and talk, and I'll explain. And, I, um...I have a huge favor to ask."

She'd flip-flopped over how to handle this, but decided on a modified version of the truth. She sweated bullets laying out her evidence, then introducing the fake relationship idea. She needed an alibi until she figured out what was going on and asked Abigail if she'd be willing to help. Abigail listened carefully, prodding for details like only a therapist would then went silent as they circled back toward the observatory.

"I think she's only information gathering, but still, I'm kinda scared," Myka said.

"I'm speechless," Abigail said. "I can't believe you're still cleaning up Helena's mess."

"It's my fault. I should have figured this out earlier."

"Why? You're just living your life."

"But, I was part of that mess."

"Not on purpose."

“True.” False

"On the off chance you're right, I'll play along. But we better lay out some ground rules, or this could get ugly." Abigail slipped an arm through Myka's as they walked back to the bus stop. They laughed out loud as they plotted out a plan.

Claudia, in the meantime, dug as deep as she could. From her end, Luiza was clean. But Myka kept her guard up; with zero word from Morgana, something was not quite right. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she would, eventually.

Christmas came and went without a word from Helena. She checked her phone obsessively while at her parents, but no call came.

But then a miracle happened. At the gate for her flight to visit Claudia and Abigail for New Year's, someone sat next to her and bent down, fiddling with their bag.

"Excuse me," a woman's voice asked as she sat back up. She held out a piece of paper. "Is this yours?"

"I don't …oh!" Myka replied, recognizing the woman. She took the slip of paper and read it over its contents. It was a receipt with a number scribbled in the margin.

"For next time," Morgana said, telescoping her luggage handle out as she stood. "And for the record, you have an admirer, nothing more."

"Really? That's—"

The loudspeaker crackled to life, announcing boarding for Group A.

"After takeoff, check your bag, but not a moment before." Morgana's smile was the kind a stranger might give you at the airport. But Myka saw a genuine smile hidden underneath. It was oddly reassuring.

"Happy New Year," Morgana said, and then walked off, promptly disappearing into the crowd.

Group C was called eminently, and Myka boarded the plane. As she settled into her seat, she peeked into her bag; nestled next to her laptop was an envelope that previously wasn't present. Probably information about Luiza to ease her mind, or so she hoped, as her mind needed easing. Luiza having genuine feelings for her, and not being a spy was hard to grasp. She was under so much pressure, she had to judge her harshly, right? And with Abigail, how was she going to explain that Luiza was no longer a threat? The guilt bearing down on her was making her queasy.

The minute the seatbelt sign went off, she fished the envelope out of her bag. She opened it carefully and slid out a card. A Christmas card, to be exact, one adorned with a half-wreath of various evergreens and "Merry Christmas" spelled out in Celtic Languages: Breton, Cornish, Irish, Manx, Scottish, and Welsh.

"Wishing you the happiest of Christmases and best of luck in the New Year," the flowing, handwritten script read upon opening. "All the best to your family and friends. We've been hoping for snow so we may go sledding, but thus far, a White Christmas eludes us. We wish you were here to celebrate. Sending all our love."

Then printed below, "What's green, covered in tinsel and goes 'ribbit ribbit'?" Blocky letters were accompanied by a cartoonish drawing of a frog on a lily pad, the word "ribbit" projecting from its mouth, with tinsel and mistletoe added in the appropriate colors. She turned the card over for the answer, and there in sparkly red and green bubble letters read, "A Mistle-toad!"

A Christmas cracker joke, she was sure of it. The card wasn’t signed, but it had to be from Helena and Christina. Her hands trembled as she read their messages over and over—

"So sorry to disturb, Ms. Bering, but this came for you earlier at the front desk." The bartender slides a manila envelope toward her.

"Thanks." She turns it over, looking for signs of who it was from. Hopefully, not one last attempt by the assistant director to woo her. She finishes her drink as she reads over the papers. It looks like she's staying on to check out a potential purchase.

She's been rerouted like this before to view items in people's homes, even more since a man in New York found a Schiele in a thrift store. While it's rarely lead to anything exceptional, the thrill of the chase is ever-present. She skims over the info as she walks toward her room.

"Ang-har-ad," she mouths out loud as the name's unfamiliar to her. She hunkers down in a comfy chair and types it into a search engine. Several Angharad Llewellyns pop up, but the one she's visiting isn't listed. She checks the pronunciation, Ang-HAH-rad or Ann-HARAD. Not that different than how it's spelled, in the land where W's can be vowels.

The town she's visiting is only an hour north of Cardiff, but the landscape changes radically. She knows this for a fact because after receiving Helena's card, she became obsessed with the area. Thoughts of snow led her to remember a quip Helena threw out once about "stealing off to the Black Mountains" with Christina. At the time, she thought it was a joke, but every quip was a clue in hindsight.

"The Black Mountains have the feel of a landscape only partially tamed by human habitation," one guidebook said. "Tiny villages, isolated churches, and enchanting lanes are folded into an undulating green landscape." But not as isolated as Guernsey or the Hebrides. The more she researched, the more likely they seemed.

First off, there was a sprawling food festival in Abergavenny, which from their site, was very much up Christina's alley. Plus a huge music festival in the heart of the mountains that Helena would certainly want to attend. And although she doesn't see Christina as a nature girl, she'd want to summit a mountain nicknamed "The Cat's Back." Plus Cardiff and Bristol were only a day trip way. Tiny villages maybe, but with vibrant life surrounding them.

She and Claudia scoured social media, hoping to find Helena and Christina unknowingly caught in someone's event photos. And if they had gone sledding, maybe there was a glimpse of them in the background of someone's videos. Plus Christina had to be in a school trip picture somewhere; now they could narrow their search. Helena and Christina couldn't be entirely invisible; she and Claudia just had to think out of the box.

----------

If her travel wasn't prearranged, she'd have taken a route north through Pontypridd, but her train takes her north-east through the aging steel town of Newport. It then snakes mildly north-west following a deep, sloping valley, past towns full of undulating brick row houses, into increasingly rising hills. She disembarks at Ebbw Vale Town where a cab is waiting for her. The row houses vanish the second the road enters Brecon Beacons Park where a vista of verdant but barren green hills fills her view. As they drive ever higher, fluffy sheep stare out from the side of the road. All of her research suddenly comes to life.

It feels as if she was lost in an alien landscape when houses begin to appear again. Clumps of trees dot the land, itself marked off in squares, the telltale signs of farms crisscrossing the hills. The driver turns sharply, then sharply again, and the road becomes buried in trenches of hedgerows. It's frustrating to be blinded, but they slow and stop at a junction where a sign points toward towns like Bwlch, Aberhonddu, and Crughywel. There's even a small sign advertising the inn where she's staying. Minutes later, they're there, though "there" isn't near much of anything. The road barely fits two lanes and is filled with residential houses.

The cabbie carries her suitcase in and exchanges few words with a flannel-clad, grey-haired woman behind the bar. The Welsh language is an unfamiliar sound, but from their tone, they seem friendly. He tips his hat to her as he makes his way back to his car.

"Welcome to the Red Lion! You must be our last minute booking," the woman says, tapping and scrolling on a tablet computer. "My-ka Bering?"

"Myka. Yes."

"Three nights is it?"

"I guess? I didn't make the reservation." Work must really want this item, as its usually only one or two.

"Not here for the mountain walks, are you, love?"

Myka glances at her low heels; they wouldn't make it far on a hiking trail. Nor would the formal clothes she's wearing. The look on the woman's face says she's thinking the same thing. "I'm meeting a client at Harry's Garage. How can I get there from here?"

"Harry know you're coming?" The woman asks, her tone suddenly wary.

"I think so? I just got rerouted from Cardiff."

"That accent Canadian?"

"No, American."

"Ah, American." The woman smiles. "Harry's just down the road, past the church, round the corner to your left. Could walk it in a flash, but in those shoes, I'd stick to the road. Been raining cyllyll a ffyrcs, mud's nearly drowning us all."

"Um…ok?" Whatever that meant, she's definitely not dressed right for this excursion.

"Might want to be off before the next gale blows through. Leave your bag. I'll drop it in your room."

"Thanks." Myka takes her key and slips it into her jacket pocket then grabs her tote with the envelope. "Which way's the church?"

"Right on your way out, then left at the phone box."

Myka exits the inn and stands amongst the picnic benches, gaining her bearings in the pub garden. A light, misty drizzle falls, not hard enough to warrant an umbrella, but dampening none the less. It must be ever-present in this part of the world. The locals probably barely notice it.

She sets off to the right, past several houses, the older ones situated at odd angles to the road. The church appears soon after, sporting a weather-worn graveyard as picturesque as they come. It reminds her of a passage from a Henry James book on travel, one she bought for a quarter at a library sale.

"The church I speak of was a beautiful specimen of it's kind—intensely aged, variously patched, but still solid and useful, with no touch of restoration," he wrote. "I say the roads were empty, but they were peopled with the big primroses I just now spoke of—primroses of the size of ripe apples and yet, in spite of their rank growth, of as pale and tender a yellow as if their gold had been diluted by silver."

The flowers blooming here could very well be primroses. She strays from the road toward a monument to take a closer look. But the minute she steps off the path, her shoe sinks into the ground. "Stick to the road," she mutters as she yanks her shoe out and tries to shake off the wet residue.

She continues on, passing even more houses and takes a left at a fork, where a red phone box is standing guard. A long, stone wall fills one side of the road, but as it comes to an end, a fading sign advertising Harry's Garage hangs from a pole. An arrow points toward a driveway, which she follows to a matching stone building. A bell dings as she enters a dim, window lit room where a man, probably in his sixties, sits at a wooden counter. He's surrounded by paperwork, some clipped together, others lying loose and is completely absorbed in a newspaper.

"More Brexit nonsense," he mumbles, not looking up from the page.

"Pardon me?"

"Say the Prime Minister's meant to visit the Vale of Glamorgan. She can shove right off," he grunts, folding his paper and setting it aside. "What can I do for you, love?"

"I'm here to see Angharad Llewellyn." She stresses the middle syllable as she learned online.

"Come to see Harry, then?" he asks.

"If Angharad is Harry, then yes?" Woman garage owner? In the middle of nowhere? This should be interesting.

"She expecting you?"

"I think so? My job made the appointment. I have these papers." Myka digs around in her bag and pulls out the envelope.

"What's that accent, love?"

"American."

"Ah, American. Yes." He nods to himself as if ticking off a choice on a list in his head.

"Harry's round back, but keep to the wall. Those shoes won't survive the muck." He looks down at her shoes then points with his thumb to a corridor behind him.

"Thank you," Myka says and walks behind him, into the corridor. It leads to a door, which she opens tentatively, then steps out onto a concrete landing. It overlooks a muddy lot littered with partially dismantled cars, tractors, and motorcycles, with a shed towards the back with an overhang. In front sits a vehicle with its hood propped open. She makes her way along the wall as instructed, but even then, her heels sink into the earth.

As she approaches the aging Land Rover, she sees a slight figure bent over the motor, dressed in brown coveralls, the peak of a fluorescent orange hat visible over the chassis. To gain solid footing, she steps up onto the concrete. She's now behind the woman, but the woman seems unaware of her approaching. She moves closer; the woman's perched on a wooden crate sunk into the mud, yanking something out from deep within the engine. She contemplates waiting until she's done, but doesn't know how long that might be. Plus, she doesn't want to scare her when she turns around.

"Angharad?" Myka says. She waits a few moments but gets no response.

"Angharad," she repeats, louder, more directional. There's the sound of a ratchet in action, but no other movement otherwise.

"Harry?" she tries, stepping closer this time. The woman seems to sink further into the car.

"Harry!" she yells, stepping forward, but looses her footing, toppling off the patio and into the mud. She grabs hold of the thing closest to her, which happens to be Harry's coveralls. Harry's head shoots up, and with a thud, the hood's knocked off of its support.

"Bollocks!" Harry cries as the hood clamps down on her, the car nearly swallowing her whole. Myka swiftly lifts the hood back up and reseats it on its pole. She helps Harry slide out of the engine cavity settle onto the crate again.

"I'm so sorry! Are you ok?"

With arm gripping her midriff, Harry leans forward over the engine, breathing heavily as if catching her breath.

"I called your name, but you didn't hear me," Myka says. She tries to move back to the concrete, but her foot is now stuck in the mud. "I didn't want to scare you."

"You failed," Harry grumbles, popping a set of earbuds out of her ears, gasping as their eyes meet. Myka's hand flies up to her chest, and she topples backward, her stuck shoe twisting as she grabs at the car chassis to stay standing. Helena flies off the crate, jumping behind her, her strong arms circling Myka's waist. She pushes her upright, her entire body pressing against Myka's, heart beating so wildly it's as if it's pumping directly into Myka's veins.

-TBC-

NOTE: cyllyll a ffyrcs = knives ansd forks, a Welsh idiom like raining cats and dogs. An even better one is "hen wragedd a ffyn" - old ladies and sticks.

[goosegoblin]

Hey, a friend of mine has been in an awful abusive relationship and believes that this was caused by him being a narcissist. Now she spents a lot of time talking to me about how narcissists are these evil, irredeemable people and tbh, it makes me uncomfortable. You're the only person I've seen who hasn't taken that approach with the "scary" mental illnesses, and I was wondering how I should deal with this. Is it okay to see narcissists as sick people, rather than dangerous, or am I just (1/2)

 being naive, as my friend says? (2/2)

Ahh Christ, I hate this phenomenon. 

She’s almost certainly talking about narcissists in the pop culture, Reddit-y way that gives that label to pretty much all abusive or toxic people. Most groups using this word freely admit that they aren’t referring to NPD when they do so, but that doesn’t stop a lot of people from conflating the two.

It’s especially difficult because your friend has obviously had a really, really difficult and traumatic time, and that deserves respect. But honestly, focusing on ‘narcissists‘ to that degree does not sound like an especially healthy coping mechanism. Is she in therapy? Could you encourage her to get in therapy? Hopefully a therapist could help her work through her trauma while gently challenging the beliefs she’s built.

–

Because I’m anticipating unhappy replies to this post, I’d like to remind you all of the DSM 5 criteria for NPD:

NPD is defined as comprising a pervasive pattern of grandiosity (in fantasy or behavior), a constant need for admiration, and a lack of empathy, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by the presence of at least 5 of the following 9 criteria:

- A grandiose sense of self-importance- A preoccupation with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love- A belief that he or she is special and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people or institutions- A need for excessive admiration- A sense of entitlement- Interpersonally exploitive behavior- A lack of empathy- Envy of others or a belief that others are envious of him or her

The majority do not refer to behaviour, but to internal thoughts and beliefs, because- surprise!- that’s how mental illness works. Anybody attempting to come into my inbox and pick a fight over ‘lack of empathy’ is going to have to first demonstrate to me that they know what ‘empathy’ means, because it does not in fact mean ‘being nice and good’. Empathy exists on a spectrum, and some of the best people I know experience relatively little (or no) empathy.

As for ‘interpersonally exploitive behaviour’, I have… some thoughts on that. I won’t go into them too much here, but some quick notes: that does not necessarily mean ‘abusive’, that is in no way unique to people with NPD, all social interactions are manipulative to some extent (patrexes has some really great stuff on that), that criterion is not necessary for diagnosis, and these are the symptoms of untreated NPD. We can critique people on behaviours without labelling a whole condition as ‘evil’.

By comparison, here’s the trait listen given on the most prominent N-related subreddit. How many of those are actually unique to NPD? In contrast, how many are just plain abusive behaviours?

Yet another reason I dislike this recent ‘He/she’s an N!’ craze is that it completely erases the abusive behaviours of people who do not have NPD. I’ve experienced toxic and borderline abusive behaviour from people who were hyperempathetic. I’ve been in toxic relationships with people who hated themselves and thought they were garbage. I’ve known many people whose untreated depression, ADHD or anxiety led them to behave in toxic and abusive ways. Why is NPD different?

And, as ever, if your mental health awareness and advocacy stops at ‘the people you think are the real crazies’, it’s pretty fuckin’ bad, and you should really find a different label for what you’re doing. We need to strive to talk about abuse and trauma without merrily throwing mentally ill people under the bus while doing so; we cannot move forward by throwing other groups behind.

xx

[an-actual-real-live-eevee]

why do people keep recommending DBT? I've tried it and from what I've seen I understand why it works, but it... pretty much requires believing factually inaccurate stuff about how things work and essentially turning yourself into the kind of "both sides kinda have a point" (the "dialectic" part of it) that ended up giving us people like Trump in power. and mindfulness essentially just sounds like self-induced dissociation.

....okay, first thing: I’m not sure if you have the wrong idea of mindfulness or dissociation, but dissociation is basically being disconnected or divorced from the present/yourself/your feelings to some extent. 

mindfulness? mindfulness are exercises that are about being in the moment. trying to get yourself to be as present and focused on the current point in time as you possibly can be. a lot of the exercises are designed to make you focus on the stuff going on around you and what’s near you right at that moment, what’s real. that is like....about as far as you can get from being designed to induce dissociation. which isn’t to say it CAN’T do that, if mindfulness is triggering for you or something, but that is...very much NOT what mindfulness is or is meant to do.

it is used to treat anxiety and depression, but in my experience, that’s largely used for anxiety of “but what if (bad thing) happens” or similar--anxieties that are based on being divorced from the present moment, but make you panic all the same. the idea is that by focusing on the things that are real and around you instead of the anxiety, you’ll ruminate less and hopefully feel better.

anyway.

I genuinely cannot tell you why people recommend DBT other than “it’s largely successful for most people with BPD”. I know it works for some people, but that doesn’t mean it’s for everyone! unfortunately, people tend to recommend the same things over and over because they work for 98% of people, which means that becomes the go-to suggestion. however, from what you’re saying about it, I again feel like you have the wrong concept of what DBT is. it’s not about believing inaccuracies.

DBT has four basic principles it tries to teach: mindfulness, distress tolerance, emotion regulation, and interpersonal effectiveness. I’ve already covered mindfulness, so let me talk about the others, I guess?

distress tolerance isn’t about telling yourself that you’re not in distress or that the situation’s not necessarily bad or shitty--it’s about trying to maintain some amount of control in a ‘crisis situation’. distress tolerance is about learning to tolerate situations without flying off the handle, emotion-wise. its skill sets largely revolve around tolerating a distressing situation until it can be dealt with WITHOUT harming yourself or others with how you handle dealing with the distress, learning how to not be totally caught up in the moment or your feelings so you can take a step back and deal with things rationally, knowing that bad situations don’t last forever but also learning to accept the things you can’t change or at least can’t change immediately (however awful they are, which is then where things like ‘tolerating the situation until it can be dealt with’ comes in), and looking at situations logically so you can make a sensible decision rather than a purely emotion-based one.

and if you’re going to be one of those people who’s going to say “bad situations never change”, then I’m sorry, but I really have no words for you. I can’t force you to believe things will change--I just know that as long as you keep an eye out for opportunities to get things to change, things...can definitely get better. but that’s the only way I can see any of these being considered ‘inaccuracies for how things work’.

emotion regulation, now, is about basically increasing your resistance to having negative feelings (self-care. it’s taking care of yourself and trying to learn to manage things that might cause negative feelings if left unchecked, like a chronic pain disorder, which left unmanaged can cause things like depression, irritability, etc.), and about understanding and acknowledging your emotions in a non-judgmental fashion, and then trying to handle them in a positive way.

like, say you’re depressed. the first step would be accepting you are depressed--putting a label to the feeling and accepting it’s real and something you have to deal with feeling right now. anything like “I’m weak or I suck or I’m a bad person for being depressed” are judgments that are unfair and untrue, and emotion regulation tells you to stay away from those as best you can, as well as statements like “I have no reason to be depressed”, which you can’t actually know. (sometimes depression is situational. sometimes it’s neurological. both of these are valid reasons to be depressed. and the neurological can cause you to feel depressed in basically ANY situation. so you probably do have a reason to be depressed. saying you don’t is a judgment and also likely untrue.)

the second step would be trying to do things that might help the depressed feeling. will these always work? no. but ‘opposite action’ and similar do, to some extent, work. watching a funny video when you feel like being dead can actually help. it’s not going to cure you, it’s not going to fix the feelings, but it can make things more tolerable, and that’s the point.

finally, interpersonal effectiveness. this one’s just about being...better at communicating with people. it’s about balancing wants versus needs in conversations with others, learning how to better maintain relationships with others (and when it might be time to STOP maintaining a relationship if it’s taking too much out of you or is unhealthy), gaining desired objectives in conversations, and maintaining self-respect in exchanges--don’t offer apologies for things that aren’t your fault, don’t do anything you know you’ll regret later, stuff like that. this one is the one I’ve found the most use of, personally, as it’s about communicating in an effective, respectful (to yourself and the other person), and non-emotionally-charged way, which are all things I’ve struggled with. and honestly continue to struggle with somewhat, but I’ve gotten better.

please keep in mind, this therapy was designed for BPD. a lot of us struggle with dealing with distressing situations to the point where “we need to talk” might cause anxiety that leads us to self-destruct, or we get depressed one day and suddenly everything is awful and we try to kill ourselves and focus only on how bad this is right now and how it’s clearly going to be bad forever. a lot of us also struggle with communicating in a way that doesn’t hurt us or others.

DBT focuses a lot, yes, on ‘being in the middle’, being moderate, but that’s because BPD is largely about being black-and-white, which is...just as inaccurate as ‘all sides have a point’ can be sometimes. but you are also not really meant to apply DBT...to politics. ‘all bad situations don’t last forever’ doesn’t really mean that if people are trying to bring conversion therapy back, you should sit on your laurels and try to ‘accept how it is’. DBT is built purely for emotion and distress handling. it’s also not designed for EXTREME situations--it’s designed to try and help people who tend to take a situation that’s not that bad and blow it up into the worst thing ever to take it down a notch from what is basically extremist thinking about how a situation is or will go. if a situation is genuinely terrible, you shouldn’t try and tolerate it. if you’re being abused, that’s not a time to apply DBT principles. but if you broke your foot? yeah, that’s a time to try and tolerate the situation and just remember it will pass in time. and that’s what DBT is designed for.

basically, like most therapies, it is not and never will be applicable across the board in everything. it’s made for dealing with BPD situations in an overall average kind of life--like, most people get stuck in traffic. lots of people break bones or spill sugar. it’s just, with BPD, these things can also end up seeming like the worst thing ever. DBT is designed to try and teach us to handle everyday situations in a more....emotionally moderated and rational fashion. but that’s it. that’s all it’s made for.

again, it really isn’t for everyone. and as someone who didn’t get a whole lot out of traditional DBT outside of the interpersonal part, I really wish that would stop being everyone’s first recommendation and seemingly the only thing people want to do. but your assessment of it is....incorrect, and suggests to me you are either expecting it to be applicable across the board (which almost nothing is) or that you are interpreting it incorrectly/have been exposed to something that wasn’t actually good DBT. which isn’t to say that it’s going to be effective for you. it might be totally useless! but you have the wrong idea.

....the only thing I can think of that could possibly seem “based in inaccuracy” besides ‘things can get better’ is the whole ‘positive self-talk’ thing. like “you’re great” when you feel like you suck, or “you got this” when you feel like everything is falling apart. and honestly, it is kind of difficult to determine the factual accuracy of ‘you’re great’, so yeah, it could be inaccurate, but negative self-talk falls into much the same thing. they’re judgments. opinions. they’re not facts. both are inaccurate. so even if it feels false, sometimes the thing therapists try to do is teach you to combat your own dubious mental judgments with the reverse of those judgments. but if that doesn’t work for you, then just try another thing from the skill you’re learning--not every one involves ‘positive self-talk’ or dealing in things that might not be accurate statements.

that’s all I can really say here.

....oh, no, wait, one more thing. if you really think “both sides have a point” is what got Trump in power, that’s not really it. what got Trump in power was reactionary thinking and talking points. he said what people wanted to hear. if you need proof, just look at the fact that there are gay people who supported Trump when his pick for vice president was a person who supports conversion therapy. Trump’s great at eliciting emotional responses from people and he kind of just ran with that, saying what would get the most intense response from whoever he was speaking to. and people didn’t look at things logically, they responded emotionally, and believed what he was saying. that, and a lot of Republicans who were leaning more radical than moderate also supported him, regardless of if they agreed with him right out the gate or not.

that’s really how Trump got into power--playing on people’s emotions and saying things that seemed in support of more radical conservative ideas. like, people who try and say “both sides have a point” about things where the ‘opinion’ in question threatens lives and/or freedom are totally not helping the situation, but most of the people I know who like to try and play “devil’s advocate” or be moderate in politics also did not support or vote for Trump, because he played the radical side.

...and also, DBT is never going to tell you that you have to listen to someone who’s telling you that a minority group you’re part of, or a minority group in general, doesn’t deserve things like freedom or rights. if a person tries to incorporate that into DBT, they’re doing it wrong, leave immediately.

now that’s all.

[medicinemane]

I wish there was a way I could get stuff I’m thinking written down while I’m doing something like walking or cleaning, because when I get somewhere I can write I usually forget most of it.

I went for a smoke for the first time in months, and not in a feel off the wagon sort of way, in an actually found the time and energy to do something I like to do sometimes kind of way. I have some cigars (and my pipe, but cigars are so much easier), and they last me forever because it’s always so long between the times I smoke, and because I don’t have anyone to talk with so it’s usually just a 6 block walk which isn’t much time to smoke.

I’ve been reading that fanfic I mentioned, and it’s better than I remembered (and I remembered it being very good), because it’s not just cute kissy ponies being sad because they don’t know how to feel about being kissy; it’s also a lot about interpersonal relationships and how we perceive each other. It goes into how we tend to start thinking of others as being a certain way, and how when they deviate from the idea of them we’ve built up that tends to be uncomfortable. I don’t know, it’s very good. I can’t really summarize a 130,000 word story in a couple sentences.

I was thinking a bit though, about how people probably don’t get the close to me because I seem happy on my own and maybe a little stand-offish, but that’s partially because no one ever gets close so I have to be used to spending time alone. One of the characters also touches on how it feels like if you aren’t always seeming happy people will get frustrated with you and leave, which honestly I’ve found to be true. Really a lot of the story hits close to home for me.

It’s not related to the story, but I always feel so boring. Maybe it’s because I’m bad at small talk. One of the people I tried making friends with on here asked me what sorts of things I’m into, and I really couldn’t think of anything to say. I think it must have bored him, because we never ended up talking again. Sometimes I’ll talk to someone for a while, but then months will have gone by without hearing from them. There was a time when I tried to be the one to initiate things, because I figured everyone else is just as nervous as I am about talking to other people, but I kind of stopped. I guess it wound up being too much like high school, where it felt like people are ok with talking, but you don’t really matter enough to put any effort into.

I really am never sure what to say about myself. I’m a bum who’s never managed to get a job, so I can’t talk about work. I doubt anyone wants to hear about Payday, or me fucking around in games like minecraft. I don’t see much of a conversation to be had about me shaving with a straight razor or that I used to tap dance. I’m afraid that I don’t really know anything, or know how to do anything, or really have much to say about anything. I think I’m just a bit thick.

I also hate talking about this sort of thing because I don’t want people to feel like I’m trying to get them to change or feel guilty. Like the next thing I’m going to say, I had to take this paragraph to say that I don’t want people really worrying that they’ve done something wrong or I’m mad or something. It’s more just to make an observation is all, nothing critical or anyone.

I’ve kind of stopped making any kind of art, again. Anytime I start up again, it always ends the same. Like back when those positive pony... banners? were a thing. I actually had an idea for one more of them (granny smith with a thing saying you’re never to old to try or something), but I ran out of steam. I’m very much someone who believes in doing things for yourself first and for most, but without input there kind of stops being a point. You don’t know if you did a good, or a bad job, or if anyone even really noticed. It’s why I try to send artists something saying not to feel guilty when they’re not up to making anything, but that people do like what they do and would like to see more. I don’t know.

I never really want advice. Critique often isn’t what I really need, because honestly I’ve thought of a lot of this stuff before. I mean really all I do apart from play games and watching things is think. You better believe I’ve thought of depression related stuff in particular before, and probably tried it too already. I more need support and validation, things I can’t really give myself. I mean it’s like, I know that one person I talked to for a while, it’s more they got busy than they don’t like me anymore; but they never said that so that’s just me working out what’s most likely to be true knowing what I know about the situation. Which is good, but it doesn’t get rid of the doubts completely.

If we were to psychoanalyze me, probably the biggest thing wrong with me is growing up neglected. Never sure if what I’m doing is good enough or if anyone wants me at all because no one ever really bothered to say. I don’t think anyone’s ever really been proud of me. I’ve never had a friend. No one’s ever had a crush on me. No one’s ever kissed me. I’ve really always just kind of existed. It’s my own fault really, like I said, I think I’m just a stand-offish kind of person.

I’m bad at holding down a conversation a lot of the time. I’m just so tired. I know everyone else is tired too, that’s why I try not to take things personally. I think in a lot of ways I’m better off alone. Not it’s the best option, but it’s better than... well for instance it’s better that I just don’t confide in my therapist and just try to get things cleaned up on my own. The best solution is having my last therapist back because she really helped, but my current therapist doesn’t really get what I’m saying a lot of the time. I think I frustrate him because I’m not making progress as fast as I should be. He told me the last time that he doesn’t think I’m any happier or less depressed than when I first started seeing him. I didn’t bother pointing out that that’s not the point, the point is to be functioning better. I don’t know, I’m probably not doing that better either. I mean I’m lying, I am, I could point to examples; but sometimes it’s better just to lie. Sometimes it’s better to play dumb and not say what’s on your mind; most of the time that’s better. Besides, no one could call the stupid little things I manage to do progress, not really.

I don’t know, I kind of hope no one reads this. Know one will know what to say. I don’t blame them, it’s hard to know what to say most of the time, especially with something like this. You just want to fix it and make things ok for the person, but you don’t know how. I might know what to say, sometimes I’ve been able to make people feel understood, but I’m not very good at it these days because I feel like I’m thinking through fog half the time. It’s just even if I did know what to say it wouldn’t help. There’s only so much you can do to bolster yourself, sometimes you need outside input.

I don’t know, I’m rambling now. I really wish I hadn’t stuck around, but I always find some dumb thing to wait around for. I long for the day when I get the nerve to do what needs to be done. At least I have the note written up. One person told me to get rid of it, but I never would. It’s actually pretty good, the better thing would be to try and get me to share it without killing myself, because along with the parts that are too stupid for me to share while I’m alive there’s some ok stuff too. I don’t know. I’m sorry to anyone who wasted their time reading this. I’m always so long winded, I wouldn’t advise reading these things in future

[ridiculousyoungicarus]

Self Para 003: Bring All That You're Scared To Defend TWs: Mental Health (and discussions involving BPD. Ches and Zander both discuss things like how chronic emptiness feels, among other things, but it’s sort of in a more clinical “trying to explain” esc way), Violence (metaphorical / mentioned in discussions), suffocation (metaphorical, in a brief inter-thought context) Word Count: 3,203 Setting: Zander’s room, after game night (and then the cafeteria in the second scene) Notes: It’s about fucking time, Alekzander. If anyone needs me to tag further, let me know and I will immediately!

Maybe it was weird for Zander to wait around near Elliot and Chris’s room for Ches to come out, but he needed to talk to her desperately. She was the only person who seemed to understand him when he was like this, the only one who knew how to help him when he couldn’t even begin to figure out how to sort his thoughts and feelings. He knew Elliot hated him, he knew that neither of them had any reason to trust him at this point, but he needed Ches.

It was almost like she was oxygen, she kept him alive, and right now if he didn’t get a breath of air soon he was going to suffocate to death.

He can’t help the way his head shoots up when he hears the door open and the click of her heels on the hallway floor. “Ches, we need to talk.” He says immediately, and there’s something almost like a deer in a headlight. For a moment, he’s not sure how she’ll react, but after the initial surprise seems to fade, concern crosses her features. As if she knew how close to going off the rails he was at the moment.

“Come on, let’s go to your room,” Ches suggests, not giving him much time to answer before she starts heading in that direction, and he follows. She wasn’t wrong, he didn’t want to do this in the hall. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do this at all, but he couldn’t stop thinking about game night. The way he’d reacted when someone even suggested there was a possibility that Ches could ever be the answer to a riddle, the way it’d immediately set the tone to him being against Gemma the rest of the night. The girl being devalued right before his eyes for simply implying that there was even the slightest possibility that someone could even consider that Ches was capable of messing with the plane. The way it’d set him off the rest of the night.

Zander had asked Elliot to ask his father about borderline personality disorder to try to help him with Ches, but the more he’d stewed over the answer, the more he was starting to question if he needed the answer about the favorite person for himself. She holds her hand out for his room key once they reach his dorm and he hands it to her without hesitation. It doesn’t matter if it’s nearly as messy as his mind is at the moment, just like the swirling hurricane of thoughts, he wanted her there as he waited for the eye of the storm to finally approach.

She carefully walks around the legos scattered across the floor, approaching his bed which she sits on the edge of, crossing her legs as he sits beside her. How was he even supposed to start this conversation? Was there a right way to approach it? “I’m glad you came to me if we need to talk.” She says after a few moments of silence. “I’m sorry I asked Elliot to move in with me in front of you.”

Wait, was that what she thought this was about?

“It’s fine.” Actually, it had bothered him. The circle reappearing afterward was actually a relief but it was irrational to be bothered. Elliot had said it best all those months ago, Ches didn’t belong to anyone. He couldn’t control whether or not she moved in with Elliot, and there were certainly worse people she could be shacking up with. “I actually wanted to talk to you about therapy.”

“Therapy?”

“I think something’s wrong with me.” It was hard to confess. “The way I react when it comes to you, my temper, how I feel all the time... this isn’t normal.” Despite the fact he was saying something was wrong, he still couldn’t bring himself to get into everything. Saying he had a problem was bad enough, the thought of going any more in-depth with Ches terrified him this time. But as always, he trusted her to make everything make sense. “How did you know you have BPD?”

It was as if the more he talked, the more concern he noticed on the girl’s expression, an uneasy feeling taking the forefront as he watched the way her face shifts, those green eyes feeling uncomfortable set on him. “It’s complicated?” She says after a few moments as if she’s not exactly quite certain how she knew. “My therapist brought it up to me, and the more I learned about it, the more I realized that he was right. The childhood PTSD diagnosis still stuck but... it was never one of those moments when I woke up and knew something was wrong. I know now, and I look back and I’m aware just how off everything was but...” She reaches out to briefly squeeze his hand, trying to give him a bit of comfort, as if it was clear to her that he needed it at the moment. “If you think there’s something wrong, and you want to see a therapist and figure out what it is, I will support you every step of the way, okay? I know it’s hard to admit that you feel like there’s a problem sometimes.”

She was trying, he knew she was but he can’t help the wave of frustration he feels when it’s apparent she doesn’t completely understand why he’s bringing it up, why he’s asking. “I think I might have it, and I wanted to know if you thought maybe... I don’t want to go to a therapist if it's going to be a waste of time and money.”

“No matter what you end up being diagnosed with, if anything, it’s not going to be a waste of time or money. I think you’d benefit from DBT.” Ches corrects him, without an ounce of hesitation. “I’m not a doctor, I can’t diagnose anyone but we can kind of run through the criteria if you’d like. See if you meet it, if it’d make you feel any better.” She was trying, he knew she was, and despite the fact he wished she’d just give him the answers, he was being irrationally irritated with her for not being able to just give him one glance and tell him yes or not. He knew it wasn’t rational.

“That’d help.” He tells her, at least it’d be better than walking out empty-handed.

“You need to meet at least five of the seven criteria. Chronic feelings of emptiness.” She pulls out her phone as if she needs to double-check the rest of them. “Emotional instability in reaction to day-to-day events. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment” She glances up at him, considering it for a moment before she continues. “Identity disturbance with unstable self-image or sense of self. Impulsive behavior in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging, but not including self-harm or suicidal impulses.” It’s then she stops as if she’s wary to say what the next item on the list was.

“Ches?”

“Inappropriate, intense anger.” Well, that was why Ches hadn’t wanted to continue. They both were more than aware he dealt with that. “A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by extremes between idealization and devaluation. Recurrent suicidal or self-harming behavior. And, last but not least, stress-related paranoid ideation or dissociative symptoms.” She puts her phone away now she’s done explaining. “Suppose we should start with chronic feelings of emptiness and work our way down. Is this something you’ve noticed?”

What did that even mean? “Is it like constantly feeling numb?”

“Sometimes. I feel like there’s a gaping hole in my chest when it comes up, hollow. There’s something missing, and-”

“It’s like you’re nothing more than a husk, just going through the motions because it’s what you have to do.” Zander finishes, and maybe he should feel guilty for interrupting. But, there’s something about the way that she looks at him that makes him continue. “There's nothing left inside, and you know it’s wrong, but you don’t know how to fill it so you try to pick a fight because a punch to the face, anger, is better than nothing at all, and you keep trying to fill it no matter what it takes until it’s gone again.”

“I think this counts as a yes.” Ches admits, “but I’m not a doctor. I only know how I feel when it comes up, I don’t know what they’ll consider...” but she was trying, which he supposed was the most he could ask for. “Emotionally instability in reaction to day to day events.” The way she says the words make him think she already has an answer in mind, but she doesn’t say anything more; instead, waiting to see what he’d say.

“Yes.”

“Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment?” The fact Ches doesn’t even hesitate or asks him to explain further only confirms what he thought. She did already have an answer in mind, and it wasn’t even the nice one.

“You don’t want to discuss the last one further?” He grumbles, but wasn’t he only proving her point by getting offended? Fuck. “I hate you, you know that, right?” There's no heat behind his words though, just affection.

“I know, I’m the worst, aren’t I? Whatever are you going to do with me?” Ches smiles for a brief moment at the familiar back and forth. “But you asked me to help, and I need you to answer these for me, okay?”

“I don’t know. I tried to scare off Elliot?” And that was a fairly big part of why he’d disliked Elliot, the fact Ches seemed to lean on him more and more despite the fact he hadn’t seemed like he was even worth the dirt on her shoes, let alone her time. At this point, he was starting to realize he’d been overly harsh on Elliot, but he’d be honest and confess he had gone pretty far in his attempts to keep Ches from leaving and to get rid of Jack to keep Balo from leaving, and he’s not even sure what Ches was saying, but he interrupts whatever the ramble is. “Fuck, yes.

The annoyance that had appeared on her features as he thought about things is replaced with sympathy as she reaches out to squeeze his hand again. “I get it.” She reassures him as if that’d make things any better. He shifts awkwardly, pulling his hand away as the guilt starts to eat at him. He really had tried to run Elliot off just because he didn’t like the idea of having to share her attention, even if she seemed way happier with Elliot than he could remember her being.

“Can we just move onto the next one?” Zander suggests, hoping to move on from Ches being understanding. How many more symptoms were left?

“How’s your self-image?” “Can we come back to this one?”

He didn’t want to discuss this, least of all with Ches. Some things were better kept to himself, and he can’t help but relax when she nods in agreement. “Sure, we can come back to it.” She agrees, “so, impulsive, self-destructive, behavior. God, maybe I should be asking Elliot if his dad could... fuck.”

Zander can’t help but roll his eyes at that. Elliot didn’t even think his dad was a good therapist, and even if he was, he doubted this would go well with anyone but Ches. Mr. Mills didn’t need Zander ripping his head off for asking hard questions, and he was growing more and more agitated already. “You’re doing fine.” He dismisses. “Just Google the definition of this one? I’m not sure what is even counted.”

Ches sighs, but she pulls out his phone and hopefully looks it up, rather than texting Elliot. Maybe he should have googled it himself so she couldn’t go against his wishes on this, but, after a couple of minutes, she sighs. “Oversharing, getting angry to the extent you do, jumping to conclusions, I could go on but...” She hands him her phone, and as he reads it, he realizes she’s right.

“I regret coming to talk to you.” He grumbles as he gives her back her phone. He wasn’t sure what answer he wanted, but it certainly wasn’t this. She was only confirming his growing concern that something was wrong, that he needed to get help, that he needed to address everything that’d happen and try to work through it. “The next one was intense anger, right? Yes. Can we get this over with?”

“Intense and unstable relationships, um, I might need to explain this. It’s-”

“No, I know about this. I had Elliot ask his dad for me, and it’s a yes.” Maybe it was harsh to shut her down, but he didn’t want to get into this with her. It didn’t matter how important Ches was to him, there was no way he could explain the cycle he’d fallen into when it came to her. How he viewed her, how he responded to those thoughts, and he sighs. “What was the criteria, Ches?”

“It doesn’t mean anything, I’m not a therapist, I can’t...” Ches starts to remind him, and that’s when he realizes that he must have met it. Fuck. “Even if you start therapy now, they probably won’t diagnose you for a while. But I think you should talk to a professional. I love you, but, if we’re discussing this... fuck.” She sighs, playing with a strand of her red hair as she rambles. “Promise me, Alekzander.”

There’s something about the way she says it that he doesn’t see how it’d be possible to say no, the concern and passion in her voice as she pleads with him to swear he’d go to therapy bother him. And even if he has the urge to flee, he nods. “I’ll go. But, I’m going to have to call my mom. I’m still on Lance’s insurance...”

“I’ll call Uncle Ben and see if we can figure something out if she says no, he likes you..” God, no, he didn’t want Ches getting involved monetarily. She helped him way too much up to this point, and she’d done more than enough.

“I’ll figure it out, come on, I’ll walk you back to Elliot’s.” Zander gets up, heading to the door before she can protest it. “I assume you were just going to grab food before you two get back to it.”

“We don’t make love that much, not that it’s any of your business.” Ches rolls her eyes. “But it’s okay, I can walk myself back. Just, please call your mother.” Did he offend her? He doesn’t have much time to process it before she’s out of his door and he’s standing next to it with his jaw dropped. Okay, that wasn’t a safe subject, and he lets out an annoyed huff as he shuts the door behind her. Why did he have to call his mother? It wasn’t like she’d care anyway.

Still, he pulls out his phone and calls Cassandra. The sooner he got this over with, the better.  

—

It felt uncommon that Ches was alone in the cafeteria, no Balo, no Elliot, no Sora and Minnie. But, Zander immediately takes the opportunity when he notices her. “I called my mom, and I got a list of covered therapists from the insurance company. I have no fucking clue where to go from here.”

Ches blinks, tilting her head slightly as she examines him. “You call and see if they’re accepting new patients, I’m pretty sure. My dad kind of handled that for me.” Well, it was a better plan than he had at least. Surely someone he’d call would have an idea from there. “You should probably try to aim for a female therapist if possible, though.”

“Does gender matter?” Zander was pretty sure Ches had a male therapist and he was positive it hadn’t mattered either way for Balo. Wasn’t it supposed to be based on skill or something? God, maybe he should have asked Elliot how to find a therapist in hindsight. Ches wasn’t exactly the most qualified choice...

“Not usually, but I don’t think a man would be the best choice considering how you react to them. The only men I have seen you not get into a pissing contest with are Collen and Leo, and... I still don’t know how you and Leo have managed to never get into it. You both have a tendency of punching people when you’re self-destructive.” Okay, now that Ches was explaining, he could understand her point about maybe in this case the gender of the therapist could matter. “I think if you try to start this with a man, you’re going to get even more defensive and aggressive than you would with a woman. I mean, you don’t try to fight me usually, but I’m pretty sure you’d go after Elliot, and he’s objectively a way calmer person.”

“Yeah, well he starts it.” “You and I both know that’s not true.” “Fine, but he doesn’t finish it either.”

Ches just shakes her head at his insistence, at him pretty much proving her point much to his own chagrin. Still, he sighs. “Okay, female therapist if possible.” He agrees, “are you sure you should be an English major? I’m just saying psychology suits you. Could be the superior Dr. Mills.”

“Did you just call me a future Dr. Mills?” Well, he just fucked up now, didn’t he? Ches was never going to let him live this down, and with how much he protested Ches and Elliot whenever they tried to discuss a possibility of forever, he was pretty sure Elliot would take some sort of satisfaction when he undoubtedly heard about the slip from his girlfriend. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who’d feel that way, but I’m glad I was able to help, especially if you’re going to go talk to someone who can-” She cuts off in the middle of a sentence, her green eyes lighting up as a grin crosses her features.

Zander doesn’t even have to glance over his shoulder to know Elliot entered the room. Ches’s sudden excitement might as well have been a neon sign flashing over the man’s head like ‘I exist.’ And he starts to get up, “you really should consider switching majors, Elswood. Just saying.”

“Never going to happen, Zander. I’m happy where I’m at.”

Well, at least he’d suggested it. Despite the urge to double down on his opinion, citing the thought that Elliot would probably agree with him, he decides to leave it for now. She was going to do what she wanted, and he had to find himself a therapist. “I’ll talk to you later, I’ve got some phone calls to make.” He relents.

Actually, maybe he’d text Elliot about it at some point, just to see if he was right.

[yelloskello]

my SO linked me something from reddit that he saw, about, oh *checks watch* 5 minutes ago, which was a thread where a couples therapist had talked about the appropriate response to infidelity in a relationship, and how ending your relationship before you commit infidelity isn’t necessarily the best response - in the eyes of your partner, things are essentially going from hunky dory to completely over. They’re being tossed aside without even being informed about what’s going on, or having a chance to talk about it, which, surprise surprise, makes them feel like they don’t have any value in the first place, if they can just be dumped so easily.

And that the actual answer is to instead, y’know, communicate with your partner should you be having any sorts of thoughts like that, so you can work through it together and figure out what the best answer is.

I’ve never had any thoughts or feelings of cheating, but have worried about things that may potentially cross boundaries in our relationship in the past - and honestly, just communicating those feelings or worries with my SO has turned out perfectly fine every single time, even if it’s stuff i’ve been terrified i’d get dumped over. I’ve had issues with my SO where they were accidentally engaging in something I wasn’t okay with, and the worst that happened there is we talked about it, I said I wasn’t okay with it and set my boundaries about what would be okay, and so it stopped. 

And this all leads to another personal revelation I had recently, which is so fucking basic but absolutely astounding to realize now after a lifetime of... Not:

When people care about you, their first priority is gonna be working to keep you around, not dumping you on the spot. More than that, dumping you on the spot is not, in fact, how humans generally work.

I’m a person with anxiety. Sometimes I worry about, if i’m at a job, if i’m fucking it up and if getting fired is in my near and inevitable future. One of my most soothing reassurances that i’ve gotten concerning that is when people have told me, nah, you really have to fuck up to get fired from a job*, because it literally costs them more time and money to fire you than it does to keep you aboard.

I only just realized that general human interpersonal relationships work that way, too. (but without the sleazy capitalist edge to it.)

If a person cares about you, kicking you out of their life will cause them pain, too, and they don’t want that pain to exist. Kicking you out of their life is a last resort, when nothing else can possibly fix it. If i’m having worrying thoughts about something, I can feel safe expressing it to my SO, because I can trust in the fact that he doesn’t want to dump me. If I have a problem with my friends, I can express that problem to said friend, because they don’t want to stop being my friend.

Unless they do. But that’s a personal problem of their’s, and most likely not related to whatever the immediate problem is.

Generally, people care. Generally, people want to work to make things better, rather than just cutting the problem person out and moving on. Cutting the problem person out is like wanting your arm cut off cause it has a cancerous mole on it, when you can instead just remove the mole and keep the arm. Generally, the belief that rocking the boat will cause everyone to leave you, is born from low self-esteem warping your reality of how people actually interact with each other, and what’s normal in society.

(And if you think that’s how it works, it’s worth evaluating how you view your interpersonal relationships, too, and if you act that way with people.)

Obviously there’s exceptions. Sometimes people WILL just cut you out completely and callously. Sometimes people have been taught that’s the right thing to do in spite of the pain. Sometimes people are warped about it themselves, so cutting people out is just part of how it goes because that’s how they’ve learned it works. Sometimes people are just assholes. And, obviously, sometimes the issue is such a big thing that it’s fucked up the arm beyond repair and that arm just gotta go. But believing that’s how people inherently work just ain’t true.

(*obviously this has exceptions too, depending on where you work, if layoffs happen, etc. but even at some of the worst jobs, they’ll sooner try to convince you to quit by putting you in a shitty situation than just outright firing you, because firing you potentially costs them more money.

...but you get the gist.)

[sumergosuigeneris]

Jan. 6, 2017

Rough day yesterday. 

Some shit went down at work. Thank god I’ve worked hard and well and demonstrated who I am for the last x many years. But it boggles my mind that someone would try to ruin me. I could have been fired. Not to mention she was  lashing out about things that are way above my pay grade (and life span) and alienating allies to do it. It was a very good lesson.

But I talked to a contact who knows both of us. She calmed me down immensely. Said that person is very unprofessional and lots of people won’t  work with her. Then I spoke  with someone who was at the event in question. That calmed me down further. Then I  went to Hidden Figures and that resolved me. I won’t interact with her or her organization, but I won’t stop being a strong ally for the cause. I also may not go into anything even tangentially related to politics. My friend from the event told me I need to get thick skin. I’ve been told that almost my whole life and it still hasn’t happened. Or at least, it’s not thick enough.

God damn that really fucked me up though. I was shocked and embarrassed. Did I mention shocked? I was absolutely shocked.

Anyway, it’s not my New Year’s resolution, but something I’ve resolved to continue to work on from 2016. I’m not chasing people. I had someone try to explain to me that there are some people who are just used to people chasing them, or at least doing all the work for them. I’ve also been worried about potential situations  where there are two people, each waiting for the other to make the first move, because they each think the other doesn’t want them around, so neither does and relationships die. But I finally started putting 2 and 2 together. I’m not doing all the work in my relationships. Period. For example, I have a ‘friend’.  when  we do stuff together, it’s at my initiation. I finally started dropping hints and she’s always SHOCKED that we haven’t hung out in so long, or that she hasn’t asked me to do anything  when we do.  well, I’m done. You  want to see me, you’ll ask. You don’t ask, you don’t want to see me. And I no longer care, because I’ve been wasting my time.

I have another person. Home on a break. I wondered about hanging out. If I should ask. But I remembered that person never asked me to do anything for over a year before leaving. So, not missing me.  well, I’m no longer chasing after people  who don’t care enough about me to make an effort. Any effort at all.

But  what really puzzles me is my reaction to a real friend. I think I’ve mentioned before this person works in a mental health-related area. So it bothers me how they respond  when I say I can’t do something  when I’m struggling  with my mental health. Basically ignores it. I suppose next time  we’re together I should actually say something about it. Rather than lose a friend  who’s a good person. 

Sorry I always put my interpersonal relationship issues on here. I’m sure I come across as having no friends, or being a terrible friend/person/whatever. Really I use this as a free therapist, to hash out issues, since I can’t go through the process of finding a new therapist again. But also, I think I’ve mentioned, I was extremely socially awkward as a kid (very sensitive, always hanging  with adults, etc...) and  while I’ve grown immensely, I still have much to learn. I just try not to do all my hashing  with real people, unless they’re getting paid for the aggravation.

I did one thing I  was proud of. I probably should be doubly proud. I reached out to someone I care about. In 2016. It always bothered me the relationship didn’t  work out. Primarily because I felt it  was due to miscommunication and misunderstandings. I also thought we’d be great friends, but at this point, I realize that’s kind of secondary or even irrelevant. I finally decided I  would make one more effort before 2016  was out. And if it didn’t  work, I’d at least air my side of why we failed at friendship, what I felt  was my part in the misunderstandings, and well-wishing for the future. I did part one, but when I got no response, I was gonna wait (b/c that  was an issue in the past depending on  which of us you asked) before part 2.  well, I  was having such a good end of my year,  which honestly hasn’t happened for at least 7 years, but probably longer, that I didn’t want to send the second part, and so I didn’t. I felt like I’d put in enough effort, that the effort itself ought to have communicated something, and that the other person just didn’t want to try. I also stopped reading into it. Maybe this person doesn’t like me, maybe isn’t mature, maybe is socially awkward or scared, maybe we’re in 2 different places in our life. whatever. The point is I offered an olive branch and it wasn’t accepted. It’s not my fault. I don’t have to regret my failures at relationships any longer. I can only control me and I finally feel like I tried my best, did enough. I’ll always regret our non-relationship, but I no longer regret my actions. I’m human, I’m not perfect, but I made a real effort. I’m proud of me. 

I’m telling you, if I continue at this rate, by the time I’m in my 70′s I’ll be an amazing human being. In the meantime, I’m learning to love myself and that’s enough.