#how does this not qualify as anxiety and/or paranoia??? is this something else???

[lecliss]

How come when I do research on anxiety and paranoia everything just talks about being afraid of how strangers and society in general perceive you and judge you behind your back? Like yeah thats a major part of it, but wheres all the information about being terrified of dying every single second you're in a car or that the ceiling will suddenly for no reason at all just collapse on you killing you instantly or that The Killer is standing in the hall while you're on your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night???

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Pulse Point

A/N: Requested by anonymous. Warning for canon-typical violence; minor character death, nightmares, and post-traumatic stress. Also: borrowed Dr. Sweets from the show Bones.

Summary: A near-death experience leaves you with recurrent nightmares. Neal offers some comfort.

Word Count: 5,154

The steady beeping of hospital equipment was driving you insane. It had been hours now of nothing except the monotonous noise of your own heartbeat. If it didn’t shut up soon, you would claw your ears off. With a stiff body and an ache that penetrated down to your bones, you forced your body upright and pinched open the pulse monitor on your right hand.

You let out a relieved sigh as the equipment went silent and dropped yourself back onto the well-padded pillows behind you. The pulse monitor clattered to the floor on its long white cord and you settled down for a nap. The ache in your bones made you feel heavy, like lead. There was nothing quite like a well-deserved nap.

In mere seconds after you had closed your eyes, the equipment started acting up again, this time blaring one long, constant shriek. The surprise made your heart skip a beat, but your eyelids were too heavy to look and see what had happened. Then your heart kept skipping, and your throat tightened. You couldn’t breathe. Your chest burned. It wasn’t a heartbeat; it was a flatline.

You were dying.

The leaden feeling in your body doubled. Your muscles didn’t respond to trying to move and you couldn’t force your lungs to take in a breath. Footsteps pounded around you, incoherent shouts going in one ear and out the other. You were desperate for your paralyzed eyes to open. Was this what you’d have for the rest of your life? Nothing but darkness and unintelligible, mind-numbing noise, punctuated by electrical humming and the pain of a vice clamping itself again to your finger?

The flatline paused for a second. Your ears rang and you thought, for a moment, that you were safe, your heart was beating again. Instead, your stomach twisted and you realized you were losing feeling in your toes. No blood. No life. When the screech of your flatline came back again, it was louder, more piercing. The shrillness reminded you of screaming.

As soon as you remembered it, it was there – the same screaming as before, somewhere in your room, echoing from every corner. In the next pause of the flatline, it turned into a hoarse shriek and a plea. “No! Please!”

You couldn’t hear anything underneath it, no more overlapping voices, and your panic increased. Where were the doctors? Did they think you were gone? Help me!

Your eyes opened with a sudden snap, the droning of your alarm clock replacing the flatlining of the monitor.

As you stared at your ceiling, you panted for breath. Rationally, you knew, you had probably never stopped breathing, but in the panic of your nightmare, it felt like you’d been smothered. Terror powered your desperate gasps and convinced you that your feet and hands were numb, even as you could feel that one foot was poking out from the end of your blanket. After a long moment, you dared to move your arm, ready to scream if you weren’t dreaming after all and still couldn’t move. You turned your alarm off easily.

Soft rain pattered against the glass windows, creating shiny-looking streaks as droplets collected and streamed down the side of the building. It was much more soothing than the silence that usually reigned in Dr. Sweets’ office when he was waiting for you to talk. Maybe he should invest in one of those noise machines with rain as an option. You thought about making the suggestion, but knowing him, he would probably call you out on the procrastination, or deflection, or whatever else he wanted to call it.

You broke the silence. “I’m certain I can wait you out for the next…” You checked the clock. “Twenty-seven minutes.”

Dr. Sweets raised his eyebrows, still leaning his head on a closed fist, propped on the arm of his chair. “I’m equally certain I can recommend you remain on desk duty for the next…” He pretended to check his watch. “Twenty-seven weeks.”

You scowled.

Psychological clearance was a bureau mandate after something traumatic occurred during the course of the job. You’d been lucky enough not to need it up to this point, but after… that, you hadn’t been given a choice. Dr. Sweets was a highly qualified psychotherapist, and you were sure that he did amazing things to help a lot of people, but so far you felt neither amazed nor helped.

“Agent L/N, you went through something incredibly harrowing that you were very close to not walking away from.” The psychologist finally took his head off his fist and put his arm down in his lap. At least he’d taken the bait and you weren’t the one starting the discussion. “You were a half-inch or couple minutes from bleeding out.” He pinched his fingers to demonstrate as if you didn’t have a scar on your body that distance from your femoral artery. You’d never be able to forget what half an inch looked like.

“But I did walk away, and the person who did that to me is in prison for the rest of his life.” You crossed your legs, trying to look more comfortable than you felt. You weren’t sure how effective you were going to be at convincing a therapist that you didn’t need therapy, but it was worth the try.

He looked utterly unconvinced. Actually, the jerk looked like he knew exactly what you were trying for and thought it was cute that you thought you could trick him. “Justice, or even retribution, which it feels like you’re leaning towards, doesn’t erase a wrongdoing or its associated harm.”

“I didn’t erase it, I healed from it. I took medical leave, now I’m back.”

“Physically, you healed. It takes a lot longer to heal mentally from those kinds of wounds.”

“Does it?” You challenged.

“I think your nightmares speak for themselves,” Dr. Sweets said pointedly.

You glared at him, at a loss for a quick comeback. You knew you didn’t look like a million bucks, but you hadn’t thought it was that obvious you were losing sleep. If he knew, then the coworkers who spent a lot of time with you must know, too. Especially Neal – nothing got past him. Oh, that was embarrassing.

The nightmares had been recurring for weeks now. They had started once you had a return date to the office, but after actually resuming your work, they had increased in frequency and intensity. They weren’t identical, but they did all share some similarities: some fatal injury had you dying, alone, in the dark, like you almost had in real life. You never got to the point of actually dying in your dreams, you didn’t think, but you were just fine with that. They were bad enough as they were. Yes, they were a sign of trauma and anxiety. But if your mind didn’t heal itself from weeks safe at home, then you knew returning to normal as fast as possible was probably your best bet at getting over what had happened.

“I’m not your enemy here,” the therapist said to you more gently. You couldn’t say he was heartless, even if you didn’t enjoy the half-hour sessions where he tried to talk about your feelings whether you wanted to or not. “My goal is the same as yours. I want you back at work, safely, able to sleep through a night so you don’t jeopardize yourself or the people around you.”

You let out a deep sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me about the affect this has had on you.” Dr. Sweets encouraged, not for the first time. “You’ve accepted what happened. I can see that. But the next step is processing what it means for you, as an agent, as a person… maybe both.”

You felt helpless. What was that supposed to mean? You couldn’t very well tell him you were terrified your job was going to actually get you killed or cost more lives on your watch. When your employer paid your therapist’s bills, you couldn’t fully trust doctor-patient confidentiality. Maybe it was just paranoia, but you couldn’t bring yourself to risk it.

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted. Your tone sounded mournful. In a way, you were mourning for a time when you could sleep through the night and enjoy your days at work. It wasn’t like white-collar crime was your passion, but you did like puzzles, and you did like being around the people you worked with, especially a certain blue-eyed felon. “I keep having nightmares that I’m… injured, and I’m alone.”

“Your wire was jammed and your team didn’t hear you signal for backup.” Dr. Sweets talked slowly, patient and pragmatic as he validated your nightly anxieties. “You expected help, but they didn’t know to come.”

“They did come,” you said with a shrug. “It just… almost wasn’t in time. I know it wasn’t their fault.”

Your words about time felt glued into your ears. Yours had come really close to running out. And for what? Insurance fraud? No amount of money justified murder, and you likewise couldn’t put a price tag on a life. So why were you so eager to leap back into the same job that almost cost you yours?

It was something you had been mulling over since it happened. Your job was dangerous. You had always known that. You’d been shot at, been near explosives… your partner had been abducted by a murderer not that long ago, and your best friend had had guns in his face so often that, honestly, you’d lost count a while ago. Somehow it just hadn’t clicked, you supposed, that you could legitimately die. You were protected by the bureau and your body armor, until that wasn’t enough. Other agents had learned that lesson in a much harder way; being confronted with that was hard to simply get over.

Apparently, your use of the word “fault” led Dr. Sweets to talk to you about guilt and anger around the incident. You didn’t blame your partner or feel angry, except at the man who shot you, but you let him continue around your noncommittal, half-assed answers. You knew he at least suspected you were putting him on again, but you also knew you hadn’t given him much to work with. Then again, he didn’t call you on your bullshit replies, either, so you weren’t quite sure what he thought.

While Dr. Sweets had yet to approve you for field duty, there was still plenty to do at your desk. You pretended not to notice the itch in your legs to go somewhere while you kept yourself busy, preparing documents, performing research, helping delegate and manage case files, and topping off your team’s coffee whenever they got low. You had become even more of a desk jockey than Neal; at least he got to go out with Peter when given the green light. You missed outings with your partner, or really with any other agent.

Comparing yourself to a caged tiger was likely on the dramatic side, so you put it out of your mind and refused to feel sorry for yourself. You understood the protocols and the routines and they were for your benefit as much as the bureau’s. Besides, your team wasn’t treating you like you were fragile or demoted. They leaned on you to help just as much as they ever did, the assignment of duties just went a little differently.

You doodled a cat on your notepad during a meeting. Everyone had great ideas and you tossed in some ways you could contribute when you’d been quiet for a while. Peter’s proposed field op was going to go smoothly. Odds were high that any hiccups could be taken care of by Diana’s swift running of interference. Neal was raring to go and Jones was a little too excited to play the part of an intimidating brute, in your opinion, and Peter was appropriately apprehensive (someone ought to be, after what had happened to you).

“Let’s sleep on it,” Peter decided after looking out the window and seeing how low the sun had sunk. “If we’re all still in agreement in the morning, we’ll set the ball in motion.”

Jones graciously commented, “Good idea. We can all think on it.” He was probably the most cautious of all of you.

“Y/N?” Neal asked. You immediately looked up from your (admittedly lopsided) cat drawing. The forger was still in his chair, even while the others were pulling on their coats and blazers. “You’ve been quiet. Do you have any concerns?”

You shook your head, but not too quickly that it raised suspicion. You could get away with doodling – Peter often turned a blind eye to it; after several years, he’d developed a soft spot for you – but only if you were still paying attention and participating, so you didn’t want to give him a reason to suspect you weren’t.

Peter, Diana, and Jones all said their goodbyes. The two younger agents left the room, but Peter lingered at the doorway.

“Neal, do you want a ride?” He offered.

Neal looked from you to Peter, and then shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll find my way. You don’t want to be late for roast,” he added when Peter looked unconvinced. After glancing at you, your partner decided that he really didn’t want to be late for roast and left without another look over his shoulder.

Now that you were alone, Neal softened his expression. “Seriously, Y/N, what’s going on?”

“I told you, I’m not worried. We’ve thought of just about everything we can predict.” You said with a straight face, pretending not to know that Neal wasn’t just talking about this specific case anymore.

He wasn’t having it. “Don’t lie to a conman, Y/N,” he chided you with a small, fond smile. “Come on. It’s not just today, you’ve been quiet ever since you came back. It’s not like you.” You raised an eyebrow and pursed your lips, uninterested in talking. Neal reached partway across the table for you but stopped there. It was an invitation but not a command. “I’m worried about you.”

The thing about your history with Neal was that it was a close one. You went from strangers when Peter got him out of Sing Sing to best friends within the span of two years. You trusted him more than you trusted just about anyone, and there hadn’t been a time when one of you needed the other and was turned away. He didn’t come to you when he was upset – seeking out reassurance and comfort was not Neal’s strength, because it involved professing vulnerability – but he never turned you away when you came to offer it, either. Now it seemed to be his turn to do the offering, as he had realized over the last few weeks that you weren’t going to ask.

You reached for his hand and silently sighed in relief at how solid and warm it was to the touch, so unlike the few dreams where you screamed and cried for someone to help and found yourself grasping at tricks that weren’t there. Neal turned his hand to hold yours and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s been so hard, Neal,” you told him reluctantly. “I have no idea how you do it. How you just walk away from all the close calls.”

Neal frowned a little. “I don’t just walk away,” he objected. “I have bad nights. I have bad days. Sometimes I have a whole bad week, or a few bad months.” You knew the latter was a reference to losing Kate, and you sympathetically gripped his hand tighter. “But, you know… there’s always something I can find to focus on instead, and after a while, the things go in the past. I let go.”

That advice was entirely unhelpful. “I’ve been trying to let go,” you said sourly. It wasn’t directed at him, exactly, but moreso at your brain, which was failing in its task of moving past what happened. “It’s not working. I can’t sleep. Sometimes I don’t think I can breathe.”

“It’s not easy,” Neal agreed, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. It was an intimately affectionate gesture that comforted and eased the nerves beginning to bubble in your stomach. “Company helps. The reminder that I have backup, even when it doesn’t come right away. I’ve got Peter, Moz. You.” He met your eyes with a small smile and raised your hand to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles.

“Company?” You echoed uncertainly. If you were unconscious, how was company going to make a difference to what you dreamed about? Then you remembered what you had said to Dr. Sweets about your nightmares always ending with being alone. If you knew, on some level, that you weren’t alone, maybe you would feel safer. “Like, overnight?”

His expression didn’t change to give away whether you were right or wrong. Instead, he just asked, evenly, “Is that what you need?” The way he looked at you then, without judgment in his eyes, but with determination in the set of his jaw, you just knew that whatever you said you needed, Neal would move a mountain to give it to you.

“I’m not sure, but… maybe?” You hesitantly guessed. If it worked, it would be worth the awkwardness. Even just one night of solid sleep would do wonders for how you felt, and it wasn’t like it would be the first time you had stayed with Neal overnight. Long marathons on slow weekends, and the less pleasant nights after Kate’s death, meant he kept an extra toothbrush and a set of your pajamas in his penthouse.

“Okay,” he said right away with nothing but quiet matter-of-factness. It was so comforting to be proven right that you could rely on him to help you with what you needed. His tone just said, you need this, so we’re doing it, full-stop. You just hoped you were right, both so you could finally go eight hours without fearing for your life and so you weren’t inconveniencing him for no reason. “Let’s get dinner on the way. We don’t have to talk about it,” he quickly said, seeing your face. “Whatever you need.”

Everyone should have a friend like Neal, but everyone should find their own, because this one was all yours. If it weren’t for the table in the way, you would’ve launched yourself at him in a tight hug. As it was, you settled for a squeeze of his hand and a grin as wide as you could muster. “Dinner sounds great.”

The stickiness of your pants along your thigh made your hands shake, unable to bring yourself to look at your palms. You knew what you would see all over them. The fire lancing up your thigh told you what you already knew. So did the weakness in your body and the fog in your mind. It was done. The hourglass on the desk was trickling through the last of its sand. Moretti was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t even die in the presence of a murderer.

There was screaming coming from another room. It was the desperate wail of another agent begging for their life. “No! Please!”

“No,” you mumbled, using all of your energy to turn your head to the doorway. He couldn’t… not now that you were down… you couldn’t even raise your voice to cry for help. You were completely helpless. You couldn’t save him.

Your chest burned with the effort of your heart, ironically helping you to bleed out faster. Your breaths came labored, and then they couldn’t come at all as your vision faded. The dark carpet blurred from a mass of pilled fibers into a solid navy sea. The pain in your leg was excruciating, it was all you could feel; the idea of feeling peace ever again slipping away.

Screaming. Banging. Footsteps. More screaming. Pounding. Shouting. It was all indistinguishable, a mess of men’s voices and loud gunshots. Then, you heard it. Just your name, barely audible above the rest, in a voice that made you strain to see past the blackness.

“Y/N!”

You’d give the rest of your precious seconds away just to see him one last time, just to know he was beside you and you weren’t alone.

“Y/N!”

Footsteps came closer and the pressure on your chest intensified. The blood loss made you dizzy and your body shook.

“Y/N!”

You jolted awake, eyes snapping open in time to see Neal leaning out of the way just in time to avoid your hand flying at his face. You processed slowly that his hands were on your shoulders – had he shaken you? – and it was still dark. You could barely see his face, but his figure was lit from behind by the lamp next to his bed. You could tell from his messy hair that he had been sleeping not long ago, and you felt awful for waking him up.

After cursing, you sat up and gripped the warm blanket on your lap tightly. “I’m sorry,” you said remorsefully, feeling like a fool. Not only hadn’t you been able to sleep through the night, but now you’d ruined his rest, too. You cussed again. “I really hoped being close… just not being at my apartment, alone…”

It had felt like a safe bet off to a good start. You had gotten dinner together near Gramercy Park, then watched a lighthearted movie before turning in for bed. Neal offered to let you take his mattress, but you didn’t want to put him out and you had slept over enough that he didn’t feel like a bad host for letting you insist on the sofa. You’d been out by ten, but now you could guess it had been less than four hours. Your heart was still racing, your leg still tense with an imagined pain.

“It’s okay,” Neal said, sounding unsettled. He kept his hands on your shoulders like he was keeping you grounded on the earth. “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

Neal’s eyes must have already adjusted to the low light, because his aim was spot-on when he lifted a hand from your shoulder to cup your neck instead. His profile ducked and you felt his lips land on your forehead, checking your temperature, signalling forgiveness, and administering reassurance all at once. He rubbed his thumb across your jaw as he stood up straight, releasing you, and walked away around the couch.

You put your legs down in front of you and rubbed your face, exhausted mentally and physically. Helplessness made you want to cry. Time wasn’t healing. Sleeping pills just made it harder to wake up, letting the nightmares ravage your psyche for longer. Not even the proximity of someone you trusted and adored was enough to let go of the past.

The light in the kitchen came on, bright enough to illuminate the studio but far enough away not to be blinding. Neal came back to the couch holding a bottle of water and offered it to you before sitting down. He looked so adorable, still sleepy and with a bit of pink in the side of his face from sleeping with his arm under his pillow. You scolded yourself for even thinking about how cute he was when you were the one who had woken him up.

You sipped at the water. It was so nice and smooth on your throat. You felt fine, now that you were awake, but the vividness of your nightmares always left you feeling parched and you always expected swallowing to hurt as if you had strep. Neal leaned into the back of the couch and put his arm up along the cushions. You capped the water, bent your knees to pull your feet back up onto the furniture, and let yourself lean into his side. Neal dropped his arm softly on your shoulders, holding you in a tender sideways hug.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized again after a couple of minutes. You felt much better, much faster than you usually did, thanks to him, and if you were being fully honest, you were not ready for him to get up and go back to bed, but it wasn’t fair to ask him to stay up cuddling you at god-knows-what-time just because you were a wreck.

“I told you, it’s okay,” Neal said, his voice firm. If you apologized again, you figured he would start scolding you for it, so you let it go.

“I just – I should’ve expected this,” you said with frustration, feeling like you were confessing to knowingly bothering him. “I haven’t been able to sleep well in ages. I keep having these nightmares, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Neal was quiet for a few seconds, making sure you had said all you were inclined to. Then, knowingly, he asked, “This is about the Moretti case, isn’t it?”

“I can’t let it go,” you said with a whimper. “It won’t leave me alone. Every night, it’s a little bit different, but at its core it’s always the same.”

Neal’s voice cutting through the fog of your nightmare had been a saving grace, giving you peace even in your unconscious, but now that you were awake, you realized with clarity that his voice saying your name wasn’t the only voice you could make out. In fact, you always heard the same thing, every night, no matter what else changed.

“What’s the same, Y/N?” Neal asked you, trying to help. He stroked your upper arm with his open hand. You were already shaking your head. Neal could comfort you all he liked, but he couldn’t bring back the dead. In grief and shame, you turned your head and bent your neck to bury your face in his shoulder. Neal tilted his head so his cheek was resting gently on your hair. “Tell me, darling,” he coaxed in a whisper.

You felt like someone’s hands were wrapped around your throat, strangling your reply. “Agent Flynn,” you answered dryly, barely more than mouthing his name. “In every nightmare, I hear… I hear his last words. Begging Moretti not to take the shot.”

Neal was quiet for a long time, but never pushed you away. He held you closer when you started to shake, crying against him as quietly as you could manage. The artist rubbed your arm and periodically kissed your head, but he knew that there was nothing he could say to erase the horror of what you had heard or take away the guilt that you had survived because Moretti was distracted by taking out the other agent.

Moretti was part of a family gang, often in conflict with the Barellis, who, interestingly, paid a little deference to the white-collar division ever since you and Peter had recovered a stolen Book of Hours. The Morettis had no such connection or gratitude, so their response to the FBI sticking their nose into an embezzling scam was violent and bloody. Moretti shot you in the leg and intended to finish you off, but one of his own men had reported you came with someone. He left you to bleed out, and only a few rooms over, you had heard Flynn’s pleas – and the subsequent gunshot. Your team, wising up to the dead signal, arrived for a takedown before Moretti could make his way back to you, but it was too late for your teammate.

Neal shifted after what felt like forever, only to pull you closer to his chest and wrap both arms around you. You trembled in his embrace, but that just made him hold you closer, like you were delicate and breakable. When he next talked, his low voice was quivering, just like your body.

“I thought we lost you,” he said, cupping the back of your head in a gentle hand. He massaged his fingers into your scalp, even as he kept you cuddled in his lap. “I thought I lost you, Y/N. Two gunshots. I thought…” He struggled to find his words and you hiccuped, trying to stop crying. “I was the one who found you, and I was so scared I was too late.”

You sniffled and uncrossed your arms to melt against his chest and hug him tightly around his waist instead. “I didn’t know you…”

“We found him first, but you weren’t there and I needed to find you.” Neal now sounded equal parts frightened and furious. “If he had taken you away, I would’ve…” He shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours, as desperate to be close to you as you felt to be close to him. “I would’ve shattered. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I just can’t lose you, too.”

“I’m so glad I didn’t die,” you blurted, almost in a sob. You felt so safe with him, but now you knew for a fact that your own safety wasn’t what had been tormenting you. It was a nearly debilitating case of survivor’s guilt. “I just wish I hadn’t been the only one who survived.”

“No one wants that,” Neal promised you, untangling his hand from your hair and stroking it down instead. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix this and take it away, but all I can do is be here and hold you and tell you it’s going to be alright. It wasn’t your fault.”

You sniffed. Neal’s words were more of a comfort than you had thought they would be. They changed nothing about the situation, but… you weren’t alone. You hadn’t been alone since you met him. You just agonized that Flynn had been. “Neal, I can’t lose you, either. I love you, you’re… you’re who I’m going to heal for.” You had to find a way.

Neal seized your lips with his in a searing kiss. It wasn’t as sexy or patient as you may have imagined, but you gripped his shirt and gave as good as you got, and wow, the man gave verygood. It was a desperate kiss, needing to bring you together and reaffirm your life. To you, it was the seal of a promise that you wouldn’t let the past crush your spirit. When you could sleep through the night and had a handle on your post-traumatic stress… if he would just be patient, you would be his the way you wanted him to be yours.

He released you to breathe, eyes opening wide as if he only just realized what he had done. Before he could pull away, you pressed your forehead to his again, urging him to stay close. Your breaths mingled between you and you were sure you could feel his heart beating through his chest.

“I love you, too,” he said once he had caught his breath.

[phantasmagoriaoriginals]

A trait they're not ashamed of, but maybe should be for the organization Creatures? Or just some of them if they're too many at once

That’s fifteen whole characters, soooo yeah, just some for now. XD Feel free to ask for the rest though!!

. . . 

Fireweed/Misha

Her bitterness. Fireweed is hateful of the world that hurt her, and she sees nothing wrong with this. She’s been fucked over by her life from the very earliest years of it, and because of that, she’s come to see everything around her in a negative light. She can’t trust anyone or anything, and she expects only the worst. And Fireweed thinks she’s justified in this. In her mind, there’s no reason why she’s not right about how awful she thinks the world is. But the reality is that she’s making herself look cynical and overly pessimistic, and nowhere near as “realistic” as she thinks. 

Rothberg

That’s a tough question. Rothberg tends to be ashamed of everything he does, so there’s not much about him that qualifies. He’s a ball of anxiety and paranoia, but he knows that’s bad. He’s difficult to be around, but he understands how much of a burden that is for others. He knows his powers are dangerous and disturbing, but he already hates himself for that. Rothberg doesn’t have a negative trait that he doesn’t feel shame for even as it is, so there’s not much of an answer here. His very existence is something he wishes he could change. 

Skorpion

Skorpion’s defining trait is her violence. She’s not ashamed of being viciously impulsive, brutally aggressive, and giving in to whatever cruel fancy enters her head... and she really should be. Skorpion comes off as a bloodthirsty moron who only thinks of who and what she can kill and eat. No one likes her, no one wants her around, and she’s not doing herself or anyone else any good by being the way she is. But Skorpion is so flippantly uncaring of how others see her that the thought of feeling shame for her actions has never even entered her head. 

Magnolia

In a way, Magnolia has issues with pride. She’s not exactly aware of it, but she has a tendency to see herself as better than those around her. Because of the type of vampire she is, she’s spent a lot of time viewing herself as more intelligent and civilized than many of her overall species, and the attitude kind of stuck. She has a bad habit of looking down on others and acting somewhat haughty, and most of the time, she’s either unaware of it entirely or finds it justified. And when she’s in a situation where she’s not superior, her temper runs short. 

Suu

His stupidity. To put it simply, Suu has never had to think very much. In the life he lived before the organization, he had no reason to consider anything beyond his river and his next meal. And because of that, he never bothered to. Suu is truly, genuinely stupid, and he doesn’t care a bit that he is. This trait can cause him quite a bit of trouble, as not thinking rarely does one much good in the world. He’s heavily reliant on Omen’ to help him get through life and handle the complicated things, and likely, Suu would be almost entirely helpless on his own. 

Omen’-On-Nu

The trait that Omen’ should probably be ashamed of is his carefree nature. It’s not to an extreme extent, but he does tend to be a little too relaxed for his own good. Aside from dealing with Suu, he’s a somewhat selfish person who goes at his own pace and doesn’t really think of others. He likes what he likes and dislikes what he doesn’t, and he’s not a fan of making long-term decisions or committing to anything too thoroughly. And Omen’ doesn’t really care if this attitude of his inconveniences others. He’s always lived for himself, so why should he change? 

Seraph

Their very existence would be shameful to anyone else. Seraph is an entity who seems to exist only to make others uncomfortable. The constant stream of lewd words and taunting comments that they spew would make any normal person’s face burn, but Seraph doesn’t appear to care a bit how obscene and annoying they are. If others dislike them, who cares? If they make people angry, so what? If they’re a constant spectacle, that’s fine! They’re self-centered and bold enough to have little sense of shame at all, even when they very much should. 

Hyakku

Her tendency toward self-pity and self-loathing is a problem that Hyakku doesn’t realize is one. In her mind, she has every reason to hate herself— and she’s somewhere between unaware of how annoying that is to the people around her and convinced that she deserves whatever scorn they feel. She sees herself in such a negative light that even the depths of self-hatred feel justified, and she often doesn’t realize that she’s having something of a pity party when she really shouldn’t be. Hyakku most often blocks out the good and only sees the bad. 

[cursedxartist-moved]

Scarlet’s Philosophy and Life Goals

I have tweaked her philosophy a bit.  The rest is under the cut since it got a bit long.

Before discovering the truth of her “curse”, she does believe in it, but let me be clear, Scarlet is NOT truly cursed, but she honestly BELIEVES she is.  Following her mother’s death, her father instilled the idea into her over the course of years of abuse, and Tristan’s death only solidified in her mind that this was not a coincidence.  She does not think of herself as 100% evil, though.  She can fall into a head space where she slips into those darker thoughts, as I’m sure most people with paranoia, anxiety, and depression can all relate to, as we logically know we are not evil/bad/worthless/etc., but we still slip into that mindset where we feel that way about ourselves.  Scarlet does not believe people are born evil, but can be predisposed to it, and/or develop to be evil.  

The concept of evil is an interesting thing to her, because she does believe it exists, but her morals are quite skewed.  Evil, to her, is really cruelty for cruelty’s sake, or something that truly crosses the line for her - such as child abuse.  She is of the belief that even things most would consider to be morally reprehensible can be understood and excused with the right motive.  There is always a cause or reason.  But if the reason is simply to be cruel JUST to be cruel, or say someone takes advantage of someone who is inherently vulnerable, like a child, then that would qualify as “evil” to her own morals.  She does not really care much for the morals of society, but she will work within them if it benefits her to do so.  But mostly, she operates on her own set of rules and moral code.

This leads us to why, to her own logic and how she believes the curse works, she does not truly think of herself as evil.  The death of her mother and her friend were not purposeful, yet they caused some others to see Scarlet as evil/cursed/etc.  She believes she is cursed, and a murderer, but because she had no control over their deaths, she does not see herself as truly evil.  Despite this, she has no desire to debate against these rumors. Nothing good would come from that; telling others you are not evil would only paint the picture that you are safe, which is not true in her case.  So she instead wears the label bestowed upon her as a shield in an attempt to keep others at bay.

Due to this, Scarlet often relates to the monsters in movies, books, and fairy tales. Those who technically did not do or mean any harm, but due to their differences or ability to do wrong, they are outcasts, or even hurt being who they are, and this abuse is what causes them to retaliate, and become exactly what others were calling them all along: a monster.  She especially loves Frankenstein, a story which in her mind is of a monster driven to horrific acts as a result of his creator’s neglect and abuse. The Shape of Water holds a special place in her heart, as that is one of the few stories in which the monster gets a happy ending.  Although she knows falling in love is not what her ending will be, she still strives for the happiest ending possible for her.

Tristan and her mother died so that Scarlet may live, so she is determined to do just that. She cannot die before she has made something of herself, and has lived successfully and for as long as possible. She refuses to let her father’s guilt way her down anymore than beyond just a reminder of what happens when she lets others get too close.  The only person she truly wishes her curse would work on was her father, but because he did not die, she is convinced that those only perish when in a mutual, strong, trusting relationship.

Unbeknownst to her, though, is that her father actually does regret what he did.  He has since gotten help for his mental instability, and wishes to rekindle his relationship with his daughter.  He knows he may never get custody back, and quite frankly doesn’t want to in fear that he will relapse and hurt her again, but he realized how wrong he was to cast aside his daughter that his wife loved and cherished so much that she died for her.  She did not die BECAUSE of Scarlet, but rather FOR her, and he immensely regrets hammering in the wrong message into his child’s thoughts.

So Scarlet lives wearing the title of the cursed artist, only drawing people in for business and nothing else, while having the goal of at the very least being content with her life. She wishes to make something of herself, refusing to die and give up so that the deaths that follow her were not in vain.

[parabellum-rpg-archive]

Congratulations, Isabella! You’ve been accepted to play Dahlia Jessup. Please make your page and send it in within 24 hours.

Admin note: I absolutely cannot. This app was freakin’ beautiful! I was already captivated just reading the part where you describe her in your own words. I loved the little details like what she has her degree in and her mother’s response to it. I love how you dissecting her down to her desire to please, but didn’t limit her to that. I can say, 100%, I am soooooo excited to see you bring her to life on the dash! Welcome, welcome, welcome! - Admin C

IC INFORMATION —

CHARACTER DESIRED

Dahlia Jessup.

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER IN YOUR OWN WORD

I think what defines Dahlia so visibly, is her abandonment issues. Her mommy issues. Her people pleasing. These are all very humanly understandable flaws, and I adore them. I love flawed characters, especially when they’re so relatable to the audience and the person portraying them. I think what makes her so special to me is that I resonate with her on a deeper level for my own personal reasons, but also because she’s filled with this amazing potential to either become a great heroine or an awful villain. She does a lot of things in the name of love & family, but who is she? Strip the girl bare, leave nothing but her heart and soul, and you’ll find that she becomes nothing. Because Dahlia needs and finds her sense of identity within her family, within others.

Of course, she’s more than that, but I think she hasn’t seen herself outside of other people’s perspectives. Perhaps she’s been too self-sacrificing in the name of family (hell, she even sacrificed her own morals to join the Sinclairs) and now she’s paying the price. There are so many sides and nuances to her, I would really love to explore it on a more thorough level.

WRITING SAMPLE

Her figure stands by the kitchen doorway. Hollow, quiet – almost non-existent in its own right. The then sixteen year-old Dahlia is left at a loss for words by her mother.

These are the moments where she catches a glimpse of her mother’s humanity: right after work, when she comes home hours into the night, dark circles and all. She knows Serena works hard, for the both of them, but sometimes Lia wishes she had a white picket fence kind of life, you know, the kind of life they show on television. The kind of life that probably doesn’t exist.

But she stands by the doorway looking at someone whose face is unfamiliar, yet still so ambiguously close to hers. It’s uncanny the resemblance that Dahlia and Serena share.. and as much as Dahlia hated herself for looking so much like her mother, she took some kind of comfort in knowing they shared at least one thing.

These are the moments in which she wishes she felt loved, felt wanted – anything.  “I– I missed you,” Dahlia whispers, like some kind of confession she could never speak of. Her mother nods, unable to look at her own daughter, and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and walks past her daughter.

“Did you hear me?” Dahlia inquires nearly defeated. “Mhmm?” Serena turns to her, in confusion. Either my mother is deaf, or simply out of tune with other people’s feelings, she realizes.

“I said I missed you, mom.” Dahlia gestures, empty handed.

Again, no response. It seems that the main focus of Serena’s attention lies on the television right now – or maybe she’s just pretending to watch the news. “Since when do you even watch TV?” Dahlia points out the obvious, but it’s unclear whether or not Serena bothers listening, simply turning off the television and walking out of the room, avoiding her daughter like the plague.

Silence falls upon them, like a soft numbing blanket caressing each and every word unspoken. Dahlia sits by the couch, unable to look at her mother any longer. Somehow they’ve become strangers and Lia knows she’s not the one to blame, but her heart dips a little further into guilt whenever Serena neglects her. It’s like she’ll never be enough. She’ll never know her mother. She’ll never be Serena’s daughter.

Tonight, she’ll take comfort in her metal science books, in her journals, in her midnight coffee.

Tonight, she’ll also probably cry herself to sleep while her mother leaves for work at 5am in the morning and won’t even notice her big, puffy eyes… but that’s the thing about Serena: even if she did notice it, she’d blame it on ‘teenage hormones’, instead of taking actual responsibility for her daughter’s constant paranoia of abandonment.

                                         ______________________

Hours later and Dahlia sits by the balcony, looking at her old photos like usual. Beside her, by the small wooden table, there’s a box of photographs and old dusty memories thrown into the abyss. Lia has taken it upon herself to sort out which ones are relevant and which are not, but in nights like these, she always winds up too emotional over these memories to ever ponder the idea of throwing out a picture or two.

She doesn’t remember her mother being this fond of her, this close. Pictures of Dahlia giggling, playing or simply smiling right beside her mother are all over the place, and what seems abnormal is that her mother doesn’t look consumed by work, or by life itself. She looks happy, proud… She looks like someone else.

But she doesn’t remember it at all. She lived through it, but she was only a baby… And memories? Memories are too important to lose, like pictures… So tonight, she’ll dig through anything she can find, and maybe she’ll find the father she never had, or perhaps someone to take her mother’s place. If anything, she’ll do whatever it takes.. For what’s left of her family, for herself.

EXTRAS

HEADCANONS:

Dahlia strikes me as the kind of person who’s a little too much of a people pleaser – when it comes down to the people she loves, she’ll go to extreme lengths to please them, earn their love, affection and approval. It goes without saying that Serena left a mother shaped hole in her heart, and without any kind of mother or father to look up to, she took on the role of the people pleaser to ensure she has a place in people’s hearts. It’s almost automatic, and it hurts her when people dislike her. Just the thought of being unwanted makes her skin crawl, triggering her anxiety to the point of having nightmares about her mother – and the father that she never had.

Her MBTI type is ENFJ, who’s also known as the giver amongst people. ENFJ’s are extremely loyal, loving and self-sacrificing to the point of no return. They are also very dedicated, connect easily with people and often forget about their own needs, putting others’ before their own. Because of their intuitive side, they’re excellent troubleshooters, and often ponder about the ‘what ifs’ (in Dahlia’s case, she thinks a lot about her future when it comes down to the consequences of her own actions, and how reckless it was of her to join her aunt’s shenanigans simply because she needed her approval). ENFJs can also be very crafty and artistic, and often can be very pessimistic and overly critical and logical under stress (when she realizes the damage of her actions).

She’s a Virgo. They are known to be perfectionists, logical, practical and very pragmatic. This excerpt taken from an astrology website showcases a lot of the traits Dahlia possesses:  Above all else, Virgos want to help. They are kind, gentle, and supportive friends and lovers who use their incredible intellect and resourcefulness to problem-solve. Virgo’s opposite sign, Pisces, offers guidance through spirituality, but Virgos want to assist on a practical level. These earth signs are always striving to provide workable solutions and improve broken systems. Methodical, committed, and hardworking.

Her Hogwarts house is Ravenclaw. I wasn’t sure if she’d fit into Gryffindor, but I think Ravenclaw encompasses her wit, her intellect and her detail-oriented personality. It’s very incredible to me that someone who’s a feeler (ENFJ) would also be so logical and pragmatic as a Ravenclaw. Dahlia is a fun, complex contradiction to write – and I’m very eager to explore how her head goes against her heart every time.

She has a degree in chemical engineering, specializing in copper, aluminium, iron and steel. Dahlia is a qualified Metallurgist, chemistry is her passion – and she goes to great lengths to ensure that she’s on the right path. Serena laughed about it to Dahlia’s face when she first told her mom she was going to be an engineer. To her, it was a ‘men only’ profession, and it broke her heart not to have her mother’s full support. She wanted to show her she could do it, she could become great, she could do something special. But even after graduating, her mother did not take her seriously.

I have crafted a proper pinterest board for Dahlia. I’m still in the process of organizing it and adding more pins to it, but the essentials are there. I also have a tag for Dahlia on my blog, which you can find by clicking here.

[gojira007]

In the name of the season- Top Five Horror Media (Books, Video Games, Film, etc)

Well well well a real Swinging-For-the-Fences Ask right outthe gate eh?  Alright let’s do this!  I’m going to cheat a littlethough; the broad scope of mediums makes it a little hard toreally boil it down so instead I’m going to pick a favorite from one of eachmedium to try and keep it SOMEWHAT manageable!  But otherwise?  Let’sdo this!

Book: “Frankenstein (Or The Modern Prometheus)” byMary Shelley

So back in College I actually wound up reading a bunch ofClassic Horror Fiction for the first time as part of a course about the waymonsters represent cultural anxieties of their era, like proto-Gothic “TheMonk” or “Dracula”...and found a lot of them pretty tedious or boring(seriously gaiz “Dracula” the book suuuuuuuuucks). But “Frankenstein”?  That one genuinely managed to impress the hellout of me!  It shows its age in some respects, sure, but far more often itis a shockingly Modern piece with impressively ambitious aims as it tacklesexistential themes like how one defines “Life” as technology advances andwe grow ever closer to being able to make it in ways almost completely removedfrom Nature...or perhaps even more importantly what our responsibility is tothe things we create along the way.  The central Drama between ProfessorVictor Von Frankenstein and his monstrous creation really does work, and theprose has a fantastically poetic quality to it that elevates the wholething.  This became one of the foundational texts of the genre for adamned good reason, in other words.

TV Series: “The Twilight Zone” createdby Rod Serling

It’s honestly funny to consider how few explicitlyhorror-themed TV shows there really are in the medium’s history; even my pickfor the best of the bunch is just as often a science-fiction parable asanything else.  But Horror of all sorts, be it physical, mental, orexistential, did ultimately wind up being “The Twilight Zone”’s mosticonic stock in trade, so to my mind it qualifies.  And naturally, likeany Anthology series, there are definitely better and worse stories toldthroughout the full scope of the series.  But even at its absoluteworst “The Twilight Zone” is always striving to do thething Horror does best: make us think by confronting us with the things we mostfear.  The life we didn’t get to lead, the threat we don’t know orunderstand, the people we don’t trust...in many ways it’s really all so muchmodernization of the Morality Fables of old, but for that exact reason I findthe show remarkably effective in demonstrating that many of those morals do infact remain relevant regardless of when we learn or re-experience them; thelessons “The Twilight Zone” taught were old-hat by the time it aired yetthey still resonated then.  And they’re even older-hat now...but perhapsthe greatest most frightening thing about the show is realizing how very muchthey still mean something to our modern world.

Video Game: Bottom of the Well from “TheLegend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time”

I realize selecting a single level from a Video Game ratherthan a Video Game as a whole may seem a bit unsporting but I can’t lie: I neverreally experienced most of the Horror Game classics-your “Resident Evil”sor your “Silent Hill”s-until I was a bit too old and guarded for themto really affect me; not to say they weren’t effective at allbut they simply did not have the chance to get as profoundly under my skin asthis Dungeon from the iconic N64 “Zelda” title.  Because let me tellyou, playing this area as a kid?  Was viscerally terrifying. It isn’t just the presence of memorably horrific enemies like the Re-Dead orespecially the nightmarish Dead Hand, either; the entire atmosphere of thearea, dank and claustrophobic with filthy carcass-like meat decorating thefloors and only dim torch light to show you the way, combined with the simplebut unnerving music, sets the whole stage apart from the rest of thegame.  Which is really what clinches it for me: the Bottom of the Wellisn’t just frightening in the details, but because it represents an unnervingand unsettling intrusion into a world that up until that pointwouldn’t have seemed to have the dangerous and fearful things it contains.

Music: “Halloween” by John Carpenter

In this case I feel pretty good to just let the music itselfdo the talkin’.

Movie: “The Thing” directed by John Carpenter

Make no mistake, this was far and away the hardest one topick.  More so than almost any othermedium, Film is the one that encompasses what Horror “is” for a lot of mygeneration, which means there are so many great choices to pick from; Inearly did a whole other top 5 JUST for movies. “The Haunting”, “Alien”, “Halloween”, the remake of “The Fly”, “A Nightmareon Elm Street”, “Hellraiser”, “The Sixth Sense”, “It Follows”…and that’s noteven touching foreign classics like “House”, “Demons”, or “The Babadook”!  But in the end if I had to pick the one Irevisit the most?  The one I think aboutthe most often?  It’s John Carpenter’sspectacularly gory, existentially frightening, brilliantly constructed “TheThing”, less a remake of the 1950’s classic “The Thing From Another World” thana more faithful adaptation of its source material, the short story “Who GoesThere?”.  This is a firing-on-all-cylindersmovie, is the thing; not just a white-knuckle tense story with some of the mostsingularly amazing effects work ever put to film, but one which uses all its individually-excellentelements-the acting, the effects, the cinematograph-to make a cogent andcutting point.  About the power ofparanoia, about the fear of disease, about what it means for Humanity to staredown the barrel of an adversary that cannot be simply defeated but which simultaneouslymust be for our species to survive. John Carpenter is justly thought of today as an unimpeachable Master ofthe genre, and to my mind this is the movie that most singularly cements thatfact as undeniable.

[pretty-volatile]

Well fuck

Thursday, June 13th, 2019 9:30 am

Okay so like maybe this isn't the heeaaaltthiiessstt buuuttttt, I was looking shit about my good ol mental health and trying to understand shit. I literally only have 8 days left to see the psychiatrist and only 4 days until I can see my therapist. But anyway....so I realize I may experience 'bipolar psychosis'. I'm still new to trying to understand hallucinations, delusions, and disorganized thinking & speech. My struggle is trying to dictate what I've experienced and if that's what it is, or if it's just me being weird or something. I don't know. I'm trying.

Here's reference though, especially for me to bring up the the good ol professional helpers when I see them :P

I've had visual hallucinations in the past I'm pretty sure. Glimpses of shadow figures in the corner, one time I saw what looked like someone that hung themselves. Oh and when I was in hospital for my first suicide attempt, I saw a little girl in the room that I stayed in (I was by myself because I was on suicide watch, window in door & round mirror in corner so they can make sure I didn't do anything). I remember writing about her and I think I did a little doodle of her. I don't think I experience visual hallucinations currently, but I do see like movement in the corner of my eye but then when I look, nothing's there. The only distress it really causes is slight paranoia. I'm okay for now but uh, what if it gets as bad as when I used to see the shadow figures? Oh and when I was younger I also saw orbs of light on the wall even though the only light was coming from the radio that was on the ground so there wasn't really any explanation for the light source.

I've only randomly smelt something that wasn't there a couple times, but usually it's not distressing, so much as a "where'd that come from?". Then I just move on.

Since I've been experiencing some mania/hypomania, I experienced some good ol insomnia, racing thoughts, anxiety about stupid ass shit such as "what if the smoke alarm goes off? I wouldn't know what to do" and I like physically cringed from the thought of having to deal with that. I know I definitely have intrusive thoughts. Whew those are NOT fun. Most times they're like violent? Ish? I get this paranoia sometimes when I'm walking I have this internal feeling that someone is pointing a sniper at me and I'm just waiting to fucking die the longer I stay in the open where they can shot me. Or that any talking or glances in my direction are actually because those people are judging me or reading my thoughts or they're making fun of me, huge mood if they're laughing/smiling in my direction but usually it's not actually at me but I can't shake the feeling. The only way I can get myself to keep walking and ignore it is if I look at the ground and listen to music with headphones in. I also tend to have this tendency to imagine what if a shooting just broke out while I was walking across campus and what would I do to either save people or attack the perp or flee for my life. I also have these rage impulses to like deck someone in the face or push someone down stairs, even if that person never did anything to warrant it. Last night while I was awake with my eyes closed, just letting my thoughts do what they needed to do since I couldn't fucking stop them!!!! Ugh I hate nights like that. That's why I hate going to bed sometimes. I'll lay down and my head is just flooded with memories and trauma and stressors. I don't know if this qualifies as Disorganized Thinking or if it's just 'thought-chatter'. It just keeps going from one thought to another and sometimes I can't even remember what I thought. It just won't stop and I'll be up for hourrsssss. Then when I wake up I'm like Extra Grumpy. But when I was laying there trying to go to bed & I was experiencing the racing thoughts, I started to fucking feeling the crawling on my legs again. Much more than usual. And it got worse when I brought attention to it. I kept tossing and turning and trying to like itch the tingling/crawling away. I'm assuming this is like that bugs crawling you hallucination, right? Like when I first felt it last night, not the first time ever but the first time during that episode, I literally swatted and itched to get the thing to go away. Meanwhile my partner was asleep so I was trying not to move too much. I just couldn't get my thoughts to stop. And they'd go from one to another even before I was done like thinking about the subject? And then I wouldn't be able to remember what I thought, so I just had to go with the thought change. I mean, I do smoke weed but I'm pretty sure this happens when I'm sober just as well. Plus lately, it doesn't even feel like I can get High. Like even after I smoke 2 bowls I feel somewhat coherent still and then it goes away fast. But sometimes it's the only thing that helps the rage/depression/anxiety/insomnia. It's the crutch I'm trying to use until I can actually get on meds.

Oh and sometimes at nighttime, as I might've mentioned before, I get that like I can hear a radio playing the distance, never a full song but like phrases of songs either on repeat or blending into other song phrases that sounds like one long fluid song? But I can't always make out lyrics. Or sometimes it'll sound like a TV or something is on and I'll hear sound snippets and I'm only sure of one instance where I actually heard something/someone say 'hey', which was scary because it was nighttime and my partner and I were both trying to fall asleep. I can't fall asleep until I know the causes of the sounds I'm hearing. I experienced this a couple times last month, but I don't think within the past week or two.

I honestly don't know. Time feels so fucking weird. It feels like it's been so fucking long since I've realized this whole bipolar/BPD situation out a lil. I think realistically? I might have looked up BPD in April? Maybe earlier? But that feels like so so far away. But then again, time feels like it's moving really fast? I keep waking up and just restarting the day but with like different events/moods. Everything feels like it's on repeat or like I'm in a fucking cycle that I can't get out of.

Does anyone else experience memories/trauma as if it's like a virtual reality that they can just steep their mind into? Like I have REALLY good spatial memory, so I can like walk through the places I've been in in my mind. I can feel almost everything that's happening definitely emotionally/spatially. All while my eyes are closed and my thoughts are just drifting as if someone is controlling them. Like I don't know how to explain it. It feels like there's something else bringing me these thoughts/memories. Like my conscious self is not in control, I'm just watching as if it's a movie. But like I can feel it too.

I know especially before I've drawn and talked about/had a conversation with like these 2 different aspects of myself. One's always depressed and clingy and just thinks the world would be better off without them but simultaneously needs as much validation as possible and the other is like the voice that tries to give reason & keep the depressed/angry/melancholy part of me to keep going instead of like taking over I guess? I don't know. This post is long enough. *Sighs* I hope I get the help I need and I hope I can address as many issues as I can/have knowledge of.

[deadmomjokes]

I know you aren't a counselor, but you do know a lot, so I was wondering: what are symptoms of PTSD? Also, how do you know if someone is a narcissist?

Well, PTSD is a bit of an easier question, but it’s still not easy to answer. There are a lot of different symptoms that can be related to it, and it’s a complex disorder, but the simplest definition is from NIMH. I’d highly recommend going to that page. But the summary is: a combination of re-experiencing symptoms, avoidance symptoms, arousal/reactivity symptoms, and cognition/mood symptoms as the result of a traumatic event.

Re-experiencing symptoms are the classic “flashbacks” of PTSD. It doesn’t mean necessarily seeing the event happen over and over (tho that can happen), but can include being unable to stop thinking about it, and having physical response as though you were in that same event again. Re-experiencing can also involve bad dreams/nightmares.

Avoidance symptoms are just what they sound like–you avoid places, things, situations, thoughts, or conversations that remind you of the event. For instance, someone who was in a car accident may avoid getting in a car, or driving. If you watched someone pass away, you may avoid the place where it happened, or places similar (ie, a hospital).

Arousal/reactivity symptoms are things like being “constantly on edge,” being easily startled, problems sleeping, angry outbursts, and being unable to concentrate.

Cognition/mood symptoms usually overlap with depression and can include negative self-perception, irrational blame, and lack of interest or pleasure in things, as well as emotional numbness and trouble remembering details of the trauma.

PTSD starts after a traumatic event, which doesn’t necessarily mean a near-death experience; it could be after the death of a loved one, or seeing some other person get hurt/killed. But most often it is a dangerous situation that happened to you, like a rape/assault, an accident in which you were injured, or living through a natural disaster. From the American Psychiatric Association: “A diagnosis of PTSD requires exposure to an upsetting traumatic event. However, exposure could be indirect rather than first hand. For example, PTSD could occur in an individual learning about the violent death of a close family member. It can also occur as a result of repeated exposure to horrible details of trauma such as police officers exposed to details of child abuse cases.”

Situational anxiety can have similar symptoms to PTSD, but is not the same disorder; it could be that because you had bad past experiences with school (mean teachers, bullies, and difficulty in course work), going to school now gives you anxiety. Maybe you were extremely poor growing up, so now you have crippling anxiety centered around money, like you get panic attacks when shopping or you may routinely fear becoming homeless even though you’re doing okay. Or you had a rocky, angry relationship with another person and now being around them triggers your anxiety. These are not PTSD, as there was no traumatic event to trigger it, but it is a chronic stress and anxiety related problem, one which can be debilitating and needs to be dealt with in conjunction with professional help, or else avoidance/anxiety may become your norm. Which, needless to say, is not healthy.

Now, for narcissism. We use the term narcissist a lot, and very loosely in common speech to convey someone who thinks so highly of themselves that others become lesser, and are rude to others as a result. But clinical narcissism, or Narcissistic Personality Disorder (which I’ll refer to as NPD) is much different. People with NPD do consider themselves better than others, but it goes much beyond being rude. Here is a link that I once again highly recommend reading on the subject, that explains it better than I can. Also, halfway down this document is the DSM criteria for a diagnosis of NPD. But here are some traits that you see in NPD, which show what I mean about going beyond just thinking highly of themselves:

Feels like they can only associate with people “worthy” of them (delusions of grandeur); fantasizes excessively about power, beauty, success, etc; sees others in terms of how they can be used to the individuals’ ends; relationships are based on appearances and superficial criteria (aka, how does this person make me look to the world); expect to be recognized as superior and becomes irate when others don’t notice and point out their supposed achievements and brilliance; unable to empathize; believe others envy them (can become paranoia); fragile sense of self worth based on whether other people treat or praise them in the way they feel they deserve; requires constant attention/to be the center of attention; and requires special treatment from everyone (ex, if they aren’t given priority seating at a restaurant, or are forced to wait in line, they may start screaming).

These are not just people thinking they’re cooler than they are. These are crippling, destructive habits that wreak havoc and inflict pain on people who associate with them. And it’s not something you see every day. Overall, true narcissism is extremely rare, less than 1% of the world population (and that’s a generous estimate), and most affected are male.

Given that these two questions were asked together, I would hazard a guess that you may be dealing with a difficult, possibly traumatic event or relationship relating to a person in your life. It is possible for a person with NPD to lash out sufficiently to qualify as a traumatic event, but more likely people who are forced to deal with a narcissist are having situational anxiety, as described above. But again, true narcissists are rare, so it could be that this person, while having narcissistic tendencies, is not clinical.

If you had a serious fight with someone where you feared for your safety, it is possible you have PTSD. However, the more common situation is that this person stressed you out for so long that being around them, thinking about being around them, or having to deal with them made your subconscious associate them with anxiety and stress; aka, they are an anxiety trigger for you now. Neither PTSD nor situational anxiety is good or ideal, and neither is better than the other. If you are suffering with either, I feel for you. But please know that there is assistance, and it doesn’t always have to be like that.

Also, if I’ve totally misread the situation/ask, I’m sorry, and ignore the above 2 paragraphs.

As always, I would recommend speaking with a professional. Even if you don’t have PTSD or clinical anxiety, a counselor or other psychological professional would be in a better place to help you work out whatever it is that’s really going on. A common misconception is that therapy is only for people who have a diagnosed mental illness; therapy is for anyone who is having a hard time dealing with things on their own, or for anyone who wonders if they might have a problem. Many insurance plans will also pay for a certain number of counseling/mental health visits per year, so it may be worth checking out.

Good luck, and I hope this was helpful for you!

[recoverymatters]

(1/2) I'm always so anxious and paranoid all the time that something bad is going to happen. I'm a teenager, and the world feels so hopeless, and I worry that I'll die before I can have friends, fall in love, or anything fun. I'm just always scared and these thoughts prevent me from being happy and enjoying things. I'm afraid once I'm happy, something will go bad. I also am irritable and get angry easily and I isolate myself, I don't know how to make friends or interact with people,

(ask continued) - (2/2) because I wasn’t allowed friends when I was younger because I had a big family, SURELY that’s enough. I just feel so alone and always anxious and upset. Do you know what I should do? Is this all normal? My parents say I’m just growing up, and to stop worrying, but that doesn’t help. Sorry for the vent.

Hello,

I am sorry you’re struggling with this right now.

Firstly - I really, really relate to what you’re going through. So, you’re not alone and I do understand how scary it is. 

How long has the anxiety and paranoia been going on for? Has it been a gradual build up over time or was there a particular event that has triggered this fear off? 

Sometimes, we can have fears that bad things are going to happen for no particular reason - it’s just there. Which could be due to an anxiety disorder or the like. However, sometimes, it can be because of events that have happened in our lives or our current lifestyles. This is something that can be worked through and processed with a qualified professional, such as a therapist. 

“these thoughts prevent me from being happy and enjoying things” 

This is the time when you need to seek help and support. Because it is affecting your life, and preventing you from feeling any form of happiness and joy from the things you do. 

I’m sorry the world seems so hopeless right now, it isn’t surprising that you’re worried about all of these things, considering your level of anxiety and paranoia. However, a lot of the thoughts we have each day are completely and utterly false. They may tell you that will die before you can have friends, fall in love or anything fun. But, the brain is a funny old thing - it comes up with all sorts of things and makes us think that this is the end or convince us bad things will happen. Our brains are programmed to look out for danger as a survival instinct. So, effectively, your fear of bad things happening isn’t abnormal, it is just the brain’s way of trying to protect you. However, because it is preventing you from enjoying your life - then there are ways that this fear can be eased. 

Just remember, thoughts are just thoughts. Just because your mind is telling you bad things will happen, doesn’t mean they will. Thoughts cannot hurt you, and 99% of the time, they are false. This doesn’t mean to say that you can just ‘stop worrying’, I know that isn’t the case and it is crippling to have to live with the fear of them happening. Whilst you cannot stop these thoughts, you will be able to help reduce the anxiety, panic and paranoia surrounding them. This can be done with a doctor who could provide medication or therapy. 

I know this world does seem to be a game of good and bad. Happy or sad. However, the world does not work that way - just because you’re having a great time and a happy period in life doesn’t mean that something bad will happen. Life is full of ups and downs naturally. The world is not out to get you for being happy - I promise. 

What you’re experiencing is real and shouldn’t just be put down to being a ‘teenager’. Anybody of any age can experience the things you are experiencing - and there is support out there for it! 

Irritability, anger and isolation can be further symptoms of an anxiety disorder or can be a sign that your body is becoming too overwhelmed with the anxiety and is trying to express itself in another form. Making friends is hard, and harder for you because you haven’t been able to have the experience from a young age. However, it doesn’t mean you will never have friends or never be able to interact. It may help you if you can make friends via a group or through a hobby you all enjoy so you can begin to talk about that shared interest and then start to bond that way. You’re not alone darling, you are an amazing human being and it will get easier. 

I understand that your parents may not understand how bad it is for you right now. Are you able to have another conversation with them and explain just how much you’re struggling and how much it is affecting your life?

If not, is there anyone at school or college who you can speak with? Some schools/colleges have their own counselling services that you may be able to access support from. 

Anxiety is not something you should just ‘live’ with and suffer through - there is help out there. These thoughts may not leave completely, you may still have periods of time when these creep up but tell yourself that you can cope and you can get through.

Tips for anxiety:

1. Self-care box - I actually created mine 5 years ago due to my anxiety getting to this stage, I found it very helpful. Go to it when you feel alone, scared or distressed and it will be there. 

2. Ground yourself - When you feel the anxiety and paranoia coming on, count 5 things you see, 4 things you smell, 3 things you hear, 2 things you can feel and 1 thing you can taste. 

3. Meditation - Headspace, calm or meditation sessions on YouTube may be helpful. They can’t stop anxiety but they can reduce it and help you get more clarity on it. 

4. Read - I found that delving into someone else life or story in a book for a period of time was very helpful. 

5. Talk - Find someone you trust to have a chat with every now and again, talking can help you to express how you feel. If not, write it down. Doodle it or draw it.

Your life is only just beginning. You have a whole life ahead of you that involves friends, love and fun. I promise you. 

Links that may help you:

https://www.7cups.com/

http://thequietplaceproject.com/90seconds

http://thequietplaceproject.com/thethoughtsroom/

https://29a.ch/sandbox/2011/neonflames/#

https://www.youtube.com/user/TheNicestPlace

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=meditation

Keep going 🌟

Thanks

RecoveryMatters

[cluster-a-pds]

Hi, I meet almost all the criteria for StPD and it perfectly fits my symptoms except for relationships with people. Although I get anxious and paranoid even around friends, I still talk to them and I still like them despite being terrified that they're going to stab me in the back or they're all mocking me and being my friend as a joke. Does this make me not valid in that criteria if I have friends who I talk to and like despite suspiciousness?

Hey, thanks for the question! (I assume this is okay to answer publicly as you did not indicate otherwise but let me know if you would like it removed!)

I think we’ve addressed StPD and friendships before but, yes, it’s perfectly fine to still have friends as long as you meet enough other criteria to still qualify for the disorder. 

Additionally, though I can’t make any statement on how many criteria you meet or what you would be diagnosed with as I am not a professional and don’t know any information about you, the way you talk about your relationships with others still containing a fair amount of paranoia and suspiciousness still falls pretty in line with StPD (though paranoia over betrayal and social mockery and etc. can apply to a lot of things other than stpd, and many stpd fears can be more odd in nature (like that the friend is a spy or wants to literally physically hurt them or etc.), the general lack of trust and etc. could likely still apply if in combination with other stpd criteria), so I wouldn’t say that alone is necessarily antithetical to StPD (it would be if you had like mutual and trusting and close fulfilling relationships with no real social difficulties, but having any relationships at all is not like an immediate stpd disqualifier or something, not only because you can meet all the other criteria but just not meet that one, but also because if those relationships are still strongly affected by your symptoms and paranoia and etc. then that would be pretty common to stpd anyway lol ) 

I personally feel pretty low motivation to have contact with others (mostly because I simply don’t derive much emotional pleasure from it, but also don’t form deep emotional bonds/attachments to people, find communication hard for many reasons, etc etc. but is all stpd or other mental illness related), but even if I were to have a strong inherent need to socialize and be close with others, I would still have a lot of trouble getting over my paranoid fears in order to talk to them in the first place.Though probably 70% of the time I’m fine with not talking to people for weeks/months/etc., I do practically recognize the large amount of benefits that can come from a support system and the significant roles that that can serve in a person’s life for hundreds of other positive reasons aside from being solely to meet some inherent emotional need (so even for someone nearly lacking that need, it’s still positive to have friends (as long as the relationships are healthy and mutually beneficial and both parties are aware of symptoms they may need to keep track of etc etc. and lots of communication as differing emotional needs can present unique problems with balancing everyone’s needs being met healthily and etc.)), so I still go through the effort to seek out friends from time to time. 

But usually even after I’m friends with people, no matter how long I’ve known them, I will still never fully trust them, and may loose my suspicion of them in some ways (like once I’ve talked to someone for a year or so, I find it highly unlikely that they’d waste that much of their time speaking with me JUST to find an opportune time to kill me, so usually after some amount of time I am less fearful (but not entirely marking it off as a possibility) of them being a spy sent to murder me or something), but still have difficulty not being suspicious or anxious in others (like even if a close friend of 9 years gave me a gift I may still check if they’ve put a tracking device in it, or still assume they could easily lash out at me and hurt me if I make them angry over anything despite it not being their usual temperament, etc.)

 So I do still have friendships and talk to some people (albeit not anywhere near as often as most people do since I get socially exhausted pretty easily and also am often paranoid of initiating conversation with others, so it’s not like I’m always striking up chats with people daily lmao), it’s just those relationships and the way I interact with and navigate within them are still fairly affected by my symptoms of paranoia and anxiety and etc. 

You can of course still have friends and also have StPD, it’s just likely your experience and conceptualization of those relationships is going to vary a lot from an “””””average”””””” experience and will still be impacted by your schizotypal symptoms, like paranoia and anxiety, and social or emotional difficulties. Like most everything else in diagnostic criteria, it’s stated that it must impact your life significantly in a lot of ways and not be only situational or minor, as the whole thing is PDs involving these pervasive disruptive symptoms/traits that can cause personal distress or greatly impair your ability to function and etc etc., so it makes sense that of course some StPD people are going to have friendships, but just that, like everything else, their friendships aren’t going to be immune to also being affected by their symptoms, which in this case means you’ll likely still experience paranoia and anxiety within them, but keeping the friends or liking them regardless doesn’t invalidate that.

Anyway! Hopefully this answers your questions or helps some! Feel free to look at our resources page (the section on StPD specifically is the last one) or ask another question if you need clarification on anything or etc.  Have a great day, anon! -luca

[nickireadstfc]

The Foxhole Court, Chapter 10 – Your Friendly Neighborhood Shrink

In which we meet Betsy Dobson who appears to be Molly Weasley’s long-lost Ravenclaw sister, some quality Renee time happens, Kevin’s Stoic and Mighty Demeanor has nothing on Dan’s doughnuts, and actual school happens at some point but who gives a shit (spoiler alert: It’s not Neil Josten).

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Foxhole Court.

           Classes were scheduled to start on Thursday, August 24th, so Wednesday’s practice was a bit of a convoluted mess.

Oh, right. Actual school is a thing in this book.

10 bucks says Neil will totally forget about the fact that college exists besides Exy all the damn time.

           Neil had forgotten the Foxes were supposed to meet with the psychiatrist Betsy Dobson before the semester began.

As had I.

FUCK YES. SHRINK TIME.

Also, Neil seems to forget an awful lot of things that aren’t either a) Exy, b) Kevin Day, c) his runaway paranoia or d) any combination of the aforementioned things.

On the drive to Betsy’s office, Neil is forced to spend a little time with Renee, which he hates and I love. Give me more Renee time, always.

           Nicky had only nice things to say about Renee, but Neil had noticed earlier that no one, Nicky included, wanted Renee and Andrew to be friends. Nicky likely sided with the upperclassmen in thinking Andrew was an awful influence on someone as sweet-tempered as Renee.

If it turns out they don’t like their friendship because it’s actually the other way around and they fear Renee “I’m probably a really cute axe murderer” Walker’s influence on Andrew I’m shitting myself.

(It’s probably not that. But let a girl dream.)

           [Neil] wanted to ask why she and Andrew got along so well, but he didn’t want to open up a conversation, so he stared hard out the window and hoped she got the hint.

Somehow, I feel like that’s a very Neil thing to do.

Oh, there’s this thing I really, really want to talk about because open honest conversation about things that bother/interest me could really improve my mental stability? Better never fucking talk about it, ever.

When will he stop being #relatable.

(I should point out at this point that I don’t necessarily always personally relate to things I describe as #relatable. I mean it more in the overall #relatable-ness, the “tumblr-slash-tagged-slash-me”-ness, the grand scheme of relatable things, if you so will.)

(I myself find myself relating more to Nicky than to Neil at this point anyways, morals about consent set aside.)

           Dr Betsy Dobson had pale brown hair to her chin and a few extra curves. Years of smiles were etched into her face the way only genuine warmth could scar. She looked friendly, but she wasn’t harmless. The brown eyes looking at him through narrow-rimmed glasses were bright and intelligent.

Which means the only way I’ll be able to see Betsy Dobson now is as a brown-haired, Ravenclaw version of Molly Weasley.

Heck yes.

          Neil took an instant disliking to her.

HOW DARE YOU.

I mean, I get it, trauma and anxiety, I don’t blame him, yadda yadda, also how dare you.

           “My name is Betsy Dobson. You can call me whatever you like; I’ll answer to just about anything from Betsy to Doc to Hey You. Shall I call you Neil, or would you prefer Mr. Josten?”

           “Either one is fine,” Neil said.

           “Then for the time being, I will call you Neil. If you’re ever offended or feel like this makes our relationship too personal, just warn me and I will edit it too something more appropriate for our needs. (…) Why don’t you get comfortable and I’ll make us some hot cocoa.”

That’s it, accepted, loved, cherished, made a nice lil corner for her in my heart, Bee, you’re a good egg.

This impression of her stays through their entire talk she has with Neil. She reminds me of  the psychiatrist I briefly saw when I was still in school, and as that woman was bloody amazing, this can only mean good things.

           “What you and I say in here is meant for us alone. [Wymack and Abby] will never ask, and I will never tell. Do you believe me?”

           “How can I?” Neil asked. “I just met you.”

           “I respect that,” Betsy said. “Hopefully I can earn your trust over time.”

GAH. <3

I’m so, so incredibly happy this character exists. Why is this talk over already.

I hope she comes back lots of times to bless us with wise insights and hot cocoa #cocoaoutforbetsy

Time for more Renee now!

           “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Andrew was convinced it would be a disaster. He put money on you hating Betsy.”

“Did you bet against him?”

           “Yes,” Renee said. “It was a private bet between the two of us.”

          (…)

           “I hope you didn’t lose much,” Neil said.

What’s that saying? ‘A subtle dash of savage a day keeps the curious teammates away’.

           “Why does Andrew tolerate you, anyway? You two should hate each other on principle.”

           “Either you think too highly of me or not highly enough of Andrew,” Renee said. (…) “My faith keeps me and Andrew from always seeing eye-to-eye, but he and I understand each other.”

Oh, so her cross necklace in those soft grungy tumblr edits isn’t just ~aesthetic religious symbolism~? This is v interesting. TELL ME MORE.

           There had to be more to Renee than her cross jewelry and pretty smiles if she’d qualified for a spot on Wymack’s broken team, Neil knew, but he hadn’t thought he’d misjudged her this badly. He mulled over everything that could be wrong with her from split personalities to clinical insanity.

Aha ha ha, literally me since we first met her. GIVE ME RENEE’S SNOWFLAKE AXE MURDERER BACKSTORY, AND GIVE IT TO ME NOW.

They get back to the Court, where Wymack gets ready to do one of the things he does best: Drop casual unexpected oh-shit news bombs.

           “If the press slips past and wants answers, you tell them we’re not saying anything until Kathy’s show on Saturday.”

           “Kathy?” Dan asked.

           “Kathy Ferdinand.” Wymack took one look at her confused face and scowled at Kevin. “Didn’t you tell them?”

           “There wasn’t a need to,” Kevin said.

There wasn’t a need to, my ass. This is prime Kevin-speak for “I don’t want you to watch me fake a billion smiles on national television because I don’t want you to see me as anything else than Prime Exy Overlord, Stoic and Mighty, All Hail Unto Him.”

Thankfully, the Foxes are fluent in Kevin-speak and take none of his bullshit.

           “Do you even remember how to smile?“ Matt asked. Kevin glared at him, but Matt only laughed. “Well, that’s worth going for. I’m in.”

           “I’ll buy us doughnuts for the ride,” Dan said.

It’s Road Trip To Embarrass Kevin Time!! Love this. Will mentally chip in on the doughnuts.

I also found my chapter title for that interview part just now.

           “No thank you,” Neil said.

           “I vetoed your choice on the matter,” Wymack said. “The ERC is outing you Friday morning. I don’t want you out of my sight until the initial hubbub dies down.”

           “I can take care of myself,” Neil said.

           “Watch me beam with pride. It’s not your job to take care of yourself anymore. It’s your job to play, and mine and Abby’s job to look after you. Get your priorities straight.”

Hello, and welcome to our popular show Neil Doesn’t Realize People Actually Care About Him, episode 2 of a billion!

Also, I want to make a sexuality joke at Neil getting his priorities straight, but I can’t decide on one. I’m sure they’re all ace though.

(I know he’s demi. You fucking try making a demi pun in that context, it’s bloody hard.)

(Actually, do try. Flood my inbox. PLEASE.)

           “Kevin, wake that dingbat up withought getting punched in the face. (…)”

           “I got it.” Nicky grimaced and gave Andrew a hard shake.

           (…) Andrew was moving before he was fully awake, slamming his fist so hard into Nicky’s chest that Neil’s entire body ached in sympathy pain.

Is this habit of Andrew punching the fuck out of people when they wake him going to become a running gag, because I love it.

(It’s probably to do with his backstory, yadda yadda, we all know this, boring, give me more hilarious accidental uppercuts.)

The next three pages are a pretty uneventful description of Neil’s first day at Actual College™, which I’ll spare you because of aforementioned uneventfulness.

Neil giving actual negative fucks about his education makes my lil Ravenclaw nerd heart weep, though. Just for the record.

           Neil debated for a minute as to which one [of his assignments] sounded least painful. Five minutes later he was still uninspired, so he put his head down on his desk.

#relatable, this time for real. Me doing maths/science homework in school, all the time.

Matt then catches him literally sleeping his textbooks and, to wrap things up, says the indisputably best thing anyone has said this entire chapter:

           “I’d say it gets easier, but.” Matt shrugged. “You should probably cut back on your late practices now that classes are in session.”

           “I’m fine,” Neil said. (…)

           “You say that an awful lot,” Matt said. “I’m starting to think you don’t know what it means.”

D R A G   H I M.

Neil “I’m fine” Josten has nothing on Matt “I can see your bullshit and I don’t like the way it stinks up my area” Boyd. <3