#ill feel bad for him when he's fucking cried from dysphoria and felt physical pain telling someone his name or hearing his name

[invisiblyvisiblejay]

lifehack don't get so attached to ur kids names that when they come out as trans and want to change it u get super fucking personally offended about it

[atravisphilepsclicker]

Can I get comfort from sal? So trans male reader keeps his binder on to long to the point of bruises and pain? You can chose headcanons or a one shot it’s up to you •3•

Summary: Sal comes home from his supermarket job to see you were in your shared bedroom in your shared apartment and asks how long you kept your binder on after you answer him he tries to help you with the pain.

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Word Count:1654

Pronouns: he/him

Gender: trans male

Warning: mentions of dysphoria, bruising, back pain and small injury

Modern AU

You both are in high school and Sal has a part-time job at the town Walmart.

Y/N = your name

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3rd Person POV

Sal stood in front of the apartment door with the card key in his left hand and was texting the group gc ( with him, todd, larry, ashily, maple and chug ). He turned off his phone and slid the key into the card lock and a small light turned red to green showing that it was unlocked.

Walking into the apartment Sal was met with silence. It didn’t worry him but he wondered where you were when he came home from work you usually were sitting on the couch doing something to pass the time as you waited for him but you weren’t there to give him his usual greeting of “ Hey, Sal, “ or “ Hey, blue! “

Sal then locked the door, took off his shoes, and put them on the boot rack on the door’s left side. Sal stood upright and walked into the living room and that’s when he heard it, “ Oh you’re home, Welcome back! “ Sal heard you greet him from the bedroom. The bedroom door was half open leaving him being able to see you laying on the bed in the room. Sal walked over to the door and opened it and leaned on the door frame.

He looked at you, you were so handsome laying there your legs laying straight on the bed as you scrolled on your phone. You had a tired look on your face and you bet your ass your amazing boyfriend Sal noticed and frowned, furrowing his brow. “ So how was your day today? You look tired. “ Sal asked with a slightly worried tone. You look at him with a small smile and turn off your phone, putting it on the nightstand beside your side of the bed.

“ It was fine I haven’t had a lot of sleep since I was trying to finish the dam book assignment T/N gave us. I did ask todd to help me after I finished pulling out my hair a little. So it’s done now and I won’t have to return to hell for a few days till our next assignment. But other than that I’ve had a fine day. “ You told the blue-haired male that was now on sitting on the bed beside you legs crossed with one hand holding his face listening to you.

You looked at him and asked, “ So how was your day at work? I guess the boss gave you overtime at the store again? “ You asked since he came home 2 hours later than his work schedule had said. “ Yeah, sorry! I tried to get off earlier but she just gave me so many things to do! “ He said annoyed. You leaned on one side wincing at the bit of pain moving gave you and Sal noticed. Sal was not a genius but when he saw you do that it didn’t take long for him to remember the last time a few months ago you didn’t take off your binder for longer than it intended. “ Hey, love how long have you had your binder on? “ He asked with tones of worry in his voice. You saw his eyes through the mask, they looked worried for you, the love of his life.

You sigh and close your eyes not wanting to see his reaction, “ 12 hours. “ You say quietly, almost in a mumble. “ Take it off. “ Sal told you with a stern pained voice. You were hesitant not wanting to have terrible dysphoria again, I mean that the entire reason you have had that on for so long and you both knew it. It took a little time to think but you finally surrendered. “ Fine…” You said with an upset sigh. You sat up quickly sending a jolt of pain down your spine making you lay back down and groan in pain. Sal quickly moved over to you and held your arm with one hand. “ Do you need me to help get up? It must be really painful to move. “ Sal asked rubbing circles on your arm. You make a pained smile, “ That would be really nice of you blue, thank you. “

Sal moved, straightening his back. “ Okay, first let’s sit you up just tell me when you’re ready to move and ill put my hand behind your back and push you up slowly. “ Sal told you. You waited for a minute for the pain to die down a little and told him you were ready. Sal slid his hand under the lower side of your back knowing your upper back must be in so much pain right at the moment.“ K, one...two...three! “ Sal started to move you up slowly and steadily.

Once you sat up Sal helped you lean your back on the backboard of your bed. After that Sal got off the bed and stood beside you. “ You alright? “ He asked squatting down to lead his head in your lap. “ Yeah, I’m fine just in a little bit of pain but no worries! “ You answer as you twirl a few of Sal’s soft blue locks in your fingers. “ Well...if you’re sure you’ll be fine then do you think we could try to stand you up and get that binder off of you? “ He asked in a caring tone. “ Yeah, we could try but I think I might fall over if I do. “ You cucked. SaL then stood up and held both of your arms. “ You know you don’t need to hold me like this right? “ You say as you steadily move up wincing at the pain your binder gave you to move. “ I know I just want to make sure you’re safe and won’t get hurt more than you already are. “ He started concentrating on getting you to stand up. Once you finally stood up he started getting your shirt off as you looked away embarrassed and disgusted. “ Why are you okay seeing my disgusting body? “ You aked as Sal threw your shirt on the bad behind you both. He looked bad at you and put his hand on your face and started rubbing small shapes with his thumb, “ Because I love you, and your handsome body, love. You are anything but disgusting! You're my handsome attractive boyfriend and that's what you'll always be to me, even if you hate how you look ill help you show that you're beautiful! And hey, we can always start saving up for surgery to get them removed if you really want. I’ll do anything to make you happy and I want you to know that but for now, we just need to get that binder off of you. “ He told you. You started to tear up as he started taking it off of you and finally broke down as he also put that down with the discarded shirt. “ Thank you. I love you! “ You cried on her shoulder.

“ Shhhh it’s okay….how about I give you a nice massage to relieve some of the pain? “ Sal asked calming you down slightly. You sniffed a bit and then looked at him with tear stains down your face. “ Yeah, that would be nice….” You said as you lay down in the middle of the bed. Sal sat down beside you and rolled up his sleeves. He first put his hands on your shoulders, thankfully they were warm and he started messaging the notes out. It felt good and you gave a big sigh. He then moved to where your bruises and cuts are from the binder. His hands became softer on your skin and he was careful to relieve some of the pain not give you some more. You felt a wave of relief when the pain died down you didn't even notice when Sal stopped till he said something to you. “ I'm going to get some ointment to put on the bruises! “ He told you walking out of your bedroom.

You stare at the wall in front of you as you listen to his movement, him opening the bathroom door then him opening the cupboard and moving some things around till he found the ointment. You looked over at the door as Sal walked in medicine in hand. He sat back down beside you were still laying on your stomach. “ This is going to be cold on your skin. “ He said opening the medicine and putting some on his finger. He put some on a large bruise and yeah, he was right, it's fucking cold. You wince at the cold feeling on your skin but you soon get used to the feeling as Sal rubbed it in more.

Soon enough he was done and you were tired mentally and physically. You look at your wonderful boyfriend beside you scrolling on his phone. “ You think we can cuddle? “ You ask looking at him with i tired and pained face. “ He turned off his phone and looked at you with beautiful and caring eyes. “ Sure, love! Let me just take off my mask. “ He told you unclipping the clips under his hair. You didn't even really notice he still had it on but was happy he's still comfortable taking it off around you. After setting his mask down on the nightstand he layed his back on the backboard and moved his arms out waiting for you to come in his arms. You crawled over to Sal and went into his comforting arms. You both stayed there in the quiet only sounds of small movement and breathing in air. Soon enough your eyes started getting droopy and you started letting out cute yawns. You hear Sal chuckle and you say a quick shut up before your eyes closed for good and you fell fast asleep going into an amazing and magical dream.

Now you both were together and that wouldn't change ever even if either of you struggles with things or life throws things at you you'll always be there for each other, from now and forever.

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Pictures

Sal Fisher- https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/496873771387590071/

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Sorry if this was terrible! I honestly loved writing this but was having some trouble getting my ideas down on the computer so it might seem quite bad, but hopefully, this helps even a little and have a great day/afternoon/night and remember to stay hydrated!

[cookinguptales]

A long post about having undiagnosed ADHD as a little girl. And how we all need to talk a hell of a lot more about Reaction Sensitive Dysphoria.

(cw: mental illness, childhood punishment, discussions of childhood self-harm & suicidal ideation)

When I was a little girl, I was a crybaby. I didn’t know why I’d cry all the time. I just did. Everything always felt catastrophic, even if it was just a disagreement over what to play with my friends. People called me manipulative. I got made fun of at school. I was sent to the school therapist. Hell, the only time I ever had to go to the principal’s office, I was in kindergarten and would not. stop. crying. I was literally sent to the principal’s office for crying too much.

(Note. How did I respond to that? I cried. A lot.)

Here are a few examples of things that made me feel like the world was ending:

Once I came home sobbing and my parents asked me what was wrong. Why was I crying? Because the other kids had called me a crybaby.

Once at daycare (around age six), some older boys were making effigies of their teachers out of play-doh and then smushing them and convinced me to join in. The minute I did, they told me that they were telling my teacher, which made me about lose my damn mind.

I was a voracious reader and often ran out of reading material. Once I sneaked some of my mother’s romance novels that she’d left in the bathroom for light reading. They were Very Adult. I was so scared she’d find out and scold me for reading sexually explicit books.

Now, my parents think these are kind of funny stories. They say that I was very cute. But in truth, I was a nervous wreck. My life was pretty good in most ways, but I’d have these moments that just felt like cascading catastrophes. Anytime someone criticized me or my work or my ideas, the sky would just come crashing down. I’d cry so hard I couldn’t breathe. I’d cry so hard I threw up. I grew out of the crying by about age nine, but that sickening feeling of failure never really left.

About 8 years ago, I was diagnosed with ADHD. Severe ADHD. I believe the doctor’s exact words were “I don’t even know how you graduated from high school”. They tried me on ADHD medicine but it made my heart go dokidoki so I just had to live with being unmedicated. I wasn’t told a lot about ADHD at that point, or how ADHD symptoms differ for women, so I just kind of assumed that it was just focus and that’s it. Brain fog wasn’t exactly new to me, what with my other illnesses, so I figured I’d just live with it.

But about a year ago, I learned about Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, which is a fairly common symptom of ADHD that no one ever told me about in my goddamn life! It essentially means that when you are criticized (or perceive something as criticism) by others or by yourself, your brain goes into absolute hyperdrive. You go from zero to “everyone hates me and I deserve that and probably don’t deserve to live too because I am just the worst” over like. literally nothing. And it’s not just like a mental thing you can train yourself out of. It’s characterized by actual physical pain. Y’all, I have anxiety and depression and this is not the same thing. This is your whole body seizing up and your brain going into a maelstrom that’s fairly similar to a panic attack.

Here’s the less cute side to all of those stories:

I had very few friends, and the friends I did have thought I was annoying and manipulative. The more I cried, the more kids stayed away from me.

After the Play-Doh incident, I cried for days. Days. And I was scared of my teacher for weeks. My parents laughed it off as a cute child thing, but none of it was cute for me. The older boys forgot about it by the next day, but it haunted my interactions with that teacher for weeks. It interfered with my education. I was a nervous wreck at school. I was so scared that she would hate me. That I’d be singled out in class. That I’d fail and my whole education would be upended and I’d fail out of school and my parents would hate me too and my life would be over. That’s... a lot for a six year old.

Those romance novels? That was a closely guarded secret that I kept for years. For literal years, I was afraid she’d somehow find out that I’d read those books. I would think of it when I was nine, ten, eleven years old and my whole body would stiffen up. I’d occasionally throw up. I cried about what might happen if my parents ever found out. Would they hate me forever? Yes, probably. They’d never love me again. I was a bad child. I finally told my mom about it a few months ago. I was 29. A small part of me was still scared I’d get in trouble. (My mom laughed about it; she was just like ‘wow, I should have put those books up higher’.)

When I was six, I went to an aftercare at a neighbor’s house for a while. (This predated the other daycare.) One day, one of the kids at aftercare didn’t get off the bus. The lady asked if anyone knew where he was. Trying to be helpful, I said I thought I’d seen him on the bus. (And like -- I really did think I did. But I was six and six year olds are uhhh not smart.) Surprise! He’d actually left school early for a dr’s appt. But she thought he’d missed his bus stop and spent like an hour on the phone figuring out what happened. And y’all. When she realized he hadn’t been on that bus, she was furious. When my other neighbor picked me up for my mom that evening, the lady told her that I was a bad child who’d purposefully lied to scare her. She said I wasn’t allowed to come back. And ohhh guys. I begged my neighbor not to tell my mom. (She did.) And then I begged my mom not to tell my dad. She was honestly kind of alarmed at how vehement I was about dad not knowing. (I was like a shaking, sobbing mess.) She asked me what I thought would happen. idk. Maybe he’d hit me. (My parents never hit me.) Maybe he’d throw me out of the house. Maybe he’d never talk to me again. He’d definitely stop loving me. I was so bad. So, so bad. I was a bad child. No one would ever love me. I was a worthless, bad child.

In short, I was hysterical.

When my parents finally talked to me about it, it was less of a talk about consequences and more talking me off the fucking ledge. They weren’t that concerned about the actual incident; they figured out pretty quickly that I’d just made a mistake. A temporarily scary one, but a mistake all the same. (I basically never misbehaved, so they were kind of confused by the whole situation, honestly.) But they were very concerned about my reaction to it. I knew they loved me, right? I knew that they wouldn’t hurt me, right? Why did I think that was a possibility?

I didn’t know. I still don’t know. It wasn’t rational. It was just my brain exploding into a thousand tiny pieces.

This is not a memory my mom laughs about. I think it really genuinely disturbed her. She’s still angry at that aftercare neighbor for doing that to me. As an adult, I realize that the person who actually fucked up in that scenario was the boy’s mother, who didn’t call to alert aftercare that he wouldn’t be coming. (Funnily enough, that boy’s mother was my first grade teacher -- the one I was so terrified of. Small town. I guess I was scared of her hating me, too.) But as a child, this wasn’t just bad. It was catastrophic. I genuinely considered hurting myself. I was six years old and I considered hurting myself. Suicidal ideation is often part and parcel with RSD. I’ve had to deal with that since elementary school.

RSD is real and it’s terrifying and it’s not unusual in children with ADHD. It’s still a problem that I struggle with. I’ve had friends not answer texts for a while and my brain just. assumes that I said something wrong. And now they hate me. Because I’m a bad person. And my whole body will shake. I’ll sweat. My stomach will roll. My chest will literally hurt like I’m having a heart attack. I still have to blink back those tears. Sometimes I’ll go for a walk to distract myself and burn off all that energy. Sometimes I’ll write a post like this. Sometimes I’ll just lie in bed. Shaking. Trying very hard not to think about doing Bad Things. It’s hard to say how it’ll go until it goes.

(Note: I’m okay right now! I was just talking about this with dad yesterday so I’ve been thinking about it.)

And this is not my friends’ fault! Or my family’s fault. This is no one’s fault. It’s just... mental illness, I guess. It’s hard to predict. Sometimes I can have a calm and reasonable discussion about my faults (which I fully admit exist) and sometimes someone disagrees with me on whether a tv show is good and my brain shits itself. (I’m dumb and stupid and this person probably hates me now! Because I didn’t love Avatar! Why did I open my big mouth? Now our whole relationship is ruined and I ruined it because I am a dumb relationship-ruiner!) Obviously, it gets worse when my physical and mental state is already fragile. I have a lot of chronic physical and mental illnesses, so like... it happens. But it’s very hard to predict, very hard to control, and all you can do is really talk yourself through it when it happens. Breathe. Focus on what’s real and what’s not. Distract yourself. Be as kind to your brain as you can because it will not be kind back.

Talk to people who love you. Try, whenever possible, to be one of those people.

idk. I wish I had concrete advice to finish this off. But it’s more just like... please learn to see the signs, especially in small children. I had far too many strong emotions for a child to figure out on her own. I really could have used some help. It’s too late for my childhood, but not for the other kids who are struggling with similar issues right now.

And if you read this and see yourself in it, do me a solid and talk to your doctor? Your brain might thank you one day.

[otterbeesfanficblog]

One Hell Of An Emotion

Supernatural x sibling!Reader (neutral pronouns)

A/N: Gender dysphoria + Period cramps + holiday season + several mental illnesses = THE BEST DAY OF MY FUCKIN LIFE ™ This is really just me venting so, you don't need to read it if you don't want to, but all of what is written is what happens to me daily

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

This goes into detail of suicidal thoughts and suicide attempt. These may be triggering for some people. If these are at all not good or dangerous to you mental health, DO NOT READ. Read at your own risk. Know that you are loved, you are enough, and you are never alone. If at all you feel your life is threatened, please contact a helpline.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Nothing went right, not the hunt, not the research, you even let two people die because you were too slow. You knew it was all your fault, when wasn't it your fault? First you fucked up the research, ending up thinking it was the wrong monster, then two poor, innocent people had to pay for your mistakes.

You're a failure, a mistake. You knew you should have stayed back, they did too. Hell, they even told you, but did you listen? Of course not.

All because you have Winchester blood pumping through your veins, you thought you could do it. They have been training you so hard, teaching you the ropes.

And here's the kicker boy's and girl's, that monster fuck got away. Because of you. All because of you.

Stupid. Idiot. Failure. Mistake. Worthless. Lousy example of a human. A waste of time–

"Y/n," It was Sam, of course it was Sam, Dean was probably off the walls pissed at you. "Y/n, come on, can I please come in?"

He'd been begging outside the door like a lost puppy for the last 20 minutes now, and oddly enough, he kinda sounded worried.

Who were you kidding? He's not worried, he's pissed. But he's the 'emotional' brother, he's the one who has to tell you it wasn't your fault, that it was okay, that you could feel bad about this.

No. You had no right to fail. No right to lose him. You have no right to feel sorry for yourself. You have no right to get sad and lock yourself away in this cold, lonely motel room.

Sammy couldn't pretend like this was acceptable, Dean sure couldn't — God, he must be seething with anger right now— who are you to expect people to come comfort you for something that could have been avoided.

The tears streamed down your face as you got more and more angry with yourself, the pain, fear, anger, and sorrow of failure were hitting.

Hard.

You jaw was clenched, hot tears rolling down your face as you dug your nails into your palms. Sam's voice only added on to the self hate that was boiling up and drowning you, his gentle, forgiving and loving brotherly voice only made the pit in your stomach worse and the tears to fall faster.

They were mad, so very very mad. They had to be. You failed even after all they taught you.

You don't want them to be mad, you couldn't stand to look at their faces.

It wasn't the anger you didn't want to see. Your heart sank more and whimper left your mouth at the meer thought.

They were disappointed in you. Oh, that hurts. You disappointed them and they would never trust you again, not after this, after what you did.

Curling closer to yourself, you rocked back and forth, desperately trying to calm yourself down, trying to breath normal.

They hate, you know they do. They're gonna leave you somewhere and never look back, they are gonna finally get rid of you like they always wanted.

You know it.

They've never said these things, but you knew deep down they wanted to. You could see it in their eyes.

You were angry at yourself again.

What right do you have to cry? That couple is dead because of you! They had families that loved them! That looked for them everywhere! And you should up to them saying their dead?

Without even thinking, you stomped your way into the bathroom, almost punching the light switch on.

Your face was all red, eyes puffy and wet, nose was disgustingly runny, you had drooled and now you looked at yourself with nothing but disgust and anger.

No one should have to deal with a bug like you. You're better off dead like you were supposed to be, the boys shouldn't have even tried looking for you let alone bring you back.

You died in the womb after Sammy was born like you were supposed to, it was life's — no, God's way of saying "get this filthy stain off the planet before it can even breath a drop of air."

And yet here you are, living, breathing... Wasting air, barely living. Castiel took you from heaven in your teen years, so here you stood, a teen-ager who's only wish right now is to be dead like God intended.

You slammed the bathroom door shut, making sure to lock the door so that no one and nothing could stop you.

Staring at yourself angrily in the mirror, you glared at you sniveling coward like reflection.

Were you finally going to grow a pair and do it? Yo stop pushing down all your feelings and thoughts and just let yourself disappear like you and everyone else in the world wants?

Looking to the bathroom counter, you saw the small bag of medications calling your name. The small but sharp scissors shined a brilliant like at you, begging to be used.

You chest felt light at the thought of finally letting go of all this pain, but the tears didn't stop, instead they got worse.

There was a little voice in your head, screaming, crying, begging for you to listen to it. It's telling you not to, it's telling you to run to your brothers open arms, it's telling it's okay to cry and feel emotions, it's telling you that you are not a mistake and so, so so many people love and care about you.

People who would be devastated to see you go, heart broken, to know you were only feet away from them, fighting a war in you head... And asking no one for help.

But you didn't listen... You never listened.

That's what landed you hear in the first place, why you needed to do this.

You didn't think twice before grabbing the small bag, taking out all the meditations you thought would make you pass out the fastest.

Beggars can't be choosers when it comes to fast or slow, painful or peaceful deaths, but it doesn't mean you won't try.

You opened and downed them all, every single pill, emptying every bottle. Leaning down and drinking the faucet water, making it feel less stuck in your chest. But you did want to wait anymore.

The more time went by, the more you got scared, the more tears came, the more you regreted this, the more you wanted to call out your brothers names for help. Call out to anyone. Anyone who would listened.

Before you could regret more, you took the scissors off the counter and quickly dragged it across your arm.

One long, deep cut from your wrist to your elbow... And it didn't hurt.

You always imagined it would hurt.

Sliding to the floor you repeated this pattern as many times as you could on the one arm before going to the other.

It was oddly satisfying, painless and like cutting length wise down a piece of paper. Clean cuts.

The red was everywhere, but you couldn't feel it, the same way you couldn't hear your brothers break open your motel room door.

It was like everything was slowing down, you slowly set the red scissors down on the ground next to you, you slowly whimpered and cried out to your brothers in the weakest voice ever imagined.

The bathroom door slowly broke open, both Sam and Dean slowly ran over to you, dropping to your sides and taking your bloody arms, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

They were crying, or maybe it was you? Either way, tears were falling down their faces as they called out to you, screamed your name, begging you to keep your eyes open, not to leave them.

But they sounded so far away. So so far away, even with Sam rubbing his head on yours, crying out your name next to your ear he was so distance. Even with Dean, desperately trying to keep face and tell you to stay awake, he was far away too.

And for a moment, it was like time stop.

You saw a sudden flash of tan and a rush of emotions and feelings came over you. You could all at once feel the pain in your arms, then not. The fullness in your stomach, and thick feeling of pills lodged in your throat, then not.

Anger, joy, sadness, confusion. But the worst one of all, an emotion you were drowning in. An emotion that made you scream at the top of your lungs in pain, not physically, but the aching feeling in your chest made you want to rip your own heart out.

You felt guilty. Guilty for doing this to yourself, to your brothers you held you so desperately tight — afraid that if they let go, you would be gone— to Castiel, the Angel of the Lord who stood before you with the saddest blue ocean eyes you had ever seen.

You felt guilty on behalf of the people who loved you but who are gone. Your mother, who wanted you just as badly as Sam. You're father, who wanted so badly to know what his lost child would have grown to be. Bobby, who held you close to his heart just like your brother because you were his kid.

There are so many, so many people, here or not. Living or dead. That wanted you to live. That didn't think you were a mistake, that didn't want you to leave.

You shake as your screams quiet down to whimpers, holding onto Dean and Sam so tight it hurt but you didn't care. They wanted you here, they wanted you to live and breath and laugh and cry and sing and dance... They didn't want you to take your life. Not from yourself... And not from them.

"I'm sorry... I'm so so sorry..." It was a phase you repeated over and over through sobs, desperate to show then how sorry you were. But they didn't say anything, only holding you tighter.

What was left of the Winchester family, huddled on the tiled floor of a motel bathroom, holding one another for dear life, begging the world to leave them alone.

Let them be happy, let them not have to bee heros, to let then fight the wars in their head before Bing sent out to fight a war they had no need to be a part of.

And soon, the tears stopped, the tight grips loosened, and then you all sat, on the floor, quietly.

Castiel sat in the door frame, watching you all with protective eyes, standing guard, ready for any enemy to try to hurt the humans he as come to love and no as family.

Here now, in this moment, he would not let anything happen to you. He would fist watch heaven fall and hell rise before he let anything harm the people he calls family, and that was a silent vow he took.

Your face was still red, nose still stuffy and wet, eyes puffy and soon you began to feel the headache start to arrive.

You let out a sigh, wiping a hand over you eyes as you spoke in a raspy tone of voice.

"I would get some advil but um... " You glanced up at you small bag, all the medicine bottles were empty. Sam was the next to speak, sounding just as tried, if not more, than you.

"Too soon."

You let out breath of air that almost sounded like a laugh, and Dean, the loving big brother he was, threw his arm over your shoulder and sighed.

"I could really go for a Burger."

Before Sam could complain about now not being the time, you then burst out laughing, new tears starting to come to your eyes.

Not sad tears or angry tears, joyful tears, relief tears.

A weight was lifted of your chest that made you feel light and giddy, the laugh you let out made all three men smile, knowing this was a sign of you being okay.

There was no possible why they were letting you out of their sight tonight, not that you were complaining, but they now knew that Y/n that they knew and loved was okay, at least for now.

"You want a burger too? And some fries? Oh, like, 5 packs of fries and like 3 huge burgers. Huh? Who's with me? Is it you?"

Dean pokes you in the side, a smile reaching his eyes as you giggle and flinch away from his pokes, leaning into Sammy who was smiling ear to ear at your now happy state.

You all made a trip to nearest food joint, you and Castiel sat in the back and Dean and Sam in front as always.

You ate, you laughed, you love, and you are alive.

Guilt, sadness, shame, regret, anger, fear. These are all emotions, strong ones at that.

But damn.

Love is one hell of an emotion.

[cookinguptales]

Today, SCOTUS is hearing arguments about whether businesses should have to cover birth control for their employees in their health insurance plans and I just. It’s hard to read.

I was going to make up this big informational persuasive post about the situation. But I’m just. I’m just so sad and angry and tired. So I figured I’d make an emotional one instead.

Let me tell you about my hormonal birth control journey. 

(Rest under a cut for length and content. cw: mental illness, graphic discussion of medical issues, injuries, & menstruation, discussions of suicide & self-harm, discussion of opioids, alcohol, & recreational drug use.)

 I started taking hormonal birth control late in high school to help regulate “painful periods”. It wasn’t for actual birth control at that point and I hadn’t been diagnosed with any disease, not even POTS yet. I just had “painful periods”.

Things were okay for a little while, but when I got to college, things started to fall apart. The double whammy of undiagnosed mental illness and a barely-diagnosed chronic illness (POTS was relatively unknown at the time and my doctors gave me information which I now know is incorrect) really caused me to spiral during my first year of college. I didn’t know it yet, but I react very poorly to some forms of hormonal birth control. Put succinctly, they drive me batshit insane. On one pill, I literally did not leave my apartment for over a month. I became very literally agoraphobic. Bouncing off the walls, irritable, angry, high suicidal ideation. As bad as side effects can be.

But I didn’t know that yet. I just stopped taking BC as part of the whirlwind of medicines and doctors that my life became for about two years while I was on my (first) medical leave from college.

My ribs were coming out back then. I didn’t know that yet, either. I knew that when I was around 16, I started getting severe back pains. The first time it happened, I had to go to the ER because I couldn’t breathe and my teachers thought I was having a heart attack. I got a narcotic shot in my butt. It did nothing to dull the pain. That’s how much it hurt. But it went away on its own eventually and I over the years I started medicating reoccurrences with a lot of different things. Physical therapy. Muscle relaxers. (Medically prescribed) opiates that made me puke. Prescription strength Advil. Wine.

I didn’t see that it was all connected yet. Not yet. I didn’t realize, with my periods as irregular as they were, that the back pains were coming around the same time in my cycle each time.

My “painful periods” got worse. I talked to an OBGYN, with my mother in the room. I told her that I was scared of something like childbirth. I knew that my blood flow was dangerously bad. What if the fetus didn’t get enough blood? Oh, my doctor laughed, that wasn’t a problem. The fetus would always get enough blood. The risk was that I wouldn’t. That it, like the tiny vampire it was, would take it all until I simply died. If I got pregnant, I would likely die. I asked about permanent sterilization. My mother cried. My doctor said no. I didn’t ask again.

I went back on birth control.

It was odd. I didn’t want children before that visit, not really. I was so tired all the time. I knew I’d never be able to manage to raise a child — and honestly, I didn’t care to try. I was so depressed. I was so sick. It sounded like so much work. I still don’t want to have kids. But it still feels… weird, knowing that I can’t. And knowing that I could die if I get knocked up.

I’m bisexual, but I have zero sexual contact with men (because I don’t love them, despite being somewhat sexually attracted to them) and zero sexual contact with people with penises (because they could literally kill me and it would be no one’s fault). But I’ve been followed home by men before. I’ve had cabbies lock me in and ask me for a date. I’ve had men who won’t take no for an answer. And my god, it terrifies me that I might have to deal with both sexual assault and a slowly creeping murder all at once.

(It’s laughable to think he’d be tried for both.)

I ended up getting sick off birth control a few times. I went on and off it periodically during my college career. I now in retrospect see that a lot of my “meltdowns” were a combination of discrimination-based stress, physical breakdowns, and hormonal whirlwinds. At my worst times, I was on birth control. The wrong ones.

My periods, over time, got worse. My back would hurt. The cramps were unbelievable. I couldn’t feel my legs. I could feel them too much. I couldn’t keep food down. I’d be so angry, so sad, so everything.

I went to the doctor again. I was diagnosed with both endometriosis and PMDD. PMDD, or premenstrual dysphoria disorder, is like PMS on steroids. I remember telling my doctor, in halting tones, that I wasn’t well before my periods. That I always had depression, always had anxiety, but I wasn’t well before periods. At her prodding, I confessed that sometimes I would just lie there for hours, for days, in the fetal position. That I’d clutch at my own arms, mooring myself, because I knew that those white knuckles were the only thing between me and killing myself. That my brain, always somewhat malevolent, became an inescapable mantra of death. That I’d just lie there and sob because it took everything I had not to hurt myself. That I’d find claw marks, bruises, on my arms later, and all I could do was get some ice.

It was better than the alternative.

I told my doctor about how painful my periods had always been. How I’d heard a story once about, y’know, that Spartan boy? The one who hid a fox kit under his shirt during an examination and stayed perfectly silent even as it clawed at him so he wouldn’t be caught with it? How it tore at his stomach until he fell down dead, still silent? I told her how I felt like I was holding a fox kit every damn month and sometimes I couldn’t stand the pain of it. Sometimes I considered ending that pain, one way or another.

She put me back on birth control.

A little less than a year later, or in layman’s terms, about a year ago, my mental health was so bad again that I was almost committed. Literally committed. I had to go stay with my parents for a few months while I transitioned to new medications because it wasn’t safe for me to be alone. I learned that the birth control I was on could create those symptoms — but they didn’t start until months after you’d started taking it. So you didn’t realize it was the medicine. You just assumed you were crazy and unlikable and so, so angry. At the world, at your loved ones, but mostly at yourself.

I learned, around that time, that I also had Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. That the pain I felt every month right before my period wasn’t just cramps. It was my bones coming undone from their sockets. It was my hips dislocating. It was my ribs popping out of my spine. I realized that that lump my parents could feel in my back wasn’t a hard knot of tense muscles. It was my fucking rib poking out of my back. I learned that there is a period right before menstruation that mimics a period during pregnancy where your joints loosen — your body thinks it is preparing you for birth, for loosening your pelvic cavity so an entire head can pass through. For someone with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, that period of joint looseness was enough to wreak absolute havoc on a system of already-weakened joints.

I learned how to put my own ribs back in with a foam roller. I started drinking marijuana tea for the pain. I went on a different birth control. I stopped taking the placebo pills. I had to fully eradicate that entire portion of my cycle. Goodbye PMDD and ribs constantly popping out. I don’t miss you!

I am still on that pill, y’know. Every day I take it and wonder if I’m one step closer to the day when it inevitably destroys me. The last one took about a year. Tick tock.

Or maybe I finally found the one that works… I really just don’t know.

The fact of the matter is that I have a full handful of maladies that require birth control so I can function. PMDD, endometriosis, dangerous pregnancy, EDS. I need hormonal birth control. I would probably be dead by now without it. The PMDD especially was that bad. My internal organs are likely a scarred-up mess. But the birth control itself almost killed me, too. God, it was close.

Simply put, birth control is heaven and hell all wrapped up in a pill. It treats illnesses and it prevents pregnancy. In other words, it provides you with both freedom and peace of mind. It is absolutely essential. But it’s also monstrous. The sheer number of sometimes-deadly side effects that come with hormonal treatments is staggering. Which is why you need to be under a doctor’s careful eye when you’re on it. You need to be free to choose whichever brand you need. You need to be free to switch kinds at a moment’s notice. None of these things are possible in a system where these pills are not fully covered by insurance.

(And yes, I know, this is a stupidly American problem in so many ways. Obviously the ideal thing here would be single-payer for all medical procedures. But that’s not up for debate here and insurance for BC is. Because for some reason we let some people’s religious convictions determine others’ health care. But I digress.)

Please don’t worry too much for me. I have a good employer who has told me in no uncertain terms that I don’t need to worry about my healthcare coverage. But there are so many people just like me. Who may not have diagnoses yet. Who may have “problem bodies”. Who only know that they need to do something and that they might have to go through several pills to find it. Whose employers either have the strong religious belief that hormonal birth control is a sin or the strong religious belief that they want to pay as little as possible for their workers’ health care. (Call me cynical.)

Those are the people I worry about. Those are the people I feel absolutely sick over as I watch the SCOTUS argue whether we should be allowed to have life-saving medicine. The people who I know will fall through the cracks the second that the cracks are widened enough for them to do so. The people who will die.

It’s a tense time right now. It’s a tense time for very obvious reasons. But this morning I find myself to be even tenser, and my stomach hurts thinking about it. It feels like all I can do is stare at a pill packet and remember every horrible reason I need it and every horrible thing it’s done to me and I just.

It’s a lot.