#ill jot down some scene ideas for your Ease of Use

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

dear future me, Please remember to write the metamorphosis fic and title it ~✨the yassification of howdy pillar✨~

[coughupmoney]

Dead On Arrival

Awakening to a sharp pain in your chest is scary, but also it’s really really funny. It was funny even at the time. I had started my first antidepressant about a month before this incident; Viibryd. I hate to say that I love doing drugs but I love doing drugs.

When I was diagnosed with depression, Viibryd had just hit the antidepressant scene, a new drug that would dramatically decrease the latency period before the antidepressant would take effect. The day I was prescribed, I was told the effects would be immediate. As soon as I took the drug, I didn’t even feel happy--I felt balanced. It wasn’t an “upper”: a perky, pleasure pill. It was a secret ingredient that provided my brain with some homeostasis. As immediate as the effects were, so were the adverse effects; but that is the trial by fire you face when you relinquish yourself to the world of pharmaceuticals.

The stability I was finally feeling was wonderful, but was it worth the cost of waking up everyday at four in the morning with a searing pain in your chest? I’ll tell you two truths: one, that this deliciously, delectable drug exacerbated my anxiety and two, I secretly enjoyed waking up everyday at four A.M because it was something I could count on. I’ve always been comforted by stability even if it came in the form of torment. All I craved was some structure. However, the pain started to worry me.

At the time I hadn’t recognized that this searing pain was an anxiety attack. That diagnosis came later, in the hospital. Day after day, I awoke in pain, my hypochondria sighing in sorrow. For the sear, for the burn, for the meeting of tomorrow. Every attack was greeted with overwhelming fear. Fear that I was dying. That I was having a heart attack. I went to sleep thinking that every night would be my last. Eventually, after I had let this fear build up in my chest, the fear overwhelmed me. So naturally, I turned it loose on my parents. I allowed my screams and cries to fall upon their sleeping ears. I desperately knocked on their bedroom door.

I hear muffled voices and footsteps creaking on the hardwood floor. “What’s wrong?” Father answers through a crack of the door. I’m not sure how to explain the pain that I’m in.

“My chest hurts.” I say, with efforts of sincerity. My fear is that my plea will be disregarded. Luckily, I was first held at the will of my overbearing Father.

For him, my plea was an immediate call to action. “Do you want to go to a hospital?” He responded. “I think I have to.” I said. Here’s where the water works start. How pathetic. I mean at this point, couldn’t you have just quietly driven yourself to the ER? Here we go, become a burden on all those forced to love you.

Father and I were panicked, quickly collecting ourselves and carrying our urgent vessels into the vehicle. Mother, on the other hand, was at ease. What a fucking bitch. She slowly made her way out of bed and into the shower. While she soaked herself in relaxing hot water, I waited in the car clutching my chest. Like, way to make me feel like shit, I’m sitting in this musky-ass car possibly having a heart attack and here you are taking your sweet time probably awaiting my possible death. She took her time, drying her hair, putting her face on, and adorning herself in a beautiful outfit. I was clearly no cause for her concern. Not like I’ve ever been...are you kidding? She finally made her way out of the house and into the passenger side of the car. Fuckin’ bitch. As soon as her door shut, Father hit the road and said nothing. How could he just sit there and say nothing to her while she treats me like nothing?

The closest hospital was only 10 minutes away. The ride halted at a red stop light. We sat in silence for a few minutes. I would assume if anyone gave a fuck about me they would have flown through that stupid stop light to get me some proper medical care. On the outside I was cold, stern, and stoic. WHY HE WASN’T RUNNING THE FUCKING RED LIGHT? It was five in morning, there was no other car in sight. The silence was broken by my Father who needed my Mother’s permission to run the light. Of course she made us wait. For a moment I couldn’t believe it. Until I could. It made so much sense. No ticket was worth the potential danger my life was in to this woman.

When I had finally realized that, I laughed my fucking head off. In the car, my explosion of laughter was grounds for mental insanity. My Mother questioned the validity of my pain-of course-but I just couldn’t stop laughing even as I clutched onto my chest. The pain had not subsided, even when the light turned green, even when we had made our way into the emergency room. The pain remained, but the irony was not lost on me. It was truly funny to me. This was the first time I had the full realization that I meant nothing to her. I meant absolutely nothing. I had also seen my Father for the coward his is. I realized that there was no one that could protect me from this environment and at that point all I could do was laugh. My laughter was rooted in disbelief, even though I had an entire lifetime of evidence that convinced me that this experience was completely plausible. I found this cognitive dissonance hilarious.

I guess with some introspection I realized that the alternative reactions wouldn’t have served me well. This is difficult to describe to people. Like, how am I going to tell you that depression and anxiety has been the worst challenge of my life? That it has given me insurmountable pain, and yet it has saved my life on multiple occasions? I revere mental illness as the miracle reaper of life. It has challenged every molecule of my being to give into death, yet has allowed me to navigate traumatic situations with ease because, of course, with anxiety, I expected all this to happen anyway.  

The rest of the trip wasn’t as eventful. The first course of action included attaching stickers onto my chest to monitor my heart’s rhythms. I remember two things about this scene; I had to take off my shirt, and I was afraid. What does it say about me that I was more concerned with the fact that I would be taking me shirt off rather than being concerned with the probable cause of my lurid chest pain? The technician was sweet. Tasty even, his skin looked soft and I wanted to touch it. From what I remember, I had made it clear to him that I was uncomfortable. I fear that I secretly wanted his pity. I realized that this would be the first time I was going to take my shirt off in front of a man. Honestly, it was hard to not be a little turned on.  I had spent about two years trying to avoid this moment and here my life was depending on it. I took off the white cotton sweatshirt I had fallen asleep in. Sexy right? I laid myself down on the thin, noisy paper availed upon the hospital bed bust. Pieces of my skin stuck to the leather peeking from beneath the tissue.

I knew this was standard procedure, I knew he did this everyday to all sorts of people. It still felt intimate for me. He and I made eye contact while he slowly stuck cold plastic stickers all over my chest. It made me embarrassed. I was a little wet. I was self conscience about my body. He assured me that I was doing great. The technician had no idea that I was slightly turned on and that’s okay with me. But honestly I thought we had a connection. He turned to me and showed me my heart monitor. The technician said that my results were normal. Normal heart rate, regular rhythm and if I remember correctly, he said I had a beautiful heart rhythm. What did I tell you? He loved me.

After we had ruled out that I was in fact not having a heart attack, we moved on to see if there was any damage to my upper body organs. I walked with another technician to get a chest x-ray. For this I had to change into a fabulous white hospital gown that showed off the spine line that led to my glorious plush pyjama pants. This technician was different. He was more personable. He left the room while I changed and when he stepped back in, he lifted my chart from the box above the door. I studied his face as he read my chart. I was looking for hints and tone. How was he going to address me? When he finally looked up at me, he smiled and asked, “How are you liking Viibryd?”

I was surprised but I responded slyly, “It’s pretty immediate actually, I’ve heard that other antidepressants can take up to six months to take effect.” When two people with mental illnesses get into a room together, there's an immediate sense of comradery. As long as someone is brave enough to out themselves first, the bond of emotional strife, taking drugs, and going to therapy is pretty immediate.

“I’ve been taking Zoloft for a while now”, he added.

“How long have you been depressed?” I asked. I was really hoping he’d say “Not very long! It was a temporary thing for me.” That was not the answer I received, of course.

He told me he had been depressed his entire life. That’s it. That’s always it. No one ever just does a stint with depression, it’s always a life sentence. A struggle that starts but never ends. At least, not until you end. He went on to tell met that it’s been an ongoing struggle for him and that he’s only recently been properly medicated. This is another thing that bothers me. Anytime you talk to someone struggling with depression They suffer for so long before they seek treatment. I am curious to know whether this is a folly on culture and institution or just a hazard of the illness.

He interrupted my thought, he had to ask me some health related questions before we did the chest x-ray. The technician jotted down some quick information about my age and medications I was taking. He also shyly asked if there was any way I could be pregnant. I said, “There’s no possible way.”

He responded “You’re not practicing huh?” I quickly wanted to change the subject but instead replied with a stern “no”. I don’t know why I was embarrassed to be a virgin. Maybe I was just embarrassed, about being a virgin and about my body. Two singularities existing in the multiplex of life. Whatever. He lead me to the machine. He placed a heavy lead cover on my chest. I knew this was to protect me from ray scatter.

“Just like the dentist” I joked. He told me that he was going to step into the small boxy closet in the corner of the room to take a few pictures. I stood still. I never thought anything could be wrong with my chest organs, yet my hypochondria sense was tingling. He left to take the pictures. It was painless. When he came back, I wanted to probe him with questions. “So is my chest okay?” My organs? My lungs? Was I slowly but surely dying? Was this the end of life as I knew it?

He spoke casually, “Only the doctor can really tell you that, I only take pictures.”

“That doesn’t help me.” I said.

He turned to me, not as a technician but as a person, and said, “I really think you’re fine.” I smiled and nodded. That is honestly all I’ve ever wanted anyone to say.

He walked me back to a regular hospital room to wait to speak with the doctor. I sat on the bed while both my parents sat in chairs in the corner of the room looking at their phones. Eventually, Father looked up at me, the gleam of screen still in his eyes, and asked how it went. I replied “It was fine”, so that he could get back to his phone.

Soon after, the ER Doctor knocked on the door and walked in. She looked at me hopefully. I feel like a sigh, like deflated air. She was carrying my chart, she flipped a few pages and said that my heart and lungs looked perfectly healthy. She deduced that my chest pain was an adverse effect of my new antidepressant and should subside over time. Of course at this point, Mother chimed in to say “I told you, antidepressants are bad for you.”

The ER Doctor responded, “Actually these symptoms are common while the body acclimates to the new drug.”

I’m not sure if Mother listened to one word that came out of the doctor’s mouth, she only replied, “I just believe that they’re bad.”

The doctor wasn’t sure how to respond. She told me that she was going to give me some Klonopin and beta blockers to subdue the anxiety. I took them both before we left. Within 30 minutes, my chest pain subsided. I felt lightheaded in the best way possible. We walked out of the ER and I listened to my parents talk as I slid back into the car. The only thing Mother had to say to Father about the experience was, “I can’t wait to see how much that bill will be, she shouldn’t even take antidepressants.” And maybe I would’ve cared, if I wasn’t so fucking high.

[restlessmaknae]

Case of emergency #1

Word count: 1043

Genre: fluff, comedy, romcom, romance

Pairing: vet!Jin & OC

Warning: -

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Dr. Kim Seokjin is the most perfect vet that you could ask for. Even if you think that he’s more in love with your dog than with you.

Barney was sick again.

He didn’t sleep, he didn’t eat and he barely drank. Every time I was near him, he gazed at me with his mesmerizing toffee-brown eyes but his orbs were so lifeless that I couldn’t help but wonder what had I done to deserve such behaviour. I didn’t remember that I had committed anything against him. I always gave him enough food and water, took care of his shiny fur and every single day, I even took him for a walk. What could be the matter then?

Oh yes, if I failed to mention, Barney was my fluffy little dog – a 3-years-old golden retriever. He had been my constant companion for 3 years now, small wonder why he meant so much to me. Whether I was single, whether I wasn’t, he was always there to cheer me up.

Yet, he was sick again. I had already taken him to the vet 3 times but he relapsed. They said that it was normal at his age because he eventually became older and was more exposed to illnesses. Despite the fact that I had tried my best to help him get through this state, he didn’t get any better. My poor little dog…

„What should I do?” I murmured frantically as I patted Barney’s head. He looked at me with his cute puppy eyes and whimpered a little. I let out a small albeit tired sigh. I must have been such a terrible owner.

„Maybe I should bring you to a different vet. What do you think about that, Barney?” I forced a smile to make him believe that I actually felt more at ease than I looked like. However, I was absolutely terrible at acting and he also knew that. Dogs were man’s best friends after all.

After giving it some thought, I realised that it would be the best if I really took him to a different expert. But who? The question hit me like a tornado. I didn’t know anyone apart from Mr. Oh who was actually excellent at his field but he never had a single pet, so he couldn’t really understand their emotions. Not like I was the Dog Whisperer or something but I had learned maybe a thing or two since I got Barney.

In the end, help came when I least expected it. I was actually taking Barney for a walk – or to be precise, I literally dragged him out of the flat since he didn’t want to move an inch. It was a brand new symptom, he did his best to move as little as possible and it was seriously getting on my nerves. What was wrong with him?

„Hey,” Jungkook - my neighbour - cheerfully waved in my direction when he caught sight of the slightly awkward scene with my dog.

The guy was my next door neighbour in the same block of flats, so we had known each other since I moved here. He was quite a nice guy, a bit shy but a prominently polite and light-hearted one. Plus, he loved dogs, so whenever I was away, he took care of Barney for me.

„He seems a bit under the weather,” he came closer to us, just to crouch down to my puppy and gently pat his head. My dog apparently enjoyed his touch as he didn’t even flinch. He got used to Jungkook’s presence by now and they also became friends. As soon as I got Barney three years ago, the younger boy became much more interested in his neighbour’s life than ever before. It didn’t take me long to realise that it was all because he was seriously in love with puppies.

„I know,” I admitted with a bit of guilt running through me. I was quite fed up with the nonsense the vets had said to me because I was sure that my dog didn’t suffer from ear infections – it’s merely an example, they said even worse – because he didn’t have a lack of balance and he didn’t have unusual back-and-forth eye movements either. Yet, I had no idea what to do. I felt helpless.

„Have you been to the animal clinic lately?” he furrowed his eyebrows in question as he looked up at me.

„Yes, but they always say the same.”

„I actually know a guy who’s said to be a really good vet,” he suddenly blurted out and clenched his jaw. „He’s my best friend’s brother, so I can assure you that he has good manners. If you are interested, I can give you his number. Not like he doesn’t have tons of female clients already,” he said as a matter-of-factly and boosted such a boyish smile that I felt a need to swipe that grin off his face. Some things never change.

“Oh really?” I knitted my eyebrows together, inwardly taking a mental note that it shouldn’t have been a surprise, boys were usually as cunning as Jungkook. “Should I take it as a hint?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he raised his arms in defeat but the beaming light in his pitch-black eyes actually indicated the opposite. Gosh, I never thought that Jungkook would try to set me up with a guy, not mention that it was his best friend’s brother whom we had been talking about!

“Just give me his number.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he jumped up and saluted. I snickered whole-hearted upon seeing his adorable reaction. That’s exactly why it was so fun to be neighbours with Jeon Jungkook. “I hope he would be able to help you,” he said with a more serious tone as he jotted down a phone number and a name. Kim Seokjin. Well, I had never heard about him before but as long as he didn’t say the good old lines, I was alright with it.

After a proper thank you and a cosy goodbye, with the blue post-it note in my hand, I almost stepped into the elevator when Jungkook’s voice reached me.

“By the way, he’s still single,” he hollered loudly, so that I could still hear him.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the chance to shout anything back because the elevator’s door closed and I was already calling that so-called Kim Seokjin.