#internalized ableism tw

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

I downloaded a dating app cause I don't really know anyone besides my family (im disabled and housebound). I thought that ive been doing better, but it's caused a lot of anxiety. not only do I have nothing to offer. but I also feel so guilty and disgusting for even looking for a relationship. It's not like religious guilt or anything, but most of my peers or friends when I was in school acted like the idea of my being desirable was repulsive and a joke. I feel like a creep and just idk like I don't deserve to take up anyone's time. I'm so desperately lonely but any time I attempt to make connections, I'm just plagued by intense self hatred and doubt. I know I should probably be talking this out with a professional but it's so hard to keep regular appointments when my health is sporadic

This is internalized ableism speaking. I get that it's hard to feel like a person when you don't get treated like one and can't live the kind of life you associate with adulthood, and I don't blame you for internalizing it. But you ARE a person. A person who has something to offer that only you can offer even if it doesn't fit into society's expectations and demands. A person whose desire for connection and love is natural and valid, not creepy. A person who has worth completely regardless of what you can and can't do. Nothing about your desire to date is wrong or disgusting. Nothing about downloading a dating app is predatory. There are ways to go about dating and approaching people that can be, but simply trying to date as a disabled person absolutely isn't. You're a person just like everyone else on there, even if it can be hard to feel confident in that

[cluster-b-culture-is]

(content warning: maybe internalized? externalized? ableism)

Questioning ASPD (or at least traits) culture is: Um. No I can't have ASPD. I'm so Nice. I spend so much energy being Nice. My Rules make it so I have to be Nice. I like the Rules. They keep me Nice. I like to be Nice. I've even developed Rules which make me think Nice. When people complain to me a lot, I logically get angry at the root of their problems instead of them! When I fuck up and make people upset for no reason I feel Guilt because I've broken the Rules, which is close enough to Empathy? It's not Feeling their Feelings but it's good enough? Right? It only makes sense! It's in the Rules! Isn't that Nice of me? Aren't I Nice?

I am so very very tired.

.

[uncanny-tranny]

It's so, so hard to resist feeling like your disability/disabilities are a punishment for your failure or a punishment because you are Fundamentally Bad.

I tip my hat and offer space in my heart for everybody currently struggling with that dynamic. We can talk all day about how shitty and inaccurate the "disabilities are a punishment!" is, but it doesn't always prevent you from buying into it. So many people want desperately not to be struggling or in pain, even if it means blaming yourself. It's hard to accept that sometimes, disabilities just... happen. They just happen no matter what we do, no matter if we were "good" or "bad."

I hope that one day, you will be able to be more at peace with your disability/disabilities. For now, though, take it at your pace. You do not have to love yourself, but you also do not have to hate yourself. You deserve the world, and I want to see you in this world thriving no matter what that looks like.

[auschizm]

small rant / vent

i wish i felt comfortable saying we (likely) have schizophrenia. we already suspect multiple disorders (several PDs and a few “miscellaneous” mh disorders) so i feel like if we add schizophrenia to the “yeah we probably have this” list we’re faking everything because nobody could possible ever have that many mental illnesses ever (sarcasm)

we have so much trauma that the first 13 years of our life are blank whenever we try to manually recall it, and the next 5 years are foggy because of general memory issues and Covid

so i wouldn’t be surprised if we do have all these disorders, but whenever i bring it up to a psych they sorta scoff and look at me like i’m just exaggerating

it sucks

Having various mental health issues at once is not uncommon, and even if ableist "professionals" imply otherwise, it is not inherently a sign of you faking/exaggerating or misunderstanding your symptoms

[alicewritingstories]

Whumptober Prompt Fills Part 9: Breath

~Also on AO3~

No. 15: “I don’t need you to help me I can handle things myself.” | Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.” | Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.” | Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

Warning: Brief mention of alcohol use, chronic cardiac and respiratory issues, internalized ableism

Central character(s): Sky, Twilight

As the stars were coming out and the last echoes of the Picori Festival's fireworks display were fading away, the Chain started to drift back together at their chosen campsite in the forest. Tomorrow they would travel on to visit Four's grandfather - Four had gone on ahead with his father to give him some time with his family before his other family descended on them - but tonight would be spent under the stars as usual.

The chatter among the little group was lively as they compared their experiences. Warriors was flushed and slightly giggly, relaxed after the entire bottle of something alcoholic that he'd drunk during the fireworks. Wind, meanwhile, couldn't stop showing off the beautifully-crafted knife he'd won, tripping over his words as he admired it and related his triumph in a quoits-throwing contest.

Twilight heard Legend drop the good-natured observation in Warriors' ear that the young hero really shouldn't have been allowed to join contests alongside ordinary children, but he agreed as Warriors said sleepily that it was good to see Wind act like a child for once.

"What did you do with Sky, Twilight?" asked Wild suddenly, looking up from where he was laying out ingredients for dinner.

Twilight looked at him in confusion. "Me?" he asked and looked over at Time, who was also looking confused.

"I thought Sky was with you, Wild," said Time. "I was about to ask you the same question."

Twilight blinked. "I thought he was with you," he said. "Didn't you go looking for souvenirs for Malon and Sun?"

Time shook his head. "I thought he was going around the food stands with Wild."

"I didn't see him after we separated," said Wild, sitting back on his heels. "I thought he went to watch the horse races with Twilight."

Out of all their Hyrules, Four's was one of the safest, but that didn't mean a missing hero was something to be ignored. Time eased back to his feet with a soft groan and started putting his just-removed armor back on, saying, "He's probably fine, but let's go and check. Wind, Twilight, and Legend, check north, south, and east respectively; I'll take the west. Return in an hour even if you haven't found anything. Hyrule and Wild, stay here and finish setting up camp."

"Shall I check the elixir supply?" asked Wild seriously.

"I hope we won't need healing, but it's worth knowing. Likewise, Warriors, I hope we won't need you to be sober." Time chuckled as Warriors shot him an unfocussed look that he probably intended to be irritated. The remark lightened the anxiety that had been starting to thread through the air, but didn't take it away entirely and as Twilight set out into the darkening forest, heading for the south side of the town, he could feel it twisting somewhere in his gut. He was sure Sky hadn't followed him when he set out through the busy streets, following the sound of hoofbeats and cheering. He really thought he'd heard the other hylian agreeing when Time had said he was going to find a gift for Malon.

What if he'd been wrong and something had happened to Sky when he was separated from the group? How long had he been missing?

Twilight tried to push down the worry. If one of them was going to disappear for a few hours, this was one of the safer places for it to happen. Most likely they'd find that Sky had simply lost track of time or forgotten the rendezvous.

It wasn't like him to have forgotten, but it wasn't impossible in all the noise and excitement of the festival.

And was it more or less likely than that something had happened? There had been no sign of so much as a keese anywhere near the town, but it wouldn't be the first time a member of the Chain, taken unawares, had fallen victim to hylian enemies of one of his brothers. Four had as many enemies as any of them with the exception of Wild and Warriors, who had significantly more.

Twilight gritted his teeth. A crowded festival… someone would have noticed the fight Sky would have put up if attacked.

He was sure he'd gone alone to look at the horses.

He was sure Sky hadn't come with him.

He was sure that if something had happened it hadn't happened right behind him.

His thoughts were interrupted as he caught a familiar smell on the breeze and saw something white gleaming in the forest ahead. Perfume and a white sailcloth. With a gasp of relief, he broke into a jog, calling, "Sky!" as he saw the figure of his brother in the dim light, sitting on a tree stump, leaning his elbows on his knees.

Sky looked up and waved as Twilight heard the wheeze on his breath and realized how fast he was breathing.

"Sky," he said more seriously, crouching beside him. "Are you OK?"

Sky nodded, his hand to his chest, the wheeze more pronounced as he sat upright. "Fine. Sorry, I… know I'm… late."

He couldn't even make it through a sentence without losing breath.

"Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm fine. This happens… sometimes. The damp… makes it worse." Sky forced a grin. "And I made… the mistake… of dancing."

"I didn't know you danced," said Twilight.

"I love dancing." Sky coughed and wheezed. "Unfortunately. Used to be… easier."

Twilight nodded. He wasn't sure what was going on, but said, "Do you need anything?"

"Just to rest." Sky shook his head. Twilight thought he looked pale, but as he propped himself on his knees again his breath seemed to come a little easier.

"OK. It'll be a bit before anyone really worries, so take it easy."

Sky nodded, laying a hand on his chest and wincing. "I thought… I was handling… it. It was fun… to dance again. Even… alone."

"Hey, take it easy. You don't have to make excuses to me and you've not got the breath for much talking, so just say what you have to."

Sky nodded.

Twilight patted his shoulder. "Is this… a new problem?"

"Since… my adventure. Well… mostly."

"OK, tell me the rest later." But he couldn't help asking, "Is this why you can't run as fast or far as the rest of us?"

Sky nodded.

"Why don't you tell anyone that?"

"I'd rather be… made fun of… than treated… like I'm broken."

Twilight started to argue, but remembered he was supposed to be calming Sky down and letting him catch his breath.

Slowly, Sky's breathing steadied and quietened. He sat up and pressed two fingers to the pulse point in his own throat, then nodded.

"OK, I'm all right now," he said. "Let's go."

Still, when Twilight offered him an arm he accepted it to get up.

"You can tell them you found me asleep somewhere," he said with a small smile as they started walking.

"I'll tell them no such thing," said Twilight. "Nobody acts like Time is broken. Nobody's going to think less of you because sometimes you can't breathe right."

Sky shook his head. "I can manage. There's a reason you've not seen me that bad before. But if everyone knows my lungs are always heavy and my heart doesn't beat properly any more…"

"We already know you can't run as far or as fast. What do you think will change from knowing why?"

Sky scowled at the ground.

"If you really want, we can still tease you about being slow and sleepy, but -"

Sky jutted his chin proudly. "But you'll keep a better eye on me to make sure I'm OK? Keep a wing over me in case I fall?"

"Just like with Four when it's cold."

That hit home. Sky sighed, bowing his head. Twilight heard the last of the wheeze.

He put an arm around his shoulders. "Listen, you don't have to tell anyone anything you don't want to, but I'm not lying for you and I think you should tell the truth. Nobody thinks less of you for having scars from your adventure, any more than they do of Wild or… or any of us. It doesn't matter that yours aren't on the outside. Nobody will think you're broken or useless or anything else."

Sky was silent for a long moment, then he said, "I'll think about it."

Twilight hugged him gently and they walked on.

[sanguine-salvation]

Spill the Tea: Is there someone who has significantly influenced your life?

[ Spill the Tea ☕ - ACCEPTING ]

"Do you want the good or the ugly? Ah, nevermind, I suppose it really doesn't matter. You're still changing the tea, whether you put honey or poison in it."

Their mother, their father, Jack, Cobblepot, their fiancé, Batman, their 'angel'...

Viktor laughed, then leaned back as their eyes grew just an unnerving bit wider. A game of eenie meenie miney mo concluded in their head. "Alright, fine. How about my... well, ex-friend now. I think he'd rather forget he ever knew me than think of this face." They sighed, and their eyes fell out of focus as they stared expressionless through the air ahead of them. At nothing.

"... We were always thick as thieves. From childhood to university. He was a little older than me, quieter, a little grumpy honestly, and I was the little menace dragging him out of his shell, ahaha! We'd go stargazing and listen to music and he came to my mother's dance studio every Thursday. I was his dance partner sometimes..." never said a thing. Their smile faltered, but only for a second. "I remember, he was... one of the few who didn't look twice at me when my mind began to… change. When I started being 'different'. It felt less scary back then, for what it was worth. When I still didn't know what the world really was." Viktor refocused and stared down at their nails as they began to pick and peel the polish away. Their face twitched. You know how you felt about him. Selfish, weak, worthless, never said a thing.

"We stayed friends in college, even as our studies and work kept us busy. Still met up to party too hard and do too many drugs together. He was even there when... my engagement went south. There... after my parents died, after he was... forced to make a spectacle of their funeral and my face for the damn news. Took me out to the edge of the woods and we looked at the stars because I couldn't do anything else but stare at things. He... he always seemed to know what to do when there was nothing worth doing."

"And then a few months later, he took me out gambling. I had more money than anything I actually wanted, and I'd never been..." They smiled. There wasn't an ounce of emotion in it. Nothing readable anyway. It looked more like just some raw reflex of muscle. "I won big and took that poison with my first smile in months, and he smiled back. And then he left."

[another-whump-sideblog]

From your ask game. For any whumpee you'd like to gush about.

39. What is wrong with you?

20. Do you like [Whumper]?

17. What is the worst punishment you've received?

Thank you! I’m gonna do this for Liam/Bunny/Ethan/Austin

TWs in the tags

What is wrong with you?

Liam frowns. “I don’t— I don’t know. Whatever has to be wrong with someone to fall for a trap the way I did. And brain damage, now… I don’t know, I feel like a better question would be what isn’t wrong with me.”

Do you like Jane?

“…No? What kind of question is that?”

What is the worst punishment you’ve ever received?

He shudders. “That’s— that’s not—“ he covers his face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

But he feels compelled to say it anyway. “When— after— she made me—“ another shudder wracks his body. “She— she made me— I had to eat them—“

He hugs himself and starts sobbing. “It was my fault!”

[pawjamas]

i am. genuinely asking how to deal with internalized ableism that has so deeply rooted itself within me since growing up as an autistic & mentally ill child that literally every single time i so much as have an ounce of struggle during my daily life i turn to screaming internally at myself as my mother would towards me.

i get told i’m valuable no matter what by my wife and it means the world to hear that from her, it truly does, but me - as well as that child within me that grew up being told the opposite, does not fucking believe it’s true no matter how hard i try. ESPECIALLY when my daily life becomes more hard than usual to live due to disability, that things that come so naturally and are So Simple for abled people is an entire fucking massive event with insane amount of effort for me to be able to complete/do. how do i not hate myself for this when it’s been taught to me that i should?

this is a genuine question. and something i’m going to attempt to tackle when i finally have therapy again, but it is DEEPLY rooted within me, so fucking far within me that i almost feel like it’s made up that it’d ever be possible to love my disabled self wholly and fully and give myself compassion towards being such. idk i’m sorry for posting this as i know i reblog a lot of positivity for being disabled but surprisingly i don’t feel i’m allowed to feel those sort of considerate/kind things towards me specifically.

[limpfisted]

(ask reply @witchpetal ) EYE TRAUMA WARNING, ABLEISM / INTERNALIZED ABLEISM TW.

“Could I give it to you for free, I would,” he smiles. “Alas. I think I will keep it on me. It suits me, don’t you think? Gives The Blade an air of mystery.”

He can’t tell her. He can’t tell her how when he was seventeen he tried to rip it out and Mizora burnt his fingers before he could throw it into the Sea of Stars. The punishment would be brutal. He would be breaking the terms of his contract. It didn’t help that Mizora had him half convinced back then she was helping him—he needed an eye to fill the socket. No one would look at him, much less call him hero, with a burnt out socket.

It was an unnecessary cruelty. Mizora was full of unnecessary cruelties. Little jokes. Petty insults. Shame squeezed out so dirty thick that it could wring all the kindness out of an Eldest Daughter, and the stubbornness out of the stalwart youngest son, like a rolled up, cold, sopping dishrag.

It is what it is.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

idk about you but i would literally sell my firstborn for a future/more-recovered-aiden-chapter 👀

~ 🍯

Once upon a time, the scene of Aiden waking up in the back of Leo's van full of painting tools, thinking for a second he was seeing in monochrome would not leave me alone. Three years ago today, I posted the first part of Unintentional to start telling that story <3

As a postiversary present to everyone from the beginning (seriously, this ask is from 2022), here's a timeline jump. (Don't tell Leo, he's a real stickler for order.) Thanks for sticking with me and the boys <3

More Than This

Previous — Masterlist — Next

Snap. 

Aiden huffs, twisting and grinding the broken pencil tip through the last stroke even as it threatens to tear the paper under his force. 

He should be able to do this. It’s all he ever does now. Practice speaking, practice reading, practice writing. Follow the plans for eating, for exercising, for sleeping. He shouldn’t complain, he finally knows what to be. There was a time he’d let this routine support him like his spine. He was given a role to play but all he does is just that: pretend. He hasn’t made progress in weeks. The only thing he knows is how precisely he is failing. 

Across the room, Leo stops typing. “Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been at it for a while.” 

He doesn’t need to look to know that Leo will have that concerned crease between his brows, mouth turned down at the corners as he tries to assess what the problem is this time. Aiden is nothing but problems. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters but of course Leo is coming over. Would have no matter what he said. 

Leo fills a glass at the sink and turns to lean against the counter across the island as he sips it. Aiden doesn’t want to see whatever look Leo is giving him that will just crumble his resolve. The triangles and circles on the page blur in and out of focus as he blinks back tears. Tears from the strain of making his damaged, useless brain process not-even-fucking-letters for the last few hours. Nothing else.

When Leo finishes his water, he fills a glass for Aiden, slides it in front of him. “I’ll do some work with you then.” 

“No.” He definitely can’t look at Leo now. 

Leo takes a measured pause.

The apology is on the tip of Aiden’s tongue but he keeps his jaw locked. Harder to stave off are the physical reactions. His body wants to shrink away, to flinch and hide and beg and be hurt and held. He tightens his fist around the pencil, pulling it into his lap to hide his shaking. 

“I know you want to make progress but it’s okay to take breaks.” Leo makes his voice gentle, tiptoeing through the minefield between them. "It’s not going to set you back, you’ve been working hard.”

“Nnnno. I…mmm—” He shakes his head as if he could shake off the rising frustration coming up to tighten around his temples, his throat, his chest. He’s been trying to avoid the stuttered conjunction between every word, always made worse by times like this. Harrison guaranteed he would never get out of a painful situation too quickly. 

Leo steps up to the other side of the island, leaning onto his elbows to lower himself into Aiden’s line of sight. “C’mon…”

He shakes his head, can’t trust himself to speak coherently. He’s being stubborn and stupid. Harrison would have threatened him by now if he hadn’t already backhanded him. He never dreamed of pulling something like this back with Archer or the Songs.

 “Alright, hon.” Leo gives him one last long-suffering smile and turns back to the sink. 

Aiden swallows a sob, furiously blinking away the hot tears prickling his eyes. Leo was never going to push him more than a little. Lead him to whatever line he’d drawn or found, offer to help him step over it, but be the first to abandon the idea if it was too much. 

“Why?”

Leo shut off the tap. “Pardon?” He dries his hands on the bright salmon-pink tea towel threaded through the pull for the dishwasher. Delia says I shouldn’t be so allergic to real colors, he explained when Aiden pulled it out from the perfectly folded stack of muted earth-toned cotton in the cabinet.  

“Why?” Aiden repeats, voice strained by the tightening in his chest. “I…don’t…mmm—” He squeezes his eyes shut, pushes past the stupid mumbling. “Why?”

“Why what, hon?” Frustratingly calm and earnest, so eager to help in whatever way he can. 

Aiden wants to scream. It’s not fair, this isn’t Leo’s fault, but whatever has been sparked rages inside him beyond his control. “Why…do…mmm…mmm—” He mashes his lips together, forcing his lungs to fill with air. He will not start crying. 

Leo tilts his head to the side. “Why do I…help?” Aiden shakes his head, huffing out a breath that is perilously close to a sob. “Why do I…care?” 

It puts a rock right in the middle of his throat. He lifts his chin a fraction. 

Defiant despite having literally no ground to stand on, Harrison used to taunt when Aiden was strung up on his table. 

“Because I do. I do care about you…” 

Aiden’s heart skitters in his chest. He looks away, all the wind gone from his sails because he’s as easily swayed as a feather. No. He won’t be weak, pathetic, and needy. He’s angry right now. Frustrated and bitter. 

“There’s no one reason—”

“I…don’t—mmm—mmm—” He clenches his teeth together until they creak in the back of his jaw, blinking away more of the hot tears that refuse to fucking stop pooling in his eyes. 

Leo stands there calmly, crease between his brows confirming that he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. He’s worried. Always so worried and concerned and caring. 

Because he cares. 

Aiden stands, pushing away from the island and Leo. “I-I-I-I—” God, he wants to break something when it's like this. A wall he is just banging his head against, all the while becoming less coherent.

“Breathe,” Leo says, slowly rounding the end of the island toward him. “It will come. Just—”

“No. I…mmm…don’t…w-w-mmm—Fuck!” He slams his fist down on the counter. 

Leo doesn’t even flinch. 

Why should he? Of course he wouldn’t flinch. 

Aiden moves away from him, starts pacing back and forth. He wishes he could run, pound his feet into pavement until it dulls whatever is going on inside his head. 

“Aiden—“

“Not…mmm’my name.”

Leo’s expression falters. 

It’s a low blow. Aiden knows it, they both know it. All it does is deepen the disparity between them. Making him all the more desperate as Leo regains his composure. 

“If you want a different name—if you want me to stop calling you that, all you have to do is tell me.”

How can Leo be even calmer than before?

A sob escapes Aiden’s throat before he can swallow it. He turns away, circling the island to put it between them again. He doesn’t want Leo trying to comfort him. He doesn’t want it and he doesn’t deserve it. 

“I don’t want you to keep the name just because at the time you thought it was my place to give it. That’s not how I saw it then and that’s certainly not how I see things now.” 

Shame is oil on the fire, it only burns hotter. “Doesn’t…mmm’matter…”

“It does to me. I’ve never seen you as a Companion or treated you like one. I don’t expect anything, you know that.” 

“Fuck…you.” He surprises himself but pushes on anyway. Even steps forward so they’re closer, eye-to-eye, bold with the slab of stone between them. “That…doesn’t—doesn’t mmm’make a…difference. Doesn’t mmm’make..mmm’me…different—”

“Wait, that’s not what I’m saying—” 

“You—”

“I didn’t mean—”

He raises his voice to speak over Leo. “I’m’mmm…that’s…what-what…I am…” 

Leo waits to make sure he’s finished this time. The stretching silence makes his shouting seem ridiculous and Aiden burns under the unearned patience, the undeserved consideration. 

“I know,” Leo finally says.

“If you…don’t…mmm’w-w-want…this…why?”

Leo’s face falls and Aiden almost goes with it. He backs away from the gaping hole in his resolve. One misstep and he’ll be at the bottom of it, down on his knees. Putting a chink in Leo’s composure is no kind of feat. It only makes him feel that much closer to coming apart entirely. 

“Please,” Leo moves around the island, trying to get onto the same side as Aiden again. “It’s not that black and white—”

“Mmm…yes…it-is.” 

“But—”

“You-you…mmm…hate…it—” He points at Leo. Anyone else would have broken his accusatory finger. “You…hate…this…mmm’what…I am’mmm—” He backs away shaking his head. 

“Wait, no. Aiden, that’s not what I meant. You misunderstood—”

“No!” He wants to hit the ceiling. Better yet, put his whole body through a wall and get the fuck away from here. From these feelings. Leo wouldn’t follow if he went up to his room. Not even if he slammed the door and started breaking things. But he can’t. He’s only acting brave enough to set this fire, he could never leave the blaze unattended. Just like he’s only acting like he’s recovering into a real person.

It’s all just acting. None of it is real. 

Why?

He’s trapped and boiling, glaring at the charcoal-grey cabinets. He once put his fist through another one. A honeyed pine varnish with dark grain, an arched frame around the flimsy middle panel of each one. Hardly took any force to slam through it but he put his whole weight behind his fist anyway. 

Of course, Leo’s damn cabinets are solid wood. 

He cries out, turning away from Leo to slide down the cabinet he hasn’t so much as dented, cradling his hand against his chest. No point holding anything back now. He’s sobbing by the time he hits the floor, curling up tightly. 

When Leo comes over, Aiden’s reaction slips out before he can catch it. He shrinks back, sobs turning to whimpers. “Please…mmm’sorry, mmm’sorry…mmm’good—” He can almost see himself from above, staring up at Leo with those distrustful, unblinking eyes. Lips still moving through the shapes of pleas he’s crying too hard to vocalize. 

He hates that less-than-person. How little it controls and how much power it still holds. His shameless meltdown only puts him back exactly where he belongs. He’ll never be anything different. 

“I know, I know. You are good.” Leo kneels carefully, holding his hand out, palm up, between them.  “You don’t have to be sorry, it’s all good.” 

Aiden shakes his head, gulping in air between sobs, knuckles throbbing. “I didn’t—didn’t mmm’mean…” He doesn’t know if the apology is for trying to ruin Leo’s kitchen or for exploding or for falling back on old habits. 

“I know, it’s okay. We’re good. Come on, let me give you a hand?” 

He swallows and tries to take a deep breath. Tries to compose himself, tries to get his mind to stop spinning through replaying and catastrophizing. He just wants—He needs—

“I—I used…t’be mmm’more than…this,” he blurts. 

Leo stops waiting for Aiden to take his hand and slides in next to him against the cabinets instead. They sit in silence long enough that Aiden starts to wonder if Leo even heard him but Leo finally says, “I know.”

Aiden bites his lip, afraid to look at Leo but he can’t look too closely at his hand or he’ll draw unwarranted concern. 

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Leo says after another long pause. “I care about you. I’m here for all of it and I’m not going anywhere. I think maybe you know that or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“It's okay, hon. We're figuring things out as we go."  

Leo always means what he says so when Aiden looks up, it’s for a different kind of reassurance. Leo gives him his half-smile, reaching out to squeeze the back of his neck. Goosebumps run down Aiden’s spine and he drops his head onto his knees, hiding his face. Leo wraps an arm around his back. 

By the time Leo speaks, Aiden has long since stopped preparing for Leo to pull away before he’s ready. “So, how about that break?” 

He lifts his head from Leo’s shoulder, trying to gauge what he means.

Leo pulls him to his feet. “Come on, let’s go for a drive.” 

And his heart falls.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps

@batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @pirefyrelight

@whumps-and-bumps @i-eat-worlds @hellodecisionparalysis @heartfullofhoney (og asker?)

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

I really do think I'm too sensitive to live. I was diagnosed with autism in the late 90s (I'm 32 now) and family members treat me lesser because of it. It's never been a source of strength for me. The things my father and sister say and do to this day have negatively affected my ability to function and I cannot speak up against them without extreme emotional violence. I know for a fact that they would be happier if I weren't around but I don't make enough disability income to leave. If I had a thicker skin or a real backbone it wouldn't hurt so much and we could have a real relationship, but I think that time has long passed. I cannot be the sister or the daughter that they wanted and I've never stopped mourning that.

You're not "too sensitive to live" because you can't thrive in an abusive environment. None of us really can. And the real problem here is your abusive family mistreating you, not you not being good or normal enough. I'm so sorry they convinced you otherwise.

[uncanny-tranny]

The frustrating thing about having good days with pain or bodily irritation or mobility or whatever else isn't that it's a "good day." It's the feeling that you are either greatly exaggerating your suffering or worse, that you're secretly wanting attention/admiration for your suffering. I think people sometimes are confused as to why good days in terms of disability can be distressing to some, but it is precisely that you almost... overthink the Implications of good days.

It isn't that you want to be suffering, it is that you are taught you will only be "worthy" of help if you are suffering in the Right way (and having any good days are often seen as a sign that you aren't "truly worthy").

[dreamsofalifeold]

"let's listen in on our inner thoughts" (hurt me tbh)

Jesus Christ, what's wrong with you?! Why does fucking garbage fall out of your mouth every time you open it?! You can't even talk right, how can you expect to do even the most basic stuff in life?! Jesus Christ on a crutch, you're fucking hopeless, I mean, you can't do the most basic, idiotically simple people things, everyone knows there's something wrong with you! They're too nice to tell you that you look like a looned-out freak every time you go out into public.

...Into public? Really? You're that stupid, you can't get a basic idiom right. Here the fuck we go again! You can't think, or act, or even pretend you aren't a freak. Just. Just stop. Stop doing things. Forever. Your stepdad was right, you should be put away somewhere.

[ein-schnee-sturm]

Almost as soon as the breathed words had left her, Winter’s mouth closed with an almost audible click of her jaw; fangs and more human-like teeth slotting into place immediately. Curse her broken brain — (“If I, stuck in this bed with my body alternating between agony and unresponsivness, am not broken, then you are not either, Winter Schnee.” Gwenn had given her a tongue lashing then, mere days after the smaller feline had woken from her four-year coma, and Winter knew she would have done so again now.)

Curse her differently wired brain, for making her speak without thought; offending a God was the last thing she needed right now. However, with the calm reply, the Faunus hoped that she hadn’t offended. Of course, then she was asked for her name, and ten years worth of training kicked in. Completely ignoring the way it made pain shoot up her side — more than likely because of the fractured rib — Winter snapped into a salute. “Major Winter Schnee, Ma’am. Commanding Officer of the Special Operatives Division of the Atlas Military.”

Then the taller woman was turning, making her way toward and inside of the bunker. Although it discomforted her almost as much as the pain from her ribs did — she hadn’t been allowed to be At Ease, or even to follow— Winter took brisk strides to fall into step just behind the God’s left shoulder. The bunker wasn’t much, being without maintenance since the end of the War, but it functioned as shelter from the arctic cold and polar winds. Coming to a habitual stop in Parade Rest, Winter once again spoke without the pause that would have indicated a filter.

“You chose to seek me out.”

A pause; tail stiff and ears slightly pinned.

“Why?”

If the other’s almost supernatural poise and balance bothered Winter, or caused that flicker of something off to resurface, the Faunus gave no outward sign of it; she had seen plenty of things most wouldn’t believe, during covert operations in the wilds of Anima. (White hair, ice blue eyes, and the scar that horizontally bisected her face were distinct, but temporary dye, colored contacts, and makeup solved all three.) So the soldier merely watched, impassive, until her unexpected companion was nearly abreast of her.

When the newcomer resolved into a woman even taller and paler than the snow leopard herself, with gleaming red eyes in black sclera, and a fine network of spidery black veins characterizing her face… to say that Winter was surprised would have been an understatement. But rather than make her immediately tense and go on the offensive, hand going to the hilt of her swords, the Maiden simply stared. Ears, brows, and tail twitching, mouth falling just slightly open, and her eyes widened a fraction.

Whatever the woman said was — for now — irrelevant. Although Winter knew about the Shadow War that had dogged Humanity for millennia, had been told about the Relics and the Gods and Salem — no-one had ever described their Great Enemy to the feline. And so, an entirely different description came immediately to mind — one she had been told long, long ago, in what felt like someone else’s life.

Opa had been quite clear, after all.

“Das Gott der Tiere,” Winter managed, floored.

[signanothername]

Can we have a more in depth look into how you think Dream and Nightmare experience autism and how it affects them?

YESSSSS LETS GOOOOO!!!!

Ok before we start this ramble, I’d like to emphasize how important the time period Dream and Nightmare grew up in, it was a time period in which anything mental health related was immediately connected with “demons” and “possession”

I like to say that the twins are masked Autistics a lot, but in truth, I like to think they both started off without masking their Autism at all, they never saw anything wrong with the way they behaved (cause there indeed wasn’t anything wrong), they were comfortable with who they were and how they behaved, it was their normal in a world that saw it as abnormal, but it was when the villagers started getting in the picture that problems started

Nightmare experiences his Autism through his special interest in learning new things and reading books, hyper empathy, isolation, avoiding eye contact, semi-repulsion to touch if he wasn’t the one to initiate it, understimulation, extreme difficulty in understanding his own emotions (and by extension, difficulty in expressing them), generally being blunt, brutally honest and direct, and selective mutism, Nightmare mostly stims by repeating certain sounds or phrases and humming

Dream experiences his Autism through his special interest in nature (especially flowers), precious stones as well as sewing, difficulty understanding social cues, selective mutism, extreme sensitivity to bright lights (he has a love/hate relationship with the sun) and loud noises, overstimulation, low empathy, and learning difficulties especially when it comes to language, Dream tends to stim by flapping his hands or stomping his feet

Both the twins perfer to follow a routine, however, Nightmare tends to plan his days carefully, and finds any change in his routine extremely distressing to the point it can cause him to experience a meltdown if he couldn’t think of a quick solution

Dream finds a change in his routine distressing too, but his reaction is a bit milder, he tends to get anxious and starts stimming to calm himself down all while he works on a way to get his routine back on track

Speaking of meltdowns, whenever the twins are extremely distressed, Nightmare is more likely to experience a shutdown while Dream is more likely to experience a meltdown, that doesn’t mean the opposite can’t happen sometimes, but it really depends on the situation

Then the villagers came and abused Nightmare into masking his Autism, using his Autistic traits as an excuse to demonize him, made comments about how he must be “possessed”, meanwhile they abused Dream into masking by making sweet tainted mean spirited comments about any behavior he exhibited that felt “abnormal” to them, they’d say things like “honey, it’s rude not to look someone in the eyes when speaking to them” or how he should “use his words” when Dream felt like he couldn’t

Both Nightmare and Dream internalized such comments deeply, and started subconsciously masking their Autism, they were children at the time after all, and especially after the apple incident, Nightmare truly believed he might be a demon or at least possessed by one for centuries after, cause for so long Nightmare couldn’t find a logical explanation in his beloved books for why he behaves the way he does

The word “Autism” never even existed back then, Nightmare spent years of his life researching for any logical explanation only to hit a dead end each time, and now that he’s out in the multiverse seeing how many people don’t really exhibit the same behavior he and his twin do, he was trying desperately to reassure himself that he can’t truly be a “demon” considering Dream exhibits the same “abnormal” behaviors (it rarely made him feel better about himself), even as an adult, the thought of being a “demon” distresses Nightmare so much that he sometimes experiences a meltdown cause of it

Nightmare eventually gives up trying to understand himself and instead starts consciously masking his Autism, he starts forcing himself to look people in the eye when he speaks or spoken to, he stops himself from stimming, he forces himself to speak when he’s overwhelmed, he starts hiding his love for his special interest (he has an entire big library of books yet he’d force himself not to spend most of his time there), he stops isolating himself and forces himself not to avert from anyone touching him, all to appear “normal”, all while it’s physically painful and emotionally draining to him

Same thing with Dream, except Dream never consciously masks, it’s all subconsciously, he forces himself to make eye contact, he stops stimming when people are around, he forces himself to act “normal” when he’s overstimulated, he forces himself to speak even when he feels like he can’t, he hides his special interest and puts on a mask of empathy even when he can’t truly understand/ tune in with the pain or feelings others experience but rather only able to understand their pain in a logical manner (and it makes him feel so damn guilty, cause Dream loves to help people, he thinks that he should be able to feel sad when others do), he pretends to understand social cues when in reality he only mimics how others act in social situations, he blames his learning difficulties on “time constraints” and how he simply doesn’t have the time to sit down and learn

Sometimes both the twins’ masks slip away when they’re extremely overwhelmed, other times, they let their masks slip when they’re alone, and it only adds to their stress cause they feel a sort of fucked up guilt and shame over not acting in a “normal” way, other times it’s a guilty pleasure, they almost reached a point in which they think their Autistic traits are some sort of privilege, punishing themselves if they mess up by not giving themselves the relief of letting the mask slip when alone (like forcing themselves not to stim)

The fucked up truth is, their masks also really impairs them socially, cause sometimes they get anxious thinking about being normal, that it might distract them or cause them to lose track of things

And even when the centuries passed by and science developed and changed and the idea of demonic possession became outdated and mental health became more prominent, and the word “Autism” came to be, neither twins really know they have Autism, neither of them even know what Autism is, Dream doesn’t have the resources to understand what it is, and Nightmare gave up trying to understand himself a long time ago to realize he’s not demonic for it

Will they eventually know about it, understand themselves better and get the support they deserve? It’ll probably take as many years to undo the damage done but I like to believe they do

A kinda part 2

[weirdplutoprince]

Autistic? Me?

1- Normal [4]

Next >

< Previous

<<First page