#mentions of mental health issues

[asairayn]

fun fact: I, apparently, was diagnosed with ehlers danlos syndrome almost a year ago. My mother was diagnosed with ehlers danlos syndrome just over a year ago. Neither of us were told. Neither of us knew until two days ago, when I requested all my medical records because my health care company or whatever it's called would not show me my diagnoses (i will elaborate.). I discovered that, when I was referred to physical therapy (may of 2022), I was referred and given an eds diagnosis.

I was talking about this with my mother, along with the fact that their website would not show me my diagnoses, she went to their website (which would show her her diagnoses) and discovered that, guess fucking what, listed right there was "ehlers danlos syndrome," which she was diagnosed with in march of 2022 after she had a bad reaction to a local anesthetic during surgery, which she told her doctor she would likely have (they refused to use a different anesthetic).

For clarification, we both were 99% sure we had eds. I was diagnosed with pots in 2020, she was diagnosed with joint hypermobility syndrome years ago, she's done tons of research into eds, we have both mentioned to our doctors many times that we probably have it.

We were never actually tested before our diagnoses. My mother might have been, but if she was it was before the diagnostic criteria changed. I never was. They saw her negative reaction to an anesthetic that she told her doctor she might have because it was common with eds, and immediately diagnosed her. My doctor saw me using a cane (which I don't even use for joint pain primarily, but okay) and diagnosed me with eds (probably because I suddenly had family history, which we already knew).

Now, I'm not even entirely sure if I am diagnosed with eds. Sure, my medical records said I am, but those are incredibly confusing. My mother was able to find out immediately, because our health care provider has a website, and on her version, there's an obvious section labelled "Ongoing Health Conditions" which shows all of your diagnoses and issues. I assume. I cannot see that.

Other fun fact: I am a minor. Up until recently, their website would show me the website, but all it would show is a warning saying "You are seeing this message for one of the following reasons: -You don't have permission to use this service on behalf of your teen. -Your family member has access to this service, but you don't." Guess what. It would show the same thing to my mother. Me being a minor, her being my parent, she has access to my medical information (this isn't a bad thing in my situation, she's fine and also rarely looks at it). I would expect it to show her my 'ongoing health conditions', or for it to show me and not her, but it shows neither of us.

Highly recommend requesting your medical records (especially if it's a thing that you can do fully online, like I could). It might not be helpful, but it also might be very helpful. You also might find out fucked up things that nobody ever told you. And diagnoses you have that nobody ever told you (this also happened to my friend's parent. apparently it's common.), or that your doctor doesn't take you seriously (the wonderful things you learn from their notes). You also might learn good things? Maybe?

Long list of other bizarre and fucked up things about this health care provider under the cut :)

Even more fun things! (unrelated to eds, generally): - Going through their website, only clicking things that sent me to different parts of their website, it sent me through four entirely different versions with entirely different home pages. Why.

- One page of their website had the color block that was supposed to be on the bottom covering some of the information.

- I could only request my medical records for up to ten years ago. I haven't been seeing this health care provider for longer than about six years, so it didn't show longer than that anyways, but I feel like it is bad that it doesn't have the option. There were two options that I could choose: "Order an electronic copy of my general medical records from the past 2 years." and "Order an electronic copy of specific record types (such as hospital stays or lab results) from a certain period of time." I chose the second option, and requested the "specific record types" of everything it gave me the option of. Which was: medical office records, hospital records, laboratory/pathology results, diagnostic imaging results, mental health treatment records, addiction medicine treatment records.

- My medical records showed nothing relating to mental health, despite me asking for that ("mental health treatment records") and my therapist approving it. (I do actually know my mental health diagnoses, because my therapist told me when I was talking about this, so that's good). It did show that I was suspected of depression and referred to a therapist in may of 2018, which I thought wasn't established until august of 2018 (which was when we actually scheduled a therapy appointment, because apparently someone thought it was better to wait. not the best plan).

- There are actually four things that my mother's website shows her that mine doesn't show me. Past Visit Information, Download My Health Summary, Ongoing Health Conditions, and Life Care Planning. Fun! I could actually find Past Visit Information on a separate part of their website, but it just said that I haven't had any visits. Which is a lie, but okay. There was also a separate thing that I had titled "Health Summary" (without the download part) (my mother had both), which had me choose a time frame that it would show my information from, but any time I chose a time frame it would tell me that I didn't have any past visits, which still isn't true. Helpful!

- My doctor spelled my nickname (which I don't use, but my mother does) three different ways at different times, only one of which was correct. This one's just funny.

- My doctor put in my notes that one of my mentioned symptoms was, and I quote, "Gets "brain fog": by which she means that when she talks about things she trips over words." "I think it may be either be about anxiety/pressure or getting ahead of herself. She doesn't feel these are accurate," I am fucking pissed about this. Sure, I know I struggle with describing my symptoms (largely due to not remembering them), but I know for a fact that that is not what I meant, and almost certainly not what I said. What I meant was that at times (especially after doing any exercise), I can't properly think or string sentences together because I can't properly think, and I'm very unfocused and can't do much of anything that involves any focus. I meant brain fog. I know what I'm talking about. I still can't describe it properly. I don't have the words.

- Their current meds page shows that I am still taking a medication that I stopped taking in early January. Why. I only took it for like two weeks.

- (tw eating disorder mention, just for this bullet point) In mid 2020, in one of the questionnaires, it listed a concern from my mother as "Eating Disorder". This is absolutely not what she actually put down. Starting in early 2021 it would have made a bit of sense (fucking arfid), but I am 99% sure that my mother put down eds and some medical assistant read that as 'EDs', assumed it was eating disorder, and logged it as that in my medical records. for fucks sake.

- With this provider, you can only schedule mental health appointments by phone, and only video calls. The phone number on their website is always incorrect because it sends you to the wrong location so that person redirects you and then it sends you to the wrong department so that person redirects you and, honestly, unless you're really willing to go through that, it tends to discourage you from actually getting that mental health treatment.

- In 2021, I saw three different therapists cause they all kept leaving this company. In 2022, I saw one therapist who spent six months telling me to stop seeing her regularly and switch to as-needed because I "didn't need to see her regularly", which I only agreed to as I was switching schools and stopped seeing my friends regularly and was becoming depressed, but in the end a large part of why I stopped seeing her was because she also left that company, and I didn't start seeing someone else because she didn't want me to. Wonderful! Later that year, because I was really depressed, I tried to call and set up an appointment, but the person who answered told me that I needed the approval of my previous therapist to start seeing a new therapist (which.. is kinda fucking awful, but okay.), so I completely gave up on scheduling an appointment. (Had a mental health crisis two months later. I'm fine now don't worry.)

- I'm supposed to take salt tabs for the pots, but they make me nauseous so I don't. My doctor has told me multiple times "just take them anyways". Helpful. I drink soy sauce packets instead. They can't get me 12 grams of salt, but they can get me 600mg, so good enough.

- My doctor said that it is "Difficult to get ---- to share more of her subjective experience", which is true, but it's mostly because a) I don't have the words, b) I don't remember my "subjective experience" (seriously. I have some pretty bad memory issues, possibly related to dissociation, possibly not actually existing, unfortunately my doctor doesn't really take them seriously (or I forget to mention them during appointments, because irony) so get fucked me, I guess).

- "Appears well, alert, but becomes tearful because she wants to know "what this is"". Wow, thanks.

[honeypleasejustkillme]

suicidal people deserve a space to talk about their suicidal feelings without risking hospitalization/institutionalization or being accused of being manipulative or attention seeking

[gor3sigil]

I’m Trans and Insane and I’m doing fine.

[TW Psychosis, transphobia, psychophobia, medication, psych ward]

“Are you sure ?” she asked.

I remember looking back at her in disbelief, because that was certainly a question I never asked her when she came out.

“Why do you ask ?” I say.

“Dude, I’ve seen you go into depersonalization so hard you even thought you were a human soul in a robot vessel and now, you want me to trust you when you say that you, too, are trans ?”

That’s the memory that comes back to me as I fold and put in my bag my psychiatrist’s note attesting that I suffer from gender dysphoria, NOT LINKED to any psychotic symptoms. Here it goes in my folder with my prescription note, an increase - again - of my anti depressants and Xan, and my endocrinologist’s HRT prescription, increased too - finally.

I go to two separate pharmacies to pick up each prescription for two reasons:

There is only one in this godforsaken town that always had testosterone in stock.

I can’t explain to you with words the look you can get when you give back to back, to someone who, despite not being a doctor, works in healthcare, a note for trans HRT and then a note for psychiatric meds.

And I’m lucky, because I’m not taking antipsychotics anymore. Contrarily to what you could think, it doesn’t magically makes the voices and the shadowy people disappear, but it can make a mess of your head pretty bad and my doctor and I both agreed that I didn’t need more damage up here than what I already had. And no, it doesn’t make your delusions vanish magically too: in fact, I was still pretty certain that I was talking to my soul family out here in Argentine telepathically about my mission on Earth, the meds just made it more difficult to understand their voices, but the belief was still solid.

Anyways, I’m back home with the Hoy Grail I fought tooth and nails to get: a letter from the Sacred Council of Mental Sanity also known as Psychiatry that I was, indeed, a bit delulu, but also trans, and that both things didn’t play into each other. My transness wasn’t a delusion, my delusions didn’t have anything to do with being trans.

Or did it ?

Chicken or egg, you know the drill. Did I have my selves fractured before and one of the piece that shattered my brain happened to make me trans or was I just trans with a shitload of traumas in the back that made me insane ?

But don’t worry, at least, trans people when we’re together, we have each other’s back ! Right ?

“Transidentity ISN’T a mental illness !! We don’t DESERVE to be FORCIBLY LOCKED UP and MEDICATED and MADE TO CONFORM FOR OTHER’S SENSE OF SECURITY !!”

Neither do I, RIGHT ?

Oh

Or do I ?

Remember what she said, my girlfriend, right at the beginning ?

How I can’t be trusted about myself when sometimes I don’t even have a sense of self anymore or I have too much selves who fight against each other ?

And what do we say to that ?

Get treatment. Get in-patient. Take medication. And for the love of God, shut the fuck up about it, you’re giving us a bad name.

Because being trans and crazy can’t exist. It’s absurd. You have to fix one of these two things. Choose which jacket I’ll wear, and they call it a straitjacket for a reason it seems, so am I queer or am I insane ?

All I know today is there isn’t a universe in which I’m a trans without any mental illnesses, or mentally ill without being trans. And yet, I can’t tell you how many time I got asked “do you think you’d be trans if you never got through [x trauma] ?”. I. Don’t. Know. I’ll never know. And I deserve just as much agency as you get despite being mentally ill. If you don’t believe in that, don’t come yapping about “liberation for all of us”, but “if one of us is crazy they’ll all think I am too and that can’t happen”.

No LGBTQIAA+ person deserves to be told they need to be put away, to be cured, to be allowed out in the open only if they’re deemed “acceptable” by society’s standards. And no mentally ill people deserve to either.

No trans person should be going through years of counseling to have the access to HRT.

And I shouldn’t have had to threaten my own mother’s life to avoid being locked in an adult psych ward at 14.

If you ever think, for one second, that these two things have nothing to do with one another, you are far removed from history.

To hear queer people say “yeah but some mentally ill people are dangerous !” feels like you don’t even know where you come from.

And if I want to say, that me being trans is linked to me being mentally ill, or at least, that both are connected in a way, all hell breaks fucking loose.

So I’ll explain very carefully.

See, when I was young, my mind got shattered into a thousand of pieces I had to try to glue back on. All these pieces of myself broke further more down the line because I couldn’t catch a fucking break. And now, it happens that the final puzzle does not have the same face it had before. It happens that its shape changed over time, for reasons over the control of all of us who tried to build ourselves back. Now there’s a bigger picture, less pieces, a few other shadows, and me. Built from the shatters. With my own needs and afflictions.

And whoever you are, whatever your agenda might be, I will not let anyone take any agency away from me under the false pretext that I can’t know anything for myself. They say that about children, they say that about minorities, about physically disabled people, about the people they want OUT. And my trans siblings, you know that.

I came out for the first time 7 years ago, to my then girlfriend, who was the one asking the question that is the first sentence of this text. I came out a second time 3 years ago. Been on HRT, had top surgery, had psychotic breaks, got my meds changed, switch therapist.

Because I am trans and crazy. And yet, all these choices I made, I made myself. It didn’t have to be that hard to get the basic care I needed. It didn’t need to be. But it WAS. And I’m part of the lucky crowd of people who had access to out-patient treatment, who never have been locked up in ward, who managed to stay alive through meds withdrawals without medical assistance when I had no therapist.

Be very careful of when you start to put conditions on the rights you think you deserve. Be very, very careful about your definition of sanity and of how it warps the way you see people. When you start to say “I have access to that, but there’s people like X or Y who shouldn’t BECAUSE”, pause and ask yourself what led you to think this way. More often than not, you’ll find yourself playing the same mind games as the ones you swore to fight against, and when it gives them the upper hand, they won’t hesitate to come for you after that.

[fridayiminlovemp3]

the fact that this is real is beyond horrifying

[dumbbitchdisaster]

I hate living in extremes

Its either starving or binging

Its either full recovery or full relapse

I can’t go in between, it feels like failing if I do

[nonbinarymlm]

We Need to Accept that Silly Things Can Hurt People

Please allow me to ruminate a bit more on mental health on this blog. I have ADHD and OCD, both disorders commonly stereotyped and conflated with minor, silly behaviors like yelling SQUIRREL when you see a squirrel and organizing things by color. These stereotypes can often minimize and erase the genuine difficulties and harm that these conditions can cause. That’s very true, and it often causes intense sensitively and knee-jerk denial around stereotypes around this. I don’t think that’s necessarily the best reaction, because sometimes people can have symptoms very similar to these stereotypes.

I think we need to accept that silly things can hurt people. Silly, ridiculous symptoms can devastate people’s lives. People shouldn’t have to react into their painful past and trauma to get people to take their symptoms seriously when those symptoms are silly on their face, because that turns things into a pain competition and can result in gatekeeping how much people must suffer before their seemingly ridiculous symptoms get taken seriously.

I think we just need to, as a society and culture and social norm, accept that silly things can genuinely, sometimes intensely, hurt people. Yes, I do have the impulse to tell an animal’s name when I see that animal, and yes it’s part of my symptoms that makes it harder to me to drive and hold conversations and do basic functioning. Yes, I do worry about incredibly tiny and silly things, that the world’s tiniest cut means I’m literally dying, and this has at times been incredibly miserable to live with and severely inhibited my functioning and nearly lost me a job. Also I’m going to joke about it sometimes because it’s funny. I’m not going to find a joke about it from a stranger with no OCD funny, because they have no idea how much pain it can cause me.

Sometimes these conditions are absurd in ways that are funny. That’s true and people with the conditions should be able to joke about it. But everyone needs to understand, just because a symptom is absurd doesn’t mean it can’t also devastate you and ruin your life. So if you don’t have these conditions and aren’t super close to someone who has them, I think you should be sensitive and avoid joking even if it seems silly and funny. I think there is where true destigmatization lies: accepting that the silly brain can also really hurt.

[variety-fangirl]

Neighbours / Moon Boys x fem!reader

Summary: you're the new neighbour, looking for a change of scenery and people, a fresh start. Your neighbour, Steven, is someone you find yourself trusting easily and quickly. Something about you both draws the other in, enticing each other to explore what this could mean. Yet, you have a secret about why you moved, will you feel comfortable enough to open up to him?

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS angst but mostly fluffy, mentions of previous toxic and abusive relationship (beginning of physical abuse, manipulation, and emotional abuse), swearing, let me know if I missed anything! Will add more later as the story progresses.

Author's note: Hello! I am back with something quick and lovely that I have been working on for a while. It feels good to get slowly back in to writing 😊 College really had taken so much out of me and my joy for writing when all I was doing for 10 months straight was writing long essays, it was also nice to take these months to relax and come to terms with everything. So much has been happening 😮‍💨 But I hope I will be back more consistently now, fingers crossed! I've been mostly writing to get new and fun ideas, hoping it would entice and inspire me to write. I hope you guys enjoy anyways and feel free to ignore my rant 😅 Feedback, comments, likes and reblogs would be greatly appreciated and lets me know how I'm doing. Thank you for reading and enjoy my loves 💜

Word count: 1.9k

You huff as you place another box on the floor of your new apartment, watching the movers bring in two more. You felt thankful that you had decided to pay extra for the movers to help you bring all your belongings up, far too much to have done on your own.

There were endless stairs, and it would have taken you hours to bring it all up here yourself, especially with your new sofa, bed, and dining room set. All were bought cheaply from a friend second-hand who was more than happy to help you. She was one of the only ones you'd told where you were going, and had left your address and new number with to contact you. Everything new and different, nothing to remind you of the old life that you'd left behind.

You started unpacking the basics whilst they brought the rest up, there were still quite a few boxes because you had to buy most stuff brand new. Luckily you had hidden as much money as possible before leaving, so you had more than enough to buy what you needed. You would work on buying extras and niceties when you had spare money throughout, you'd moved far enough that you were hoping not to have to move again unless you wanted to in the future.

That was at least the hope. Not because you were forced to leave in the middle of the night terrified for your life.

You try to take a deep breath as you subconsciously rub at the scar on your neck, you are safe now. You wanted to distract yourself for as long as possible, so you sorted the boxes out where they needed to go, to their newly allocated rooms.

It would be weird to live on your own again after so long, it had been five years since you'd run away from home and four since you'd started dating and moved in with your now ex, Noah. It was a scary thought once more, to be alone. More alone now than you'd been before, at least you had your best friend, Natalie, at home. Now, she lives four hours away from your new place in London.

You made her promise to conceal your number and hide your address, you knew he'd go to her first to ask where you'd gone. She would lie, she'd always been good at it but he wasn't stupid. He knew you would have told her, you just prayed he wouldn't hurt her. You could never forgive yourself if she got hurt because of you.

She was one of the only people who meant anything to you in this world. She at least had her boyfriend, Tyler, who was like a brother to you. He would protect her, he always hated Noah for how he treated you. Tyler had hated Noah from the moment he met him, made you known of it also but you just chalked it up to a bad first impression and yet it never improved no matter how much time they spent together. It wasn't until three years in that Noah showed his true colours and by that point, it was too late. You were in deep and he was a master manipulator and narcissist, he'd played you well. He almost came between you and Nat but she wouldn't allow it, tried to make you see him for who he really was. It didn't take much convincing when the major problems started in the last year of your relationship together.

The first time he'd hit you was a year before you left him, he apologised and said he was drunk. The typical excuse and blame on anything but himself. Promised he "won't do it again", two months go by and it happens again but this time more frequently. He drank more, went out frequently, and came back later. By the six-month mark, you caught him cheating for the first time (that you knew of).

That was the moment you vowed to leave him, it was as if all the years of manipulation and abuse faded away and you came to your senses. You had to save enough though to leave, so you let Nat and Tyler know of your plans and they helped you to set everything up. It took you six months of planning and saving, and you were finally ready.

The night finally came, you waited and told him before he had a drink, that you were leaving him. He started out crying, begging you not to leave him, you didn't budge. He tried to initiate sex, but you said no and he didn't like that. That night was the worst abuse you had endured the whole of your relationship combined. He threatened you, managed to get you down on the living room floor with a knife in hand, and held it to your neck to the point of blood drawn. You sobbed, pleaded with him, said just about anything to get him to calm down. You would still leave but you would say anything to get him off you. He began slowly slicing your neck open whilst screaming that he loved you, only luckily managing to get an inch before you kicked him in the balls hard enough that he collapsed just to the side of you.

You ran to the bathroom and locked the door, terrified out of your mind. You grabbed the first aid kit to clean and patch up the gash on your neck. Having done this a few times when he threw stuff at you or pushed you into surfaces sharp enough to cut skin. You had a few scars all over your body, it wasn't pretty but you wore them proudly to signify that you were a survivor. He tried to bash down the door before leaving, yelling about going to the bar and he would 'see to you later'. You knew that would be your only open window to leave, he would be at least two hours there. You immediately called your best friend, she and Tyler came over to help you in any way they could.

You packed two suitcases of clothes and shoes, a duffel bag of prized possessions and important bits, a backpack of money and goods to sell, and quickly changed from your bloody clothes into something clean but comfortable. You grabbed the first aid kit too for your neck. Everything was packed into your car in less than an hour, saving you enough time to wipe anything important and any trace of you behind, away. You immediately booked a two-day stay at a cheap hotel an hour away on Natalie's computer for the night so you could figure out your next move. He would come looking for you the second that he realised your stuff was gone and that terrified you, he was not a man who gave up on things he wanted.

It had taken you two months to find this apartment after a lot of rejections and failed apartment searches. It had immediately caught your eye when you saw the ad for it on one of the apartment renting sites. It was perfect for your situation. Multiple floors of tenants would make it far harder to search through unless you knew which floor to look at so you could blend among your new neighbours. A locked front door that had a security number code to be allowed entry and without it you couldn't enter. Security cameras on each floor show all angles of the apartments, which each tenant has access to for their safety and peace of mind through an app you can download on your phone.

You had downloaded and gained access before you'd started moving the boxes in. You were given access a week beforehand, which helped your anxiety and tight chest to ease just an inch. You knew it would take some time for you to feel safe and be able to walk down the street without looking over your shoulder every five minutes or keep your taser on hand in your pocket with your fingers gripping it just in case. You were constantly worried and paranoid that he was watching you from around the corner like he would pop out at any moment and drag you "home".

The police had never given a fuck about you or your situation, Noah's family has money and connections, so it was always swept under the rug. Just another number, another person to suffer in silence, until one day your dead body would have turned up. They would just pretend they didn't know. A murder gone wrong, you imagine they would chalk it up to.

You take a few calming breaths whilst unpacking, listening to the footsteps and quiet chatter from the moving company men. It eased the anxiety when someone was around, it helped you to feel safer and calmer. As if, if someone was with you or near you, you could be protected from the 'big bad wolf'. You were hoping to become friendly with some or all of the neighbours on your floor, not just for safety in case something happens but also because you'd never been allowed to make new friends with your old neighbours. Noah had made sure of that.

So, you were hoping that this move would be the perfect opportunity for you to do so. You loved to bake cakes and savoury treats but hadn't been able to with Noah because he always ruined things you loved, but now he was gone you could finally pick it back up again. You were planning to bake something sweet as a gesture to introduce yourself to your neighbours, hoping it would make a good first impression.

You walked back into the open apartment that was now your own little safe haven and smiled with contentment, this was the start of a happy new beginning for you. No more fearing what mood Noah would be in that day when he woke up, no more being abused daily, no more sobbing silently into your pillow or taking an emotionally broken moment of peace to cry out your feelings in the shower after he'd hit you. Just you, your new clean apartment, and the ability to do as you please without fear.

It didn't take the movers long to bring the remainder of your boxes up between the three of them. They took off just moments ago, and now you were finally alone. It felt strange, not hearing shouting or items smashing. Just pure blissful silence in your home. Your own place to do with as you please. It felt wonderful to have freedom.

You felt tears cloud your vision as you stared out the window you'd opened when you first stepped inside the apartment, feeling the warm Summer air blow in. The overwhelming emotions of freedom and serenity hit you like a punch to the gut, a sob immediately pulled from you as you sank to the ground. You felt the year-long toll of abuse and terror that had been weighing down your shoulders finally crumble and release you while the sun flowed into the room. You fought the battle and came out victoriously on top for the first time in your life and it felt amazing.

Once the sobs quieted down and the tears had stopped, you took a moment for yourself. You opened a bottle of your favourite wine and picked up an empty glass to pour yourself a drink. You took the bottle with you as you sat back down on the floor in front of the open window, feeling the warm breeze kiss your skin gently and watched the sun in peace. It was still early in the day, you would have plenty of time to unpack later on. But for now, you just want to relax without worry for the first time in a long time.

[welcome2theinternet]

Here's a fun idea. Don't comment on what people eat or if they're losing/gaining weight. Doesn't matter if you thought it was a compliment. You don't know why that may be happening. Some people lose weight when they're anxious or depressed (or of course suffering from an eating disorder). You may have meant well but it can be triggering or upsetting

[uncanny-tranny]

It's weird how people paint "daddy issues" and even "mommy issues" as, like, a joke or a failure on part of the person who has those issues, rather than recognizing that daddy and mommy issues stem, for so many people, from abuse. What this all is is just abuse apologia, and nobody seems to either notice or maybe even care.

When somebody with daddy or mommy issues opens up about the "why," I can't ever seem to shake the fact that they tend to have gone through a ton of abuse and bullshit as a child. It's just crazy that other people would look at that and see a joke or a failure of the once-child who was abused.

[happyk44]

Annabeth breaking up with Percy after HoO because the Misery thing freaked her out and after the war she finally had the time to look back on it and process how scared she was and her panic is just "get away get away" and she just needs a break to get past it and Sally having Estelle and clearly she loves Percy still but she also has Paul and a new kid now and she seemed painfully resigned to Percy being cast into another war and so he's just clawing at Grover, begging loudly and near violently for him not to leave him like everyone else, on the verge of suicide, and Grover promising he won't but Percy doesn't believe him even as he calms down because people leave, they leave, they leave, they leave, he's broken and horrible and disgusting and they leave and Grover has Juniper and Lord of the Wild duties and he'll leave just like everyone else and what's the point of life anymore if everyone he loves is just going to leave?

[jacksprostate]

Treatise on why No, the doctor just giving the narrator of Fight Club (full name) his requested sleep medication or sending him to therapy would not have Fixed Him

Firstly, saying giving him the insomnia meds would’ve fixed him ignores the reason he has insomnia in the first place. He is so deeply upset by his place in society that he literally cannot sleep. Drugging him to sleep would not change that. That, of course, is the easy, quick response.

But with regard to therapy? The biggest flaw is that it ignores a central tenet of the book. Part of what tortures the narrator and drives him to invent Tyler is that his feelings about this collective, systemic issue are constantly reduced to a Just Him thing. His seatmates ask what his company is. He’s the only one upset at the office. He gets weird looks if he says the truth of what he does. People will do anything in their power to pretend he is the issue, as an individual, because it is far scarier to consider the full implications of the systemic issues implied by what he is saying. Everyone treats it as if the issue is him, so he goes insane. He does anything to get someone to say, holy shit, that’s fucked up, what you’re a part of is wrong. In an attempt to feel any sort of vague sympathy and catharsis, he goes to support groups to pretend to be dying, because then at least people don’t habitually blame him for his anguish. 

Saying therapy would fix him ignores that his problems are not individual. They are collective. It’s the reason the entire story resonates with people! Something deeply, unignorably wrong with society, where people would rather blame you for bringing it up than try and address it, because it feels impossible. I don’t blame people for this, really, because it IS scary. It’s terrifying to sit and feel like you’ve realized there’s something deeply, deeply wrong, but if you say something, people will get mad at you since it’s so baked into everything around you. Or, even if they agree, it’s easier to deal with the dissonance by pretending it’s individual.

And it’s not like that’s not the purpose therapy and medications largely serve, anyway. Getting into dangerous territory for this website, but ultimately, the reason the narrator was seeking medication was because it’s a bandaid. A very numbing bandaid. For these very large, dissonance causing problems, therapy does very little. Medications do what they always have, and distract you with numbness or side effects. It’s a false solution. He is seeking an individualized false solution because he has been browbeaten with the idea that this is an issue with him alone, when it's plainly clear it's not. 

Don't get me wrong. Obviously he has something wrong with him. But it's a product of his situation. It is a fictional exaggeration of a very real occurrence of mental illness provoked by deep unconscionable dissonance and anguish.  There is a clear correlation between what happens and his mental state and his job and how isolated he is. 

The thing is, even if he were chemically numbed, I do think he would’ve lost it regardless. Many people on meds find they don’t fix things. For reasons I’ll get into, but in this case because even if numbed or distracted, once you’ve learned about deep, far reaching corruption in society, it’s very hard to forget. Especially if, in his case, you literally serve as the acting hand of this particular variety. He’s crawling up the walls. 

So why do people say this?  Well, it's funny I guess. Maybe the first time or whatever. But also, often, they believe it, to a degree. Maybe they've just been told how effective therapy and meds are for mental illness, they believe wholeheartedly in The Disease Model of Mental Illness, maybe they themselves have engaged with either and have considered it successful. Maybe they or someone they know has been 'saved' by such treatments. 

But in all honesty.... What therapy can help with is mentality, it's how you approach problems. For issues on a smaller scale, not meaning they are easier to deal with my any degree, but ones that are not raw and direct from deep awareness of corruption; these are things that can be worked through if you get lucky and get an actually good therapist who helps build up your resiliency. But when your issue is concrete, something large and inescapable? It's useless. At best it can help you develop coping mechanisms, but there is a limit for that. There is a point where that fails. To develop the ability to handle something like this requires intense development of a comfort with ambiguity and dissonance and being isolated and a firm positioning of your purpose and values and and belief in wonder and all the other shit I ramble about. The things that the narrator lacks, which lead him to taking an ineffectual death knell anarchist self-destruction path. Therapy, where the narrator is, full of the knowledge of braces melted to seats and all the people that have to allow this to happen? It fails. 

And meds — meds are a fucking scam. We know the working mechanism of basically none of them, the serotonin receptor model was made up and paid its way into prominence. We have very little evidence they're any better than placebo, and they come with genuinely horrific side effects. Maybe you got lucky. I did, on some meds. On others? I don't remember 2018. The pharmaceutical industry is also known for rampant medical ghostwriting, and for creating 'off-label' uses for drugs that have gained too many protests in their original use, then creating a cult of use to then have 'grassroots' campaigns for it to be made a label use (ie, legitimize their ghostwritten articles with guided anecdotes). 

The DSM itself is basically a marketing segregation plot. It's an attempt to legitimize the disease model by isolating subgroups of symptoms to propose individualized treatments for subgroups that are not necessarily all that separate. But if the groups exist, you can prescribe more and different medications, no? Not to mention, if you use the disease model, you can propose that these diseases are permanent, or permanent until treated, considered more and more severe to offset and justify the horrific side effects of the medications. Do you know why male birth control doesn't really exist? Same reason. They can justify all the horrible side effects for women, because the other option is pregnancy. For men, it's nothing. 

And they're not bothering to invent new drugs without side effects. When they invent new drugs it's just because the last one got too bad of a name, or they can enter a new market. Modern drugs don't work any better than gen1 drugs. They still have horrific side effects. At best, the industry will shit out studies saying the old one was flawed (truth) so they can say this new gen will be better (lie). They're doing it with ssris right now. 

Fundamentally, the single proposed benefit of any of these drugs is that they numb you. To whatever is torturing you. It's harder to be depressed if you can't feel it, or if you just can't muster the same outrage. Of course, there is people who find that numbness to be helpful, or worth it. But often, it's stasis. For the people who have problems that can be worked on, it serves as a stopgap to not actually work on said problems. The natural outcome of the disease model is stagnation for those whose need is to develop skills and resiliency. It keeps them medicalized and dependent on the idea that they're diseased and incapable. Profitable. Stuck in the womb. 

I’ve been there. It’s easier, to wallow, and resist growth because it’s difficult and painful and unfair and cruel and you can think of five billion reasons to justify your languishing. But don’t listen to anyone who tells you you’re just permanently damaged, no matter how nicely they word it, no identity or novel pathologization, no matter how many benefits they promise, especially if they swear up and down some lovely expensive medications with little solid backing and plentiful off-label usage and side effects that’ll kill you. Some days it feels like they want us all stuck in pods, agoraphobic and addicted to the ads they feed us to isolate the markets for the drugs they’ve trained us to beg them to pump us with. Polarization making it as easy as flashing blue light for go, red like for stop, or vice versa. I worry about the kids, for fucks sake. That’s a bit dark and intense, and I apologize. But I want you (generic) to understand, there is a profit motive. Behind everything. And they do not mean well. They do not care about your mental health or your rights or your personhood or your growth. They care about how they can profit off of you.

For those struggling with immovable, society problems, like the narrator grappling with how his job fits into and is accepted by society while his rejection and horror in the face of it does not, it can work about as well as any other drug addiction. Your mileage may vary. From what I've seen, recovering from being on prozac for a long time can be worse than alcohol. They put kids on this shit. They keep campaigning for more. Off label, again. A pharmaceutical company’s favorite thing to do has to be to spread rumors of someone who knows someone who said an off label use of this drug helps with this little understood condition. Or, in the case of mental illness, questionably defined condition. And like, damn, I know I'm posting on the 'medicalization is my identity' website so no one will like all this and has probably stopped reading by now, but yall should be exposed to at least one person who doubts this stuff. Doesn't just trust it. Because I mean, that's the thing right?

It's so big. What would it mean, for this all to be true? Yeah, everyone says pharmaceutical companies are evil and predatory and ghostwriting, but to think about what that really entails. Coming back to the book, everyone knows the car lobby is huge and puts dangerous vehicles through that kill people. What does it mean if the car companies all hire people to calculate the cost of a recall and the cost of lawsuits? No one wants to think about the scale that means for people allowing it or the systems that have to be geared towards money, not safety like they say. Hell, even Chuck misses the beat and has the narrator threaten his boss with the Department of Transportation. And shit, man, if every company is doing this, you think Transportation doesn't know? That they give a fuck? You're better off mailing all the evidence to the news outlets and hoping they only character assassinate you a little bit as they release the news in a way that says it's all the fault of little workers like you, not the whole system. Something something, David McBride, any whistleblower you feel like, etc. 

So I don't blame you, if your reaction is "but but but, that can't be right, people wouldn't do it, they wouldn't allow it" or just an overwhelming feeling of dread that pushes you to deny all of this and avoid thinking about it. Just know, that's in the book. That's all the seatmates on the flights. That's all his fellow officemates. It's easier to pretend, I know.

But think about, how the response fits in with the themes of the book. The story, as a movie too. What drives the narrator’s mental breakdown? How would you handle being in his position? How would you handle being his seatmate? It’s easy to say you’d listen. But have you? Have you had any soul wrenching betrayals of how you thought society worked? How about a betrayal by the thing that promised to be the fix of the first? Can you honestly say you wouldn’t follow that gut instinct, saying follow what everyone says, that person must just be crazy, evil, rude, cruel, whatever it is that means you can set what they said aside?

For a lot of people, they can do that, I guess. Set it aside. Reaching that aforementioned state of managing to cope with the dissonance and ambiguity and despair is very hard. The narrator made the Big Realization, but he couldn’t cope. He self-destructed. Even when people don’t make the big realization consciously, they’re already self-destructing. It’s hard to escape it when it feels easier than continuing anyway. When it feels like the only option,

Would therapy fix the narrator of Fight Club? Would meds fix the narrator of Fight Club? No. He knows too much. All meds will do, by the time he’s in the psych ward, is spiritually neuter him. A silly phrase, but really. Take the wind out of his sails. 

Is he fixed if he doesn’t try to blow up town? If he just shuts up and settles in and stops costing money? If he still can’t cope with the things he’s unearthed? Do you see how this is a commentary in a commentary in a commentary?

Fight Club is an absolutely fascinating story because of this. The fact that it addresses the fallout of knowing. The isolation. The hopelessness. The spiral that results from a lack of hope. This is, I think, what resonates most with people, even if not consciously. Going insane because you’ve discovered something you wish you could unknow. It’s a classic horror story. Should our society be lovecraftian evil? I don’t think so. 

Do I think changing it will be easy? No. Lord knows a lot exists to push people who make these sorts of Realizations towards feelings of individuality and individualized solutions and denial and other distractions and coping methods. And to prevent people who make One realization from expanding on it and considering further ramifications. Fight Club itself gets into this; the isolation of men being a strict part of the role society shapes for their sex leaves them very vulnerable to death fetishes, in a sense, and generally towards self destructive violence. It helps funnel them away from substantial change and towards ineffectual change. Many things, misogyny, racism, serve to keep people isolated from one another, individualized, angry, and impossible to work with. Market segregation; god knows even appealing on those fronts has become such a classic ploy that companies do it now, the US military frames its plundering that way, etc. 

I’ve wandered a bit but ultimately, my point is this: Fight Club is a love letter to the horrors of critical thinking, and the importance of not falling into the trap of self destruction and hopelessness in the face of it. The latter is why Tyler was an anarchoterrorist instead of anything useful. The latter is why it was a death cult. It’s important to work through the horrors of critical thinking so you can do it, and stand on the other side ready to believe in each other. It’s worth it.

[that-bluesybitch]

[dumbbitchdisaster]

Anyone else constantly switching between wanting to recover and wanting to get worse just to proof something??

[decodedlvr]

As long as I’m with You

Steve Harrington x You (short)

Summary: Steve wakes up to another bad night you’ve had this week

Warnings: hurt/comfort, talks of poor physical and mental health, doctors, suicidal ideation, medication use, drug use, chronic health issues, BPD if you squint, disabilities, use of the word “girl” x times, negative self talk, mentions of sex, angst, fluff~~

This is based off my own experiences and inspired by my pal Morgan’s version; feel free to check hers out

Tick tick tick

The clock strikes 12 and then 1, 3, 5am in the morning, no sleep no rest it’s an every day cycle. The same shitty cycle.

It’s a new year, but not a new you.

Sitting in your walker in front of the excruciatingly bright television screen, high as a kite, everything in existence running through your mind 100 mph, sometimes the weed helps the pain. Sometimes it induces it or even makes it worse. Right now it’s doing nothing for you. Looking over at your loved one sound asleep. You don’t want to bother him with your whines or crying. So you just sit there silence, tears rolling down your cheeks; while you watch some bullshit on YouTube.

Sniff Sniff

“Baby?”

Shit.

“..yea?” you say in a whispered tone

“Are you ok? what’s wrong?”

“Ah, you already know”, you’ve used that line probably over a million times

Steve comes along your side expecting a few dried tears, but his eyes widen when he’s sees the collar around your shirt bitten, snot dribbling down your mouth and throat, crouching down, he lies his head onto your thigh looking up at you, “Talk to me sweetheart”

“No.”

“Hey, I know you’re hurting”—

“GOOD FOR YOU! Congratulations you know I’m hurting, you know I’ve been hurting for fucking years. I’m glad you’ve acknowledged it unlike some people”you sniffle getting up in a hurry to take a piss as he follows with sad eyes leaning against the door frame

“I’m fucking tired, I’m so goddamn exhausted nobody will ever know what I’m dealing with!”, you say wiping your ass not bothering to wash your hands, “I can’t do anything I can’t run, I can’t jump, can’t go to the stupid, fucking grocery store without one of those motorized carts.. my back hurts, my fucking knees are throbbing, stupid fucking nerves won’t calm down FUCK! It’s not like I can get in the bathtub to calm my muscles down. Nothing is helping! No medication, no PT, no injections, no nothing! Why?? am I just resistant to any source of help or treatment? I-I can’t even lay in the goddamn bed to sleep. That’s all I have left is rest!! What is rest!? I don’t know what the hell that even is”

“I know baby I know”—

“NO YOU DONT STEVE, all you know is what you see. I wouldn’t wish on our worst enemy, my worst enemy to feel what I feel. That’s how bad it all hurts. The most evil, sick and twisted person in this world, I would never wish this upon. I just..”, getting dizzy you collapse on the bed sobbing into your own hands, then eventually into Steve’s shoulder as he rocks you, tears spilling from his own eyes—

“Nobody cares, nobody wants to help me. nobody cares unless I’m rich and can afford to give them any and ALL the things off my back, but I can’t. Even with the money you make it will never be enough to help the poor girl who’s too young to have any kind of issue. It’s “all in my head” I’m just fucking crazy. I could break my own neck and still be told it’s only from anxiety. Nobody cares just”—

“I care” he exhales

“It doesn’t matter if you care, all your care is useless, all your help is worthless to me because it gets me nowhere. Nobody’s love and care gets me nowhere. It’s nothing all but fucking false hope. Don’t you get that? None of you still to this day seems understand that. Stop praying for me to get better. It’s never going to happen. I can’t take it anymore.. I just wanna die! All I wish for is to die but, I can’t even have that. It’s like all of you want me here, to live and suffer for the rest of my life for y’all, it’s not fair, fuck that”, your trembling, body in fight or flight

“Don’t say that, you know I’d do anything to take your pain away”

“It doesn’t matter what you’d do because you’re not a doctor. You’re not a professional, you can’t help me get better.. sucks to hear but it’s the truth Steve..fuck”—

Steve’s really trying not to beat himself up over your words, he knows you’re in pain, it comes from a place of anger, frustration and fear

“I have all these pain medications I could easily take all at once, so I’ll never have to wake up in this position ever again. Why can’t I do it huh? I could end right here right now you never have to suffer again, but I just d-don’t; If anything, I’m the most selfless person for staying alive for YOU just so I can be alive but in pain all over again for YOU!”, your tone getting higher and higher in pitch

“I-I’m sorry.. I wish I knew the right words to say baby”, he’s trying his best to stay strong for you

“You’ve got to be sick of me, tired of me. All I do is cause more money to come out of your pockets, more exhaustion, more burdening, more crying, more everything bad for you. You already deal with your own shit. I do nothing but make your own mentality worse, hell you’re making your own self worse being with a person like me. A broken and useless excuse of a human being. You deserve somebody who can go hiking with you, go to the beach, travel with, who can do the bare minimum. Can’t even fuck you properly—

“STOP! Stop that right now” he shouts

You freeze because he’s never raised his voice at you, atleast not on purpose at such a vulnerable time

“I hate it too. You know it hurts me to know that you hurt and I’m sorry that I can’t take the pain away from you. My sweet, sweet girl I’m so sorry that nobody has given you the chance to hear your voice, to help heal you..but I’m gonna make you the same promise I make you almost every single night. As long as I’m with you, I will try my best with all my power to make it a little bit more bearable for you to be here, and I am so grateful that you are still here and choose to be here with me for us to be together. I know you hurt, but as long as you’re with me, I’m going to do my best to put a smile on your pretty face, beautiful sunshine of a smile because you’re my sunshine.. y-your smile gives me life did you know that?”

You nod. He tells you all the time

“I- I’m tired for wishing to feel ok for my birthdays, every Christmas. All the shirts and posters you got me for Christmas? I haven’t even touched them yet, you know why? Because the selfish person in me doesn’t give a fuck about none of it. The only thing I care about and want and NEED is pain relief and that’s too much to ask for isn’t it? Apparently wanting to be better in the world it’s too much to ask for”

“You deserve to feel better”, he says while his hand travels up your back to rub your tense neck, “You deserve to be free from all of this and I can’t give that to you. You’re not selfish baby you’re hurting. I love you for you. I knew what I was signing up for, and if I didn’t want that I wouldn’t be here right now with you. I know the sacrifices Ill have to make, the tears I’ll have to shed, the strength it’ll take me to pick you up when you’re down, but I fell in love with you, how you are, and who you are”

“Who are you kidding Steve, you don’t even know who I am. The real me. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I wish you met me when I wasn’t sick then maybe you wouldn’t be so stressed out a-and.. and,” you start sobbing again, it’s all too overwhelming

“Hey, hey look at me, no. I met you at the right time. You need me just as much as I need you. You may not think you’re worth nothing but you’re worth everything to me. Yeah you have a good and bad days..—

“I’ve had nothing but bad days for the past few months Steve”-

“I know, I see it, I hear it and I witness it, I may not can feel it, but at the end of it all, you still love me. You’re still here. You still want to cook for me. You still get up to brush your teeth and I’m so proud of you for still trying to care for yourself. That’s the biggest job you’ll ever have, and it’s been a very hard job hasn’t it?

You nod, as he nods with you

“Yeah, it has, but you don’t have to do it alone anymore. I want to provide for you. I want to take care of you. You’re my girl, you deserve so much and as long as I’m with you, I will try every day, every hour, every second or minute, to make sure you know how loved, how great and how amazing you are. How great and amazing you’re doing for yourself and for me. How strong you are”—

—“im tired of having being strong all the time”, interrupting him

“I know you are. You are so strong for being on this earth, even when you don’t want to be. I wouldn’t ask for anybody else, you’re it for me always. Will you continue to let me try to make it better for you every day? To take care of you?”, he squats in front of you, cupping your wet cheeks, kissing your forehead

“But Stevie.. you know you’re getting your own hopes up because nothing you do helps either and I feel like a piece of shit for saying that because”—

“I know what you mean, you don’t have to be sorry. I understand you may not have hope but I do. All my Hope goes towards you and it always will. You are the most important thing in my life. I’m not gonna give up on you, on me or on us, ok sunshine?”

..”okay”, you repeat rubbing your temples

“Head hurt, darling?”

“yes”

“From crying too hard?”

You nod, looking away in shame, “It’s okay, I’ll get your Migrane cap from the freezer and i’ll set your pillows up how you like, just sit tight”, he says it standing then pausing at the doorway, looking over his shoulder, “I love you”

“luv you—

“Hmm? What was that, I couldn’t hear you” he exclaims

“I said love you gosh.. shut up”, you barely crack a smile

That was enough to get him through the rest of the night.

[whitl3y]

“It’s all in your head”

[sporesgalaxy]

shanks is the new guy at the top of the list of characters who remind me too much of my dad