#might steer into intrusive thought territory where instead of actually thinking about it

[firestorm09890]

OCD I feel is a good demonstration of how the fine line between “sane” and “not” isn’t even a line at all, it’s more like a big gradient or maybe even a big nebulous sphere we all exist in.

Someone with anxiety (relatively normalized and tbh romanticized these days) might fear crowds because what if they are seen and scrutinized and judged? And maybe some breathing exercises and rationalization might help- maybe the phrase “everyone else is too worried about themself to judge you” might actually do something, if they can truly internalize it. Someone who experiences delusions (very much demonized) might fear crowds because they know that each of their thoughts will be broadcast and everyone else will witness them and mentally converse with each other about it. It WILL happen and nothing can convince them otherwise.

And then OCD (often misinterpreted as being less of a disorder than it really is- see "letting the intrusive thoughts win"- so someone’s condition being worse than everyone expects is generally poorly received) might cause something that can be placed somewhere in the middle- they fear crowds because what if there is a mind reader amongst them? And they tell themself that that’s ridiculous because mind readers don’t exist and if they did we would know by now but what if? And they tell themself that there is an easy way to tell if mind readers exist in the vicinity- if they scream really loud mentally and someone reacts, that means they do exist. If not, it’s probably safe. And therefore periodically they must think a sudden scream, not too often so as to not be predictable, and oops! Now it’s a compulsion attached to the mindreader obsession and they can’t handle going without it. Maybe it gets even more elaborate over time as the strength of the rituals fades, like, oh, one scream is not enough, it must be done three times to really be sure.

Do you know how common it is for those with OCD to have schizophrenia (the idea of it) as an obsession? Surprisingly common- or perhaps, not so surprising, considering the culture surrounding saneism and that perceived harsh line that divides the “normal” people from the ones with psychosis. Everyone thinks it could never be them, because they are two entirely different categories of people, right? For OCD, someone might latch onto an obsession they know is ridiculous except they can’t get themselves to stop taking it deathly seriously and so they wonder, am I slipping? Are these really thoughts a sane person could have? And so they remind themself that people with psychosis do not regard their delusions in the same way they are regarding their own obsession, and so, no, they can’t be slipping. And thus frequent personal reality checks become the compulsion. Idk what the point of this post really is, maybe it's just that instead of a checkbox you either check or don't, sanity is more like a color picker thing

[trashybutnottootrashy]

Bruised (Billy x Reader)

Summary: Soulmate au where marks/bruises one soulmate gets shows up on the other. Reader is a bit concerned by the bruises she winds up with occasionaly.

Warnings: allusions to abuse

A/N: Billy is an asshole and I’m not justifying his behavior.

You didn’t really notice them when you were 6 - bruises are easy to come by when you spend your days running and climbing and falling and getting back up to do it again. Bruises and skinned knees come with the territory.

In the 7th grade you began to realize that not all of the bruises littered across your skin were actually yours. While you did earn your fair share of bruises, the causes of over half the bruises you carried were a mystery to you. Which brought you to the only logical conclusion (well, some of your friends thought alien abductions were more logical, but you thought that theory was ridiculous) - your soulmate was clumsy. Extremely clumsy.

So you stopped worrying about the ‘mysterious’ bruises. Bruises were a normal part of life for pretty much everyone, nothing to be concerned about (though the number of bruises and the rate at which more were added often cause your mother to look at them with worry in her eyes, which you always ignored).

In high school, you started paying more attention. The bruises one could easily get from running into furniture or tripping and falling became few and far between; instead you found bruises that looked like fingers wrapped around your bicep, bruises consistent with broken ribs, a few black eyes. The concern in your mother’s eyes grew deeper with each new mark. You found yourself wondering what in the world your soulmate could be doing to gain these sorts of injures - was he in some kind of fight club - or was there something else going on?

You did your best to avoid gathering any bruises of your own - whatever was causing your soulmate to get all these bruises, he certainly didn’t need any more added.

December of your senior year dawned crisp and cold, a layer of snow covering the world. There was a definite chill in the air, but nothing a warm coat and a scarf couldn’t keep at bay. With a shout of ‘Bye Mom!’ you stepped out of your house, carefully closing the door behind you. You took a moment to make sure that your scarf was tucked safely into your coat, hiding the new bruises along your collarbone. The air was still, and with the quiet brought on by the fresh snow, it felt like you were alone in the world.

Until Billy Hargrove’s Camaro pulled up in front of your house, music blaring from the speakers. You rolled your eyes and gripped the straps of your bag before trudging forward, delighting in the footprints your boots left in the previously untouched snow of the driveway.

“Billy, I’m pretty sure I told you yesterday that I was never going to get into your car.”

You leaned forward, bringing your face level with the open passenger door window. Billy rolled his eyes, the smirk never leaving his lips as he brought his eyes to meet yours.

“And how are you getting to school, then? Your car won’t be getting you there any time soon.”

“Steve-” you began, but Billy broke in.

“Harrington’s driving Max’s weird friends to school today.”

You shot the boy a glare, unamused with the interruption. “Then I’ll ride the bus.” Without giving him a chance to respond, you straightened and began walking away, a small grin curving your lips.

“Come on, (L/N), just get in the car. I promise not to touch you!”

A short bark of laughter escaped your lips. “That’s not what I’m worried about, Hargrove!” you called back, still walking. You heard a curse escape his lips, and then the Camaro was moving, drawing up alongside you, keeping pace with your steps.

“Then what is it? Jesus, (L/N), I’m trying to be nice, just get in the damn car.”

That had you laughing even harder. “Well, that’s a shock,” you teased, getting a growl from Billy in response. “Billy Hargrove, trying to be nice! I never thought I’d see the day.”

“(L/N),” he said, and you ceased laughing, though a smile still curved your lips.

“Yes, Billy?”

“Why won’t you get in the car?”

“Because I know how you drive, Hargrove, and I don’t have a death wish. Besides, I might just walk to school today. I love snow!” Arms out, you spun around, face towards the sky. Billy rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as well. You came to a stop facing Billy’s car, the ends of your scarf now untucked from your coat.

“You’ll be late if you walk, (L/N). And you don’t want to ride the bus.”

He had a point.

Sighing, you placed your hand on the door handle. “Fine, Billy, you win. I’ll let you give me a ride to school.” As you opened the passenger door, the cocky smirk came back to Billy’s lips. “Just don’t get me killed, okay? I want to arrive at school in one piece, not even a single scratch,” you warned, sliding into the seat and closing the door.

Billy laughed. “Don’t worry - what’s that?” The laughter stopped, and a strange look crossed his face.

Frowning, you looked around. “What?”

“Your neck.”

Oh. You glanced down. Sure enough, your scarf had slipped, and the edge of a bruise peeked out from under it. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, moving to wrap the scarf more securely around your neck.

“Stop.” He reached over, tugging the scarf aside. Only the slightest bit of the bruising was visible over the collars of both your coat and your sweater, and you silently hoped he would be content with that. He wasn’t, unsurprisingly, and hooked his fingers under the collar of the sweater to move it aside, revealing the finger-shaped bruising across your collarbone and shoulder.

He was silent for a moment, just staring at the marks on your skin, expression unreadable. His hand retracted, falling to his lap; you quickly wrapped the scarf snuggly around your neck, hiding the marks from view.

“Where did you get those?”

His voice sounded strained, and you watched him with concern in your eyes. There was a tightness in his jaw and a darkness in his eyes. Absently, he reached up and rubbed his own shoulder, right where the bruises were on yours.

You could have lied, but what was the point? “They show up sometimes. Nobody hit me or grabbed me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” you added, seeing him tense even more. “I just get random bruises sometimes, you know?”

He knew. Everyone knew - marks on one soulmate’s skin appeared on the other’s as well. Drawings, scars, bruises. Bruises sucked in that both soulmates got to feel the pain from them, which is why many were so careful to avoid them.

The hand on his shoulder clenched slightly, and you watched him wince lightly in pain. Brow furrowed, you reached over and pulled the collar of his shirt to the side just a smidge. The breath rushed from your lungs at the sight of the bruises marring his fair skin. The bruises that were identical to the ones that you carried.

“Oh,” you whispered, mind whirling.

This was a twist.

This was unexpected.

This - well, this explained some things. And raised more than a few questions; but judging by the look on Billy’s face as you slowly drew your hand back to yourself, none of those questions would be answered any time soon. He turned his eyes to the road and started driving, his grip on the steering wheel so tight you were almost afraid it would break. Silence hung heavily over the both of you for the entirety of the drive. You found yourself staring down at your hands, folded in your lap, thoughts flying around in your head like the snow starting to fall again.

The silence was oppressive, stifling; but what could you say? ‘Hey, look, we’re soulmates and I know about every bruise you’ve ever gotten and am super curious about how you got them? Because some of them are pretty concerning and I’m now more than a little worried about what happens with you when you aren’t in school’ was not going to get you anywhere.

But you couldn’t just ignore this, either.

Still, you could find no words. It wasn’t until the Camaro had pulled into the parking lot and was parked that you found your voice. You opened the door and put one foot onto the ground, before pausing and looking back at Billy. He wasn’t looking at you, just staring with great intensity at the steering wheel.

“Billy, I-” you began, voice soft. He shook his head once, grip tightening on the steering wheel. You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Thanks for the ride, Billy.” With a weak smile, you exited the car and closed the door, gently.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, slowly trudging your way towards the school, fighting the urge to look back. As you reached the doors to the school, you gave in, and allowed yourself to look back at the Camaro. Billy was still sitting inside, and you could have sworn you saw him wiping furiously at his eyes.

It felt intrusive, watching him in such a vulnerable state.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed out again, your words a puff of mist in the cold air; and then you turned away and stepped into the school.