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negasonicimagines · 3 years

Text

Revelation; Part One

warnings/kinks: a/b/o (if you’re penis-repulsed this isn’t for you), smut (duh), brief daddy kink, even briefer mommy kink, cum-eating, cum-marking, cockwarming? (does it count if it’s a/b/o?), light bloodplay, borderline somniphilia (consensual), poisoning, suicidal ideation, allusions to cheating, mentions of conversion therapy, vague mentions of s*xual ass*ult (it doesn’t actually happen in the story, it’s just referred to a lot due to the nature of this universe)

uh… this is another one of those stories that’s just kinda Heavy, please be careful & don’t continue reading if doing so is unsafe for you. I have a variety of other works that don’t have such intense themes, which you can find on my masterlist!

request (+details): Omegaverse: Alphas Yukio and Ellie with a beta reader, but it turns out that reader is a late-bloomer omega who goes into her first heat unexpectedly. / Omegaverse: The setting could be anywhere. The three of them waking up with reader burning hot, believing to be sick but is actually going into heat. The reader could be by themselves when it happens and her alphas come home to a omega in heat / I can’t get this omegaverse idea out of my head, and I hope you don’t mind me telling you this. Reader being alone and confused when her heat came, her alphas gone on a mission. During the time they were gone, Reader made a nest of her alphas’s clothes out of instinct on their bed. By the time Yukio and Ellie returned, Reader is a hot mess from trying to get off, moaning their names and begging for her alphas to help her for she don’t know why she feels like this and is scared.)

synopsis: After Wade discovers you're dealing with suicidal thoughts, he takes it upon himself to help you out, leading to one disaster after another.

author’s note: thank you so much to the lovely anon who requested this for spending so much time with me & making sure everything was juuuust right! Fun fact: we pined, started dating, and broke up, started dating again, and broke up again all before this was published 🙃 sorry everybody, it’s been a rocky road for the past… forever.

Standing guard after school for a few extra bucks is a pretty sweet deal, you have to admit. You mostly just sit around with a pair of binoculars munching on your snack of choice, using a gun loaded with tranquilizer darts to drop anyone who threatens the safety of the school and its residents. If given permission, or an order to do so, you can use your bow and arrow to really take down your enemies.

You’re pretty lucky in life overall, you also have to admit, with two alpha girlfriends and a variety of friends and acquaintances, not to mention the advantages your mutation gives you.

It makes you feel even more guilty for what you’re really thinking about right now. Not Ellie, not Yukio, not keeping an eye out for threats, nothing but a simple question:

Would it be more efficient to slit your wrists with the point of one of your arrows, or to fling yourself from the top of this turret? Which would hurt worse? You look from the sharp arrow you hold in your hand to the plush grass below, managed by some of the other students.

It’s far cheaper to pay students to maintain the yard and house, not to mention it gives students like you a way of earning the kind of spending money that other students receive from their parents or from jobs in town. Your post would be snatched up in no time if you were to pass.

Speaking of parents.

Your father’s exact words to your mother were “I hate that you use a highschool mistake to keep me trapped with you forever!” the last time you happened to hear them argue. They were no longer invited to parent-teacher conferences after that.

It’s a fine reason for him to be angry, but, unfortunately, you’re the highschool mistake he was talking about. The one he’s always talking about whenever they fight. Maybe if you were gone, he’d finally be free. Maybe you’d finally be free from his resentment. He, fortunately enough, rarely lashes out at you directly; however… There’s always been a distance.

Would he love you more if you were gone? If you saved him from… Well, you? You’ve always wanted him to love you, to look at you with something other than anger or resentment. Would he finally be proud of you, for owning up to every horrible thing you are and have done by paying the ultimate price? Would everyone?

You’re holding the bladed tip of the arrow right against your wrist, almost like a normal person might hold a bracelet to their wrist -- trying it on for size, without really thinking about it.

Suddenly, though, Wade’s here. And he’s definitely thinking about it. He yanks the arrow out of your hand, accidentally snapping the wood that makes up its length.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I- Uh, I don’t know,” you mumble, embarrassed, because you honestly don’t. Being alone with your thoughts gives them the space to grow from their poisoned roots into something dark you don’t really recognize as yours.

“You- You don’t know?!” Wade questions, and the unusual severity of his tone stuns you to the point of laughter. “This isn’t fucking funny, what the hell is wrong with you? Why were you-?! What were you-?! What the fuck are you doing?!”

“I’m standing guard. What the fuck are you doing?” you echo dryly, resorting to quips to avoid telling him any more than he already knows.

“I’m freaking out! I can’t kill you for apparently wanting to kill you, so that’s all I can do! I thought you were on antidepressants!”

“I am. Have been for years. They don’t cure depression, they make it easier to manage.”

“Apparently fucking not! Come on, let’s go talk to somebody and get you an appointment with a psychiatrist. You’ve been on the same prescription all these years, right? Maybe you just need your dosage upped.” Wade’s not asking, he’s telling, his hand wrapped around your bicep to pull you along, although his grip isn’t as tight as you’d expect for a man of his stature, let alone an alpha.

Why does he care so much? He’s always so gentle, even when you piss him off like this. Tears well up in your eyes but you blink hard. You know he’s been through worse. That most people here have. You have no right to cry.

Wade yells at a surprised Charles Xavier until an appointment is set up, which goes pretty well. Four days after that incident, you meet with the psychiatrist who agrees that upping your dosage is the smartest decision, frankly, she’s surprised it wasn’t done sooner. And, after about a week of your new dosage level, you’re feeling better than ever.

Way better.

“You… You’d really wanna do that? For everyone to know I’m yours?”

Ellie nods, cheeks darkened. You’re straddling her, and the two of you have been trading heated kisses with Yukio. Who would’ve thought more of the medication you were sure killed your libido before you could even develop one would be what rescued it?

“Of course we would. I know you don’t like to stereotype, but some of the stereotypes have truth to them. We’re… Territorial,” Yukio reminds you.

“I’m… A beta,” you remind her in a teasing echo of her tone.

“Our beta,” Ellie cuts back in. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Even if I’d rather not let you guys, y’know…” Your hand rubs at the space between your neck and your shoulder - where they’d likely mark you with their teeth - nervously. “...today? Or go farther than what we’re doing right now?”

“Of course, baby! The fact that you’ve even done this much…” Yukio trails off, looking over you. Your lips are swollen and still slightly parted as you continue to pant a little. The top few buttons of your (well, borrowed from Ellie) flannel are undone.

“We’re so grateful, and so proud of you,” Ellie continues, drawing your attention back to her. “We’re willing to wait as long as you need, even if that waiting only ends because you’ve decided that being with us like that isn’t something you want.”

“I do. I always have, I just… I don’t know.”

“The feeling’s still there, in your stomach, right?” Yukio wonders.

“Yeah, a little. It’s like… I know it’s not wrong, but something doesn’t feel quite right. Maybe I should just try to ignore it, I mean, you two have needs-”

“Hey. You know better than that, Y/N. We don’t, okay, babe? Not like that. We wanna have sex with you, not- Not hurt you. You understand that, right?” Ellie reassures you.

“I do, I just feel bad for being such a- I don’t know, a tease?”

“We love you. As in, you. If you forced yourself to do something you didn’t want to, just for us, how would we forgive ourselves?” Yukio says what she’s said a million times, but every time it surprises you. You tend to see yourself as only being valuable in what you can offer others— protection, a laugh, some good advice every now and then —you never expect anyone to care for you outside of that. But here they are. Absolutely perfect.

And you were thinking of flinging yourself off a tower a couple weeks ago. Should you tell them? They just think you went for an overdue checkup, which is technically the case. You don’t know what’s worse, hiding it or telling them. You’ll have to talk to Wade, he’s good at giving advice. Might not be good advice, but he’s definitely good at giving it.

“Everything okay, sharpshooter?” Ellie hands gently squeeze your hips to get your attention.

You blink back out of your thoughts, smiling a little and blushing at the nickname.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry, I just zoned out. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

“Everything okay?” your alphas ask, again, in unison. Your alphas. They probably couldn’t handle it if you had a problem they couldn’t solve, the guilt of not being able to provide for you would overwhelm them.

“Yeah, totally,” you reply, because it is, now, especially here with them. Ellie starts to button up your flannel.

“Oh, we don’t have to-”

Ellie gives you a pointed look, then looks down at her crotch, then back up at you. Your blush deepens.

“Yeah, I’m guessing a cold shower’s in order,” Yukio agrees. “El, you can go first.”

“We can’t go together?” Ellie asks.

“Well, I don’t wanna leave Y/N alone. Our brave little beta did a lot more than usual. Don’t want you to feel used, baby,” Yukio explains to you both.

“Oh, duh,” Ellie agrees. You give her a quick smooch on the forehead before dismounting her and allowing yourself to be pulled into Yukio’s arms. Ellie grabs some clean clothes and heads off. As soon as the door shuts, Yukio giggles, and you look to her with a curious, confused expression.

“Now you’re all mine to cuddle.” Yukio gloats, kissing the top of your head. “Mm… You smell really good, babe. New shampoo?”

“Ish, yeah,” you agree, despite the fact that you started using it nearly a month ago at this point. Maybe the body heat you built up from the makeout session made it smell stronger, though.

Yukio keeps sniffing you, but you don’t call her out on it. She’s a little bit quirky, sure, but there’s no need to make her feel self-conscious about it when the tickling sensation feels kinda nice. She tosses in a few soft presses of her lips against your skin, too, so it’s not like she’s the only one who benefits.

Yukio eventually stops this, though, instead requesting to scent you. You’ve told the girls before that they don’t have to ask, but they— especially Yukio —seem to prefer to. You figure it’s likely to reassure them that you not only tolerate but appreciate their alphahood.

“I love you, you know that? Not just ‘cause you make me smell like petrichor. I’m surprised Ellie doesn’t spend all day huffing your scent, I… I know I would, if I could smell it.” You didn’t mean for the sad envy to ring so clearly in your words, but it’s as sharp as a knife, cutting deep enough to make Yukio gasp softly with sympathy as she rubs your wrist against her scent gland, eyes snapping open.

“Well, next time it’s about to rain, we’ll go outside, then. Every time it’s about to rain,” Yukio insists. “Who- Who told you?”

“Wade. I was just curious. He said Ellie smells like a campfire, the scent even clings like it. He even said I smell a little weird. Most betas smell like something, but I’m just… A blank canvas.”

You feel her rumble a bit with a growl, and her arms wrap tightly around you… Protectively? You blush.

“Y-Yukio?” you nervously ask, caught off guard. Ellie’s usually more of the growling type. Yukio’s pretty good about keeping her possessiveness and any other “negative” alpha traits in check. This side of her doesn’t come out often.

“What was he doing that close to you?” she snarls protectively, and if the growl wasn’t enough to get your heart racing, that was. “Sm- Smelling you?”

“Yukes, Wade’s the same age as my parents. Honestly, he’s- He’s kinda- He’s nice to me. We’re friends. I think if he was going to hurt me, he would’ve done it by now. You two keep forgetting I’m just a beta. No one wants a piece of this pie except for you and Ellie.”

“You’d be surprised at the way some alphas… It’s sick, but they- Because betas, you know, they don’t really produce slick like omegas do, and they don’t have quite as much give, uh… So, some alphas, um, they… Just let me hold you, okay?” Yukio requests. “I can’t talk about it, it’ll make me too mad.”

“I respect that. Thank you. I, uh, I didn’t realize that at all, so thank you for helping me be even safer,” you reassure her. She’s trembling. “Do you want me to hold you, instead?”

“No, no, this will make me feel better. I just… I love you. Can you just…? Just- Just say you’re mine.” This is a request Yukio has semi-often. When she feels weak in comparison to other alphas, when she feels overshadowed by Ellie, any time she needs reassurance or is just feeling bad, she’ll probably ask. You get it, being hers (and Ellie’s, of course) makes you feel better, too.

“I’m yours, Yukio. Always yours. You make me so happy, both of you. Happier than- You make me feel so-“ You get a bit choked up. These girls, these alphas… They’re so important to you.

“Oh, no, baby, please don’t cry,” Yukio implores, watching your eyes water. You turn so that your face doesn’t just rest on her chest but is buried in it.

“It’s just that no one ever loved me before you two. No one, ever. Not my parents, not my ’friends,’ no one. I don’t know why I’ve been so emotional lately, I’m sorry.”

“No one at all?” Yukio questions, but that’s the missing puzzle piece, she realizes. You’re always treating hers and Ellie’s love for you like it’s something you have to earn, no matter how much they insist being yourself is enough. She fully grasps now that it’s never been enough before.

She holds you even tighter.

“Mm-mm,” you confirm, shaking your head a little. “You and Ellie just mean the whole world to me. And- And… Wade’s my friend, too. Can I still, y’know, spend time with him?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I just- He’s a nice guy, but… I don’t want him to put you in danger. You can handle yourself, though. Can’t you, sharpshooter?” Her fingers trickle up your ribs as she says the nickname, making you giggle and squirm.

“Absolutely, but it is nice to have two strong, sexy alphas take care of me instead every now and then,” you admit, albeit a bit teasingly, blushing softly. You turn back so that you can see her adorable face.

“Really?” Yukio asks, but she knows.

“Really,” you agree with a smile.

“I’m yours, too. You know that, right?” Yukio checks, fiddling with your hair a bit.

“Mhm. It’s nice to hear you say it like that, though.”

“I can think of other ways you might like to hear it,” Yukio flirts.

“Yeah, you think so? Show me,” you tease back.

“I will…” Yukio trails off as she trails her finger along your jaw, tipping your head up to the perfect kissing angle and- “Eventually, little beta.”

“I- I’m taller than you,” you weakly protest.

“Your breath still hitched,” Yukio reminds you with a giggle and a gentle tap on the tip of your nose.

You stutter a little more before giving up, burying your face again and whining.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I just can’t help myself. You’re too cute,” Yukio half-heartedly apologizes, still chuckling to herself as she strokes your back.

Ellie returns from her shower, inky tendrils of hair ruffled around but with no product in.

“She’s asleep?” Ellie asks, sounding a bit disappointed, but there’s still a significant amount of fondness in her tone.

“She’s not,” you mumble back, and both girls chuckle, Yukio untangling herself from you. You can’t help but pout a little, already missing the bubblegum-haired alpha.

“I know Yukio’s your favorite, but you could at least act a little bit happy to see me,” Ellie half-jokes, and you smile, pulling (though she doesn’t give any resistance) the girl back into your bed. She holds you the same way Yukio did, but you don’t really mind the lack of variety.

“You’re both my favorite,” you argue. Ellie takes a deep breath, likely taking in the way you’re completely embraced by Yukio’s scent.

“I don’t think that’s how favorites work,” she chuckles.

“Out of all the people in the world, you two are both my favorite,” you insist. She takes the hand you have resting on her ribcage and holds it inches from her scent gland. “Please,” you say, before she can even ask. Ellie takes a whiff again.

“Did she leave anywhere untouched?” She wonders.

“N-not really,” you stutter, because now you’re thinking of where she didn’t touch you.

“Well, she’ll have to share a little, then,” Ellie says.

You hum with delight as she scents you.

“You make a new friend?” Ellie questions.

“Huh?”

“You smell… Different,” she responds, looking at you… Well, differently. “Like roses.”

“I have a new-ish shampoo?” You offer, but that just seems to intensify the look.

Your phone rings. It’s Wade. You wriggle out of Ellie’s loose hold on you, answering.

“Hey, you know how I’m your academic advisor?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Well, apparently, thwarting your suicide attempts isn’t my only job. I also have to tell you when they need you in the office, which is now.”

“Seriously?! I didn’t even throw that pencil at Richard, and even if I did, he deserved it for being such a-“

“Oh, right! Should’ve opened with the good news. Your parents are here to visit.”

“What?! That’s-“ You sigh, not wanting to alarm Ellie any more than you already have. “Okay. I’ll be there. Just give me a second to get dressed.”

“Wow, no shame at all. I salute you. Toodles!” Wade hangs up before you realize he misunderstood you.

“What’s wrong?” Ellie asks.

“Nothing, just… My parents are here.”

“Your… Parents?”

“Kind of have to have those to exist, usually,” you remark, and she snorts.

“I know- I- Well, we’ve known each other for a while, and you don’t really talk about them, so I sort of assumed…” Ellie trails off.

“Oh, um, yeah, no, they’re very alive,” you confirm with an awkward chuckle.

“Right. I’ll go get ‘Kio, and we’ll all go, okay?”

“Uh- Um- Yeah.”

“What is it?”

“My parents, they kind of… They- I love you. And I’m not ashamed of you.”

“But they’ll be ashamed of you,” Ellie understands.

“I haven’t seen them in so long, they don’t even know that I like girls, let alone that I’m dating two, or that they’re both alphas… I want you and Yukio to come with me, but, if they start to- If they’re how they are, I-“

“Give my energy to helping you instead of hurting them,” Ellie uses Piotr’s words.

“Perfect,” you agree, and Ellie smiles back, but it falters. You didn’t mean to worry her so much.

“I’ll go get Yukio. You get changed, okay?”

“Mhm,” you agree, and she heads off to the bathroom. You steal one of Ellie’s band tees and an oversized cardigan of Yukio’s for comfort, finding a pair of high-waisted bottoms to tuck the tee shirt in. You throw on a pair of sneakers, and when the girls emerge from the bathroom, you pop in to freshen up.

Once you’re done, Yukio’s caught up on the situation and the three of you make your way to the front offices.

Wade meets you outside.

“Oh em gee, Y/N, you’ll never believe it, I actually went to high school with both of your parents.”

“Uh… Cool?” You respond, because you’re not entirely sure how to.

“Yeah, uh, I get now that it’s probably not really good news that they’re here, huh? No wonder I found you doing that the other day.”

“Doing what?” Yukio and Ellie ask, though for some reason, Ellie’s is tinged with suspicion, maybe even anger.

“I- Listen, it’s not a big deal, I got my prescription updated and all that good stuff, okay?” You prime them. “I was thinking about killing myself the other day and Wade caught me.”

“Thinking?! You’re gonna call holding the fucking tip of an arrow to your wrist thinking?!”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ellie sounds as angry as Wade does, but she looks pained. This is why you didn’t tell them.

“Hey, she doesn’t need this right now,” Yukio argues, but she looks hurt, too.

“I mean, I was just considering if it would be more painful than jumping off of the turret,” you mumble, your defense embarrassingly weak.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Ellie decides, and Yukio nods. You three follow Wade to Xavier’s office. Wade breezes in, but you’re practically stuck in the doorway, nervous to look at even the backs of their heads, before they turn around.

“Y/N,” your mom says with a grin, but you know all too well how fake that is. She approaches you, pulls you into a hug, and you want nothing more than to push her away and scrub yourself clean. She doesn’t really love you. The second you speak out of turn, or make a mistake, or give her any excuse, she’ll remind you of your worth. (Or, rather, the lack thereof.)

She slips back into her seat next to your father, in front of the desk where Xavier sits, simply observing.

“It’s been so long,” your father says, but his smile is almost blatantly fake. “Your hair, it’s different.”

“Like you said, it’s been a while,” you say, giving a grimace and an awkward chuckle.

“I don’t think I like it,” he says, like he’s giving his opinion on a sculpture in an art exhibit by some long-dead artist who doesn’t care what he thinks. Like it’s something just… Objective.

“Not sure what to do about that,” you reply sheepishly.

You don’t fully realize that you’re holding Ellie’s hand until she squeezes it reassuringly, three times. A secret code. You step further in to make room for the girls.

“So, uh, I have to ask… Why the sudden visit?”

“Well, we got an e-mail about your medicine, and we wanted to come check on you. Make sure this is the right environment for you,” your mother explains.

“You weren’t sure before you stopped talking to me for two years?” You half-joke, playing dumb.

“Has it really been two years?” A normal person would be asking this rhetorically, and they’d be embarrassed. Your mother, though, is simply trying to gaslight you.

“Longer,” you assure her.

“I thought this place was supposed to provide conversion therapy,” your father says, eyeing your hand, then Ellie’s other hand. “You’re such a fucking liar,” he hisses to your mother.

“Wow, maybe my mom dying when I was young was for the best. Better than this for sure,” Wade jokes, gently elbowing your side. You chuckle, grateful for even the slightest ounce of comic relief.

“You’re even more of a freak than you were in high school.” You squeeze Ellie’s hand tight as your father’s expression darkens even further.

“Funny you should say that, considering-“

“Wade,” your mother cuts him off.

That’s weird, to say the least. You just file that away for later. You have bigger fish to fry, like surviving this visit.

“Y/N, why’d you go for a check-up at all? You barely needed the anti-depressants in the first place,” your mother wonders.

“Because it wasn’t barely. Why else would they raise the dosage?” You ask, and the expression on her face is as stupid as the question she asked.

“Don’t speak to her that way,” your father scolds, like he didn’t just call your mother a fucking liar himself. “You are so ungrateful for everything we’ve done for you, do you realize that?”

“I’m sorry, what have you done for her, exactly? Answer quickly, please,” Ellie retorts.

“El-“ you start, but realize this isn’t anger, but advocacy.

“Well, we sheltered and fed her for over a decade,” your father remarks, smirking like he’s won.

“That’s your job!” Wade argues.

“Mr. and Mrs. L/N… I politely asked that you refrain from visiting the campus, and while I appreciate your concern for Y/N’s well-being, I must ask that you remain respectful of her, her fellow students, and my staff. Causing unnecessary conflict is exactly the reason you were almost banned when you last visited,” Professor Xavier finally speaks.

“Almost banned?!” Wade wheezes.

“Yeah,” you sigh, and Wade’s laughter immediately ceases. “I was cheating in school, according to- To Dad.” The word is poison in your mouth.

“Come on, we all know you’re not smart enough to get those grades on your own. Probably screwing some teacher, just like Mom.”

“That’s enough,” Ellie snarls, eyes glowing orange.

“I never screwed a teacher!” Your mother protests at the same time.

“Oh, that’s right, you just blew Mr. Morin. My bad. Wow, Y/N, you really must be something special for all these alphas to be fawning over you. Maybe I did fuck up once or twice, after all, I’ve heard daddy issues-“

“Well, you visited! Now get the fuck out,” Wade chirps.

“Mr. L/N, must I repeat myself? I know you and Mrs. L/N were interested in a tour. Perhaps a less crowded area would help ease your minds,” Xavier reminds you all of his presence once more.

“That sounds like a great idea,” your father agrees.

“I’m starting to get a bit of a headache, maybe you could show us your room first and I could lie down for a bit in there?”

“I-“ You look to the girls, not wanting them to have to deal with her alone.

“Actually, Miss Phimister and Miss Kitsuna would be perfect additions to a rescue team. The orphanage your friend Russell came from was actually part of a network for mutant trafficking, and we found another hub in Maine. The jet takes off in fifteen minutes, and you two will be back in time for dinner. Better get ready and briefed.”

“But-“ Yukio starts, looking to you.

“Go, be superheroes,” you tell them, and they head out. “Uh, how about we swing by the library first, to give them time to change, and then to our room?”

“You share a room with them? Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

“We were roommates before we started dating,” you correct him.

“Dating… Aw, I bet you really think that’s what it is, too. Having parents in a sham of a marriage really did a number on you, huh?” Your father condescends.

“You know, it’s pretty fucked up how fixated you are on her sexuality. Do you like to picture it, you goddamn creep?” Wade defends you, and your skin crawls. You’d never thought of it that way before.

“Let’s just get that tour started, ‘kay?” You squeak. The sooner you get this over with, the sooner they’ll be on their way, hopefully.

“Good idea, Y/N,” Wade says. “Come on, Textbook, let’s go.”

“You didn’t just call me-“

“Oh, but I did, Textbook. Hey, Y/N, did you know that was your dad’s nickname in highschool? ‘Cause he was so fuckin’ easy to shove in a locker.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying not to laugh and failing.

“Just show us the library already, Y/N,” your mother says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

You take your parents to the library, as requested. Wade keeps pace with you while your parents fall back. You can’t hear their exact words, but you know your parents are bickering.

“You never said it was this bad.”

“It’s not that bad. It’s definitely been worse,” you admit, busying your eyes with the paintings that line the walls so that you don’t have to meet Wade’s gaze. You might just cry if you do; you can feel the sympathy radiating off of him.

In these past few months, Wade’s been more of a father than your dad, even more of a mother than your mom, but for some reason that doesn’t make you feel more justified in how you feel about your parents. In fact, it just makes you feel worse, and even if you’ve never actually expressed it, you’re still ashamed of the fact that you wish Wade was your father instead. He actually cares, while your parents are simply legally obligated.

From the day you met, Wade’s always been there for you. If you were to tell your parents what you almost did the other day, they’d just call you attention-seeking and insult you in other ways. All they’d do is make you want to try again.

You and Wade stop at the entrance to the library and wait for your parents to catch up. They do, and you open the double doors to reveal the room.

“It’s like Beauty and the Beast,” your mother gapes.

“I thought so, too,” you agree, attempting a smile, but your parents just ignore you, wandering around the large room. Your mother excuses herself after a few minutes of spinning, saying that the dizziness is making her headache worse.

“All these books and you’re still… The way you are,” your father comments, looking at you with such disdain.

“Winner of the science fair with her loving partners, three years in a row?” Wade questions. “Oh, or maybe you’re talking about the fact that she’s a published poet. How embarrassing for you, I’m sure.”

“Wade,” you protest under your breath, embarrassed. They don’t even know that stuff. After middle school, you stopped telling them about your accomplishments. You figured out that all they’d do is ruin them for you.

“No, no, trust me. It’s more about the fact that she’s slutting around with alphas and won’t even save us the embarrassment of them being girls,” you father spats.

“That’s enough,” Wade snarls.

“Oh, that’s right, we can’t forget that she’s yours, too. I guess anything with a dick is daddy considering I was too busy putting food on the table to play dollies,” he remarks, and you suddenly feel light-headed.

“Seriously, Textbook, I really don’t want to hurt you, especially not in front of Y/N, but I fucking will if you make me.”

“Just go,” you urge Wade, starting to feel a bit dizzy, surely from the stress. You brace yourself on him, disguising it as a touch meant to comfort him. He looks concerned as the edges of your vision start to darken a little.“I- What you’re doing, I appreciate it, but-“

“You appreciate it? You appreciate him disrespecting me, disrespecting our family?!”

“Our family?!” You finally snap. “All I ever wanted was for you to love me, and you couldn’t do that. You just couldn’t. And now we’re a family?! No. No, you…” You start to pant, your face feeling even hotter than before. “You… I hate you,” you manage to get out before your world goes completely dark.

“Fuck yeah, Y/N! I’m so prou-“

But when Wade turns to you, you’re halfway to the ground. He catches you, though, and he catches a whiff of something… Familiar.

Lavender. It’s not just the Wilson scent, sure, but it’d be too much of a coincidence. You smell just like him. You are him, or, rather, made of him.

He’s torn between ecstatic and furious.

“Hey, can we get some help over here?” your father calls out to no one. It’s not a school day, and lots of students are out on missions. He reaches out to you for once in your life, but Wade’s now sitting on the floor, cradling you in his arms.

“No,” Wade argues. “Not yours. Mine.”

“What?” You father asks incredulously. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“She’s. Not. Yours,” Wade repeats, and the more he inhales your scent, the more out of control yet calm he feels. Like he’s in the eye of a hurricane. “My baby. Mine.”

“You’re not saying…” your father trails off as Wade gets up, still cradling you. Wade has to take you to your room; help make you a nest, now. He can smell it on you.

You’re in heat.

He gets to your room quickly, practically tossing you onto your bed. Wait… Isn’t your mom supposed to be here?

And that’s when he hears the sound of pills spilling onto the floor.

He nearly rips the bathroom door off of its hinges. Luckily, your mother spilled what Wade quickly realizes is suppressants, and not your prescription.

“You. You could’ve killed her. You are very, very lucky that my baby-“

“Our baby,” your mother corrects.

“No, you take pills, you can’t even smell her, let alone feel her like I can. It- It’s so much it fucking hurts. I’ll say it again, you’re very lucky my baby is in heat, or your arteries would be emptying in that shower. Now, go. Don’t come back.”

You groan in pain, stirring, and your mother takes Wade’s advice. Wade calls Yukio. Then Ellie. Then Yukio. Then Ellie.

“What the fuck, dude?!”

“You need to turn around. Now. I don’t have the time to explain. It’s Y/N.”

“Is she okay?” Ellie, always skeptical, asks.

“Obviously fucking not, or I wouldn’t be calling. She’s in heat.”

“But-“

“I said that I don’t have time to explain, fucking turn around! I’m on the verge of going fucking feral, Ellie. You both need to get here, now.”

“Wade, get out,” Ellie immediately demands.

“I can’t,” he admits.

“Get out! Shit, Wolverine! We need to turn around!”

“I can’t. It’s not like that I swear, it’s… I’m going fucking crazy, just one of you will do, but someone needs to get here.”

“Wade, go.”

“I would never hurt her! Come home!” Wade barks before hanging up. He returns to your room to find you’ve made a nest instinctively - thank goodness for Yukio’s affinity for pillows and blankets - and now you’re curled up in pain in the center of it.

“Wade,” you whimper. He’s scared to step closer, not sure if he’s what you want, even if you despise who you thought was your father. “What’s happening to me? Everything hurts.”

“I really don’t know how to say this, but… You’re in heat.”

“But I’m a beta,” you argue, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“That’s what we all thought. But… Remember how you didn’t smell like anything before? Uh, let me start over. When did you start on your anti-depressants?”

“I was about twelve,” you confirm, not sure what that means.

“Yeah, I think those were suppressants. That it’s always been suppressants, no matter what the bottles said. Until you got a prescription without your mother knowing. Do you understand why your mother would do that?”

You shake your head, and he approaches the bed, sitting down carefully as not to disturb your work.

“Her boyfriend around the time she got pregnant with you was a beta. We know him as Textbook,” Wade teases, before continuing: “But, what no one realizes is that he was at Niagara Falls on spring break around the time when you were conceived, and she was hanging out with her next-door neighbor the whole time. Her next-door neighbor was me.”

“Oh, so I’m your highschool mistake,” you say, connecting the dots.

“Huh?”

“Ha, well, whenever my parents- Well, I guess not my parents, but that’s beside the point, uh, whenever they argue and it gets really bad, my father- Well, not my father, but, uh-“

“Continue,” Wade urges.

“Basically, sometimes he uses ‘a mistake I made in highschool’ as code for ‘Y/N,’” you explain. “But the truth is, I’m the mistake you made in highschool.”

“You’re not a mistake,” he disagrees. “You’re- You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. Lots of things are made by accident, but that doesn’t make them mistakes! Penicillin, potato chips, Post-It notes, popsicles! They were never supposed to exist but they do and the world is much better off with them in it.”

“You really do have a lot of useless knowledge,” you realize.

“So do you, that’s why our team always wins trivia night.” Wade slips off his boots, joining you in your rearranged bed. “C’mere,” he suggests, guiding your head to his neck.

“S’really you,” you mumble, already weary, and Wade worries for what’s to come. He almost doesn’t even want to let the girls in. He could get you pain medicine, he could probably even find sedatives. Then no one would ever be able to even touch you, let alone hurt you. “Lavender. You never mentioned the lavender, just the sandalwood.”

“I didn't think you’d be impressed,” Wade admits.

“It’s relaxing,” you tell him. “It’s nice to have things in common with someone.”

“You smell like roses, too, not just lavender,” he makes sure you know.

“Yeah, but I think that’s mostly concentrated in an area I’d rather not discuss with you.”

“Well, just make sure that if you do decide to do anything more with them than cuddle, which I can gladly go through the rest of my life without knowing, bee-tee-dubs, that the girls are wearing alpha condoms, especially if one of them knots you. Standard condoms work in a pinch if it’s just for one, y’know, go, but for heats they’re basically useless because of everything I just said. If they hurt you, I will make their deaths look like accidents.”

“S’not like I can get pregnant anyway…” You mumble, embarrassed. “I’m- I’m really glad it’s you. I- I wished so many times that it was you instead of him. Ow, ugh, that one was bad,” you groan, massaging your stomach.

Meanwhile, on the jet, Ellie is furious with herself.

“Yukio, you don’t get it, I smelled her. She smelled like an omega, but I thought- I assumed she was cheating on us. That maybe she didn’t want to be with us like that was because she wanted to- I don’t know, to be on top? It seems so stupid now.”

“Hey, I noticed she smelled different, too. There were other signs we both missed, anyways. Think about how emotional she’s been lately, or how much farther we’ve been going in other ways. How clingy she’s been, too.”

“I guess I didn’t really notice it because I liked her being more open and needing us more,” Ellie admits. “She- She almost fucking killed herself. And I thought cheating was what she was hiding. I- I just-“

“You can’t beat yourself up over it,” Yukio insists. “We’re on our way back, and Wade’s there to protect her.”

Speaking of Wade being there to protect you, he continues to comfort you as the pain gets worse.

“S’too hot,” you complain, and he releases you from his hold, rising from the bed. He knows he’ll have to leave you soon, because you’re likely going to need privacy before the girls get home, but it’s hard to part from you knowing you’re in pain.

“I’m gonna get you some water, okay? And after that, I’m just gonna stand guard outside the door until your girls get here. I know there’s some stuff you need to do, and that’s only gonna get worse.”

“It’s already awful,” you admit, and he chuckles.

“Good luck, kid. I love you.”

Wade gets a case of bottled water from the school’s industrial-sized pantry, bringing it to your room and tearing it open for you before leaving once more. You take one, immediately guzzling it down.

In privacy, you take off Yukio’s cardigan and your bottoms, leaving you in Ellie’s tee shirt and your underwear. You decide to go ahead and free yourself from the constriction that is your bra, feeling a bit embarrassed that you’re not leaving much to the girls’ imagination for your first time together. You eventually decide to undress completely, wondering when the hell your girls are gonna get here.

#a/b/o #yukisonic #yukisonic x reader #yukio x reader #negasonic teenage warhead x reader #ellie phimister x reader #yukio imagine #negasonic teenage warhead imagine #ellie phimister imagine #yukio #negasonic teenage warhead #ellie phimister #x-men imagine #x-men fanfiction #sapphic x reader #sapphic imagine #wlw x reader #wlw imagine

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spaceradars · 4 years

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M*A*S*H watch: 5x14 “hawk’s nightmare”

I bet you missed my MASH analysis, didn’t you? jk.

I warn you anyway, it’ll get personal.

anyway I was watching MASH earlier today and came across an episode not only i had never seen but never even heard of: Hawk’s Nightmare.

it all begins with our beloved Hawkeye operating some patients, and reflecting about the fact a particular one musn’t even be 18, which at that stage doesn’t surprise him or any of the doctors.

next we have an already apparently asleep Hawkeye (ft BJ being a caring boyfriend and tucking him in)

But next, out of nowhere, Hawkeye wakes up and goes outside to play basketball —with an invisible ball. Klinger finds him and realises something’s not quite working but just sends him to sleep.

nothing strange here, huh? well, the thing is he wakes up the following morning and finds out he doesn’t remember anything of what happened the previous night, only to find out he’s, in fact, sleepwalking. and not only that, but he’s talking about childhood friends and people he knew from school and his hometown, Crabapple Cove, in Maine.

he then sleepwalks once again and it takes both Klinger and Radar to put him in bed again, since instead of playing basketball he’s now playing marbles.

now the thing is, it’s the middle of the night, he’s screaming in his sleep and wakes up BJ, who wakes him up so he can stop having nightmares.

the thing is he dreams of a specific childhood friend having an accident so he needs to call him and see how’s everything (which is fine).

anyway, sleepwalking it’s not the worst; the thing is, he’s also having nightmares. and he sees no point in going to sleep because he’s afraid and spends part of the following night talking to Frank:

so the thing is, he becomes scared of going to sleep because he’s scared of dreaming. and when he does next, he dreams again of another childhood friend having a terrible accident, and makes Radar call him in the middle of the night. only this time our favorite dad/grandad Col. Potter wakes up as well, and makes Radar call our favorite psychiatrist, dr Sidney Freedman, after Hawkeye’s gone.

so then back in the Swamp, Hawkeye confesses BJ he’s, in fact, scared excuse me while I cry some more:

and then both Col Potter and Radar talk about it, after calling Dr. Sidney Freedman, and are clearly concerned about Hawkeye and how he’s not being his typical laid-back, funny self and that scene made me tear up a lot too.

and then there’s a poker night and Hawkeye then talks to Sidney about nightmares and confesses to be afraid of going to sleep and of course asks for answers.

so this is the thing I warned you it was going to become personal; this episode made me stop everything I was doing and just sit down, write this down and cry and this is the part everything gets even MORE personal. I had never, ever, met anyone who was afraid of going to sleep I still haven’t, technically, but that’s not the point. I’ve been dealing with anxiety for as long as I can remember, but it wasn’t until some years back that I actually decided to do something about it (meaning going to therapy, where I got confirmation I was dealing with panic attacks). So the thing is I began therapy because I was having said panic attacks (even if then I continued and got confirmation I was dealing with other things as well such as anxiety). And not only that, but they were happening at night most of the times, so you have no idea how scared I was of going to sleep —and I still am.

I’m afraid, even after about four years, of going to sleep and having a panic attack, afraid of it lasting longer than it should and afraid of it giving me all the anxiety/thoughts/fears it often does. Nothing in your mind makes sense when you’re having one and you absolutely feel you’re about to lose control, so I don’t really recommend it to anyone. And with me it happens that they tend to occur before I go to sleep, when I’m literally already in bed, waiting to fall asleep or about to, so naturally, most of the thoughts I have relating bedtime are, many times, associated with them.

Now, as years have gone by, it has changed. Yeah, maybe it’s not as bad as before, at least not always, and they don’t occur as usual as they used to, but there’s not a single night (and it’s been about four years since my panic attacks begun at night specifically) that I’m not afraid of going to bed. Maybe some days more, maybe some days less; some days I think more about it and others I don’t so much, but I swear I always thought I was crazy.

So watching this just... i don’t know, it made me feel better, somehow. And I also particularly loved that there’s no solution to Hawkeye’s nightmares. He does talk to Sidney, and Sidney gives him advice but there’s no solution by the end of the episode, and that’s the way it works with life after all —solutions take time. Maybe I’m the only person who ever thought of it, maybe I’m not (feel free to let me know if I’m not/if you want to talk, honestly), and maybe it sounds silly but I just love finding things/experiences in things I can relate to in pieces of media just... idk I love it... another proof of how important art, all forms of art, can be, for every single thing in life.

#sorry this was too long and personal #sofi watches m*a*s*h (in order)#mash #m*a*s*h #mash 4077 #m*a*s*h 4077 #tv #mash s5 #hawkeye pierce

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pluviophile-bookworm · 3 years

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I feel like I need to talk about this...

I’m very open about being aroace. At least here on Tumblr I am. (Outside of Tumblr, I am technically out, but some issues with my mother and grandmother have forced me back into the closet. I felt miserable about that initially, but I’m learning to be fine with it.) But it wasn’t always this way. In fact, I didn’t even know what aroace meant until I was 18. So how was I supposed to know when I got my first ‘celebrity crush’ that those last words do not, in fact, describe very accurately what I was experiencing? I didn’t know I had ADHD, either. I feel like that might have helped me realise some things about my experience. But let me go back a bit and actually tell you what happened and how it happened. [side note: I’ll be starting from a bit earlier than the ‘crush’ thing happened because I feel like it’s important for whoever reads this to understand how my circumstances shaped the experience I had]

Backstory:

I had always been different from my peers, so it was not surprising to anyone that I was bullied in middle school. [side note: Judging from my and my little brother’s combined experience, I feel like bullying is, quite unfortunately, something of a universal experience in middle school - in my day, I was on the receiving end. This last school year, my brother was the bully. Gosh, I wish I could tell my story without many deviations and without crying as I type, but I’ve already thrown both of those intentions out the window.]

So anyway, things got so bad that I was driven to suicidal thoughts. One night I was just lying in bed, thinking about going through with it, but I was like, well, I’ve got a test in the morning. Maybe after that. 13-year-old me had very weird priorities. I kind of still value my work over my mental health, but I’m working on it. So that night, I didn’t do anything. The next day, right before school, I was on the internet and I found out a new show had premiered. And then, as I was watching the pilot episode, that was when it happened. I saw this boy, whom I will not be naming, and I listened to him sing. I felt nothing much at the moment, but I couldn’t get the song out of my mind all day. Up until that moment, I had had a weird attitude towards music where I’d only listen to female singers. My ‘boys have cooties’ phase, I guess you could say. But this one, he was the first one I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I felt like I could listen to his voice 24/7. I’ve had that feeling hundreds of times by now, but I hadn’t before then. So I figured, this must be what a crush means, right? This must be what all my peers are talking about. The next day, I confided in a girl from my class with whom I was kind of friendly (though not actual friends, I’d say). I asked her if she’d seen the show, if she knew this person. She said yes and we kind of gushed about the song together, and I felt normal for a couple of minutes. I never knew the difference between my experience and what is considered ‘normal’ until years later.

For the time being, the thought of this special person was what was keeping me alive. I started having visions of him walking with me through the school hallways or sitting next to me on the bus home from school. I knew perfectly well those visions weren’t real, but they made me feel better. Happy. Safe. Seen. Full disclosure: I still have such visions, I’ve had them with different people through the years as my hyperfixations change. My latest one is what has enabled me to deal with some of my worst phobias (and I have a long list of them). I’ve never told anybody what it is, and I won’t be telling because I feel like if I do tell, the vision will not be strong enough to work against my fears. But I’m getting sidetracked again. Sorry for that.

So, I was pretty much obsessed with this guy. He was all I could think about, he was keeping me alive through what was possibly the toughest time in my life to date. So naturally, thanks to my heteronormative, amatonormative surroundings, I was convinced I had a crush on him. In fact, after this experience had lasted about a year, I was sure I was in love.

Then things changed. I started high school. I found a couple of friends, and the people in my class in general made me feel like I could finally be myself. Be open about what I thought and how I felt. So by the end of the first semester, all 27 people in my class knew about my feelings for this guy. What I didn’t know was that they didn’t know that it wasn’t exactly like I was describing it. Because I wasn’t aware that a straight/ allo person’s idea of being ‘in love’ was different from mine. I was just putting things in words I thought I understood.

So it came as a total surprise when some people from my class started teasing me about it. It wasn’t malicious teasing, that much I could tell. I had been bullied mercilessly before. What my new classmates were doing was asking genuine questions in a slightly teasing manner. For example, it would be known that my special person had a girlfriend, and so they’d ask me ‘aren’t you jealous’ or ‘do you wish you were that’, or stuff like that. And those questions felt so weird. So stupid. I thought, wait, why would I be jealous? Why would I feel bad about this person who has made me so happy, being happy himself? Why would I want to date him? That had nothing to do with how I felt. I told my classmates so. They gave me weird looks in response. So I started feeling like there was something wrong with me. Like I wasn’t doing that ‘in love’ thing right. Suddenly, I felt like my feelings were being intruded upon. Tarnished, somehow. I had always been aware that my visions were anything but real. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. And all of a sudden, somebody was suggesting that I should want to date this person. Why would I want to date anyone, I thought? Even if it was him. Dating people was awkward. Making physical contact with anyone outside my immediate family made me shudder. It still does, though I can hug some of my closest friends without any negative feelings. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Back to my first time I questioned my experience. I was about 14 at the time (in Bulgaria, high school starts from grade 8, ages 13-14 or 14-15), and, well, I didn’t do much questioning at the time. I just told myself that they didn’t understand my feelings, and I stopped being so open about the topic.

My hyperfixation on this person lasted long. Longer than any other I’ve ever had to date. Maybe it was because I clung to it like it was what tethered me to my mortal life. But by my final year of high school, I could feel it fading away. I was forcing myself to think about this person, to conjure up the old visions; the song that had started it all was drained of all meaning that it had held for me. I was moving on to other hyperfixations. I felt like I was betraying myself, like I was breaking some sort of unbreakable vow. It was time to face the music. So I let go. I allowed myself to move on. It was kind of made easier by the fact that my special person had changed, too, and had moved on to projects that I could not enjoy due to some triggering content. And I moved on.

Then I joined Tumblr. I discovered some things. Among them was Hellenic polytheism. It had been a while since I’d found my faith in the Hellenic pantheon, but Tumblr was where I found out I was not alone, that there was an existent religion. And step by step, I realised that... I had been projecting Apollo’s presence onto my special person. And my old connection to that person had started fading away when I had realised I believed in the gods.

This explained a lot of things. But there was still the fact that I had never been able to look at another person the way my peers were looking at each other. I had been asked out two or three times during high school. I had rejected those people without even thinking about it. My best friend at the time was a boy and most teachers seemed to ship us together because, well, let’s be real - we were constantly fighting like an old married couple. It took him getting a girlfriend and seeing how happy I was for the two of them for everyone to realise that things between us were, and had always been, purely platonic. And now I was going to uni and I had never had feelings I was apparently supposed to have.

It was also thanks to Tumblr that I discovered the extent of the LGBTQ+ community. I considered myself an ally at first, and I was a passionate ally, too. I still am nothing but supportive to my fellow LGBTQ+ people of all identities, but it was not until I was 18 going on 19 that I discovered the term ‘asexual’. I knew quite suddenly that this was the term for me. I knew what I was and how I felt. I felt mature enough to know the difference between ‘I’m not experienced enough to know for sure’ and ‘I’ve just never had those feelings, I don’t even know what they’re supposed to be like’. It took a bit longer to find out there was a difference between sexual and romantic attraction, but by the time I was 19, I had proudly labelled myself ‘aroace’. I still feel at home with this label. I am completely open to the possibility that it might change with time, but this is what feels right at this time.

Fast-forward another couple of years to about 8 months ago. I had always known that I got really invested into stuff - shows, books, hobbies, people - only for that investment to wear off after a time. The timespans varied, but I realised I had experienced this ever since I was in pre-school at least. I didn’t have a term for it, though. And then, all of a sudden, Tumblr started offering me posts tagged ADHD. I could relate to maybe 95% of them. At one point, it felt like whatever algorithm this hellsite operates on was shoving the ADHD posts in my face, as if screaming ‘DOES THIS REMIND YOU OF, WELL, YOU?!!!’ in my ears. So I did some tests. I did a lot of self-reflection. I went to a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed in March. I started educating myself on the terminology and found out that what I was experiencing is called hyperfixating. So here I am now.

Here I am now, reflecting back on my experience from 8 years ago, connecting the dots. Realising what it was that I went through, allowing myself to go through it again, with different things and people. I don’t feel the need to cling to hyperfixations anymore because I know that is what they are and I know I can’t keep them forever. Of course, I do feel bad about stopping caring about something that used to be my light and life for a time. I dread the time I’ll get over my current hyperfixation, but I also know it’s inevitable. My ADHD brain needs the change and it happens naturally. And somehow I’m ok with that.

Well, this is it. This is the story of how Tumblr prompted me to discover aspects of myself that have been there for as long as I can remember. What better place to talk about it than Tumblr itself? What better group of people to understand and accept me than my lovely mutuals and followers? If you’re reading this, thank you. For being here, for listening to me, for allowing me to be who I am. You’ve got no idea how happy this makes me, even though I can barely see what I’m typing through the tears. Thank you.

#personal #jnk #asexual #aromantic #aro #ace #aroace #adhd #hellenic polytheism #tw: suicide #tw: bullying

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bfdreaming · 3 years

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So enough time has passed that I feel comfortable talking about my attempt to get disability. I’m going to be vague for privacy reasons but you should be able to get the picture.

So first let’s talk just a little about the psychiatrist I was seeing at the time. I had been seeing her for years and she was not willing to do much at all. She mostly kept telling me to consult other kinds of doctors: like a sleep therapist, who I’d seen before (a different one) and couldn’t help me either time; a particular cbt therapist, who decided she couldn’t help me because my facial expressions were not allistic enough for her comfort (I am not exaggerating); and my primary care doctor, who I’d been seeing for years and frequently ran a bunch of tests without finding anything, and was convinced my symptoms were most likely from the psychiatric conditions we already knew I have.

Despite my consistent claims that I was nowhere near okay or functional, and in fact got progressively worse the entire time I saw her, she was rarely willing to do anything. I did try a handful of medicines, and if the initial dose didn’t work or had bad side effects, she would immediately give up on that medicine. (Recently learned that one of the medicines with side effects was not even close to the lowest dose. I am currently on the second lowest dose, as recommended by a new doctor, and feel way better with no side effects, though still a 2/10.) At the time I was convinced it was simply because nothing could be done. Now I’m pretty sure she just wanted to take my money and not do anything.

I was finally shocked into action when my lawyer (and later the judge) said that she… didn’t write much at all! (And I realized I’d never seen her taking notes.) Apparently she only wrote down what was wrong on the first visit! One of those symptoms waxed and waned a little, while every other symptom consistently got worse! And she did not write it down! (:

So I asked her about it as calmly and politely as I could. She said she DID write things down actually. (Why would both the lawyer and the judge lie outright about that? Especially since if she HAD written things down, it would have helped my case, which would have helped the lawyer get paid?) I said, “Okay, well, it would make me feel a lot better if you could just write my symptoms down right now so they’re on record.” And after listing two of many, many symptoms, she cut me off. She didn’t even want to hear it, let alone write it down. Suffice to say that was my last appointment with her.

Now let’s talk about the lawyer. Here are some things that he did! (:

-did not tell us all the records we would need; we just guessed and he was like, “yeah sure.” Spoiler warning: we needed more. There were gaps that we didn’t recognize as such because we didn’t know what we were doing, which is why we hired a lawyer

-got half the records he said he was going to get

-only informed us of this when it was too late to submit more documents, so we had to change the onset date to much later (we made a few phone calls and very quickly found out how easy it would have been to get the records in question if he had made the slightest bit of effort)

-called a week before the trial to say the psychiatrist didn’t write much, indicating he had not even looked at my case until then. At this point, it is too late to postpone the hearing

But I’m not sure even a competent lawyer would have made much of a difference because I don’t think the judge was even remotely interested in giving disabled people the pittance that is ours by right. Here are some things that she wrote (paraphrased)! (:

-”Primary care doctor says she has [x]. Psychiatrist says she has [extremely common symptoms of x]. So what is the truth?” (basically pretended I was giving my doctors the runaround, either genuinely knowing nothing about a very common disability, or pretending to know nothing, despite this being her job)

-”[obvious display of perhaps best-known symptom of x] shows that actually she is just lazy and wants money” (again, this she could learn in less than three minutes if she were really so unqualified as to know literally nothing about x)

-simply did not acknowledge any claim or evidence that might not support her spin (also did this at the hearing)

-summarizes “cannot leave the house more than once a week max, cannot go shopping more than once a year max” as, verbatim, “She goes out. She goes shopping.” (probably the most egregious indication that she was intentionally being dishonest without technically lying)

So! (: That happened! (: I will not being trying again anytime soon. If this is what the judges are going to be like, and I have no idea if a lawyer is going to be any good ahead of time, it would mean just... applying and reapplying indefinitely. Hoping that eventually, I’ll get either a lawyer that’s willing to do their job, or a judge that hasn’t made it their life’s mission to indirectly kill as many disabled people as possible. And the last lawyer said that once I’ve been denied, I can’t reapply (and expect anything to come of it) unless something has changed. Who knows if that’s true or not, as apparently this guy is unreliable as hell, but it still just doesn’t seem worth the effort when it’s nowhere near enough money to support me anyway. If I’m ever in a situation where I really immediately need it to survive, I’ll be completely fucked even with it, so. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#blahblahblah #disability #ableism #self reference #guess i'll die #long post

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #332

i’m even more tired than before to try and think up song lyrics, i’m pasting from Word and then fucking off to bed lmao.

What was the last video message you received on your phone? I think it was a clip of Doris (Sara's beardie) eating and just being her perfect self? Was your last birthday cake homemade or store bought? Store-bought. One thing you miss about middle school? Shit, nothing. Middle school was the worst. Do you have any shirts signed by famous people? No. Have you ever entered an art competition? Yes. Would you ever pierce yourself? No. I am very much about having a professional do your body mods/art. Plus, I have tremors in my hands. Do you live in a safe neighbourhood? Supposedly. We haven't lived here nearly long enough to know. What is the last thing you did that shocked someone? /shrug Do you often find yourself questioning your future? Only always. Have you ever been for a ride in the back of a truck? Yeah. Do you like your license photo? I hate my permit picture. Are you into superheroes? Who’s your favorite? Not very, but I like 'em enough. I always say my favorite is Deadpool, but I know he's technically an anti-hero, but whatever. If you don't include him, uhhhh... maybe Spiderman. Have you started watching any new TV shows recently? No. Have you ever been able pet a normally wild animal, like a tiger or dolphin? No. :( At least, not to my recollection. Have you ever eaten snow? Yeah. There's actually a winter treat 'round here that you make with snow and sugar called snow cream. Good stuff. What is the messiest area in your home? Right now, the spare room/my wanna-be "office." What’s your favorite computer game genre? Still horror, like video games. Do you have any exes your parents never liked? No. Have you received financial help from your parents in the past 5 years? I'm completely financially dependent on them still. Are you a fast or a slow eater? I eat like, stupid fast, but without being messy. People *cough*Mom*cough* will absolutely point it out, but I seriously can't help it. Making a conscious effort to eat slow feels way too weird. What was the last thing you purchased from a small local business? I don't know. Is there anyone in your family/household whom you frequently argue with? No. Have you ever used chewing tobacco? Ew, no. Tell me what's on your mind? I've been considering yet again reaching out to some tattoo parlors and asking if they're open to hiring someone to handle the front desk and take care of business besides actually performing piercing and tattooing, given my tremors. My group therapy has kinda been encouraging me to use the possibility for social exposure, and besides, I'm very comfortable in the environment and just general aura of tat parlors. I'm sure I'd have to answer the phone, handle money, and obviously talk to costumers, but I know and accept that. I've been at such a stagnant point with my social anxiety in particular that I have to start pushing back harder, and doing this I feel would be one of the most relaxed, social job positions I can hopefully handle. I don't dare to even try this though until I get vaccinated to protect my immunocompromised mom. Writing this all out has actually been pretty encouraging about this idea... Do you wish you never dated someone you dated? Yeah, Tyler. It was such a "I'm lonely and he was nice in high school, so we'll try it" situation. I got nothing from it. Are you scared of growing old alone? Pretty badly. What are you listening to right now? I'm listening to/semi-watching John Wolfe play the remaster of Resident Evil 2. What breed was the last dog you saw? He was a German shepherd. Would you ever go swimming during a thunderstorm? No. Any time a thunderstorm was brewing and I was in the pool, I'd always get out. What is the next concert you will attend? Mom and I plan to see Ozzy when/if he reschedules his tour after he had to cancel with his Parkinson's diagnosis. What was the name of the last pet of yours that died? Teddy. :/ What's the highest science class you have taken? I don't know, actually. What makes you squeal like a school girl? No shame, seeing Mark and Amy do something cute together actually does this, lmao. What’s your favorite symbol? (i.e. the pentagram, the cross, etc.) Do fictional ones count? Because in that case, the Halo of the Sun from the Silent Hill franchise. I'm getting it tattooed somewhere at some point, I'm thinking the left side of my neck. I'm either gonna fashion it in a way where it looks branded on or carved into me. Have you ever been on anti depressants? For all of my pre-teen, teen, and some of my adult life. Apparently, I've only had one truly educated psychiatrist out of no less than a dozen I'd seen, because he fixed me right up. He taught me that those who suffer from bipolarity should avoid anti-depressants; they ramp up your bipolar symptoms. Instead, mood stabilizers are favorable. And what do you know, after I was prescribed a stabilizer and a catalyst for that medication, my depression decreased dramatically and became handleable. Have you ever starved yourself? Kinda. What’s the stupidest name you’ve ever given a pet? I had a guinea pig named Harry Potter. For no particular reason lmao. I'm not even a Harry Potter fan. Do you have nice legs? God no. Do you like fedoras? Okay so I know I am in the strong minority, but I actually do, haha. What is your favorite food group? Carbs. @_@ Have you ever got told that you should be a model? No, but one of the most flattering indirect compliments I've ever gotten was being mistaken for one. Jason's phone wallpaper was one of my favorite pictures of myself with my first snake, and someone asked him if I was a model. ;v;' What song is in a language you don’t speak, but you love it anyway? "Donaukinder" by Rammstein is one of my faves. Who’s a villain you sympathize with and why? SOBS Darkiplier bc his origins are so damn tragic and unfair. What book do you think should be directed as a film? Was The Giver ever made into one? I don't remember that book well, but I do recall it being absolutely beautiful. Have you ever found a stranger’s note somewhere? If so, what did it say? No. Have you ever edited Wikipedia? No. Have you ever edited any other wiki? Yeah. I have thousands on the Silent Hill wiki, where I'm one of the admins. I'm also a content moderator at the Team Ico (Shadow of the Colossus devs) one. Every now and again I used to go on the meerkats wiki as well, where I mainly fixed the fucking nightmarish grammar. Very briefly, I edited at the Dragons of Atlantis wiki as well. Do you get scared when you know some virus or sickness is being passed? Not very, but of course I still acknowledge the risk and am more conscious of hand washing and stuff. What popular social media platforms AREN’T you on? Snapchat, I don't actually use my Twitter, I don't have a personal Instagram... There may be more, idk. Is TikTok a "social media platform?" Because I don't have that, either. What was the name of the first porcelien doll you got? Never had one, given I was afraid of dolls as a kid. What’s your favorite Paramore song? "Decode." Would you be happy with a life without romance? To be entirely honest, I'd feel like I was missing something. Was your childhood happy? Mostly. What fundamentally matters do you? Love, kindness, peace, all that gooey stuff. Is true world peace ever possible? As much as I hate to admit it, I don't think so. The human population is far too big to come to a unanimous agreement on anything. Do you hold yourself to higher standards than you hold others? Yeah. Would you ever own a pet black widow spider? No. I'm getting more into the idea of owning invertebrates (I jabber enough about wanting tarantulas, and there are others, like mantises, I'm interested in as pets), but black widows, I'm not into the idea of having. Too venomous for me to be comfortable risking. If you have a job, what is the longest shift that you've worked? N/A Do you know all of the words to "Bohemian Rhapsody?" FUCK YES I DO. ^ Do you sing it with all of the different voices? sho nuff Do you own more than one copy of a certain book? No. Do you like interpreting poetry or just reading it for fun? Both. I love symbolism, so I get joy out of digging for subtle meanings in poems. Do you have a favorite Dr. Suess book? Yeah, it was always Green Eggs and Ham. Do you watch The Walking Dead? If so, favorite character? Not the show, but I've watched let's plays of the games, haha. In which case Clementine is inarguably one of the best female characters in a video game universe. Who has/had the most mature romantic relationship you’ve seen with your own eyes? Uhhh. I mean I never saw them much, but probably my late grandmother and her last husband. He was fucking incredible to her, and Grammy adored him as well. They helped each other so much and just obviously had the purest love between them. When was the last time you got something for free (legally)? What was it & have you enjoyed it so far? Lmao do balls in Pokemon GO count? Their occasional free boxes are the reason I can play the game because PokeStops are essentially non-existent here, so yes. What is the one fruit you can’t stand to eat? How about vegetable? The first one that came to me were oranges. I enjoy orange juice, but I just caaaaannot with the white veiny shit that you can't totally get off when peeling it. Without that, I might actually enjoy them, but idk. As for vegetable, asparagus is absolutely abhorrent. When’s the last time you actually recited the pledge? If you aren’t American, do/did you have anything similar in your country that you do during a time at school? Probably not since high school. Last person you shared food with? Ummm I have no idea. It's really just Mom and me here and we eat our own stuff. What was the last song you heard for the first time and enjoyed? I believe it waaas... "Down In The Park" by Marilyn Manson, maybe. If your life was a TV show, what would be the theme song? My inner high school emo just screamed "All Signs Point to Lauderdale" by AD2R. Who are some of your favorite female fictional characters, and why? Gahdamn, there's a lot. I don't feel like going through a mental list in my head and then describing why. A character (in anything) you wish hadn’t been killed off? Vol'jin; I think the entire WoW fanbase will forever be pissed about it. It was THE most "lul we dunno what 2 do w/ him anymore, let's let a totally random, unnamed, unimportant demon kill him" like what the fuck, Blizz. Most of his "oomph" was in the book, and I just really wish they'd done so much more with him in the game. Has anything “cute” happened in the past week? Off the top of me noggin, no. When did you last say “I love you”? Did you mean it? Yesterday to Sara. OF course I did. Is there someone who pops into your mind at random times? Hi, PTSD, how are ya. Have you ever slept all day? Essentially. When I was on a larger dose of my anxiety med, I physically couldn't stay up for barely even five minutes, and when I'd lie back down, boom, I was OUT. I stayed on that dosage for I think just that one day, it was so bad. Can you have kids? Well, I have a functioning menstrual cycle, so I would assume so. Doesn't mean I will, though. What colors of mascara have you worn on your lashes? Only black. Do you like eating sour things? Hell yeah, I love sour stuff, candy in particular. Do you like pickles? fuuuuck yeah Did you ever have a really close friend move away? Yeah, in elementary school. I feel bad I can't remember her name at the moment... What's the most creative thing you've ever done? I mean, I guess the things I've written in RP. What's the most creative thing someone has done for you? For me? I don't really know. Do you like to watch ghost-hunting shows? Sure, they're some of my favorites. What’s something you’d like to be better at? Social interaction. Have you ever stayed up to talk to someone who was sad? Yeah. Do you think you would make a good parent? No. I know I wouldn't. The only time I ever wanted kids was with Jason, and honestly, I really hope I don't end up with a man because I never want to deal with that urge again and make a mistake. I'm just in no way emotionally fit to be a mother. How many best friends do you have? Just one. What do you cry over the most? My PTSD, honestly. I never sob about it anymore, just shed some tears. What language did/do you take in high school? Latin for one semester, then all four available for German. Which sports do you follow? None. Who was the last person you talked about marriage or having kids with? About marriage, Sara. Kids, the subject was lightly touched upon with Girt, though "with" was never a part of it, but obviously implied seeing as we were dating with long-term in mind. Have you ever been in a house fire? No, thankfully. Have you ever made out for one straight hour? them is rookie numbers Are you any good at remembering phone numbers? No. I literally don't even know my own, nor my mother's. I need to fix that. Who is your best friend of the opposite sex? Girt. Do you have a bookshelf? If so, just one or how many? No. If I gave you twenty bucks what would you do with it? Save it to go towards Venus' terrarium. Is there a movie from your childhood that you still watch today? Well of course! I'm unashamed to watch any "kids" movie I enjoy, like Disney ones. Most "kids" movies tend to be better than those intended for adults, it seems... Are you afraid of mice? Oh no, I adore mice and I think had a pair as pets before I got rats. What type of souvenir do you usually purchase when on vacation? I can't really answer this; I haven't gone on nearly enough vacations to develop a theme. I can say confidently though it'd probably be something small. If you could see any musical on Broadway right now, what would it be? I don't enjoy musicals. Have you ever watched Doctor Who? One or two with Sara, yes. I know we at least watched the weeping angels episode. If you read, which book or series did you enjoy most as a child? Warriors by S.E. Hinton. Sometimes I wanna get back into them, but I am YEARS behind and more into Wings of Fire anyway, so. I don't read nearly enough for both. How do you get rid of your hiccups? Literally no trick seems to work for me. I just suffer lmao.

#survey #surveys #questions

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lovemesomerafael · 5 years

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It’s Complicated Chapter 3: Protection

Source: @barbaoutfits

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Rafael was impressed with the way Dr. Rojas presented as an expert witness. She had plenty of experience testifying, of course, and anyone would listen to her once they heard her credentials, even if she hadn’t been as articulate and poised as she was. Plenty of expert witnesses were either incapable of speaking at a level understandable by a jury, which was off-putting, or sounded as though they were intentionally dumbing down their words, which was insulting. Rojas didn’t. She had an ability to explain complex matters and introduce technical terms in a way that was understandable and relatable without being condescending. It didn’t hurt that she wore her shiny, black hair in a French twist that would have been severe except for the gently curling strands that escaped it to soften her look, and a simple but elegant suit in a subtle green that flattered her warm, coppery skin tone. She was accomplished and beautiful but, because of her open, friendly manner, the jury found her attractive rather than threatening.

Frankie had needed almost no preparation, which was fortunate for both her and Rafael because, after their argument a few days before, they were almost unable to speak to one another normally. For Rafael, it was difficult to disguise the deep feelings she aroused in him. He wanted her, there was no question about that. And, after the way she had responded to him in the interrogation room, he was certain that she wanted him, too. He would have been very excited by that, except that he also despised what she stood for and found her personally irritating in the extreme. Even hearing her name generated a physical and emotional heat he had to work around in everything having to do with her. It was not an ideal situation for a Prosecutor questioning an expert witness in a felony trial.

It was no easier for Frankie. In fact, after spending the past two days watching him own this courtroom, dealing with Barba had only become more difficult. She was always attracted to talent and intelligence, and had a special predilection for men who were clever with language. Barba was like a rock star on stage as he subtly, expertly maneuvered the trial in exactly the way he intended. It was exquisite torture to watch him in his perfectly-tailored suits that allowed her to imagine exactly what she would discover if she took them off, until she caught herself being lulled into those thoughts and roughly yanked herself back to the present. She only wished she could see his facial expressions which, over the last few days, had become entirely fascinating and electrifying to her. Just watching him lift an eyebrow or twitch his lips could be disturbingly erotic. She still didn’t like him, but she probably owed Amanda a dozen cupcakes, because she’d skipped right over thinking Barba was hot to desperately wanting to jump him. Worse, after their argument in the interrogation room, she was fully aware that he knew how she felt.

Rafael saw the moment Rojas spotted Alan Canady in the courtroom. It was as though someone had thrown a switch that drained all color from her face and caused tiny beads of sweat to pop out on her forehead. The fear that instantly clouded her features scared him a little, too. Fortunately, it was very near the end of her testimony and he was questioning her on redirect, which gave him options. He sauntered, seemingly casually, toward the witness stand and stood next to her, between her and the jury box.

“¿Estas bien?”[1]

“No. Alan esta aqui. Cuarta fila. Mi derecha.”[2]

“OK. Escucha, ¿puedes esperar un poco? Él no puede hacer nada mientras estás en el estrado.”[3]

“No se-“[4]

The defense attorney objected to the whispered conversation, which objection the judge sustained.

“Apologies, your honor, I was just asking the doctor whether she needed a break.”

“Dr. Rojas?” The judge lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” Frankie responded, willing her voice not to shake.

Rafael purposely asked her several questions he knew defense counsel would want to follow up, specifically to keep Frankie safely on the stand after he was done questioning her. Once he had completed his redirect and had retaken his seat, that allowed him to whisper to Fin Tutuola, sitting next to Sonny Carisi directly behind Barba in the gallery. While Frankie answered the defense’s follow-up questions, Fin whispered to Carisi, who then left the courtroom, pulling his phone from his pocket as he went. Fin quietly moved to where Alan Canady was seated in the courtroom and sat down a little too close to him, whispering something that caused Canady to scowl. But he didn’t get up from his seat.

When the judge excused Frankie from the witness stand, her first instinct was to flee from the courtroom. Instead, since Carisi had returned, she went to sit next to him. She had seen what Barba had done, so she knew that Alan was under control for the moment. But she was still comforted by the fact that she was touching shoulders with an armed police detective who knew the situation. She wondered who he had called when he briefly left the courtroom. As court was adjourned for the day, she turned to him to ask, but was surprised when Carisi took her upper arm, saying, “Come with me.”

He led her through the railing to the prosecution table, where Barba was hastily shoving a few things into his briefcase and instructing the junior A.D.A. who was sitting second chair regarding the rest of the materials on the table. Frankie looked behind her to see that Fin was standing next to Alan, whom he had apparently instructed not to leave his seat. Alan was glaring daggers at her, with an evil leer that shot a surge of fearful nausea through her. Barba nodded to Carisi and they led her past the judge’s bench to the door on the other side, Barba before and Carisi behind her. That level of protection both reassured her and ratcheted up her terror.

Barba opened up the door to a small room with a scarred wooden table surrounded by a disorganized set of battered, mismatched chairs, with additional chairs along two of the walls.

“We’ll be fine in here,” he told Carisi. “No one can get through that door without getting past the bailiffs, and Canady can’t get into the courthouse armed.”

“Right. I’mma go back Fin up. I’ll get the bailiffs to put someone outside this door, and I’ll come get you when Porter gets here.”

When he left, Frankie began to pace the small room. Rafael set his briefcase on the table and pulled out a chair.

“Do you want some coffee?” He asked before sitting.

She looked alarmed at the question and reached out a hand to him. “No! Please, don’t-” Realizing how that must have sounded, Frankie quickly said, in a softer, more controlled voice, “I’m sorry. I just meant…”

“I know. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll just ask someone to bring us some. OK?”

“OK. Yes. Please.”

She decided to try to sit down while Barba muttered to someone passing in the hall. It was no good; almost as soon as she’d felt the chair under her, she’d become too agitated to sit still and stood again. Barba closed the door and turned back to her. Now that they were alone, they instinctively lapsed into Spanish.

“I saw what you did,” Frankie told him. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I’m killing out there, so I don’t want anything to happen that might cause a mistrial.”

Rather than making her mad, the joke had the intended effect of comforting her. “Cocky asshole,” she said, shaking her head, her lips twisting into a slight, involuntary grin.

“Not gonna deny it.” He took his seat and looked at her. “You OK?”

“Yeah. Thanks to you. You’re pretty quick on your feet.”

“You talking about the trial, or – “ he indicated the room.

“Both. It’s nice to see that your ego isn’t entirely unwarranted.”

“Careful, Doctor. That was dangerously close to a compliment. Remember who you’re dealing with here.”

“Oh, I remember, don’t you worry. But I have to admit, you are sort of killing this trial, and you did just get me out of a jam, so… I’d say don’t let it go to your head, but why waste my breath?”

Barba’s smile, and the resulting rush of heat, finally got Frankie to sit down. She wondered how she could possibly be horny at this particular moment, but in this tiny room with this stupidly handsome man who had done nothing all day but impress her, she couldn’t help it.

They sat, not speaking, Rafael reviewing his notes and Frankie, having jumped up again to pace the room as soon as the surge of hormones cleared her system, making him nervous with her restlessness. After ten minutes of that, Rafael handed her a report written by the defense’s expert psychiatrist.

“Make yourself useful,” he grunted. “See if you can think of anything else I can attack this on.”

She took the report from him, preparing to review it standing up. “What are we waiting for, exactly? Fin and Carisi have Alan, why can’t I just leave?”

“Quit complaining and read your report.”

“Well, what’s taking so long?”

“Doctor, when a team of professionals from three different agencies are working to protect your shapely ass, a little gratitude is generally expected.”

“You think my ass is shapely?”

“That’s what you got out of that? I was calling you ungrateful.”

“And shapely.”

Barba sighed and went back to his notes.

It was half an hour later when Carisi knocked softly and entered the room. “Porter’s taken Canady to Federal Plaza,” he told them. “So Doc, you don’t want to go back to your office right now. And until we know whether the feds are gonna be able to arrest him, I’m afraid it’s not a good idea to go home, either.”

“It’s a very secure building,” Frankie began.

“It’s the precinct or Barba’s office. You pick, and I’ll get you there safely.”

“But he’s in custody!”

“He’s not. He’s being questioned, but he can leave any time unless Porter finds a way to arrest him. So we need to move now. Where’d you like to go?”

“I have a ton of work to do,” she sighed, sounding whiny and ungrateful even to herself.

“My office,” Barba said to Carisi as he re-packed his briefcase. “I’ll be there prepping all night, anyway, and it’s quieter, so la fresa[5] will at least be able to work in peace.”

“Barba, you-“ She decided not to finish that thought in front of Sonny.

Carisi grinned and opened the door, sweeping a hand toward the hallway. Rafael took the report from Frankie’s hand as he preceded her into the hallway.

“What’d you call her?” Carisi asked Barba, speaking across Frankie as though they didn’t flank her protectively as they walked down the hallway.

“She knows,” Barba smirked.

The evening was quiet and actually fairly comfortable as Rafael worked at his desk and Frankie worked on her laptop on the table in his office. She envied this beautiful space; the plush quietness was much nicer than the industrial government-issue feel of her own office in Federal Plaza. She’d instantly liked his assistant, Carmen, perhaps because she felt such sympathy for her, having to work for a bully like Barba. Carmen’s last act before leaving for the day had been to order them Szechuan food from the place Mr. Barba liked so that they could have dinner while they worked.

Carmen was intrigued. Francisca Rojas was nothing like Mr. Barba had described her, and his interaction with her was decidedly unlike his interaction with people he disliked as much as he claimed to dislike her. Besides which, Carmen didn’t need to be as intuitive as she was to see the sizzle between her boss and Dr. Rojas. As much as Carmen liked Mr. Barba – and she liked him better than any of the attorneys she’d worked for in the past – she found him inexplicable when it came to women. He relied upon Carmen to do much of the work surrounding his dating life – plan dates and make reservations, get tickets, send flowers, choose gifts – so she knew his tastes. He claimed to be too busy to do it himself, and that Carmen was much better at that stuff than he was, but she suspected that it was closer to the truth to say that he really couldn’t be bothered. Mr. Barba dated a lot of beautiful, accomplished women who seemed to like him as much as Carmen did. But she could never figure out why a man as nice as he was – and he was nice, despite what he wanted the world to think – never seemed to get very emotionally involved.

When his phone chimed to let him know their food had arrived, Rafael told Frankie he was going down to the front lobby to retrieve it. The look on her face was only slightly less fearful than it had been at the courthouse when he’d offered to get coffee.

“It’s OK, Doctor. You couldn’t be safer. Not only can’t he know you’re here, he couldn’t get in even if he did. Sit tight, I’ll only be a minute.” His voice was meant to be reassuring, but she found it distinctly sexy, instead. She had thought from the beginning that his voice was sexy when he used a certain tone, and now that she thought pretty much everything he did was sexy, she was almost relieved to have him leave the room for a moment.

She took the opportunity to look around. The first thing she noticed was that his framed diploma showed he had graduated Magna Cum Laude from Harvard Law. She wasn’t surprised, but she was deeply impressed. Frankie had only graduated Cum Laude from law school, and she had to imagine that Harvard’s law program was tougher than A&M’s. She wondered whether Barba had chosen the art on the walls in his office. She liked it. She appreciated not only the historical subject matter, but the way the pictures themselves complemented the overall gravitas projected by the office. Her mouth quirked as she wondered whether Barba had intended that, to lend himself more gravitas. Not that he needed it, anyone who spent more than five minutes with him would have a healthy respect for his ability, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

He returned sooner than she expected, noting that she was standing in front of a bookshelf studying the titles.

“Preparing a critique of my reading choices?”

“Hmmmm,” she responded noncommittally. “I can’t help but notice you have a copy of ‘Twenty-Five Acts’, which is in questionable taste…”

“Would you believe that was for a case?”

“Yes, but only because I already knew that. And that doesn’t explain why you still have it.” Her mocking half-grin unsettled Rafael.

She sat back down at the table in front of her laptop as he stood nearby, taking cartons of food from the bag he’d placed there. They smelled delicious.

“Don’t work through dinner. That’s a terrible habit. Come sit on the couch and talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk about ‘Twenty-Five Acts.’”

“You don’t even want to know how I got Cain convicted?”

“I know how you got Cain convicted. And bragging, while perhaps a little bit deserved in that case, is rude.”

“You already think I’m rude.”

“I know you’re rude. So why should I come over there and talk to you?”

“Because you’re a doctor, and you should know that polite conversation is better for the digestion than reading about depraved criminals. And before you say anything: yes, I am capable of polite conversation.”

“This I gotta see.”

Frankie chose a carton and a fork and sat on the opposite end of the couch from Rafael, leaving her shoes on the floor and tucking her legs under her, which meant she had to pull her fitted skirt a little up her thighs. Rafael stifled a groan. Rather than say what he was thinking about her legs, he asked, “Fork? Really?”

“Sue me. I’m from Texas.”

“That’s no excuse not to know how to use chopsticks.”

“Mmm-hmmm. ‘I know how to make polite conversation’ he says. I knew you couldn’t do it.”

Forget hot. He was gorgeous when he laughed. “OK, that one I deserved. Sorry.”

“Maybe we could just eat in blessed silence.”

“No. I want to hear about growing up in Texas. Please keep it to culture. I don’t want to hear about any mansions or butlers. I’m eating.”

Rafael was very fortunate not to be eating at the moment she threw her head back and laughed. The way her long, graceful neck arched, the flash of white teeth, the music of her laughter, or any one of those could have caused him to choke. As a doctor, she probably knew the Heimlich Maneuver, and he did want her to put her arms around him, but still.

“Is that what you think? Oh, Barba, you clearly did not do a very good job on your research. I did not grow up in a mansion. I have, in fact, met real butlers, but it was at other people’s houses, and they freak me out. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say to them, and I refuse to pretend they’re not there.”

Rafael was stunned, and not only because the flush of amusement that animated her face made him want to laugh with her almost as much as he wanted to kiss her. He had clearly missed something.

“You’re BioRed Pharmaceuticals. You have more money than God.”

“BioRed Pharmaceuticals is a corporation, and my father has more money than God. You did take Corporations at Harvard, right? Trusts and Estates? You understand how property works?”

“Let’s stick to your story. You’ve got me interested now. So, no mansions or butlers?”

“None. I grew up on a working ranch, where my family still lives. I ride workhorses and I’m pretty good at roping steer, which is a skill I’ve considered using on you a time or two, and I’m holding in reserve, just in case. Never played polo, never even seen polo. All my ridin’ and ropin’ was done in the course of long, hard workdays, because that’s how we were raised. I will admit that my father paid my way through school, so I don’t have any student loans. But I’ve had to earn my own money since the day I started getting an allowance.”

“But… your clothes.”

“I like clothes. I spend too much on them. What’s your excuse?”

“Same. But I don’t have a billionaire father.”

“I guarantee you I get less money from my father than you do from yours.”

“My father is dead.”

“OK, then I get exactly as much money from mine as you do from yours. Which is to say, none. He believes in working for a living.”

“And who’s ‘we’? You said ‘that’s not how we were raised.’”

“I’m one of six kids.”

“Really? Oldest, no doubt.”

“Wrong again. I have three older brothers and two younger ones.”

“Wait… you have five brothers? I should probably have found that out before I started talking to you the way I do. And they’re from Texas… can they shoot?”

“Can they shoot? You have heard of Texas, right? You know what happens on a ranch?”

“Can you shoot?”

“I can shoot the eye out of an iguana at a hundred paces.”

“Shit.”

“Does this mean you’re going to be nicer to me from now on?”

“Of course not. But it does mean I’m going to ask Liv for a bulletproof vest.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Is that a threat, Annie Oakley?”

“No, it means I don’t have a gun. I hate ‘em. Although, with Alan around again, maybe I oughtta re-think that.”

“You could always lasso him.”

“Shootin’s more fun. At least, in Alan’s case.”

“Also more illegal.”

“Spoilsport. But I don’t want to talk about Alan. Tell me about you. Where’d you grow up?”

“Right here. The Bronx. With my eight siblings.”

“You have no siblings.”

“I have eight.”

“No. There are practically entire textbooks about how your personality says you’re an only child. Beloved and the pride of your family, but an only child.”

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“Everyone who has ever met me knows that. The real question is, why are you avoiding telling me about your childhood?”

“I’m not avoiding it.”

“You’re so avoiding it.”

“No, I’m – Ok, fine. I was small and nerdy and I sucked at sports. I had two best friends who did all the same things I did and I was always the one who got caught. Which was fine, because I could always talk my way out of trouble.”

Frankie was smiling at him while she listened. He was so damn cute. If anyone had told her before this moment that she would have thought that, she’d have laughed or maybe assessed their mental competence. But it was true.

“I loved my abuelita. She was my favorite person in the world. No matter what happened in my life, she thought I was the smartest, and the best, and that I could do anything. She used to call me el juez.[6] Even before I got into law school.”

“I think I’m in love with your abuelita.”

“Me, too. I miss her. We lost her last year.”

“I’m sorry.“

Half an hour of sweet stories about Rafael’s childhood later, Barba’s desk phone rang. They both turned to look at it. “You know what this is going to be,” he said.

She slid her shoes back on and followed him to the desk, standing on the other side while he listened to Dean Porter. Rafael’s side of the conversation was almost nothing except an occasional “uh-huh.”

Frankie was almost frantic by the time he hung up. “Well?”

Rafael looked her in the eye as he told her that they had gotten nothing out of Canady, and hadn’t had any reason to arrest him.

“So he’s just out there somewhere.”

“I’m sorry. Porter says you shouldn’t go home. Canady was pretty pissed when he left.”

“Fuck that. He is not driving me out of my home. Not again.”

Frankie stomped over to the table and rummaged in her purse for her phone, plucking it out and beginning to touch the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for an all-night gun store.”

Rafael took the phone from her. “I can think of at least five reasons that’s not a good idea, but the only one you’re going to listen to is that there’s a three-day waiting period. You might as well relax and get used to the idea that you’re not going home.”

She grabbed the phone roughly from his hand and threw it back into her purse, then slammed her laptop closed and began shoving things into her carryall. “That is so easy for you to say. You’re safe. You can go home. You don’t have some deranged asshole following you around the country trying to kill you. Well, fuck him. If he wants to kill me so bad, let him try. So maybe I can’t get a gun tonight, but I got plenty of knives in my kitchen and I might as well be comfortable while I wait.”

“Francisca, stop it. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Damn straight I’m not! I’m pissed off!” She stormed toward the door, with him right behind her. “I’ll show myself out.”

“You can’t-”

She turned to him. “I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of opening a door.”

“And similarly capable of making a very bad, very dangerous decision in a fit of temper. Which I am not going to allow you to do.”

He took the last few steps toward her and they both reached for the doorknob. Standing chest to chest, her hand on the doorknob and his hand on hers, they faced one another, both angry.

“You’re not walking out of here alone. And you’re not going home.”

“You really think you can stop me?”

“You really gonna make me?”

Their faces got closer with each word. “You are so…”

“Yes?” He asked, putting his arm around her and leaning so that his lips were almost touching hers.

“Annoying and frustrating,” she closed the distance. “And arrogant, and…” Their lips met in a molten kiss.

“Well, you’re conceited and short-tempered and you drive me up a wall,” he gasped, pushing her against the door with his body. Taking his hand from the doorknob, he encircled her with both arms as he captured her mouth with his.

“Do you ever fucking shut up?” She panted into the kiss.

“Not when I have something to say.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She asked, burying her hands in his hair the way she’d been wanting to for days as she responded to his probing tongue.

“You’re not exactly silent yourself,” he muttered.

She gave herself completely over to the sensations he was creating in her. He used his mouth on hers in ways that had her beginning to moan after only a few minutes, as she moved her body to fit it more closely to his.

“Nothing to say?” He gasped, moving to kiss down her neck.

“I have plenty to say.” She whispered between breaths. “I’m prioritizing.”

“You’re coming home with me.”

“Damn right I am, but not because you said so. Because I want to.”

“Whatever gets you there,” he growled.

Rafael and Frankie scandalized the cab driver who took them from Rafael’s office to his apartment. Rafael had pulled the silky shell she wore out of her waistband and unhooked her bra by the time they reached his apartment building, hands all over her breasts as he ravished her mouth. He had no idea how much the fare was, or how much cash he tossed into the front seat as he followed Frankie out of the cab.

By the time the elevator reached his floor, Frankie had Rafael’s tie off and his shirt undone, and a fairly significant purple mark on the front of her neck. As soon as they closed his door behind them, she’d removed his jacket, pushed his suspenders off his shoulders and practically torn off his shirt. She threw them to the floor and reached to pull his undershirt up, but he pushed her jacket from her shoulders, causing her to have to stop her progress in undressing him to allow him to remove it. She reached for him again, but he moved her hands out of the way.

“You’re so fucking pushy,” she complained as they broke their nearly continual kisses so that he could pull her shell up and over her head. She paid no attention to what he did with it, and neither did she, because their lips were again enmeshed and he flicked her bra off and began working on her skirt. She remembered to be grateful she’d worn nice lingerie today.

“And you’re way too fucking spoiled,” he muttered, allowing her to take off his undershirt before slipping her skirt down her hips to fall onto the floor. She pulled at the fly of his trousers as he again began to fondle her breasts. It took her little time to get his pants unfastened and run her palm down his abdomen, under the waistband of his boxers, and take hold of his stiff member. He groaned as she’d hoped he would.

With very little effort, he pulled his trousers and boxers down and stepped out of them. She was too engrossed in his penis to pay attention to how he got his shoes and socks off, but noticed when he took one of her hands and led her toward what she assumed was his bedroom. She stepped out of her shoes on the way. They didn’t bother with lights; there was plenty of light coming in through the window from the city beyond. When they reached the bed, he turned and took her into his arms again, falling with her onto the mattress. Somehow they wriggled and rolled their way to lying side by side, lips and hungry mouths never parting.

When he ran a hand up her thigh to the moist crotch of her panties, she let out a moan that could have made him come right then, but he kept a hold on his desire long enough to quickly pull the skimpy boy shorts off her body.

“Shit,” he gasped. “We need to talk about… consent, and protection…” He was breathing almost too hard to speak.

“I’m clean and I’m on the pill and if you don’t fuck me in the next five seconds, that’s when we’re gonna have a problem,” she growled.

“Impolite, and disrespectful,” he murmured, moving into position and gently nudging her thighs apart. “Impatient, and… oh, fuck!”

He kissed her, hard and messy and frenzied, as he began to thrust into her.

“Yeah, well, you’re… uhn… uncivil and surly… oh… and bossy…”

“Tell me how to make you come,” he grunted.

“See? Bossy… oh, shit… fuck, Barba… I’m… Just like that! Just… like…”

Frankie could not remember the last time she had come just from being fucked. Well, at that moment, she couldn’t remember her own name. But she somehow found a small part of her brain with which to be astounded at how good Barba felt inside her and the ease with which he had brought her to this shouting, incoherent climax.

He followed just as she began to come down. Did he actually call her fresa in the midst of his orgasm? Oh, this man was absolutely impossible. Entirely, completely impossible.

[1] Are you all right?

[2] Alan is here. Fourth row. My right.

[3] OK. Listen, can you hang on for a little while? He can’t do anything while you’re on the stand.

[4] I don’t know.

[5] See definition in Chapter 2

[6] The judge

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #rafael barba #raul esparza #sonny carisi #law & order SVU Agent Dean Porter #fin tutuola

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ittakesrain · 4 years

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Psycho Education

Psycho Education: Things I Learned in the Psychiatric Hospital

I knew I needed to be hospitalized. I’ve known that for a while. Hell, I tried to get myself into a hospital prior to this, because I was desperate for some relief, and nothing happened. I guess it all accumulated for the past year or so, though. I went to my psychiatrist for a normal appointment on February 10th, and she sent me to the ER like, immediately. She actually called them and told them I’d be coming (I felt like such a VIP: very important psycho). My boyfriend left work early and picked me up and we went. And thus began an interesting journey where I learned a bunch of things that I’m going to explain in a vaguely chronological but unimportant order. This doesn’t include everything, and I have so many more thoughts that I’m dying to get onto a page, but I think it’s important that my first post is positive and talks about the last month as a learning experience.

I was in the ER for a day and a half. It was an overwhelming experience. I was crying a lot, and I just wanted to lay there on the gurney under the sheets and be “alone.” But I was on Constant Observation (since I was suicidal) and had someone watching me at all times. And apparently I couldn’t go completely under the covers because they had to see that I wasn’t killing myself under there. So I was basically inconsolable.

I hated the guy watching me, at first. He would ask questions and I’d try to answer, but I’d just start crying at the fact that I didn’t think he understood what I was actually experiencing. How much pain I was in. Like…was he belittling me? I couldn’t tell.

I came around to him eventually. I don’t know when, exactly. Maybe after he went on his break. The nurse manager watched me while he was gone, and she was really nice. We talked a little bit, and maybe that little bit where I was broken out of my shell helped me not feel so upset with Charles who had to sit there and stare at me. Not that he was creepy; he wasn’t. He was cool. It was just a hard situation, and I was emotional and all over the place. I realized that seeking comfort is okay and even brave at times, but at the end of the day, when no one else can do it you have to do it yourself. I was lying there, tossing and turning, my mind racing, all of my painfully confused…and I had to just calm myself down. I’m not saying I was successful at that (I wasn’t). But the lesson stuck with me. I asked for help, and I’m proud that I did. But I also learned that I can’t get help with everything. I can’t have someone help me control my emotions, it doesn’t work that way.

Charles and I eventually got into conversation, and he imparted a gem of wisdom that totally relates and that I wrote down as soon as I had a notebook in which to do so: no one can swim for you and no one can breathe for you. I couldn’t tell you what the hell we were talking about (I’m assuming it was the impending hospitalization ahead of me), but it’s true. The coming weeks were something I was gonna have to face on my own.

Yeah, definitely true. Although once I got to the psych hospital, I wasn’t completely on my own. I made friends almost immediately (once I stopped crying, showered for the first time in three days, and actually consumed some sort of food). I guess there’s nothing quite like being locked up together to bring about friendships. It also probably helps that we were all in a similar place mentally and emotionally. We related to one another. We grew into a weird little dysfunctional family.

And dysfunctional we indeed were. Lock a bunch of crazies up together and shit DOES get intense. I realized pretty early on that sometimes it’s best to just walk away. Walk away from a fight or confrontation, walk away from a trigger. Hell, sometimes you even need to walk away from someone crying who just needs to cry. I loved when the other patients there calmed me down as I was crying. A fist-bump and a sneaky hug go a long way (we weren’t technically allowed to touch each other). But there were moments I just needed to cry. And I saw the same being true of other people.

We were a unique bunch. It became increasingly clear to me why you should never judge anyone without talking to them first. Like, everyone has their own shit. You literally never know someone’s story without asking them. And human beings are interesting, so ask! Listen to everyone’s story and learn from them, because my god is there so much to learn. Not to mention that people are all complicated, with or without mental illness. We’re all just different. It’s fascinating.

I sat down next to the schizophrenic who needed to be restrained and sedated the day before and actually talked to him. I was happy I did because he’s got a lot of wisdom inside of him next to all his fear. We sat there on the floor outside the med window after each taking our cocktail of pills, and started talking. The day after that was not one of my better ones. And he was the one to sit down next to me. “Hey,” he said. “Put out your hands like this.” I wiped my tears and looked up at him. I held out my hands in front of me. “Do you see them?” he asked, to which I responded with a tentative ‘yes.’ “See? You’re here, you’re safe, you’re okay.” I used that technique to ground myself a few more times after that.

I can’t talk about lessons learned in the psych hospital without mentioning how I learned to be thankful in a simple but grand way. I vowed that when I got out I’d stop taking day to day conveniences for granted. My phone and my laptop are wonderful tools I have, and I’ll never again forget how fucking cool they are. I was, however, already thankful for the support I am lucky enough to have. Every morning we had a “community meeting” where we told everyone how we were feeling, what our goal was for the day, and who our support was. I never once forgot how special the people around me are that they love and support me as much as they do.

Then there’s the lesson I’m continually re-learning: let it go. I really tried to tone down my reactions to minor little things while I was there. Like, I put serious effort into it. There were a few instances in the beginning when I was uhh…using humor as a coping mechanism, and it wasn’t received well by some of the staff. So I was told to stop. Which, okay, that’s fine, right? It is, and looking back I realize it right away now. But my general response is to feel stupid and dumb and dwell on the situation for far too long and then feel stupid again and just continue on and on. But I’m actually damn proud of how I let it go because I literally forgot about how angry I was at that staff member until just now. We turned out to be chill with each other anyway, and I’m glad we turned out that way because I feel happy to have known the guy. But yeah, I’m giving myself major props for that one, and I’m gonna remember this exact paragraph next time I go to overthink about something like that. I also want to phrase it differently, in case I didn’t make my point as effectively as I wanted to: don’t worry so much about what’s going on in other people’s heads, because you don’t have to live there.

As I got more stable (I’m gonna write a whole post about how that was able to happen to begin with, because holy shit was it a process), I started to get the itch to get the fuck out of there. I wanted to go home. I was naturally going stir-crazy, as you can imagine would happen after being cooped up for over two weeks, and I was even getting anxious wondering when they were gonna release me. I was tentatively scheduled to be discharged Tuesday the 25th, but on morning on the day before, I’d just about lost my mind wondering if that date was still set. The weekends went slow there, and no doctors or social workers were there, so I was left hanging and wondering. Anyway, as I was freaking out, another patient pulled me aside and told me that in his struggle with drugs, whenever he told himself “just don’t do drugs” every day, he’d inevitably wind up doing them. But “when I told myself I was gonna get up, go for a run, make breakfast, and so on, guess what I did?” I stared at him for a second. “I’m gonna go home tomorrow,” I told him, and he smiled and nodded. The moral of the story, I guess, is either that you attract what you think about, or that it’s easy to spot what you’re always thinking about. And it turns out I did go home the next day!

As I was getting ready to be discharged, I started to reflect back. I’d filled an entire marble notebook with thoughts and feelings, but there was still a lot I wanted to think about. Still a lot I had to think about. I said to the counselors and my social worker that even though I’d done so much work and self-reflection, I knew I still had a lot more work to do once I left. And oh boy is there still a lot of work to do haha. Self-discovery is a never-ending process. I think I used to let that overwhelm me, but honestly? It isn’t such a scary thing. Life is a never-ending process. Self-discovery is just a way of life.

And finally, because I actually do feel hopeful that I’ll succeed in my quest to be the best version of me: remember to have hope.

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drink-n-watch · 5 years

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I say this every week and every week I fail, still I’m going to try to keep this post to a reasonable size. At least on my part. I have been rambling on way too much! That doesn’t mean we’re going to skip over the important stuff, like for instance: Matt how are you?

I’m fine (aside from some random back pain)! How are you doing Irina?

I have a huge cold, I guess I’m doing Canadian?

I’m not sure if this is a freaky coincidence or if I’m a low-key psychic but this week’s Psycho Pass was an illustration of what I was talking about in my post last Thursday. Essentially, the production values took a visible step down. To be fair, Psycho Pass is a stunning looking show and it’s unsurprising that it couldn’t keep that level up for an entire season.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed art consistency go way down and CG integration get a lot less smooth in this episode. Fortunately, with Psycho Pass being so detailed to begin with, even pared down versions of the art still look pretty good. Nevertheless it has definitely looked better:

Of course I pay way more attention to technical details than most people. In all likelihood most viewers didn’t really notice! Did you?

I was very distracted by how off-model practically every character looked in any medium or long shots–I think having to produce a 45 minute episode in such a time schedule is proving too much for the production staff. But you are correct, even at its most inconsistent it’s still a strikingly good-looking show.

As division 1 continues to slowly hunt down the Foxes, we finally get a bit of background regarding the mysterious organization. It seems that there’s a whole group of Makishima’s out there and they are organizing against the system. An underground criminal outfit full of people with magical every clear hues.

It strikes me that this may have been an inevitable outcome. In a Sybil controlled society, evolution was bound to quickly create a bunch of mutants capable of controlling or at least maintaining their hues. The brain is really fantastically adaptable. I mean just the advent of smartphones has already physically changed the neural net mapping in younger generations. With something like Sybil, that has a high impact on every aspect of a person’s life, the change is going to get accelerated for sure.

It’s actually a brilliant bit of world building in my opinion but it could very well be entirely in my head. What’s your take on it Matt? Also I realize that my interest may be a bit niche, so don’t hesitate to jump in and talk about whatever you like.

What was that about trying to keep this post to a reasonable size and not ramble too much…? If we’re talking about things I like, I really enjoyed the absurdity of Karina delivering a political speech about religion and then without missing a beat transitioning into her idol outfit and performing a song.

We already have story threads regarding white collar fiscal manipulation with nationwide impact, neuroscience in the unique universe of Psycho Pass, shadowy mastermind puppeteers, a criminal organisation of uniquely advantaged people, Kei and Arata’s very peculiar background and personal arcs, racial tension and high level political intrigue.

And now, we get a religious angle. Do you think that the narrative is going in too many directions and is risking to lose focus or do you figure the more the merrier and it should add a few?

This show wants to do and say a lot and while I think everything it’s wanting to do and say is important it’s very much at the point where if it tries to do much more it’s going to collapse under the weight of itself.

It seems the rise in terrorist activity happening in the city right now is linked to a church of some sort. Or at the very least, a lot of its members are involved. The latest bomber having joined in hopes it would help him get in a better place spiritually and clear his hue. Of course, the are also leaving calling cards all over the place so they must have something to do with it as well.

Although were a lot of things happening in Psycho Pass already, I’m actually rather interested by the religious aspect. There’s something fascinating and terrifying about a “Sibyl sanctioned religion”. And religion does odd things to people and their psyche in the best of times, I can’t wait to see what it can do under these circumstances.

After all, we are what we believe!

It seemed a bit weird to me that the show never really mentioned religion before and now suddenly it’s all anyone’s talking about. I realise it’s because it’s currently integral to the plot but I think it would have been better world-building had someone mentioned ‘Heaven’s Leap’ in any of the previous episodes–even in passing–especially since it’s apparently a big deal.

We got to meet 3 very different spiritual leaders from 3 very different religions. I am not a religious person in real life. I grew up in a place and time where it was more or less outlawed and it has just never really been a big part of my life. But I’m not someone who dislikes religion either. In fact I find it very interesting. I just don’t have much experience with it.

This is why, to me, despite the outward differences, all 3 of these guys sort of seemed the same.

That sounds like a bit of social commentary on religion in general, Irina! If we’re looking for a parallels with real world religion I suppose ‘Heaven’s Leap’ is supposed to be some sort of Jehovah’s Witness / Scientology hybrid and the CRP is some vague version of Catholicism. And then there’s just straight up Buddhism.

*It wasn’t..I literally meant they seemed to be built around the same character archetype not that their religions are the same. Don’t know if all religious figures in real life are that similar.

Because of all the different themes season 3 of Psycho Pass has been exploring, I wasn’t sure what the main focus would be. 5 hours in, I think it’s going to explore the effects of culture clash in an authoritarian society with thought crime. That’s a pretty ambitious goal. Even if it doesn’t manage to quite pull it off, I’ll be impressed by the effort! I know you think that speculating on where a story is going is not good but I would love to have your thoughts on it, Matt.

It’s not that I think it’s not good, my writer brain can’t help but speculate, it’s just I’m happy for a story to play out however the writer of the piece wants it to play out–I’m a bit of a bad critic in that respect. Whether this show is wanting to have a grand specific theme like you mention or just paint a broader canvas of the complexities of living in such a regimented world I’m not sure but it’s still interesting nonetheless.

This is probably nothing…But Arata’s house really looked like the division 1 mandated psychiatrist’s house in the first season. I’m almost 100% certain it’s not the same because it’s in the middle of the city, while the other one was in the countryside, but the architecture is similar. I wonder if it’s significant in any way.

Probably not.

I thought the design looked familiar, I don’t know if this is the kind of show that’d just forget its own world-building like that and this not be important but then again who knows!

So Matt, what were your thoughts on episode 5?

Honestly probably my least favourite episode so far. Sure the allure of something new with the religion aspect is interesting but the overall episode itself felt like a bit of a downgrade and not just with the off-model character art. Some scenes felt too fast paced while others felt drawn-out and Arata not being able to use his ‘mental trace’ felt like artificially handicapping the story for the sake of not using its own “cheats” to find the culprit. It’s by no means bad, nor even mediocre, it’s pretty great and had a lot of excellent character moments and interesting expansions to the overall world. I’m just worried the writer of this series may have bitten more off than he can chew. What about you Irina, I’m guessing you enjoyed it more than last week?

I liked it way more especially in the second half. And I’m ok with Arata not using his trace since it was set up properly how dangerous it is for him and how weak he is right now, fresh out of the hospital and all. Not to mention that using extreme empathy on someone who could very well be mind controlled sounds like a quick way to get himself mind controlled. These guys are detectives, they should know better.

I enjoyed it. I like when the story slips into speculative fiction and I found the pacing much better than in the last arc so to me it was a plus rather than a drawback. I have a feeling we are enjoying very different aspects of the season.

Psycho Pass s3 ep5 – Leap of Faith I say this every week and every week I fail, still I’m going to try to keep this post to a reasonable size.

#action #anime #Collab #crime #drama #Psycho Pass #sci fi

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void-tiger · 5 years

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Alola, Voltron! (Pt 1/???)

(Note: random thoughts for a Pokemon Sun&Moon-meets-VeeLaDee crossover AU. I’m only borrowing loosely from the games’/series actual mechanics, as well as plot elements and characters from VeeLaDee I either don’t hate on principle or I feel like I can explore/tweak to my own favor.)

So, the basic idea is that Takashi’s a war vet from the Kanto region. He’s been honorably discharged after returning from being MIA and reappearing with a missing arm, scars, spotty memory, and PTSD, despite fighting tooth-and-nail to stay. Adam Weisz takes the side of their superiors. Taka and Adam have a severe breakup and falling out as a result.

Iverson has a bit of a change of heart, however, when he notices just how poorly Takashi is adjusting to civilian life, and suggests he relocates to the Alolan Region where Shiro’s old mentor/one of his first commanding officers Sam Holt is currently conducting research while raising his family with his wife, Coleen. Takashi agrees—but mostly because he’s already reached out to Sam, and Sam’s thus far the only one who seems to believe in him and believes his account about what happened. (Also. A tropical archipelago isn’t the worst place to spend a forced exile, and did you know you can actually fly on a charizard as many times as you want? For free???)

The Holts quickly adopt their new neighbor as they help Takashi and his childhood Persian-turned-service pokemon settle into his new home. (Especially after Matt and Pidge witness Takashi’s disasterous attempts in the kitchen, and Coleen realizes that Takashi apparently eating well.) The islands’ population is warm and friendly, but his Persian on more than one occation had to Roar unwelcome attention away (and occationally picked their pockets with PayDay or Telekinesis when feeling particularly spiteful. (Yes I know technically meowths and persians can’t learn telekinesis. But they have facial gems for channeling psychic energy, so I’m ignoring that.)

However, not having anything to strive for still does nothing to help Shiro’s restlessness and PTSD, despite the Holts’ support and access to a team of psychiatrists that once helped Sam. Pidge’s tenth birthday comes and goes, and she chooses a Rowlet as her Starter, naming it “Rover”. Sam suggests that Takashi join her on her pokemon journey and keep her out of trouble. Pidge is initially furious at this change of plans—MATT had promised to go with her!—but relents when Matt explained that he’s simply too busy with his and Sam’s research, although he’ll do his best to visit when he’s out in the field. Takashi’s therapist agrees to the plan, so long as Takashi meets via videocall at least once a week.

Takashi then is allowed to choose a starter of his own once their island’s kahuna learns that Takashi never had the chance to have his own pokemon journey as a kid. His anxiety keeps him awake all night as he worries about essentially being Pidge’s chaperone, being twice the age of most other first-time trainers, and choosing “the right pokemon” and if it’ll get along with his Persian as he pours over island maps and evolution charts. In the morning Takashi’s Persian drops a litten in front of him with a huff and a pointed look (“OBVIOUSLY the cat pokemon. DUH.”) Takashi laughs at his own anxiety and friend’s solution to the dilemma as he rubs both pokemon between the ears and names his starter “Champion”.

The Holts, however, have one final surprise before Pidge and Takashi begin their Journey: a new, lighter, and much more durable prosthetic. Takashi hastily thanks them for all their kindness as Pidge impatiently paces and finally whines if they can GO now?

Preparations and wellwishes complete, the two set off.

(Aaaaand now for the obligatory corny “What new friends will our heroes meet? What new challenges will they face in this great big world of Pokemon? And what danger lurks just beyond the shadows?”)

**note: nope, haven’t thought of a name for Takashi’s Kanto Persian yet. Unfortunately. Also, the Lions will feature —(as will the other Paladins, Allura, Coran, and Jiro (and others)...buuuut this tangent has gone on long enough lol)—so, nothing Lion-related for Persian if anyone has any suggestions there.

#takashi shirogane #holt family #pidge holt #sam holt #pokemon au #headcanon

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grandthorkiday · 5 years

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Mob AU! “Playthings” Part 16

[Link to mob!au anon’s “Playthings" fic tag]

[Start at Part 1]*

(*Note: Link is editable for other parts, just change the number. For mobile users, tag is “playthings part1”)

Maybe she was up because she expected the call. Maybe she had envisioned this call for the last six to seven months. Maybe while thinking of something else she could have said to make him feel better that afternoon, she had already heard this phone call in her mind.

“Valkyrie! Thank Christ you’re awake! It’s Loki! He’s been sent to the hospital!”

“Why?” Her voice was steady, but there was a note of panic as she rose from her bed.

“He…tried to kill himself. I have a bunch of pain meds on the grounds and usually they’re locked away but Loki knew where we keep the keys! It’s never been a problem before! And usually we have an alarm if anyone opens it but it was disabled for some reason! He’s never indicated-”

“Where is he?”

“Mercy. We caught him fairly early so it’s pretty certain he’ll make it. Odin’s security guard went with him.”

That made a warning light go off. “I thought Odin wanted nothing to do with him anymore?”

“Either he lied or Hela hired the guy, because he’s been hanging around since this afternoon. Val, how soon can you get her in the morning?”

She glanced at the clock as it flashed one fifteen. “If traffic is kind, five.”

“He’s going to need you.”

[read more cut]

Traffic was not kind and she arrived at the hospital at about six. Bruce and Tony were waiting for her in the lobby as she entered.

“Took you long enough!”

“Hey, I’m here! Why aren’t you guys upstairs? Where’s Strange?”

“We haven’t been allowed in the room, as of yet. And Strange is talking to the doctors.”

“Is he awake?”

“Apparently, he woke up around four thirty and then went back to sleep. That was last thing anyone told us.”

“Well, let’s go and try to get some answers.”

There were a few reporters milling around when arrived on Loki’s floor. Barely any of them took interest in the three as the moved to the nurse’s station, where Strange was drumming his fingers waiting for a nurse to get off the phone. He looked as though he hadn’t slept at all that night; his eyes were bloodshot and large dark circles hung under them.

“They won’t tell me anything,” Strange growled. “Didn’t let me in the room when he was awake. He was up for about forty minutes, and they didn’t even come get me from the administration office!”

“He’s still technically in your custody though, right?” Tony said. “I mean, you can go over their heads. We can go over their heads.”

“Actually, we’re in a gray area there. Once Loki was admitted here, he ceased being my patient. Well, he’s still my patient, but I’m not his primary doctor. Dr. Paige is.”

“Well, where’s this Paige?” Bruce asked testily.

Strange waved a hand to the nurse, “I’ve been looking for him. After he saw Loki and made his rounds be went M.I.A.”

“You think he’s the one who called the vultures?” She jerked her head towards the gaggle of press, a few checking their phones expectantly.

“Most definitely.”

The nurse finally hung up the phone and turned back to Strange, a professional smile her face. “Dr. Paige is going to be arriving soon. He says then he will see if Mr. Valhalla wants visitors.”

“I’m his psychiatrist! And this is the god damn cops and ADA!”

She smiled brightly. “I have to make my rounds, Sir.”

Strange turned back to them once she left. “I’ve been dealing with this for an hour!”

“I have a feeling it’s only get worse.”

“A lot worse! Look!” Bruce pushed them all to look down the hallway. The press too had noticed and were moving down to meet the small group moving towards them.

Leading the group was a doctor, obviously Dr. Paige who had primped and preened to be ready for the reporters. Beside him was Gast’s lawyer, already catching sight of the detectives and Tony. He smiled smugly and waved the familiar blue court order paper as way of greeting. Behind the two of them, walked Gast himself, wearing a pair of sunglasses and leaning on Thor’s arm as though he was about to collapse. A fine bit of theater for the cameras that flashed before the nurses began to reprimand the photographers.

“Ah, Dr. Strange!” Paige stuck out his hand as he walked up them. Next to the haggard psychiatrist, he looked like an angel offering his hand to a goblin. “I’m glad you can make time to see me to discuss my patient.”

“MY patient.” Strange corrected. “My patient.”

“I think you will find come,” the other doctor glanced at his watch, “twenty minutes ago, he’s mine.”

“He has to consent to it.”

“Who do you think got the ball rolling?”

“I think you’ll need this,” Gast’s lawyer spoke up, handing Tony the order with a greasy smile.

Tony opened and read it like he was sucking on a lemon. “The charges are being dropped.”

“WHAT?!” The hall erupted into more flashes of cameras and questions from the reporters. The nurses began to push them outside, threatening to call security as they yelled to be heard.

“Loki recanted this morning when he woke up. He wants to go home.” The lawyer said, smiling. Val swore she saw his client’s mouth twitch into a smile for just a moment.

“Can we see him?” Thor asked. He was looking past the doctor to a rotation chart.

“N-” Strange and Bruce began.

“Of course,” Paige said jovially, guiding them down the hall and through the labyrinth of turns to Loki’s room. Tony glared at the other lawyer the entire way and Strange tried to speak to Paige who seemed to blissfully deflect all questions. Bruce watched in a silent fury as once out of sight of the press, Gast whipped off the sunglasses and quaffed his hair. He didn’t let of Thor’s arm, but he certainly wasn’t leaning on it anymore; he was guiding it. Val watched the blonde man. Out of everyone, he seemed the most anxious and worried, more in hurry to get to room than all rest. It was Gast who was keeping him steady, having him not break into a run.

They arrived to find the security guard coming out of the room, looking around. He saw them and nodded. “Just on time. He woke and is asking for yah!”

Paige smiled. “There, you see!”

“Not you, Doc,” the guard looked for at Gast and Thor. “He’s been asking for you, Boss.”

The word hit Val full in her face. She took two steps back, the world reeling before bouncing back, hands reaching, going for the Grandmaster’s throat. “You…SON OF A-”

“Hey now!” Gast placed himself between her and the other man, a sly triumphant smile on his face. “Don’t want to be disturbing the peace. This is a hospital!” He winked and she felt bile in her throat.

He turned away from her and took Thor’s hand in mock tenderness before entering the room. There was a scream.

Before anyone could stop her, Val raced into the room after them, knocking Paige into the door as she went. Her stomach dropped.

Loki was crying, holding out his arms to Gast like a child reaching for a beloved toy. “YOU CAME!! OH THANK GOD!! I MISSED YOU!! I’M SO SORRY!!! PLEASE, I’M SO SORRY!!!”

The Grandmaster basked in the attention, leisurely making his way to the bed. He reached out and took the younger man’s face into his hands. “Oh my Lo Lo. What have you done to yourself?” He said it almost admiringly.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again! I was alone. I didn’t-”

“I know you didn’t, sweetheart. I know you didn’t.” He petted the dark wavy hair. “We’re going to go home. I think a nice bath is in order. Than we’ll see about ordering up something for your tummy. Something light.”

Loki was nodding along, still hiccupping apologetically. Thor stood at the foot of the bed for a few moments before he was noticed. The younger brother reached out before turning to the Grandmaster, his eyes looking pleading up. He was asking for permission.

“Sparkles, come here! Look how much you’re distressing him!”

Thor nearly flew into Loki’s arms, gathering him up into a tight embrace. The younger broke down into fresh sobs, but said nothing. He reached and grasped his brother’s left shoulder who did the same. A few words were whispered, but nothing the detective could hear.

“Mrs. Brunnhilde I could have you removed from the hospital for assault!” Paige entered the room, straightening out his scrubs. “I am going to ask you to leave the room while I look over my patient.”

“Is that what Loki wants?” Val asked. She stared past Gast, past even Thor’s forearm to the young man’s face. She caught a look of watery green eyes. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Y-yes,” the response was quiet. “I want you to go.”

“You heard him,” the Grandmaster purred. “Out.”

~~~~

“He’s already brought at least one photographer!” Bruce tried to thrust his phone into Val’s face, a picture of Gast kissing Loki in the hospital room on the screen. She pushed it away.

“They have to file every form,” Tony repeated the phrase that had become his mantra over the last four hours. “We’re not off the case until every form is filed.” It reminded Val of war movies, where a soldier continued to fight even though they were heart beats away from death. But she sat beside him, just as ready to stick it out if he was.

They were sitting in a small out of the way hallway near a few vending machines. The press had been let in once Paige had ‘cleared’ Loki, only to be kicked out again once they had tried to mob Strange as he left with questions about the ‘failures’ in his facility. A few still roamed the halls, harassing nurses and doctors and asking them questions. If any saw Tony, Bruce, and Val, they ignored them. A small kindness.

“Hey.”

None of them had heard him approach or stop in front of them. They nearly gave themselves whiplash as they looked up. Thor stood over them, staring down at their knees. His eyes hollow and there was a slump to his shoulders that made him appear smaller than he was.

“Hey,” he repeated awkwardly.

No one spoke.

“You wouldn’t happen to have change, would you? For the vending machine?”

They stared at him in confusion.

He sneered, a gesture that had been picked up from Gast. “Seriously? Come one. All I got is a fifty.” He pulled out the bill to show them.

Bruce nearly gasped but Val kicked his leg. Tony was adjusting his glasses, shifting in his seat. She just looked at the bill, speechless.

“Never seen a fifty before?” He waved the bill so it fluttered in front of them.

“Cop salary,” she finally quipped, her voice hoarse.

“I think I have change,” Tony pulled out his wallet and handed two twenties and a ten to the young man. “You’re lucky my kid’s traveling right now. Always getting asked to buy something.”

“I bet,” Thor said in disinterest. They watched him walk over to the vending machines and bought three drinks before walking away without even a glance back towards them.

“Please tell me that actually happened,” Bruce whispered. “That I didn’t just have a fucking stroke or something.”

“No, that happened!” Val tried to keep her voice down. She turned to Tony. “What do we do?”

“We wait here. They have to file every form. We’re not off the case until every form is filed.” There was none of the determination from before as he said the words, but his eyes spoke volumes. They stayed. To make it look as realistic as possible, they stayed.

He passed the fifty dollar bill to her as he sat back, making it seem like he simply didn’t want to touch or be near it. She held it and looked at it until she had memorized everything before placing in her own wallet.

Written in permanent marker on the bill was: 'Korg’s Gym. After 6pm, Mons, Weds, Sats. Upstairs. Ask for Hammer’s room. No uniforms.’

#thor #loki #grandmaster #valkyrie #GrandthorkiB #sfw #cw dubcon #cw noncon implied #cw suicidal ideation #cw mental illness #cw drugs #cw rl drugs #playthings #submission #playthings part16

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textsfromtheborderline · 6 years

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I recently received two very important and interrelated questions:

Anon 1:

My psychologist don’t believe my mental illness, I feel like I couldn’t take it anymore, I want to choke myself until I passed out.

Anon 2:

Hello, I’ve been seeing a psychologist for a few months now. I’ve had problems with emotion dysregulation and abandonment issues for almost my entire life, but recently I’ve started reading about BPD and looking at the symptoms, I can say that I’ve never related to anything else more in my life. I’m not 18 yet, but is it still worth bringing it up to my psychologist? Ugh, sometimes I feel like I’m just faking it for attention.

I get questions like this frequently and have addressed them many times on this blog. However, considering the fact that this is clearly a persistent and pressing issue for many people, I’ve decided to do the following:

I’ll give a deep-dive answer to both these questions that is hopefully informative and helpful.

I’m working on a new resource that offers guidance and solutions to the frequent, common problems of BPD.

Before you read on any further, I want to emphasize that dying is absolutely out of the question. Not an option. No dying allowed on my blog. Life is short. You don’t have forever. So please don’t cut your precious time off prematurely.

But this only points to the fact that this incredibly overwhelming impulse is an (over)reaction to the desperate, stressful, and toxic situation that is reinforced by psychologists, psychiatrists, and therapists. There’s a problem where there should be a solution, blame and shame where there should be help and support.

The misbeliefs that Borderlines have about themselves are prevalent and persistent, both out of the sheer ignorance as well as the viciously cruel design of the psychiatric community. It’s time to start changing the way we think about mental health and mental help.

In the plainest possible terms, it’s really hard to find a good mental health worker. The only way to actually do it is through trial and error. Misdiagnosis. Informing yourself and building your own networks when you get referrals from doctors. Going out of town because no one in your area is accepting new patients, then having to pay all the gas and parking bills yourself.

This is all assuming that you can afford a decent mental health worker, of course.

People caught up in the healthcare system, especially in North America, quickly find out how uncaring and ineffective it really is. Why? Because the way it is set up is to run exclusively for profit.

Healthy people are not profitable.

For example, this is reflected in the mentality that pills are given to patients as the very first option for “care.” Psychiatrists in particular receive kickbacks from leading pharmaceutical companies depending on the kinds of pills they prescribe. But pills are not a viable long term solution, in my opinion, because they do not teach life skills and healthy recovery.

So, it is no surprise that a mental health worker who is concerned about profit over long term care will push pills as the first (and often primary) option.

Another example is that there are tiers of help, according to how much you can pay a certain type of mental health worker.

Psychiatrists are trained medical doctors, which means that they can prescribe medications, and often exclusively develop a medication management plan as the only course of treatment. Typically, you can expect to pay up to $500 for an initial consultation, and at least $100 per hour for ongoing services.

Psychologists focus extensively on psychotherapy (i.e. talking through experiences) and treating emotional and mental suffering in patients with behavioral intervention. Psychologists can also be exclusively academic researchers. They are qualified and trained to critically assess a person’s mental state in order to determine the most effective treatment plan, which often includes total lifestyle changes.

Both of these are psychotherapists, in that they use a form of therapy (medication, behavioural intervention) to treat your mental health (the psyche). Hence the term psychotherapy. Given these definitions, personality disordered people should lean toward seeing psychologists.

In North America, some psychologists can charge as much as $200 or more per session, but most will charge around $75-$150 a session. Many also work with a sliding scale fee schedule, which means their fee will depend on your income level (a crucial point for young people and young professionals).

University/college mental health workers (including counselors) are always understaffed and over worked. They are paid from a portion of tuition, so technically their services are free. But their “walk in services” are often the first line of defense, but their sessions are limited to 15-30 mins. There is very little accountability both for the worker and the patient; you’re seen as just another number in a very long, long line. When it’s determined that you’re “well enough”, you will be kicked out to make room for the rest of the people who are waiting. This is the lowest tier of care and it also happens to be the one that is accessed the most often.

Whoever the mental health worker is, then, they are working within a profit driven system. On the one hand, they need problems in order to generate profit. On the other hand, this promotes the idea that mentally ill people (particularly the most “difficult” personality disordered people) should be reduced to nothing more than a problem.

As if it isn’t incredibly dehumanizing and disgusting to reduce us to nothing more than a problem to be solved, at a significant cost.

Then on top of that, we have limited means to complain if we are abused by the system and all the people in it; we cannot hold mental health workers accountable for misdiagnosis, unproven treatments and pills, sudden appointment cancellations, and lack of follow up because we are dismissed as just being “too difficult” and “too crazy” to be listened to.

I was doing some consulting work for the largest mental health organization in my region. They were under pressure to have their services evaluated. They were by no means underfunded or understaffed; they had hundreds of psychologists and psychiatrists. The facility was modern, clean, environmentally friendly. They treated even the most “severe” patients, including Borderlines and Narcissists.

Yet they had no complaint process or means for mentally ill people to provide feedback. Why? I was told it was because the feedback that these people could potentially provide could never be trusted, due to the fact that it’s coming from an unstable mind.

I suggested that resources need to be created with mentally ill people in mind, and that they should be written in language that each person, given their mental illness, can easily understand and implement. I was told the pros had never even considered this idea before.

I was told that people with BPD and NPD in particular were just “too difficult.” They were drug addicts. They were irresponsible. They were violent. They were prone to suicide. One client had killed themselves recently, and when the outraged family demanded accountability, they had no course of action because there was no framework put in place by the organization. The mental health worker responsible for care was not held accountable because they had washed their hands of that client. They were already “too difficult” and suicidal, so their death came as no surprise.

Mentally ill people are not taking responsibility, I was told, because they are lazy and unwilling to work for recovery. Why? They supposedly like their mental illness. And these mental health workers apparently work oh so hard, but it is useless because their clients cannot be cured. The topic of E-health was touched on as a means to counter the fact that a lot of mentally ill people are too intimidated or too ill to actually come in for a session. But this organization did not want to implement even monitored Skype calls because “bringing the care to the people who need it most” was too complicated and they didn’t have any accountability measures in place. E-health is an emerging field, and as such, I was told that it is too risky to try this suggested approach.

Sitting there and listening to all this made me sick to my stomach.

I recall a tumblr post along these lines:

“if you want us to see a doctor so bad does that mean you’ll pay for our doctors appointment, pay for all our sessions, get rid of our fear of doctors, shorten the absurd amount of time we have to wait to get appointments, take away the intense stigma professionals have against people with certain mental disorders, transport us to our sessions, remove us from abusive environments that prevent us from booking appointments, make sure that professional diagnosis is always 100% right every time, and remove all the abusive psychiatrists in the system??? (x)

Essentially, the underlying message that is given to mentally ill people on behalf of the health care system and its workers is that no one gives a fuck about us.

Yet somehow, we are still expected to invest tremendous amounts of money, time, and energy to get better- because despite reaching out for help from professionals who we expect will competently do their job with our well being in mind, the entire burden of being mentally well still falls entirely on us.

And we’re supposed to be the crazy ones?

The Validity of Self-Diagnosis:

Taking all this into consideration, I think that self-diagnosis is valid.

As personality disordered people, when we are faced with incompetent mental health workers whose professionalism is questionable at best and life threatening at worst; when there is such prevalent stigma against personality disordered people out there; when we cannot afford care; when the quality of that care is poor; and when we’re so scared and confused that we turn to finding information on our own and then find it accurately applies to our life-

Why wouldn’t we frame our own thoughts, feelings, and lived experiences (for free!) within a diagnostic framework that matches our internal processes?

It’s true that not everyone has a psychology degree. It’s true that the DSM is a flawed diagnostic manual (something I extensively critique in my own work Between The Lines: Comparing BPD + NPD and suggest five keys ways it can be improved). It’s true that there’s a chance for misdiagnosis.

But that chance is still 50/50, because despite the “professionalism” of mental health workers, they are also just as likely to misdiagnose personality disordered people (most notably, with anxiety/depression/bipolar) than they are to accurately “prove” that we are accurately mentally ill.

It’s really no wonder that people like Anon 2 feel that they are “just faking” their mental illness for “for attention.”

Dear Anon 2, you’re not “just faking it for attention.” Your thoughts and feelings about your own mental health are real and valid. If you relate so strongly with the symptoms of BPD, then that demonstrates your admirable level of self-awareness and willingness to recover! I talk about situations just like yours here and here.

Please don’t let people invalidate you out of their own sheer ignorance, arrogance, cruelty, and lack of compassion.

The “expertise” of Professional Diagnosis:

People like Anon 1 have been so deeply invalidated and dismissed by their mental health worker that they feel suicidal.

Please take a moment to let that sink in.

All mental health care workers follow the “medical model.” That is to say, you are either “sane” or “insane.” As a result, diagnostic criteria are developed with the assumption that there is only one “normal,” “right” and “healthy” way to live. Everything else is just pathologized and labelled as a disorder (especially in North American society, which has a disturbing propensity for black and white thinking as well as pathologizing emotions)

In contrast, Neurodiversity itself “ is the infinite variation of neurocognitive functioning within our specifies and it is a biological fact.”

Building off of this, the neurodiversity paradigm suggests that the diversity in our ways of thinking and feeling makes us stronger as a species, as communities, and as people. The neurodiversity paradigm is a specific perspective on neurodiversity – a perspective or approach that boils down to these fundamental principles:

1) Neurodiversity is a natural and valuable form of human diversity.

2) The idea that there is one “normal” or “healthy” type of brain or mind, or one “right” style of neurocognitive functioning, is a culturally constructed fiction, no more valid (and no more conducive to a healthy society or to the overall well-being of humanity) than the idea that there is one “normal” or “right” ethnicity, gender, or culture.

3) The social dynamics that manifest in regard to neurodiversity are similar to the social dynamics that manifest in regard to other forms of human diversity (e.g., diversity of ethnicity, gender, or culture). These dynamics include the dynamics of social power inequalities, and also the dynamics by which diversity, when embraced, acts as a source of creative potential.

This is where the terms neurodivergent and neurotypical come from:

Neurodivergent, sometimes abbreviated as ND, means having a brain that functions in ways that diverge significantly from the dominant societal standards of “normal.”

Neurodivergent is quite a broad term. Neurodivergence (the state of being neurodivergent) can be largely or entirely genetic and innate, or it can be largely or entirely produced by brain-altering experience, or some combination of the two (autism and dyslexia are examples of innate forms of neurodivergence, while alterations in brain functioning caused by such things as trauma, long-term meditation practice, or heavy usage of psychedelic drugs are examples of forms of neurodivergence produced through experience).

A person whose neurocognitive functioning diverges from dominant societal norms in multiple ways – for instance, a person who is Autistic, dyslexic, and epileptic – can be described as multiply neurodivergent.

Some forms of innate or largely innate neurodivergence, like autism, are intrinsic and pervasive factors in an individual’s psyche, personality, and fundamental way of relating to the world. The neurodiversity paradigm rejects the pathologizing of such forms of neurodivergence, and the Neurodiversity Movement opposes attempts to get rid of them.

Other forms of neurodivergence, like epilepsy or the effects of traumatic brain injuries, could be removed from an individual without erasing fundamental aspects of the individual’s selfhood, and in many cases the individual would be happy to be rid of such forms of neurodivergence. The neurodiversity paradigm does not reject the pathologizing of these forms of neurodivergence, and the Neurodiversity Movement does not object to consensual attempts to cure them (but still most definitely objects to discrimination against people who have them).

Thus, neurodivergence is not intrinsically positive or negative, desirable or undesirable – it all depends on what sort of neurodivergence one is talking about.

Neurotypical, often abbreviated as NT, means having a style of neurocognitive functioning that falls within the dominant societal standards of “normal.”Neurotypical can be used as either an adjective (“He’s neurotypical”) or a noun (“He’s a neurotypical”).

Neurotypical is the opposite of neurodivergent. Neurotypicality is the condition from which neurodivergent people diverge. Neurotypical bears the same sort of relationship to neurodivergent that straight bears to queer.

Hence, neurodivergence is a very real and very valid approach to mental health, especially when it comes to personality disordered people. It is supported and used by some credited therapists as well, such as the website Eggshell Therapy.

Despite this reality, mental health workers generally remain unwilling to acknowledge it. This is highly unprofessional. A competent, knowledgeable mental health care worker should be willing to consider all possible perspectives when it comes to the way a human mind works. But as we’ve established, most mental health care workers are far from professional.

They rigidly cling to the medical model because it justifies the existence of their particular field of study and somehow automatically qualifies them to (mis)diagnose people, all while being paid very well for it. Dismissing self-diagnosis and neurodiversity invalidates mentally ill people; increases the risk of misdiagnosis; blocks the development of a meaningful and practical treatment plan; and obviously makes for a very strained working relationship.

Talking To Mental Health Workers About Your BPD:

Before you start you first assessment or initial session with a mental health worker (and even if you make it past the very first one), it’s a good idea to ask them what they think their job really is. Literally. Ask them for a job description, in their own words, about their work and how they view their client relationship.

Chances are, they’ll spew something along the lines of:

“My job is to help you. But you have to put in the work yourself.”

We’re already off to a bad start here: being condescendingly reminded that you have to actually make the right choices for yourself and learn how to live in a healthy way is a moot point. If you are coming in to see a psychotherapist, it is very probable that you have already put in most of the work (including self-diagnosis or at the very least, prepared points and questions) but that you are expecting a professional to competently and compassionately help you have the capacity to implement positive changes for your mental health.

My naïve understanding of the work that mental health workers do is that, precisely because of their “expertise”, they would be able to make up for the skills and knowledge that I could not do on my own. Instead, the concept of “self-help” keeps getting shoved down the throats of people who are tremendously vulnerable due to their mental illness. If you wanted to rely solely on self-help, it is fair to presume that you would not be seeking professional help.

Of course, “help” in their eyes is usually supplying pills (especially if the mental health worker is a psychiatrist). Even if your body reacts badly to it. The rest is, of course, up to you. Just help yourself!

On top of all this, mental health workers are operating under the assumption that they will “cure” you of your mental illness, even though they should know that this is impossible. In other words, they aren’t there to help you learn to live with your mental illness in a healthy way (because that’s not profitable). They’re here to tell you what you should do about how “wrong” you are according to the medical model, while you pay them to help yourself.

And if you really want to reaffirm that point, ask them next what they think of the concept of neurodivergence and how it applies to you (you can even use Eggshell Therapy as a reference point). Their answer will likely be dismissive and re-emphasize that if you do not follow their specific treatment plan, then your condition will just worsen-maybe to the point that they cannot even “help” you anymore.

Having said all this, I don’t want to paint all mental health workers with the same bush. There are brilliant young professionals and aspiring mental health workers out there now who are working their asses off to make mental health better and more accessible for all. But I’m still talking about how the health care system is right here and right now. Good mental health can’t wait.

It’s also important to keep in mind that personality disordered people can cross the line as well: resenting authority and stubbornly refusing to implement a mutually agreed upon treatment plan; acting out and raging; manipulating mental health workers; failing to show up for appointments all together; lying and smearing; threatening; being “offended” by deep, probing discussions about their own mental health; and dropping out of care without a valid reason after only one or two sessions.

There are evidently massive issues coming from both sides. The key takeaway is that bringing up mental health to your psychotherapist cannot possibly thrive in a climate of intimidation, confusion, and invalidation.

When you discuss your mental illness, it is important to draw from facts, your own lived experiences, seek clarification about the DSM criteria, and have plenty of examples how your daily behaviour fits into this framework. What prompted you to relate to this criteria so strongly, and why is it worth considering?

It’s always important to be as polite and respectful as possible. That goes both ways. And although it feels like you’re going through the wringer, if one mental health worker doesn’t work out, you are not chained to that situation. You are free to leave and seek out the services of someone else who is, in your opinion, more qualified to help you. This does take a lot of time and effort, with plenty of mistakes thrown in during the meantime.

But you are not alone.

Start building support networks: family, friends, teachers, social workers, colleagues…anyone who is willing and able to help you. Good mental health is not something that you should feel like you have to achieve on your own. You should be supported and cared for.

Hopefully, mental health care will improve drastically within our lifetime. I want us to keep in mind that we are striving for our own recovery in a kind way. That we can set good examples of how important it is to make sure no one gets left behind.

Above all, despite these systemic obstacles, we do need to talk about our mental health because that’s the only way anyone will ever listen to us.

#q + a #anon #cluster b #bpd #borderline personality disorder #actuallybpd #actuallyborderline #mental health #mental illness #psychology #recovery #resource #textsfromtheborderline

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canaryatlaw · 5 years

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alright, well today was interesting. I woke up in kind of a funk, but right before waking up I’d had what seemed like a lengthy and detailed dream about my high school best friend. I have recurring dreams about her, basically the only recurring dreams I have (I used to get ones where I was driving a car and trying to brake but the brakes wouldn’t work, but they stopped years ago) but they’d been markedly less in the past few years, so it was fairly rare at this point to happen. And it just made me sad, because the dream always involves us making up in some way, and I woke up feeling an aching for something i know isn’t going to ever happen. It’s frustrating to have moved on in every possible aspect of my life (it was 8 years ago ffs) but my subconscious still seems focused on it, and idk what to do about it. So that kinda sucked. But I woke up to my alarm at 11, got ready and got an uber to go to the allergist by 11:30 to make it there for my 12:30 appointment since the drive is a bit of a hike. Made pretty good time and got there with a few minutes to spare, the last time I’d gotten caught in traffic and ended up being late, which of course bothers me to no end. They got me in with the doctor pretty quickly and we talked about what’s been going on since my last visit and that I’d basically surmised my legs get super itchy after shaving, and it didn’t go away when I switched from using shaving cream to a razor with the soap bars on the end. so we ended up doing a patch test to test for allergies to different types of metals, apparently razors can be made from a combination of different metals and alloys so it could take some time to figure out. The patch test thing is basically they taped three patches to my back which have to remain there for 48 hours, then I’ll come back and see what the results are. So we finished up there, the first thing I did upon exiting the building was call my chiropractor because I was supposed to have an appointment at 3 today but being that I had the patches on my back I didn’t think going to get my back cracked and then working in PT was a good idea, so I’m set to go back to the allergist on Thursday and after that go to the chiropractor. I did an uber pool home to try to save some money now that I didn’t have a pressing obligation I needed to get back to, and the ride was actually fairly short, so that was good. Once I got home I picked up some packages I had and dealt with them, then spent a while facetiming one of my twitter friends which was fun. At some point I got an email back from a potential job asking for an interview for Friday, so we set that up, and then they sent me a court opinion and asked me to read it before coming in, and if I had any questions to let them know before then. This is a job I actually applied for like two weeks ago and was hoping to hear back from, it’s actually in Evanston which is technically closer to me than downtown so that could work, and the work is helping write appeals for individuals who have had their disability benefits wrongfully terminated, so that’s definitely something I could get passionate about. So I read the opinion and didn’t really have any burning questions, but figured I should come up with a few that try to communicate I understood what was going on, so I’ll probably do that tomorrow. I stayed on my computer for a while until it was time for The Flash season finale. Overall I thought the episode was alright, not the most riveting of finales but it definitely had it’s good moments, I thought the plot with Wells/Thawne in the future was very well done (and even though I know their future is supposed to be very dystopian, I can’t help but be disturbed by the fact that all these years later the death penalty still exists) and they explained it a lot better because last week I didn’t have any clue what was going on with it, lol. The Nora stuff I was kinda meh on, just not really feeling it. but yeah, it was okay. After that I watched the new episode of Blackish, which I’ve never watched before, because Brandon was going to be in the episode, so I had to watch for him. It was actually really enjoyable, I liked it a lot and two of my tweets about the show got liked by the show’s writer’s twitter account so they’ve been blowing up with likes and retweets all night. Brandon was only in one scene but he played it perfectly and was excellent as always. After that I switched to 9-1-1 since I missed that last night, I knew since it was the season finale it was gonna be dramatic but oh man, this show really does get me in tears every damn week. The plot with the mail bombs had been laid so well earlier in the season to all come together very nicely in the final episode, and you better believe I was in tears watching the community members stepping up and helping lift the fallen fire truck off of Buck while everyone was watching on tv, because that shit always gets me and I’m legit tearing up just thinking about it. so yeah, I appreciate this show for the drama that it is and I’m looking forward to the next season. After that I switched over to netflix and watched a few episodes of Dead To Me, and I ended up getting up to the last episode before calling it a night. During most of this time I ended up frantically searching through my emails to try to find a confirmation email about our flight to New York next weekend, which just was not there and google flights had it shown as I had looked at the flights but never actually booked them but I KNOW I did (well, technically, Jess knew I did) so I ended up calling my dad and having him look up the credit card statement, and thankfully the charge was there in the right place, and I scrolled back in Jess and I’s messages to the day they were purchased and found a message indicated for some reason I had ended up booking them by phone for no reason I can recall at all, and apparently wrote nothing down, which was very weird, but I was just glad we found them, especially because these flights had gone up $300 since we purchased them. I’m probably going to call Spirit tomorrow and ask them to give me the details so I can at least see the reservation online and have info about it, so hopefully that will work. And yeah, once I finished the second to last episode I got in the shower, which proved to be a bit of an event since I wasn’t supposed to like, get water directly on my back where the patches are (it was okayed to shower but to try not to get them too wet) so I ended up trying to wash my hair with my head forward and my hair facing upwards towards the shower head, which was...interesting and I ended up finding a patch of hair after I had gotten out that was still very soapy, so I had to fix that lol but other than that it worked for the most part. And yeah, now I’m here. Got the psychiatrist tomorrow, not too early of an appointment but I’m dead tired because it took me forever to fall asleep last night so I’m gonna call it a night now. Goodnight my dears. Sweet dreams.

#daily journal #May 2019 #Rachel watches The Flash #Jess tag

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teacup-peony · 5 years

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okay, update time, lets do this.

TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide, abuse, trauma

TL;DR: My dad remarried an emotionally and verbally abusive woman who pushed me to a suicide attempt, I now have six-maybe-seven mental health diagnoses and I haven’t been on my meds since August, I was homeless for a few months, my dog died, I’m thirty now.

I don’t remember when I was on here last except that apparently I was on here when I was last living in my house like a year ago and I have no memory of that, so forgive me for repeats

- I moved out of my apartment and all my friendships finally crumbled, more or less. I have a couple people I still depend on but the friends I’ve had 20+ years all faded to “yeah, it’d be cool to see you when I’m in town next” so there’s that.

- I mean sometimes it’s like we’re all good friends again but they don’t reply to my messages and have all unfollowed me on Facebook, and one time I sat in the car and then in front of them crying and begging them to invite me to things again and they never invited me anywhere ever again, soooo I don’t know what to do with that

- I moved back in with my dad. It was supposed to be three months but it was hard finding a job I could do with my MULTITUDE of mental health problems (we’ll swing back around to that).

- He started dating and then married this woman named Cassandra. I have a bunch of stepsiblings technically but I don’t talk to them. Two of them are little kids who call my dad ‘dad’ and it’s fuckin’ weird, but okay.

- Cassie full on hates me. She also brainwashed my dad a good one month into the relationship (they got married after three). My dad was learning and growing and discovering who he was and now they’re together and he has whatever opinion she wants him to have. Also he was really highly intelligent and knew how to work a situation to his favor but now he’s following her version of dealing with situations, screaming and throwing a fit until you get what you want.

- Not even kidding, this is why CPS is investigating them, because she kept screaming at people and they got worried. And all dad does is post on social media about how they’re gonna destroy CPS and making not-so-vague threats even though literally everyone is telling him to stop

- In June of last year I was in a bad place. Dad had either married or was about to marry I can’t remember which, and my dog was acting out because there were a LOT of people around who thought they knew how to handle animal-aggressive dogs and did NOT, and to make a long story short I was packing a bag in case I needed to check myself into a hospital because I didn’t feel safe. My dad (who has apologized and explained this was PTSD related) called me manipulative and selfish to Cassie, Cassie waited until I was in earshot to say I was manipulative, selfish, and narcissistic (she has never apologized for this), and then she came to scream nonsense at me (literal nonsense; she claimed her son had to squeeze my dog the same way he squeezes his service dog or his bond with his service dog would be destroyed).

- That night I attempted suicide because I’d rather be dead than live with Cassie. I woke up over a day later, and the next day went to my psychiatrist, who sent me to a hospital. OH BOY.

- This was a behavioral hospital that was coed and mostly housed inmates with anger issues. It was terrifying. The worst part was when my psychiatrist decided to have an appointment in the hallway less than ten feet from where everyone in the ward was sitting.

- The other worst part was when they put me back on Prozac and upped my dose and immediately released me even though we’d come to the conclusion that Prozac is a big part of why I tried to kill myself in the first place.

- My dad sat in on one (1) appointment with my therapist and my psychiatrist to ask how to deal with me. My diagnoses were not discussed. This turned into an issue

- Blah blah blah, my childhood house was sold and we were moving, blah blah blah, Cassie was emotionally abusive to me in a massive scream fest for 20 minutes saying I was a liar and selfish and only cared about myself and I didn’t have any mental health problems and she knew this was true because her husband talks to her, blah blah blah, my dad told her everything in the psychiatrist appointment without actually coming to me about his concerns and confusions or asking if I was okay with it, blah blah blah, dad told me I just needed to let her scream at me and also took her side, blah blah blah, I was told I wasn’t allowed to have memory problems at her house (not THEIRS apparently, HERS) and it’s not something I can help so blah blah blah I became homeless.

- Luckily i had a friend who let me crash with her. The place was so infested with cockroaches that they swarmed on you when you slept and eating them was unavoidable, but hey, it wasn’t the street, which was where I would have gone the next day if she didn’t answer her phone.

- My dog died while I was crashing on my friends couch and it was one of the worst things ever because Penny was the only one who was there when I found my mom dead and the only other one with that memory and now she’s gone

- A friend I met on Tumblr and I were in contact and she moved into an apartment with another friend and invited me to join them so YAY I HAVE A PLACE TO LIVE it was in another state though so that was not great, but at least I’m away from the abusive stepmother and the not-so-great friends.

- I got the money from my moms lawsuit but it was basically nothing and I didn’t get my fair share and the move took a lot of it and now it’s basically gone and I still can’t work and I still have no medical coverage and I’m avoiding medical bills so that’s terrifying

- I also haven’t been medicated since August which is bad because those meds are what kept me from hurting myself after the 20 minutes of abuse instance

- My phone was “stolen” (left in a Lyft with a driver who replied to me once and then dodged all calls from both me and Lyft) back in March and Lyft keeps saying they’re getting it back and sending to me but where is it???

- My grief over my mom got real intense and then it was Mother’s Day and my PTSD just FLARED THE HELL UP so that’s fun

- Also I’m 30 now???

#PTSD #suicide #abuse #trauma #about me

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glassandmetalwings · 6 years

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So. Sunday. Pokémon Community Day. Specifically, Beldum day.

Under cut for length and also triggers. Trigger warnings for health junk, mentions of hospitals and mentions of death, self harm, and suicide (none of which have happened but are relevant). Plus vague mentions of Dad’s general bigotry.

I gave Dad a heads up for it. On Tuesday/Wednesday (I can’t remember which), and then again on Friday. And on Friday, he even asked questions about it, so it wasn’t in one ear and out the other.

Friday night, I found out Dad had been planning to go up to the cabin with Mom. He never mentioned this to me. Apparently Mom thought he planned to go up Monday, but he had decided they were going up Sunday instead. And Mom expressed concern, which he got mad at her over. Because he hasn’t been up to the cabin since like February and it needs to be winterized or something, but clearly he has to be involved.

For those who don’t know/have forgotten, Dad’s not in the best shape. Last December he went out to LA for a surgery because he had a partially paralyzed diaphragm that was severely impacting his breathing, had rotator cuff surgery in late June, basically a heart attack in mid/late July (at which point we discovered he’s got a clot in a major artery, right over where he had a triple stint placed a decade ago for a 98% blockage), and THEN recently had a double catheter operation to try to loosen the clot.

It didn’t work. At all. So he’ll soon be going in for single-vessel bypass. Long story short, he has been warned several times that he probably should not be going up to altitude, much less doing any sort of physical work at altitude.

Which is why Mom wanted to make the cabin trip a one-day thing on Monday. But Dad got mad about her being worried about his health and firmly decided they were going Sunday.

That night, as I struggled to sleep, I realized that Dad would want to leave well before Community Day started, depriving Mom of it (because there was no way I was going up to the cabin with them). I swear that Dad comes up with something every. Single. Community Day.

Scratch that. Whenever we have plans that involve something that would make my day, Dad comes up with some bs that, even if I do get to do the thing, I end up feeling guilty about doing it.

But I mentioned it (angrily) to Mom, and she reminded Dad, and he ended up saying that they would go after our event ended. Which should have been fine, because he was still getting an extra night up there.

Meanwhile, Mom and I secretly make plans of what to do in case an emergency comes up with Dad going to altitude. Namely, to save time for her, she’d send me a text with an emoji so I would know they were going to the hospital and I should alert my sisters and drive up.

There’s some other stuff that happened on Saturday, namely relating to Dad not doing basic things like alerting Mom when she needed to come in (she asked him to tell her after ten minutes of working outside so that she could make dinner, but then didn’t, and she was too engaged in cleaning up leaves and I didn’t want to deal with grouchy, hungry Dad, so I cooked instead despite being completely drained and distracted) and Mom being too stubborn to take care of herself (woman is developing scoliosis and, despite me asking her to tell me when she was going outside to do more leaves after dinner so I could help her, she spends another hour and a half doing it by herself because she doesn’t want to distract me from my costuming, and only gives up because I come out to help her without shoes or gardening gloves because it’s getting dark and she’s hurting herself). But anyways, Sunday.

We’re gonna go get MDs ice cream beforehand (for Pokémon toys), we’ll meet up with Erin, we’ll all catch some Beldum...it will be great, right? We agree to take two cars because we know Dad will probably get antsy and call wanting to leave, so that I can stay and finish up withe Erin but she’ll get in at least half of the Community Day.

Except, as we are leaving...Dad asks when it’s over, then says he might take the very old truck, leave early, and meet her at the cabin.

He has not driven since mid-June, and is arguably still behind on his recovery. It’s a 2.5 hour drive-1.5 for him because he’s reckless-on curvy, winding mountain roads with steep drops and blind turns. It is, again, going up to altitude, which he has been warned against. Also the truck is nearly as old as I am and probably a little stiff with steering.

Mom and I try to subtly point these things out, but he’s not having it. When Mom gets more blunt about it being dangerous, he gets upset with her. We leave.

At this point we’re already running late in my plan. I don’t realistically see us getting through MDs, at lunch hour, before the event starts (but I don’t have the confidence to go alone, and was going to feel weird asking Erin). I have to go get gas because my gas light is on. I tell Mom to meet me there, and we decide she’ll stay for an hour and then go back, hopefully before Dad can leave.

And the whole time I’m getting gas, I’m fuming. That’s when I made that post, because I was in tears because Dad always gets in the way of my plans. Always. You’ve all seen enough posts of me getting emotional because we had plans that I spend a week getting ready for, and Dad throws a wrench in them at the last minute. Even the ones that include him (like the time I wanted to go to the science museum with him this time last year to see cool dinosaurs).

Because here’s the thing for me: I’m...passively suicidal. I don’t know what the technical term is, but I’m learning to explain it to people like Mom and my psychiatrist. Basically I would love to die, but it’s currently not an option because people need me and it would be detrimental to things. So I’m not acting on it, or on my desire to self-harm, but I have to constantly sit with that feeling. And it’s scary to explain because I can’t emphasize enough that I am not a threat to myself, and do not need to go to the hospital (which for me would only make it worse), but I have to continue with everyday life with that feeling constantly eating at me.

So every day, often several times a day, I’m actively making the choice not to die, or relapse, or do anything that would put me in the hospital, for the sake of not putting more stress on everyone else. Currently, with Mom out of town half the week, Dad needs me to drive him places like pt and the store (which, again, is a place that makes me depersonalize and sets off anxiety attacks, but for him is an outing so he takes his sweet time), so me not acting on those intrusive thoughts and impulses directly affects his life.

And here he is, ready to put himself in severe danger on multiple levels and quite possibly die...because he can’t wait three hours for Mom and I to go catch Pokémon.

I drive him places while actively disassociating, put up with his bigoted rants and opinions that directly contradict my own (it’s not worth saying anything), walk on eggshells to not annoy him or risk him snapping at me, am currently arranging most of my schedule to revolve around his needs, and don’t try to hurt or kill myself...

...and he can’t extend me the courtesy of letting me enjoy myself for a few hours without feeling guilty or anxious that something bad is going to happen.

Community Day ended up working out; I caught 10 shiny Beldum, did two raids with Erin (wherein she got her Mewtwo finally, which made me so happy after getting invited to a million EX raids and she only getting invited to one that she had to skip, so I was happy for her), and then we got Pokémon toys after (the two I wanted most, even). But I had to take anxiety meds the moment I got to the art center, fumed quite a bit an nearly lost my temper with Mom at one point (she was parked in a different area and said she was coming over, but then joined a raid and didn’t tell me, so I got worried after ten minutes passed and she wasn’t with me), and really couldn’t relax an enjoy myself until I got a text from her saying that they were headed up together. Dad even drove, apparently. But imagine how much better it could have been if I hadn’t had to deal with any of that?

Imagine me actually getting a day to be happy and enjoy myself and go through with my plans without worrying about Dad’s...everything? Even the day Erin and I saw Fallen Kingdom was spoiled slightly by me worrying about what time Dad would get out of the hospital, because I decided it was Pride Month and I was wearing my rainbow dinosaur shirt to the movie but needed to know if I would have to change before going home (spoiler: he had to stay another night and all the worrying was for nothing).

I just...I want to be able to be happy and take care of myself and Dad serves as one of the larger roadblocks.

And on Sunday I was done with him.

#wings does things #wings hates life #death mention tw #hospital mention tw #self harm mention tw #suicide mention tw #and now I intend to move on from this

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