#outside of my psychiatrist who diagnosed my did.. i do usually need to say 'the disorder formerly known as mpd' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cl0udpup · 2 years

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Big sigh

*Still figuring out moving over from Twitter to Tumblr, but for now, I'm just gonna flush out my threads here and see how that goes...*

Anxiety dreams

I had disturbing, surreal, End Of The World, running from cops, moving through portals, being broke and homeless, anxiety dreams all morning. Woke up with my neck stiff and swollen for the second day in a row, exhausted. I took a rapid last night, came out negative, but it's hard to trust testing now with new variants. I have allergy shots in an hour, and I really don’t wanna go, but I’m afraid of what will happen if I miss it. Last time I missed a week, I suffered with extreme hives and asthma symptoms.

...

I did it

I went to the shot. Still feeling like shit. Still testing negative for c19.

I’ve been staying up late the past few nights, so I’m sure that doesn’t help. Winter is really tough on my body (and mind.) The dry air makes my skin swell up, and I get all tense and hot. I couldn't manage to wear a coat outside, even though it's 30 degrees out, because it makes it so much worse once I go inside. They keep the hospital sooo warm.

I need to get a humidifier running in my office, but this room is like 80 sq ft, so I'm concerned about where it will go, it getting knocked over, or the water getting on my computer. I have cords allll over the floor bc I have no idea how to do cord management. But yeah, my sinuses are so incredibly dry and swollen, which is causing this headache I'm sure, and probably the stiff neck.

Adderall

Enough complaining... In more interesting news, today is my first day on Adderall, 10 mg XR. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to feel anything. I was feeling shitty *before* taking it, so all those symptoms above are unrelated. Although, if this causes any similar symptoms, not sure if I'll be able to tell it apart.

I guess one thing I noticed this morning; it was less excruciating waiting the 30 minutes required to stay at the hospital after my allergy shot. Usually I set a timer, check it exasperatingly every few minutes, pacing and sighing, literally feel like I'm being tortured waiting lol. It usually feels like an hour even tho it’s only half. I have no idea if the med could be helping with that restlessness so soon, but. Worth noting I suppose.

Trauma effects everything

I met with the new psychiatrist who prescribed it on Monday. She asked all the typical intake type questions, and went over my initial survey from the ADHD assessment. Again, the ADHD assessment really was not specific to ADHD, other than the awful computer button clicking bullshit test thing they made me do.

We only talked for around 45 minutes, but she gave me her opinion that she thinks I don't have bipolar. She thinks my hypomanic symptoms and mood swings/cycling were caused by trauma. Who’s to say, really. Trauma effects everything.

I have found I don’t always fit the mold for clinical diagnoses for conditions my symptoms point to. I especially don't fit them forever. Resilience has to be taken into account; learning skills, figuring out accommodations, medication, change of life circumstance.

However, I have, and do (based on past episodes) meet the criteria for bipolar 2, whether the assessment is nuanced enough to give a "correct" answer. Of course, diagnoses are more or less a matter of opinion.

I was also diagnosed with "unspecific mood disorder" & put on mood stabilizers (bipolar meds) as a young teen.

Some of my earliest memories are of being totally overwhelmed emotionally. I remember having what I now know of as anxiety in elementary school. I was officially diagnosed with depression and anxiety at age 12.

So what is it?

That's the question I've been searching for the answer for my entire life. Wtf is wrong with me, lol. I know trauma, neurodivergence, and the way those two play off each other must be at the root of everything.

Ultimately, all these sprinkles of symptoms make up an actual person, my actual life experiences, my struggles, my disabilities. I don't think it's simple enough to just slap a diagnosis on me and call it a day.

I know SSNI medication has helped me immensely in taking all the chaotic energy inside myself, and dampening down my viciously strong emotions. Before meds, I felt totally out of control. I felt I had no control over the insanity. My mood swings and sensory overwhelm thrashed me around like I was on a broken rollercoaster, ready to fly off the tracks at any moment.

BPD

Before starting trauma work, I fit the diagnosis for borderline. Leaving an abusive relationship, learning about attachment disorders, and understanding more about being neurodivergent helped me grow into a person who could have healthy relationships, and stop hurting myself.

Graduating from a DBT program when I was 18 helped as well, but looking back, the most helpful part was being part of a community. Sharing 8 hours a week with other traumatized teens, forming bonds, being vulnerable and supporting each other. That's what helped.

We never even talked about trauma as a force of destruction. We mostly learned how to channel our thoughts and behaviors into something less visibly disruptive and damaging.

We weren't validated and told "something awful happened to you, and it wasn't your fault, and it's not your fault that it made you hate yourself so much you want to destroy yourself and everything around you." I think we really needed that. I know I still need to hear that.

Chaos

I'm 30 now, and I still am no where near having all the answers. Finding the ADHD piece of the puzzle definitely puts a lot into perspective, but I don't know if it can account for everything. I do have hopes for medicating it.

My 20's were so chaotic. I had no idea if I would survive to where I am now. That being said, I made a lot of decisions that helped me survive when I needed to, things I said I'd deal with the consequences of later, and, later has finally caught up to me.

I used spending as a coping mechanism. I channeled a lot of my chaotic energy into work over the past decade. Before my body started shutting down on me, I worked alll the time, and made decent money. I bought into the whole credit score thing, got a bunch of credit cards, and maxed them all out. Yes, having a credit history helped me get things I needed, but mental illness put me in this mindset of "I'm probably gonna die soon, so I should just get what will make me happy right now."

Knowing now that I have ADHD, so much of this makes sense. I struggle with things like feeding myself, cleaning, staying on track, completing tasks, all the executive function bullshit. So, I've driven myself into debt buying things I thought could help me "get my life together."

Can't get myself to eat enough to not trigger a mood episode? I'll just order take out or go to the cafe every day. Can't keep the house from being a total mess? I'll buy every cleaning and organizing tool imaginable that might help inspire me to bring necessary order to my surroundings. Same thing for exercising, self care, literally just existing, I always thought if I could "just" find the right solution, all my problems would disappear and I could catch up to my peers who perpetually left me in the dust.

Don't even get me started on the spending sprees I've gone on in response to depression and suicidality. Feel like dying because understimulated? Let's book a trip for me and a companion where I'll pay for everything because I want to be loved. Feel like dying because overstimulation? Let's buy things to self soothe. It's a mess.

And so, life goes on

Now, this year, when I have my head on straight, and am no longer crushed and suffocated by abuse, or distracted by partying, my health took a nose dive. I have hardly been able to work at all this year. I've always been concerned with my ill health, but now more than ever I've been forced to focus on it solely. I'm committed. The only place I go these days is to appointments; three a week: therapy, allergy injections, and acupuncture.

I so desperately want to get my life together, once and for all. I truly hope I'm on the right track. All I can do is trust this is what I'm supposed to do.

#actually disabled #disability #depression #anxiety #adhd #actually adhd #neurodivergent #actually neurodivergent #bipolar #bpd #mentally ill #mental illness #follow me im new here #thanks for reading

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fibrowarriorgirl · 3 years

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Autistic women aren't as rare as you think

Did you know that women are a lot less likely to be diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder? And no, this isn't necessarily because autism in women is just a lot less common. It's because autism in women usually presents itself very differently than autism in men. Autistic women often get misdiagnosed with anxiety disorders and/or Borderline Personality Disorder. And to be fair, anxiety disorders, BPD and ASD all have quite a lot of similarities.

The damage of being diagnosed with ASD later in life is bigger than you might think. I know this too well. For as long as I can remember, I have felt different in comparison to my peers. I could never put my finger on it, but something about me felt different. Not even just different, no, I felt wrong. There had to be something wrong with me.

I remember a conversation I once had with my mum, although I doubt she remembers this. I think I was about 9 or 10 years old. She had just picked me up from school and we were sitting in the car, when I said to her "I'm special, aren't I?" My mum of course responded by saying how special I was because of how kind and funny and smart I was, because my mum has always been my biggest fan. And I remember I quickly stopped her and said "no not like that, I'm weird."

Weird. It's something I've been called a lot in my life. Most times, it was told jokingly by my friends and family. Other times I was being called weird by bullies or by teachers who should've never started working with children in the first place. I've always known I was weird. So when my friends called me weird for taking something a bit too literally, I honestly didn't mind. As a child I liked being weird. Being weird meant I was being true to myself. As I got older, I noticed that being weird wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. Before I knew it, people thinking I was weird became a subconscious fear of mine. Being weird meant I was myself, yes. But it also meant I didn't belong. Being weird confirmed that I was different, special. That I was wrong.

I was about 9 years old when autism was first suspected. I was making repetitive movements all day long. The movements looked a lot like stimming, something that a lot of autistics do. I don't really remember the test they did. All I remember was that I really liked my psychologist, Sarah. We were always in a room with lots of toys. I remember that my mum once explained to me what autism was, and why they thought I might be autistic. She said "autistic people don't see the big picture, they see a bunch of small things." As an example, she said that autistic people don't see a house, they see windows, a door, walls, etc. I told her I wasn't autistic, because I always see a house. In hindsight, it is pretty ironic to see how literally I took that explanation. Taking things 'too' literally, another sign of autism.

A few weeks after that, Sarah told me that she didn't know if I was autistic or not. In her words, 50% of me was autistic and 50% of me wasn't. They ended up not diagnosing me, and referred me to a hospital to see if it wasn't actually epilepsy.

No, I don't have epilepsy. We later found out I have something called Stereotypic Movement Disorder. Which I will elaborate on in a later post.

For years to come, that would be the closest I'd ever come to an ASD diagnosis. I was also tested for ADHD a few times as a teenager, but to no avail. As I grew older, the feeling of not belonging grew stronger. I was always wondering why I felt like such an outsider, maybe it was just all in my head? I was diagnosed with generalised and social anxiety when I was 16, which I thought could explain the feeling of being an outsider. But if that feeling was caused by anxiety, why did I have that feeling all my life?

When I was about 19 years old, I started suspecting I might be autistic after all. I asked my mum what the reasoning was of my psychologist all those years ago to not diagnose me. Apparently, I met all the diagnostic criteria. But because I had empathy and a lot of fantasy, I was not diagnosed. Since then, I have been fighting for an official diagnosis. I wanted to see on paper that I was diagnosed with ASD.

This was insanely hard to do. I tried talking about it to my psychologist, who dismissed me by saying I didn't need another diagnosis. Whenever I tried to tell someone about my struggle with getting diagnosed, I'd often hear "but you don't seem autistic". I'd get asked why I thought I could be autistic. I'd give my reasons and as a response I'd hear "well you might be on the autism spectrum but not enough to be considered autistic."

I was begging people to do a diagnostic test. I needed to prove that I was right about this, and how much it would help me. Even if we did the testing and it turned out I wasn't autistic at all, I could at least let that idea go and go on with my life. It was so frustrating that nobody believed me. My mum and my partner were the only people who actually believed I was autistic when I told them my reasoning.

And then, an angel in the form of a psychiatrist turned up. After only a few minutes of telling her about myself, she asked me if I was ever diagnosed with ASD. This resulted in enthusiastic rambling on my part. I told her everything, how I felt out of place, how I was almost diagnosed, about the repetitive movements, etc. She is the one who ended up setting up a diagnostic exam for me. And this year in August, I was finally officially diagnosed with ASD. The psychologist who did the diagnostic test told me this was one of the most obvious cases of autism he had ever seen.

You have no idea how relieved I was to finally, FINALLY be diagnosed. That feeling of being different, being wrong. No, there's nothing wrong with me. I'm autistic, that's it. My psychologist, who kept dismissing my suspicions, later told me she didn't want to see if I was autistic because she thought I was looking down on myself. Never once have I seen being autistic as a bad thing. It's just who I am, that's it.

Now I live through life, knowing that I am autistic. That feeling of being out of place, something I've had all my life, is gone. I cannot even describe how liberating it is to have that burden to be lifted from my shoulders. A part of me is angry though. I have been begging for years for help with this. And time and time again, I was ignored or dismissed. Often just being told it was some type of anxiety. I also wish that my psychologist all those years ago didn't refuse to diagnose me. I met all the diagnostic criteria, that should've been enough. Imagine if I was told I was autistic when I was 9. What that meant for me, why I felt like I was different, that there was nothing wrong with me.

Please, believe women when they say they think they're autistic. You have no idea how much you'd be helping us.

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classysassy9791 · 3 years

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So, I got asked a question recently that made me ponder. Usually when people find out I have depression, they say, "I would've never guessed that you did." Depression is a silent killer for a reason. But this time I was also asked, "When do you have depression?" My immediate response was, "Always."

I came to realize that people on the outside looking in see depression as someone feeling really sad for a while. And then they "get over it." But I think one of the biggest stigmatisms regarding mental health is that diagnoses like anxiety, depression, PTSD, etc can be seen as "temporary" situations.

Well, I'm here to tell you from my personal experience it's not. You don't ask a diabetic, "When do you have diabetes?" or someone with heart failure, "when do you have heart failure?" Because these diagnoses are chronic. People battle them every day, just like people who are diagnosed with depression or anxiety.

Depression is not always crying and feeling sad. It's low energy, insomnia, restless nights, taking frequent naps, etc. There is no "cure" for depression. If there was, we'd all be very carefree people. There are treatments, like medication, therapy, and ways of coping. For me, I battle my depression every day. I take my medication as prescribed, and talk to my psychiatrist about when it needs to be adjusted. I go to therapy every couple of months, simply just to touch base. I make a yearly appointment with my primary care doctor to get my labs checked, including my Vitamin D level, which can cause some symptoms. I do all of these things to upkeep my mental health and prevent me from going back to the dark place I started from.

There are things that can trigger episodes, things that can overwhelm me, and things that can cause me to book that therapy appointment a little sooner. But over the years, I have learned the tools and necessary steps I need to take in order to stay healthy. Because every day is a battle. And at the end of every day, I can say that I made it 💕

#sassy stays classy #mental health #depression

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years

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Buffet Froid

1x10

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, mental health problems

Author’s Note: The art of making it look like i like hannibal when he annoyed the fuck out of me this episode. Also it is so hard to write this cause my HEART i just wanna hug will UGH

I took lines directly from the script so some may seem familiar. Those sentences are not mine.

Official Episode Summary : Two victims' faces are similarly mutilated. For the first time, Will contaminates a crime scene thinking he committed the first murder and an MRI shows he suffers from Advanced Encephalitis.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

Tag List: @llperfectsymmetryll

(not my gif)

You sat in the car. You were outside of a crime scene, the house looking ominous as it loomed over what had happened inside. There were so many people outside, taking pictures and talking. Will was inside. You had driven him, per his request. You usually didn’t come to the crime scenes but they had been acting off, like he was almost on autopilot when he asked you to take him. Your fingers drummed on the steering wheel as you stared out, trying to catch glimpses of people you knew.

You saw Bev walk out quickly making her way to the car. You rolled down the window and she shook her head a bit as she walked up.

“You should go talk to Will,” she said.

“What happened?” Bev looked back at the house, at Jack who had just exited the house. You looked at her, the worried look on her face evident.

“He contaminated the crime scene. He’s never done that before,” Beverly said. “His hands were around her throat.”

You were surprised to hear that, rightly so. You unlocked the car and got out, walking across the yard beside Beverly who was quick to give anyone a look that even thought about protesting to your presence. Will had come out when you weren’t looking. He was talking to Jack.

“I got lost in the reconstruction. Just for a second. Just a blink,” Will was saying as you walked up to him. Jack barley took notice of your presence but Will looked at you, surprised to see you there by his eyes. He didn’t protest it though. You knew before he could tell you. He had lost some time.

“I know you don’t like to be a subject of concern, but consider me officially concerned,” Jack said. You scoffed and Jack glanced at you but didn’t show any emotion.

“Officially,” Will said.

“About time,” you muttered.

“Wait in the car,” Jack said to you. You raised your hands in defiance.

“I’m here on a warning from Beverly,” you said, glancing at Will. He shook his head.

“I’ll be there soon,” he muttered. You nodded and he reached out to grab your hand and for a second he held it, quietly, looking confused and worried and scared. Your hand slipped from his and you walked over to the car.

“Thought the reason you have me seeing Dr. Lecter and not an FBI psychiatrist is so my mental well-being stays unofficial,” Will muttered, watching you go.

“Have I broken you?” Jack asked. “Is your girlfriend right this time?”

“Do you have anybody that does this better unbroken then I do broken?” Will asked. “And she’s always right.”

“Fear makes you rude, Will,” Jack said as Will walked to the car. His hands shook. He always seemed to be shaking. He stooped at the drivers window and you looked at him, elbow resting on the open window and your hand propped up by your palm.

“We should go to Hannibal after this,” you muttered.

“Why are you here?” he asked. It wasn’t rude. He was only asking.

“You asked me to drive you.” He nodded, glancing back at the house. “I have to look at the body again.” A beat of silence.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Gutting a fish,” he whispered. You nodded. He had gone fishing yesterday though.

“We’ll go to Hannibal’s together.”

“Sit in,” he whispered, referring to the session.

“I will.” He nodded and walked back to the house. You fought the tears threatening to fall from seeing him in so much confusion.

“I can’t remember seeing her dead body before I saw myself killing her,” Will said. He glanced at you sheepishly. You sat on Hannibal’s desk which was your resident spot when you sat into sessions. You didn’t do it often and you only did it with Will’s request or permission. He wanted a witness today, to whatever it is that Hannibal had prepared for him.

“Those memories sank out of sight, yet you’re aware of their absence,” Hannibal inquired. Will was pacing around the room, his mind on fire.

“They left a slick on the surface of my mind where they’re supposed to be,” he said.

“Where you hope they’re supposed to be, but fear they never were.” Will looked haunted. The false memories made him reel. The dying human under his hands had felt so real.

“There’s a grandiosity in the violence I imagined that feels more real than what I knew is true,” he said.

“What do you know to be true?” Hannibal asked.

“I know I didn’t kill her. Couldn’t have. But I remember cutting into her. I remember watching her die.”

“You must overcome these delusions that are disguising your reality. What savage delusions does this killer have?” Hannibal questioned. He was walking around the room as well, but in smaller spaces.

“It wasn’t savage. It was lonely...desperate...sad,” Will said, his eyes glossed over.

“Are you lonely Will?” Hannibal asked. Will shook his head then paused. Your heart sank and you hung off his answer.

“No. That was the killer,” he said. “But I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked through me, past me. Like I was a stranger,” he whispered.

“What could this be? It has to be something that we can treat,” you said. Will looked at you and nodded.

“It could be a blood clot. Or a tumor. Just an answer is better than anything,” Will said. Hannibal glanced at you and Will as you stared at each other, nodding in agreement. Your emotions hung off Will’s. It didn’t matter if you were an empath or not. You knew Will well enough to know when enough was enough.

“I can recommend a neurologist. But if it isn’t physiological then you have to accept what you’re struggling with is mental illness,” Hannibal said.

“It isn’t,” you whispered.

Hannibal looked only at you as you seemed to bore holes into the ceiling now. You had a dangerous knowledge of Will Graham. Hannibal thought that might be a problem.

You were with Hannibal and Will into the medical office. You held Will’s hand and he held yours like a lifeline. You sat at chairs beside each other that happened to be far enough away where his hand slipped out of yours. He held them now in his lap, fingers fidgeting.

“What did the headaches start? In earnest?” Dr. Sutcliffe asked. Will glanced at you.

“Two to three months ago,” Will said and you nodded in agreement.

“About the time Will went back into the field,” you said.

“When I met him,” Hannibal added.

“The hallucinations?” Sutcliffe asked.

“I don’t know exactly when they started. I just slowly became aware that I might not be dreaming.”

Hannibal walked with Sutcliffe behind a large piece of glass. You stayed with Will for a few minutes, taking his clothes in his hand as he put on the hospital dress. He let out a small sigh as you looked at him.

“What if nothing comes up?” he asked.

“We’ll deal with that when it comes.”

Will looked at you and you looked at him. He was ready to go but he waited. Eyes glancing around your body wildey.

“If nothing comes up than I am, by definition, likely insane,” he told you quietly. “And if-”

“I’m not going to go anywhere,” you said. Will looked broken. He looked tired. You grabbed his hand and brought it to your lips, kissing the back of it. “I love you.”

His breath seemed to relax. He knew you but he wasn’t sure that when he woke up you would be gone. He might be seriously ill but knowing you were there still made him feel better.

“I love you too.” You kissed him and he kissed you back desperately.

“Go get your brain scanned now. You have lipstick on your lips,” you said as you pulled away. He laughed very subtly adn shrugged, wiping it off with his hand.

“I don’t think it’ll mess up the results.”

“You never know.”

You stood beside Will again before the doctor. He pointed to the brain scan.

“We didn’t find anything abnormal. No vascular malformations, no tumors. No swelling or bleeding. No evidence of stroke. Nothing wrong with you neurologically,” the doctor said. Will’s face was clearly troubled. “Usually when I tell a patient that, they’re happy to hear it.”

“So... what I’m experiencing is psychological?” Will asked.

“Brain scans can’t diagnose a mental disorder. They can only rule out medical illnesses, like a tumor, that can cause similar symptoms.”

“And there’s no chance you’ve mixed up the photos? Or maybe the machine was malfunctioning? I hear that happens,” you said stiffly.

“Y/N,” Will muttered but you shook your head.

“We can do more tests if it’ll make you feel better. Take some blood samples, but I imagine they'll be just as inconclusive.”

For some reason you doubted the truth in that but you didn’t voice it.

You walked into Jack Crawford's office. He took off his glasses and looked up at you, clearly not excited to see you.

“Does Will need something?” Jack asked.

“Stability. A new brain perhaps,” you said. Jack looked you up and down and he knew that you meant business.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice monotone.

“Will’s always been a bit odd. Always. It was what drew me to him in the first place,” you said.

“Listen-”

“Shut up.” He shut up. “When Will went back into the field it was because you wanted him to. Will wants to please people. He wants to save lives. He wants to use his gift for good but for each life he saves a little piece of him is burned and singed. You broke Will Jack Crawford and I won’t let you forget it,” you said evenly, looking down at him.

“Do you have a life outside of Will Graham?”

“I did before you broke him and now I have to advocate where he cannot.”

“We were never going to be friends,” Jack said.

“No, no we weren’t.”

Come midnight when Will hadn’t arrived home you woke up. You were getting a suspicious amount of sleep. You had gone to bed, assuming he would be back soon after you fell asleep. Jack sometimes had him out late hours and he was likely to be back. But when you woke up and he was still gone you started to panic a bit.

You calmed yourself, trying to reason that he was maybe still at work. You called his cell. No answer.

You got up out of bed and put on some clothes. With him sleepwalking, losing time, he could be anywhere. You told yourself to add a tracker to his phone.

You got into the car and drove the streets for a few minutes. He wasn’t there. You then drove to Hannibal’s which was the only other place your mind could come up with. You knocked on the door at about 12:30, shaking from the cold and worry. It took Hannibal a moment to come to the door but he eventually did, wearing his robe and rubbing his eyes.

“I thought you were Will,” he admitted.

“Will hasn’t come home yet. He won’t pick up the phone but I’m guessing he’s not here,” you said, looking past him.

“Have you tried the crime scene?” he questioned. You shook your head but that must be where he was. It had to be.

“No but I’ll go there now. I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Don’t apologize.” He was about to shut the door when you turned around but he stopped. “He’ll be there. I’m sure your expertise in finding strays will help,” Hannibal said simply. You nodded and walked back to the car.

On your way there you got a call from Will.

“Where the f-”

“I just sent you the address. Come quickly.” He hung up and you did as you were told, driving faster to the destination you were already going to. You were there in under ten minutes from where you had been on your drive and you got out, walking quickly up to Will.

“I thought you were dead!” you yelled, throwing your arms around him. He shook his head but let you hold him.

“Not yet,” he muttered. “I called Beverly to help me figure out the crime scene,” he said.

“Then why did you tell me to come?”

“Emotional support.” You nodded and held him tighter.

You woke up with a start. Will was thrashing beside you and you put your arm on his side instinctively. You couldn’t tell what had woken you up. It could be anything. The weather, your dreams but you felt like it was something out. You looked around for any disturbances. The dogs were still sleeping but you got up and looked around, trying to find what had woken you.

You walked through the kitchen and the downstairs but you couldn’t find anything. When you were back in the bedroom Will was awake, standing up.

“Where did you go?” he asked.

“Something woke me up. I was trying to figure out what.” You walked back over to him and back into bed.

“Probably wind,” he muttered. You put your arms around him as he got back in too and he put his head on your chest. You kissed his curls.

“Probably,” you whispered.

Will went in for more tests a few days later. He looked up at you as you stood in the same spots you had, with you holding his clothes as he stripped them.

“Jack talked to me,” he said.

“Proceed with caution,” you whispered and he chuckled.

“He thinks I stayed in the job because of the stability. That Jack created stability for me, a foundation.”

“If he keeps going on like that you’re going to be investigating his murder,” you muttered bitterly. “Would you still date me if I murdered someone?” He shrugged.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. I mean, I’d have to consider it.”

“Wrong answer Graham,” you said laughing lightly. He loved these moments. Moments where it was just laughing, joking.

“I would date you if you killed someone. I mean I might have to turn you in but prison can’t be that hard on a relationship,” he said. You nodded.

“Right back at you bubba,” you whispered.

“I have killed someone.”

“And look at you, still a free man.”

After the tests Will walked around, trying to find you or the doctor or someone. You were waiting for him and you walked up with his clothes in hand.

“Have you seen Sutcliffe?” Will asked. You shook your head.

“Not since earlier,” you admitted. “Let’s go find him.” You held his clothes in hand as you walked through the hospital. You peaked in rooms and eventually found Sutcliffes office. You pushed open the door as it was ajar.

You gasped and Will grabbed you and put himself between you and the body, bleeding from a chunk that had been taken out of his face.

“Don’t look,” he whispered.

“I can,” you muttered. “Call Bev.”

The FBI came soon after. Beverly gave Will a look over, Jack concerned he might have had something to do with the murdedr.

“He was with me until he went in. And I would have seen him leave,” you promised. Bev nodded.

“You’re clean. You couldn’t have done this without getting something on you and there’s nothing on you,” Beverly said.

“I don’t feel clean,” Will whispered.

“Murder weapon has the same diseased or damaged tissue on it that we found at Beth LeBeau’s house,” Jimmy explained aloud.

“What connection does this guy have to the first victim?” Will let out a sigh.

“Just me.”

Will woke up and you were already sitting up. He followed your gaze that was at where one of the dogs growled at something under the bed. He grabbed your hand and shook his head.

‘Stay,’ he whispered. You shook your head vigorously and he nodded, getting off the bed and looking underneath. He slid underneath and you leaned your head over the bed, heart pounding in your ears.

“I see you, Georgia,” Will said under the bed. You couldn't see his face. There was a woman under your bed. “Think of who you are. It’s midnight. You’re in Wolf Trap, Virginia. Your name is Georgia Madchen. You are not alone.”

“Am I alive…?” came a voice, a raspy whisper. Will nodded.

You stood with Will in the hospital room, looking down at the living body of the woman who had slept under your bed. You held Will’s hand as he glanced over her.

“She’ll recover,” Will said.

“Hopefully she’ll stay out of our bed,” you whispered.

1x11

#will graham x reader #will graham imagines #hannibal imagines #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter

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newhologram · 3 years

Text

I know only a few of you are on IG so I wanted to give an update here on the past few days. I am doing this knowing the potential risk but I need to also record where I'm at right now in case anything weird happens.

My week has been like this so far. Sunday: Family Member 1 misplaced their Xbox controller. They kept asking me if I knew where it was, each time growing more and more aggressive. I don't have an Xbox, I reminded them. I have my own controller for my PC. But they kept knocking loudly on my door. They followed me outside where I was vaping and tried to accuse me of I don't even know what. Pawning off their controller? FM1 said, "Is there something going on that you're not telling me? SOMEONE'S messing with me!" Later that night they and their gf were making dinner. FM1 suddenly knocked harshly on my door and said aggressively, "WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THE OVEN MITTS" in an angry voice. I was already stressed from them harassing me earlier about the controller. I came out of my room, heart racing, and told them I had not used them that day. I helped find the mitts, which had fallen behind the trash can because the hanging hook had broken. I went to bed on edge, feeling unsafe and targeted, wondering why my family member was suddenly acting so paranoid and accusing me of misplacing their things... Something they actually have done to me my whole life, denying it until the moment my item is found, when they suddenly remember they did move it there (or accidentally throw it out/destroy it). The controller ended up being some random place in the living room. Monday: I went to leave for my acupuncture appointment. My booster seat/pillow thing was missing from my car. Not in the trunk or anything. I cannot drive without it. I'm too short to see over the steering wheel. I called FM1 and they have no idea where it could be, despite the fact that they drive my car every day. FM1's gf helped find it, in the garage. But I still had an epic fucking meltdown, sobbing the whole way to and from my appointment. I just cannot handle people moving my shit and disrupting my schedule like that. And it just hurt so much more knowing that FM1 was so awful to me the day before about their stuff being misplaced. I'm always having my personal belongings, my feelings, my personhood, disrespected. It hurts deeply. When I got home I stressed to them that this is my car, and my accommodation should not ever be removed from it under any circumstances. It was after this that I decided it was time to hold a family meeting. I called Family Member 2 and 3 over to the house. I read a long letter to them in which I told them about the talks I have had with my therapist, psychiatrist, and another psychologist. Even though I cannot be formally assessed and diagnosed at this time, I am being treated for autism. I detailed to my family my entire life of trauma that is traced back directly to my autistic traits, and my needs not only not being met, but being outright denied. I was denied empathy most of my life for my sensory issues, my pain, everything. A big part of this is gaslighting. Even if it's unintentional or not malicious, gaslighting is incredibly traumatic. Especially when it comes to my sensory issues. I have had even more problems with overstimulation the past year which means I can barely sleep, so my daily naps are even more important. I try to coordinate my naps when there is less activity in my house. But if I'm in a ton of pain and extra sensitive and ask for quiet, that's when I get in trouble and a fight happens. That's when FM1 tells me I "need to be realistic" and "can't expect the whole world to shut up for you"... when I'm literally saying "I have a migraine and need to rest, can you please not play loud music or slam cupboards in the kitchen for a few hours?"

I was emotionally neglected and abused by both parents. A lot of it is just the result of their own trauma that they have not dealt with... But I have also been physically threatened and assaulted by them at different times, though it only happened those specific times. (They won't ever admit to it though.) The emotional and mental abuse still goes on in my home. I am not allowed to have emotions. I have been told "STOP. WHY ARE YOU CRYING. LIFE'S NOT FAIR. WHEN YOU GET OUT IN THE REAL WORLD YOU'LL HAVE SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT" over and over--like... in response to me crying about my pet dying, or in response to me crying bc I'm in horrible pain from my chronic illnesses, or crying after my usual yearly ER visit. I am also not allowed to have boundaries. I have tried to communicate with FM1 that these things hurt me deeply. And their response is basically, "YOU'RE SO UNGRATEFUL. I PUT A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD!" and threats such as "BETWEEN TAKING CARE OF YOU AND GRANMDA, ONE OF THESE DAYS I'M GOING TO DRIVE OFF AND YOU'LL NEVER SEE ME AGAIN!" or "I'M THE ONE WHO SHOULD KILL MYSELF BECAUSE I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF YOU"-- y'know, in response to having a disabled child. Ouch. The message is clear: I am nothing but an inconvenience and a burden to my family. I still have nightmares about them abandoning me, or abusing me more. I think in their heads they think that they love me. But this isn't love. If I try to talk to them about how dangerous it is for them to say things like that to me, they say "I never said/did that." Which brings us back to the gaslighting: I said that every time they gaslight me and tell me that my emotions/thoughts/experiences aren't real, it triggers me so badly that I self-harm and become suicidal.

I was very clear with them: I said that I can no longer have that in my life because one day it will kill me. I don't wanna die that way. I want to live. I have very bad PTSD and it's something I have worked on for 8 years but it has been worse the past year with so many disruptions and FM1's worsening narcissistic traits. I gave the choice to them. I said if they gaslighted me again that they were making the decision to not be in my life. Because this is about preserving my life. I'm trying not to die here. I'm literally trying to save my own life, even if that means not having a relationship with my family. They accept that I am autistic... But they then took turns gaslighting me. When I pointed out, "that's gaslighting. that's exactly what I just said in my letter. What you're doing is gaslighting" they went even harder on it. They said my experience and my trauma is "not in line with reality". They also said I "need to be reasonable" with the boundary that I'm setting (meaning: they don't believe in boundaries at all). They tried to guilt trip me with, "you can't cut someone out of your life because what if they DIE and then you FEEL GUILTY??" (I mean, what if I killed myself because you keep hurting me? Wouldn't you feel guilty about that?) They also guilt tripped me with "well we TRY to invite you to family stuff, and we try to include you, but you never want to go..." um... I guess they forgot I am chronically ill? Sorry if I don't have the energy or pain tolerance to drive an hour each way to a loud family party after I've worked all week? I cried and cried, I said this is exactly what I told you that you do to me and how it endangers my life... and you're doing it... while telling me you don't do it to me... They were all weird and told me "we love you and would do anything for you!" except... I guess, not gaslight me constantly? Idk. I felt so trapped. I felt so hopeless. I was up all night crying. I wondered, "Why is the idea of me having distance from them somehow worse than me being dead? Why would they prefer that I die rather than set a boundary that will save me?" And then I remembered: I had set the terms. They broke them. You do this, you're out of my life, because me being alive is more important than us having a relationship which will eventually kill me. I'm not trapped. It doesn't matter if they think they can prevent me from setting this boundary because they can't. I'm in charge of my boundary. So I blocked them on social media, as well as their phones. I have to unfortunately keep FM1 unblocked bc I live with them, they drive my car, and they look after my cats while I am at work. If I didn't have so many great things happening behind the scenes, if I didn't have my cats, if I didn't have amazing friends and followers who are supportive and kind... I can definitely see that I would have ended my life that night in some alternate timeline. That is how much pain I was in from them doing that to me. Them literally trying to gaslight me into not setting a boundary. I mean it would've been so ridiculous on their part, can you imagine? Me: Hey family, when you gaslight me, it makes me suicidal. I don't want to die, so either you stop doing that, or we can't have a relationship. Family: UHH NO *gaslights me anyway* Me: ok *kills self* Family: *surprised Pikachu face* Like???? Would they really have been shocked because it seems like they should have known since I told them directly? And that just shows that they really don't take my pain seriously at all. They think I'm overly sensitive and that my trauma is not real. That would have been a painful wake up call for them. I told my therapist all of this. And she agrees that this is good, this is going to not only ween them off of me but also allow me to focus on all the good stuff I have going on. I have to get moving. So much stuff has been lagging because I'm constantly recovering from them triggering me. I'm going to focus, and heal, and gtfo of here. Thank you for your support and for never invalidating my pain.

#teku #personal #d o nut #reba gel #!#donut rebagel plz

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missmentelle · 4 years

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Would you say it's the same thing for ADHD? I was diagnosed as having 'traits of adhd' a few years back and always assumed it was more a reflection of the fact that i was diagnosed by a med student not being supervised who made some significant errors in the way she tested me as well as omitting what I thought were some significant observations from her writeup, but I've been wondering lately whether I am actually ADHD or not

It’s the same for all disorders - if a diagnosing professional wrote down on a psychology report that you have “traits of” a mental disorder, it means that they felt you did not meet the criteria for a full diagnosis at that time, most likely for one of five reasons:

You didn’t have enough symptoms to meet the minimum required for the diagnosis, or you were missing a key symptom that is required to make that diagnosis.

Your symptoms are not severe enough to warrant a diagnosis; they do not cause significant disruption or impairment in your daily life.

Your symptoms only occur in one specific context (eg. you have symptoms at school, but not at home, work or with friends), or your symptoms are a side effect of medication or intoxication.

Your symptoms have not been going on long enough to meet the criteria for the diagnosis, they don’t occur frequently enough to make the diagnosis, you have long symptom-free periods that negate the diagnosis, or your symptoms did not appear at an age consistent with the onset of that diagnosis.

You sort of meet the criteria for the diagnosis, but there is a different diagnosis that does a much better job of explaining your symptoms (this is sometimes listed as a “differential diagnosis”, rather than “traits of X”).

A report stating that a person has “traits of” a certain disorder or “features of” a disorder is actually extremely common. I’ve probably read more than thousand psych reports at this point in my career, and it’s quite normal for phrasing like that to appear on them. Usually, this is actually a sign that the person is being rather thorough - they are noting that they considered ADHD as a possible diagnosis but ultimately could not make the diagnosis for some reason or other. As I said, other reports may format this differently, and include a list of “differential diagnoses” in the conclusion - this is a list of diagnoses that they considered but ultimately ruled out for one reason or another.

Unfortunately, learning that you have “traits” of a disorder doesn’t really tell us much, especially without seeing the full psych report. Maybe you didn’t have ADHD then, but you have since developed it. Maybe you don’t have it and never did. Maybe you have some other sort of executive dysfunction or disorder that explains your symptoms, but it was missed the last time around. Maybe a diagnosis of ADHD was warranted back then, and still is. Maybe you only have ADHD symptoms in a specific context, which would make you ineligible for diagnosis but suggests there is something going on that needs to be addressed. I don’t know enough about your case to know for sure. All that I know is that the only way to be sure if you have ADHD - or any other mental disorder that you may be concerned about - is to seek a second opinion and get another assessment done.

(I’m going to give some clarification about what having “traits of” a disorder means for other readers who may have similar questions. You should know, though, that ADHD is actually slightly different than other disorders like BPD that you may have “traits of” - ADHD is a neurological condition that responds to medication, and if you are given ADHD medication when you don’t actually have ADHD, you are going to notice pretty quickly that you’ve been misdiagnosed. If you calm down and get more sleep while taking what is effectively speed, you can be pretty sure that ADHD is the correct diagnosis for you. People with other disorders like depression, agoraphobia, PTSD and BPD don’t have the same kind of litmus test available for their diagnosis.)

It’s important to remember that everyone has traits of at least one diagnosable disorder - most people will have traits of several. Some people are more easily distractible than others, some people have more trouble sleeping, some people are naturally low-energy or feel more intense emotions. If you browse through a copy of the DSM-V, you are going to find some stuff in there that sounds like it applies to you. Nobody has perfect mental health, especially in their teens and early 20s. But most people do not meet the criteria for the diagnosis of a mental disorder.

This is where we have to think critically about what a diagnosis actually is, why we do it, and what it actually means. Diagnosing a psychological disorder is not like diagnosing a medical disorder, where we can do some blood tests and scans and know exactly what a person has. Psychological diagnoses are always subjective, to some extent - we made categories to describe common clusters of behaviours and symptoms, and we decided where to draw the line between “someone who is just quirky” and “someone who needs formal psychological treatment”. Where exactly we draw that line has always been the subject of debate.

We could make it so that everyone who has any sort of mental health flaw at all gets diagnosed with a disorder, but that sort of defeats the point of diagnosis - if almost everyone on earth has a diagnosis, then a diagnosis effectively becomes meaningless. There’s no longer meaningful distinction between “someone with an overactive imagination” and “someone with treatment-resistant psychosis” - it all just gets slapped with the same diagnosis. It can also lead us to “medicalize” behaviours that might not need to be “medicalized”. After all, if we diagnose someone, we need to do something about that diagnosis. Diagnosing them means we’ve identified that they need some sort of treatment or intervention. But do all quirks in human behavior really need to be ironed out with treatment? Do we really want to build a world where everyone who falls outside a very rigid definition of mental health gets told that they have something wrong with them? Likewise, if we make diagnosis too restrictive, that’s not good either. Now we have the opposite problem - if we make the criteria for a diagnosis too strict and too narrow, we miss people who might seriously benefit from having treatment. If we say “you need to be severely suicidal before we can diagnose you with depression”, we’re going to overlook a lot of non-suicidal people whose depressive symptoms are ruining their lives, and who could be treated if we just recognized them as depressed. If we are only diagnosing and helping the most severe of the severe cases, we aren’t really making good use of the tools available to us and diagnosis once again becomes basically meaningless, because not having one is no longer a good indicator of whether or not you need help.

Diagnosis is a balancing act, and there are a lot of people who fall in kind of a grey area where it’s not totally clear if we should be diagnosing them or not. People are complicated, and they rarely fit neatly into categories. If we have a twenty-year-old girl who experiments with drugs, has a lot of short-term and casual dating relationships that end poorly, struggles to make and keep friends, and doesn’t really have a stable sense of who she is and what she wants, does she have BPD? Or is she just a normal 20-year-old? How would we decide? If we diagnose her, we might be pathologizing behaviour that isn’t really all that unusual for her age group, and making her feel like she’s defective for struggling with things that are pretty normal for someone her age to be struggling with; diagnosing her could make her believe that she’s incapable of healthy relationships, which could become a self-fulfilling prophecy. On the other hand, if we don’t diagnose her, we could be missing the fact that she does actually have a fairly serious disorder, and depriving her of the chance to get life-changing treatment that might help her develop the healthier, more fulfilling relationships that she has been missing out on. We could be leaving her to deal with her destructive behaviours on her own, without having any of the language or tools she needs to disrupt those patterns.

If you’ve been assessed by a mental health professional and you have questions about how they reached the conclusions they did, I encourage you to ask questions and have an open conversation about your symptoms, possible treatments and needs. If you don’t feel that they have a good understanding of your case, I highly encourage you to get a second opinion on your diagnosis from another professional. Whenever possible, seek a diagnosis from someone who specializes in mental health - this should be a psychologist or psychiatrist (or in some cases, a neurologist), and not a general practitioner or family doctor (some family doctors can diagnose and treat basic depression, but even then, you should seek a referral to a specialist for further treatment and assessment). Also remember that diagnosis does not have to be a barrier to seeking therapy - anyone can get therapy, even if they do not meet the criteria for a psychological diagnosis, and everyone can benefit from seeking out a therapist to improve their coping skills, social skills, and general mental health. Hope this answers your question! MM

#Anonymous #AnsweredByMM

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orangerosebush · 4 years

Text

On minds and matters

It was a bit disheartening to spend years working towards an MA in psychology, only to then use it on hour-long glorified eye-staring contests with the moody adolescents of the UK’s Vieux riches. His job paid well, though, and as such Dr. Po was willing to grit his teeth and soldier on through each meeting on his list.

He’d had plenty of patients who came to him determined not to progress. These were the boys who had a few too many write-ups on their files; the ones whose families were tired of their son being too 'emotionally high-maintenance'; the students who had consigned themselves to being one of the ‘troubled’ boys. The problem with elite boarding schools was that they sometimes served as the dumping grounds for wealthy families who would prefer to not be reminded of their screw-up children — as such, Dr. Po’s target demographic was made up of boys determined to ‘win’ therapy by going home just as bitter and in pain as they were when they started sessions with him.

He didn’t always make a breakthrough. Sometimes, he had patients who showed up to a session with a note from Dean Guiney excusing them from further meetings, and that was that. Dr. Po firmly believed that every single student he’d met with was capable of finding some coping mechanism or outlet that would help them — and he hoped that the students whose sessions stopped before any progress had been made found happiness in the future. Or, at the very least, that they found something that would bring them peace.

There were certain patients he’d had that stood out from the others, both for good reasons and bad. Artemis Fowl II was one of those patients — and standing out for reasons ‘both good and bad’ described Artemis perfectly.

Following a series of disastrous sessions when the boy was thirteen, Dr. Po had simply stopped seeing Artemis. The boy hadn’t even shown up with a note terminating their sessions. One day, a new boy had shown up in the time slot usually reserved for Artemis, and that had been that. Dr. Po hadn’t seen Artemis since. He vaguely remembered hearing the news that the Fowl patriarch had been found — alive — and not been sure whether to expect Artemis to get better or worse.

Would the return of his father foster the growth of the nascent emotional maturity that Artemis had exhibited in their final sessions? Or would Artemis’ worst traits — his tendency towards arrogance, his dismissal of others, his budding narcissism — firmly take root, defining Artemis’ personality for good? These questions nagged at Dr. Po, and truthfully, he was too cowardly to ask around the staff to confirm just what sort of person Artemis had become.

Thus, Artemis remained an enigma.

An enigma that just so happened to be sitting in the armchair across from Dr. Po, boring a hole through the doctor with his unflinching gaze.

In true Artemis Fowl fashion, the boy had shown up for a session that had been reserved without a name. Dr. Po had nearly dropped his clipboard when he’d opened the door to usher in his new patient and been greeted with a now fifteen years of age Artemis Fowl standing before him, looking simultaneously defiant and sheepish.

They’d both walked into the room wordlessly, waiting in silence as Dr. Po awkwardly rummaged around in his desk for his old notes on Artemis while the young teen sat gingerly in the patient seat in the middle of the room.

“You’ve not switched to a digital filing system?”

Dr. Po started, looking up at Artemis.

“No psychiatrist or counselor uses iPads or digital notetakers,” Dr. Po explained hesitantly, brow furrowing.

Artemis wasn’t one for small talk, usually.

Shaking his head slightly as if to right himself, Dr. Po continued. “It’d be convenient, but there are concerns about the patient being recorded."

Artemis seemed satisfied with that answer.

Flipping his notes closed, Dr. Po studied Artemis, who raised a single brow.

“I’ve never forgotten our session that you left in the middle of,” Dr. Po remarked, and the frown lines on Artemis’ face deepened. “You were such a smarmy child. But you… made this joke.”

Artemis leaned back in his chair, tapping a foot in annoyance. “What a wonderful memory you have.”

“Not really. But it’s hard to forget a patient like you, Artemis,” Dr. Po sighed. “I tried to ask you about your feelings — you responded by telling me a family heirloom was a blatant forgery.”

The memory caused Artemis to smile genuinely for the first time since he’d stepped into the office. “The fake Victorian?”

The doctor grimaced. “Yes.”

“Despite its lack of authenticity, it was a perfectly nice armchair,” Artemis assured, a gently teasing note worming its way into his voice.

Edged on by Artemis' demeanor softening, Dr. Po pushed on. “But back to the joke. I remarked on the loss of your father — insensitively, I now realize — and you shut down. You started jerking me in this way and that in order to prevent me from getting a real reading on you. You said something along the lines of, ‘I’m depressed that I’m going to therapy,’ I believe. Quite a bon mot.”

“I was impudent as a young boy, I’m afraid,” Artemis said breezily, sounding more amused by the tale than remorseful. “I hope you’ll forgive me for a poor first impression.”

“Artemis, why are you back in my office?”

Artemis didn’t even blink, taking the challenge in stride. “My mother believes it will be beneficial.”

“Your mother? Not you?”

“Correct.”

“And… beneficial? To what end? Elaborate on her reasoning, perhaps,” Dr. Po asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“She believes I am emotionally maladjusted,” Artemis said, giving a small shrug.

“Are you?”

Artemis blinked owlishly, the question not quite computing. “Am I what, doctor?”

Dr. Po clicked his pen idly. “Unhappy.”

“Well, of course.”

Dr. Po was unable to keep his face neutral, and Artemis chuckled slightly at the doctor’s wide-eyed gaping.

“Dr. Po,” Artemis sighed, sobering as if he were explaining something evident to a child. “Of course I am unhappy occasionally. I’m a very busy man. My intellect has made it so I’ve moved beyond the carefree days of adolescence — I’ve matured past an age where my mother could treat me as a child, and although I don’t mourn the loss of simpler times, I suppose she does.”

Dr. Po forced himself not to ask if Artemis had ever truly been treated as a child, deciding to steer clear of the topic of family based on how unproductively the discussion had gone years ago. Instead, he elected to place his clipboard on the floor, looking at Artemis bluntly.

“Artemis, I’m not diagnosing you with anything,” he began, holding up a hand when Artemis opened his mouth to say something. “What I want to discuss today, however, is that right now I see the same pain in you today as I did when you were thirteen — and since I’m no longer getting complaints from department heads, that means you’ve taken that frustration and turned it somewhere else.”

Artemis’ lips quirked upwards, but his eyes were mirthless. “You share my mother's theory that I am some variation of the tortured genius stereotype.”

“How about this — I think that you believe that there isn’t a person alive smart enough to help you. Because to 'fix' you, someone would have to look inside you, and you think you’re the only person that’s able to understand how you work.”

“How narcissistic of me.”

“I’ve met with a lot of people since our last session when you were thirteen,” Dr. Po stressed. “I’ve not met anyone quite as clever as you, but I’ve met people who fit the same profile. You’re well versed in my profession, so you’re able to view your pain as both a participant and as an outsider — and that strangely voyeuristic relationship to your mind makes it so you and all these other folks think that you’re objective. Logical, even, in your analysis of your mind. You understand every tick, every tiny mechanism, every structure of your psyche. And if you understand it all and you still can’t will yourself to be happy, then why the hell should I be able to do anything for you? After all, I’m just some idiot who decorates his office with forged antique furniture his grandfather was gullible enough to purchase. Why should I know better than you do?”

Artemis was silent at that.

“If someone can, say, convince themselves that all their peers are 2D caricatures of people, they’ll never have to think about why they struggle to feel any pleasure from social interaction. If they can look around and see how far their family has come, then they can force themselves to box up and discard the baggage of the past. If they can convince themselves that pain and genius are twins, that the torment is part of the gift by which they define themselves, then the fear they have that maybe they’re destined for a life marked by paranoia and apathy no longer has to be confronted,” Dr. Po tried, searching for some way to express his thoughts before Artemis decided to snap at him. “Maybe you’re the only one who sees the world as it really is. But maybe your mother is right to be concerned. I get why… that’s an unattractive possibility to you. It would mean your analysis of yourself was incorrect. And if you were wrong, if your mind has tricked you into running away from the change that you need to feel happier, then you’re just as human as the rest of us. Pain tricked you into believing its integral to your ‘youness’. You’re... just human. And let me tell you, Artemis, that feeling ineffectual, and frustrated, and sad is... so very painfully human.”

By the time he’d finished his spiel, Dr. Po’s voice was soft. Pursing his lips, he tried to see if he’d garnered any sort of reaction from Artemis. The teen remained stony-faced.

“I can recommend a therapist from outside Saint Bartleby’s,” Dr. Po finally said. “If you don’t want to work with me, then I don’t want to waste either of our time.”

Artemis seemed to be broiling with unreadable intensity, and for a moment Dr. Po worried that he’d start going on a diatribe.

His fears soon were proven unfounded when all of the sudden, Artemis seemed to deflate.

“I do not choose sadness for myself, Dr. Po. I can assure you that,” Artemis remarked, sounding weary in the way men twice his age did when confronted by the prospect of the world having moved on past their prime.

“I would never imply something so insensitive,” Dr. Po insisted. “But there is a difference between me saying something of that sort and me asking you to believe that I could help you. Or if not me, then someone better suited to working with you.”

Artemis ruminated on the statement, his tapered fingers tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm on the arms of the ornate chair he was sitting in.

“I will come to my session next week,” he finally decided, and Dr. Po almost sagged with relief.

Carefully, the two of them continued on with the session. Although it felt as though they were both walking on eggshells around one another, the hour-long session ultimately ended in a place where Dr. Po felt like they could work with. He walked Artemis to the door, and after awkwardly bidding him goodbye, Dr. Po retreated back into his office.

For a while, he simply sat at his desk, thinking.

It wasn’t as though he’d made groundbreaking headway with Artemis today. Frankly, they’d been only nominally productive following Artemis’ promise to give therapy a genuine attempt.

The day stretched on, and Dr. Po was no closer to making sense of the ever-present Artemis conundrum.

After all, how does one describe Artemis Fowl?

Various psychiatrists have tried and failed. The problem is Artemis’ own intelligence. He bamboozles every test thrown at him. He has puzzled the greatest medical minds, and sent many of them gibbering back to their own hospitals.

Dr. Po paused, reaching back for the clipboard he’d discarded at the beginning of the session.

Artemis Fowl II was fifteen. He had various, tremendously important responsibilities, the details of which he refused to elaborate on. His best friend, to Dr. Po’s knowledge, was his paid bodyguard. Frankly, Dr. Po didn’t think they’d talk about Artemis’ family for a long, long time.

Dr. Po couldn’t really describe Artemis Fowl, because he didn’t know him. He didn’t think many people knew the boy, not really.

All the same, Dr. Po wanted to try. He wanted to try to understand Artemis Fowl a bit better. Not because Dr. Po wanted to a hero, but because he wanted Artemis Fowl to just get to be a boy instead of whatever impossible, confusing role Artemis seemed to be trying to fill.

Artemis Fowl was fifteen. Dr. Po hoped that he’d hold onto boyhood a little while longer.

#my writing #artemis fowl #long post #hi hello im zoe and i write awful fanfiction <3

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flowerslightning · 4 years

Text

(Part 2) Cloud Strife and his Mental Illness

a.k.a Psychiatric Disorder

| 1. Memory | ⇦ Click if u havent read it yet

2. Hallucinations, Illusions and Delusions

Since these three things relate well with Cloud's troubled memories, I'll be talking about them first before jumping to his Confused Personality

This post will bore u a bit or maybe a lot 😂 it depends. If ure interested with psychiatric stuff, u'll find this enjoyable as much as i do

Disclaimer : I'm 21 and still a tiny meany student. During my intern at Psychiatric Department, I learned and witnessed psychiatric problems from real life patients. And since Cloud (my fav FF character) has psychiatric issues, I'll be sharing some of my knowledge and interpretation of Cloud's character. Im not diagnosing him, rather i'm giving my own opinion about his status

@nibelheiim created a post about dissociation, she explained about hallucination, PTSD and more. Come and check her out! Her words were more direct and easier to understand. She explained about Psychological matter and she's a real psychology student too!

While my explanation will be more focusing on Psychiatric Topic and words used will be more complicated (with grammar errors). My facts will be based on ICD 10 and DSM-IV

A lot of people were confused with these three terms - Hallucination Illusion Delusion - These terms associated with abnormalities of perception. It is important to understand that this abnormality holds two keys; ● 1. Perception is the process of becoming aware of what is presented through the sense organs. ● 2. Imagery is an experience originating within the mind that usually lacks the sense of reality that is part of perception.

Abnormalities of perceptions have 4 theme, but I'll be focusing on two major types that relate with Cloud: (i) Hallucinations ; (ii) Illusions. Some cases, perception can be normal in intensity and quality but has a changed meaning for the person who experiences it - it is called as Delusional Perception. It is not an abnormal of perceptions, rather it is a disorder of a person's thinking.

Try guessing, how many from these terms does Cloud has?

1. Hallucinations

- A perception experienced in the absence of external stimulus to the corresponding sense organ. Eg - patient hears a voice when no one is speaking within a hearing distance or patient sees something approaching him when visually no one is there. There are 2 qualities to determine a hallucination: ●it is experienced as a true perception●it seems to come from outside of the head●

The above gif, where Sephiroth suddenly appear again before Cloud's eyes even able to touch Aerith's shoulder, it illustrate perfectly the 'Visual Hallucination'. No one can see Sephiroth, other than Cloud himself.

Cloud [Remake] kinda had anxiety when he stared at the fire and later he saw Sephiroth surrounded with flames, then poof, that silver guy disappeared along with the images of fire. He said he was hallucinating stuff after the first bombing mission. Idk how Sephiroth could create fake images of fire around him, either Cloud was really hallucinating or it was really Sephiroth that came to see him. But, this is what we call as 'Visual and Auditory Hallucinations'. Cloud SAW Sephiroth and HEARD him talking when no one else did. I can also add in 'Tactile Hallucination' because he probably felt the burning sensation on his skin from the flame around him that caused him to feel hot and sweating, or probably it was his anxiety that caused him sweating upon meeting Sephiroth with the flashback of his burning hometown

Hallucinations can occur in all sensory modalities; visual, olfactory, auditory etc. In the Remake, the Whispers could only be seen by certain people. To those who couldnt see it, they would be puzzled what was happening to u, and would've thought that u were hallucinating something, like in the case of Aerith.

In Cloud's case, perhaps Cloud [In OG] had auditory hallucination due to his severe case of Mako Addiction. But then, that wasnt exactly a hallucination though, cuz the thing he said "'Coming.. They're coming" was actually true. A monster fell from the sky.

Other 'hallucinations' that Cloud had was the images of Sephiroth that appeared in certain headache. Cloud may claimed it was his hallucinations, but i've read it somewhere that says it was really Sephiroth appeared before his eyes. Sephiroth was messing with Cloud's mind, trying to break his mental in order to control him. However, IF IT WASNT SEPHIROTH that came, Cloud's 'hallucination' would be known as a mental disorder that may lead to severe case - eg Schizophrenia.

2. Illusions

An illusion is a misperception of an external stimulus. It often occur in several circumstances: (i)level of sensory stimulation reduced (ii)attention is not focused on the sensory modality (iii)level of consciousness reduced (iv)being in a state of intense emotion- fear.

Does Cloud has it? Urm, maybe? Well, it can be proven when he saw his 'noisy neighbour next door' as Sephiroth. As stated above, illusions occur in 4 conditions, and Cloud was in number (i) and (iv). When Tifa yelled him to stop, Cloud came back to reality and got really confused when the 'Sephiroth' that attacked him was actually a sick guy. We can also add in 'Hallucinations of Deep sensation' in this scenario bcause Cloud experienced the feelings of being pushed down by 'Sephiroth'.

However, we all know that 'Sephiroth' was real at that moment. For Cloud, he thought it was an illusion, but for us the audience, it was a real thing.

If u want a better explanation and example, try watching Joker the movie. The main theme of the movie was 'mental illness'. There are lots of scenes that shows different type of hallucinations, illusions and also personality disorder.

3. Delusions

a.k.a fixed false belief. A belief that is held firmly despite evidence contrary. A delusion is nearly always a false belief but not always so. There are around 11 types of delusions according to the book. Half of it may suggest Shcizophrenia. Schizophrenia is certainly not in Cloud's case. I've studied one by one the type of delusions and none of them match with Cloud FF7.

I will surely give anyone a good punch in the face if they dare to say Cloud suffers from Schizophrenia. I've met with bunch of patients having it, and the way they see this world is totally different from us.

In some other cases, eg a spiritualist convince a person to believe in his spiritualism and he present with contrary evidence to the non-believer. This non-delusional belief is called 'overvalued ideas'

Overvalued ideas is an isolated , preoccupying and strongly held belief that dominates a person's life and may affect his action. One of the easiest example i can come up with; a friend who had skin cancer may be convinced to her roomate that cancer is contagious, and her roomate suspects any abnormal skin conditions she has is an evidence to show she too, may have developed the same cancer, when the truth is, she's just completely fine.

It is very hard to distinguish between a delusion and overvalued ideas.

I had a patient, he was diagnosed with Schizophrenia. He looked like an ordinary man, but when he talked, it sounded so unreal. He said he had jumped off from 10th floor several times and didnt get a scratch from it. He believed he wont die bcause he had gained super power. He even convinced me to try his 'so-called-secret technique- on how to survive a jump. By doing that often, I will have a superpower like him - a strong physical body. Up until now, I still dont know if he was being deluded with his thought or he was overvalued his idea, bcause from his psychiatric record, he did try to jump off from the second floor of his apartment's balcony a few times.

So, Im not really sure of myself did Cloud [FF7] really had delusion or not. Well, he believed he made it to SOLDIER bcause he had mako eyes. But was it something we called as delusion or was he just overvaluing his idea? He didnt know the truth and his memory messed up. No one could explain to him why he had Mako eyes, except Prof Hojo and Zack who knew the truth

Besides, after Tifa helped with his memory, Cloud accepted the fact he wasnt in SOLDIER. For patient who deluded with their own thoughts, they hardly could believe what people told him.

However, surely Cloud [in AC] had delusions of guilt and worthlessness due to the fact that he believed he had done something shameful and sinful - the main trigger of this theme was, he got infected with Geostigma while he was searching a cure for Denzel. Cloud got depressed with the loss of Aerith and the memory of Zack death had returned, but I think he was recovering very well in that two years time skip. The moment he got Geostigma, he became deluded he was worthless and his depression kicked in again.

Hallucinations and Illusions are normal to be experienced by healthy people, but it wont be if u encounter too many hallucinations & illusions in 2 weeks time. Believe it or not, a lot of people around us are actually mentally ill bcause some of them may have excessive certain delusions, such as delusions of jealousy, grandiose delusions, nihilistic, paranoid etc. Although 'it is consider as normal' in a few circumstance, a few cases need to refer to psychologist and in severer cases, must refer to psychiatrist. If u follow Dr Phil's show, u'll see a bunch of patients have different kind of crazy delusions.

Overall from my statement above, I would conclude that since Sephiroth always appear before Cloud's eyes, this resulting Cloud to think he has both Hallucination and Illusion, when in fact, he's just a normal guy with amnesia and personality confusion. Cloud doesnt have Delusion like how many fans said, neither he has an overvalued idea, even with the evidence of Mako eyes supporting his reasoning + he's a great fighter. I will have to say that perhaps it is his brain defence mechanism that tricks his mind to believe he is a Soldier.

If only Sephiroth stop disturbing Cloud's life, it will be a lot faster to fix Cloud. Tifa alone will be the main strength to get Cloud back to normal. Ah, but this is the beauty of the game. Life wont be exciting without the presence of a beautiful villain and a love triangle (Tifa-Cloud-Sephiroth). Lol Technically I see them trying to fight for Cloud's mental health. Tifa wants to help Cloud with his mental status while Sephiroth is trying to destroy it. Lolololol

My crack theory : Sephiroth says he's going to take Cloud's most precious thing, and he ends up choosing to kill Aerith, but ofc there's another reason why Aerith got killed. But if Sephiroth kills Tifa first, I think he can take over Cloud's mind faster, because then, no one will be holding Cloud back. Honestly no one can ever will, not even Aerith. So does that mean Sephiroth doesnt know about Cloud's deepest secret or is Cloud just good at hiding his weakness?

I WILL UPDATE THE NEXT POST LATER because I've reached tumblr limit images agaiiin. The next part will be focusing about his personality - Personality Disorder

If there is any part that I've mistaken, pls correct me. I'm sorry for my english. English is not my native language, so there are plenty of grammar errors.

#final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 remake #final fantasy gif #ff7r #mygif #ff7r spoilers #cloud ff7 #cloud strife gif #sephiroth gif #final fantasy sephiroth #character analysis #psychology #psychiatric disorders #cloud strife #aerith gainsborough

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kimhargreeves · 4 years

Text

Where Is My Mind?-Blue Jones

Summary:Reader is a patient and Blue Jones' plaything. She hates him for the things he's done including killing her friends, but he'll do anything to have her locked up.

(Based on the movie:Sucker Punch from 2011)

I whimper as I look away and grabs the dirty sheets under me,making my fists turn white and hurt. I stare up at the ceiling with tears slowly falling down to the side of my face, I hear the man zipping up his pants before throwing my legs back on the mattress and chuckling, "Who's my little girl?" he asks waiting for an answer.

I continue staring up at the gray chipped ceiling and hear the man groan annoyed that I wouldn't answer him again. The only door in the room closes behind him,leaving be broken and alone once more. I begin to cry some more and hide my face on the pillow under me, why us those who innocent are forced to pay what others did.

Two years has passed since I got locked in here by my older brother, he blamed me for the death of our parents and younger brothers, he walked into their rooms and killed them all before entering to mine and attempting to kill me when I saw the corpses, the minute the police arrived, he stabbed himself and claimed that I did it, since i was diagnosed with major depression the cops believed him, saying that I was jealous of my younger brothers attention from my parents..

The house got burned to the ground and I was left homeless. My brother took me here and spoke to Blue, he promised to take extra good care of me. He kept glancing over to me when he asked me a question and I never responded, my dark hair stayed stuck to my face due to my brother leaving me out in the rain while waiting for the men to fetch me outside.

"Hmm? She doesn't speak much huh?" The man teased looking down to my level. My gray eyes stared back at him without emotion.

"You should've heard her back then, she'd never stop talking..the bitch would offer herself for money and sometimes just for fun." there was no way fighting here.

The man smirked at me before looking back to my brother, "I'll make sure to take extra car of her."

*********************

I loved my with all my heart and now my brother is wandering off the streets as a free man who had nothing to do with our family's murder.

Blue is the man in charge here and he abuses all patients including the psychiatrist here, it was use to tell her what I was going through and asking her for help since she's going through the same and not saying anything to authorities.

I trusted the man in charge first when he visited my room and talked to me,assured me i'd me safe but he's the second person who's harmed me the most. I opened my eyes back and stared around the dirty old room, there's only a small window permitting some light to come in which isn't much cause it's always rainy and cold.

*****************

A couple of months has passed and Blue came into my room as usual but stopped from touching me in such ways,. Instead he began asking me how i've been doing and told me to ask if I needed anything..he didn't seem happy most day he came around so I tried to not anger him. He should also be a patient here cause i've heard the way he shouts and threatens everyone who works here.

Sitting up on my bed I look down to both my arms and see the many scars and bruises i've done to myself, some old some recently. I just want to be free..is that too much to ask? I made sure to fall asleep and before I knew it it was night time, there wasn't a single sound meaning the guards were away. Quickly I reached under my bed and grabbed the hairpin and walked over to the door, carefully i moved it around the keyhole and opened it.

Carefully I stepped outside without making a sound and hid when some guards walked by. I looked up ahead and spotted Blue's office, i tip toed over to it and surely it was unlocked..the keys to my freedom is just inches away.

I reached the key and held it in my palms but the second I turned around I saw Blue enter his office and looked angry, "You bitch!" he raised his hand to hit me but stopped midway, instead of hitting me he locked the door behind him and started trashing around his office, throwing a glass of water he had against the wall along with a couple of files.

"I've been treating you differently than the other girls here and this is how you thank me?!" he shouted making his way towards me, making me back up against the wall scared at him.

"I-I.."

"You're like the rest...like the rest!!"

I jumped up when he punched the wall next to my head. "Why would you leave me?..." next to my feet I saw a file, my eyes widened when I saw him face on it with some information, psychopathic behavior,anger issues and abusive. Was the only thing I could read from up here, apparently he's been locked up in a hospital too some time ago.

"W-Why are you doing this?"

His head turns to directly look at me with those tired dark cold eyes, Blue began to laugh to himself before replying "You've been on my mind since the day you first arrived..The second I saw you I wanted you..touch you..feel you..I want you all to myself. Hehe...i know i've been treating you badly for a while but I want you to feel safe around me..that way my men won't go near you."

Blue continued, "I want them to see the scars...bruises i've done to you. Let them know your mine. " his face got closer to mine before he raised his hand up and cupped my cheek,dark eyes never leaving mine..and with a wicked smile he stares at me, "I want you to be mine..now..who's my little girl?"

#sucker punch #oscar isaac #blue jones #babydoll #mental asylum #patient #blue jones x reader #sucker punch x reader #zack snyder #emily browning #psychological #horror #oscar isaac is hot in this film

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bunnyhanasong · 5 years

Text

Lost and Found

Main ship: pharmercy

Side ships: n/a

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, reunion

Synopsis: Dr. Angela Ziegler has spent years focusing solely on her work and saving lives. When a familiar face comes to her in the worst way imagined, the level-headed doctor is left battling logic and emotion in a way she never wished to experience.

Note: This is a short story that I wrote for my creative writing course last semester that I have edited to contain Pharah and Mercy as opposed to my original characters I submitted it with. As I was writing it, I noticed how much inspiration I had taken from Pharmercy with the doctorxsoldier trope, so I thought I would edit it and post as a fan fic since I'm rather fond of it and got a very good mark on it. So, Mr. O if you're reading this; yes this short story was basically gay Overwatch fan fiction lmao. For now this is just a oneshot, though I have thought about expanding the story in the future. Feedback, comments, and suggestions for future pieces in this universe are very much appreciated and will motivate me to write again for this!

Content warnings: canon typical violence, medical talk, military talk, PTSD, traumatic injuries, takes place in a hospital

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Incoming trauma, IED blast with three major casualties; one DOA, two in critical condition.

Angela groaned as her pager beeped angrily at her, the words highlighting the screen causing her to shoot up from her bunk. The on-call room was dark and there were at least two other pagers beeping away, trying to get their owners up to meet the trauma. The bottom bunk she had been occupying for less than 45 minutes, though not exactly the pinnacle of comfort, was warm and inviting in that moment. Still, she pushed herself up and made to leave, trying to pull her blonde hair into a haphazard bun as she followed the other doctors out into the hallway.

The doctor and nurse in front of Angela were chattering in what she knew was Arabic, though her minimal knowledge in the language rendered eavesdropping nearly impossible. Angela was from Switzerland originally, so she only spoke German and English, the latter being thanks to school. She had chosen to learn English throughout high school and university, which came in handy since that was the tongue she spoke predominantly here. She was the head doctor of a Swiss medical aid team, sent to a military base outside of Cairo, Egypt to help their short-staffed trauma centre. None of her team knew Arabic, save for a few phrases, so they were relying on each other and their English knowledge to get them through the mission. As the head doctor and the most fluent English speaker, Angela was the one who received the most information from the Military doctors.

“Dr. Ziegler,” an accented voice brought Angela’s attention to the nurses’ station across the trauma bay. She made her way to the nurse who had said her name, a kind, stout Egyptian woman by the name of Salma. She had been the friendliest nurse by far and welcomed the Swiss doctors warmly. Coming to stand by the triage desk, Angela asked the nurse for more information on what had occurred.

“Our military had sent a team to patrol a territory not far from the base where reports had been made of criminal activity. I guess they stepped too close to unmapped land, an IED mine went off before anyone could react. We lost one immediately, the other two are on the bus in critical condition; ETA 10 minutes.”

Angela nodded along with her words, feeling her stomach sink at the fact that they lost a patient already. She shook off the thought though, no sense in getting emotional now; she would just need to focus on keeping the remaining two alive. She had already seen her fair share of explosion aftermath in her two weeks on base already, which was a terrifying wake up call for the woman. Still, as a doctor she had learned quickly that one must separate feelings from work, otherwise the emotional impact of the job would have put her out of commission years ago. She kept this in mind as she left the nurses’ station, passing a group of Egyptian staff barking orders in Arabic and making her way to a familiar redheaded woman.

“Ange!” the younger doctor greeted Angela in German with a sign of relief, “We have no idea where to even start with this. Do you have any more information on the trauma?”

Amelia Schmidt, 35-year-old and a cardio surgeon by trade, though here she had switched from daily open heart surgeries to more frequent traumas and millions of sutures. She had been Angela’s closest friend since they started working at the same hospital almost about eight years prior. She was certainly a spunky person, always ready to jump into action and meet the problem head on. Being in Egypt was changing that for Amelia though, she felt very out of her element and was finding herself relying on Angela a lot more than usual. The language barrier was certainly difficult, not to mention the culture shock, and Amelia finally felt the overwhelming weight of her profession full force. Still, she never lost her spirit and still kept Angela and the others optimistic, her jovial attitude making nightshifts and long days a bit more bearable.

“Two casualties incoming, both soldiers. Landmine went off and they must have got the front of the blast. Jump in where you can and keep an eye on the younger doctors with us in case translation becomes a problem. If you need help with Arabic, let Salma know like always.”

Amelia nodded at her friend’s words, “Okay.”

Angela didn’t have time to ask her friend how things had been while she had taken a short nap, because the doors to the trauma bay crashed open. There was a lot of shouting in multiple languages as Dr. Ziegler tried to direct her staff in German while the local doctors did the same in their language. She ran up to the medic pushing a gurney, asking in her heavily accented English what they were looking at.

The paramedic looked slightly confused but thankfully answered the blonde woman in English after a moment’s pause, “Private Ahmed Abassi, age 23. GCS 8, responds to pressure but currently nonverbal and only semi-conscious. He was thrown by the explosion and has a suspected rib fracture and shoulder dislocation. Abdomen seems stiff, we assume some internal bleeding but could not get a portable ultrasound in the field.”

Angela nodded as they wheeled into a trauma room, stopping so she could pull on a pair of gloves. She worked with the nurses who had come to help, doing a secondary scan of the patient’s body. She identified some shrapnel that caused superficial wounds but her main concern was the distention of his abdomen and the apparent pain response the young soldier had to it. He was barely conscious but groaned in pain as she palpated the area, apologizing to him gently in Arabic as she continued to check his chest and torso for injuries. Though her words were jumbled and she stuttered more than she liked, Angela still made sure to speak to her patient calmly through her exam, just in case he was more aware than they thought. She asked a nurse to get the portable ultrasound and x-ray so they could check for internal injuries, which was her greatest concern in that moment. As she was monitoring his vitals and reassessing his condition on the coma scale chart, one of her younger doctors ran into the room.

“Dr. Ziegler,” the young man asked in a slightly overwhelmed tone, “Dr. Khan is asking for your help in trauma one.”

Angela nodded and turned to a nurse she knew spoke English, “I will be back to check on Private Abassi in a bit, please get those blood tests and the type-and-cross orders ASAP.”

She followed the resident out into the hall and found Dr. Khan standing outside the trauma room in question. The Egyptian doctor was the head trauma surgeon there and was very no-nonsense. She was tall and slightly intimidating, years of military training apparent in her posture and demeanour. Still, she had been friendly and helpful to the visiting doctors, which Angela was thankful for. She didn’t even have a chance to ask what was wrong before the other woman spoke in a terse voice.

“Female in her early thirties. She is awake and noncompliant. Traumatic trans-radial amputation and other assumed injuries we cannot diagnose due to her adamance to leave. She needs to be examined and we need to operate but we first need to assess her mental state.”

Angela was a bit taken aback by the sudden information dump, “And you need me because...?”

“Your friend said you worked in psychology before switching to surgery, yes?”

Ah, so she wanted a psych consult. Angela had done a minor is psychology and worked as a psychiatrist for a couple years before deciding she much rather preferred the surgical side of her profession. It had been years since she had done a proper psych consult, but her knowledge of the workup and proper patient care had not escaped her.

“I did. Do you need me to do a workup now? Shouldn’t her physical injuries take priority?”

Dr. Khan shook her head, “We have reasons to believe this is a Post-Traumatic Stress attack. She took the biggest force of the explosion; witnesses say she threw herself towards it to protect her younger soldiers. She is a security chief, so we know she has seen a lot of battle already, and was held captive by enemy forces for a fortnight last year.”

“And unknown people touching her while she is in shock may cause her to become violent or prone to self-injury,” Angela concluded, nodding. She gestured for the trauma surgeon to take her to see the patient, following behind her into the room. It had been a while since she had done a proper psych evaluation, but she was hopeful that this would be simple and not include any communication barriers.

There was a large amount of hospital personnel in the room, surrounding a figure clad in a tattered military uniform. There was a group of nurses trying to dress the soldier’s arm, which had been amputated, probably by shrapnel, just below the elbow. That needed to be assessed and closed properly, but surgery was not an option until a proper workup was done. To do a workup though, they first needed to calm the patient so she would be compliant; which was already proving to be an issue. The soldier was thrashing in the nurses’ hold, trying to escape their grasp and the IV in her remaining arm.

Jumping into action, Angela waved away two security personnel who were trying to restraint the soldier’s wrist and ankles, “You are only making this worse by restraining her. Please refrain from touching the patient.”

Making her way towards the bed, she glanced back at Doctor Khan, “Patient name?”

She looked down at the patient and didn’t even hear Khan’s response. It wasn’t necessary; she new exactly who this was. If her name badge on her uniform, somehow still intact, wasn’t identifiable enough, the eye of Horus tattoo under her right eye gave away her identity. The patient’s terrified dark eyes met hers and Angela knew that there was recognition under the layers of shock and drug-induced haze.

“F-fareeha?” Angela murmured, shocked, and took a seat in the chair pulled up beside the hospital bed. She had already tuned out all the background noise of the room, focusing completely on the woman in front of her. She was trying very hard to separate emotions from the situation, but now that she knew who the patient was it was becoming increasingly difficult. Still, she had a job to do and that was the priority in this moment.

Returning her focus to the task at hand, Angela spoke softly to the injured soldier in front of her. She had obviously recognized the blonde doctor by now and was staring at her in confusion, as if she could not understand why Angela was in front of her. The way she looked at her was reassuring though, since she seemed responsive despite her injuries and apparent blood loss. Angela took a glance at the monitor for a moment to check her vitals, saw her heart rate and blood pressure were concerningly high, and took a moment to attempt to soothe the patient’s nerves.

“Fareeha, I need you to stay still, okay?” Angela tried again to reassume her doctor tone as she spoke to the soldier, “You need to let us take care of you. Take a deep breath for me, alright?”

The Egyptian woman tried to speak but she was having trouble, whether that be due to focusing issues or her pain. The other hospital staff were speaking loudly and it was clearly distracting the patient. She was trying to even her breathing like Angela asked, but too deep of an inhale caused her breathing to hitch and her whole body to flinch, which made her assume she had sustained some broken ribs. Fareeha fumbled around on the bed until she caught Angela’s hand with her remaining one, looking up at the doctor with tear-filled eyes. The blonde didn’t pull her hand away, sensing that she needed comfort in this moment, and just hushed her gently.

“Focus on me, alright? Can you understand me?” she had been speaking English the whole time, since she knew Fareeha knew it as well. It was easier than attempting to speak her rusty Arabic, which probably wouldn’t be understandable anyway considering how much her voice wavered. After a pause, Fareeha nodded shakily, wincing as her body disagreed with the movement.

“Good, stay still,” Angela was still holding her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “You’re safe, Fareeha. You had an accident out in the field but we’re going to get you through this.”

Angela was trying her best to stay calm herself, speaking softly and keeping the patient’s focus on her. She knew she was letting her emotions get the better of her but she couldn’t help it. Not when Fareeha had such a tight grip on her hand and her eyes held so many questions and so much pain. Still, she knew the most important thing was to keep Fareeha distracted so her heart rate stayed down, wanting to avoid any more panic. She could see the nurses still trying to staunch the flow of blood from Fareeha’s amputation, silently praying that the patient stayed unaware of that aspect of her injury for the time being.

“M-my… my t-team?” the soldier’s voice was raspy and she spoke through gritted teeth but to Angela it was a relief to hear, “Are… t-they o…okay?”

That question made Angela hesitate, glancing back anxiously at Dr. Khan. She didn’t know how to respond to that, since she was not aware of how Ahmed’s condition was faring and did not even know the name of the soldier who had been killed by the blast. Fareeha squeezed her hand, trying to catch her attention again, and Angela sighed. Of course it was just like Fareeha to only care about her team when faced with life threatening injuries herself, ever the selfless hero she was.

“Private Abassi is in surgery right now, Chief Amari,” Khan supplied quickly, “Your other members are either back at base or in the waiting room.”

Angela did not want to lie to Fareeha but knew they could not tell her the truth about the deceased. It would not be fair to distress her like that, not now, and it would certainly ruin things after they had finally gotten her calm. The doctor just nodded along with the attending surgeon’s words, making eye contact with Fareeha.

“Fareeha, you need surgery,” though the extent of her injuries was not yet known, it was obvious she would need to be anesthetized to have her traumatic amputation corrected and cleaned up. She was unsure if the patient had even registered that she was missing her hand and forearm, most likely due to shock or the concern for her team she seemed to hold over her own health.

“Surgery?”

Angela hummed in affirmation, frowning at the way the younger woman sounded so confused, “Can you let the other doctors look you over? I promise you are safe; we just need to make sure you’re not bleeding internally or have any fractures we missed.”

It took a little more coaxing and Angela promising to stay right beside her before the younger woman agreed. The Swiss doctor held her hand the whole time, spoke to her gently in English and broken Arabic, hoping to calm her nerves. The doctor’s shaky attempt at speaking her mother tongue made Fareeha smile despite her pain, a familiar and warm sight that soothed Angela’s own anxieties. When Doctor Khan confirmed that Fareeha had suffered major bruising and a few rib fractures, as well as a concussion, she ordered some scans to make sure there was no bleeding or injury they had missed.

The other staff members were still bustling around, ordering scans and cleaning up the space. Angela had stepped away to speak to the attending doctor, explaining how she knew Fareeha and what steps they had to take now. The soldier in question was slumped back into the uncomfortable neck brace she was stuck in, still trying to crane her neck to see the only familiar face she knew in the room.

“Angie?”

The nickname Angela had not been called in years made her jump, sure Amelia called her “Ange” sometimes but that was different. There was a mixture of fondness and fear in Fareeha’s voice as she called out to the blonde doctor, who had been speaking to Khan in a hushed tone across the room. Turning her attention back to the patient who called for her, Fareeha’s dark eyes searching for reassurance before the unfamiliar nurses wheeled her to the operating theatre.

Angela walked back to her side, not even thinking as she reached out to brush matted dark hair off Fareeha’s face, “You’ll be alright, Fareehali.”

The affectionate nickname surprised the younger woman, “W-will you be here… when it’s d-done?”

Angela nodded, “Of course. I promise.” The fear and uncertainty was clear on her face and it broke Angela’s heart, seeing this strong soldier so scared. She held onto Fareeha’s hand for a little longer, promising her that the surgery would be over before she knew it and Fareeha was in good hands.

When she was reassured that there would be a familiar face there when she woke up, the solider let the staff members wheel her down the hallway. Angela was left in the hall by herself, dumbfounded by the situation she had just been thrown into. She went back to the trauma bay in a daze, worry eating away at her stomach as she slouched heavily against a wall.

“Ange?” Amelia’s cheerful voice drew her out of her thoughts, “You okay?”

Angela shrugged, already feeling the dull ache of a migraine throbbing in her skull, “Patient’s gone to surgery.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow, “You’re not operating? You have privileges here and usually you never pass up the chance to operate.”

The older woman had taken a seat in a chair, her head falling into her hands as she felt her body weighed down with the emotions she had tried to fight off. She stayed quiet for a moment as she tried to collect herself, feeling her friend’s concerned stare drilling into her. Angela didn’t raise her head to look at Amelia and her reply was muffled.

“Can’t operate. Not on her.”

“Who?”

Angela sighed, “The security chief with the traumatic amputation. She’s… uh… she’s my ex-girlfriend.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first thing Fareeha was aware of when she woke up was the scent of disinfectant, which was so strong it felt like a hit to the face. The second thing she noticed was that her left arm was numb, and a quick glance down explained why. Her elbow was wrapped in a tight layer of bandages, but the rest of her lower arm was gone, an empty space on the bed where it should be. She recalled one of the nurses mentioning something about a traumatic amputation, but it had disappeared from her mind in a haze of adrenaline and pain medication. She was not too sure about much that had happened in the trauma room, to be honest; everything fuzzy with the weight of anesthetic. Now, though, the reality was hitting her; she was missing her left arm and might never fight again.

She felt a weight on her other arm and turned her head, much too fast which made her wince, and saw a familiar figure beside her. Angela Ziegler was there in all her glory, slumped over in a visitor’s chair that had been pulled as close to the bed as possible. She was fast asleep, her hand clutching tightly to Fareeha’s remaining one as if she would disappear if Angela let go. She was still clad in her beige scrubs, her rumpled white coat having been discarded over the back of the chair, and her hair was a mess, tumbling over her shoulders as if it had fallen from its haphazard knot. Despite her clear exhaustion and disheveled state, Fareeha would never be over how beautiful the Swiss woman was, and she felt her heart clench painfully as she remembered how bittersweet this reunion was.

Their breakup was not exactly a bad one; there had not been any ill feelings or fights. It was mostly a mutual decision out of necessity rather than falling out of love. Fareeha had been an exchange student in Switzerland back in her second year of University. She soon met Angela, a quiet and calculated med student well on her way to her degree. They quickly became friends and improved their English together as a means of communication. Like so many cliché love stories, their friendship grew closer until it was more than that. They dated for a while, Fareeha staying in Switzerland longer than her exchange had been for, and they were happy. Thing were good and Angela even made solid plans to visit her girlfriend the next summer in Egypt when she undoubtably would have to go home.

When Fareeha went back to Egypt, they made long distance work for a while and it was still okay. It was when the Egyptian woman told her girlfriend she would be joining the army that Angela knew things wouldn’t work out, not then anyway. They were too far apart and she needed to focus on her career, Fareeha’s military service would leave her plagued by fear for her partner’s safety and distract her from the hospital. Fareeha proposed a break, understanding Angela’s point of view but knew the older woman would never stop her from doing what she wanted. Angela had let her go without a fight and they parted ways, though there had been many tears on both sides and a long skype call of apologies and regrets.

They had stayed in touch at first, friendly and civil, but soon grew apart. Mostly due to Fareeha’s training and deployments, which prohibited her from using her phone often. Eventually their correspondence lulled until it stopped all together. It had been maybe three years since they last spoke by then and Fareeha was completely overwhelmed by the doctor’s presence. The fact that she was here though, since she must she have had work to be doing, was reassuring. It made her feel safe to have Angela here, especially since her mind threatened to swallow her in a whirlwind of memories and trauma. Though it didn’t stop the panic completely, Angela being there was enough to keep her from falling deep into her head in that moment.

The effects of the anesthetic were wearing off, though she still felt groggy from the IV of what she assumed was morphine. She certainly wasn’t complaining about the drugs though, since she knew her pain would have been almost blinding without the steady flow of pain relief into her bloodstream. Now that her head was clearer, Fareeha tried her hardest to distract herself from the overwhelming numbness she felt on her left side. She felt as though maybe the fact that she had had a traumatic amputation hadn’t sunk in completely beforehand, but now that the pain was breaking through her hazy mind, she felt the panic over the topic rising.

Thinking about it only made it worse, Fareeha noted, but she couldn’t stop herself. Left in the silent and bland hospital room to her own devices, her head was filled with memories from the accident as they all flooded back. The yell of shock that left her friend Noor as she realized too late that she stepped on an unmarked mine. The way she had thrown herself to grab her friend but had been too late to stop the damage. The force of the explosion that sent them all flying backwards. It all came back in a rush, overwhelming her beyond belief.

Her head was aching, she had a concussion if she remembered correctly, and she just wanted to go back to sleep. Sleep would surely bring nightmares now, though, and the solider was not sure how much more panic she could handle at that point. Fareeha tried to focus her mind on Angela instead, observing her sleeping form languidly in an attempt to keep herself calm. She gave the doctor’s hand a gentle squeeze, more as reassurance for herself than anything, and it caused the other woman to stir.

“Fareehali?” the nickname was mumbled and tired, followed by a string of words in German that Fareeha was unable to place properly. It had been too long since she head or spoke in Swiss-German, her third language, and she was too out of it to recognize what the doctor said. Hearing her voice was reassuring though, even though the sleepily mumbled words pricked at her heart more than she would like to admit; mind flooded with memories of their past. This time she wasn’t waking up in their shared bed next to the beautiful doctor, who was too tired to speak in anything but her mother tongue but still greeted Fareeha good morning with gentle kisses and a strong hug. This time she was injured and in the hospital, Angela was her doctor and they had been broken up for over half a decade. Thing were bittersweet, she sighed to herself, and this was certainly not how she imagined their reunion.

“Hi, Angie,” Fareeha replied as the blonde lifted her head, her grip on the other woman’s hand not faltering for a moment. It took a little while for Angela to wake up properly, her unruly hair sticking to sleep-flushed cheeks as she lifted her free hand to rub at her eye. After a moment though, she seemed to jump back into doctor mode.

“How’s your pain?” she questioned, glancing over at the machine beside the bed to check Fareeha’s vital signs. Fareeha couldn’t help but smile weakly at the focused look on her face, thinking she looked downright adorable when she was fussing over her like this. Perhaps an inappropriate thought for a soldier being treated for traumatic injuries, Fareeha would just blame her gay brain winning over logic for that though.

Fareeha shrugged weakly, “Can’t feel my arm,” she nodded pointedly to the bandaged stump that was propped up on a pillow as if it wasn’t obvious. She tilted her head back into the pillows and winced a little, “Head hurts.”

Angela frowned at that, reaching up to absentmindedly smooth her messy dark hair down, “I’m sorry, Fareeha.”

“Nothing anyone could do.”

“you… threw yourself in front of the explosion?”

Fareeha flinched but nodded all the same, “Not my finest idea. It seemed like the right thing to do though; I had to protect those kids. Dumbasses, the lot of them, but at the end of the day they’re good soldiers.”

Angela shook her head, “You could have died, Fareeha.”

“I could die any day, Angie. That’s how this line of work goes.”

“But…” Angela’s eyes were full of pain as she stared at her, “I can’t lose you… not again, Fareehali.”

That confession had Fareeha pausing, taken aback by the statement. It had been three years since they last spoke, six since they broke up, yet by that admission it sounded like Angela hadn’t let her go completely. Maybe she had not let Angela go either, still, that was a loaded statement and the solider was unsure of how to reply.

“Angela…” Fareeha spoke gently, though her tone was guarded, “It’s been so long.”

The blonde scoffed, blue eyes holding a challenging edge to their stare, “And? That doesn’t mean anything… I miss you, Fareeha. When I saw you in the trauma bay earlier, it was like my worst fear being realized before my eyes. If you had died down there or in surgery, I don’t know if I could have handled it.”

The Egyptian woman felt her heart sink as tears welled in Angela’s eyes. She hated seeing her in pain, hated that she couldn’t fix it immediately. The older woman had always been so strong, so calculated and sure of herself, so to see her now close to tears and almost shaking; it made Fareeha want to cry as well.

“I’m sorry,” Fareeha’s voice was barely above a whisper, “I didn’t want to leave you… I didn’t want to scare you like this.”

“I know…” Angela mumbled, hiding behind her curtain of blonde hair. She laughed at her own emotional behaviour and swiped at the tears on her cheeks, “This is so unprofessional of me.”

“Angie… how long have you been in Egypt?”

Angela looked at her with a sheepish smile, “Two weeks. We’re here for a couple months, unless something severe happens.”

Fareeha nodded, “Did you… think about contacting me?”

“I did, actually,” Angela laughed a little, “I contacted your mother. I wasn’t sure if you still had the same phone number so I found Ana though the trauma centre’s records, she works here sometimes, yeah?”

“Not as often as she used to but yeah. I haven’t talked to her in a while to be honest.”

“Fareeha!” Angela shook her head, “Call your mother for once, dumbass. She misses you.”

“I know”

The doctor sighed and observed her for a moment, “I… miss you.”

“Angie,” Fareeha sighed, watching her with pain in her eyes.

“I do.”

“I know” Fareeha said again, “I miss you too.”

Angela was holding onto her hand again, silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Fareeha tugged on her hand until she took the hint, slouching down so the soldier could wrap her arm around her. Angela melted against her strong body, trying to be careful and avoid straining her injuries. It felt safe like this, something neither woman had felt properly in years; the familiarity and warmth that came with the desperate embrace. This was the comfort both had missed so dearly, something the doctor had let go of out of fear of the unknown. Yet here they were six years later, the only reassurance they found from the unknown being in each other’s arms.

“Promise me,” Angela mumbled into her shoulder, “That you won’t scare me like this again. I can’t lose you, not after all this.”

“Angela, you couldn’t handle the distance last time…”

“I don’t care,” the Swiss woman wore her stress and exhaustion on her face as she lifted her head, “I’ll do whatever it takes this time. I’ll stay here if I have to, transfer all my work here. I can’t leave you, Fareeha, certainly not like this.”

“I-” Fareeha took a shaky breath, “You mean that?”

“Whatever it takes,” Angela’s tone was serious and firm, a sure nod punctuating her tearful words. Fareeha knew she wasn’t lying and she knew from experience that Angela never broke her promises. She also knew that the blonde was the most stubborn, head-strong woman she had the pleasure of meeting.

“Okay.”

“O-okay?”

“I promise,” Fareeha concluded as she held tightly onto the woman who had truthfully never stopped being the object of her affection, “I won’t leave you again.”

That admission made Angela burst into tears again, holding tightly to the younger woman as her whole body shook with a mixture of relief and emotion. Fareeha just held her as best she could, pressing a cautious kiss to the Swiss woman’s forehead, apologizing so quietly it was almost inaudible. It was an apology for a lot of things, leaving her; scaring her; not being there to protect and love Angela for all those years. Angela just scoffed and told her to shut up, returning her affection with a gentle kiss on the lips that held six years of pain, regret, and love.

Even though the future was terrifying and their reunion was as bittersweet as reunions go, none of that seemed to matter in that moment. All that mattered was the promise of safety and comfort they had found in each other all those years ago, a promise that felt stronger than any war, IED, or distance that threatened to separate them again.

#i finally have time to write again i need to write the next chap of foolish girl #overwatch #angela ziegler #mercy #fareeha amari #pharah #pharmercy #overwatch fanfic #pharmercy fan fiction #overwatch fan fiction #my fics #ptsd tw #military tw #hospital tw #amputation tw

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dodstoldpackage · 4 years

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Long Post Incoming!!!

To start off, “trauma baiting,” as I would describe it, is: bullying someone to the point they admit their trauma and abuse even though they don’t want to, saying anyone is faking their trauma for any reason, bullying or harassing someone for “not having bad enough” trauma, in anyway making someone relive their trauma, or actively convincing someone they have repressed trauma that they’re unaware of (with the intentions of either proving them to be fake or proving their origins are actually traumagenic as opposed to any other origins).

As said in the last post, all gatekeepers want to do is look like their doing something helpful and productive when they aren’t doing any productive that only harms people. A fair number of Ex System Exclusionists have admitted that being in that community was harmful, draining, and negatively affected their mental health. Even though they fit the criteria that Sysmeds are looking for, it was harmful for them because they felt like they always had to be on their toes and put up a mask for anything another Sysmed might call them out on. Anything that might get them seen as fake or get them “cancelled.” Tldr; it’s a community full of hate and, just like the kin gatekeepers, they open up a perfect path for trolls and other people to sneak their way into the community. Really all a troll or anyone else has to do is put on a mask, watch what they do and say, then copy them. Though, I would say that Sysmeds are just a bit less trusting than kin gatekeepers. Also, while they like to say they’re helping others and what have you, most Sysmeds are pretty racist! They refuse to even hear of cultures that have had or still do have spiritual plurality woven into their daily lives and beliefs. Not to mention all of the religions and other similar beliefs they completely deny as truth. I personally took a course in college where spiritual plurality in other cultures and religions was a pretty big focus in that class! Their belief systems are taken very seriously and most of the cultures we touched on rarely allowed outsiders, even to study their culture to understand them better. However, these aren’t the only religions that hold such views. Possession is the biggest type of Spiritual Plurality in most first and second world countries. Something that even Christians and Catholics often believe in. It’s not usually to the extent of sharing a body with another soul for the rest of or most of your life and tends to be focused around Demon Possession, but it’s there. It’s still a popular belief.

As for not actually reading the DSM-5, well see for yourself.

While Sysmeds like to go around claiming that trauma is needed for DID or OSDD, that isn’t actually in the criteria for either! Both are often found with people who do have trauma, but that isn’t always the case.

"In the DSM-5, the dissociative disorders are placed next to, but are not part of, the trauma- and stressor-related disorders."

“yeah osdd is just amnesia + less differentiated alters (1a) or no amnesia + more differentiated alters (1b).”

Also, I would just like to mention that this is the DSM-5; it’s the Fifth (5th) installment or update to this criterium that Psychologists, Therapists, and Psychiatrists, are supposed to use as a guide to diagnose patients. They are no where near done with research for any of these mental illnesses or disabilities to say that this is the end all be all of criteria and symptoms (even if it did say that trauma was needed for diagnosis). DID, OSDD, Schizophrenia, Depression, Anxiety, etc aren’t colds. They aren’t like cancer or diabetes or anything like that. You can’t just look at someone’s throat who has a cough or their blood or other parts of their physical body and go “yep this is what you have” with one hundred (100) percent certainty. Hell, even physical science, which is normally much easier to research, still has its flaws and misdiagnosis. Added onto that, this is only a guide for professionals when it comes down to it. Even something that seems simpler to diagnose isn’t always going to be easier to diagnose in people. Just like a cold or the flu (or, hell, most other things), not everyone exhibits all of the same symptoms.

They may one day be able to prove or disprove spiritual plurality, who knows. Only time will actually tell. Having a belief in spiritual plurality doesn’t actually harm anyone. Those that believe their plurality is directly linked to spiritual (or sometimes other) things, usually aren’t searching out any sort of therapy for their plurality. Most wouldn’t even admit to a therapist or any other professional that they are plural without some very deep trust between them. Also, just because somebody believes their plural origins to be linked to neurodivergence, spiritual things, or anything besides trauma doesn’t mean they can’t have trauma. Anyone can have trauma. It also doesn’t mean that they can’t have DID or OSDD. Just let people label themselves how they want. Just because someone labes themselves as “endogenic” (or what have you), doesn’t mean their forcing anyone else to and it doesn’t give anyone the right to attack and hate on them.

(Sources for the DSM-5: here and here. Along with the actual DSM-5. Greysdawn has a good post on all of this as well).

No matter how you slice it, exclusionists are all the same. It’s just a question of “who are they hurting?” Nixe already went into the similarities of Transmeds and Sysmeds (System Exclusionists) but let us run down the line in simple terms, shall we?

Sysmeds exclude based on people’s beliefs, a person’s identity, and whether or not they’re accepting of “outsiders.” Transmeds exclude based on people’s beliefs, a person’s identity, and whether or not they’re accepting of “outsiders.” TERFs exclude based on a person’s identity and whether or not they’re accepting of “outsiders.” SWERFs exclude based on a person’s job, their beliefs (to an extent, depending on the SWERF), and whether or not they’re accepting of “outsiders.” Kin Exclusionists or Gatekeepers exclude people based on their beliefs, identity, and whether or not they’re accepting of “outsiders.” Basically the same rings true for just about any other exclusionist group. Sure specific vocabulary changes to fit the community, but it’s all the same in the end. It’s consistently about keeping out the people who “don’t belong,” making sure the ones that do belong follow strict beliefs and guidelines or be cast out. No exceptions. These groups only care about the strict goals they have in mind.

To sign off this time, I leave you all with probably one of my biggest sayings:

Humans are diverse in everything. Looks, emotions, thoughts, beliefs, personalities, and actions. We’re meant to be diverse. That’s why we have so much control over ourselves - our own free wills. We’re not monkeys or any other animal destined to always be looking for food, mating, then dying. We have passions, hobbies, complicated thoughts, complicated feelings, and best of all; complicated relationships. Not only with each other but with society as whole, objects, our own pets, other animals, and with ourselves sometimes. We decide our own morals, our own beliefs, our own ways of living life. It’s probably the best thing about being human. You never know what’s going to happen or how you’ll conquer the hardships. We plan ahead, but all we really know is the destination and not what’ll happen there.

#tom #tom speaks #alucard #alucard speaks #host #host speaks #cruxen #cruxen speaks #syscourse #syscourse informational post #sysmeds cry me a river challenge

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atypicalbipolar · 4 years

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Questions about the psych ward you’re afraid to ask

I was inpatient at three different hospitals in the Boston area between 2017 and 2018. Newton Wellesley Hospital (NWH) January 2017, McLean June 2018 and Mass General Hospital (MGH) twice September 2017 and November 2018

What about my phone? In January 2017 NWH did not allow cell phones. I went to the ER (at my hospital, MGH) with my mom in crisis. She had my phone, and kept it with her when they decided to admit me and send me to NWH. If you ended up on this unit with your phone they collected it with your valuables and handed them over to security for the duration of your stay. There were two computers in the OT room that we were allowed to use when the room was staffed. (So beware of logging into sites you had two factor authentication set up for new computers)

The other two places allowed phones with restrictions. At MGH the nurses kept our chargers locked in the laundry closet, all together. I still have my medical id sticker on my charger. If I remember correctly you had to surrender your phone at night. At McLean they supplied their own bank of chargers out in the common areas. We needed to be up and out of bed for vitals before we could use our phones.

You’re encouraged to not be on your phone so much, as you’re there for treatment. It’s hard to strike a balance because I did want to stay on social media, but I didn’t want to say anything about being in the hospital. The first stay at NWH was actually helpful for me as a detox. I do use my phone too much and being psychotic and on social media is not a good mix for me.

What do I wear? I wore my clothes in each unit. But each place had different expectations. At MGH it was perfectly acceptable for you to spend the day in your hospital PJs as long as you kept your hygiene. I hated those PJs, they were too warm and ill fitting so I wore my own clothes during the day.

NWH had an expectation that you were dressed in your own clothes. I remember they had a washer and dryer and staff would assist with laundry. What's important to know is that everything you bring in is screened for contraband and unsafe items. You can't wear clothing with drawstrings and that includes shoelaces. A lot of my sweatpants and hoodies had drawstrings. For one pair of sweats I let them cut the drawstring because I really wanted to wear it.

This is one of the reasons why it's helpful to have family or friends have access to where you live so you can get some creature comforts. And when I heard the laundry machine wasn't the cleanest at MGH I just cycled a few days of clothes with mom.

Do they feed you? Yes and it's hospital food. That means at both NWH and MGH I was given a menu to order each day, like any other patient there. There was also a fridge/cabinet area off the common room for snacks and drinks. Instead at McLean Sodexo had a contract to provide food. There was no menu as they brought meals to the dining room. You didn't have a choice in food but if you had your phone and cash you could call for delivery. There were binders of menus by the entryway. But as someone who has to keep an eye out for crohn's food triggers I did not enjoy having less control over my food.

Where do I sleep? The number of patients on the floor is based on the beds they have. At NWH I had a roommate and we had a room big enough for drawers/shelves, chairs, but shared a desk. We had our own bathroom, but had to be let into a common shower by staff. The unit was pretty old and claustrophobic and the plumbing and heating proved that. At McLean it was similar, except there were common floor bathrooms and showers.

MGH had real adjustable hospital beds and bathrooms with showers attached. Staff will still do their 15 minute checks and will knock on your bathroom door.

Checks? Staff must visually count you every 15 minutes. The person who is assigned that role will usually have a clipboard or list to check everyone off. At night it means opening your room’s door and visually spotting that you’re in bed, alive. After the first couple nights you usually can ignore it.

If you are having a hard time and dealing with suicidal ideation, or intrusive thoughts, you should let staff know. They may put you on a 5 minute list, meaning you’ll see them around more often.

What do I do? You’ll be assigned a care time to work on a treatment plan. Usually a psychiatrist and nurse will meet with you each morning, sometimes there’s more people like a social worker on your team as well. Whatever brought you to the hospital will be worked on, with the goal to stabilize you. That is their priority. In the meantime between rounds, meds, and meals there are groups scheduled. What’s available depends on the unit you’re in. There could be morning and evening check-ins where you just talk about the day as a group. Could be light exercise or yoga groups. Pet therapy and music therapy break up the day but it's all dependent on staffing levels. The pets are handled by volunteers for example when I saw them at MGH.

Back when I was at NWH I remember there were a lot of groups. From right after breakfast until post dinner check out. At MGH there were far fewer. The big difference was MGH’s visitor policy so the evenings were a lot more open. At NWH there was only a certain time in the evening that family and friends could visit during the week. And yes you’re expected to go to groups. Staff keeps track, and notes will go into your file. It will help, if not right now, then later when your care team sees good progress notes in your file. Even if you’re not into it, it’s a way to pass time and stay out of your room.

Weekends are quiet, sometimes to the point of utter boredom. There’s less activity and you will often just see the doctor on call instead of your assigned team. Depending on staff coverage there might be some structured activity, like open art block but not nearly as much as during the week. They emphasize visitor time.

Can I go outside? Depends on how the unit is set up and staffing. McLean is on a campus and I was there in June so I was lucky to go outside. There was a level of privilege - staff needs to know you're stable enough to go out. NWH had a little enclosed outdoor space that staff worked hard to clear ice from. I was so glad to get out. But unfortunately you can't go outside if you stay at MGH. There's not enough staffing or much of a protocol. Besides, the closest outdoor space to Blake 11 is right at the front entrance where cars do drop off.

What are rounds? All three of the hospitals are teaching hospitals meaning they’re affiliated with a medical school. I didn’t just see a psychiatrist. At the bare minimum I also saw a resident, a doctor who is in training and has picked psychiatry as their specialty. I remember a couple days the doctor let the resident interview me. I am pretty relaxed when it comes to teaching hospitals as I’ve only ever gone to MGH. But they have to ask you for permission. They want you to be involved in your treatment plan and give consent. If you're not comfortable having more bodies in the room then necessary you should speak up. And if you talk to your assigned nurse for the shift they will relay a message to the doctor.

What’s a shift? The floor has to be staffed 24 hours. There are different coverage levels for each shift. Night is the lightest for example as everyone is supposed to be asleep or in their rooms and quiet. Day shift is the busiest, with people running various groups as well as rounds happening. I remember NWH had 3 8 hour shift rotation and MGH had 2 12 hour shift rotation. I remember when I first went to MGH I was so confused because everything was different from NWH. They even called their non nursing staff different terms, probably because of the job requirements.

How long do I stay? Everyone’s treatment plan is different. For example someone who arrived after you may leave before you do. Generally your care team will try to figure out what’s going on and a game plan when you meet them for the first time. I’ve stayed about a week, maybe a little more depending on the stay. I stayed longer at NWH, but it was my first admission and I had a psychotic break while on steroids so it was more complicated. And my last stay at MGH was longer because we were doing a major treatment change, and rediagnosis. I woke up on the unit at MGH again and asked for a sleep study, but the attending had looked through my file of all the other admissions and diagnosed me as bipolar. I switched over to lithium which needed to be monitored and increased slowly.

What's next? For me I went to partial after I was discharged. I remembered as a teen when I was diagnosed with Depression I went to partial after being in the hospital. I found it's helpful to ease the transition. You might have only been hospitalized for a few days but it's a completely different routine. It's like going from 0 miles per hour back to 60 very quickly. Partial is a therapy program set up with structured groups during the day but you sleep at home and commute.

Tips

It is easier staying in the hospital when you can have visitors, especially someone who can bring you things. It is easier to have your phone to coordinate visitors.

Unless your psychiatrist and you agree to prearrange an admission, you will most likely be coming from the ER. Two times of the four I was put into an ambulance and sent to another hospital. The other two times I was sent upstairs to MGH’s unit on Blake 11.

Odds are there is no air conditioning. Don't expect any windows that can open either. Sometimes the temperature in the unit really varies, so you might want to wear layers.

You do not need to make friends. It does help to pass the time if you can talk to people, and you may feel less alone. If there's issues with your roommate you can ask staff for help.

Figure out when the meals should be delivered so you're ready. Sometimes they are late or they forget your tray. Try to be nice no matter what. I've never gotten warm food that was too cold for me but I've heard staff offer to nuke it in the microwave.

If you're at a teaching hospital be prepared for students to visit as well. I saw many nursing students at MGH. I would chat then up. It's a change of pace. I remember a medical student was on my care team and gave me psychological testing.

#psych hospital #Boston #Depression #bipolar #hospitalization

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technicolordeams · 4 years

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So some things happened this past week since I wrote my last entry and I'm rethinking my stance on leaving or not. I was able to talk to the one girl who is befriending me and my pastor had a long talk about what makes me me and what I struggle with. I followed what my therapist told me to be which was to be more assertive. I felt very awkward and scared to do it but if I didn't, I'd end up right back where I was feeling anger and abandonment. So for now, I'm still on hold on what to choose to do.

But a couple other things popped up. Not too big but unsettling. My mind just blanked on one of them so I'll just type about the one that's stuck out the most to me right now since it happened literally within the past hour.

So obviously I have problems eating enough to keep my weight stable, let alone gain any without a LOT of work. I've been struggling with it since my gallbladder decided to take a shit on me and demand to be removed which happened on my birthday. During that time I started getting suicidal again and I hadn't dealt with those intense emotions regarding it in several years. But since December it decided to rear it's ugly head and bite into me as hard as it could ever since. It's been 8 months now with very little improvement. And during that time span my health has tanked. I developed breathing problems after my surgery which was horrific enough as it was (imagine not being fully awake but aware that you are out of control of your body and unable to utilize your coping techniques. Just like having a massive panic attack like seizure feeling but you are barely able to be aware of anything besides the viceral fear and blackness because I couldn't wake up. Just... Out of control. And you have no idea how long you were in that state before the nurse could sort of pull you out of it and even communicate more than like two words and slowly peek my eyes open a fraction. Yeah, that's what happened. I had major fear over that for at least a month. Sleeping was hard enough from the surgery and adding in that... Yeah no.) Anyways, since that started up and obviously after surgery it's hard to eat and stuff like that normally. But after the surgery I was (am) having breathing problems. I would have endless coughing fits that would even hit me and make me unable to take a full breath without coughing horribly whatever air I could get right back out. It also made me almost throw up several times (which is my biggest phobia that triggered my eating disorder to go out of control and send me into hospital stays and feeding tube hell). So at least I lost 10lbs since the surgery or even before that. I creep closer to 15lbs though most likely. I haven't been keeping track of it very much because of how much distress I've been dealing with. And I've been dealing with A LOT. Things I wonder if I will be able to get up from without more intense medical help that I probably can't get because of covid.

I've gone through several tests to see why I'm having coughing fits and every answer is that they don't see anything wrong. Well, the ENT appointment I went to the day before I went to see the pulmonary doctor really screwed me over tbh. The ENT doctor gave me steroids that day that I took that same night and told me that the pulls wouldn't affect the asthma test they were going to perform next day. It did. So I had to wait like two months before I could go back and be re-tested. But then covid hit and those practices have been closed ever since. So I can't get an accurate reading on what's going on. They did spot that I had some breathing abnormalities but because of the steroids, they couldn't say for sure. Mind you I had to literally book these doctor appointments and tell my dad you have to take me to these because he didn't think it was that important. Which has pretty much been like everything doctor related that has come up this past year. Just had to put my foot down and tell him I NEED to go to these and I'll be going whether you agree with me or not. Which adds to the distressed feeling and like I'm overreacting and being too paranoid or some shit. Also because I couldn't get actually tested for asthma properly, my regular doctor had to prescribe me with an inhaler but insurance won't help because I have not been diagnosed with it. So I had to cough up (almost literally) over a $100 for medicine that we don't know is right for me or not or whatever.. so that's like $60 every two months? Idk. Which is a lot considering I have a bunch of other bills to pay which includes when I got my wisdom teeth removed (ALL FIVEEE because I'm that extra) which cost $3,000. I have to pay my mom back for another at least year? I don't even know anymore at this point.

I've also been dealing with vision blackouts recently where I almost pass out when I get up here and there. My blood pressure tanked and went to like 70/52 and pulse all over the place. That's better now at least. Chronic fatigue, dehydration, can't sleep very well... Etc. Vitamin D and B12 are on the lower side of the normal range and my body isn't producing enough carbon dioxide.

Now along with all of this bag of shit, I have lost every friend I thought I had and the feeling that I can call anyone friend anymore. I am terrified of calling anyone a friend now because I am afraid that if I let someone in, I will be taken advantage of and lied to like I have in almost every type of relationship I've had since I was little. I am afraid of speaking because I am afraid what I say will offend or upset or whatever someone when all I do is mean well (usually unless you're an asshat). It has made me regress back to my childhood where I couldn't trust anyone and I had nobody except for a penpal on the east coast to keep me company through msn messenger, emails, or rarely phone calls. She was the only one I could call my best friend for a long time and the only one I could open up to about things and the only one who tried to consistently cheer me up when I was hospitalized at 16 by spamming me with emails. I will forever love her and no matter how far we've drifted apart over the years, I will still love her and respond to her as quickly as possible if she ever needed me again. But if we never talk again I'm okay with it. We were there for each other during really bad times in out lives and I like to think we kept each other somewhat sane. She has done more for me than I could ever ask anyone and I'll always be grateful to have "met" her.

But since all of the shit happened with my ex friends... I don't feel safe to get very close to anyone or open up to anyone. Even the girl who defended me and stuff when I was being bullied and manipulated hardly speaks to me now. I wouldn't want to talk to me very much either if all I had to talk about were extremely negative and talk about dying. I can hardly go to my parents about things. I am home alone with just my puppy that likes to get into mischief about 80% of the day. Hardly interact with people online. Usually I just now watch YouTube videos about what's going on with people. I find very little satisfaction playing video games or anything honestly. I have lost art, something that I loved dearly and way too much. I cannot go out most often due to my health. I am stuck at home. I can hardly go outside too. It's too hot (sometimes heat can trigger flashbacks), I found out I'm allergic to grass, and last week I broke out in hives from God knows what so I can't go outside even more. I was put on steroids again for 6 days which causes your immune system to weaken so it won't produce histamines that causes the INSANE itch because every topical and oral medicine OTC would barely help at all. All I do each day is very basic hygiene, sleep when I can, eat as much as I can, and try and relax while taking care of my puppy.

Only two good things has come from all of this: one, I can finally work with a trauma therapist. Hopefully she can help me. Two... Ah I forgot what the second one was actually. Maybe being able to talk to my psychiatrist more frequently? Not sure. I'm very tired right now again lol.

All I know is that I feel very much alone and there's nothing I can do about it. The world outside is extremely dangerous and I am trapped inside my mind too frequently. And there is no extra help I can get.

So all of this led up to my main grievance for today- so far at least lol long ass story to tell just to explain what I'm upset about. My mom earlier asked me if she could give me advice. I told her it depends on what it's about. But she said it anyways. Told me to check my weight each week. She knows I'm not in the most stable state of mind and she knows that me checking my weight constantly can cause a panic attack of it goes down. (thankfully it hasn't really in a month. Only reason why I know is because I had to go to my doctor's twice the past month) I told my dad what she said and he just told me to say okay and leave it at that.

I know I don't want to go back to the state I was in in 2017. I don't want to go through that hell again. Even if I did want to, there'd be way more restrictions with the threat of covid ravaging our place and infecting everyone there. When I pass the eating disorder clinic that I was forced in when I was 16, there is literally nobody there. Maybe a couple cars but they obviously are not treating kids right now. I may be wrong but it would be very dangerous. I know over at the ERC I went to in 2017 is extremely limiting any visitors from coming. The apartments when you graduate to living in temporarily while you go to just a day program only allow maybe two people to stay there at a time and instead of walking to the van pickup spot, they pick you up at your apartment. Psychiatric wards here, or at least one of them that my therapist and I talked about going to, is still slightly operational, but it's over Zoom. So you literally can't get very good support. If you fall off the deep end while at a meeting nothing can be done to help you right there and then if you run away from the meeting.

My psychiatrist told me that if I do feel that I'm in grave danger (I think the trauma therapist I met also said the same) was to go to the ER. But I am afraid to go to the ER and then be turned away quickly and also take a chance that I might catch Covid while there, not to mention the price... And since my parents are essential workers, any one of us could come down with it at any time or be a carrier without knowing. So I'm isolated from people in real life and I don't feel safe talking to anyone online as well. Even if I had someone who wanted to talk to me to begin with that isn't some creepy horny guy wanting pixel sex... I can't think of anyone who I could potentially talk to about anything in my life... I'm just so lost and afraid of both the virtual and real world... Who can I turn to besides my therapist, psychiatrist, or maybe parents depending on what is bothering me, and of course God? I'm told I need a support system. But I can only talk to the doctors so much and my parents aren't very good at being compassionate... I have no one.

I also think about how badly I want to be hospitalized for a little while just so I can get fluids and rest and proper care but that most likely will only happen unless suicide was a big risk.

I am utterly alone...

If anyone reads this long post to the end, you're a crazy human being. xD Going to stop rambling now and put the dishes away and put the pup away for his nap and try and get one in myself.

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mcrmadness · 4 years

Text

I was writing elsewhere about why I don’t relate to he most common Asperger’s traits and why do I think I have a logic explanation to everything they think makes me an asperger, and the text got so long I might as well just copypaste some of that on here:

It's also so hard to find any good list of Asperger’s symptoms because almost every list says "may or may not be like this", and I definitely am missing the core symptoms of Asperger's and autism. I only relate to those symptoms that are present in both, Asperger's/autism AND adhd, and then to symptoms found in ADD but not only in Asperger's/autism.

I also lack anything from childhood that makes a kid a typical autistic kid. And many things that I share with autistic people I can already explain with other things like my personality, e.g.:

I don't like people because I'm an introvert, not because I'm not neurotypical; and I'm aroace which is why my interests are more important to me than human relationships.

I don't look people in the eye because I am highly sensitive person and an introvert. I also have lots of traumas from other people which makes me act like that because I still basically expect people to start shouting at me or something out of blue, so I'm sometimes acting the same way as a dog that has been beaten too many times and can no longer trust humans.

And this can be easily seen as weird and antisocial when I'm looking at the walls and ceiling and everything else but the person I'm talking to, it just helps me concentrate when I can stare at something that gives my eyes things to do. I'd probably be counting people's nose hair and get distracted by that if I stared at them.

Being stared at overall makes me highly uncomfortable because of being an introvert and HSP.

And me being sensitive to things is also a HSP thing + migraine.

The overstimulation and sensory overload I feel because of HSP is different to those with autism. I have a filter, I can stand that into certain levels but the filters fills up faster than non-HS people’s and then I just start seeing and hearing everything. I’ve understood that people with autism don’t have this kind of filter and when they go to places with lots of stimuli happening all around, they can’t take it the second it happens. In my case I can stand it even when the filter is full but if I don’t get peace soon, I usually get irritated and eventually end up with a headache.

I just wish they would give me an opportunity to explain why I think what I think and didn't just suggest medications for this and that. I mean this psychiatrist already was talking about meds and how he could suggest me a anxiety medication and how "some medications do cause the feelings to go numb, unfortunately". Me on my ANTIDEPRESSANTS was like having depression without melancholy. I couldn’t focus even that little I now can.

How did I end up with an Asperger’s diagnosis, then? I think it’s all just a misunderstanding and professionals understanding my words the wrong way and focusing too much on how I’m on the outside rather than actually paying attention on what I say is happening inside my head. So far I've got social anxiety and generalized anxiety disorder on paper. With the latter I've been living since early childhood and I got the diagnosis when I was 28. And when I went to a psychiatrist last time with this anxiety shit (I was 22), I was desperately looking for a diagnosis with anxiety and what did I get? I got told I can't get therapy if I don't eat medications because "it does not work without meds and we don't have any resources for that", and only when I actually was so mad I finally stood up for myself and said "I'm not going to put any kind of pill into my mouth ever again so f this is all about medications, I guess we're done here." and was already ready to leave and that's when the doctor was a bit baffled and I swear she sounded a bit annoyed when she asked what would have I wanted from therapy, then.

They did not take me seriously, they saw just the social phobia that I told millions of times not being the problem. Me not leaving the house because I was so afraid of accidentally having low blood sugar was not social phobia. I wasn't afraid of people stealing my blood sugar you know??? But they thought I needed group therapy and it was the only solution and there I could also get therapy, even tho I told them I don't like forced socializing and I don't want to go there. They still booked me an appointment with people from that group therapy thing and I legit felt like we'd have sat in that meeting room for days until I'd say "okay I will try it". It literally was just them trying to talk me over to try it. And I went to this thing a couple of times until I messaged them that it's not my thing, I'm not coming there anymore and that's why they cut contact with me because I didn't accept the offered therapy method. And afterwards I went to see my information on the website with medical information and nearly fell of the chair because it said I had been diagnosed with Asperger's. With my mom we actually came to the conclusion it’s because they needed some kind of diagnosis to be done in order to get in that group therapy but I am still stuck with this stupid diagnosis that no doctor now is willing to take away! I'm sure my stubborn behaviour and "I don't like people in places like these" was what made the psychiatrist think it must be Asperger's. They were and still are only worried about people not being able to be a part of the society and an individual has to change instead of trying to make the society better place to live for everyone.

The previous doctor I had for 5 years (ages 17-22), at that time my dad was going to Asperger tests a few times and we all were certain that he has Asperger's too but nope, he doesn't. And at that time we all were also interested in knowing if I have Asperger's and I asked about it from that doctor and he immediately said nope, he doesn't think I have that at all. I also was to neuropsychiatric tests when I was 22 and there were some things, mainly about social skills and emotions and feelings and my "obsessive-compulsive" behaviour they thought supported the Asperger's. My explanations again: Social anxiety. I have problems with emotions because my dad has anger issues and I only lately realized I'm afraid to let all the feels come out because I'm afraid of losing control and accidentally hurting myself, someone else or breaking something. And I don't want that, I need to be in control of myself at all times. I also find it hard to cry because I feel like I can't cry hard enough, I should literally cry my eyes out for it to be efficient. When I thik about anger, I think I just see in my head how my dad reacts to it and I don't want to be like that. So I keep it all in and only way to let it out is by channeling it into something else, like writing, drawing or playing video games. (This is a HSP thing but could also be ADHD thing.) I have the results of the and everything they say about me understanding social cues wrong... I think that's it, they think I don't understand them when it's just because of the heavy bullying that made me unable to trust anything other people do or say. I'm actually good at reading people, I don't have trouble understanding people's facial expressions. I myself don't really use facial expressions because it's a self-defense mechanism, I'm not "allowed" to let people see how I feel. Also social anxiety made me really think i was the center of the world and everyone who laughed, was laughing at me, and combined with bullying, I felt like everyone was talking about behind my back and I just felt so hated because it WAS the truth, but I also was sure that also people who don't know me, do that. So me misunderstanding social cues and those were not typical Asperger's but just caused by bullying and being hated by everyone, and excessive loneliness which sometimes felt like I was going crazy and started having voices in my head because I just needed to have a conversation. I still sometimes think friendships work like they did when I was a teenager because that was the last time I've had an actual friend group or even actual friends. I mean friends who I can actually meet with. Only one of those people is still in my life and we live about 2km from each other but still we meet like 1-2 times a year because we always keep talking about how we need to meet and then don't meet. Rest of my friends I know through internet and I’d so much want to meet but can’t and I can only try and guess how I’d work in situation where I’d be in the same room with them because I no longer remember how that even works. That’s how lonely I am because I can’t get to use social skills outside of the internet that much like, ever. I also had to do lots of learning with social situations when I got over the worst parts of social anxiety, it prevented me from learning things you learn as a teenager because I'd enter panic mode when someone talked to me and then spent the rest of the day analyzing it and wishing I was in control and did something differently. Same thing happened with the antidepressants, 5 years of my life without emotions and feelings. They were taken away when I was 17 and then I got them back when I quit the meds and was 22 and suddenly I should have needed to know how to deal with adult emotions.

So, long story short, bullying left me with inability to read other people CORRECTLY but that does not mean I wouldn’t be able to read people. Nowadays I don’t do the mistakes that much anymore, I sense people’s emotions very easily and I mirror people. I might be weird but it’s not because I would act weird or use weird, inapproprite facial expressions. I enjoy being weird so when I do that, it’s usually because of my sense of humour just not matching with other people’s. But there’s still people who DO understand it, it’s they usually just are not neurotypical.

#mcrmadness' random stuff #mcrmadness' deep thoughts

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