#psychiatrists

[furiousgoldfish]

as extra information if you can, leave your country in the tags and whether you feel safe or not!

[sophieinwonderland]

Good psychology and psychiatry needs to acknowledge that culture isn't just spatial, but temporal

There was a whole generation that grew up on black and white TV. The technology of the time altered their dreams so that they dreamt in black and white. Many still do to this day.

But this culture that led to this situation is dead. Children will no longer be born into a world where their dreams will be influenced by only having access to black and white television.

Plural systems 40 years ago didn't have support networks. There was no internet, and no one wanted to talk about hearing voices or feeling like people in their head were taking control of their body.

With the advent of the internet, this culture too is dead, and it's for the best.

Now, systems have access to other systems. We have an environment where we won't be judged, or if we are, it won't affect our relationships with our friends or family outside of the internet until we're ready to come out. We're safe and can support each other. And when systems do come out, they can feel much more comfortable with themselves in doing so.

And this also goes for many DID and OSDD systems as well. The shame attached to many of the symptoms of DID is less pervasive because of community support.

But psychiatry isn't acknowledging that the culture of isolation of the 80s and 90s is largely dead now.

When older doctors see kids coming in who have self-diagnosed and aren't ashamed of themselves, they assume that the children of the internet age should be behaving like the children of past generations. But our own generation isn't that generation.

You're not fake just because you aren't ashamed of what you are and what you experience.

You're not fake because you don't act like the last generation of plurals who didn't have access to the support networks we do today.

And psychiatry HAS to keep up with the times. It has to acknowledge that it can't apply the same standards of the pre-internet era to the post-internet era, because our culture today is radically different from theirs.

And we also need to talk about the mental health crisis when it comes to dissociative disorders that led us here.

There is no mass number of people being misdiagnosed with dissociative disorders. In fact, many studies have shown that people dissociative disorders are more likely to be misdiagnosed with Schizophrenia, and the ones who end up correctly diagnosed have to spend an average of 6 years before getting the correct diagnosis.

For decades, experts have been estimating that the number of people with DID was actually close to 3% of the population. In the US, that's about 9 million people. That's an overwhelming number of mostly-undiagnosed DID systems when so many psychiatrists have been given zero training in treating it.

The shortage of healthcare isn't because of some group of boogeymen "fakers" who are stealing resources.

It's because our culture changed. More systems with dissociative disorders became aware of being systems and are seeking help they need. They don't feel shame at their symptoms like they once would have. And our psychiatric institutions have failed them.

This could have been avoided if more psychiatrists had been trained to diagnose and treat dissociative disorders because they knew that this was a problem.

Instead of acknowledging their own failings on this matter, they are doubling down and fakeclaiming systems publicly for not being ashamed enough of themselves, like "real" systems should be.

TikTokers are not responsible for a lack of resources for systems. A psychiatric institution that ignored all the warning and attempts to raise awareness about the true frequency of these disorders is.

[jbfly46]

Ask any physician or psychiatrist to explain the entire cause and effect of the diseases they diagnose and they won’t be able to. Medicine isn’t a science.

[mapsontheweb]

Psychiatrists per 100,000 inhabitants in Europe.

Full article >>

[moonlit-positivity]

Affirmations for reclaiming your voice with authority figures:

• I am allowed to question authoritative logic

• I am allowed to disagree with an authority figure

• I am allowed to set boundaries with a person who holds authority over me

• I am not being "disrespectful" if I disagree with an authority figure

• Authority figures do not own me, do not control me, and cannot force me to do anything I do not want to do or against my will

• I have the right to refuse a command from an authority figure if I do not feel safe

• I have the right to control my own thoughts and opinions in the presence of authority

• authority figures do not have power over me

• I am allowed to take back my power and choose my own course of actions in the presence of authority

• I am allowed to say "no" to someone who has authority over me

• I am allowed to fair treatment in the presence of authority

• I will never let someone in authority strip me of my autonomy ever again

• I am allowed to refuse service and find a better fit if my doctor, therapist, psych, or any other authoritative professional does not make me feel safe

• I am allowed to reclaim my voice in the presence of authority

• Authority figures are humans just like everyone else. They are not gods. They do not have the right to abuse their authority and belittle me or make me feel smaller than them or make me feel unsafe in any way.

• I am allowed to speak up against authority figures that abuse their power.

[prettygreenpills]

Make it stop, please - Larissa Weems

Warnings: panic attack, crying, depression, flashbacks, etc.

You were in Larissa’s private flat when you realized that something was happening. Putting your work aside, you sat up on the bed and leant your back against the backrest of the bed.

You had no idea what was wrong. Your chest started rising and falling faster and faster and your heart was racing. Listening to your breathing, you realized that it wasn’t normal at all. And then it came.

You were standing in that street, looking at the stranger man. You didn’t dare to move, you didn’t dare to do anything. You were just standing there, knowing very well what was about to happen. Your hyperventilating got even worse and you started crying. Shaking on the bed, you were sobbing really loudly.

The second picture which appeared in front of your eyes was way worse. It was you, standing over the coffins of your both parents after they died in a car crash.

You grabbed your hair and pulled it hard, realizing that you couldn’t breath anymore. It was all your fault. You were too weak to scream, call someone, or go to the police the other way. You were too scared of that you were left all alone for the rest of your life, it made your state even harder to calm.

With your limbs shaking and breathing getting faster and faster, you somehow made it out of the bed. Staying close to the wall, you walked over to the doors which were connecting the bedroom to Larissa’s office.

With tears streaming down your face you called her by her name. You didn’t know if it was loud enough, so you tried again, even louder. The energy left from your body and you slid down onto the floor.

Your own crying filled your ears and it was getting heavier and heavier. Seeing what happened before right in front of your eyes wasn’t a pleasant memory and all you could do was just cry. As a whimper left from your mouth, you knew it wasn’t your last one.

You were shaking and you could hear your blood in your ears. Your head got heavy and it started to hurt from the back. Clenching your hands in fists, you didn’t realize that your nails were leaving marks there.

Closing your eyes and seeing your own body in front of yourself hurt the most. You could see the places where he had touched you and the look wasn’t pleasant at all. That memory left you shaking in the room and you were sobbing loudly, being scared of that you wouldn’t get enough oxygen to your lungs.

“You son of a bitch!” You screamed from the top of your lungs, not really realizing where you were and what was happening from the other side of the doors. You started to feel lightheaded and it wasn’t a really good combination for you. You knew that if this wouldn’t stop, you would pass out soon.

You continued crying. Trying to take few deep breaths wasn’t a successful mission and when you started to choke on your own saliva, your hurt started to pound more and more by every single second.

You didn’t realize the coming footsteps from behind the doors which were separating Larissa’s office and her private flat she had in the school. All you could hear was beeping and that was the reason why you didn’t even look up when the doors opened.

“Honey I have a meeting, what-“ Larissa was standing in the doors, watching you laying on the floor curled up into the ball. When she realized,she closed the doors shut behind herself and rushed over to you, kneeling right to you and stroked your hair. “Y/n, darling?”

All you did was cry. You couldn’t answer her. The feeling of Larissa’s warm hands kind of reminded you of his hold on your body, but her hands felt different.

“H-He- he was t-there- I saw h-him a-again. A-and then-“

“Shh darling, shh. Come here love. Come here,” Larissa opened her arms in a welcoming gesture and you shook your head. “Love-“

“No Larissa! I don’t want your hugs. I want him to suffer, I want my parents back! I want to have a normal life not this fucked up thing I can’t even call life! I want to live a normal way!” You screamed from the top of your lungs, all of the emotions you had been hiding for months getting onto the surface.

As you screamed, you started feeling really dizzy. Your eyes slowly closed and your heart pounded in your chest that fast and loudly, you could hear it in your ears.

“Make it stop. Please make it stop!”

Larissa immediately hugged you, she held you tight against her chest. You were shaking against her, screaming into her chest. After that she brushed your hair.

She stayed silent until you weren’t calm. She had tried to calm you down by hugging you, brushing your hair and whispering sweet words into your ear such as “sweetheart we’ve got this”, “I am here love,” and so on.

“Breath darling, breath,” Larissa was whispering and you realized that her dress was all wet from your tears. Pulling away softly, you realized that you’ve messed up her dress.

“I am sorry-“

“It’s okay love. It’s okay.”

“You have to go back to the meeting-“ you sobbed at the end of the sentence and Larissa breathed out. When she looked down at your shaking body, she immediately knew what was happening.

“No love I don’t. I told them we will have the meeting once you feel better, okay?”

“Yeah,” you said sadly and exhaled. Larissa kissed you onto your forehead and pulled you closer, so you were sitting on her thighs.

“I will get onto the bed with you, hm?” She asked you quietly and you nodded your head into her shoulder. She lifted you up, not having to use too much of her own strength. As you landed on the soft surface which the covers made and Larissa let go of you, you tested up with fresh tears.

“Don’t leave me. Please don’t-“

“Shhh, shhh honey. I am not going anywhere, I’m right here with you,” she whispered to you with an intention to lower your voice and it helped. You were sobbing and shaking what Larissa tried to fix with a hug.

She lifted you up and took you to the bed. As she put you down, she immediately crawled up to you and hugged you on the bed with one hand, bringing the covers closer, so she could hide you under them, making some warmth for you.

“He was- I saw him again Issa-“

“I know honey. I know,” she breathed out and pulled you closer so you were fully hid in her chest, smelling her perfume. “I am here. Nothing will happen love okay? I am here for you.”

“T-Thank you,” you sobbed out again and held on Larissa tightly. She breathed out and kissed you into your hair. And that made you calm down slowly.

Your breathing got better, the shaking faded away. But you were still there, laying on the bed with Larissa hugging you.

“Darling, I went to doctor Kinbott yesterday,” Larissa whispered and you looked up at her. She smiled at you kindly and when she let go off you with one hand, you got a little scared. “She gave me these. For your nightmares. Two pills before going to sleep,” she explained you kindly and you looked at the package of the medication.

“Will that help?”

“I did a little research. You’ll be sleeping like a baby,” she promised you and you swallowed through your swollen throat. Nodding your head you confirmed that you’ll be taking them and Larissa put them back onto her bedside table. Then she returned to hugging you and she hugged you tight.

“Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” Larissa whispered back to you and she kissed you onto your forehead again. You let her do it and you felt a little calmer than before.

You knew that Larissa would be there for you every single time you needed her. She was like your guardian angel, girlfriend, therapist and a friend, all in once.

[clemsfilmdiary]

Halloween (1978, John Carpenter)

10/29/23

[fluffykitteninabox]

Are psychiatrists allowed to judge a patient's appearance?

Because I think it really shouldn't be part of their job to be rude to people, especially if they don't have the guts to make the comment to my face and only write it down in their notes. What a fucking coward.

[journalofunhappiness]

Shoutout to all psych nurses and psychiatrists: I hope you have a really awful and horrible day!

[collapse-and-comfort]

Could you do a fanfic on the following whump  scenario?

: whumpee in hospital - ER. Brought in for _____. Whumpee is in no mood for doctors, nurses and being touched. Whumpee find the right time and jolts from the medical room and down the hall towards an exit. Caretaker (psychologist, or someone with medical background) is coming back from _____, heading back toward whumpee’s room. Suddenly, whumpee  collides with caretaker.

Caretaker quickly grabs whumpee by the arm and gently demands an answer to why they are out of bed, even more so out in the hallway unsupervised. Whumpee, still in fight or flight mode says with a stutter “ba bathroom, all the while trying to shake and twist their arm free from caretaker’s firm grip.

Hey! At long last, here it is! I hope you enjoy this prelude to a psychiatric evaluation! ❤️

CW: Referenced self-harm, medical setting, (very lightly) implied police violence, implied mental health issues

Max made their way to the end of a hallway that had about a half dozen directions listed on the wall. The only one Max was concerned with was the one with the arrow pointing left with text reading EXIT. They limped toward it, ignoring the pain, hunger, and bone-deep weariness that was dogging them; they fought the urge to lean against a wall for just a second.

Move your ass, they thought. It can’t be that much further. 

Or maybe the hospital was an endless, inescapable labyrinth of hallways and arrows that lead nowhere.

 I’ve got miles to go before I sleep, they thought. Where had they heard that? A poem? Movie? DIdn’t matter. It had just popped into their head, and they didn’t have the luxury of letting something so trivial natter at them. 

The memory of their treatment spurred Max on. The medical staff had been well-meaning (They were a far sight gentler than the cops who had dragged them into the ER. Max had barely managed to calm themself enough to avoid being cuffed to a bed.), but they had found themself flinching at every touch and snapping out answers or equivocations to their questions. They didn’t have it in them for anymore blood draws, or pen lights, or gloved hands, or someone telling them, “You’re just going to feel a bit of discomfort.” But they knew their physical examination was less damning than a psychological one would be. 

They’d heard enough bits of conversation to know that once they were cleared medically, someone from psych was coming to evaluate them. Max understood the staff’s concern all too well, they did, but they couldn’t allow that to happen. So, Max had bided their time until the nurse was gone and security was distracted, then they slipped past the faded blue and yellow-striped privacy curtain, and limped away down the nearest hallway.

They never thought they’d be thankful for a hospital’s short staffing. 

Their clothes had dried, but a stubborn, damp chill from the rain had sunken in and the too-cool air in the hospital was not helping. The deep lacerations on their right arm ached. They regretted that they had nothing to cover the bandages with. They didn’t want anyone to see it, didn’t want anyone to speculate what was beneath, and there could be no discussion of it. It’s not like they wanted to do it. Not like they wanted the pain. They hadn’t had a choice.

Just a little further, they thought as they lurched around the corner. 

—

Doc turned over in their head the conversation they’d had with Max’s brother. He’d reported that Max’s behavior, in the limited time he’d seen them, had been erratic, and that he was worried, though he didn’t think he had any helpful information. Nevertheless, Doc hoped that the brother could be a part of Max’s recovery. 

The officers who had dragged Max into the Emergency Department corroborated their erratic behavior and added “violent” and “delusional” to the list of concerns. (One of the officers was going to have a pretty good shiner come morning.) Doc compartmentalized the information as they made their way back toward Max’s bed. Hopefully a more complete picture would come together once they were able to talk to Max. 

Doc turned the corner and 

Oof!

The file, notepad, clipboard, and pen they were carrying under their arm went flying, but they ignored them in favor of grabbing the bicep of whoever they’d just collided with and tried to keep them upright. 

“S…sorry,” they said as they continued to both stumble and pull away. 

“No harm done,” Doc said with a slight chuckle in their voice. They kept hold of them and tried to steady them, but they seemed determined to fall flat.

“‘m good,” they said. They looked  back toward Doc, then forward again. Eye contact had been fleeting, but Doc became aware of two things: The person whose arm they were holding was deeply exhausted, and that person was the one on whom they were supposed to perform a psychiatric evaluation. 

They were a long way from “good.” 

“Hey, okay,” Doc said, their voice even and their grip as assertive as it had to be. They didn’t want to cause Max anymore pain or agitation, but If they let go, they would probably topple. “Max, right? 

Max didn’t acknowledge them, just kept straining away, even as they heavily favored their left leg. 

“Max, hey. Max? Hold up, hold up.” Max paused, and looked askance at Doc. The patient calm Doc projected was more than a veneer. It was so complete that their coworkers speculated it was something intrinsic that couldn’t be taught. In truth, it had taken years of care, practice and cultivation to be the person their patients needed them to be. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I…” Max dropped their gaze, and shook their head as though they’d reconsidered something.  “Ba-bathroom,” they stammered.

Doc was sure the fact Max was heading toward an exit wasn’t a coincidence.

“I should probably tell you you’re going the wrong way, then.” 

No response. No one liked having their bluff called. Or maybe Max hadn’t even heard them. Either way, Max continued to pull away and strain in their intended direction. Doc got the sense that, aside from their firm hand on Max’s arm,  it was pure force of will keeping them upright. 

“Max,” Doc said, their voice infinitely reasonable, but stern. 

“What?!” Max turned and jerked their arm away and spun to face Doc, but they yelped, and lurched gracelessly to their side.

Doc reached for Max but pulled back when they caught themself on the closest wall. Crowding Max would gain them nothing.

“Easy, Max,” Doc said, the admonishment tempered with concern.

“I…I need to get out of here,” Max said. before they began shuffling along the wall. “I can’t, I can’t be here.” 

“Why is that?” 

Max looked back at them. Their eyes were tired and wide, but there was something honest and vulnerable there too, like they might tell them. Doc willed them to do so, but whatever they thought of saying went unspoken.

“I…I just can’t.”

 At least they’re engaging with me, Doc thought.

“You’re hurt. You shouldn’t be out of bed, let alone wandering the halls.”

Max huffed out a breath that was a jumbled mess of weariness, annoyance, and derision. Doc supposed wandering implied the lack of a destination. And that destination was likely any place but the hospital. 

“Max?” Another voice came from the end of the hall. Doc didn’t take their focus off of Max, but they spared a glance in the direction of the advancing orderly. (The relief on the ordery’s face was plain.) Max whipped their head toward him, then came a whimper and the harsh squeak of shoes’ soles on the white and green tile. Doc tried to stop their fall, but it was too late. Max thudded to the ground, and Doc winced in sympathy at Max’s pained groan.

The orderly’s pace quickened, but Doc put up a staying hand.

“We’re good,” Doc said. “Could you go get a wheelchair and bring it back?”

The orderly looked back at Max, who was trying to push themself back up. Their arms were shaking and blood, brilliant and red on the fresh white bandages on their forearm, was beginning to seep through. The orderly arched an eyebrow, but didn’t argue before nodding and turning to go.

Max had stopped trying to lift themself from the floor, and slowly managed to prop themself up so that they sat with their back against the wall. Their left leg was stretched out in front of them and they held their right arm stiffly at their side. 

Doc thought to pick up the papers they’d dropped, but that would mean getting closer to Max than Max would likely have been comfortable with, so they seated themself across from Max in a loose approximation of their posture. Max looked them over and ran their tongue over their split lower lip. 

“When was the last time you had something to eat?” 

It was as good a tack to take as any at that moment. Regardless of their answer, Doc would go to the cafeteria and get some food for Max before they officially began their evaluation. 

Max shrugged their left shoulder. Either they didn’t know, or didn’t want to say.

Then Max surprised Doc by speaking. 

“You think I look crazy.” 

Max’s expression was direct, but the way it was underscored by deep, dark circles, and the way their fingers picked at a tear in their jeans painted a picture of someone who could no longer run, but desperately wanted to. (Doc didn’t think the damage on the jeans had been put there with a mind toward fashion.)  

“No,” Doc said. They shook their head slowly and earnestly, as something partly self-conscious and wholly mistrustful flickered behind Max’s eyes. “I think you look like you’ve had a rough couple of weeks.” 

Max’s chest jolted with bleak humor.

“You could say that,” they said as their attention listed to their left and settled on one of the papers on the floor;  it crinkled as they picked it up with unsteady fingers. Doc didn’t protest as Max read over the notes they’d taken during the phone conversation with Max’s brother. 

“You’re going to put me away.” 

It was a statement, not a question.

There was no accusation in Max’s voice, but there was resignation. That should have given Doc reason to breathe a small sigh of relief, perhaps, but instead it needled at them. 

“Nobody wants that,” Doc said. “But it is my job to evaluate you, to find out if hospitalization is necessary.”

—-

Necessary.

If Max told even half the truth about the things they’d learned, or the events leading up to their apprehension, the doctor would find it very damn necessary to lock them up, and to throw away the key for good measure. Max looked over the paper in their hand where their brother’s concern and unwitting betrayal was documented in a stranger’s handwriting. They couldn’t be too hard on their brother, but they regretted trying to find some sort of solace or understanding with him. 

What did you think was going to happen?

They wanted to keep going, to do what they had to do, but their body was a traitor, and there was no way out. That fact was driven home when two orderlies, one of which was pushing a wheelchair, rounded the corner. Max could drag themself maybe several feet before they would be corralled. They would struggle, and they would lose. Their heart beat faster in their chest and tears stung their eyes. 

They met the studious eyes of the shrink sitting across from them. They didn’t look like the sort of person to accept “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you” as an answer to their questions. 

Max let out a sigh. It was a stilted, defeated thing. 

Let’s get this over with.

[waitingforafriendblog]

Journaling has done more for me than rehab and therapy ever did. Why? Bc no one gives a fuck about what you to say. It sucks, but that’s the reality.

Even the trained “professionals” who called me by Borderline and not even by my name.

Getting me to even show up and stay clean was hard enough. But having to check in with 4 other counselors, psychologists, psychiatrists, DBT classes, it still didn’t do much for me at all. No one was really listening to me.

But journaling is the perfect outlet for me. I can scream my truth into my writing, which always validates what I am feeling. I’ve had nothing in my life besides gaslighting and resistance.

I’ve come to the conclusion that people are dedicated to misunderstanding me.

Journaling for Emotional Wellness

When you were a teenager, you might have kept a diary hidden under your mattress. It was a place to confess your struggles and fears without judgment or punishment. It likely felt good to get all of those thoughts and feelings out of your head and down on paper. The world seemed clearer.

You may have stopped using a diary once you reached adulthood. But the concept and its benefits still apply as a grown up. Now it’s called journaling. It's simply writing down your thoughts and feelings to understand them more clearly. And if you struggle with stress, depression, or anxiety, keeping a journal can be a great idea. It can help you gain control of your emotions and improve your mental health.

Journaling benefits

One of the ways to deal with any overwhelming emotion is to find a healthy way to express yourself. This makes a journal a helpful tool in managing your mental health. Journaling can help you:

Manage anxiety

Reduce stress

Cope with depression

Journaling helps control your symptoms and improve your mood by:

Helping you prioritize problems, fears, and concerns

Tracking any symptoms day-to-day so that you can recognize triggers and learn ways to better control them

Providing an opportunity for positive self-talk and identifying negative thoughts and behaviors

When you have a problem and you're stressed, keeping a journal can help you identify what’s causing that stress or anxiety. Once you’ve identified your stressors, you can work on a plan to resolve the problems and reduce your stress.

Keep in mind that journaling is just one aspect of a healthy lifestyle for better managing stress, anxiety, and mental health conditions. To get the most benefits, be sure you also:

Relax and meditate each day.

Eat a healthy, balanced diet.

Exercise regularly—get in some activity every day.

Treat yourself to plenty of sleep each night.

Stay away from alcohol and drugs.

Use your journal to make sure you follow these guidelines daily.

How to journal

Try these tips to help you get started with journaling:

Try to write every day. Set aside a few minutes every day to write. This will help you to write in your journal regularly.

Make it easy. Keep a pen and paper handy at all times. Then when you want to write down your thoughts, you can. You can also keep a journal on your smartphone.

Write or draw whatever feels right. Your journal doesn't need to follow any certain structure. It's your own private place to discuss and create whatever you want to express your feelings. Let the words and ideas flow freely. Don't worry about spelling mistakes or what other people might think.

Use your journal as you see fit. You don't have to share your journal with anyone. If you do want to share some of your thoughts with trusted friends and loved ones, you could show them parts of your journal.

Keeping a journal helps you create order when your world feels like it’s in chaos. You get to know yourself by revealing your most private fears, thoughts, and feelings. Look at your writing time as personal relaxation time. It's a time when you can de-stress and wind down. Write in a place that's relaxing and soothing, maybe with a cup of tea. Look forward to your journaling time. And know that you're doing something good for your mind and body.

[strangetomato]

I had my last appointment with my psychiatrist today. She said that the improvement from where I was when I started seeing her to where I am now is one of the most significant she's ever seen.

I first met her 6 years ago. I had been seeing another psychiatrist who was moving away (familiar story). In our last meeting, he expressed great concern that I was experiencing a lot of suicidal ideation, and on his recommendation, I agreed to check myself into a psychiatric ward. I feel it was his last effort to keep me safe, and it worked, because that was where I met my current (now former) psychiatrist.

I didn't like being there. In fact, I immediately decided it was not going to help me. I knew I wasn't going to act on my thoughts. They were happening TO me. I described this to her in our first meeting. She said that lithium treats suicidal ideation. It is the one drug that does, supported by research. I agreed to it. And I went back home.

This was her great strength. She knows medication. It took us over four years to truly reach a balance in my moods, but the pendulum eventually stopped swinging. And you know, very soon after I started taking the lithium for the first time, my mind was no longer filled with thoughts of killing myself.

I will always be thankful for her help. I take a lot of the credit for my own recovery, and it's still very much ongoing, but she was instrumental to my success thus far.

[sophieinwonderland]

Hold up... can we go back to this?

I know, I already addressed how the Putnam thing was completely irrelevant. I already talked about how one of those lawsuits against Kluft was dismissed, and another is under a gag order with no information about it. And I talked about my own skepticism over retractors who report childhood abuse only to deny it later, due to how easy it is for abuser to get to their victims, which raises red flags for me about a lot of the false memory syndrome lawsuits.

What I haven't touched on yet is the quote about Satanic cults. Because having found the source for that, wow! It's truly incredible the lengths people are going to take the words of a DID expert out of context for their ad hominems.

First, here's the part quoted on the ISSTD Wikipedia page

Does that seem like a lot of really suspicious cuts to anyone? Like it's almost intentionally designed to push a certain narrative?

I have shared my perspectives in many professional settings. I grew up under the shadow of the Holocaust, learning more and more about how many nations, including my own, had failed to acknowledge and/or act responsibly in the face of a genocidal disaster. I discovered how those close to the Holocaust were able to rationalize their denials and/or collaborations. Mine is the generation that heard the FBI strenuously deny the existence of organized crime until the very public 1957 Apalachin meeting of Mafia figures came to widespread attention. Then, my generation watched the FBI do an abrupt and embarrassing about face, reversing its longstanding dismissive position. Mine is the generation that had to deal with Vietnam and the American government’s egregious misrepresentation of the reality of the situation there. Further, my generation witnessed its initial denial of the damage done to the young men who served there, and their frequent misdiagnoses as character disordered or psychotic rather than traumatized. My generation watched the estimated frequency of father-daughter incestuous events soar from 1 case per million in 1975 to 1 of 20 biological father-daughter relationships in 1986, and the estimated incidence of therapist-patient sexual exploitation from rare to embarrassingly common. In addition, my generation witnessed the revelation that prestigious mental health professionals had participated in unethical research on human subjects for covert agencies, research that was very destructive to many subjects. Further, as the findings of the Lanning report were becoming known, I was in contact with FBI agents in connection with another matter. I learned that many agents in the field did not believe that the official reports denying many aspects of SRA were honest or accurate.

Faced with these repetitive betrayals of trust and contradictory perspectives from our federal law enforcement agencies, I like many others, could not be comfortable with “authoritative” statements that denied the reality of many aspects of SRA. Strong statements from sources that had undermined their own credibility simply were not convincing-they were just more information to consider. Those who remembered the many dishonesties and betrayals of trust listed above were less likely to accord immediate credibility to a governmental agency’s reporting that organized SRA does not exist. For those who had become aware of the numerous instances of mistreatment that had been denied, rationalized, minimized and otherwise kept secret, it was very difficult to believe that something evil and covert was a priori preposterous.

I have often stated that the vast majority of SRA reports I encountered were not credible, and explained how I arrived at that opinion. In brief, I demonstrated that if the atrocities and grotesque rituals allegedly witnessed by a geographical cluster of patients who were convinced that they had victimized in transgenerational satanic abuse had actually occurred, the county in which they resided would have been depopulated in just over a decade. Their claims simply could not be true. Further, I have expressed my concern that the importance of SRA reports as a derivative expression of more mundane abuses that, if acknowledged, would threaten the attachment needs of these patients, has been sorely underestimated. Many patients found it more tolerable to believe that their abusive families simply did to them what they had experienced when they were young and were carrying on a religious tradition than to believe that they had been mistreated because their abusers wanted to abuse them. This stance both rationalizes their abuse experiences and at least partially exonerates their abusers. However, that being said, it is undeniable that satanic elements are employed at times by those who wish to exploit the power of such materials for the purposes of intimidation and/or to pursue nefarious purposes. They are encountered in the context of organized satanic religion, in idiosyncratic religious or quasi-religious beliefs, and in deviant individuals and/or splinter groups of practices that themselves normally do not endorse such beliefs or practices. They are experienced as symptoms of psychotic/delusional mental disorders. Satanic elements remain problematic realities in many situations.

Basically, at this point, he's not endorsing a belief in any sort of widespread conspiracy or cults. But there is undeniable truth that there are opportunists who will use the label of Satanism to hurt people. (Look at Doug Mesner for example, even if his takes the form of smear campaigns and SLAPP suits.) Just as there are for any other religion.

He feels the vast majority of these reported cases of SRA aren't real, but that there may be some. And this is something he makes clearer in the following paragraph where the OP's quote came from:

I remain troubled about the matter of transgenerational satanic cults. Any scientist or thinker has had to grapple with how difficult it is to prove that something does not exist. I am comfortable in saying that if such situations exist, they exist at a level of far less frequency than was once suspected. That being said, in the mid-1970s, years before the surge of interest in SRA during the 1980s, I encountered situations that involved reports by non-participant eyewitnesses who were neither dissociative nor traumatized patients. In fact, they were without psychiatric illness. I would be dishonest if I allowed the pressures of those with strong convictions that such groups either do or do not exist to push me to endorse either stance. Holmes cautioned Watson, “It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.” As a corollary, it would be a similar error to follow the model of Procrustes, and cut away facts or stretch or otherwise distort them, discarding them or forcing them to fit a particular model or preconception. I prefer honest uncertainty to false conviction.

All in all, this is a pretty thoughtful and rational take on the whole issue.

SRA is probably rare, but there are some groups who will call themselves Satanists and do abusive things. There are going to be abusive Satanic cults out there in the world because there are abusive cults of every religion.

And being reasonably skeptical of claims from the government is a good thing. Kluft mentions a lot of betrayals of trust from his generation. And those haven't stopped in the time since. A major recent example would be the Iraq war being based on weapons of mass destruction that didn't exist.

Being open-minded and willing to listen to all the facts doesn't make somebody a conspiracy theorist.

(In fact, most conspiracy theorists are incredibly closed-minded.)

What I find increasingly concerning is the Grey Faction and r/systemscringe's consistent lack of moral integrity, and their willingness to continuously take things completely out of context to push their dangerous and ableist agendas.

[courtingwonder]

The Neurobiology Of Depression (Yale) (Duration: 3 Min) --- youtube.com/watch?v=BZOLxSQwER8

[asalescommunity]

Robbins, Błaszczak and Panek were doing an experiment on civilians without an agreement.

Błaszczak admitted that the civilians have a database recorded in a brain.

Many gang members were involved from prisons who are visual, and who did spy wealthy people from different countries.

Many gangs from prisons were involved in a process of spying employees in a company SHEIN.

CBA from a city of Warsaw was involved in an activity that is illegal because they were using a criminal software with a remote control to conrol a technology device from a place where the body CBA does exist in the city of Warsaw.

CBA can be proven that was stealing an amount of monies from a bank account among seniors who could do a little mistake on a touch screen of a phone in order to open an option of making a payment and a transfer would go to the different bank account that a senior was eager to make the payment for.

A pay-pal account can be involved as a witness providing a database of transfers where from seniors were a victim of an organized crime world-wide.

The database is a terminology that is being used among people whose an expertise is based on a technology.

And an industry based on the technology should provide a report in a correct manner for a local Council.

An author Piotr Sienkiewicz

+48 721 951 799

Have a read about an economy.

[prettygreenpills]

Powerful - Y/n Weems x Enid Sinclair

chapter 3

characters: Y/n Weems x Enid Sinclair

rundown: your mother overheard your conversation with Enid and it turns out to be a little dangerous

warnings: mentions of fainting, shapeshifting, magic, powers, gxg, etc.

“So what is it?” You asked from your mother as soon as you arrived to her office and she closed the doors behind both of you. Somehow you felt like you knew what she wanted to talk about, especially after you saw that the window of her office was opened.

“I think I might’ve overheard some of your conversation with Miss Sinclair,” your mother said and your biggest worries became truth. Your eyes wide opened and you were prepared for that your mother would send Enid out of her office and she would be angry with you because of that you lied to her.

“A-And?”

“Since when do you know that you’re a shapeshifter?” The tall blonde asked you and you felt your heart sunk into your stomach. Gulping loudly, you didn’t expect your mother to find out this soon and you weren’t prepared to have this conversation with her at all.

“Can we talk about this another time please?” You asked her with a hope in your voice, trying to make your mother even a little emotional so she would let you go until you wouldn’t find a believable lie.

“No darling. Since when do you know?” Your mother became softer and she sat into her armchair. Closing your eyes you felt something travel through your veins, but you didn’t answer her.

“Principal Weems, I think-“

“Miss Sinclair, for how long do you know?” Your mother cut Enid off and as you looked at her, you saw that the girl was scared to death. She had respect for your mother and you knew it. But she didn’t want to let you down at the same time.

“I think I should go-“

“You can tell her,” You said right as Enid tried to turn around and when she gave you a look with a question if you’re sure about that, you nodded your head what made her stay. After all, she wanted to help you.

“Y/n told me just few moments before. When we were outside on the yards,” Enid said and you could see that she was feeling guilty because of it. The bow of her head and the way she was playing with her fingers told you that she was feeling guilty. But she didn’t say anything wrong. At least your mother was about to let her go.

“Thank you Miss Sinclair. I will talk to Y/n and then you can both continue in studying on the yards,” your mother said and Enid nodded her head. Before leaving, she gave you a look and you just smiled at her, watching the blonde werewolf girl leave.

With the sound of the doors closing, your mother let out an exhale. It felt like all of the warmth disappeared from the room together with Enid. You forced yourself to turn back to face your mother and she offered you a chair opposite to her.

“So when did you want to tell me?”

“Never,” you said calmly and that made your mother frown. She closed her eyes and breathed out not knowing how angry she was making you feel.

“Y/n, I knew that you could become a shapeshifter but I was told it should’ve came a lot sooner. Since when do you know you’re a shapeshifter?” Your mother asked with her eyes pinned on your face, trying to make you tell her the truth.

“I don’t exactly remember since when-“ you told her and the way your hands were shaking made you worried. “Mom it’s bad- something is going to happen-“

“Look at me and try to calm down Y/n,” your mother said but she wasn’t doing anything else. You looked at her in confusion. Why didn’t she want to help you? Why was she like that? All because of that you didn’t tell her you were a shapeshifter?

You looked at your mother when everything started to blur. It wasn’t from tears. As beeping showed up, you gasped quietly and felt yourself almost falling.

“Y/n. Y/n!” You heard your mother and then someone’s hands landed on your shoulders. Someone made you lay down and all you could focus from that moment on was how weird you were feeling.

“What’s happening mom? What’s going on?” You asked from her, thinking that you were screaming. But your voice came out as a whisper only. You mother checked your body from up and down and then you heard a quiet gasp.

“Y/n stay calm okay? I will be right back, stay calm,” your mother said and brushed your cheek with her fingers. As you felt her step back from you, you looked down at your own body. You had some guy’s boots on. Probably his trousers too. Checking your hands you found few bruises and you knew who you were.

“The guy who was killed. He looked like this?”

“Yes he did. I’ll give you this it will help alright?” Your mother asked and when you saw an injection, you opened your mouth immediately.

“What’s that?”

“It will transform you back. Ready?”

The doors suddenly opened. Both of yours eyes shot onto the doors and when you saw there the blonde girl who’s face expression was a shocked one, you squeezed your mother’s hand.

“Come in Enid.” She said and you whimpered.

“What’s happening? Who is that?” Enid asked quickly and she almost forgot how to breath.

“Y/n,” your mother explained and then she was focused on you again. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm-“ you nodded your head and clenched your teeth. Your mother knelt besides you and she pulled up your shirt, just to uncover your belly. She gave you a shot into your side and you clenched your teeth.

“Is it going to help?”

“Yes it is.”

Becoming a victim of beeping in your ears again, you curled up into a ball and tried to breath through it. Your mother pulled you into a strong hug and you cried as you were transforming back.

“Is she okay? Principal Weems is she going to be okay?” You heard Enid and you took a proper breath. You were curled up in a hug your mother was giving you and you were calming down.

“She should be. Y/n, love?”

“Thanks mom,” you whispered into her chest with your eyes closed. Your breathing was faster than before but you were in your body at least.

“Enid, could you hug her?”

“Where are you going?” You asked from your mother but you were already in Enid’s arms. She brushed your hair out of your face and you felt stupid for laying in your classmates arms, but… she wanted to help you. “Thanks Enid,” you whispered and Enid brushed your hair again.

“You’re very welcome,” Enid said with a smile on her lips and you tried to smile back. And then you heard your mother.

“Doctor Harley? Yes Larissa Weems. A visit is more than needed now,” your mother said into the phone and she looked at you with sad eyes. “If she would like to?” She asked from the doctor but you knew that she was asking you. Biting on your lips and trying not to cry, you didn’t know what to say.

“Y/n, she wants to help you. And the doctor will help you too,” Enid said and you took a deep breath. She was still waiting for your answer and you just gulped. “Please.”

“Okay,” you whispered for some unknown reason and your mother smiled, continuing in talking to doctor Harley. “I hate you for this Enid.”

Enid didn’t say anything, she just kept brushing your hair. When you sat up, she made sure you were feeling okay and then she helped you with sitting into an armchair, opposite to your mother. When your mother was done with the phone call, you swallowed.

“She said we can meet tomorrow,” the tall blonde said to you and you breathed out.

“Do I really-“

“Yes Y/n, you do,” you were cut off and closed your eyes. There was no way out of this by now and you knew it.

“Y/n-“ Enid tried to talk to you again, just to change your mind.

“I know Enid. I know that they just want to help me. Let’s go then. I’ll go to one meeting. Only one mother,” you made sure she heard you and that made your mother smile.

“Now would you like to sleep in your room or-“ your mother asked you after some time you spent in silence and you raised your eyebrows.

“Or?”

“Or would you like to sleep here?” Your mother continued and without even thinking about it, you gave her an answer.

“I’ll keep sleeping in the room. With the girls. But thanks for offering it,” you said. Standing up, you didn’t even give a look to your mother and turned around, together with Enid.

“Miss Sinclair. Don’t forget about our deal,” your mother said and this simple sentence she stood up from the chair.

“Of course Principal Weems,” Enid said and that left you even more confused that before. As both of you walked out of the room, you looked at Enid and then you looked back at your mother.

They were both planning on something but it was clear they didn’t want you to know about.

But after all, you were Y/n Weems.