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freereignastarwarsstory · 7 years

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Chapter 2: A Purpose

Disclaimer: I (@draksisreborn) own nothing but my OCs. Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm and Disney. Many thanks to my fellow writer @zazabelle, who has been amazing as always and who also did the cover art and character designs for this project. Please review and critique this tribute to the characters of SW who are never spoken of, the ones who only wish to survive.

Rating: T (sci-fi violence and language)

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Cenden was hauled through the corridors of the cargo ship by the Mandalorian and Shistavanen, the latter of which he assumed was the captain. He gritted his teeth in both pain and annoyance as he entered the medical bay. Or closet for that matter. The room contained almost no proper medical equipment other than standard battlefield bandages, splints, and painkillers. The commando droid laid the Devaronian, ‘Nek I think he was called,’ on the medical table before turning towards his captain. Releasing his grip on Cenden, the captain turned to his droid.

“Alright, get down to the engine room and get us powered up, Chol will take care of the rest.” The droid nodded and loped out of the room, casting a quick glance towards Cenden before exiting the room.

The Mandalorian eased Cenden into a chair next to his patient before removing her helmet, revealing her flaming red hair, dark skin, and brown eyes. She locked him in a glare, eyes bloodshot with worry as she shoved some bacta bandages and painkillers into his hands.

“Patch yourself up, then get right to Nek. His life is worth more than yours” She growled before stomping out of the room. Cenden shivered as she went, then quickly wrapping the bacta around his leg and injecting the painkillers with clenched teeth.

“Please, forgive my second in command. She...leans on her emotions more than the rest of us.” The captain spoke softly. “My name is Soron, and this is my ship, the Raving Titan. What is your name?”

Cenden mulled over his response, old habits struggling in the face of Soron’s smooth, convincing voice.

“K-Kandor. My name is Kandor.” He responded, hoping his lie would appease the wolfman. He say his eye narrow slightly, before the captain nodded. “Well then Kandor, you have a lot of work to do.” Cenden sensed desperation in his voice now. “Please, do whatever you must to save him. I’ll be here to assist you.” Cenden gave a simple nod and limped over to his patient, examining his shoulder wound.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Though cauterized by the blaster’s extreme heat, the wounded could still become infected, not to mention the fact that his clothing had become fused with the open flesh in places.

“I need a plasma scalpel, immuno boosters, and bacta. Lots of bacta.” Soron nodded and began to grab the required items, passing them to Cenden as needed. This went on for some time before Cenden realized that the meager supplies here wouldn’t be enough. He could feel Nek’s life steadily draining.

His stomach twisted in knots.

‘I really don’t want to do this. In fact… I’m not even sure I can anymore.’ Cenden thought. ‘But I need to save his life. It's what my master would want.’

Shielding the Devaronian’s body as much as he could, he called on the Force for the first time in many months. It came to him like an old friend, bound by memory but awkward with time. Using the techniques he had learned to accelerate the healing process, he held his hand over the wound and began connecting and shifting the broken energies. Cenden paid extra attention to himself as he connected with the Devaronian’s energy, now sharing the sickening feeling of the wound, but only for a moment.

Cenden glanced at the captain, currently searching for more immuno boosters and synthetic blood, causing Cenden to breathe a sigh of relief as the wound began to knit itself back together as he stemmed the flow of Force energy. Though he had sworn he saw Soron stiffen slightly, he dismissed it as a side effect of the painkillers. Quickly he tightly wrapped the wound in as many bandages as he could manage to make it look believable that the wound was still healing underneath. He eased himself back into his chair, his work mostly done. His leg burned, and his energy quickly sapping, Cenden called the captain over.

“He will be fine now, he just needs rest and time to heal. Be sure to change his bandages in a few days. Now, is there a place where I can rest?” He asked the captain, the pain killers starting to make the world spin a little.

“Take a left outside the door, second on the right. You’ll be sharing with someone else for now, is that ok?” Soron inquired.

“That is acceptable.” Cenden responded, making slowly for the door, every step dull agony. However, he was stopped by a furred hand resting on his shoulder, forcing him to turn to meet Soron’s glowing yellow eyes.

“Thank you again. Me and my crew are in your debt.” He said. Cenden gave a quiet nod and left the room, seeking the welcoming embrace of sleep.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“BX you can come in now.” Soron spoke. BX slid from his hiding place outside the medical bay and stepped in, ducking under the doorframe slightly.

“Will he live?” The droid inquired, giving a cursory glance over Nek.

“Aye, he will. But our new friend ‘Kandor’ is hiding something. I know it.” He said examining under the bandages while Nek slept. “Blaster wounds don’t heal like that, not with normal medicine.” Soron turned to BX, locking eyes with his white photoreceptors. “I believe he’s a survivor, but I need you to confirm.”

“What would you have me do captain?” BX responded.

“I can tell he is uneasy around you. Figure out if its from the war. He will be rooming with you, but he doesn’t know that. Make him as uneasy as possible and see if you can find anything to confirm my suspicions.”

“When would you like a report? I will need time to examine all possibilities and outcomes.” BX explained, feeling what could only be described as dread at the concept of a Clone Wars veteran.

“As soon as possible.” Soron commanded. BX nodded and left the room.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Cenden was intrigued by the room he had been assigned to. It was spotlessly clean, with a low desk and racks of weapons and tools, but no bed. On the desk was a currently disassembled DH-X rifle, yet each piece was in perfect geometric alignment with each other. And, judging by the look of some of them, custom made, as were many of the tools. He also took notice of the full suit of stormtrooper pilot armor in the corner, in surprising condition for something that was likely pried off someone’s corpse. But he was still confused as to whose room this was. ‘Maybe zhe Mandalorian? Or this Chol everyone keeps talking to?’

His question was quickly answered as the door slid open, revealing the commando droid from earlier, bedroll tucked neatly under his arm. Within a moment however, the droid let out a low growl, photoreceptors locked on Cenden.

“No no no no no!” The droid panicked as he rushed to the table.

His hands began to make miniscule changes to everything Cenden had touched, changes that were almost impossible to see. The droid whirled around and stomped straight towards the culprit, faceplate inches from Cenden’s face.

“You. You almost ruined my work. From now on consider yourself on notice.”

“Ok, what?” Cenden shouted back.

“You’re lucky the captain likes you so much.” It stated before taking a step back and shoving the bedroll into Cenden’s chest, nearly causing him to fall over.

“He’s your master. You can’t do anything without his orders.” Cenden rebutted.

“Clearly you weren’t paying attention on Basteel. You will be staying on the right side of the room. Keep all personal items neatly organized on that side. Disturb my possession again and you will incur heavy consequences.”

Cenden took the bedroll and laid it against the wall. “Up yourz clanker.” He muttered under his breath.

“Call me that again and I’ll show you what a true war droid can do.” The droid replied from his desk, where he was cleaning a flechette launcher.

Cenden unrolled the mat and nearly collapsed onto the ground. His leg was burning, while a cold sweat began to shake his being. His attempts to calm his breathing only seemed to make him more aware of how the painkillers were melting away his calm composure.

The droid’s presence was not helping.

“Help! General we’re taking heavy fire!”

A memory flashed by.

“No. Shut up. You’re fine” Cenden whispered harshly to himself as he took a breath and closed his eyes.

“NO! NO PLEASE!”

His eyes flew open while the room started to swim. The droid turned towards him, his mechanical eyes watching. Watching.

Cenden hands flew to his ears as he curled up tight on the mat.

“Not again, please leave me alone…” He whispered as he slipped back into the recesses of his mind.

The droids were gone.

The temple should’ve been safe.

But a droid is here. Why would such a terrible thing be allowed to exist?

Just keep swinging. Just keep moving. The Force is here. But is it? There is no end to the death.

The droid stepped closer to the unconscious man having a panic attack on his floor. With careful movement of his foot, he pushed the man and the mat a little further to the wall and straightened the wrinkled corner ever so slightly before backing away to see if it squared up evenly.

“Close enough.” The droid concluded before reaching to his comm. “Orders fulfilled Soron.”

Soron’s voice came over the comm. “You already got him to talk?”

“Those were not my instructions.”

“...What?”

“You said to make him as uneasy as possible, I calculated the corrected phrases and terms that should get him to reveal if he has any previous trauma to war.”

“And does he?” Soron strained, his voice laced with anger or worry.

“From my scan, I would say this level of a stress induced panic attack would indicate past war trauma.”

“....” Static came over the comm.

“Soron?” BX spoke. “Soron? Can I make him leave now? Him being here is throwing off the symmetry of my room.”

The door opened behind BX. Soron walked briskly into the room and stopped when he saw Cenden.

Soron sighed as his hand came up to pinch between his brow.

“Ok, ya, I guess I wasn’t specific enough.” he patted the droid on the back, “A for effort I guess.”

“Effort does not start with an A.”

“Shut up and just help me move him into the extra room!” Soron yelled.

Without another word, BX took a step forward and bent down to pick up the injured man. Pulling him halfway from the ground, BX began to build momentum to put him onto his shoulder.

Cenden screamed as his eyes flew open.

The pressure built before exploding outwards away from Cenden sending BX flying across the room.

Cenden landed, nearly crumpling to the floor and stood drunkenly on one leg. His breathing rapid and his eyes bulging with confusion and fear, he stared at the droid rising from the ground and the Shistavanen staring back.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” he bellowed before collapsing onto his hands and knees.

“Whoa, ok there!” Soron rushed forward.

Grabbing his arm and wrapping it around his back, he heaved Cenden from the ground

And rushed him through the open door.

Soron nearly dragging Cenden down the hallway, he saw Lerti’s fiery head pop out from around the corner.

“Lerti, actual guest room, now!” Soron strained between breaths.

Lerti nodded and ran ahead, opening the door to their extra room. Soron pulled him through the door before flopping the half conscious man down onto the bed.

He watched Lerti back out of the room. He thought about asking for her to run and get some sedatives from the medical supplies but at this point, Soron wasn’t sure he would need it, the man was fading fast.

“Please… Please get away…” Cenden whispered desperately as his eyes fought to stay open.

“We have a lot to discuss, Jedi.” Soron whispered as the Jedi slipped out of awareness.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Soron sighed as he watched the man’s body go limp. Turning to walk out, he saw BX standing in the door frame, his head tilted in curiosity.

“Did I do something… incorrect, to your instructions?” BX asked as Soron walked passed him.

“You did exactly as I said. Doesn’t mean it was right on my part… I think he’ll be ok but just try and keep your distance from him until he’s in his right mind again.” Soron explained to the droid.

BX nodded and turned to go back to his room to clean up the damage from their “experiment”. The droid could almost feel what organics would call a shudder when he reviewed the memory of that man touching his perfectly organized blaster pieces.

“The nerve.” he muttered to himself before turning the corner.

Soron let out a breath and turned down the hallway to head towards their lounging area near the center of the ship. Opening the door, he found Lerti already there waiting for him with two cups of stimcaf resting on the table in the middle of sectional sofas.

“I’m guessing you were needing this as much as I was.” she smiled.

“Ya probably.” he mumbled as he flopped onto the couch. “I feel sort of awful.”

“Man, I do too. I think I pulled something in my shoulder.” Lerti groaned as she rolled her shoulder.

“No I was meaning about our guest. I think I made BX give him a heart attack.”

Lerti shrugged, “Why do you care? It’s not like we’re keeping him.”

Soron looked at Lerti.

“What? No! Soron! We can’t pick up another ‘passenger’, we can barely get by with the four of us!” Lerti complained.

“We owe him greatly.”

“We owe him nothing. His whole ‘good deed act’ saved Nek but that doesn’t mean we can trust him, much less owe him anything!”

“I wasn’t just talking about Nek, Lerti.”

“Then what? Soron, we don’t owe anyone anything!”

“We owe him this!”

“Why!?”

“Lerti I think he’s a survivor!”

She went quiet for a moment before lowering her voice.

“Soron what are you talking about?”

“The Old Republic… The Jedi. I think he was one of them.”

“Soron, the Jedi aren’t real. You know I love to tell stories as much as the next guy but...”

“No they weren’t. I’m old enough to remember. I’m old enough that I won’t give into that awful propaganda about them! They are real, and almost none of them survived after the emperor took control of everything and attempted to wipe them out.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Lerti asked with wide eyes.

“I’ll tell you once we have our crew together for a little chat. That includes our hopeful new member pumped full of painkillers laying in the other room.” Soron said as he turned to leave the room.

“I’m going to check on Nek. Be sure to swing by Cholmon and give him our next destination.” Soron commanded as the door slid open in front of him.

“Where are we going now?”

“Let’s swing by Nar Shaddaa. Beebs should be able to help us lie low for a while.”

“You got it cap.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nearly a day and a half later, Nek woke up with a slight headache and a lot of questions, but to the rest of the crew, he seemed livelier than ever. Under the several layers of bandages, the blast wound was almost completely healed, Nek describing it feeling like “a ton of insect bites” but not much worse than that. Despite the crew’s insistence he stay put and rest for a while, he was up and moving about the ship only about three hours after his waking up.

Needless to say, Lerti and Cholmon couldn’t help but be suspicious of the miraculous recovery. Nek himself was just as confused. Soron had continually promised to explain everything, but only after they were sure their guest was going to live.

Since his “incident” he hadn’t woken up. Once the crew had landed in Nar Shaddaa, they had begun taking shifts watching him, but everyone reported in that he hadn’t so much as stirred once.

Cholmon shuffled into the room to take his shift. Nek sat patiently next to his savior and smiled when he saw Cholmon.

“I’m happy to be alive, I don’t care why. But it seems the how is still out for the count.” the Devaronian said gesturing to the human.

“Give him time I guess.” Cholmon shrugged indifferently.

“I get shot almost clean through the shoulder and I'm almost completely healed, but he gets shot in the leg and now… It doesn’t make sense.” Nek sighed.

“Not to many things do Nek, now go get some rest for crying out loud. I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Cholmon uttered, putting a webbed hand on Nek’s shoulder.

Nek nodded silently before rising from his chair and heading for the doorway. Cholmon sat down heavily with a thump. Putting his feet up near the foot of the bed, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

“Looks like you’re contagious, mystery man, ‘cause I could really go for a nap right about now too.” Cholmon mumbled sarcastically as he sank into the chair.

Several rooms over, Lerti sparred with BX while Soron and Nek watched, making bets for the winner. The droid and the Mandalorian seemed almost be dancing in their practice fight. BX’s movements calculated and quick, while Lerti moved on her feet, looking almost carefree as she threw her punches. It was an interesting bout to be sure.

Outside on Nar Shaddaa, storm clouds had gathered overhead. Rain poured down, thudding rhythmically on the haul of the ship. Lightning split across the sky and thunder exploded moments later. Back in Cenden’s room, the Jedi stirred in his sleep.

His eyes suddenly flew open.

With a quickly drawn in breath, he shot up into sitting position, his eyes flying about the room.

His eyes locked onto the Mon Calamari taking a nap in the chair next to the bed as he tried to piece together where he was and why he was there… The firefight, the injured Devaronian; he was on a ship.

He reached out with the Force, connecting to the surrounding area, they weren’t in space, which was a start. At least he could try and find his way off the ship and hide somewhere less conspicuous than an escape pod. Carefully pulling the covers aside, he shifted his body as quietly as possible so as not to wake the alien nearest to him. Pulling one leg over the side of the bed, he held in a gasp of pain when fire ran up the side of his leg.

He looked down at the still very raw but bandaged blast hole in his leg.

Oh ya. That. Cenden thought as vague memories of painkillers, a droid, and a Shistavanen trying to attack him flooded back.

His stomach fluttered in panic.

They know.

Quickly placing his hand on his thigh, he connected with the living energy within himself, then to the Force flowing around him and throughout the room. Finally connecting with the tear in his being, he inhaled in pain, the little energy he had quickly draining from him. Breaking the connection, he leaned back on one hand and removed the bandages as he gasped for breath.

The wound was still there.

I must’ve used up more power than I thought healing that Devaronian… Did I even break the connection with him? Exhaustion quickly began eating away at Cenden again.

Focusing, he broke any bonds he had strung together and felt some energy return to him.

Well that’s just great, I must’ve been using up my energy to heal him. Alright Cenden, just escape the ship then you can take a nap, sound good you idiot? Cenden thought to himself as he began to build momentum.

Quietly hopping up from the bed, he leaned on his good leg and the wall as he began his shuffle out from the room. His mind felt like it was in a fog as he made his way down the hallway. For the first time in a long time, he just let the Force pull him along through the winding corridors and seemingly endless hallways.

He was looking for anything that looked like a exit, any kind of door that might lead to the outside.

Cenden jumped as thunder roared overhead. Letting out a breath, he shook his head and kept going. That pulling feeling stopped suddenly as he passed a door that met at the crossroads of two dividing hallways. This did not look like an exit, but it was the only lead he knew for certain would lead him where he needed to be… Maybe.

At that same moment, back in the sparring room, Nek decided he was feeling a little run down after all and told the others he was going to go lay down for a while.

Cenden reached for the door’s control panel.

Nek watched the door speed open and gasped a little when someone was standing immediately on the other side.

Cenden’s eyes locked onto Nek’s as he stumbled back against the wall in shock.

Soron and Lerti looked over in surprise.

BX shoved Lerti against the wall, then looked over at the door.

“You should really work on your focus. Oh and Soron, the Jedi is at the door.” BX observed.

Everyone was quiet. Everyone waiting for someone else to make a move.

Soron took a step forward.

Cenden pushed himself further up against the wall.

Lerti smiled a little and stood up, “Where do you think your heading? Don’t you want to introduce yourself first?”

Cenden scowled at them before replying.

“I want off this ship. Now.”

Soron frowned a little, glancing at Cenden’s leg.

“Why haven't you healed your wound?” Soron questioned.

Cenden’s face fell, for a moment he thought about all he had to hide. How long he had been alone and hiding. He was stuck on this ship, there was no escape at the moment. There was nothing that could be done…

“Don’t you think I tried? ...I’m tired.” Cenden voiced in defeat.

“Well you can go back to our guest room then, you’re allowed to stay as long as you need. We owe you that much.” Nek spoke.

Lerti scowled a little before rolling her eyes and walking through the door.

“Come on back to the room. Soron promised answers and you’re going to help out with those.” she said as she walked past Cenden, gesturing for everyone to follow. “Also, I’m hoping Cholmon was just being Cholmon when you managed to sneak passed him.”

“The Mon Calamari? He was sleeping.” Cenden explained as he limped along the corridor followed by the rest of the crew.

“Figures.” Nek mumbled in reply, “By the way, I never got a chance to thank you.” he directed at Cenden.

“Don’t mention it.”

The group made it back to the room, Cholmon was still sleeping in his chair exactly where Cenden had left him. Lerti walked briskly across the room, quickly throwing Cholmon’s legs off the side of the bed. His eyes flew open in surprise and he sat bolt upright.

“Wah!? What? Oh, um…” Cholmon’s looked at Cenden in shock, “Well look at that… He did wake up.”

“Ya and great job watching him for us Chol.” Soron uttered sarcastically before gesturing for Cenden to sit on the bed.

Lumbering over, Cenden flopped back onto the bed, hissing from the pain in his leg. Sighing, he looked to Soron.

“What do you want?” he inquired forcefully.

He noticed a look pass between the crew members, as if they knew what was coming.

Soron stepped forward, “I want to repay you.”

“You have repaid me! I saved his life you gave me a place to rest, your debt has been repaid.”

Soron was quiet for a moment, just watching him speak.

“I don’t think I could ever truly repay you for all you have done.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was there when the order was given… I was there when the Jedi fell.”

Nek suddenly stepped forward, “Wait! So he actually is a Jedi!? ‘Cause that would explain a lot.”

“I. Am no. Jedi! Not anymore!” Cenden barked.

Soron stepped back in, “But you were. What was your position?”

“... I was a temple guard. In charge of protecting the sanctuaries and sacred temples of the Jedi order. Especially during the Clone Wars.” his gaze became far off, his voice dropped down to almost a whisper, “The droid armies had suddenly abandoned the area, we should have been safe. But then the…” Cenden cut himself off, his voice pained.

“Then the clones attacked.” Soron finished.

Cenden nodded silently.

“I was there, on one of the sites where the order was given. I could barely make out what was happening, it was like the clones just went mad. I watched them slaughter their brothers in arms like they were vicious animals. Why? Why did they do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“How are you alive?”

“I don’t know.”

“The emperor took control only days later, you must see the connection.”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Cenden bellowed, dropping his head into his hands, “What. Do. You. Want? Are you going to turn me in?”

“I think he’s made it pretty clear we’re not going to turn you in.” Lerti snorted.

“We don’t fight for the Empire.” Soron retorted.

Cenden raised an eyebrow. He looked slightly taken back.

“Then for the Rebellion?” He questioned.

“Pointless. All of it.” Soron reposed, “So the Empire takes over the galaxy. Then what? The Empire is doing all of this for power, and what does it matter to them? What does it matter to the Emperor? And what does all of this matter to us?” he laughed, “And the Rebellion? If, or when they manage to stop them, then what? Whoever is in charge changes nothing, not really. But we,” he gestured to his crew, “We are apart of a free reign. We do not fight for any side, we do not just survive. We are trying to find how to live. All of us are fighting to find a greater purpose than who’s in charge of what. There really is no point to it, and we are looking for a purpose. And I think you can help us find that purpose. I think we could give you a purpose.”

“What do you mean?” Cenden asked.

“Well, who better to help us find a greater purpose than a man connected to the greatest purpose?” Soron explained.

Cenden was quiet for a moment.

“You’re talking about zhe Force?” he asked curtly.

“Of course I’m talking about the Force! You’re kind of slow aren’t you?” Soron jested.

Cenden rolled his eyes, “I don’t know if zhere’s a point to that.”

Soron smiled, “You have reason to doubt your abilities, I’m sure. Every war leaves its scars. But regarding the Force? There is every point to it. It guides you doesn’t it? It moved you to us, it moved you to save Nek. And it moved Nek to get shot in the first place. It sees things greater than we are, it makes up all things, it binds all things together, and that includes time. The Force decides who lives and who dies and how and why. You are connected to it. You are it’s prophet, it speaks through you. It helps you.”

“It didn’t help any of us when it mattered the most! I watched my fellow guards get slaughtered! I should’ve been dead too! They just kept shooting and shooting at the bodies! Without remorse, without thought… Then they shot at me. I should not be alive right now.”

“But you are.” Cholmon finally spoke.

“Ya, I am.” Cenden whispered.

“So what are you doing to do about it? What are you going to do with your second chance? How are you going to live, now that the Jedi are gone? Why did the Force allow the Jedi to die? Why do the Sith still live? And how does the rest of us fit into it? Why are we alive? What are we here for?” Soron’s eyes locked onto Cenden’s.

“You ask some pretty heavy questions.”

“And I’m sure you’ll be able to help us find heavier answers. Help us find them.” Soron extended his hand towards Cenden.

Cenden hesitated before taking his hand.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve heard anyone talking sense. My name is Cenden Sondron.”

Soron smiled.

“Nice to meet you.”

#Free Reign: A Star Wars Story #Chapter 2 #zazabelle #draksisreborn #ptsd and ocd in the same paragraph #This was one of my favored chapters to write #star wars fanfiction

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daydweam · 4 years

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Now that I have hit a milestone for this blog I really would like to open up about my personal life. I just wanna make sure that its received well... or received at all PFF! I am disabled despite presenting able bodied. I had to drop out of school, endure medical malpractice, discrimination, and for a long time it felt hopeless. I have had a brain bleed, been in more than one coma, suffered a severe overdose, undergone brutal spinal and brain surgeries....if I kept going I am unsure anyone would believe me. It is so beyond what I can fit in a concise paragraph. My entire nervous system is working against me.

I live in chronic debilitating pain that has controled my life for nearly this entire decade. I lost my ability to do everything I enjoyed, and began fighting to just live. Being gaslit about my own pain, conditions and concerns was just the cherry on top. This blog is cutesy and seems like nothing but lately its been really nice to see alll the reblogs and likes of the same art or food I would post. Just feeling like I have a community of people trying to enjoy these little things like me is a great feeling. SO SORRY FOR THE LONG POST, but I thought maybe I should share. Of course this hasnt named any conditions or details. If anyone is interested feel free to dm or send an ask 💕

I have been dealing with the worst depression and dissociative episodes of my life as of late. Its hard to even remember what I ate for lunch a lot of the time. I also unfortunately live with PTSD and OCD. My psychologist is referring me to a psychiatrist thank God....but this blog has given me a creative outlet I wouldnt have otherwise. I danced for 10 years and I adored all of the arts. I excelled at them and always felt fulfilled by what I could create. Its hard to be so limited. Being able to express myself this way has been so helpful. If you are interested my other blog @stale-cupcake is much more personal and a real reflection of how I feel right now. AHHH i dunno how to end this....but if you actually read to the end I am so honored you did I am really happy each time I open this app because of you. 💖

#me #personal #spoonie #eds #invisibledisease #invisible illness

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theescapegoat · 3 years

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A little essay about Azazel and my ADHD

I’m going to say this here because 1) not many people still follow this blog and 2) the people who do are not the kind to judge me for my neurodivergency.

I’ve been on ADHD medication for a little over 2 months and I writing is so much easier for me now. And it’s not your typical trope of “Adderall addicted writer abusing drugs to help the creative process”. I remember loving to read and write during my childhood and late teens but I also have OCD and, when I was 21, I lost my mother in a very traumatic way so I had PTSD on top of it all. After that, my brain just stopped working how it did before. My OCD was amplified by the fact that my undiagnosed ADHD was being exacerbated by my newly diagnosed PTSD.

Crazy, right?

Throughout my early to mid 20s, I had to basically relearn how to tell stories and my reading capabilities became almost nonexistent aside from reference texts which I forced myself to digest bc it was the only type of reading I could comprehend. I cried fairly often in the first few years because I couldn’t remember words, faces, or even read a book beyond a few pages. My memory was just awful. I could read the words on a page just fine. I could understand what the words meant. But as soon as the page was out of sight, I couldn’t recall it. Sometimes I’d be in the middle of a page and have to reread the same paragraph over and over again bc I wasn’t retaining ANYTHING. It was heartbreaking because I could remember when it was easier but I couldn’t remember the page I just fucking read.

A part of that is why some of my characters are the way they are. Azazel, I’m seeing now, is my ADHD muse. Writing him helped me find new ways of expressing myself. That’s why Azazel makes quick, stupid remarks, rather than long, complex paragraphs. He was the muse I could express myself through and with ease because he didn’t ask for deep introspection and understanding. He said and did the first thing that popped into his head because waiting for the second thing was just too much effort.

I’m not saying this as bad thing or that Azazel represents some kind of negative aspect of my mental health. On the contrary. Azazel saved me. He was this muse and this constant companion in my mind that encouraged me to stop wishing my mind worked differently and embrace this particular way it worked. Even as a theological concept, I hold Azazel very close. I’ve had people ask if I worship Azazel and I always say “No.” Because to me, I don’t see Azazel as a deity to serve. I view the idea of Azazel a friend that helped me when I was lost and wandering alone in the desert. He couldn’t fix my situation but he would keep me company while I wandered.

Since being on medication, I’m feeling like I have access to my mind again. All those years of struggling and relearning who I am, I thought I just wasn’t smart enough or talented enough, that I lacked some fundamental ability to express myself. Now I look back I see that I wasn’t stupid or untalented. And not because there was a reason for my struggles. None of those qualities are representative of neurodivergency. Those beliefs about myself came from a mindset shaped by systemic ableism. But despite the barriers I faced, I still did and learned so much. I traveled on my own, got amazing jobs, moved states, made lifelong friends, and amassed a pretty good collection of books on the mythology, theology, and demonology (which I don’t know I would have even gotten into if not for my particular way of learning). And through it all, I’ve relied on stories, both in RPs and in my head, of Azazel and other characters to carry me through my lowest times and give me what ever crumbs of serotonin my brain could produce.

So yeah, I’m having fun with RP again. I’m having fun revisiting these characters and seeing if they’ll grow with me.

#Azazel

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tmitransitioning · 6 years

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I'm aware that you can't get reassignment surgery due to certain mental illnesses. I have C-PTSD, OSDD, OCD, BPD, ADHD, autism, as well as physical disabilities & depression/anxiety and other undiagnosed mental illnesses. Would I still be able to get a mastectomy? (I'm in KY, USA)

Assuming that your care team is following WPATH standards, none of these labels inherently disqualify you from surgery (or HRT). However, that comes with a large caveat; the restrictions you’ve likely heard of are based not on particular diagnostic labels but on your ability to what is sometimes called “reality test” and to consent to medical procedures. WPATH also wants your mental health to be “reasonably well-controlled” before any kind of treatment—for example, you shouldn’t be in the middle of a manic episode when you have chest surgery. In intention, these aren’t moral judgements; they’re meant to both avoid triggering a crisis for someone who, say, is having a severe depressive episode and then undergoes surgery. That would be really hard on your body and brain.

These requirements are also intended to make sure that you, as the patient, can consent to irreversible medical care, and this is where it gets tricky. You’re probably very aware that some diagnostic labels are a lot more stigmatized than others, and that people, including doctors and psychologists, will ascribe you varying levels of agency depending on what they’re categorizing your behaviour under. This gets even more complex and difficult to navigate if you have intersecting identities, especially if you aren’t white. A lot of the process of psychological assessment for surgery readiness comes down to you being able to present and show a history of controlled mental health, certainty in your identity, and a full understanding of the risk/benefit analysis of surgery.

I’m... a little hesitant to rank diagnoses against each other, because it doesn’t always work like that in practice. But I think that the official labels most likely to pose a challenge for you are OSDD, BPD, and autism. If you’ve been diagnosed with PTSD that may also be difficult, but I’m assuming that the complex form has been rolled under either that or your BPD diagnosis, since complex trauma doesn’t technically exist as a diagnosis in the current DSM and the new ICD isn’t out yet. OCD, ADHD, depression, and generalized anxiety are less likely to pose a barrier for you if you aren’t considered a suicide risk. (OCD can be kind of a pain to navigate with doctors, but since one of its distinguishing features that you can lean on is being able to identify obsessive thoughts as irrational, it’s a little easier to demonstrate “well-controlled” with it.)

I’m making this judgement based on a few things. BPD is very strongly stigmatized and poorly understood; since dysphoria diagnoses require a long-term understanding of your identity and a certainty, and many people’s understanding of BPD boils down to “identity disturbances”, doctors may be less inclined to ascribe this certainty to you. Autism is, frustratingly, a toss-up as to whether or not the person assessing you works off of a judgement of you being unable to understand and articulate your own feelings/thoughts; it’s not insurmountable, and I know several people who’ve easily accessed top surgery with formal autism diagnoses, but it’s complex.

OSDD is getting its own paragraph because while, ideally, you’d ask your psych or therapist about this as a whole, OSDD I think is a label that you are going to have to specifically focus on. It has some of the same points as those about BPD that I mentioned above, but it’s possibly even less understood by clinicians and a clinician can, technically, get to the point of performing a surgery readiness assessment for a patient with their only exposure to the concept being The Three Faces of Eve. This is going to depend a lot on your relationship with your mental health team and their willingness to certify that you have an internal understanding of your identity that makes you a candidate for surgery (because I think, for you, it’s very likely anyone assessing you will request a therapist’s letter).

TL;DR: These are very likely to be obstacles for you, but not impossible ones. WPATH does not inherently disqualify based on diagnostic label. Stigma and poor understanding on the part of clinicians plays a large role in this, and it will likely come down to your ability to demonstrate in a medically-congruent way that your mental health is “reasonably well-controlled” enough for you to understand your identity, surgery, and the risks therein.

- Mod Wolf

#ableism cw #top surgery #mod wolf

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numbrellafive · 7 years

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Headcanons for losers club meeting in group therapy.

I took this a bit further than I meant to, I hope you like it though because I love addressing mental health(I based it off my own experiences and knowledge so I’m so so sorry if anything is not accurate)

- They all have the same therapist (she’s called Jackie) but they’ve never met each other

- she takes them all for different things

- Bill has depression from loosing his brother (‘n-n-not dead…j-j-just m-m-missing) and anger issues from getting frustrated with his stutter

- Beverly has depression and PTSD from her father and addiction to smoking

- Ben has social anxiety and topophobia from moving so much and getting bullied

- Mike has insomnia and PTSD from his parents death and having to work on the farm

- Richie has ADHD, bipolar disorder and addiction to smoking just from genetics and how his parents treat him

- Stan has chronic OCD and anxiety from his father being a perfectionist

- Eddie has chronic Mysophobia , anxiety and is the worst hypochondriac she’s ever seen

- She has problems with all of them being closed off for some reason

- Bill doesn’t like talking because when he tries to talk about loosing his brother his stutter gets worse, then he gets frustrated and gets overwhelmed

- Beverly just can’t bring herself to talk about it, talking about her dad sets off her PTSD and she gets super defensive about her smoking

- Ben is actually quite intimidated by Jackie, he knows deep down that she wants to help but can’t help but feel like he’s just putting his problems on someone else’s shoulders

- Mike is the easiest one to open up, he needs to know that someone is there and supporting him but at the same time he can’t talk about his parents without tearing up

- Richie talks about everything that isn’t his problems and wastes their hour pretty much every time, although some days he comes in and pours his little heart out

- Stan has told himself if he lets people know about his problems and says them out loud then it’ll make it all worse

- Eddies the only one who’ll willingly talk about what’s happening although he’s insecure about telling her incase she thinks he’s stupid

- so basically, she has a hard time with all of them but she still wants to help them all so bad

- So she proposes to her team leader that she should have an extra session with them once a week where they’re all together

- once she gets the all clear, she tells them about it

- They all agree sounded slightly worried and unwilling, other than Richie who was having a fantastic day and is ready to meet his new fucking friends

- the first session was…interesting to say the least

- Jackie set the chairs in a circle

- the first to arrive was Stan, he always needed to be early no matter what incase he missed something and took the seat next to Jackie

- Eddie was the second to arrive, he took the seat on the other side of her

- As a therapist, this warmed her heart as she knew they did that to feel safer

- She introduced them and got them talking about why bedrooms should be kept tidy, needless to say they become friends right away

- Bill was the third to arrive, he had gotten the wrong room at first and was kinda upset

- he walked in whispering the paragraph that helped his stutter, looking down

- He didn’t look up until he was sitting down at the furthest seat from Jackie in the circle

- She started to introduce them but he honestly wasn’t listening, he was too busy staring at the cute boy with curly hair in front of him

- Stan catches him staring but that doesn’t stop him, he just watches as Stan’s cheeks redden

- next to arrive is Ben and Mike, they weren’t really friends yet but they helped each other find the room

- And finally, Bev and Richie walked in taking as if they had been friends for years (slightly late)

- apparently Richie’s lighter had given up on him so Bev offered hers up, they became friends pretty quickly

- Ben is awestruck by Bev

- They both sat in the remaining two seats left

- As soon as Richie sat down he noticed the small boy next to Jackie and ended up doing the exact thing Bill did with Stan

- Jackie goes around the circle, asking everyone to introduce themselves and their problem and also say how they’re feeling today

- When it comes to Richie, he’s still looking at Eddie

- ‘I’m Richie, I have ADHD and I’m so fucking gay right now’

- Everyone (including Jackie) laughs, they like Richie already

- The session went okay, nothing too interesting happened and they just talked about stuff

- Jackie definitely noticed how they became more open as the hour passed by

- Although Richie spends most the time flirting with Eddie

- Stan leaves last, Bill waits for him by the front door and Stan swears he didn’t tear up a little

- Bill does this and walks Stan home after every session, after the sixth time they start holding hands

- Eddie eventually grows super fond of Richie so one day when said boy walks in and doesn’t talk or even really look up the whole hour, Eddie is pretty worried

- after the session, Jackie asks to talk to Richie privately and Eddie waits by the front of the building even though it’s raining

- Richie comes out after ten minutes, sniffling with red tearful eyes

- 'Oh hey, Eddie spaghetti….isn’t your mom worried you’re not home yet?’

- 'I’m more concerned about you than my mom right now’

- Richie offers to walk Eddie home, giving Eddie his black denim jacket littered with patches somewhere along the way

- Richie also uses this time to explain his ADHD and bipolar disorder to Eddie

- 'Is there any chance I could get my jacket back? I’ll probably stay out for a bit’

- 'Sure…why are you staying out if it’s raining?’

- 'Just, parents and stuff yanno’

- with that, Eddie demands Richie stay over until his mum comes back or the rain stops

- Ben starts writing little notes and poems which he puts on Bev’s seat before every session and are signed anonymously

- Bev thinks it’s Bill at first but she sees Stan and Bill holding hands on the way home so she crosses him off the list

- one day, whilst she’s out smoking to get away from her dad she bumps into Richie

- she decides he’s a good smoking buddy and they become close, sneaking out pretty much every night to smoke together

- Richie saw Ben putting a note on Bev’s seat one day and honestly he just can’t keep it to himself

- 'Why don’t you ask Ben if he’s your secret admirer?’

- 'I might just do that’

- She leaves a note on his seat one day, with her number and the words 'my heart burns there too’

- To say Jackie is pleased with them and her decision to make their group is an understatement

You know what to do (add more) - xo

#reddie #stenbrough #it #the losers club #richie tozier #eddie Kaspbrak #stan uris #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #benverly

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ayman-eckford · 4 years

Text

It’s a little story about how we learn to work with our triggers.

After Abu Umar was triggered by a book about Uyghur genocide and stuck in that body, we all have a difficult time.

And it helps us to understand something new about PTSD and how it works in our System.

-When some of us triggered we started to switch. A lot. First fronting the most triggered guys and after that for the most “tough” guys. So we became “Like a TV”, without any opportunity to deal with everyday life as a singlet even for a while. We switched so often, that many times we couldn't understand who are we.

-Some stuff could be triggering and pleasant at the same time.

Muslim Studies and Terrorism Studies are my special interest. Also it’s a special interest of Abu Hamza al-Muhajir. And a book about Uyghur genocide by Sean Roberts have a good academic analysis qualities and in the same time it’s a good account from activism/human rights perspective. The same kind of stuff we like. But Islamophobia and authoritarian left are extremely strong triggers for many of us.

-Our brain tried to protect us from that information anyway: we couldn’t concentrate properly, became fidgeting and sleepy despite the fact that we like the book. And we feel deeply anxious, like we are in danger. Because triggers are much more about physical reactions for something that the brain is associated with danger than about some “like/don’t like” feeling.

You could like something and be triggering anyway.

-Our protective mechanism started blending too. For example I started to eat more and in a compulsive kind of way like Abu Umar. And I started to have a noticeable OCD cycle on reading and re-reading paragraphs and page’s numbers (it’s Ver.B.A.’s stuff).

--Surprisingly, crayoning helps us deal with anxiety, sleepiness and triggers. Sometimes we stopped reading and started crayoning. It helps to prevent strong OCD. Also it helps kids feel more safe. Just like stimming.

-We started to feel better after me and Ver.B.A. started to write about our feelings. We wrote several posts about our problem in Orwell’s post-USSR. Reducing our tension also helps Abu Umar.

-We shared responsibilities. I asked for help from our protector and gatekeeper alter, Lil, and she was dealing with Ver.B.A. and preventing her from fronting because Ver.B.A. couldn’t manage with fronting. And I was busy with Abu Umar.

-We need several days to stop feeling physically exhausted. So even if triggering staff is interested for you, just be ready that this kind of activity will be kind of stressful and extremal anyway. Two hours reading could be like a long traveling or rock climbing.

-I started to share more Abu Umar’s dreams. It’s weird to have dreams of someone who fenced off from you by a strong amnesic barrier and has little in common with you. But in my experience it’s pointless to fight with it. It would end several days after a strong trigger.

P.S. I made a video about it.

https://youtu.be/qS5Sd0kjuSU

#did problems #did alter #didsystem #plural #plural gang #actually dissociative #actually plural #actually multiple #ptsd #complex post traumatic stress disorder #trauma

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rvbapartments · 6 years

Text

Simmons has Joined

- Name: Keeks

- Age: 17

- Pronouns: she/her

- Timezone: EST

- Triggers: I don’t like explicitly described self-harm, but I’m fine with references to past instances

- Are you comfortable RPing NSFW?: Nah dude, but I’m fine with implied and jokes

-Discord: Byulsii#2379

- Character Name: Richard Simmons (Yes, he Knows)

- Character Pronouns: he/him

- Character Age: 24

- Job: Varied and Unspecified Tech Stuff (aka: it may not be legal but at least he has a moral code)

- Brief History (at least a paragraph): Born the younger child in the typical American nuclear family, life wasn’t… always that great for Richard. Not least of all because his name was Richard. Seriously, who the fuck named their son Richard while knowing full well that kid’s surname was still going to be Simmons??? Don’t shorten it, though- Dick Simmons sounds even worse, and definitely was the torment of, like, every school moment from middle school on, especially with the stern insistence from his family that he get into sports. Sports. The kind that other upper middle-class kids get into, except they don’t need glasses thicker than a fucking ninety-year old’s to see, and they don’t trip over their every move, and they definitely aren’t red-headed, freckled Richard Simmons.

Which is, of course, exactly why he graduated, let slip years of anger that had his family disowning him, and immediately joined into the army because he had to pay his way through college somehow, and Richard wasn’t really keen on turning to prostitution. Not that he thought prostitution was bad, of course, there were plenty of perfectly good people who worked in the sex industry it’s just that the statistical deaths are off the charts, and…

And then he got through basic, and got through classes, and just when things seemed to maybe possibly just a little bit be going right for him, a mandatory tour when classes were out went and got him blown the fuck up. Kind of. It was a little bit his fault, he guessed, for not checking where he was stepping when he knew there were IEDs around, but like, what the fuck, universe? What the fuck? Why would you let one of your creations be wondering about if it was his fault or a mistake when he was definitely going to die? That’s sort of messed up, and really? Simmons didn’t need that kind of negativity.

Forced (and gladly) to leave whatever military career he may have had behind him, it cost Richard an arm and a leg (and an eye) to finally get himself working again, functioning like a regular human should and the place to start? One of the cheaper but not-going-to-get-stabbed places like Blood Gulch Apartments, too many right jokes than he ever wanted to memorize, and the classes he could finally fucking take because god damn it, all he wanted to do was pay for a fucking diploma but here he is, even more in debt than before and he doesn’t even have a cool story for it. What the fuck, Universe?????

- Personality (at least a paragraph): Typically pretty reserved, Simmons has his… quirks. Dash of OCD, sprinkle of everlasting anxiety and oh, what’s that? A pinch of PTSD? Never would have guessed. All things aside, however, he’s a caring person if you get past the sweat and stuttering, and while he’s just as likely to insult someone he loves as tell them that, there’s a lot he’d do for them. While he’s typically good at keeping his mind and his mouth at the same speed, it’s not uncommon for Simmons to just blurt something without really thinking it through, which of course requires backpedaling and if that fails? Pop his glass eye out and run. Non-confrontational unless pushed to the extreme, he’s sort of like a very nervous ghost; there, but only heard when he wants to be. Or doesn’t want to be.

- Anything Else?: He’s double-majoring with software engineering and computer engineering, so that combined with his online oddjobs means he’s usually pretty tired. Add prescriptions to that, and you have a combination for someone staying alive on sheer spite alone.

If you’re thinking about picking up Sarge/Grif, I’m totally down to talking out dynamics and backgrounds and all, depending on how you wanna roll it.

#richard simmons #rvb #rvb rp #red vs blue #red vs blue roleplay #discord roleplay #submission

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theintrinsicwarrior · 5 years

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The ‘Self-Help’ Problem

“Self-Help”. Hearing that term will probably make you think of TED talks, Tony Robbins seminars and meditation. I assume you already know what self help is, but if not, it’s basically a word used to describe a genre of material that involves giving people advice in different areas of life and providing information regarding one’s own self-development and wellbeing. It’s a very broad genre that deals with what it’s name suggests: Helping yourself. In this post I want to talk about the most common trap that people (myself included) often run into with this material. I’ve been on my own journey with this stuff and I will say now that, although there a lot of problems with this material, it can also provide a lot useful tools that are backed up by psychology and scientific recognition. Although it looks like it, this isn’t going to be a biased rant with me bashing this industry with everything I have. In fact, I still use some of the things I’ve learnt from this material in my life today with great results. This will be me talking about the common pitfall people run into with this material and I’ll use my own experience as an example.

First of, let’s break down this term “Self-Help”. This word implies that you: your self, needs ‘help’. It implies that you have a problem and need help with it. That you are not good right now and that you need help make yourself good. You have an issue with yourself, so logically, you need ’self help’. Off to a great start, right? Let’s paint a picture to illustrate my point here. Imagine a guy. This guy’s name is Luke. Luke has a severe case of social anxiety, realises it and begins reading self help books on how to overcome social anxiety. Logical right? Luke reads these books, feels motivated and decides to go to a bar and talk to people. He gets to the bar and his mind is going blank and crazy at the same time. He sits down anxiously while looking for a group or person to approach. As time goes by his anxiety increases, nerves are on overdrive and starts to sweat heavily. His heart is going faster than Usain bolt. His entire physiology is saying ‘this is scary, we have to get out of here!’. He tells himself ’this is a mistake, I can’t do this’ and decides to go home. He drives home with what feels like a tidal wave of shame and regret to come over him. Thoughts of self-doubt overwhelm him at the same time. After these thoughts and feelings, he thinks: ‘maybe those books I read were shit?’, ‘maybe I should try looking at some better stuff on Youtube?’. So he does. He watches some random YouTube videos that deal with social anxiety and once again, gets motivation to go out and approach people. You already know what happens. He once again feels overwhelmed by anxiety, wimps out, drives home with shameful feelings, only to seek out more self help material. Maybe he goes into depression, thinking he will never ‘beat’ his anxiety. Whats actually happening here is his belief that his social anxiety is a problem is reinforcing itself, ultimately affecting how he views himself. He never stops to say: ‘what if having social anxiety is OK and in the end, that makes me OK?’ What if Luke takes a second to stop trying to change himself, stops trying to find the perfect book on how to ‘fix’ himself and just accept himself? Howbowdeh!? This is the common problem I’m talking about: The lack of unconditional self-acceptance. Right now I’m studying Psychology & Counselling and I’ve learnt some interesting things about therapy and different therapeutic modalities. So far, my favourite psychologist I’ve learnt about is Carl Rogers. My guy Carl Rogers founded a modality in counselling known as ‘Person centred therapy’. It is based around many principles but one of them is a condition known as ‘Unconditional Positive Regard’. This refers to the therapist unconditionally accepting the client as they are, as opposed to accepting them under certain conditions. His theory here was that if the therapist demonstrates unconditional acceptance to the client, they are likely to accept themselves which would allow them to comprehend their issues effectively. I’ve personally experienced this when I went to see a psychologist, seen video footage of sessions where this is demonstrated and read about it in countless text books. I’d say it works! So let’s go back to the example of Luke. If Luke did end up accepting himself unconditionally, and accepted that being socially anxious is fine and that he doesn’t need to be ‘fixed', wouldn’t he be more likely to feel comfortable in social situations? Right now, he’s basically telling himself “being socially anxious is a problem and therefore I cannot be myself” His entire self concept revolves around trying to be confident in social situations, which always reinforces the idea that he isn’t when he becomes anxious. The thing I want to express most here is that, once upon a time, I was Luke. I mean, my social anxiety was not as extreme as his, but it still caused me to struggle with confidence and self-esteem. I would read book after book, article after article, trying to ‘fix myself’. I worked overtime to become the super confident, extroverted badass who everybody liked and was friends with and repressed any uncomfortable emotions I’d feel regarding my awkwardness. Among other issues, it led to me getting depression symptoms and motivated me to see a therapist to find out why I was bombarded with negative thoughts and emotions. Turns out, accepting myself was all I had to freaking do! Though, accepting your imperfections is far from the easiest thing in the world, it was easily one of the most liberating things I could have ever done. The message here? You don’t need to be fixed! There’s nothing wrong with you! I don’t care if you’ve been diagnosed with multiple personality disorder, PTSD and OCD. I don’t care if you literally shit your pants every time you go to a party where you know people. Realise there’s nothing to fix or work on. There’s no magic book, article, seminar, life coach, weekend retreat, TED talk, meditation routine, NLP course or YouTube video that is going to make you ’normal'! Realise those imperfections make you incredible, unique and great. Own that aspect of yourself, retrain your mind to see the greatness in your imperfections and watch progress unfold (and all the money you’ll save!).

Another thing I want speak on regarding self help is two mindsets: The first one is this “just be positive and say 10 affirmations in the mirror every morning” mindset’. The second is the “just be confident and you’ll get everything you want in your life” type ideology the general majority of self help content preaches. Every second self help book, article, YouTube video will pump you with this idea that if you are feeling negative emotions and don’t feel confident in yourself, the answer is simple: focus on the positive! Duh! Feeling depressed about losing your job, your dog dying and your recent break-up? Simple! Just say positive affirmations like “I am good enough and deserve everything good in life” every morning in the mirror while smiling because that will make you happy! Problem solved! Happy days, come at me! If you can’t tell by the tone here, I’m being sarcastic. For you to tell someone who is depressed and has a hopeless outlook in life to just say some positive things, focus on the positive to try and change their feelings is counter-productive. The more that person tries to focus on being positive, the more they are reminded that they’re depressed and have negative thoughts, making it worse! To focus on what you ‘don’t have' in order to get away from what you have right now is going to only reinforce a ‘scarcity mindset’. It’s you saying “I don’t have this thing right now and I need it to be OK with myself”. It’s going back to what I said in the previous paragraph: Rejecting your current state as not being good enough just reinforces your current state as not being good enough even more. It becomes a paradox: The more you reject a negative state of being, the more it will persist. Oooh, don’t you love paradoxes?! Negative states of being are one of those things that need to be experienced and embraced, no matter how uncomfortable they are. They need to be accepted (there’s that word again!). You ask anyone who has been through an epically painful experience and they will likely say something along the lines of: "It was hard to go through that, but I’m thankful I did because it made me stronger/better/confident etc.” Ok, that might be a generalisation, but I’ve heard this enough times from others and tell myself this all the time regarding certain experiences. So now the bullshit “acting confident even if you’re not is the ticket to kicking ass in life” mindset. Before I go into this, can I just say, confidence has to be one of the most ambigous concepts regarding human behaviour. How do you measure confidence? What does a confident person act like? These questions plagued me in a good portion of my 20’s. At one point, I came to a conclusion that confidence is measured by how much you talk. It’s how extraverted you act in social scenarios. It’s how much you can prove you don’t care. It’s how indifferent you are in relation to things happening to you, good or bad. I walked around for a good 7-8 years believing this. Can you blame me? Our society pumps us with this notion that confidence is basically you being overly sure of yourself, super-talkative and indifferent on an obnoxious scale. Yeah, that’s what confidence is! Of course! Thank you society! If I went to parties or a social gathering and acted like that (which I have, mind you!), you best believe people are going to cringe so hard their facial muscles will be getting a workout! For self help to communicate the repetitive message of ’the key is to just be confident’ is stupid on too many levels to even fathom. In my experience, confidence come's from failing over and over, till you reach the point where you have experience and just know what to do - because you’ve done it a million times. Note the keyword in that last sentence: Failing. Another keyword: Experience. If we want to make a logical formula for confidence it would go something like: Repeated failure = Experience = Confidence. Howbowdeh!? "But I want examples, Aden!” Of course you do. When I started taking exercise seriously, I went through a period of 4-5 years where I would: Lose the weight I wanted, get too comfortable with food, put on more than weight I lost before, get motivated again and repeat the cycle. At first I wasn’t ‘confident’ in how to lose weight. There were so many things that contributed to weight loss that it confused me: What types of food do I eat? how much of it do I have? What exercises do I need to do? . I repeated this cycle where I would get success and inevitably ‘fail’ enough times to the point where I just knew I could lose weight if I ever put it on again. Cut calories, salt, sugar, dense carbs. Have lower portion meals and increase high intensity cardio mixed with some muscle building workouts. In the formula, It would look like: Gain weight (Repeated Failure) = Learn how to lose weight (Experience) = Confidence in losing weight/gaining muscle. All of this can be summed up by saying: "Get comfortable with failing and you’ll become confident". Repeating that: You’ll ‘become’ confident. As in, you’ll just be confident and not have to worry about whether you are or not. Self help says: "You’ll become confident when you start ACTING like it”. See that word? Acting? That implies that you're not confident, so if you have to act confident, that reinforces the reality that you’re not confident. Awesome, my guy. Go through life like that and see what happens. ‘Fake it till you make it’ is the common saying. "But Aden, failing over and over just to be confident is going to be hard, draining, not to mention it will take forever!" I get it. Obviously, failing over and over again is not easy. It’s not sexy. It’s not quick and convenient . If there’s one thing self help content will try to sell you is ‘quick and convenient’, short term tactics to get results. My hypothesis? You already know. Be happy with failing. Treat failures as essential lessons for 'next time’. Learn ’the hard way’. Extract the ‘gift' out of every experience, good or bad. Get comfortable with being uncomfortable.

To sum up this whole post: First, Accept yourself and negative states unconditionally, other wise you’ll end up chasing a false illusion of happiness. Second, learn things the hard way: Through honest experience and taking the lessons from those experiences to gain confidence, as opposed to copying what you perceive a confident person does. I’ll also take this time to say that, while most self-help can border around the naive and unrealistic, I’d recommend looking into authors that are categorised as ’self help’ but are actually geared towards the things I spoke about in this post - self acceptance and congruence. Mark Manson, the author of a book you’ve probably seen in book shops called ’The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F***’, is probably one of the most popular to reject these notions of obnoxious, positivity escapism and incongruent confidence ideas. The Subtle Art and his book for men regarding dating and relationships titled Models have been key since I’ve practiced self-acceptance and let go of toxic self help ideology.

“The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change”

- Carl Rogers

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freshlyjuicedbeetles · 7 years

Text

OCD:IRL

COWETA, Okla. -When I was 17, I was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), clinical depression and generalized anxiety disorder; post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) would be added later. If it’s at all possible, I would say I was born with anxiety. I was always the scared child. I didn’t like being without my mom and didn’t like changes in my routine. I had the same breakfast and after school meal for twelve years. I was constantly afraid that I would be left at school one day.

Mental illness runs deep in my family. While I can only speculate about others, my maternal grandmother was diagnosed with clinical depression and was prescribed one of the first legitimate antidepressants.

I am mentally ill. I am not crazy or a menace to society. I’m a functioning member of society. I work, I vote, I have a degree. I have no desire to hurt myself or someone else. The craziest thing you’ll probably see me do is squeeze myself into a cabinet to properly clean the inside.

This is a day in the life with my diagnoses at my most stable and fully functioning. I’ve had worse periods in my life. Bear in mind, everyone’s symptoms are different.

I wake up after a night of broken sleep. This can be as early as 5: 00 A.M. or as late 4:30 P.M. in the afternoon. My sleep schedule is always different. I have been a night owl for as long as I can remember. I remember the first time I stayed up all night was in kindergarten and I’ve had circles under my eyes ever since. Even in preschool, I was up late as my parents slept away, watching TV and raiding the pantry. In school, I would go to bed at midnight, sometimes pushing it to 1:00 A.M. in high school. In college, I would sometimes go to class without sleep due to self-induced insomnia. I love my naps and they only set me up for a sleepless night. Sleep plays a big part in these illnesses. Lack of sleep can negatively affect moods which only exacerbates the symptoms.

After I eat my breakfast (or lunch or dinner, whatever meal is being served when I wake up), I take my medication. I take a serotonin reuptake inhibitor. It replaces the chemicals in my brain that it doesn’t make on its own. Medication has treated me well. It takes away a lot of my symptoms with very little side effects. It runs like a background program in my computer brain. Still, I have symptoms that I can largely ignore and use logic against.

My brain cycles through worry about my family. Is my stepdad depressed? Is he angry? Did I happen to do something wrong? Is my mom okay? I want her to be happy. Is she depressed? I need to call my grandpa. I need to go see him. I live within walking distance of him, but I fear and hate the silences in conversation. I feel like a bad granddaughter when conversation laps as though I don’t love him. What was that noise from the living room? What ungodly mess are my pets making on the brand-new carpet?

Because of my anxiety of failure and drive to be perfect, I apologize as though it will erase my mistakes from existence. I claim the mistakes of my loved ones as my own as though they were cash prizes. I’d rather be inconvenienced than someone else be.

Two comorbidities of my diagnoses are misophonia and dermatillomania. Misophonia is a hatred of sound. You know those ASMR videos that calm some people down? They make me want to punch a brick wall. Misophonia makes me inexplicably angry at noises; the sound of stepdad coughing, tongue clicking my mom makes when she’s thinking, chewing noises. I could go on.

I pick at my skin like I’m trying to create escape routes from my body. For me, dermatillomania, which is characterized by the repeated urge to pick at one's own skin, often to the extent that damage is caused, is about texture. I like the feel of broken skin. I’ve never noticed any anxiety or self-destruction correlations with this, only out of boredom, routine or desire to feel the texture. I remember when I was in middle school and I fell off my bike. I tore up my knee and it required regular cleaning. After school the day after, my grandma was changing my bandage and cleaning my wound. She left a glob of Neosporin on my calf that I noticed later. I kept myself from picking it off throughout grocery shopping with my mom so it would harden. I picked it off as she wasreturning the cart.

Texture has always been a part of my world. I refused to wear anything with tight sleeves as a child. Today, I’m nervous about trying on jeans because they might be tight. I either love or hate certain foods because of their texture.

I have been able to turn these illnesses into strengths. Through my OCD and anxiety, I have saved my own and many other gluteus maximums with my contingency plans. I was the girl with plenty of bobby pins at graduation. Through my depression, I have been able to write the most honest and powerful stories.

However, there are websites like Tumblr romanticize mental illness, especially the ones I have. It’s seen as quirky.

“Oh how cute! She eats her Fruit Loops in rainbow order!”

When in real life, people eat their Fruit Loops that way or else they think something bad will happen.

The people who want a mental illness, are people who don’t have one. It boggles my addled mind, but maybe they think they can profit off of it. They could garner sympathy or have things done for them. Remember James Frey? He profited off his supposed mental illness of drug addiction only for his readers to find out it was heavily fictionalized.

I have an incredible and supportive family who will do anything for me, but I’ve still heard well-meant but ignorant comments from them, mostly due to generational differences- say what you will about my generation, we don’t suffer in silence. Regardless of their support, anxiety based mental illnesses are manipulative S.O.Bs. Because of mine, I wonder if all my family sees me as is an annoying hypochondriac who won’t leave them alone.

Here’s a list of things that have been said to me and a few of my friends with mental illness, what you’re really saying, and what to say instead.

“It’s all in your head!”

Just like asthma is just in your lungs.

We know we’re being illogical. By saying this, you’re diminishing the severity of mental illnesses and brushing it off. These are serious health conditions.

Instead say, “I’ll try to understand.”

“Just be happy!”

Stop growing tumors.

It’s a chemical imbalance. That’s like saying to change the chemical composition of soap just by thinking about it.

Instead say, “It’s okay to feel this way.”

“You have nothing to worry about or be sad for!”

We know. You’re not helping. We may have a nice life, but the illness is still there. It’s a bit like dust in your house. It’s just there. Once again, we know we’re being illogical.

Instead, try to be sympathetic.

“Other people have it worse off than you.”

We know and you’re not helping. You may have cut yourself off from being a safe space for that person in a time of need. They may never open up to you again. It makes us feel guilty and ashamed for having an illness that we have no control over. Also, you’re furthering the stigma of mental illness.

Instead say, “I know you’re going through a tough time.”

“Have you tried…. (yoga, meditation, teas)”

No amount of homeopathy will cure a mental illness. It may help to a degree but you don’t fight illnesses of any kind with just herbs and realigning your chakra. You need to see a doctor.

Instead, ask them how their current treatment plan is going.

“You’re just being lazy!”

It’s not that we don’t want to do something (like getting out of bed), it’s that we can’t. For whatever reason, we feel like that if we do the task or go somewhere, we’ll regret it. Sometimes, we have the mental strength to push ourselves and sometimes we don’t.

Instead say, “How can I help?”

In closing, I wanted to share a quote my first therapist gave me. I feel it completely encapsulates the anxiety disorder experience in one succinct paragraph.

“The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create -- so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.” - Pearl S. Buck

#my articles #articles #red dirt report #ocd #depression #mental illness #mental health

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