#see times like these makes me wonder if I even got Officially diagnosed like I thought-

[diabeticgirl4]

Curious about those prof diagnosed w adhd (esp as an adult) if they got any sort of action plan/ medication/ etc. Like "yeah you are Officially Adhd, here's something to help you manage that" type thing bc uhh I sure didn't lmao

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

i love my mom but man does it suck when she starts talking to me about god shit. because it always leads to her trying to guilt trip me into being more religious, saying things like, “it makes your dad and i very sad that you don’t believe in god” and “you’re depressed like this because you don’t talk to god.” when i tell her that choosing not to go to church anymore is one of the few choices in my life that i don’t regret, she gets upset with me. sorry, going to go on a little bit of a rant about family and religion here (specifically catholic/christian), but i’ll stick it below the cut.

usually this convo comes up when my cousin is mentioned, because my mom and my aunt will gush about how my cousin goes to church every sunday. this happened today actually. they ignore the fact that my cousin is still a horribly spoiled, selfish, honestly terrible person who yells at/doesn’t bother to help her physically disabled, sickly mom. my “wonderful church-going” cousin who left to go on a vacation to hawaii with my shit uncle, leaving my aunt alone at home even though she had covid AND had recently broken her back. which led to me having to take 2 weeks off of work at the last minute to go stay with my aunt and take care of her. during those 2 weeks, my “wonderful” 20-something-year-old cousin would repeatedly call my aunt to cry and complain that she wanted to come home because she “didn’t feel good.” and my aunt, laying in bed with her broken back and various other health issues, would baby her. oh, but my cousin goes to church, so that means she’s such a good person! i just don’t get it.

one of the reasons i refuse to go to church anymore is because of this backwards-ass hypocritical way of thinking so many people there seem to have. there’s just this feeling of insincerity to it all where people show up once a week to pat themselves on the back for being “good people”, then gather in the lobby after mass to gossip about the one trans woman who recently joined the congregation (unfortunately this isn’t an example i made up). or later go to the supermarket and yell at an underpaid employee. or go on a hawaii vacation and leave your mom home alone with a broken back.

i attended church from age 1 to age 18. as i grew older, church started to feel more and more suffocating. it got to the point where i was having anxiety attacks during mass. i tried distracting myself with drawing on the pamphlets given out at the front door. and when i was banned from that, i resorted to drawing on my skin, which didn’t last long. i ended up sneaking earbuds in and hiding the wires under my hair and clothes so i could drown out the sounds of church with music. i would just stare at the floor and try to just focusing on breathing, but it was just all too suffocating. i was told that the reason i was feeling and acting this way in church was because “the devil was talking to me.” “the devil” was trying to take me away from church and god, so i needed to stop feeling like this and just pray. that time i started crying in the pew because it all became too much and i felt incredibly overwhelmed? that’s the devil. pray about it. uh, actually, mr. jesus, it was because i have bad social and generalized fuckin anxiety. and also very likely autistic but i haven’t been officially diagnosed until this day. so yeah.

thinking back on it now, it was kind of fucked up. but i don’t blame my parents for how they acted. sometimes i feel a little angry and disappointed about how they handled things, but i don’t blame them. because as i watched kids be baptized, i would hear the priest tell the parents that it was their responsibility to raise their kid to be a good god-fearing person. that it was their responsibility to keep their kid from “straying from the light” and avoiding damnation. i know my parents were told the same thing when i was baptized. that it’ll be their fault if i “stray from the light” and end up getting sent to hell. i just see it as guilt-tripping bullshit. it was my choice to not go to church or follow the religion. i hate that this system has told my parents they should feel guilty about this and that it’s their fault that my soul won’t be saved, because they didn’t “guide me in the lord’s way” good enough. i hate that this system has made me feel like i’ve failed my parents. it’s bullshit.

i’m sure there are churches out there who contain genuinely good, accepting folk. and i’m sure there are people who find comfort in having a religion. i’m glad for them. i’ve just personally have some negative experiences with religion and I’ve learned that it’s just not for me.

i try my best to be a good and kind person. i try really, really hard. i just don’t go to church anymore. the fact that i don’t do this one thing shouldn’t devalue all my efforts.

[monstersinthecosmos]

can i vent about the healthcare system lol

This year I have health insurance for the first time since I was a child and when I tell you it sucks, I hate this, I hate participating in this system, I miss when I was just in pain all the time and didn't even bother going to the doctor bc I didn't have insurance anyway, I don't love this system where I read my insurance policy and think something is covered and then it isn't except maybe it is and maybe it got processed by a bot and I have to call the insurance to dispute but then I have to call my doctor to dispute and then I have to call the insurance back to dispute like, guys I have phone anxiety I'm gonna just pay you all this money instead of making phone calls I guess.

i have nerve damage and my treatment options so far are a $1,300 shot that might not actually help and I'll have to get another one in a few months anyway or I can go to physical therapy where they want to see me 2x a week for $250 per session. My insurance only covers a certain number of sessions and even if I did go to all of them, I still wouldn't hit my deductible. The PT place has a financial assistance program but it's only for people who have hit their deductible. (What's the point lol).

I'm also at a dead end trying to get diagnosed & treated for hypothyroidism because "weight gain" is listed as a symptom and BCBS says they don't cover "weight loss" treatment even though that wasn't what the fuck I asked and I was more concerned that my hair is falling out and I'm freezing all the time. Like where does it end, every time a symptom of something includes weight gain. What if a skinny person has it. Is this discriminatory? Is it a coding error? Will I pay the $215 I got charged for having my thyroid tested and simply not continue treating it now, because I don't have the constitution to make 100 phone calls and argue with people? lol.

the spine specialist orders an MRI and says I'm too young to have surgery so I should just do pain management. the pain management doctor tells me to lose weight. (it's hard, because, I think my thyroid doesn't work.) he says lyrica might help with my nerve pain but it causes weight gain so he advises against it. i wonder at what point does BCBS decide that spine & nerve pain is because I'm fat and won't help me anymore because it's weight loss related.

And let's not talk about how I was like, you know what, I would rather just build up some medical debt and pay it off slowly because I'm terrified that I'm going to have permanent nerve damage, and I applied for financial assistance with the hospital, and they approved me, but they don't help for any bills which are under $2000. So my $900 MRI or my $400 nerve test or my $1300 shot are not eligible for financial assistance, even though my hospital balance would be over $2000. I go to set up a payment plan and it won't let me set the number I can afford. I manually enter a bit at a time and they won't stop emailing me that I owe them money because I didn't use the official interface for a payment plan. I call their financial assistance to ask why they didn't adjust my MRI bill, they tell me because it's under $2000, I get so overwhelmed and start crying on the phone like an asshole so I hang up before I remember to ask about adjusting the payment plan.

like is better that I'm now $1300 in the hole for tests that told me I have nerve damage and arthritis and disc degeneration when I can't afford any of the treatments? Is it better to at least know? But what's the point if I can't do anything about it anyway except YouTube yoga and Aleve for breakfast, which I was doing anyway when I was uninsured. Thanks, now I know! I cannot feel my leg! Pray for me that I don't wind up paralyzed from ignoring it!

(I think part of me committed to these tests because I was like, well, if there's NO damage I will know and I can stop worrying, but there is damage, so now idk how to feel.)

anyway it's just. I've always known this system was garbage from the outside when like, I've spent years having to treat things by myself at home, I've had so many times where I didn't go to the ER when I probably should've, I've passed on really fun outings with my friends like snowboarding or roller derby because I'm too scared I'll get injured, my mental health is at all times hanging on by a thread because I can't get medicated (put a pin in this one bc I finally got an appointment for an evaluation but my insurance doesn't cover most of the meds LOL). It already sucked on the outside and was already a huge embarrassment to me as an American but like. I finally have insurance and it wasn't' even worth it.

and like. there's stuff I can afford. I'm making better money than I did in my 20s. Like, okay, it sucks but I can pay $215 for my thyroid test at the end of the day. But I don't want to. It sucks and it's not fair. I shouldn't have to. And like it's $215 now and then how much later. It's not sustainable at all. And if there's a way for them to cover it and not discriminate against me for being fat, it's behind so many barriers of me trying not to cry my eyes out on the phone and tbh I don't see it happening LOL.

but elon is on track to become the first trillionaire and our taxes are bombing children in tents, cool cool cool

I just don't understand who the fuck this is even for. WHO is out there with $2,000 to drop every month on physical therapy. Who is this for!!! WHO IS IT FOR!!!!

[phleb0tomist]

I was wondering what the diagnosis process looked like for you in regards to me/cfs? What tests were done? (Only asking because I suspect I may have it, however my general doctor got my blood drawn (even though there are no known tests to diagnose cfs/me), and tests results came back normal. They blamed it on my medications, but I've been experiencing the symptoms way before I took the medications.)

Now I'm having to call and ask them what I'm supposed to do, since I'm struggling.

Have you struggled getting an evaluation?

How did you make others believe and advocate for you?

Not forced to answer at all btw!

hello there. i’m sorry you’ve been struggling and that your healthcare has been lacklustre! this post is going to be long so strap in <3

the diagnosis process varies from doctor to doctor. tbh many doctors are reluctant to consider ME even if it’s a severe case or a very classic case because they generally aren’t taught how to recognise it. it can be helpful to send your doctor links to official resources so they have a framework for helping you. if i were you, I’d look up the official guidelines for suspecting ME/CFS in your country and either send a link to your doctor or print them out. most doctors i meet will admit to my face that they haven’t read the guidelines for ME, so basically they’re not informed on suspecting, diagnosing, or treating it. in the UK where I live, the NICE guidelines explain the steps that should be taken if ME is suspected.

ME/CFS is a diagnosis of exclusion, so basically they do standard tests (like blood tests) first to make sure your symptoms aren’t caused by any other condition. once they’ve ruled out other causes, they see if you meet the ME/CFS criteria they use in your area. (in theory, diagnosis should take 3-6 months, but a lot of docs take a ‘wait and see’ approach instead, which can sometimes last years. personally i don’t think a ‘wait and see’ approach is appropriate, especially if you’re young. you may have to be assertive and ask multiple times to be evaluated. bear in mind it’s the system failing, not you.) the way they decide if you meet the criteria is by discussing your symptom history, which might take a few appointments. the best way to advocate for yourself is to bring another person to back you up (sorry to say this but statistically, it helps if it’s a male family member), to have a list of your symptoms and a timeline written down, and to be clear about the practical ways that your symptoms impact your life. i.e. “it takes me (x amount of time) to recover from going on a short walk. this symptom gets worse (x amount of time) after i do a particular activity and lasts (x days). i can no longer do x activity at all because of my symptoms. I’ve tried x y and z and it hasn’t improved my symptoms. I want to get my quality of life back.”

I don’t remember my diagnosis process very well. i had major symptoms for several years before ME was even considered, i was repeatedly brushed off and told my symptoms were from my autism even though that doesn’t add up. interestingly i was given treatments before I had a diagnosis. then i had a ‘working diagnosis’ of ME in my teens, which is where they think you probably have something but they don’t put it in your file till they’re sure. i’ve had a proper diagnosis on my file for years now, but i don’t know when it got there or who put it there. (??) the diagnosis process can be kinda weird. mine took forever but i know other people who were diagnosed quickly and efficiently, so it’s not impossible.

personally i had a lot of random tests, blood tests to CT scans to x rays, basically any test that was related to my symptoms (like a head MRI for headaches). i do actually have other conditions which show up on tests (like scoliosis), but since scoliosis cannot possibly be causing my specific pattern of exertion-related symptoms, i still got diagnosed with ME. having another condition or having medication side effects does not mean you can’t also have ME! especially if your symptoms started before you took the meds, like you said.

i feel like i’ve rambled enough. i hope this was helpful. if you have any more questions please send another ask and I’ll try my best to answer!

[jaegerisim]

Vent post

there are several tw so heed the tags! if you do not want to read this pls scroll past! <3

i've been an abusive on and off relationship for the last 2 years.

the guy is a year older than me and we first started dating 4 months after we'd first met. it was shortly after i was raped.

so, i was still traumatized. i did not want to kiss him or get physical. he began to emotionally manipulate me, until i agreed to kiss him and officially date him. he told me it would be a simple kiss. it wasn't. he began to make out with me and i was like "ok. fine. i can do this" but then he began to take my clothes off. i told him to stop. that i didn't want to continue he told me he wouldn't hurt me. that he loved me and wanted what was best for me. for us. i said nothing and reluctantly had sex with him.

2 days later he started an argument over me having spent 4 hours eating with my friends when i initially said it would only take 2 hours. i cried. he cried too. i felt bad bc he said that he was only looking out for me and was worried for me. i naïvely believed him. i felt like i was the bad guy. like i was the one who had done something wrong. i apologized and he forgave me.

3 days later he asked for some space (we'd only been dating for 5 days). i accepted and believed he would txt me after he'd felt like enough time had passed.

a month later he blocked me. i spent the whole night crying in a panic attack wondering what i'd done wrong.

3 days after he'd blocked me, he unblocked me and sent 19 texts calling me a slut, a whore, a freak, a bitch, a cunt. said he'd never loved me and only wanted me for the sex and my body. that he loved another girl. i immediately blocked him.

i spent the next 2 months in a depression and constant state of anxiety. i self harmed and was irritable. i isolated myself from my friends and family.

i saw him again when the uni year started. he told me he loved me and wanted me back. i ignored him the first 2 months. the third month, he began to flirt with a bunch of sorority girls and spread shit about me. these girls harassed me, both online and in real life, for 5 months. i began to date a new guy that was sweet and loving. my abuser began to bully him, until the guy eventually dumped me and even left uni. i fell into another depression.

my abuser came to me and said he was sorry for everything. that it wouldn't happen again. that he wanted me back, that he loved me. he bullied the girls and drove them to commit suicide.

i told him to go to therapy. he got diagnosed with bpd, sociopathy, psychopathy, ptsd and major depression. he was on all sorts of medication. after that we began to date again and he said he wanted me to keep us quite. i naïvely agreed. then he asked for marriage. i accepted and told my family about us. they weren't happy but said nothing bc they saw that i was happy.

we stopped seeing each other when my family and i went on holidays. he didn't call or text. said it was bc he had lost my phone number when his phone feel down the stairs and broke (his "new" phone looks exactly the same as his "old" one). my family told me to break up with him. i argued with my family but they eventually let me keep dating him.

2 weeks after we'd seen each other again, a friend texts me and says that he (a senior) was caught hitting on a freshman. i cried and threw up, but i broke up with him. he begged me to not break up with him. i didn't budge.

now a week later, he is calling me a stalker, a bitch, a slut while stalking me and my gf. he follows me home. he takes pictures of me. he has manipulated underclassmen into stalking me for him.

idk what to do atp. i feel horrible and i feel dirty and disgusting.

[snzluv3r]

Hi! I know this is so random, sorry, but I saw on one of your posts that you’re allergic to contrast and I’ve never known of anyone else who is 😭 it’s happened to me twice and the last time the healthcare workers didn’t believe me even as they watched me have the reaction 🫠 I was wondering if you would mind sharing how you figured it out, or got the doctors to believe you, or just any resources, because I was told it’s incredibly rare and haven’t been able to find much information on reactions to contrast 🙁

I hope this is ok to ask and not triggering… sending spoons! ❤️

firstly i just wanted to say you’re so sweet for worrying about if it’s triggering for me, that’s really lovely of you 🥺 i promise i’m fine and it’s not even remotely a sore spot for me, so ask away! secondly, i’m so fucking sorry you’ve had such a hard time with being believed, that’s fucking ridiculous!!!

i totally get people telling you it’s “rare” (though personally i don’t believe it is lol) because my reaction to contrast is also a delayed one, so it doesn’t even happen in front of healthcare workers unless i’m hospitalized. i was lycky in that my reaction was extremely visible and i was covered in a full body drug rash about 12-24 hours (i can’t really remember which at the moment) after i got contrast for a CTA, so when i went to urgent care they could easily see the reaction. my oxygen was also low and my bp dropped, and i happened to be with my ex at the time so she saw me breaking out in the rash and then getting sick as well :/

honestly, my best advice for right now is to just fake it til you make it. next time you’re in a situation where you might need contrast, i would just tell them right off the bat that you’re allergic and have had serious reactions in the past. they’ll probably ask you what you mean by reaction and what symptoms you have, and they might be a little invalidating if you can’t go as far as to say your throat swelled shut, but if you tell them and they ignore it that’s on them. so i feel like they’re more likely to take it seriously? idk. you know your body and you know you’re allergic, and it sucks not having that validation from the doctors but you deserve to look out for yourself first and foremost, even if it means “lying” by saying you have an allergy that you aren’t technically or officially diagnosed with

best of luck to you anon, sending you all the spoons right back <333 let me know if that was confusing i rambled a lot

edit: also after my reaction when i went to urgent care, they prescribed me steroids because the reaction was recurring/continuing due to that fact that i didn’t have anything to treat it with besides benadryl, and the steroids helped a lot. though admittedly i didn’t finish the course or even close to it because steroids make me feel awful and Insane

[sl33py-g4m3r]

May have posted about this before; however, I'm doing it again...

that post last night with the little footnote got me thinking about it again..... unfortunately..... It's just a cat and mouse game with no discernible outcome as I can't make up my mind as to what's true...

Am I trans or not?

Or am i just uncomfortable being female for some other reason?

I don't know how to see myself tbh....

Like I don't see myself as female really, despite obviously being biologically female....

but at the same time idk.... Am I trans or not? It's something that's been bugging me off and on since I've been a young adult...

mom dressed me in dresses when I was really young, then I stopped wearing them at some point but didn't exactly dress like a boy either. Just androgynous because kid... Got called moms son once at an eye appointment, that made me happy a bit back then. But I didn't know what gender/sex was back then. Then the boys were helping me in second grade because I'm legally blind, and they wanted to help. The girls were mean to me cause I was getting the attention that they wanted I guess.... It's been a while. So 6-7 year old me snuck scissors into the school bathroom to cut my long hair off; thinking it would make me a boy i guess. It didn't. and sadly enough dad even kept a lock of the hair I had cut off. Had had it short ever since. well that's a lie actually; I grew it out in 2012-2014, and let it get quite long, tailbone length long, then I stopped caring for it, biggest mistake ever, and it got cut short once more.

I've struggled with what I know now as some pretty bad anxiety and ptsd from childhood that idk if is playing a part but that's beside the point i think...

Never really saw myself in terms of boy or girl as a kid; I just was.. I got called a boy a few times which made me kinda happy but I didn't know why.

Then eventually the horrors of puberty showed up; I began wearing sweaters and jackets at school and out all the time. and became very insecure about myself, moreso than I already was. But with things that came up I dealt with.

Didn't think about it again until young adulthood when I found tumblr and lurked for a bit. learning what "transgender" was and wondering if I was that if I was so uncomfortable being female.

idk if it was just the anxiety or something, or the fact that everyone's taller than my 150 cm ass........ Or that I'm insecure cause I'm blind from a legal standpoint or what....

I began wondering what it was like to be seen or be a male in society. How would I be treated differently if I were seen as a male?

I asked the wrong person the wrong questions and was SA'd as a result; but things could've been much worse, that they could've.

I dropped it and thought it went away; but it hasn't... Hell that SA incident was what got me into therapy and realizing that I have anxiety and ptsd from childhood to begin with, lol. and maybe mildly autistic but that isn't actually diagnosed at all.

So now the "am I a trans guy" just pops up from time to time, I think about it a while, and then drop it again.

I thought I'd talked to mom about it a long while ago; how I felt being female and that I didn't want to be, talked to an aunt about it too. They both just said that; "god made you female for a reason". so I dropped it once again.

tried getting the therapy office to use a male name and pronouns for me; but that just sounded odd after almost 30 years of being referred to by my birth name and sex. so it felt really weird and I never officially implemented it, reverting it before it went into effect as a test run.

So is it because I'm short? Because I'm disabled? Because I'm female? What makes me so insecure of myself and unsure of everything?

I question and second guess everything for the most part... and still don't know how to see myself.

all of my OC's that I've made throughout all of the fandoms I've been in (sonic, naruto, etc. and even my own original character that I've made independently of any fandom) had been male.

would I have more confidence in myself if I were male? Or is it something else?

It might be a bunch of things all at once that I'm not understanding...

I'm just very confused to whom I am and had been for many years....

and I can't pay with the "crossdressing to be read as male" because it's very obvious that I'm female anyway....

So am I actually trans or is there a bunch of stuff going on under the surface that I'm unaware of and that's whats causing me to feel this way?

Even if I were a guy; I'd still be short, still be emotional, still like cute things probably, would be bullied perhaps for being emotional and shy, and being shy might be cuter in females anyway.... idk......

Male or female, I'd still be me...

and I have no idea who I am or how I come off to people

aside from "too nice for my own good" or "the blind one" or idk what else. I know I shouldn't care how people look at me and think but i do anyway......

I hate how that post last night threw me into thinking about this... Hopefully posting about it will help somehow...

Do I come off as male or female on the internet?? Before I outed myself as female what was thought of me?? I don't like disclosing that because I worry that doing so would get people acting smarmy towards me and be creepy...

sad boi gender rant over.....

I'm sorry for subjecting you all to sad boi hours like 2 days in a row... or the same one...... idk

enjoy the self examination as well as the confusion that comes along with it....

I genuinely don't know what to think about myself at this point....

all I do know probably for sure tho is that if I were a guy I'm assuming I'd be a femboy; cause I'd like soft, fluffy, cute things still... and still be a pacifist.... the opposite of the tomboy i was as a child... maybe...

[spooniechef]

The Spoonie Garden

I’ve mentioned this in a couple of posts, and now it’s probably time for the full post about it. A little while after I got officially diagnosed with fibromyalgia, I decided to start trying a little herb garden. It started just in propagator boxes on my windowsill, but soon moved to pots hanging on the balcony rail. I have no idea what possessed me to try gardening right when I’d been diagnosed with a chronic pain condition, but I think it had something to do with wanting something nice, and also wanting something to nurture and care for in the hopes that doing so would motivate me to do the same for myself. Either way, I never looked back, and I’m even trying flowers this year, because having herbs is nice but I wanted something that was just pretty.

Now, a lot of people think they can’t have a window or balcony garden. I was one of them until I decided to try it anyway. One of the things I found was that a lot of the things people worry about aren’t that big a deal. Light levels, for instance. My flat faces northwest, and it doesn’t get a lot of sun; I was always told that this would make it very hard to keep a garden. But honestly, there’s been light enough for most of the herbs I’ve wanted to grow, and even enough for tomatoes. Space isn’t so much of an issue either; most of the herbs I grow are pretty self-contained, and I could move them all indoors if I had to for the winter. Thing is, even that’s not a necessity for most of them; I had a lot of my herbs outside and while they seemed to die over the winter months, the spring brought them right back. It’s really a matter of remembering to water them daily (not even that in the winter months when they’re mostly hibernating), maybe treat them to some plant food once a week, and cutting them back when winter’s coming to dry the herbs for use in the winter months. (Another reason that a dehydrator is such a good investment.) Plus it makes a lot of recipes a bit more budget-friendly, having your own fresh herbs on demand. The problem with recipes that only call for a couple of sprigs of a certain herb is that supermarkets never sell them in “just a couple of sprigs”, so you end up paying above the odds for a bunch of herbs knowing that you’ll throw away half of them.

Here’s my list of must-have herbs for the window or balcony, with pictures:

Parsley

Parsley sees use in a lot of different recipes, and it’s sturdier than you’d think. At the time this was taken, the tallest stalks were waist-high on me. I haven’t used it much, but my mother dropped by for a few stalks the other day, and I’ve been thinking of trying parsley sauce, so it’s good to have.

Sage and Rosemary

These both survived the winter outdoors, even during a cold snap, with no trouble at all. Sage and rosemary are wonderful in stews, to stuff a whole chicken, all sorts of things. Plus, of course, my recent lemon and rosemary steak recipe needs the rosemary, so it came in very handy today.

Oregano and Thyme

These two looked like they died over the winter. I cut back the oregano but didn’t bother with the thyme. I don’t know why I left the pots out there, but when I saw new green growth in and amongst the dead-looking stalks, I just watered them and waited to see what would happen. This is the end result; since that picture was taken, the oregano has only got bigger, and the thyme is almost entirely green and is flowering. I’m a big fan of oregano, especially in pasta sauces, and it’s so much better fresh. Thyme’s also good in stews and in whole roast chicken, and at least one recipe I’ve made recently called for it, so both have been worth it.

Mint, Coriander / Cilantro, and Dill

The mint is another one I cut back over the winter and watched it resurrect come spring. I have plans for mint sauce, and I stick the leaves in the dehydrator and have an endless source of mint tea. I also have plans towards learning how to make my own mint extract. As for the coriander / cilantro ... well, that I did have to replant this year, but it’s come along nicely. One of the dill plants (the one in the grey pot) is also one I planted this spring, but the other is actually a rescue plant - I got one of those pots of live dill from the supermarket for my refrigerator dill pickle recipe, and decided to repot it to see if it would thrive. Looks like it did. Now I’m never short of dill for my refrigerator dill pickles; I don’t have to buy £1 worth of dill to use maybe eight sprigs and throw the rest away, and all it costs me is some time watering them in the morning.

(Not pictured - basil, which I recently repotted and moved outside but isn’t quite impressive enough to take pictures of yet. Another one that’s good for pasta sauces, though I forgot my resolution to grow enough for pesto sauce this year.)

It’s an investment of time and spoons, but it’s got serious benefits. Watching something you planted grow is kind of miraculous, in its way, and I can’t speak for anyone else, but for me at least, it helps my mental state. I have moments of feeling pretty helpless and trapped and useless with the fibromyalgia. I mean, I can’t go to half the places I used to, I walk with a cane, and there are so many doors closed to me because of all of this. But my little balcony garden shows me that I can still do things, even if it’s only watering the plants once a day and remembering to throw in some plant food once a week. There’s tangible proof that I am accomplishing something in spite of how much I hurt.

Also, again, fresh herbs are vastly superior to dried herbs, and picking them fresh off the plant is better still. A non-starter in winter, admittedly, but when most of your herbs will actually benefit from being cut down in winter and the ones that don’t won’t take long to replant, at least being able to dry your own herbs for winter use saves money in the long run.

It’s not something that everyone can do, having a little garden, but more people can do it than think they can. If you don’t have a balcony, a windowsill will do. A lot of plants will be okay with whatever light you can give them. Also, when you’ve watched something go from a tiny shoot to a foot-high explosion of aromatic greenery, it’s pretty easy to remember to water them. Just remember to always use a bigger pot than you think they’re going to need when repotting. Roots need room to breathe, and if there’s not enough soil to absorb water, the water you give it will just drain out and your plant will wilt no matter how much you water it.

Fresh herbs are a joy in the kitchen, and they don’t take as much space, or as many spoons, to maintain as you’d think. Maybe give it a try with just one if you’re a little nervous about it - pick your favourite herb and get some seeds and soil, and try it at home. Therapeutic and tasty.

[anthonypanics]

I was tagged by @grey-automa. I haven't done one of these in.. a while I think. so here goes.

were you named/named yourself after anyone?

Supposedly my name was a combination between my parents names. I don't see it myself.

when was the last time you cried?

Last October. Death in the family.

do you have kids?

Not unless you count cats.

do you use sarcasm a lot?

A lot more than you'd would be typical of one officially diagnosed with a syndrome named after a Nazi collaborator. I do wonder if I actually have autism or if I've got some misdiagnosed form of ADHD.

what's the first thing you notice about people?

Consider this as one part my own projection and one part my general observation: I think everyone's set up with their own worlds. Everyone sees and hears what they want most of the time and says what they find amusing at that moment. Everyone's got their bubble of knowledge that's expanded so far that it becomes hard to empathize with when things aren't part of their bubble or that other people aren't aware of things in said bubble. Everybody's simultaneously cursed with the knowledge they've accumulated overtime and hindered by a reluctance to accept the unknown, including that sometimes things will always be unknown even in our current age of (mis/dis)information.

So I suppose the first thing I notice is whether or not a person's willing to participate in the discourse of the unknown or if they're just going through the motions that's already set for them. Which I guess is just a pretentious way of saying I notice when a person only wants to listen to their own voice or if they actually want to talk with other people and both contribute to and get something out of a dialogue.

what's your eye colour?

kinda green I think?

any special talents?

Hyper-fixation is a blessing as well as a curse. Once I'm on a track, it's damn near impossible to get me to off it.

Surprising people with tricks I've picked up from childhood exposure to theatre has been kinda fun too.

scary movies or happy endings?

The two aren't mutually exclusive, but to not be a dick about it and get at what I think this means; depends on the mood I'm in. For most movies, I just want a feel good time, and every once in a while I'd like to explore the deeper and darker end of the pool and see what's lurking in there. A good ending isn't always a happy ending after all, but a good happy ending can do a world of wonders for the soul.

where were you born?

Flint. Yes, that Flint.

what are your hobbies?

drawing, tabletop gaming, video gaming, writing, diving into wiki rabbitholes

A lot of these overlap more that I'd like them to.

Occasionally I read a book, but not as much or as often as I'd like to admit. Tried to read Earthsea for a bit if anyone wants a recommendation.

have any pets?

Yes, my two beautiful cats Randy and Dunken

what sport do you play/have you played?

Not really a sports ball kind of person.

how tall are you?

gnome sized

favourite subject at school?

Funny enough, I enjoyed math and science classes more than arts and literature. Though I did have a really good writing teacher for one year in high-school that I wish I can look up and give her my thanks for changing my view on writing.

dream job?

The market for it is grim and I'm self conscious about my capabilities for it at this point, but I've always wanted to design some kind of official game that a lot of people would play and make their own thing with it. That or make a really cool looking animated project. Not much of a job as it's kind of a goal I wanna do.

tagging: @catmemer @monster--boyfriend @p-r-i-c-e-r @furbearingbrick @jthepearlord @citrucee

[disabled-dragoon]

Hey! I’ve sent a message before but my dr thinks I have spastic paraplegia. He wants to keep me out of a wheelchair as long as possible so I use a rollator right now but when I walk for more then like a couple minutes (if that) I get this horrible tightness in my hips that makes it really painful and uncomfortable to walk. I also get really bad muscle cramps in my calf and when I get one I usually get more in succession. Any recommendations for what to do? My dr is kinda useless when it comes to helping me 🥲 I’m in PT too but they kinda went “¯\_(ツ)_/ we don’t even know what spastic paraplegia is”

Well by that logic, shouldn't they find out? Honestly. I say the worst part of disability is the admin, but having to explain it to doctors every single time is up there too.

I have to preface that my recommendations will probably be a bit vaguer than you might be hoping for, simply because I obviously don't know the full extent of your pain, and every HSP or potential HSP diagnosis is different so forgive me for that.

Obviously I'm not a doctor so disclaimer here: Any advice I give is purely off personal experience. Bring it up with a trusted medical professional if it something that interests you.

-

So my first question is: Do you have any physio exercises? And more importantly, do you do them?

I completely understand the physiotherapist thing. I've had to explain HSP to all but two of my doctors, and even then one of them still needed coaching as to what the hell they were actually dealing with so I get it. I'm not going to give you the whole "if you exercise you won't be disabled anymore" spiel because we both know that not's true, but exercise really does help with slowing it down and making the pain more manageable.

If you want more/better exercise suggestions that are bit more specific to the areas outlined, I have some links that might be worth checking out:

Hip exercises: this is a link to the Spire Healthcare website that details an extensive list of exercises for hip stiffness and pain.

Sastic Paraplegia Foundation: Link to an official HSP charity, specifically to a page detailing good advice for physio exercises and areas to focus on.

Honestly the SPF is really really good for more information. It's got loads of resources on physiotherapy, the differences in the disability, a forum, information on research developments. Etc. etc. It's good to peruse if you're interested!

I am an HSP Warrior- My Exercise Journey: This is a youtube channel ran by a woman of the name of Alycia Klein. She is diagnosed with HSP and puts out semi-regular, short home exercise videos. Her last video, as of writing this, was actually fifty minutes ago!

Also may I suggest perhaps looking into exercise/resistance bands? I found they've worked wonders for strengthening my joints and help with pain, but, as always, consult with a trusted doctor beforehand to make sure this is the option for you. I personally use latex ones (see below) but there are several options to look through.

[ID: Pile of 5 latex exercise bands on a white background. The colours, from left to right, are black, red, blue, yellow and green. /end ID]

Next up: Extra Information!

I don't know how much you might personally know about HSP, or about how much I may have told you in the past, but! It never hurts to know more. And it may be of some help, if you feel comfortable to, sharing some some information with you PT.

I like this video:

It's relatively short, has pictures to accompany it and the subtitles aren't auto-generated! At the end it also gives a brief insight into some areas to focus exercise on to potentially extend your mobility and maybe the time you can stay out of a wheelchair.

And lastly, your doctor wants to avoid the wheelchair for now but what do you think?

No one knows your body better than you do and if this a genuine concern for you, it might not hurt to push the issue. Even just as something to consider in case of emergency.

Also, does your rollator have a seat? If not, personally I've found I sometimes prefer it to my wheelchair. It lets me walk until I get tired then I can sit and wait the pain out. Doesn't work all the time but when I want to exercise out of the chair it's quite good.

-

That's all I have at the moment. If you have any more specific questions please feel free to send them my way, I'd be more than happy to try and answer them.

I hope this has been of some help to you anon, and I wish you good luck!

[stfucal]

In 2022, I began the year at about 198 pounds. As of January 1, 2023, I was 154.4 pounds. I did lose those 40 pounds in 100 days, as I joined a 100 day challenge with my mother and her friends. My mother convinced me by telling me it would not encourage ED behavior, yet I won $1200 by refusing to eat. as of yesterday, I got below 150 pounds, and I looked back on my last year, and noticed my facial shape change. None of my rings fit me anymore. I am currently wearing a shirt that used to be tight on me, but is now a pajama shirt due to how large is on me. I wonder why I am at about 150 pounds, yet I feel smaller than I was at 120 pounds. I remember being young and getting addicted to losing weight, as we all did, and thinking that 127 was too large. What I don’t remember, is what I actually looked like. I have no photos of my body or anything other than my collar bones or hands, or just a simple selfie of my face at that age, and I wonder if I looked emaciated. I don’t want to have looked emaciated, but I wonder if one day I will look back on this time in my life and think I was the same as always. I was never officially diagnosed with body dysmorphia, but I don’t believe I have to be in order to understand that I have no idea what I look like. It is the one thing I will allow myself to be self diagnosed with, because I genuinely don’t know the difference between what I looked like at 120 pounds vs. 198 pounds. All I know is that I’ve begun to get that familiar rush of endorphins when I forget to eat. I’ve had multiple father figures in my life tell me that they’ve noticed how small I’m getting, and I think often about what my best friend looks like. I worry about her, and I think about what it felt like to hug her last, and how I was worried that I would hug her so tightly that she would disappear. How is it not OK for her, but it’s encouraged in my own mind for myself? I do not want to become the monster I was when I was counting calories and counting food and counting steps. however, there’s something so addictive about trying to one-up yourself continuously. It’s making the same drive every day and trying to beat your time by one minute. Maybe today I will get there at 12:42 as opposed to 12:45. Going 75 down a 60 mph road is fine, as long as I win. I just have to win.

I wish I could formulate these into scenes and create art with what I am speaking right now. Instead, I am just getting drunk off of three beers because I haven’t eaten anything except for a coffee, a piece of a cookie, and a couple of potato chips. See what I mean? Even when I am not doing it on purpose, I count exactly every single thing that I eat. Will I ever get better? I don’t want to worry about what I’m putting into my body every single second of every single day, if I’m going to die anyway. all I think about is my mortality and my age, and the fact that every person I love will die, and a lot sooner than I think it will happen. Yet, somehow, I focus on my physical form, and use a vape because I need something in my mouth. I perpetuate the idea that vaping is OK, while the ringing in my ears daily is really the bad thing that probably will kill me. how can someone be a hypochondriac while also doing what feels good in the moment? It’s as if I hear young me telling me that nothing matters, and that I’m going to die anyway, so I might as well do the things I enjoy while I can, but also having adult me understand that I am doing a job that drains me, because I’ve never been offered something better. And what if I get nothing better? What if my art isn’t good, and I am just like every single other white girl, very basic and talking about my daddy issues that don’t matter. What if I quit the best job I’ll ever have, because I want something more, and I never get that more? What if everyone I love is better than me. I don’t want to compete, and I’m not competing, but I want to at least be in the race. I want to be involved with everyone I love, and I want to also be an artist, and I want to also feel the things that they feel. I feel like I am a robot, waking up too late, rushing through a shower, going to work, coming home, late, and then going to bed. What do I do to make myself feel anything? Cry on the way to pick up a child, so that they can see their fucked up parents? Is that who I am? Is that all that I am, just a chauffeur for a child to get traumatized?

I wish I could control other people, and not in a God sense, but in a savior sense. I’m not naïve enough to think that I could save the world, but if I could save this one woman from getting murdered this one long weekend, maybe it would be worth it. She’s a wonderful mother, and I genuinely believe that she could have her child back very soon, if the father was not in the picture. Is that my own trauma coming through? Possibly, but I genuinely believe that my life would have been better with no father figures in it at all. I still would have had daddy issues, but they would be ABANDONMENT daddy issues. I am lucky enough to get all different types of fatherless trauma: one from a dad who abused/neglected me, and then later abandoned me; one from a father who lingered my whole life and refuses to let me go, as I am pretty much, the whole reason he’s alive. He refuses to listen to me speak, and only wants to speak of his suicide attempt (which was definitely reaching for attention), even though I have made it clear that a was pretty traumatized by that experience. He continues to ask me for money, and tell me that my mother is a bitch for not accepting his mental illness (the same exact illness that I have) as a disability. How is it OK for me to work two jobs in order to pay for his TV and booze habit, but he is unable to work because “being bipolar is hard”. Every day I wake up with my brain deciding for me, how well my day is going to go. it always has to go well enough that my father will get what he wants out of me. Sometimes I think that he stayed with my mother for so long and he is unaware of how to find another young woman to pay his bills, so he went to me as the next youngest woman he knew. He knows I am my mothers child, and that I will pay the bills and get the job done, and he knows that I will overwork myself to death. Because of this, he knows that he can come to me for money, and he uses the words and terminology that he knows will get him what he wants.

All I am is a servant for everyone I care about. I was created in my mothers womb as an excuse for her to leave my father, and every day since then has been about what I can give other people. if I ever have the audacity to bring up my own thoughts and emotions, I am called selfish and rude and needy.

No one has ever loved me as much as I love them. 

[zoey-angel]

I wonder if you can't help but think about me as much as I think about you

I wonder, if your remarks about how I'm "so mature" and "different" ever ring out in your head the same way they do in mine

I wonder, if you ever stay up, thinking about how it was in the hospital in the ICU, when you gave me the ultimatum of either giving it the ultimatum of making us official, or breaking up with it, or you'd leave

I wonder, if my openness at the beginning of our relationship about being scared to death of people leaving me contributed to you saying time and time again how you've fallen for me and have to leave, if I don't feel the same

I wonder, if you knew just how much my heartbeat spiked every time I checked my phone during classes, even as teachers reprimanded me, just to check if you haven't texted me, because you'd already scolded me for not replying to you immediately during my school hours

I wonder, if you remember me saying there was a 4 years age difference between me and my sibling, and my astounded comments about just how big of a difference I feel between us because of it

I wonder, how you felt on my 18th birthday

I wonder, if you break over it just as often as I do

I wonder, if my sexual texts felt forced, or if I covered it up well enough

I wonder, if I was the only "mature" one you found

I wonder, what made me so "different"

I wonder, if unlike me, you can bring yourself to say my name in a conversation

I wonder, if you think about our conversations anymore, considering the war

I wonder, if you justify how things ended with my nationality

I wonder, if you'd think even lower of me and my people, if you knew I drink now

I never read your final message, I'm sorry, I didn't want to be tempted to respond. I wouldn't have been able to handle that

I never thought I was a cheater, until it made me realise that was what I did

I never thought I'd be capable of that, and yet, I was just so scared of losing you that I did

I wonder, if you'd also have had a panic attack, seeing someone who sort of looked like me on the bus

I just turned 20

It's 3am as I'm typing this

I have uni tomorrow at 8 am

I don't want renewed contact

I cut all contact and did my best to ensure I'd never be able to contact you again

But it's late, and lack of sleep with a slight help of alcohol isn't too good at stopping bad decisions

I don't think you're a terrible person

But the idea that you lack my perspective keeps me up at night, as I question my very own reality

I've known you quite intimately for a while, after all. I can't help but picture just how you talk/think about me

And yes, I was a piece of shit who couldn't let go and instead people-pleased to the extremes, admittedly hurting you also

But Jesus Christ, Zoey

Next time just don't let a 17yo with severe abandonment issues insist they're grown up and mature, and know exactly what they're getting themselves into

Aight since it's been a while I'll answer this. Maybe you'll see. I assume you've moved in by now, so it's safe to answer

I did wait until I knew it was okay because I wanted to back you up in the worst of it. After you passed me the news it was stable, I broke things off

The ultimatum was necessary because you're not a cheater, and it shouldn't be my choice to back off either because that's not fair to it, not to know if you would've chosen it. You needed to choose yourself for everyone's benefit

Honestly I made it as painful as possible because you've said before stuff like "I'd fight for you you'll never be able to push me away". I got quite a show going hoping to severe it well enough that your feelings die, hoping to leave it a boyfriend who's loyal, only thinking about it and not missing some other girl, praying you never contact me again. Thought you both deserved a clean break. Better if you were mad and not sad, unsure if that plan worked out by the looks of this anon

I got diagnosed with autism also. Professionally. Horray!!! Oh and also my country is going through something as you know. I think I'm having a worse time than you actually. People in my year have died, people I knew, and people you're friends with will say they deserved it. I'm pretty sure I have PTSD, I wake up to nightmares every other night, but everyone is in the same boat over here, and it's not like we're safe enough to use comforting words like "it'll be alright" or whatnot. You knew me as a person before the war, but you probably think I deserve death too. I still don't care about your nationality, even if I flinch because of so much history, you're you, and things are too serious to make it about me or us or anything.

Hope this gives you some peace of mind, mr. Grown up man

For the protocol, what would you have me do? Your abandonment issues shouldn't mean I have to stay and sabotage your boyfriend's life, it comes first, this was the healthiest possible solution I could even think of. Especially after realizing how much damage my presence was causing, you agree I was damaging you, no?

Also please remember that I'm the piss poor awkward virgin with very few friends and you were younger but also the cooler more popular and openly sexual one. I never talked with anyone like that neither before nor after you and it, I was ready to do anything to keep you both and to make you like me as much as I liked you, but it wasn't like I was any more confident or mature. I'm still dumb like that, I thought you were the hottest shit on the planet and opened up a regrettable amount. Scared me to think you had access to the vulnerable photos I sent you and what you might do with them

I ended up failing in so many classes after ending contact with you, what happened with it fucked me up mentally and I started therapy, I had to repeat a semester and I'm still seeing my therapist weekly. You didn't have to see any of that, I dealt with it alone. Being severely anxious, demotivated, not having the mental strength to read or draw (I hadn't since we last collabed), burning out like a piece of newspaper, failing to maintain my personal bonds, still working on trust, therapist is still working me up to maybe not feel so helplessly unlovable that I reject every hint of attempt anyone makes of flirting with me out of my own insecurity assuming they'll reject me once they get to know me better and it's better not to try. Almost got a panic attack in the car with a friend when he dropped me off near my house because I thought he was going to ask me out, I ran

Oh btw how did you handle the Wilbur Soot situation? I wondered about you. Actually don't answer that, we're no contact right? Move on:) hope it's well these days, or better. Hope I removed myself as well as I hoped and helped it heal

Edit: on second thought, I'm still being nice. The truth is meaner, I didn't even have romantic feelings for it for the longest time, I made myself uncomfortable over and over and tried to please it in hopes it would like me enough to allow me to be with you. I paid for a trip abroad to see it when all I wanted is to find a place with you. I ended up having feelings for it too but they were faint. It was a good thing we didn't work out. It never could have or should have. Now you go and call me all these things when you were always the narcissist between us three. You make me sound like a predator for "believing you" but I know myself, I know how much I sacrificed for you two only to get dumped, trampled on, you don't even see me as a person anymore. You should have rejected me when I asked you to do so the first time, let me go, let me move on, and not lead me on. OH! I'm actually polyamorous, let's try and make my boyfriend okay with that. I've gone through so much shit because of you.

I bet to your friends you only say I was four years older and made you feel bad, so to answer that question no, I don't struggle to say your name. Did it plenty in therapy. you know the truth and you should be sorry.

[larrydempsey]

Commentary for “But I’m Feeling Much...”

–All the events described are as accurate as I and/or my mother can remember them.

–Dedicated to my mom for her research, support, and for putting up with both me and Tom.  She’s the hardest-working person I know.  Also dedicated to the memory of my sister, Carmen, who also had to be raised by Tom.  She endured life as long as she could until she couldn’t take anymore.

–Special thanks to my friends Becky B. and Scott P. for their help and research, as well as for their friendship and their continued interest and support.

–Alternate titles: “The Life of Larry,” “Larry: The Early Years,” “Childhood Remembered,” “The Best Years of My Life,” “Out of My Shell,” and “A Semi-Linear Recollection of Events Which Led Me to Become the Well-Adjusted Individual I am Today.”

–The title comes from an oft-repeated catchphrase (uttered by actor John Astin) on the TV series “Night Court.”

–I didn’t intend to turn this into a story/article.  It simply started as a list to see how many bad things I could remember that happened to me when I was growing up, and then I expanded on each entry.

–My mom saved all of my report cards and grade school class photos, so that made it handy for when I had to look up a few of my teachers’ names that I couldn’t remember.

–My early stomach problems (throwing up three times a day, every day, until I was three years old) were an indicator of autism, but my parents didn’t know anything about that back then.  I wasn’t officially diagnosed until my late 30s (with Asperger’s syndrome, specifically).  Being a picky eater and unable to understand sarcasm were also signs of autism.

–The reason I wasn’t circumcised was because my parents didn't know anything about that back then, either.

–The reason I wasn’t breastfed was because my mom said there was “nothing there.”  But even if there was, she said she “wasn’t into it.”  So it was the bottle for me, followed by a lifelong infatuation with nipples and big breasts.

–My bad habit of going to bed as late as possible followed me into adulthood.  The day is never long enough.  I put off going to bed for as long as possible, instead preferring to stay awake to read, write, listen to music, or watch TV.  It doesn't help that my mind is constantly racing, always thinking and worrying about a million different things, preventing me from sleeping.

–I still own the ruler that I used to hide under my desk in the third grade to help me with subtraction.

–Regarding junior high gym class: No one saw a problem with 40 twelve-year-olds showering completely naked in public every day, all while being “supervised” by the geriatric gym teacher?  He was probably a pervert who got the job just for that reason.  Did the girls have to do that, too?  Maybe it’s just me, but it seems wrong to have a bunch of underage kids forced to do that.  I wonder if that still goes on today.

–The hearing test in junior high was a farce.  I think the company coming there and testing all the kids was just a money-making ploy.  They make you think they’re there to help you, but they’re more interested in failing kids so they can get their parents to bring them down to their office to not only get the “professional” (i.e., expensive) test but also so they can sell them hearing aids.  I have exceptional hearing.  And if it’s great now, it must have been even better back then.  It’s one of the only things I have left that still works well.

–Regarding the test I took in junior high that said I should be a sewing machine operator when I grew up: believe it or not, one of the jobs I had in my 20s involved operating a sewing machine.  I lasted two days.  It was the first job I ever quit.

–Another reason I liked my sophomore English teacher, Mr. Peebles, was because he said he never missed an episode of “Newhart” (the 1980s sitcom that starred Bob Newhart and took place at an inn in Vermont), which was a show I also liked at the time.

–During the divorce trial, it came to the part about dividing assets.  I still remember the lawyers arguing over who got what.  It got to the point where they were actually debating over who got which pieces of Tupperware.  It was completely ridiculous.

–Back in the days when Tom made a surprise visit to our new/third house, I never checked to see whose car was in the driveway before blindly opening the front door.  I’ve since altered my behavior after that incident.  I don’t answer the door at all now.

–Except for the sewing machine job and one retail job (at “The Long Ear” record store, which I had for a month), the only jobs I’ve ever had in my life were as janitors and working in warehouses.  Cleaning toilets and moving appliances.  What a waste of talent.  I wish I would have been more aggressive.  Maybe I could have made something of myself.

–My sister was the one who told my mom and me that Tom was in his fifth marriage, since she was the one who kept in contact with him and kept up with all the latest news (since she was required to, due to him paying for her college).

–Here are a few more miscellaneous events, observations, and related recollections that didn’t fit the theme of my story or because I couldn’t find a good place for them:

The first time I saw Star Wars, I didn't know anything about it.  Tom took me to see it one night because it was the big popular thing at the time.  I remember standing in line, wearing a red Star Wars shirt that Mom had bought me at the grocery store earlier in the day (the one with the famous painting of Luke Skywalker holding his lightsaber above his head with both hands and Princess Leia kneeling on a rock below him).  The movie blew my mind and changed my life.  It was big, fun, and exciting—completely unlike anything I’d ever seen before.  On the drive home in the dark, all the lights across the car’s dashboard made it look like the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon.  The second time I saw the movie was at a drive-in.  Mom went with us this time.  I remember being in the back seat but sticking my head between the two front seats and talking all the way through it, explaining everything to her.  That must have been really annoying.

In all my years of going to public school, I never once ate lunch from the school cafeteria.  I always brought my own lunch from home (in various metal Star Wars or superhero lunch boxes).  Most of the sandwiches I brought were admittedly unusual.  In grade school, I regularly ate relish sandwiches and mayonnaise sandwiches.  They were, literally, just relish or mayonnaise between two pieces of white bread.  Gross.  I ate those for years.  I guess I either liked them or didn’t have a problem with them—except for the day when the mayonnaise sandwich didn’t agree with me and I threw up on the concrete outside the cafeteria (to this day, I still feel sorry for the janitor who had to clean it up).  I wonder if I stopped eating them after that.  On my first day in junior high, I remember asking my mom to make me a sandwich that consisted of nothing more than a piece of lettuce and a slice of cheese on a hamburger bun—something that, I remember thinking at the time, halfway resembled a “normal” sandwich.  I remember sitting alone at one of the long lunchroom tables in the back of the cafeteria (I guess I hadn’t found where my friends were sitting yet), eating that cheese and lettuce sandwich.  I think that was the one and only time I ever ate that.  At least I didn’t bring it in a Star Wars lunchbox.  Being 12 years old, I guess I’d grown too mature for that.

My grandmother (my mom’s mother) occasionally walked me to school the last couple years of grade school (when we were living next to my grandparents).  One winter morning, when we were walking down the street, a woman yelled out her front door, saying she heard the school’s pipes were frozen and that school was closed.  So Grandma and I turned around and came home.  Once in the house, I pulled out some of my Star Wars toys and started playing with them on the floor in the living room.  After I did, Mom decided to call the school to confirm that it was actually closed.  She was told that it was open.  So I got dressed again, and Mom drove me to school.  Having to arrive late, take off my jacket, and sit down in front of the rest of the kids who were already sitting quietly at their desks was very embarrassing.

While my friend Steve may have been good at math, I was good at art.  I couldn’t do what he did, and he couldn't do what I did.  Everyone is good at something that someone else isn’t.  But what he could do was considered significantly more important than what I could do.  Society thinks academic achievements are more important than creative/artistic ones.  Smart kids, those kids who were good at “important” subjects (like math and science), would go on to college and have high-paying careers like doctors, lawyers, and accountants—i.e., important jobs.  What I did wasn’t serious or even considered “work.”  Art wasn’t a real job.  And if art was the only thing I was good at, I would never amount to anything.  That was always the prevailing attitude, and I constantly felt that pressure from my parents and grandparents at home and my teachers in school, even from early on.

There was a day in fifth grade after we got back to class after lunch recess when the teacher, Mrs. Urbanac, came over to me, pointed right in my face, and said, “Don’t you ever come into my classroom looking like that again.”  I turned to the kid on my left and asked, “What do I look like?”  I’m assuming, based on the teacher's comment, that I was a mess, which would have been unusual since it was uncommon for me to play rough or get dirty.

Thanks to Tom, I was almost killed by a Nazi.  One late summer afternoon when I was around 11 or 12 years old, Tom, my grandfather (my mom’s father), and I were on our way out of town to buy some hay for my grandfather's horses and cattle.  We were in a large, black Ford pickup (with a canopy), pulling a gigantic wooden trailer (also painted black) behind us.  My grandfather was driving, Tom was on the passenger side, and I sat between them.  We pulled up to a stop, waiting to get onto a north-south interstate highway.  As we were waiting, we heard someone screaming at us from behind our truck and trailer.  Apparently, we were blocking the bicycle path, which ran parallel to the highway, and a guy on a bicycle wasn’t happy about it.  Tom, not liking being yelled at, jumped out of the truck and ran over to the guy (and the girl who was with him) as they started cycling north.  When Tom reached the guy, he shoved him, knocking the guy off his bike and into the ditch.  Tom then turned around and started walking back toward the truck.  As he neared the truck, there was the sound of a gunshot.  The guy on the bike had a gun and took a shot at us.  The bullet missed Tom and went through two windows in the truck’s canopy, inches from my head.  My grandfather, who had been standing outside the truck on the driver’s side, had gotten back into the truck a second earlier.  If he hadn’t gotten back in the truck at the exact moment he did, he would have been shot in the head.  The guy and the girl took off riding north on their bikes again, riding fast and out of range.  At this point, we had been blocking traffic for a few minutes, so when we had a chance, we pulled out onto the highway, heading south, leaving the scene and deciding not to pursue the matter further.  Days (or maybe weeks?) later, we recognized the guy who shot at us on the news as one of the members of the Nazi party.  They had a national headquarters not much further north from where the guy shot at us.  We assume that’s where the guy and the girl were heading.  Tom could have simply ignored the guy’s shouts.  But by provoking him, Tom escalated the situation and almost got us killed.

We put on a Christmas show for the parents in sixth grade.  We mostly sang Christmas songs and carols.  During one song, my teacher, Mrs. Ruch (for the last time, pronounced “rush”), came into the room dressed up as Santa Claus, waving and ho-ho-ho’ing with a big bag of toys slung over her shoulder.  The whole routine.  As we kept singing, she came over to me and gave me a huge smooch on the cheek in front of everyone.  After she walked away, returning to her waving and ho’ing, I made eye contact with Mom in the audience.  Wide-eyed, shaking my head, and shrugging my shoulders, I gave her a “I don’t know where that came from” look.  Mrs. Ruch didn’t do that in rehearsal.

Everything in my childhood was either difficult or I made it difficult.  I don’t know what I hated more: trying to eat foods I didn’t like or the opposite end of the digestive process.     Throughout my entire childhood and into my mid-teens, I hated pooping.  I hated going.  I hated wiping.  I hated the entire process.  It was smelly and disgusting.  For these reasons, I always put off going for as long as possible.  I would hold it in for days, making it very difficult to be even remotely comfortable.  I would constantly jump from place to place, not being able to sit or stand still (Mom called it “flitting,” joking that I would “flit over here” and “flit over there”).  And after holding it in for so long, it made it next to impossible to go when I finally gave in and went (or was forced to go by my parents) because by that time I was severely constipated.     I remember one time during my teens when my constipation was so bad that I had to go to the doctor because of it.  The doctor prescribed me suppositories.  Learning how to use (i.e., insert) those was not a pleasant experience.  And it was made that much worse by Tom making fun of me for not finding it easy to do so.  I remember wondering why he didn’t find using them difficult.  But then I assumed it must have been because I didn’t have as much experience shoving things up my ass as he did.

Tom tried to force both my sister and I to drink some beer he brought home once when we were young.  My sister tried it, but I didn’t want to.  To this day, I’ve never had a drop of beer.  Whether it’s because of that incident, I can’t say for sure.  Again, as with learning how to drive, unlike every other teenager in the universe, I didn’t want to drink.  I never had any interest in alcohol or saw the fascination that everyone else had with it.  I still don’t.

During one of our family trips to visit my grandparents in Oregon (Tom’s parents, that is), Tom’s mother thought she’d make me some homemade macaroni and cheese since she’d heard that was one of my favorite foods.  Unfortunately, on the day she made it, she decided to cook some hamburger, as well.  When it came time to mix the cheese in with the macaroni noodles, she used the same wooden spoon that she had been using to cook the meat.  As a result, some pieces of hamburger that were stuck to the spoon mixed in with the cheese.  So my lunch went from being macaroni and cheese to something resembling Hamburger Helper.  And for someone like myself who wasn’t a meat eater, the thought of eating that was horrifying.  I saw what was coming, but there was nothing I could do to get out of it.     When Tom’s mother was done making the macaroni, she poured it into a small yellow bowl and served it to me.  I sat at the head of the table, while both she and my mom sat next to me on either side of the table to watch me eat it.  Tom’s mother glared at me as I carefully tried to eat around the meat.  It was easy to see that she was getting mad and wanted to say something, due to my going so slowly and taking so long to eat it.  Finally, she asked me, “What’s the matter?  Don’t you like it?”  I tried to choke out a response, saying that I thought it was good, but it wasn’t very convincing.  Needless to say, I didn’t finish it.  I either said I was full or my mom, realizing my predicament, got me out of it; I can't remember which.     Like Tom, his mother was annoyed that I was “too picky” about what I ate.  She thought that I should be able to eat anything, like “normal” kids.  I don’t remember her cooking anything special for me again.

In a seventh grade English class, we had an assignment where we were supposed to teach something to the students while standing in front of the class.  Since I was an artist, I thought I’d teach everyone how to draw something.  I was a big fan of Garfield at the time (one of the two popular orange cats from newspaper comic strips, Heathcliff being the other), so I thought I’d give a step-by-step tutorial on how to draw him.  Everyone took out a pencil and a piece of paper and followed along as I showed them how I drew him on the blackboard.

In my eighth grade history class, the teacher called on me to answer a question.  I read aloud my answer.  Not only was it correct (and very well written, if I do say so myself), but I got the impression he wasn't expecting much since I could tell he was only making another attempt to bring me “out of my shell.”  He seemed genuinely surprised at how good my answer was.  Then he replied, “I should call on you more often.”  But thankfully, he didn’t.

It sounds like a cliche, but it’s true: since I was the “fat kid” and the least athletic, I was always chosen last when they picked teams for sports in gym class.

Unlike junior high, I never took a shower after gym class in high school.  Luckily, I somehow managed to get out of having to go through that fat, naked humiliation a second time.  I saw the showers from a distance, but I never went in.  As far as I remember, I don’t think any of the other boys took a shower either.

It was bad having Gym as the first class of the day.  I’d spend all that time (and hairspray) trying to make my hair look decent before I left for school in the morning.  Then it would get all sweaty and messed up during Gym.  My hair must have looked like hell for the rest of the day.  Looking back, I shouldn’t have wasted all that time (and hairspray) trying to make it look good in the first place.

I once walked in on someone trying to steal my gym clothes in the high school locker room.  The lockers were rectangular baskets (thin on the front and back, longer on the sides) that could be pulled out like a drawer, were open on top, and were made of widely spaced iron wire so you could easily see inside.  The baskets were stored inside a large, two-sided iron-frame cabinet that was painted dark blue and rolled on black caster wheels.  There were four shelves on both sides of the cabinet, and three baskets could fit on a shelf, left to right, for a total of twenty-four (twelve on one side of the cabinet and twelve on the other).  The baskets were individually secured to the front of the cabinet by small padlocks or combination locks.  My locker/basket was on the top, right corner of one side of one of the cabinets.  One day, I walked in on a kid who was trying to break into my locker by bending my basket around the corner of the cabinet frame to the right, just enough so he could reach in and steal my gym clothes.  I simply stood behind him, watching him.  He grabbed my clothes, but before he could manage to pull them out between the frame and the basket, I asked him, “Can I help you?”  He turned his head to the right to look at me and asked, “Are these yours?”  I replied that they were, and he moved on, presumably to ransack someone else’s locker.

I had a run-in with the high school librarian once.  The library had just installed new security detectors at the exits to prevent theft (I don’t know who would want to steal anything from the library, but anyway…).  I had some important computer discs in my binder, and I’d heard that those detectors were not kind to computer discs since they put out magnetic waves and created the possibility of erasing them.  So, since I didn’t want to risk my discs being erased, I lifted my binder up and over the detectors when I walked out.  The librarian saw what I did and clearly took offense.  He stopped me and told me to come back in and go out the exit again “the right way.”  I didn’t want to go through again, but I also didn’t want to cause a scene, so I reluctantly came back in and went through the exit again.  I was super pissed for the rest of the day, hoping my discs weren’t damaged.  But after a very long day of waiting to get to computer class later that afternoon, I confirmed that all my programs were still on them and that they were okay.

I came back from Christmas vacation one year in high school and realized I forgot my locker combination.  After a brief panic, I decided to try opening it by approximating the turns and moving the dial without putting much thought into it—i.e., just closing my eyes and going “Yoda” on it.  Believe it or not, it opened on the first try.  For years, I’ve always wondered if any three numbers would have worked.  Maybe there really weren’t any combinations on any of the lockers.  And if so, could anyone have opened any locker whenever they wanted?  It’s just that I find it so hard to believe that I opened it so easily.

The Media class teacher showed us the movie “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”  I didn’t like westerns at the time only because Tom was a big fan of them (I automatically disliked anything he liked just because he liked it).  But as I watched the movie, I fell in love with it.  I loved the characters, the setting, the humor, and the music.  Everything.  I’ve been a fan of westerns ever since, even more so after Tom left.

One of my all-time favorite things Tom ever said: Not too long before my parents broke up, Tom asked me to go somewhere with him one Saturday.  I can't remember why or where he wanted me to go with him, but to get out of it, I replied that I had homework to do (which was my default “get out of spending time with Tom” card).  I vividly remember his sarcastic response: “You have an excuse for everything.”  Hey, whatever works.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to enjoy the news of Tom’s death as much as I wished I could have at the time.  It was just after that event that my sister’s mental health took a nosedive.  She had been physically ill since she was very young, in and out of doctors offices, and on and off prescription medications her entire life.  But for the few years leading up to Tom’s death, she really took a turn for the worse, mentally.  She hanged herself two months after Tom died.

–Here are a few final examples to show what Tom was like:

Tom was always trying to be “the funny guy” when he was around other people, always telling jokes and trying to trick them into thinking he was the life of the party.  Only those of us who lived with him, as well as a handful of other people, knew what a lying, cheating, narcissistic bastard he really was.

As I’ve shown through numerous examples, Tom always treated my mom like crap.  Although he never abused her physically, he constantly insulted and degraded her.  She never noticed it, though.  She just thought that was normal, assuming that’s how husbands treated wives.  Other people noticed, however.  Over the years, several people, including friends, family, and business associates, regularly brought up the subject after witnessing Tom’s behavior toward her.  They would ask her if she knew how badly she was treated by him.  It was news to her.

Tom suggested to my mom that she should start drinking so she would be more "fun" when they went out.

Tom always took off his wedding ring when he played with his band.  He claimed it “got in the way” when he played guitar.  Sure, Tomy (wink, wink).  Whatever you say (nudge, nudge).

Tom regularly cheated people out of money.  He cheated his bandmates, for one.  He would never divide their money equally.  Tom always took the biggest chunk and then gave whatever was left for the other guys to split up, letting them believe it was equally divided among all of them.

Tom had a trick he frequently pulled at the refrigeration equipment company he worked for.  He would intentionally order more equipment for companies than they needed so he could get a bigger commission.  They’d always send back the extra equipment they didn’t need, but Tom had already gotten his commission by then.

After being away from comic books during my junior high years, I started getting back into them in my senior year of high school.  Tom came into my bedroom one night when I was reading and picked up one of my comics to look at it (I somehow remember that it was a copy of Uncanny X-Men #210).  As he did, he bent the front cover back, wrapping it behind the book.  I was (and still am) very particular about my things and always try to be careful with them, so I asked him not to bend the cover back.  He proceeded to bend the cover back farther, just because he knew it irritated me.

Tom was involved in a dispute with a building contractor over the way the guy was building Tom’s parents’ new house here in town.  So to try and get back at the contractor, Tom filled a shoebox with dog shit and mailed it to him.

Tom’s obituary reads that he wants to be remembered as “the poor little rich boy that has left more in this world than he has taken.”  Even in death, he’s trying to fool people into thinking he was8a good person.  I would expect nothing less.

Copyright © 2023 Larry Dempsey.  All rights reserved.

[nakaleawesome]

I'm so sick of abled bodied people refusing to understand disabilities and y'know sometimes random shit just happens to young people! Anything can happen to anyone at any time!

I never asked for my legs to just randomly stop working one day. I was being productive, I had a job, I was taking care of my health the best I can. I never wanted to be reliant on others. This was never a burden I wanted on my husband. I've been trying. Now I have people telling me they're sorry my husband has to take care of me. Cause screw in sickness and in health. We're just trying to do our best in this fucked up world. It's not my fault healthcare is slow. It takes years to figure out things sometimes and sometimes there's just no cure. Somedays strings of bad days do happen and then you get ONE good day and you use that day to get everything you can done possible because if you don't everyone's gonna tell you you're not trying or you're just letting illness ruin your life. And that's the thing. Things are chronic. Sometimes you could technically be having an alright day. Like today would be fine, I can walk on my own around the house and do some of the things I need to do as long as I manage my energy, but for some reason I got some food poisoning or something when I went out and it turned into a bad day. Now because it's been going on for ONLY 6 MONTHS (as of writing this) I have family trying to tell me it's all in my head because I'm not getting better and doctors just can't immediately find out what's wrong. It took 10 YEARS to diagnose my migraine and not even the full part of it just when it paralyzes me not the constant daily one that's been going on since I was 3. Both of which have no official cause and no medicine or treatments so I've learned to live with it. Chronic conditions are just things you end up learning to live with. It's painful, but if you dare complain about it the 'normal' people see you as wrong and just want you to shut up because why aren't you better yet. There was another good post about this that I read and yea it's something we have to deal with, but people just don't get it. We're in constant pain, there is no real 'good days', and we don't just magically get better once we get a diagnosis.

Just another thing at least with my situation, I get told "Are you thinking about bettering yourself? Are you even trying to think about how the future will be and what are you going to do? You can't live like this/you can't stay here forever/you can't get help/etc" like you don't even know how much it keeps me up trying to deal with the fucking world and what to do especially with being unable to work. I had a job before this and I was trying. I put in way more hours and effort dealing with things and trying to manage money to save to have a place of our own. I've been trying for years. No one asked for a pandemic, we didn't choose inflation, we got stuck with these things. It's not like I'm in debt (yet) either and I'm hoping the student loan forgiveness goes through especially because it was not my choice to go to university at the time I did. In fact, it was probably one of the worst things I've been forced into since it caused so much of my health issues. Some people were able to get back on track and good for them, but not everyone is that lucky. It's a constant blame to deal with and sometimes you can do everything right and in your power and still it doesn't work out. I've been trying to promote my art and make money where I can, but I can tell you it's not working and I don't know what to do. I just don't know. Telling me I need to do it/wondering why/etc and commenting on it isn't helpful. I know and whining about it to me doesn't make the situation better, it makes it worse.

[fibrowarriorgirl]

Autistic women aren't as rare as you think

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[chaotic-kitty]

Is it too soon for me to diagnose Nix Hydra with “Can’t make short characteritis?”

So I was looking at Miguel’s wiki bio coz I wanted to see if anyone had updated it since the final chapter dropped, so I could have a little look at what happened it the other ending. And while I was there, his bio said he was 5’11. Now I scrolled through EVERY one of the fictif posts on Insta to find the official bio, I found one but it says nothing about his height, nor can I find reference to it anywhere else. So it probably was mentioned in an Q&A or something. But that got me thinking about nix hydra and character heights. Now I am very aware that there are multiple different teams of writers and artists who all design their characters differently. But saying that, there are a few contradictions regarding height.

For example: in Last Legacy, Elowen (5’7), is described as being “imposingly tall’. Maeve (5’7) in Courting The Crown, who is the same height, is described by Rian as being “small”. Now I get that could be because Rian is tall? But that being said, 5’7 isn’t THAT tall nor is it short.

And there are times where character height doesn’t add up to the way they’re being described. Take Miguel for example, from what I remember he’s made out to be on the higher end of tall…..but he’s only 5’11? Which 5’11 in most places around the world is considered for men as average. The same goes for Jesse. He’s described as being TALL but he’s 5’10 which isn’t that tall either.

Now I get that I’m probably reading too much into this but, there is just something about the height system for these characters that bug me. A large majority of them fall into the above average height for their respective demographics. And yes, it’s not uncommon to have a lot of tall people, but when the majority of your characters fall at the same heights, especially your main characters, it gets to a point where it looks as though you can’t make short characters.

And some characters are taller than they actually feel like. Rian is apparently 6’1….he doesn’t give that vibe. I would’ve put him at around 5’9, same with Theo. Now characters like Saaros & Gwydion? Their tall heights kinda fit when you look at Elfin and Fae lore. And with Sage, Rime, Anisa, ect I guess their tall heights make sense cause they’re Ilephta and we don’t know much about Ilephta’s at all. Though Tulsi is on the shorter end. So idk?

But there is a part of me that looks at these characters, keeping in mind how toxic nix hydra has been with other stereotypes, and can’t help but think how much they’re stereotyping here too.

Nadia is depicted as dominant (which I have my own thoughts on) and her character is tall. You look at Saaros and Vidas, both nb but still very masculine in their appearance…their both tall. Same with the other nb characters. Felix has been stereotyped a certain way too, and he’s the shortest male. You look at all men and the majority of them are TALL. Like heaps tall. And even the women are more on the taller end of the scale. And that’s not even touching on the majority of the side characters. Because looking at just The Arcana, all of those characters seems heaps tall too, besides Mazelinka, Khamgalai & Volta.

I just wish we got more actual range you know? Not just with heights but in general. While there is diversity amongst the characters, I feel like they still write and design characters similarly. Especially as they are a company that’s always going on about diversity.

But anyways, just a few thoughts I had. Like I said, I’m probably reading too much into it or have grabbed the wrong end of the stick. In which case if I have, feel free to gently let me know. This is entirely just my own view on the matter.

Though looking at the way nix hydra goes with height especially when it doesn’t match descriptions….I wonder how tall Tinker Bell is? Coz Bille described them as being tiny, but they also think 5’7 is short and tall at the same time. I’m really interested to see what the writers view as tiny.

Edit: Mainly my point is, I think nix hydra has a problem with how they do heights. Now I do not know the inner workings of the company, so I don’t know how they do things. Each writer probably has their own views on heights and how they relate to one another. But I think that the writers and artists need to all get on the same page with it. And when I look at the character designs (including their personalities ect) and their heights I can’t help but see how they could be stereotyping their characters in a toxic kinda way….again. And if this was just this one thing on its own, it wouldn’t really mean much, but when you look at everything regarding nix hydra and their handling/designing of characters? It doesn’t look that great. It just really bugs me. I would really like to have a few more shorter characters (specifically main characters) that are just short without also having other toxic stereotypes attached.

Character Height List (of the characters I could find):

Muriel- 6’10

LOS- 6’9

Lucan- 6’6

Rainer- 6’6 (with horns)

Orion- 6’5

Julian- 6’4

Leonidas- 6’4

Sergio- 6’4

Howie- 6’3

Nicky- 6’3

Sawyer- 6’3

Ayanna- 6’2

Gwydion- 6’2

Luca- 6’2

Sage- 6’2

Vidas- 6’2

Astrellio- 6’1

Poe- 6’1

Rian- 6’1

Rouge- 6’1

Saaros- 6’1

Eeri- 6’0

Gramme- 6’0

Rime- 6’0

Theo- 6’0

Anisa- 5’11

Escell- 5’11

Miguel- 5’11 (?)

Calysta- 5’10

Chava- 5’10

Jesse- 5’10

Lucio- 5’10

Nadia- 5’10

Valerius- 5’10

Scylla- 5’10

Florian- 5’9

Asra- 5’8

Aurelia- 5’8

Casimir- 5’8

Serena “Hook”- 5’8

Amara- 5’7

Elowen- 5’7

Maeve- 5’7

Elise- 5’6

Felix- 5’6

Val- 5’6

Celia- 5’5

Tess- 5’5

Tulsi- 5’4

Portia- 5’1

Stella (cat)- smol