#tw implied chronic pain

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 8: Sensory Deprivation

(Disclaimer: neither of the characters in this story belong to me. Both Phantom and Bones are the property of Nathan Sharp/Give Heart Productions.)

(Trigger Warnings: implications of illegal business, implied chronic pain, mentions of death/dying, descriptions of water/floating, skin-flaying, exposed bones, blood, similarities to an out-of-body experience, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

Out of habit, Bones cracked his knuckles as he wandered down the hall. 

He had no idea why he’d developed aforementioned habit; it wasn’t exactly uncommon for his joints to crack with enough volume that you’d expect them to start glowing in the dark. Then again, he’d had more than enough time to learn how to tune out those noises. Even when he found himself in areas that managed to be eerily quiet.

Like this one, for instance. 

A decent amount of time had passed since coworkers and customers alike had vacated the club. All the lights had been turned off. Now, had Bones still been fully alive, that would’ve caused problems (mainly him getting an excuse to fuck up someone else’s night due to tripping over the decor a few too many times). However, Bones was not fully alive. Death was strange—yes, it took a lot of things away, but for whatever reason, it also ended up having a few things to give. 

Not like that made it any better, mind you. 

Having supernaturally heightened senses didn’t make up for having fragmented memories, for having to operate under a nasty mixture of exhaustion and restlessness, for having to know that you’re part of the proof that something is fundamentally wrong with the world—

“Boooones,” a familiar voice called from elsewhere in the building. “While I always appreciate lurking for dramatic effect, I don’t have all night.” 

“. . .Yeah, because you’ve never taken your sweet damn time on things,” Bones snapped back, knowing that his terse tone wouldn’t hide how he’d flinched. 

“Touch’e, but that’s only when I know I can get away with it,” Phantom replied, sounding much closer than he actually was. “C’mon, you’re gonna want to see this.” 

Bones rolled his eyes, but still turned on his heel and started traipsing in the direction of the sound. “Sure I am.”

  Despite there still being a few good employers out there, any relationship between worker and boss would always be just a tad strange. Especially if the boss in question was an outer monstrosity in disguise.

While Bones didn’t exactly fear Phantom—as a revenant, Bones was typically one to be feared—he still knew better than to just let his guard down around him. He wasn’t about to try calling himself a saint, but seeing some of the things Phantom had done to “take care of business” made him a bit relieved that he couldn’t sleep anymore. Other times, Phantom’s eccentricities just got on his nerves.

Bones knew things could’ve been much, much worse. Yeah, it was a complete and total bitch to have hollow pain thriving inside him like a colony of parasites, but part of him still understood that he was making the best of his circumstances. 

Eventually, Bones found himself behind the bar counter, facing the huge cabinet that had been built into the entire fourth wall of this room. He paused, having to dig through the duffel bag of stuff he’d been instructed to bring tonight. It only took a few muttered profanities to convince said bag to let him fish out a silver key: its bow was adorned by a picture of a flower with an eyeball in the center of its petals.

Bones ran his fingers along the bottom of the center shelf, quickly finding a well-hidden hole that the key’s biting cuts fit perfectly into. A loud CLACK rang through the empty room as he turned the key to one side, prompting the cabinet to perform an amateur recreation of The Red Sea. The organized collection of bottles rattled on their shelves, but not a single one went shattering to the floor. 

Bones hovered in the familiar, freshly-revealed hollow doorway. It wasn’t imposing to him; he’d done this at least a hundred times by now. This hidden staircase was just so fucking steep. He knew for an absolute certainty that it would be impossible to run up or down it without tripping on one step and bashing your head against another. 

Dull pain flared around his ankles and raced up to his kneecaps. Bones ground his jaw, putting a deathgrip on the railway as he began descending. The halves of the cabinet reconnected behind him, but that didn’t leave him in total darkness. Colorful light flickered at the bottom of the stairs, casting shadows that danced similarly to those of a fire. They seemed to be trying to reach up along the steps. . .

Though he didn’t stop walking, Bones felt his hackles raise. They didn’t lower when he realized that soft music was slithering into the air. 

The club’s basement was in a state of functional chaos. Chests and crates that came in a plethora of sizes almost outlined the room, stacked on top of one another and pushed up against the walls. It always felt like there was a different amount each time Bones had to venture down here. (It also wasn’t one of Bones’ responsibilities to keep track of them all. He’d already learned the hard way that you couldn’t just open them.) 

He immediately discovered Phantom in the center of the room, his trademark claw-handled cane softly thudding against the floor as he paced around. . .something.

The unfamiliar object seemed to be eight feet long and four feet wide. It was coated in a silver finish, shaped similarly to a snake’s egg. The top half of it hung in the air, supported by simple hinges on either side. It glowed from the inside with that same color-shifting light. It was the source of the music, too. Bones’ instincts told him that those gentle notes were being produced by whatever was in there. Like a monster’s voice echoing from the bottom of a well. 

“What the hell is that supposed to be?” Bones called, feeling his brow furrow as he loomed by the foot of the stairs. 

Phantom came to a halt on one side of the glowing object, turning his head to offer a cryptic smile. “I sent a message about having something in store for you earlier this week, didn’t I?”

“The novel-text you sent me was just rambling about how I needed to keep your clients in line because you’d be busy rearranging the reality in this part of the building,” Bones replied pointedly. 

Phantom clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “This is a sensory deprivation tank. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about them by now.”

“I have,” Bones argued, “but unless you’ve cooked up some weird plan to turn this place into a spa, I’m not sure why we suddenly need one.”

Phantom beckoned Bones to come closer. “I mean, what we calculated as your deathday is coming up.” His grin slightly widened to showcase how his teeth were slowly but surely becoming sharper. “And I’d be a real jackass if I didn’t get you a present, right?”

Bones scoffed as he wandered over, hoping his aggravation would mask his reluctance. He made sure to keep some distance from Phantom, standing by the opposite side of the tank. “Not like that would stop you from being a jackass every other day.”

“Meh, fair point,” Phantom confessed. “But don’t worry, I won’t say I told you so after you see how great this thing is.” He reached up to pat the tank’s lid as though it was the hood of some snazzy car. This helped Bones finally realize that the tank’s exterior wasn’t smooth. Rather, it was covered in symbols that looked like animalistic mouths and eyes. He couldn’t tell whether they’d been carved into or sculpted onto the original material.

Before he could stop himself, Bones peered at the tank’s interior.

His stomach immediately sank. 

The color wasn’t beaming from a light further inside. No, the tank’s liquid itself glimmered. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve assumed that a bunch of bathbombs had just dissolved in there (and that the combination of all their colors miraculously wasn’t reduced to some ugly shade of brown). 

The liquid also looked fresh,  clean. And while that wouldn’t be something to complain about. . .it meant that Bones could see the bottom of the tank. The longer he stared, the more the tank just seemed to keep going down, down, down into a gaping black pit. Even with how far away it appeared, it still looked so much larger than the tank itself. 

“Pretty sure these things are only supposed to hold ten inches of water,” he muttered, unable to take his eyes away from the hole. 

“First of all, the stuff in there isn’t water,” Phantom casually mentioned. “Second of all, that capacity is only the standard for the tanks that humans use.”

Bones’ neck gave a sickening cRiIiCk as he turned his head to stare at Phantom. “. . .If that stuff isn’t water, then what the fuck is it?”

Phantom shrugged. “Not important.”

“I’m inCLINED TO DISAGREE.” 

“There’s no hydrochloric acid in the elixir,” Phantom tried. At the way Bones snarled, he continued, “And even if there was, you know it wouldn’t kill you.” 

“That doesn’t mean it couldn’t hurt me in a way that might make my limbo even worse!”

“I never said anything about hurting.” Phantom sighed. “Look, as much as I’d love to infodump, I literally can’t tell you how I managed to whip it up. It’s just one of those types of knowledge that only certain species can process.”

“Oh, so you think calling me an idiot in a roundabout way is just gonna reassure me?!”

“Hey.” Phantom growled, a newly-forked tongue flicking out of his mouth. His voice seemed to grow, as the air now shook when he spoke. “It’s not my fault that so much shit doesn’t make sense. I didn’t write the rules for these kinds of things. I could’ve used the past few days and nights to get plenty of other shit done, but instead, I focused on building this because I wanted to try and help you out.” He took a single step forward, thin columns of smoke beginning to drift out of his eyes. “So don’t put any fucking words in my mouth, alright?”

Bones’ mouth opened and closed with nothing coming out. While the eye-vapor didn’t actually float near him, the smell still had quite a bite to it. Not to mention how it made his throat feel like sandpaper. He subconsciously straightened his back, though he was still stubborn enough to keep grimacing. He dipped his head for just a second or two to get the point across: Fine, I get it, you can stop emitting surreal dread now. 

Phantom responded with a short, low hum. The smoke stopped pouring as he blinked. “Anyway,” he pronounced. “There’s a reason sensory deprivation therapy is such a hot topic. Several reasons, in fact: at first, it was thought to just help with psychological problems. Now, it’s been proven to have plenty of physical benefits, too.” 

“Thanks for the reminder that I have a lot of problems in general,” Bones snorted. “But like you just said: that stuff applies to tanks made for humans. So what does that mean for this tank?”

“It means,” Phantom replied, exasperation seeping into his mischievous calm, “that this tank will work even better than the ones made for humans. Because I’ve designed it to give its user an experience that human bodies can’t handle.”

“It’s kinda impossible to list all the things humans can’t handle.” Bones glanced back down into the tank. The dark cavity at the bottom seemed to be stirring the liquid all around it. The odd, subtle movement almost resembled breathing. 

And yet. . .a voice in his rotten mind started begging him to touch the elixir, to dive into the tank headfirst. Another voice popped up, snidely quoting, This is my hole! It was made for me! (It made more sense than the vibes the tank was giving off, since manga was one of the few things that actually didn’t frustrate Bones these days.)

“What makes this experience so special?” Bones inquired before any vague euphemisms could barge their way into the strange compulsion.

“That’s something you’ll have to find out yourself,” Phantom answered. “I’ve already given it a test run, but I’m pretty sure it can’t have the exact same effect on whoever else uses it.” 

“Wow. That’s not concerning at all. This sounds so damn promising,” Bones deadpanned. 

“Oh, c’mon! It’s functioning safely!” Phantom contended, slightly throwing up his arms. “Think, Bones: you’re my right-hand. Why would I want to hurt one of the most capable people on my payroll?” 

“Why are you obsessed with harvesting the souls of your contractors?” Bones retorted. “You pretty much never have a reason to do something, but that doesn’t exactly stop you.” 

“You’re just complimenting my work ethic, y’know,” Phantom smirked. 

Bones huffed an agitated sigh, feeling the bags under his eyes actively grow wider and darker. A splintery sensation stabbed into his brain (a tiny part of his skull had probably tried to cave in).  

Phantom tilted his head, taking a few steps closer. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Don’t you remember the voodoo dolls we started selling last year?”

“How could I forget?” Bones murmured, holding back a shudder at the images of Phantom’s body contorting in time with that first test doll. 

“Well, those have proven to be pretty good painkillers for you, right?”

“. . .Right,” Bones relented. 

Phantom nodded. “That’s what this tank is meant to be. Another type of painkiller for you.” By now, his demeanor had returned to its usual levels of smug and shit-eating. But Bones was quick to spot something else in Phantom’s eyes. He didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t seem malevolent. “I’ve adjusted the tank’s settings; your session will only be fifteen minutes long. Plenty of time for you to see how you like it without feeling trapped. Just try it out, okay?”

Bones felt his lip start to bleed before he’d even began chewing it. He paced around the tank, inspecting every part of it that was in eyeshot. There was no lock on the top half, no hidden compartments anywhere. The only parts of it that didn’t look normal were its depth and that chasm. . .

Then again, Phantom was a chaos deity. Bones was the living dead. Normal wasn’t really an option for anything that involved either of them.

“Fine,” Bones eventually proclaimed. “But if this does end up doing something I don’t like—”

“There’s only so much you can do to me, and even that won’t stick,”  Phantom interjected, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

As he spun his cane in his hands, his skin started burning from the inside. . .Well, it quickly ended up burning on the outside, too, since flames erupted from his eyes and mouth. The fire enveloped Phantom, then spent the next few seconds coiling around in the air. At least twenty eyes stared at Bones. Bones stared right back, folding his arms across his chest. Leave it to Phantom to go apeshit with dramatic exits. 

The monstrous display surged up through the ceiling, leaving an assortment of blisters to spread along the paint. Even after it completely vanished, that still didn’t stop Phantom from calling, “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”  

And with that, Bones was suddenly alone in the club’s basement. His ears rang as he paced a few more laps around the tank, still searching for any threats. Or, his ears tried to ring, at least. That soft music crawled through the tank’s liquid and up into the air. He still had no idea what could be producing it, but he couldn’t deny how...grounding it felt. 

Having cameras down here would’ve just been a complete idiot-move on Phantom’s part. Still, Bones retreated to the darkest corner of the basement, dragging his duffel bag along. A couple minutes passed before he trudged back over, letting the tank’s glow stretch over him and the bleach-dye trunks he was now wearing. 

Bones stood before the tank, pursing his lips, giving it one more tense stare. When the tank failed to reveal itself to be a mimic or spontaneously combust, he carefully lowered himself to sit on the lower rim. He instinctively grit his teeth, bracing himself as his feet dropped into the elixir with a soft splash. 

He didn’t touch the bottom of the tank, obviously. The elixir seemed to softly churn around his legs. It felt. . .just like water. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t hot, either. Bones gave a few experimental kicks. Ripples were sent shivering throughout the tank, but that was pretty much it. It didn’t start boiling. No swarms of piranhas manifested. 

After a few more seconds, Bones finally barked a resounding, “Fuck it.” He reached up to grab hold of the tank’s top half, pulling it closed over him as he pushed himself off the rim. 

Due to no longer needing air in his lungs, Bones didn’t automatically float like a human would. Despite all the things he’d forgotten about his former life, the basic necessity of swimming clung to his mind like a stubborn leech. He stared down at the chasm so far beneath him. The chasm stared right back, not really contributing unless you counted whatever creature could potentially be lurking in its darkness.

The music got a bit louder, now that it was more contained, but it somehow didn’t bounce along the tank’s ceiling. 

Curiosity wormed its way into Bones’ paranoia. He swam a few laps around the tank’s perimeter, still testing, still waiting. The thought of circling like a shark made him feel a bit more secure, a bit more in control. 

Even so, he eventually got bored of it. 

If he wanted to see what this tank could actually do for him, then he’d have to stay relatively still.

So, Bones paddled into the center of the elixir. 

He maneuvered himself onto his back, letting his arms unfurl and reach toward nothing. 

He let his head roll back. And as he felt the elixir filter into his hair and creep around the corners of his face. . .he realized how the music felt solid. Tangible. 

As though it and the elixir’s ever-changing color were part of a living mass. 

Bones swallowed a lump in his throat. He’d sink if he stayed like this, but he wouldn’t drown. He could always just swim back up to the surface. 

His dry, sore eyes drifted shut as the elixir washed over his skin. He just barely felt the cool air disappear. 

But his vision didn’t turn black. He could still see the colors of the elixir.

As a matter of fact, he saw a blurry shape somewhere in the tank. 

Bones immediately wanted to panic, to start thrashing his way up to the surface. He wanted to, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. All he could do was listen to the music and watch the shape as it got closer and clearer. . .

Bones’ mind didn’t turn blank when he realized that the shape was himself, that he was somehow looking down on his own body as it kept capsizing. At first, his anger and fear threatened to make his head explode (mainly to spite Phantom, since having to clean bits of brain and skull out of the tank would not be very fun). It felt like at least an hour had passed before confusion finally attempted to take center-stage. Though he saw his eyes refuse to open, he also saw himself grind his jaw, saw himself carefully wave his arms. 

Bones was still in control. He was just. . .having to watch. 

He expected his spine to take the drifting as an excuse to contort. He expected his lungs to shake with a chorus of awful snaps and pops. He expected his abdomen to start bloating like that of an actual drowning victim. 

Nothing like that happened.

The music wasn’t letting any of those things happen. 

The music didn’t give him a chance to start questioning what this meant.

The 

Music 

Was

The

Only

Thing

He

Could

Feel 

There was no pain or panic as the music actively crept into Bones’ head. It was lapping at his skull, oozing down his spine, spreading along his ribcage. 

The numbness was, miraculously enough, a good kind of numbness. 

Bones wanted to swim, to move along in time with the music’s notes. But the music told him that he needed to stay still right now, that things would be easier if he did. So, he obeyed.

The elixir must have wanted to obey the music, too. Because, right as Bones’ body got within five feet of the chasm. . .he stopped sinking. 

The thought of opening his eyes barely even occurred to him. He could still see himself. And even if he couldn’t, he was still listening to the music. As long as the music kept playing, nothing bad would happen. He was sure of that. 

The elixir began to churn, but Bones remained perfectly still. 

Thin lacerations began opening up on his skin. They started at his fingers, then proceeded to grow longer and longer. They stretched over his hands, up his arms, around his neck, over his face and chest. (This wasn’t really anything new, but for the very first time, there was no stinging sensation for Bones to wince or hiss at.)

The spreading cuts grew deeper and deeper, prompting Bones’ blood to begin seeping out and leaving misty trails in the elixir. It almost looked black against all the colors. It didn’t drift up to the surface. Instead, the blood glided around Bones like a school of tiny fish. 

Once the gashes managed to carve themselves over every square-inch of his body, now resembling a network of tree roots, Bones’ skin began to twitch. Almost like a hangnail, a corner of skin lifted away from the tip of Bones’ index finger. That particular strand became longer and wider as it continued peeling itself off in a spiral. This set off a chain reaction: more and more sections of flesh shivered as they detached. Blood was now spilling out in clouds that nearly hid the entire scene. 

But Bones could still see everything. 

Threads of skin started slithering off of his face. Even as his eyes were forced open due to their lids peeling away, his perspective didn’t change. 

The music was still keeping him company, so he didn’t start thrashing or screaming.

It took a little over five minutes for his skeleton and organs to be rendered bare. His blood continued circling around him in a lazy whirlpool, but his skin apparently had other ideas. One by one, the fleshy strands moved downward, wavering like eels as they vanished into the darkness of the chasm. 

Bones almost felt like he was asleep. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually slept.

Had his heart just twitched? Were his intestines shuffling? 

He couldn’t be sure, because as he kept staring, the gore slowly grew blurrier, fading in and out of eyeshot. . .

Far too quickly, the music came to a halt. The new silence only lasted for a second or two. Then, a low, buzzing alarm droned into Bones’ ears.  

A loud gasp tore its way from Bones’ throat as he sat up, kicking his legs and thrashing his arms. He blinked, watching as the tank’s lid drifted open above him with a soft, electronic hummmm.

Air collided against his skin, feeling cool considering how he was soaked in the elixir. 

Bones froze, immediately reaching up to touch his face and neck, craning his neck to look at his torso. All of his skin had returned to its rightful place. One top of that. . .he couldn’t see any bruises or scabs or leaking cuts. 

The pleasant numbness was gone. He scowled; a headache was just starting to blossom beneath the bridge of his nose. 

But it wasn’t on-par with a migraine. 

In fact, it was nearly overshadowed by how. . .clean Bones was now realizing he felt. 

He didn’t feel healthy (he was dead, after all), but the feeling of a hot shower and a deep-tissue massage combined. . .it was enveloping him.

Inside and out. 

Bones’ expression shifted so quickly he almost got whiplash. 

He stayed floating for another moment.

Then, he clambered onto the tank’s rim, heading for the basement stairs, not caring one bit how he was dripping and leaving wet footprints everywhere. 

He needed Phantom to show him how to adjust the tank’s settings. 

He needed to spend some more time in there. He needed to have another session—he needed to have at least one hour-long session per day. . .

@that-bat @sammys-magical-au @ineedallofthehugs @th3w00ds @captainrose35 @nwtbobsessedemo

[chronicallyuniconic]

If I were dead, that would really show them

How much pain constantly runs through my body

How heavy the fatigue sits inside my bones

How often I'm silent about the above

How i physically might look fine, but inside I'm crying, screaming, trapped underwater

How frequent I'm at the mercy of medical professionals that couldnt care about pain or fatigue

How i cannot push through pain and fatigue, it is always there and it will not stop

How scrambled my brain is from dealing with this, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week

How pain free I would be, if I weren't here

How I'd never experience this weight of fatigue, if I weren't here

How happy id feel if I weren't here

How free I'd finally be, free from me

[skippingrocksoverblackholes]

Have to run to the bathroom and secretly cry because I feel like utter garbage/everything hurts/I’m tired/I don’t know if I’ll feel better/I don’t have medical insurance and can’t until February/I wanna call out but can’t afford my medical bills if I do/I don’t think I’m able to work at all rn but again…. Can’t afford to live if I don’t/im miserable all the time and people don’t like me because of it and honestly ending it all is sounding like a viable option.

And I don’t wanna tell anyone.

[lookatmenowx]

I don’t want to live like this for the rest of my life, please tell me I’ll get better PLEASE

Or I’ll simply won’t have a life to live, because crawling and leaning on the wall in pain while trying to walk is not living

Depending on having a “good day” to be able to clean the house without feeling to much pain is not living

Not being able to go out like a normal person because you’re scared you won’t be able to walk to much without feeling pain IS NOT LIVING

FEEL YOU DEPEND ON YOUR PARENTS BECAUSE OF IT AND THEY USING IT AGAINST YOU (cause they did “everything to you” and now you’re being ungrateful) WHEN YOU DON’T AGREE ON WHAT THEY WANT FROM YOU IS NOT LIVING

I’VE ALREADY LOST 6 YEARS OF MY LIFE LIKE THIS

6 YEARS IN PAIN AND FEAR

6 FUCKING YEARS WITHOUT BEING ABLE TO LIVE LIKE A NORMAL PERSON

6 years without a diagnosis, without a affective treatment

It’s been so long since i had hope for me to get better

And being told “I’ve done everything i could” because there’s no other doctor to go is even better, right?

I still have a neurological option but I’m poor, my mom, my parents, have already spent so much money on this, I can’t ask for more anymore

I don’t even want to go to the psychiatrist cause I’ll probably starting taking meds and that costs money

I left my old job because of this shit, I was physically and mentally horrible

I really should’ve just k1lled myself when i was 15, would have spared me all of this

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you baby, I’m sorry I couldn’t save myself

[refusetodisappear]

[yikesforever]

Currently I'd rather die then continue to be in this daily pain so pls I dare someone to tell me just suck it up one more time.

[agent-jaselin]

Disclaimer i haven’t really seen much/barely any of the other romances but, have some thoughts on if Calem romanced ither people besides Astarion/if he’d be willing to romance. Some of this based not on their romance routes, but just how i see them interacting.

Lae’zel: completely casual, a very “blood got pumping while fighting” situation, injuries happen and it’s a bit like fighting zenos but healthier and with sex.

Karlach: they think about it, there is some physical attraction, but ultimately just friends.

Shadowheart: never even considered it, laughed about the poison flower joke and told her about the pagan cabbages in ishgard in return.

Halsin: chasing each other before hand. Halsin having to catching Calem while he laughs and runs off, indulging in miqo’te’s catlike tendencies because Halsin gets being a bit wild.

Wyll: of course he finds the man attractive! But he has too much baggage over Haurcefant and generally thinks Wyll as being too good and moral for him. Thinks he’d ruin the blade and instead tries to push him toward Karlach or someone that would be a decent match for the guy.

Gale: he has chronic pain that means sex is usually painful, though if he’s mindful about it he can enjoy it. But Gale’s magic love scene means it’s the first time in his life that he’s had consensual sex without pain being a part of it. It definitely messes with him and if he doesn’t trust Gale enough to tell him anything he breaks the relationship off. If he does trust Gale, there are some long and serious discussions before they try sex again.

And extra bonus: astarion’s suggestion that sex be off the table for a while is good for both of them ultimately, cause it forces Calem to think about things too. Kind if realizing he bounced between self harm and manipulation and never really addressed the problems he escaped when he was 26. (Barring an almost with Haurcefant.) Likely won’t mention it until at least after cazador is dealt with, doesn’t want to burden Astarion or make things about himself. His problems are in the past after all.

[kuraikon]

I don't know what's going on inside me... Everything I ever wanted was to be seen, to be heard, to be understood and to get help...

Now I get help. I have therapy. I get stationary treatment. I have a better relationship to my mother then I've ever dreamed of. I not longer have to force myself to get to work.

And still, I feel empty. I feel sad, confused, self hatred, lonely... Not worthy to get help, not worthy of getting better... I'm not even sure if I want to or I'm scared, I don't fu**ing know... anything!

Sometimes I only want to disappear... I want to never have lived in this world with all this fu**ed up stuff... I just want to go. I just want to never think again, of what I could've done wrong or better or different... I just want to be free and to never worry again...

Will this next chapter help me? I'm so scared...

[justabaddreamm]

What the fucking fuck they told me I couldn’t have food stamps because I’m not working and I don’t have a doctors note that specifically says I can’t work due to my disability I’m dreaming of bashing my skull in and someone fucking gutting me WHAT THE FUCK IM FUCKING HUNGRY WHEN DO DISABLED PEOPLE HAVE TO SUFFER FOR THE WAY WERE BORN EVERY FUCKING THING IS GOING W R O N G NOTHING GOES RIGHT

[thedevilandhisbride]

(i am making this my own post! if you saw this before it was in a reply to another one, but the op asked i make my own post so! here!!) if you call yourself disabled due to a mental illness/neurodivergency, you CANNOT (capitalized) speak over physically disabled people. i do not care. you can speak with them, of course! but do not speak over them. speaking over them is like this (this is an actual example from someone i know): "some disabled people, if ever in a burning home, wouldnt at all have the option of getting up and escaping if they didnt have help" says the physically disabled person. "a person suffering from chronic pain can make the choice to push through the pain, but a suicidal person doesnt have the "will" to do so" says the bodily abled depressed person. in this argument, the bodily abled depressed person actively spoke over the physically disabled person by saying that, in the event of a house fire, a depressed suicidal person would be more likely to die and not be able to get out due to their condition. while this might be true, they are absolutely NOT more likely to die. the physically disabled person had said that, in the event of a house fire, a physically disabled person would not have the option of getting out and escaping if they didnt have someone else to help them. this means that, even if they wanted to with all their heart, they couldnt get out and would die instead. a depressed suicidal person choosing to not leave the house fire and a physically disabled person actively unable at all to escape is not at all the same thing. the bodily abled depressed person disregarded the struggles of physically disabled people in those situations. this is ableism. speaking with them is like this: "i cant get out of bed due to my fatigue" says the physically disabled person. "i hear you, and i understand somewhat due to executive dysfunction and other limiting things due to my mental illness. i may not know your exact feelings, but i do understand you. is there anything i can do to help?" says the bodily abled mentally ill person. while they are not the same thing, they both can understand each other and respect each other due to similar experiences. this also makes me mention this: do not use physically disabled terms if you are not physically disabled.

this includes: cripple, paralyzed, and stuff like that. if you are a physically abled mentally ill person, i do NOT (capitalized) want to see you saying something as stupid as "scrolling paralysis" or saying you are "paralyzed in bed" due to whatever disorder you have. i will literally take your ankles with my cane. if you are not paralyzed, either full paralysis, partial paralysis (like what i have), or anything else, dont FUCKING (capitalized) say you are "paralyzed" by your mental illness. because you arent. you have your own fucking term for that. its called executive dysfunction and its most commonly seen in ADHD and autism. i am not saying this as someone who isnt mentally ill. i have autism, c-ptsd, schizo-obsessive disorder, and a handful of other issues. i understand the struggle entirely. but i am also physically disabled. im wheelchair bound with partial paralysis and i have a bunch of doctors that dont know whats wrong with me. i have chronic pain, chronic fatigue, sight issues, hearing issues, and a lot more. i understand THAT (captialized) struggle entirely as well. from one physically disabled mentally ill person to the next physically abled mentally ill person who is adopting the label of disabled: you are welcome here, but you have to know who was here first, and you have to respect that. no one will chase you out or get mad at you for being here if you dont make a problem. and its easy to not make a problem by not derailing things that arent about you. you can relate and understand a post about physical disability, but you have to recognize that it is not for you. its hard to understand that, but you will get there. you are welcome here. you just have to respect those who were here first.

(do not start discourse on this response if you are physically abled.)

[dooblez]

i’m tired

[chronicallyuniconic]

I am not able to be myself anymore, masking aside, I mean just "being" is a problem.

Anything & everything is under scrutiny.

I'm called names & put down all the time, because of what I can't do, because I'm unwell.

Even when I do try more, it's not enough anyway and they forget that I'm unwell what seems like every other day.

I'm unable to express how I feel properly, even when I try to word it correctly, I'm still put down for feeling the way I do. As if my feelings are my fault somehow.

I feel worthless, small, nothing, a bit of lint you brush off your jacket, and the words they say reinforce that.

I just don't wanna be here. I didn't choose to be poorly 24/7. Who chooses that anyway?

Life is hard, regardless. Yet it all seems so pointless when I feel so punched down on.

I know people don't care about the chronically ill, but this hurts tenfold that it's coming from them, I thought they understood it/me, but they don't.

Somehow, the void gets it.

What does it say when comfort I get from online strangers, who share similar feelings and experiences, are the only form of "nice" I have in my life.

Because the ones around me could seem to give any care, only that I'm an inconvenience, I do it all wrong, I don't do enough of it wrong apparently.

I get snapped at for just existing. I don't want to be here. Anywhere.

Put my lint-like existence onto someone else's jacket.

[littledvmbass]

Things I Should Probably Tell My Therapist:

I’m so tired. I’m tired of swollen joints and being unable to walk without pain, of being slow to move because my body hurts. It’s my manager’s biggest complaint about me at work. I’m not fast like a good technician should be.

I’m tired of the stiffness in my fingers, of the aches in my shoulders, of the buckling of my knee. I’m tired of falling. I’m tired of needing help up and down stairs. I’m only 23. I was supposed to be having fun. 

I’m so tired of being in pain.

Before we were sure of what was going on with my body, I once told my husband that I hoped it was something that would kill me quickly so I could stop hurting.

Instead, I’m going to be in pain for the rest of my life. It can be managed to where it’s more of an annoyance than crippling, but there’s no cure-all.

I’m tired, and I know there’s nothing I can do to just, fix everything.

God, I wish I could fix it all.

[chaosdisorganized]

Omg my legs. They're killing me. I'm in so much pain and i still have 4.5 hours left of this shift.

I wish I could go to school and get an easier job that doesn't kill me like this. But I can't mange school rn I can hardly manage life as is. I feel like I should just be euthanized at this point.

[c0ntr0lledchaos]

Febuwhump day 8: "Why Won't it Stop?"

 The bed Vicer was laid in was rough and scratchy. The nurse that had placed her on the bed rolled her onto her stomach, ignoring her as she groaned in protest. Vicer tried to sit up to reposition herself but was only met with a stabbing pain in her shoulders and neck that kept her arms from moving. Her tail curled around her leg as she held back her whimper. From somewhere else in the room, her brother groaned in pain.

 “You two will be given a week of rest to recover from the surgery. Then we will begin training you two to use your new prosthetics. We’ll start off slow and work our way up to more complicated uses of them,” Dr. Somsny explained. He stood near the door, still in his scrubs from the surgery. He had removed his gloves already but the ends of his sleeves were stained with blood.

 “Yes… Sir…” The siblings muttered, not being able to muster the energy to talk much louder than that. Dr. Somsny excepted the answer and left the room, door shutting and locking behind him.

 Vicer took some deep breaths as she gathered the strength and courage to move so she could see her brother. After a moment, she lifted her head and managed to turn to were she could see the other side of the room, wincing as her stitches were pulled slightly. Her corns scrapped against the wall, having been laid to high up on the bed but she couldn’t move enough at the moment to do anything about it.

 On a similar bed across the room laid her twin brother, laying on his back in the same state as her. Ovric weakly lifted his arm and pressed the heel of his palm to his eye, face scrunched in pain. His hand was black, fading slowly as it creeped up his arm until it turned into a pale flesh color. His black hair was tied back still from the surgery, but was wet with sweat and matted now. They were both dressed in hospital gowns that were each sporting a couple patches of blood near where the surgeries were. For Vicer, they had done surgery on her arms, replacing them with robotic one that would be stronger than her arms ever would be. Ovric had a similar operation, but on his legs instead.

 She hadn’t been able to get a good look at her own prosthetics, and couldn’t move them right now to see, but she had a view of Ovric’s from where she was laying. His legs were made of a dark metal, looking sleek and new. The shape wasn’t like their own legs, looking more like the back leg of an animal instead. A pale blue glowed in between the gaps in the metal plates, pulsing slowly like the limbs had their own heartbeat. The prosthetics disappeared under the hem of the hospital gown, connecting close to his hips.

 Vicer wanted to talk to him, ask him how he was doing, but her voice didn’t want to cooperate. She had screamed so much during the operation that her vocal cords were shredded. She clicked her tongue, trying to get his attention that way. After the second try, Ovric opened his eyes and looked over.

 ’You ok?’ Vicer mouthed. Ovric hesitated, thinking about his answer before shrugging.

 ’Hurts,’ he mouthed back.

 It took a couple days for Vicer to feel good enough to sit up. She felt a little disappointed, having spent about half of their break laying immobile in bed. The pain from the surgery itself had gone down as their body healed and adjusted to the prosthetics, but there was still pain when Vicer tried to move her arms. She wasn’t even able to move them more than a couple inches at a time.

 Ovric been able to sit up, if with some difficulty, after the first day. With his arms free, he was able to do more on his own than Vicer was. She tried not to be jealous.

 A small whimper escaped Vicer’s lips as she tried to pick up a spoon. Vicer glared down at their hand, taking a breath before trying again. She was able to pick the spoon up this time, fighting through the pain to scoop her oatmeal. Bringing the spoon to her mouth was another issue. Slowly but surely, Vicer brought the spoon to her mouth, eyes watering as electricity stabbed at her shoulders and neck.

 She looked up at Ovric as she slowly chewed her food, seeing him sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at his legs. He flexed his knee on one leg and Vicer watched his brows furrow as he did. Vicer couldn’t help but glance at her own foot, resting against the cold tile floor. Like the skin on Ovric’s arms, her foot was black and slowly faded into the pale color that covered the rest of their bodies. Her claws clicked against the floor as she flexed her toes.

 Next, her eyes trailed to her hand, still holding the spoon. The fingers, her fingers, were thicker than her old ones were, stronger. The claws that used to be permanently at the tip of her fingers were now retractable, meant to make it easier to wield weapons. The muscles that she had been working so hard for, replaced with metal and wires and stronger than she could ever hope to be. Ovric ran a hand through his hair, claws scratching lightly around his horns as he did. They were twins. Near perfect mirrors of each other before. Now? Vicer barely recognized her own hands as her own.

 Training to use their prosthetics started before the incisions were fully healed. They started off simple, training Vicer and Ovric how to use their new limbs for normal activities like writing and kicking a ball. As their wounds healed they moved onto more intense activities like fighting and sprinting.

 Dr. Somsny stood in front of the siblings, instructing them to do different movements. The siblings were still teenagers but were nearly at their full height already, almost a foot over the doctor. This clearly irritated the man, his lips twitching into a frown every time he had to look up at either of them. He stood on a step as they moved through basic punches and kicks.

 These practices also were ways for Dr. Somsny to make sure the prosthetics were functioning properly. Vicer hoped he maybe would explain the consistent pain that had been there every time she moved her arms. If there is one thing that Vicer knew about Dr. Somsny, it was that he did not like being wrong. Questioning the prosthetics meant questioning if he had made a mistake while making them.

 “Ok, the prosthetics seem to be functioning fine, the real test will be once you two are fully healed and we can use them as intended. Do either of you have any questions about how to use your new limbs?” Dr. Somsny said, watching the two standing at attention.

 Vicer bit the inside of her cheek, wanting to ask but worrying that the question would upset him. She started to open her mouth when-

 “There is still some pain when we move the limbs. Is this expected sir?”

 “Yes, some pain in the adjustment period is expected. I would not worry about it to much,” Dr. Somsny explained calmly, although Vicer noticed a tenseness in his shoulders as he dismissed them.

 It had been weeks. Vicer and Ovric had complete control over their prosthetics now, but the pain continued. Vicer sat in her bed, knee bouncing as she tried to breath through the pain. Ovric sat across from her on his own bed, arms over his face as he did the same. Vicer held back a whimper as she looked down at her hands, barely twitching as lighting shot through her nerves.

 "Why won't it stop?" She whispered, voice braking as she did. Ovric looked up, surprise evident on his face as a few tears rolled down her cheeks. She hadn’t cried since they were little. She had done everything she had to, followed every instruction perfectly, trusted Dr. Somsny’s every word, she had never questioned him before, but this was pushing her to limits she didn’t know she had. “Th-This has to just be apart of the healing process, right?”

 Ovric stared at her, concern slowly morphing into anger as he sat up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, barely concealing a wince as he did. “This… This is him torturing us.”

 “Torture…?” Vicer said, sitting up straighter in surprise, “I… I don’t - What did we do to deserve this?”

 “We didn’t do anything to deserve this!” Ovric whisper yelled, attempting to keep his voice down, “He doesn’t care about how much pain we are in as long as he thinks he is right!”

 Vicer tried to shush him as his voice rose in volume but all that came out was a whimper. This only seemed to make Ovric more infuriated.

 “He would rather have us suffer than admit that something he worked on failed! As long as he gets his war machine, he doesn’t care what happens to anyone else! He has tortured us our entire lives-”

 “He raised us!”

 “To be child solders! Look what he’s done to us! That mother fucker doesn’t care about us, he doesn’t care about anyone but himself! He-”

 The door suddenly opened and Ovric’s mouth snapped shut. Vicer froze, cheeks still wet with tears as Dr. Somsny walked into the room, dress shoes clicking on the tile. Neither of them dared breathe as he came towards them.

 “Ovric,” Dr. Somsny started, voice dangerously calm as he spoke, “I hear you have some complaints about your prosthetics. Come with me and we’ll… talk about it.”

 Vicer sat, more tears starting to roll down her cheeks as she watched her brother hesitantly walk out of the room with the doctor.

Characters from my WIP: Dimension Traveling and Other Mistakes

[deadlossmews]

Mew Clone Attempt 979

We nearly lost #979 again. Its already slow heart rate and weak pulse seem like more trouble then it's worth.

It doesn't move often, occasionally it will begin convulsing, that's my only concern as that puts a strain on the machine.

Before we moved it back into the pod, it struggled with breathing and became lethargic.

We ran a few tests on it and learned it's exerting massive amounts of energy.

The smallest of movements tired it out until it went into a catatonic state.

It was put directly into my care until it got back on its feet but it remains weak even after everything we tried.

It would wince and cry out for no apparent reason or if it moved too much so we transferred it back to the pod.

...

We turned off it's support machines.

It opened its eyes for the first time in.. a long time.

I think it knows what we're planning. The look in its eyes is.. sorrowful.. Defeated.

Perhaps we should've cut it short years ago.