#tw: discussions of self-medicating with alcohol and self-harming by means of getting involved in a toxic relationship.

[mad-hunts]

20. what is something your muse wants to tell others, but is too afraid to? 

hey, @absensia! thank you very much for the ask (: it means a lot to me that you'd drop one in my inbox, if i'm being honest!! but of course... i'm incredibly grateful for everyone's submissions in regards to the prompts i posted for barton! alright, so my answer to this one is probably going to be long like the last, so please bear with me while i pour out all of my thoughts as to what i believe barton has wanted to tell people for years. and that is that he might need help — which, considering how much blood he has gotten on his hands + the very poor state of his mind, isn't that unreasonable at all. though barton doesn't want to bring this up to anyone for a multitude of reasons; one of which is because he fears he'll be seen as weak and because he's pretty much convinced himself internally that he doesn't deserve it. though i feel as if most of the time, barton not only feels this irrational as well as powerful hatred towards everyone else, but towards himself, too. which are both dangerous mindsets to be in within their own right.

when you feel like you are completely unlovable but are also so chronically lonely at the same time that you will quite literally seek people out who you know hate your guts, because in a way, seeing them almost validates what you feel about yourself + you also feel so lonely sometimes that you feel like you're going insane ( or more than he already was before anyhow ) ; in barton's opinion, that is probably one of the very definitions of ' something's wrong. ' especially since this has led him down some pretty dark paths before: both with things like self-medicating using alcohol and getting into this relationship with someone that he knows is bad news, but who he believes he belongs with on some degree. this is because they're both terrible, and they feed into each other's desire to receive their own extremely unhealthy idea's of what love is. an idea that love is inherently violent when that is anything but what love actually is.

and barton knows that it's wrong deep in the back of his mind because he is at his absolute worst when he's with this person, but like i mentioned previously, he doesn't believe he deserves any better than them so he hasn't told anyone about what he's been feeling. however, when you disassociate like barton does sometimes in which you genuinely do not remember what the hell happened for a certain amount of time, since your brain is struggling so hard to cope with all of these bad feelings you're feeling and terrible things you're exposing it to that it feels the need to tuck it away somewhere... you should absolutely seek help as he has subtly alluded to how he often feels a few times around his kids, and they were probably the most concerned about him that they've ever been.

but the problem remains that the action of actually reaching out to people feels impossible for barton. both in the way that he wouldn't even know where to begin explaining his feelings into words, on account of them feeling so complex that he feels like he can't even name them a majority of the time, as well as that he was taught that seeking help was something to look down upon by wesley. this is also attributable to the desire that barton feels to appear like he's perfect all the time, as i had highlighted in one of my previous posts on here. and acknowledging that you are actively struggling goes against that, along with the fact that talking to someone is a sign of confidence in yourself. which barton is actually lacking in despite appearances.

though anyhow, i know that this was probably an awfully heavy thing to have to read through, and i'm sorry for that in advance. but barton, kind of like real people, are not the sum of their parts — so i felt like it was important to explain how he feels wholly and without things being sugarcoated / left out. i hope you liked this answer anyhow, though, and are having a great day so far! thanks again for the ask.

[comfy-whumpee]

Whumping Safely 101

Many people in this community have mental health problems, face various types of discrimination, and have complicated relationships with some parts or types of whump. In particular, I aim this at people who care about the experience of survivors and others with triggers – partially because I am an abuse survivor who often flirts with triggering content as part of my love of whump.

Keeping your blog safe is difficult, takes effort, and is never a perfect process. But as the community grows and grows, it’s really important that we hold ourselves to a high standard. I would argue that this is a responsibility of all content creators, but especially those of us in the messy playground of whump.

I’ve got three sections in here: content warnings, writing with care, and community interaction. I’ve tried to make it navigable. It’s about 1.8k words. Shorter than a lot of drabbles! I welcome good-faith criticism on this topic and further questions on my own views.

Content Warnings

The biggest responsibility, in my opinion, is empowering your reader to make their own decision on whether they want to expose themselves to your writing. This also happens to be by far the easiest way to help people whump safely.

What to warn

This is a big and ever-changing topic. Some things you should warn for as a rule of thumb are anything NSFW, pet whump and box boy whump, drugs and alcohol, medical and hospital content, graphic gore, intimate partner violence, and animal harm. It can be tricky to draw the line of what counts – what needs a warning? If you’re in doubt, just warn it anyway. It doesn’t hurt.

If someone requests a trigger be warned for, even if it’s something that feels obscure or tame, show compassion and agree to the request. This is someone who cares enough about being able to read your writing that they wrote in! They want to be able to read it and enjoy it. You’re being complimented.

Otherwise, look at what other blogs tag for. You’ll see some variation in styles and levels of detail, but it’s a good way to gauge what people think is warn-worthy, when we’re often writing stuff that would already be R-rated in mainstream media.

Read Mores

The easiest way to make sure people don’t see your triggering content is to use a cut. Tumblr is not a very functional website and likes to delete cuts, but a cursory check of your posted content will usually tell you whether it’s worked. With asks, cuts are very spotty, so don’t be afraid to post an ask response separately with a screengrab of the original question. People often then respond to the ask itself with a link to the post, especially if it’s a whole drabble. Tumblr is weird and bad so just do your best.

Content notices

I.e., a quick summary before the drabble, usually in bold, to state what will be coming. I like to distinguish between using content notes (CN) and trigger warnings (TW) to indicate severity. Others might use the old phrase ‘dead dove do not eat’ to indicate this is a heavy piece, and often you will see qualifiers like ‘intense’, ‘mild’, ‘mention’, ‘referenced’ (i.e. it is discussed but not actively happening), and ‘implied’ (as the opposite of ‘explicit’). I’ve also seen a couple of people use ‘vibes’, which is a really nice way of demonstrating that it’s there, but not the focus. A quick paragraph like this, or just a line, lets people make a quick risk assessment on their reading.

This is also important if you’re sending in asks or requests to people. If you want to ask about something triggering, send an inquiry first about whether the blog is okay to hear it.

Tagging

Tagging is a chore, but it’s your primary way of warning people about your content. The main benefit of tagging is that you can be as detailed as you want, because can be tagging for content in general, not just triggers.

In a best case scenario, you’d tag the kind of whump you’re doing, tag triggers, tag characters, and even your ‘verses, because tagging is your index for your blog. If you tag reliably, you help your future self and your readers find stuff, and you also make your blog really dang safe. People who have unusual triggers can blacklist tags, and will pick up on your content tags to help them.

Don’t just tag your own writing. Tag your reblogs, tag your prompts, tag your asks. Yes, edit your asks to add the tags. Tag your images and gifs. Tag your images as images and your gifs as gifs.

If you aren’t up for detailed tagging for whatever reason, just tag for triggering content, and add stuff to that list if you’re asked to. My usual technique is to make a mental note of tags while I’m formatting and editing before posting.

Be aware that your first five tags will be used in search results. If you’re using tags that are associated with kink too, such as ‘shibari’, you might want to rethink your tag order if you don’t want interaction from those blogs. Also think about what tags might come up in non-whump contexts, such as ‘collar’ or ‘PTSD’. Some tactics for getting around this I’ve seen are adding ‘whump’ after the content or writing the tags in past tense (i.e., ‘collared’).

It is also a good idea to watch out for when you might be reblogging something whumpy that is intended as kink / porn / fetish, especially in images. Tagging these as spicy / nsfw / kink is a sensible move.

Writing with Care

Okay, now for the harder stuff.

I mean here to lay out some guidelines for how to write in a way that helps your reader build good faith. This is a much more nuanced topic, and it’s different for everyone. There will always be differing opinions on what should and shouldn’t be written about, what a good depiction of a sensitive topic is, and how to discuss that topic. I tried to strip this back into absolute basics that I hope we can all agree on.

Maybe your whump involves abuse. Maybe it’s gaslighting. Maybe it’s severe mental health problems, or addiction, or slavery, or you write about or analogise real-world issues. Whump deals with the dark stuff, and that’s a big part of its appeal. But don’t ever forget you’re writing the dark stuff.

(Try to) Know what you’re doing

Some of us play fast and loose with plots, medical accuracy, worldbuilding, and other things that get in the way of the pain we crave. This is all well and good, but when we start using whump that speaks true to people’s lived experiences, we shouldn’t be careless with it. I’m particularly talking about things that get represented poorly in mainstream media, such as abusive relationships, issues around marginalisation, mental illness and disability.

Be critical of media that you’ve consumed. Think about how its depicted things that you want to depict in turn. Look for opinions on fictional representations of those issues. Be aware that you might be more ignorant of things than you realise.

Look at how others are writing these issues, particularly if they’re writing from a perspective different to yours. If you haven’t personally experienced what you’re writing about, e.g., if you don’t have PTSD and you want to depict a character who does, seek out stuff written from or with experience. Listen to the experts.

If you’re looking for stuff about representation specifically, I recommend this collection of posts about ‘Braving Diversity’ cultivated by Writing With Colour, who are in themselves a fantastic resource for this topic, and have recommendations for other blogs that deal with intersecting issues.

Listen to others

Missteps are inevitable. Nobody is perfect. If constructive criticism is offered, that’s also a compliment to your writing. Someone read your work and thought about it, and thought you’d care about improving it. They’re offering themselves as a resource for helping you see your work in a new light.

Criticism is hard and sometimes hurtful, but even if we don’t think it’s accurate, there’s often a grain of truth in it. If someone tells you that your writing is harmful, think about why they’ve said that, not whether or not they’re correct. This is an opinion! Opinions are subjective! But what drove someone to send that in?

You don’t have to respond to all your criticism and definitely don’t respond straight away. Being respectful to those who are trying to help you means taking the time to consider it properly. Sometimes, they don’t need a response. Others, you might want to learn more about what they think before deciding. You might have already discussed the topic, in which case, you might just want to reblog your previous posts.

If it’s sent in bad faith or is outright hateful, you’re well within your rights to just delete it and move on. You might get the same criticism over and over again, and that’s exhausting, and you don’t have to retrace your steps for everyone.

But if it’s new, even if it puts your hackles up, you can always stop and wonder why someone felt that strongly about your work.

Take a step back

One of my better-known characters is a pet whumper who conditioned his victim to adore and depend on him. It’s not always easy to represent how deeply messed up that is within the text – though I think that’s part of the challenge – but in meta-commentary, I am always describing him as a creeptastic bastard lacking compassion and self-reflection. I hope to always give the reader the confidence that I know just how wrong it is.

This is a really simple thing you can do just to give readers good faith in you. Show that you know what you’re writing is dark and messed up. Show your understanding for the issues you’re handling and that they’re complicated. It might seem self-evident, but when you’re writing the really dark stuff, or unhealthy relationships, or institutionalised whump, you can inadvertently create the impression that you just think it’s fun. The fact that it’s fiction does not automatically absolve you. Show that you care about doing it right.

Community Interaction

I’m going to keep this one short and sweet because I will almost entirely be preaching to the choir here.

Be polite to others. Imagine saying what you’re saying to their face.

Don’t send anon hate. Just don’t. If you can send criticism off anon, do so.

Nobody is obligated to interact with you.

Nobody is obligated to monitor their own reader base.

If someone says do not interact, do not interact.

If someone says do not interact, why they’ve said that is none of your business.

You don’t need to spread the word about someone’s bad politics.

Ask yourself if your input is needed, or if what you’ve said has already been said.

You don’t have to take a side.

Take care of yourself. Take breaks. Remind yourself that whump is a small part of the world.

That’s all from me, folks. Stay safe.

[vrijschrijven]

I am reflecting on the past year but mostly on the past couple of months. I think it is important to realise that maybe about a month and a half ago I would have tremendous trouble seeing myself in this situation. You see, over the past couple of months I have lived in a haze, though the haze is getting slightly clearer, it has taken a lot of work for me to get to this point. But let’s start at the beginning. (tw for a lot of things beneath the cut including but not limited to; suicidal thoughts, self harm, negative thoughts, medication and therapy)

In hindsight, I think my downward spiral started somewhere around August. After an assault when going out I was reminded of a situation I had suppressed for quite a while. A situation in which someone I trusted took advantage and I was too scared to say or do anything about it. To this day, I have no idea if he knows what he did, if he remembers it, and I have concluded I do not care. The fact remains that he did what he did when he should not have. After the incident in August I was reminded of the feeling of helplessness and anger, both with myself and with the people involved. I felt, in both situations, that I should have done more than I did, though my therapist thinks I did the “safe” thing in both situations. I still wish I had kicked someone in the balls.

I hadn’t been my best, even before this happened. I couldn’t really remember the last time I cleaned my room thoroughly, my dishes were covered in various states of mould and I made sure people did not visit me. I was ashamed of what was happening but I was mostly angry with myself. I told myself I was lazy, a fuck-up, that any “normal” person would be able to do these things and that I was failing as an adult.

I went on vacation with one of my best friends and due to what had happened in town I felt uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed as him even though I trust him with my life. This made me feel terrible and on-edge. I did not want to think these things about my best friend but it did happen. I started to get into my own head, which is something that happens every once in a while, but this time it got worse and worse.

I wanted to run and hide but I had nowhere to go because I was still on holiday. I wanted to lock myself in the bathroom. Luckily Ted gave me space and I called my dad, crying and panicking, because everything felt so useless. I could not see a future in which I would be happy.

The end of August came and went, September was no better. My whole life was, quite literally, a mess. A mess which I did not want to share with the world so I pretended everything was okay. I went to work, I went to a pubquiz on Sundays, I hung out with people but made sure to do it at their place or in town. I was broken on the inside but showed no cracks. And then September 25thhappened.

I have kept a blog on and off throughout my life, and when I couldn’t sleep this night I started to write again. I felt myself back at a point where I had been for quite a while but was too scared to admit to. I was back at feeling like I did before I started taking antidepressants. I felt like I was back at the bottom of a cliff and everyone is above me shouting the climb is easy but all around me are rocks falling and I cannot for the life of me see a path to get up there to join everyone. It took everything in me not to step out from my place and let a rock crush me. I was scared, scared because I had started self harming again. Only minor things, like pushing my nails into my arm just so I could feel that pain instead of all the noise in my head. But I was scared I would become tired of evading the falling boulders and stop and just give up.

I went to work that morning, went about my day. But in the back of my mind there was still this voice that kept telling me that it would not matter if I was no longer here. That it would be easier for everyone because I was a burden anyway. And when I woke up the next day, after having suffered a panic attack at a concert I attended with a friend (the first one since starting medication) I came to the startling conclusion that maybe I was not just a lazy fuckup. I was passively suicidal.

You see, I did not care anymore. I could not envision a future. I had no goals, and if I had them I would be convinced I did not deserve them or would ever get to them. I could not see myself in the next three months, let alone three years. It felt as though everyone around me was going on with their lives and achieving things and here I was.

I did not want to clean, I did not want to do anything because I simply did not see the use of it. I went to work, because it was expected of me to do so and I was afraid of disappointing my colleagues and I did not want to burden anyone else with my problems.

On September 26th,I hit my breaking point. And a lot of people will tell you they’re glad I did. Glad I broke at this point because it could have been so much worse. I went to therapy, crying behind my sunglasses all the way in the bus. I was sobbing uncontrollably by the time I got into my psychologist’s office and with her help I called my parents. I was scared and ashamed. Because it meant that I had to show them, and the world, what was going on and the mess that my life had become.

My parents came over, we cried a lot, they helped me clean the shitheap that was my room and I went home with them. The following day my dad and I came back to clean some more. I was a crying mess, still so ashamed of what had happened, what I had let happen. That evening Lotte came from Utrecht to visit me in Hengelo with my parents and we cried around the kitchen table. Because I had given up on life. Because I had no idea what to do now. Because I was scared of the future. She cried because she loves me and hated to see me like this, wishing I could see myself the way she sees me.

I went to therapy three times the following week. My parents joined me for one session. It was easier to tell them why I try and solve everything myself with my therapist there. I don’t want to disappoint people. I constantly feel like I’m doing just that and talking to them about what is bothering me will only make that worse.

It went okay for about two weeks after that. I worked half days, slept through most of the rest of the day, did not feel the need to do anything. Even though the physical mess was gone from my room, the mess in my head continued.

I fell down the wormhole again halfway through October. I didn’t trust myself anymore, I was panicky and started hurting myself again. I couldn’t fall asleep and when I finally did I would wake up several times a night because of nightmares.      

I texted friends, not trusting myself enough to be alone. I am so blessed to have an insanely great support group around me. Within minutes on of them came over, another called that she would be there after an appointment she had and a third just came over later. I was panicking, I was not seeing the fucking use in living. I had no motivation. I just wanted to sleep and never wake up. You see, I still wasn’t activelysuicidal, but my reasons for not being that were suspicious at best. I would think about not waking up the following morning and how great that would be. Or maybe I could get hit by a car. I did not want to do anything ‘active’ because people would feel guilty about it, they would say they should have done more to prevent it from happening. I did not want that. So, if something were to happen, something that was out of my own hands, they would not have to think those things and I would still get what I wanted. I didn’t want to die, but I did not want to be here either. I just wanted to disappear.

I called my psychologist but she had the day off, so another psychologist talked to me and told me to call my parents to come and pick me up. I felt like a complete and utter failure again. I talked about getting institutionalised with him and when I told my friends later that I was seriously considering it, one of them cried. I was beyond this point. I was confused as to why she was crying, but I understand that her reason was much the same as Lotte’s was.

The following day I spoke to another psychologist twice and the day after I went to see my own psychologist and the psychiatrist. I was relieved but still dejected at the same time. The psychiatrist concluded that I should up my dosage of antidepressants and we could re-evaluate after two weeks if maybe antipsychotics would be a good idea too. As of right now, we’re still looking into it.

Taking more medication feels like failing. It’s not the first time I had to up my dosage, but it does feel like the most important time. I keep having the same discussion with both myself and the psychiatrist about why it is okay for a diabetic to take medication but not for me. And I cannot answer that question properly. There’s a feeling inside myself that keeps saying that other people can manage their lives without these pills and I can’t even do it withthem.

I am reminded of my first psychiatrist who told me he was surprised I wasn’t addicted to drugs or alcohol. At times like these I have to agree with him. It would seem the easiest way to shut everything up inside my head. Instead, I push my nails into my arm and hope I can refrain from slamming my head against the wall just to shut myself up. I am too scared to lose control to start doing drugs and using alcohol to keep myself from feeling things would mean I have to suffer the consequences the following day at work and make it other people’s problem. So I suffer through it and against all odds keep thinking maybe some time in the future I’ll feel better. I have my good days, my okay days, but they do seem to fade in comparison to the overall prevailing feeling of misery.

I feel like I am not allowed to feel this way. I feel like I have nothing to be sad about, to be upset about, to have that feeling in my stomach like I can start throwing up at any given moment. I yelled at my psychiatrist that I just think it is fucking unfair how there are so many people who go through life without feeling like I do for one single day. Whilst I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, I do feel like it is fucking unfair that I feel like this every single fucking day.

Having good days is a weird thing, because I immediately feel like I don’t deserve it. Like if I have a good day, it negates the fact that I feel so shit most of the time and people will think I’m overreacting (or worse, making it all up) when I have days I don’t want to get out of bed and just want to lay there crying. Maybe not even want, it is not that simple. I do not want to, but I have no grip on wishing it would go away. This is also because I have no actual clue how I’m supposed to feel.

And so here we are. Halfway through November. Three months on from slowly realising I was killing myself. Am I okay now? Definitely not. I am seeing my psychiatrist every two weeks, my psychologist basically every week. I go to group therapy every week. I am still unable to work full days, I am managing 6 hours and this frustrates me immensely because I want to be able to be a functioning adult.

I still want to run and hide. I want to get hit by a car and stay in a hospital for a couple of weeks, the car hitting part is mostly so I have an excuse because it feels like the way I am feeling is not good enough reason. My psychologist thought institutionalising me would not be a good idea, because it would not solve my problems and I would be confronted with a lot more things than I would be able to handle (I am, after all, a people pleaser and I always want to help people so the environment would not benefit me).

I panic when I think about the future because I am still having the most insane trouble seeing it. But I guess I am managing. I made it this far. I am tired of fighting, of struggling uphill, and if I believed in a God I would probably say that he is testing me. But alas, I do not, and as of yet it just feels like I somehow deserved this and maybe it would be easier to just give up and give in to this invisible draw of futility by not doing anything anymore.

I haven’t yet, I am moving millimetres away from it at the time.