#when I got on meds for ADHD one make me get a fever for like 13 hours and projectile vomit for the first time in my life. talk about fun

[ziracona]

So apparently some medications for mental disorders have the side effect of the patient putting on weight. I headcanon that in the epilogue of In Living Memory Laurie manages to convince Michael to see a doctor in spite of his Dr. Loomis trauma and get medication. But how would Michael feel about the side effects and how would the survivors react?

Yeah medication can have lots of side effects. Weight gain is a pretty common one, but not all of them cause it, and if you’ve got a decent doc, they work with you to find a medication that works for you and doesn’t cause you any symptoms that distress you.

In post-ILM canon Michael does very eventually try medication, although only like a decade later once Quentin is a doctor and can prescribe medication himself, because he’s literally the only doctor Michael will ever trust at all. It’s super hard for him, although more emotionally and traumatic memory triggers than physically, and it’s a lot of spiking aggression and old habits to deal with that takes a bunch of time, support, and patience. But he doesn’t have any especially upsetting to him side effects. I think that was a big thing. Like, taking meds was hard enough. If he took them and they made him feel in any way worse, he’d have gone ballistic. A little weight gain could happen idk I haven’t thought about it, but I doubt he’d even notice bulking up a little more, much less be distressed by it or something. Mostly for him it’s just the whole having to take medication at all that’s hard. Does help with the symptoms some though so god bless his support system getting him to do it.

[darlinguistics]

i went off my adhd meds (strattera) for a few weeks as a lil experiment cuz i havent gone off them since i started them really and its too high stakes to go off them during the school year so i did it now before summer ended. i just started taking them again yesterday because i decided i was done with the lil experiment, so here's the review:

Things I Remembered About Myself/My ADHD After Actually Experiencing Them In Full-Unmedicated-Swing Again After A While (A Few Years)

conversations were fever dreams. i noticed it especially with my sister who im so close with and rarely mask around, i think like at least 1 in 3 thoughts were never finished or were finished like 2 minutes later after i remembered i never finished them. i also would totally ignore parts of things people said because i got caught up on the first thing they said and then they had to repeat themselves. i so often walked away from conversations feeling like i genuinely had no control over what i chose to say. the worst by far though was how when i really Did want to say something, i suddenly felt so inarticulate and nothing i said was actually what i meant. it was so frustrating and i didnt stay off my meds long enough to get super anxious about it but it made me remember how anxious i used to be socially before i was medicated and that was why

i lose things like crazy wow. such a cliche adhd symptom that everyone who treats adhd as a personality quirk references as like silly and chaotic of them but when its a real thing dude, its genuinely such a burden. i would just have 0 recollection of where i put things as recent as like 2 seconds ago. i lost my water bottle at work, my phone for a second, i luckily didnt lose my wallet and keys but i misplaced them so often and had mini heart attacks every time. one time i was in the car with my sister and i was like 'ugh i forgot my phone!! grr adhd!!' and then we were parked and i was waiting for her to do something and i killed time ON MY PHONE and then she came back and i put it down and then just stared at it like... wait where tf did my phone come from

sounds became so much more painful. i always underestimate my own sensory issues and i forgot how much auditory things especially are hard for me. i worked at a summer camp during this too, so i genuinely could not avoid the constant noise for like at least 8 hours straight every single day. it was annoying before i went off the meds but once i was off them it was borderline unbearable

decision overload! another symptom thats so easy to treat as just quirky and silly but wow it is debilitating!! it took all of my effort to make myself actually eat dinner every night because i would think of what to have and even just having to choose between a few things was enough to make my brain just shut off and prefer to just not eat even though i was starving. i got so much worse at grocery shopping which i usually love to do because i couldnt keep straight what my plans for the week for food were anymore. so much food went rotten because i forgot i bought it. honestly i could make a whole separate post about the weird changes my appetite went through

i just got so much more annoyed by myself? ive worked pretty hard to build a better relationship with myself the last couple of years and i actually feel like ive come really far about being nice to myself, but all the little ways that adhd inconvenienced me or messed something up, even when they were all very minor things with no serious impact, still had me with so much less patience for myself and so much more critical. i was actually shocked at how drastically the change happened and every time i caught myself it made me so sad to realize i was so angry with myself, but i also didnt really know how to tone it down. its like my mind was an overworked caregiver or something, like i gave myself compassion burnout. i think this was the nail in the coffin that made me end the little experiment and go back on my meds, because there was just no way to really fix that and give my mind the break it needed to calm down without them and i didnt like how much lower my self esteem was from just a few weeks of it.

we all know overstimulation sucks but so did the understimulation. i like totally forgot how that felt honestly, but it was painful at times. i would finally get some free time during my really busy schedule but all i could really get myself to do was just kinda sit in a quiet room and do literally nothing, maybe play soft music but only if my ears let me after all the noise of the day. i called my family less because i didnt want to hear anyones voice or i knew id get bored and wanna hang up really quick and i knew that would be rude. it was this weird situation where i felt so overstimulated most days for so long that when i finally got a reprieve i was genuinely exhausted energetically and physically and i couldnt actually make myself do much during down time but then that just made me so so understimulated and bored and SAD! i felt so much duller, almost numb, isolated. it was depressing, and then shameful when people would ask me how i spent my time and i had to say i did nothing. it reminded me of coming home from school growing up and being such an anti-social empty husk with 0 energy, back then it was even more troubling because it also made me irritable around my family and made me fall behind on assignments which only stressed me more which only exhausted me more and it was an endless cycle

okay but any good things?? i mean why did i do this?

trust me im very well acquainted with the downfalls of hyperfixating but wow i forgot how good and fulfilling it could feel too!! i started reading?? chat when was the last time i read a book omg. im genuinely so happy about this development it was like i woke up one day and was like hm actually.. im a reader. i read now. im gonna read. i wouldve expected the opposite for going off my meds but i think the unfiltered excitement about the material gave me more motivation which made up for the lack of attention span

coffee mmmmmmm. i luckily avoided like a full addiction to it (again i am very familiar with the potential evils of coffee x adhd trust me) but idk man coffee just started to hit different. while medicated i mostly just drank coffee out of like the comfort and familiarity of it and the flavor, but didnt actually crave it as much for the caffeine aspect of it because it felt unneeded and at worst anxiety inducing, but while unmedicated it became like... exactly what i wanted it to be, idk i cant describe it well lol

okay that summer camp job i mentioned, i worked with some disabled kids there that was like my Job. and i was initially worried about not being 'normal' enough off my meds to help them anymore but im so glad i did it because it made me realize/remember that it actually helped! like of course it did idk why i was nervous about it! it obviously comes with its unique challenges but it was mostly a strength that i felt like i understood some of them more and i was able to be more of like an older role model leading by example of how to exist in this way instead of just an outsider telling them what to do and what not to do without actually trying to understand them. this summer really reignited a lot of my passions about working with disabled children especially neurodivergent children and being unmedicated for a portion of it only fueled that fire more and i just feel so much more connected to the community again and so excited about the career im trying to make for myself :)

i was so shitty at masking lol, even though i still mask when im medicated i felt out of practice when i was unmedicated. but this time around i was more sure in myself so while im not and never will be immune to the shame or insecurity of being perceived unmasked i was also able to appreciate it more than i ever have. i feel like i was better at standing up for myself. i had some challenging social situations and even though i had the brain-to-mouth communication difficulties i mentioned before, it at least felt a lot easier to identify what my wants and needs were and to give them a voice, even if my voice didnt always hit the mark it still felt good to try. i tend to be a bit of a mirror or a doormat sometimes (im also a gemini rising for the astrology ppl :3 lol) because trying to navigate my own mind to find what my opinions are and then decide which are appropriate to share is like too much work so i tend to just be agreeable and small-talk-y, but i think the unmedicated adhd made me care less about all that and just like, say what i felt (or try to at least) and then also stand by what i said too. it was a good reminder that confrontation isnt inherently evil, its good actually to take up space like that sometimes. it was nice, with how much being unmedicated made me lose trust in myself in a lot of ways, i feel like it built self-trust in this aspect.

tl;dr - am i glad i did it? yes. will i do it again soon? probably not, but eventually. do i recommend it? yes..? but only if you feel like it is something that will actually benefit you and if you feel supported enough to navigate whatever challenges come up during it. do i feel differently about my meds? it definitely made me remember what exactly they do for me, and going off them for a bit satisfied the spiteful little part of me that kinda always wants to go off them and just fuck around. i feel less of the weird guilt i sometimes have about medicating now that i remember how it helps and that my unmedicated self is still part of me and i havent like, killed it off lol. do i feel differently about my adhd? i feel a lot more aware of it again in both the parts i appreciate of it and the parts that i struggle with and that was probably the most valuable takeaway from all of this.

[yourwakingnightmares]

So funny, story, finally caved, and on the recommendation of my doctor and psychiatrist, started taking ADHD meds.

Boys and girls, lemme tell you... I sat there going, well, worst case, it makes it so I don't get so distracted. Like, I'm aware that I'm spazzy, and that my mind runs a mile a minute with ideas, so maybe it'll just calm me down a little bit, right?

Uh... No. So many 'symptoms' that I didn't even realize were symptoms. I haven't decided if I'm going to keep taking them or not, but...

My body actually physically feels slower. Not like, oh I can't run, but like, I'm more aware of my body just... not feeling the need to get up and do.

I sleep better. No more laying in bed for an hour and a half reading my phone while my tablet plays YouTube until I can settle enough to actually sleep. Just like... I lay down for fifteen minutes, and then sleep.

I can't sit and play mindless farming/relaxing games for three or four hours. Which I wasn't even aware was a symptom, because I argued against having ADHD, because well, I could focus long enough to do this for hours, right?

My brain feels slower. I've always been a huge history nerd, and I've got one beautiful friend who lets me rant about history things, and I'd go off on side tangents because yes, I'm currently thinking about Caligula and his fever, but that reminds me of Julius Caesar losing his daughter to childbirth and the ensuing infection, and that reminds me of Cicero, and how he absolutely fell apart when his daughter died, and that reminds me of how Cicero was considered a 'New Man' and never was quite accepted among the Roman elite, and.... You get the general idea. Now? There are no real side tangents. I'm still aware of all those other things, but they're not longer... maybe intrusive is the right word?

I can't work on three or four different fics in one night, like I actually mentally can't. It's not just pulling away from one to work on another one, I just can't find words to write for different thing.

I no longer get those 'bolt of inspirations' or 'flying buns' as my friend and I call them, where I'm struck by an idea, and have to write the thing write this now immediately.

I no longer feel the pressing need to continue to interact, to keep pushing my point, just to make sure they actually understand what I'm trying to say.

And again, I'm not sure if I'm going to keep with it or not; I promised my boyfriend I'd try for at least a month to see how I feel, to have that 'adjustment period' or whatever, but I just figured I'd share, because so many of these things were things I didn't even associate with having ADHD.

[hussyknee]

Really struggling with self-hate. Intellectually I know this is due to anxiety and stress, and the past month has been pure chaos trying to look after Garfield.

Garfield is my neighbor's cat. Well, not anymore. He's mine now. He was sick as shit and they still weren't looking after him properly, hand-wringing over everything from lack of experience with cats to the fuel crisis. Certainly were quite happy to palm him off on me, because "he's not really ours, you know, he's a stray that found us a few years ago and the kid got fond of him". By the time I got him to the vet he was half-dead from...well, everything. He had cat flu, filaria, a tick fever that had burned through so many red blood cells it couldn't raise a temperature anymore, kidney damage and so dehydrated the needle could barely pierce his skin. I have no idea how he's alive. Well, I do, it's because he's a very tenacious little kitty and I took him to the clinic every day for a week for IVs, and kept him in my room and nursed him till I exhausted myself into an IBD flare. He relapsed twice. Then last week he seemed to have recovered enough that I was the sicker one, but then this week he started getting acute kidney failure, so we're back at the daily vet treatments.

I raised money for him on Twitter and some wonderful people sent enough to cover his medical bills, but the transport and food costs alone burned through all my money. I've been too exhausted and stressed to track my expenses or do my accounts, I flat broke by the beginning of the week and have had to ask my therapist for pro bono sessions from her clinic.

She's been a godsend, being a cat-lover herself, but also I might have alarmed her somewhat. Like, the whole reason I sought her out was because. Well, it was a last ditch effort really. The country situation and me going off my ADHD meds last month because I couldn't afford them didn't help (uh, protip: do not do that. Even if they're non-stimulants, like mine), but at one point I had made up my mind that if Garfield died it would be A Sign from the universe. Also when she asked me to check myself into a hospital if I felt like I couldn't trust myself, I was puzzled and said "why would I kill myself on impulse, it'll take weeks to get everything together if I was going to, I don't want to end up a vegetable". Which wasn't reassuring apparently? Neither was "Anyway, I can't top myself, Garfield is still sick." 😬

I'm still not sure what was so off about those responses, they still make sense to me. But my therapist wanted to set up a protocol and figure out avenues of physical support. Unfortunately, my family is estranged, only 3 of my closest friends live anywhere near me, and they're all also up shit creek. One of their mothers died a few days ago and I still haven't been able to visit. She's been so understanding and sweet about it, but when I tell you I feel like a shitheel.

I just. I don't know anymore. Gar's eating and drinking and the only outward sign that he's sick is the increased lethargy and sneezing. But his respiratory infection just isn't going away. As long as that persists, his kidneys can't get better, but giving him antibiotics for so long isn't doing them any favours either.

I'm using up all my energy caring for him but I don't see an end to it. My neighbors haven't been answering my messages, and anyway I'm damned if I trust them to look after him again. I tried so hard to find a caregiver for him while I was sick earlier this month, the tweeps sent even more money to offer one, but I couldn't.

In many wayos, caring for Garfield saved me from the black pit of despair I fell into after the protests unravelled. But now I feel so trapped. I haven't seen my doggos (they're with my ex) since June. I miss my other kitty cat (he's Mum's, but again I'm the only one who does more than coo at him). I miss having a life. My room and bathroom stink, and everything is chaos. I haven't sat down at my own desk in a month. And I'm still so scared this will all be for nothing and he'll die. I'm scared I'll have to make the choice to let him go. I refused to give up on my baby doggo boy two years ago, and as a result, instead of going peacefully in his sleep, I had to watch him go into acidosis and listen to his death rattle for an hour before the vet could get to us and sedate him through the final stretch. I will never let my selfishness do that to another animal. But I don't know if I'll survive having to let Gar slip away in my arms, after all these weeks of listening to his every breath. That still feels like it would be the tipping point.

I can't shake the idea that he would have recovered so much better and faster in someone else's hands. Someone healthy and abled and competent. Someone whose best efforts aren't so poor, pitiful and inadequate as mine. Everyone in my life deserves so much better than me.

[antaradimensi]

REACTIVE!

WELL, this is my "second time" with Covid. The first time was November 2020 (without any symptoms) I.M.O this variant spread faster and easier to others if we were once infected. It is still a deadly virus however people already had their second dose of vaccine so the impact on their health isn't that so damaging (still for some people isn't so take care of yourself well!)

My antigen test result is reactive on Wednesday meanwhile I still not doing the PCR test because today is day five since my reactive antigen test (plan to do it next Tuesday) the symptoms is still bad tho and I only have one chance to get free PCR test from the government (yea my office will not pay for it like in 2020, now they provide antigen only)

I got my second dose in September last year, Astra Zeneca, and looking forward to getting a booster vaccine. Please be vaccinated y'all, this is so important not only for yourself but your loved ones around. IT WORKS.

Transportation industry which I'm working at I admit it just hard to do work from home because sometimes we need to have direct contact with customers however it doesn't mean it is not possible (with if) somehow I really disappointed with the management about this spread prevention. The employee already asked to work from home 50% since last week but the management said the Omicron symptoms aren't deadly since we all got vaccinated (proved that last year 5 employees died with Delta variant and since it happened work from home 50% begin for 2 months) now since half of the employees already infected with Omicron, the management will do Work From Home 50% for the rest of employees (that still healthy). I mean, this is stupid why do they just do it now??? 3 out of 4 people in my team including me are infected and due to this 50% three days a week starting from next Monday no one will work from the office because only one person stay healthy. Isn't it better if this company did WFO since the first case so at least 2 employees will attend daily? LOL

Well, enough for the rant.

When I said this virus is worse (IMO) is because no matter how well I protected myself and my family to not getting infected now they are in less than 5 days people in this house infected even they all got the second dose.

Here are my 5 days RECAP:

I coughing since the second week of December, I thought it was because I was stressed with my workload at the office, the cough get better and worse but never over. The antigen test still shows negative results until February 3rd so I'm not panicking. On February 9th my senior back from 2 days' leave because she was feeling unwell and did an antigen test on Wed. The result is reactive and since I sit next to her I took the test too and it shows one line after 15 minutes (negative) but 2 lines after 35 minutes (reactive) I immediately leave the office. I'm not feeling anything that day besides cough and tired because need to back up her tasks when she left.

February 10th: FEVER at night, coughing (worse) still need to work, not taking nap, but it is okay because it kinda "refreshed" myself to work at home after months isn't. The "euphoria" IDK if this dedication, I love this job, or combination of ADHD and my manic phase so I forgot to took any meds and I was supposed to rest (my boss only said I have to bring my computer from the office to keep working, LOL like I don't spend my money to make my job easier since *buy a laptop 2 years ago, buy a new phone* no get well soon stuff just keep working she said. I will not die because of this virus and keep working *maybe in her opinion*) I have a cold at the end of the day.

February 11th: Still need to WORK! MAN, it's just hard! working fully at home, the internet speed at my office is sucks when I remoted it from here. I finished working at 11PM; feeling dizzy all day, heavy coughing, overwhelmed, hard to sit for hours, and still don't have time to have a nap even the meds cause drowsiness.

February 12th: Woke up in the morning at 6AM in hurry to open my laptop and start to WORK AGAIN because of calls from the operational team. Finished working at 9PM still not taking a nap and yet still begin to sleep at 11PM because I need to cheer myself with journaling stuff. Coughing, still feeling dizzy (but better now I can sit straight for hours) mood on this day mostly angry, back pain, have a cold.

TODAY! February 13th: Feeling better, maybe it is because today is Sunday and no one contact me since no working hours. I can rest write to cheer up myself, wake up earlier before my morning alarm, feed my cats, play with them, they said being happy is important for good immune. Yet I finally have time for taking care of myself.

Conclusion: This virus shares similar symptoms with common "feeling unwell" (I guess it is because the vaccine works) but it takes more time than usual (when we get sick) for us to recover.

I plan to take an antigen test tomorrow if the result is negative I'll continue to the PCR test a day after. Once the result is out, I'll give it to HRD and get back to work normally.

TAKE A REST! Stay safe❤️

[mmazzeroo]

Public Service Announcement

This is to say I’m sorry for being absent the past couple of months. I apologise to my friends, mutuals, followers (not the pornbots!) and especially to the readers of my fics for my ‘disappearing’.

No idea if this’ll be read by one person or a hundred, but here goes:

My summer turned out to be a bit more difficult than expected. I started on new medication; both a new one for my adhd and an anti-depressant because I had dug myself into a hole. In short, I got double up on side-effects which meant severe nausea, dizziness and headache. Fun! For about a week I barely made it out of bed, and the nausea meant I couldn’t stand the smell, sight or even thought of food. For about two weeks I lived on bananas, crackers, yoghurt and water, and the odd bit of soda. Not healthy, not sustainable. At the end of the third week I was beginning to eat actual proper food again. Yay! However, now a more permanent side-effect started to kick in; my adhd meds suppresses my appetite. Meaning after the first month on these new meds I had lost more weight than is deemed healthy.

Side note: I am the type of person who can easily lose a few kilos from 2-3 days of fever. I was born underweight and I’ve stayed underweight most of my life. For reference here’s a few numbers for you: After this first month my weight was a mere 45kg = approx. 100 lbs. My minimum weight should be 55 kg = approx. 120 lbs, and my ideal weight would be 60-65kg = approx. 132-143 lbs.

My current weight is 50kg = approx. 110 lbs, so as you can tell I have a lot of catching up to do. Having lost the weight I did obviously affected my energy level. Despite having gained some of it I still get easily tired, and because my meds suppresses my appetite it means meals, particularly lunch and afternoon snacks, feels more like a chore than enjoyment.

This being said, it’s important to stress that my doctors are keeping a close eye on me. They monitor my weight,  heart rate, blood pressure and overall health (levels of vitamins and minerals in my blood) very closely. We’re working on finding foods, proper healthy nutritious food - not junk food and cake - that I’ll ‘bother’ to eat even when I don’t feel hungry.

All of this is me trying to say, that I’ve not been able to participate in anything social - online or not - for a few months. Now that my body’s adjust to the meds and I’m finally beginning to venture out of my shell, I need to readjust gradually. On top of that there are the permanent side-effects that come with it, though I admit I’ve got some pretty odd ones:

Occasional blurry vision = it can make it difficult for me to read for short or longer periods of time. Great for students, I tell ya ;)

Spontaneous nosebleed = not much but enough to make people nervous when they see blood dripping down.

My food tastes extra salty and spicy = don’t ask me if your food is alright, at the moment my tastebuds will tell me it isn’t even when everyone else will tell you it’s bland.

This post quickly became longer than I’d imagined. If you’ve made it all this way I thank you. If you happen to be a reader of my AO3 fics then I promise I’ll continue writing, but please don’t expect any new updates to drop within the next few weeks.

I’d also like to give a shoutout to a few special people:

@helloimnotawesome , @callmedewitt , @rone-of-house-targaryen - You are my rocks and my best friends. I realise there is new information in this post for all of you, but I trust you know I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I love you and how you have my back! Hope you know I have yours as well. Anytime. @thebeautyofjoneryzz - Sorry for abandoning you and your wonderfully angsty and smutty fic. That wasn’t ok; but I’ve seen you updated it and I’m so happy you’re still writing, (fuck d&d). Keep doing what you do. @tomakeitbeautifultolive - Re-reading birthday smut when the world feels like complete and utter shit, is (not) surprisingly therapeutic. Did anyone say ‘Sexual Healing’ by Marvin Gaye? Thank you again, Sharon ;) @ktwrites - When I couldn’t get out of bed because my world was spinning, my headache was so bad it felt like my eyes were popping out of my head, your tweets - being tweets they’re the perfect length in such a situation - put a smile on my face.  Thank you. @ashleyfanfic and @justwandering-neverlost - Thank you for continually blessing us with your fics despite both of you having a crappy summer. I’ve stumbled my way through The Dragons Dark and Deep, not yet completely up-to-date on it, but it’s a beautiful, amazing story. Thank you for writing, thank you for being you, and thank you for fighting your way through your own battles. I admire your strength, courage and creativity! Sending much love to you and your families <3

[craniuum]

family medicine, AKA a lesson in understanding that patients care more about a doctor who actually listens and empathizes rather than someone who’s only concerned about being correct all the time (8/12/19 - 9/20/19)

i finished up my six week rotation in family med on friday - for context, i was at a small private practice clinic in rural southeast georgia, where i’d maybe only seen just one other indian person in all my time there. the patients we saw had thick deep south accents, so much to the point that i’d catch myself saying things in a southern drawl just so they didn’t look at me with a bewildered expression on their face. at first, everyone seemed to have some permutation of diabetes, hypertension, and high cholesterol. and no matter what their illnesses would be, the will of god would always make its way into the conversation - a source of comfort for those who were on their way to healing, a source of bitterness to those who were just beginning their journey. 

my second week of the rotation, we had a man in his early 70s come in with a chief complaint of abdominal pain. we asked the right questions - nausea? vomiting? diarrhea? fever? - and we palpated and percussed. we got nothing. my attending gave the patient an order for an abdominal CT scan to be done at the hospital down the street, and fast forward a few hours - they found stage four pancreatic cancer. and it was up to us (meaning my attending) to break the news to the patient and his wife when they returned to our clinic later that afternoon.

they took the news as well as they possibly could, which was to say: the patient walked out of the room with a resigned expression, muttering something about how he was going to have a smoke now that it didn’t matter anymore, and i was left behind with his wife, whose only concern was whether or not it was going to be okay. 

“it’s not going to be easy,” i told her, pressing a tissue into her hands and not knowing what else to say, “but i know you have the strength to get through this. i know you’ll be okay.” they applied for home hospice care the next day.

four weeks later - my last week - i saw the wife again, here for her own three month wellness check. she told me her husband passed away two days ago, and it took everything in her to come to this checkup for herself. 

she’d known her husband for over fifty years, through the highs and lows of his life - and i’d known him - and barely at that - for his last few weeks, only through the context of his illness. and that’s how we in the medical profession initially get to know our patients - as their illnesses - but this rotation showed me that that’s not enough.

my very last patient this week was a 12 year old girl. the only thing that was on her chart was that her mom wanted her on birth control, she’d had sexual activity within the past month, and that she’d been having nausea and vomiting for the past two days. we were fearing the worst. 

and that’s all she would have been - a 12 year old girl who had made a huge mistake. she was refusing to talk to my attending, her responses to his questions just simple head shakes and nods. he then decided to send me into the room by myself to see what i could get out of her and her mother. what i’d found out left my heart aching.

she’d been coerced into having sex with the older brother of one of her middle school friends. he’d been texting her for months, grooming her, and one day he found himself alone in his house and lured her in with the false premise of his sister throwing a sleepover. he told her he was 14 - at this point, my patient’s mom cut in and said he’d probably been lying, that he was more likely to be 16 or 17. he’d been doing this with all of the girls in my patient’s friend group, and she was just another name on his list of targets. all the while, my patient had been acting up at school; her grades were dropping, her focus was waning, her spot on the school softball team was hanging by a thread.

and again, i found that i had no idea what to tell her. “next time a boy tries talking to you again like this,” i ended up saying, “you can be as mean as you want with him. you don’t have to listen to him, and you don’t have to be nice. it’s okay. i know you’ll be okay.”

she wasn’t pregnant, thankfully, and we put her in touch with a child psychiatrist as well as a prescription for adhd medication. we said our goodbyes, and just like that, my last day was over.

“i know you’ll be okay.” 

it’s a phrase i found myself saying a lot during this rotation, because although i can study what’s written in my textbooks and pay attention to lectures, there really isn’t a way of knowing for sure if that knowledge will always apply to a real life patient. what i do know is that at the end of it all, after the diagnostic tests and the lab work and the medications, the patient will always be what’s left. the people i’ve met over the past six weeks weren’t there to hear me spout facts about their condition. they just wanted a listening ear - someone to hear that they’re trying to exercise and cut back on carbs for their diabetes, that they’re trying to ration out their pain medications for their back, that they’re doing their best to keep calm as they’re waiting around for their biopsy results -  and through it all, i know they’ll be okay.  

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

i don’t think i’ve ever Talked About This except in the briefest of passing, but i didn’t Record It anywhere else, and you don’t have to read this if you don’t want to. (Update: It got Really Fucking Long. Three screens so far!) 

But I think I need to write about it, before I start forgetting it’s A Thing again.

I struggle with something called Secondary Anorexia.

I phrased it as such very intentionally-- “I struggle with”, not “struggled”, not “healed from”, not “I had”. Because, as far as I can tell, from my own experience, my own perspective with having both, it’s a lot like my experience with depression, or the phobia, or ptsd, or adhd. The scars from it are always there. It’s a sort of addiction, to a sort of thought habit, that your subconscious thinks, for whatever maladaptive reason, will help you.

You can learn to recover your bearings after a breakdown. You can learn to return to normal more quickly. You can learn to cope with it. You can learn to be brave and fight with it when it starts acting up. You can even learn to defeat it! But the memories, scars, and habits remain with you, pitting your present condition against your past experiences, even when you’ve done everything in your power to train your brain.

Every single thought you have has the power to change your brain on a physical level. Did you know that? (This isn’t modern optimism; a real neurological fact based on science and studies.) Your Thoughts Change Your Brain.

But the thing is, sometimes your thoughts aren’t as Empowered to make as BIG of a change as that traumatic moment when your amygdala, and whatever other parts of your brain that process Thoughts and Emotions and Long-Term Memory got involved. 

You still have depression, or a phobia, or ptsd, or adhd. You’ve just learned to live with it.

And this anorexia? I’m still learning how to fight it. And I’m going to be honest, a lot of my motivation isn’t some abstract, long-term health goal, like “it’s not healthy to skip meals”. But I fight because, almost, almost as traumatic as the times when My Phobia was Triggered, were the times I passed out. Hit my face on furniture on the way down. Felt absolutely dreadfully ill even if I’d eaten that day, even hours after coming to, because my body was just so absolutely exhausted and hypoglycemic that I could barely lift my hand. The sociophobic guilt and embarassment when you pass out right in front of someone. Especially with your brain so fogged it would put San Francisco to shame, and you can’t explain it, or tell them how to help, or assure them you’ll be okay?

But even the thought of passing out, going through that again, isn’t enough to force myself to eat sometimes. (Because of how strong the fear is, I often decide, on a very conscious and willing level, that I’d rather pass out and go to the hospital than wind up being sick.)

The thing about e/metophobia is that, it’s a phobia. It’s an Irrational Terrifying Thing. (although, if you knew the way my body reacted before, during, and after it happens? You wouldn’t call it very “irrational”, my mother even said it might be a form of ptsd rather than specific phobia disorder. But I had the phobia long before I learned how Truly Miserable it would make me.)

And even with, gods at this point FOURTEEN YEARS of meditation experience, 18 years of practice with Disciplining My Thoughts, and lifetime of teaching myself to Be Rational in the face of Emotion? ESPECIALLY fear???

Even with my literal lifetime’s accomplishments in these fields, I can’t turn off the fear. I can’t work myself through it until the Stimuli (re: Stomach Feeling Bad) actually goes away. All the mindfulness exercises and self-talk experience and energy work and redirection and distraction and rest in the world can’t bring me back to a Stable, Calm Center when the phobia is even REMOTELY triggered!

I’m not in the mood to delve into everything the phobia does to me; there’s a reason that, even as transparent and convenient it is to have it on my blog here, records of the Actual Events get relegated to an entirely different blog. I can’t even stand THINKING about it. But I have e/metophobia because, in short, my body can’t handle it. My mind can’t handle my body going utterly insane with it. I have never, ever, EVER experienced that “relief” you’re supposed to feel when it’s done; that’s a big fat fucking myth to me. If hell is real, and my pagan ass is relegated there for eternity? It would be exactly That Phobia Trigger happening perpetually; there is literally no suffering in this world that affects me as deeply, completely, makes me unravel the way that having my phobia triggered does.

So, when I feel like It Might Happen? The only thing I can do to prevent it is Not Eat. (Sometimes it’ll happen even then. But statistically, when I feel that bad, if I don’t eat, it won’t. 99.9% of the time, it won’t Actually Do That if I don’t eat.)

So when I’m not eating? That’s what I’m doing. Not just feeding an Avoidant Behavior, but preventing dehydration; preventing hypokalemia and hypotension; I’m preventing trauma; I’m legitimately preventing my body’s condition from deteriorating any further. A little light-headedness is absolutely a small price to pay for knowing I can still stand. Still talk. Still go to work. Still do what I need to do. Still SLEEP.

It’s an absolutely essential defense mechanism for getting through any number of nausea sessions without utterly breaking down.

And yes, “Secondary Anorexia” is, in fact, the term my psychologist gave me by way of diagnosis.

I’m not sure what the criteria is, exactly, but my weight fluctuates wildly-- we’re talking up and down twenty pounds every month. In the past couple years, I only got as close to the “underweight” category as I was when I was a kid ONCE, when I was very ill. But for the most part, I can keep myself at a decent weight. With the help of medications at this point, of course... but days when even those don’t help? I’m still really prone to just, not eating. (With the meds, it’s not for a whole day. But I’ll skip a meal, sometimes two. I have to.)

And the sad/scary part of it is, it actually DOES help me. If I don’t listen, and try to make myself eat? I’m going to be traumatized. That’s just a statistical, empirical-data-supported fact of my life. The phobia is going to Be Triggered, and I’m going to Suffer Disastrously.

I wish I could pinpoint when that became the Standard, though...

I always figured there had to be Something Wrong with Being Afraid to Eat. Especially when I turned 18 and realized, that’s what I was feeling.

The way anorexia was taught in my middle-school class, as a Body Image Issue Exclusively, I didn’t think that was my problem. In fact, I didn’t even come to think that, hey maybe, being n@us0us all the time was, in fact, abnormal? (Part of that is probably because every time I told an adult I wasn’t feeling well, they told me to deal with it, or that I was faking, or that nothing was wrong because I Didn’t Have a Fever and The Phobia-Trigger Hadn’t Actually Happened. So SURELY I was just being a hypersensitive, overdramatic CHILD who didn’t know what her OWN BODY was telling her!)

--I’m sincerely so incredibly fucking bitter over that. Over that entire mentality. Something has been WRONG with me since infancy (my mother told me a couple years ago that, at the time she didn’t recognize it as a sign of tummy trouble, but when I was a baby I would curl my legs up against my body Very Often. There were times when I would just cry and cry and cry, and nothing would soothe me. How much of that might’ve been empathy in a tense and depressive household, and how much might’ve been colic, I can’t say. Obviously I just don’t remember. But Mom did say that. now that she did know what that meant, she wishes she’d looked into it.)

But anyways. This pattern, the evolution from “I don’t feel well after eating”, to realizing “hey I really don’t like feeling this way”, to “I feel sick, so maybe I shouldn’t eat right now”. to “hey maybe if I don’t eat, I won’t feel sick at all”... I don’t have any record of exactly how it evolved, except in Vaguest Life-Phase Memories.

In high school, I was writing and drawing emvents frequently enough to fill a folder with them. I used to skip breakfast in middle school, because I’d wake up feeling so sick.  (I remember a couple times, in my earlier memories, I had tried to eat when feeling unwell, and it only made me feel worse, to the point where I’d start contemplating Where to Go when it DID, which of course made Eating While Feeling Ill a very Aversive Thought. But I was so afraid of my parents forcing me to eat that, rather than explain to them that I wasn’t feeling well, I would make food, and either pretend to eat it and then HIDE IT, or throw it away when they weren’t looking. Sometimes I took toast or an apple to school, thinking my appetite would come back, but most days it went entirely uneaten.

And I remember... one morning, that I’m not going to detail. I don’t remember if stepmom took me or if I took the bus, so it might’ve even been elementary school. But I remember regretting eating, and then It Happened, and thinking back, I’m impressed with myself that I didn’t completely throw away the blankets afterwards. Then again, I don’t think my phobia was as Settled In at the time, because I didn’t have So Many Experiences to cement it as the immense Anticipatory Dread it would become.... but because of that morning, to this day I get immensely uneasy whenever I see those pancake-wrapped sausage things in the freezer section, and that unease is why I think I’ve never bought frozen breakfast food, because I can’t even have them in my peripheral vision.

Around the same time as that, I woke up feeling TERRIBLE, and was so open about my misery and panic that it shocked my stepmother into letting me stay home. I recovered, after not eating and a few hours of rest. I remember telling her, when I came down, “I think I’m nausi-phobic.” (I didn’t know e/metophobia was The Thing until I was about... gods, 16, maybe 17. But I knew how badly Feeling Nausea freaked me out, even at age 13.)

As for when my psychologist told me that what I experience is, indeed, a diagnosable Secondary Condition? It must’ve been around October or maybe November/December of 2017. (Those months when I got really, incredibly ill, and didn’t know why. Still don’t know why, to this day... but I’m making an appointment to figure it out. Sometime. You know that adhd struggle I keep talking about? Yeah, whenever I freaking REMEMBER to make an appointment when offices are actually OPEN.......)

Or it might’ve been after when she brought out that phrase, because I think I was working at this job when I was talking to her about my anxieties. (I remember, I was waiting at a bus stop to go to the dog-boarding job, so it must’ve been more recent, in fact...)

I’ve been typing at this for over an hour and I really need to go to bed, but.... I feel like I haven’t even put down half my thoughts here. I might resume tomorrow, if the inclination strikes. For now, just.... God if you read all the way down to here, first of all can I borrow your attention span, and second, thank you!

[insidethecrack]

Diagnosis : curse or blessing ?

[did I already tell you how much this show is absolutely terribly awesomely great ? no ? what am I doing ! :o]

“A real diagnosis will help you feel less alone” “Don’t put a label on you” “You don’t look like you’re [insert diagnosis, generally works fine for autism and schizophrenia]” “If you don’t get a proper diagnosis you can’t get proper help”

etc etc

Whether people are pro or anti diagnosis, they all have their words to say... in our faces generaly. Because, you know, mentally ill, you can’t have a proper opinion about this, fortunately, lovely people are always ready to tell you what’s good for you ! Aren’t you happy ? 

If this introduction sounds bitter, it’s because I am. The matter of diagnosis and medication may be the two discussions where neurodiverse people are the most silenced, even if we are the people directly concerned by it. So I want to discuss it, for real, even if it’s complicated and we might have very diverse opinions. Please remember : I do not pretend, in any way, that I hold the truth. This article is nothing but food for thoughts. Food I have chewed for years now (it’s in the pipes of this blog since its creation), this is my opinion now, maybe it will change again. So feel free to disagree. I know how difficult this kind of subject can be... no truth, just food for thought. 

In the logic of the Schizophrenic Linguistic, I’ve been thinking about the power of words A LOT. A lot of people, directly concerned or not, seem to believe that a diagnosis fixes everything. Well, as usual, reality is a bit more complicated than that. [also, since it’s a complicated topic, I decided that this post will be covered Simone Simons headbanging gif, no reason, just that it’s a light for me and this article needs some light]

Naming is power

If you can name a thing, you have a chance to control it, or at least, to understand it. A lot of neurodiverse people, whatever their diagnosis, whatever their story, will tell you this: once they had a (proper) diagnosis, a lot of things had started to make sense. There was a reason for what was happening to them, and they were not the reason. It may sound obvisous, but sometimes you got to tell the obvious: if you can explain a thing, you can have a grip on it. You can modify it. Not because it’s easy (it’s not), but a diagnosis, a word, will help you now where to start. Things that were isolated are now the pieces of a puzzle. These pieces have borders. There is a picture on each of them. And you can find a way to put them together. 

What is less obvious is that the diagnosis is NOT the picture you have to create. The diagnosis is a tool to create it, to understand it. And it’s fucking important to understant that : it is just a tool. 

Why is it important ? Because psychiatry is a scam (sorry, had to get that out of my system, now back to something constructive) the lines of the diagnosis change all the time. Some diagnosis have seen their definition widened (bipolar disorder for example), other restricted (schizophrenia), other created a bit of nowhere since we’re still waiting for scientific proof or clear definition (ADHD), some were not full diagnosis, just symptoms, but are now considered as disorders of their own (anxiety), etc etc. You can choose to believe it’s science making progress, or you can be terrified because it doesn’t make sense how they’re playing with our mind. (also, if you’re like me, you might wonder : how is it possible that for each diagnosis they have found the same number of symptoms? and why “five at least” are required to get the diagnosis? why five, why not four or seven??)

Whether you’re defiant to psychiatry like me, or a true believer of the field, I think we can agree on this: diagnosis when it comes to mental health is not that easy. It’s all made of blurry lines and grey areas. And it makes sense: it can already be very tricky to get a diagnosis for a physical problem, so a mental health issue? Sometimes the concerned person is not able to properly explain it, or because they just have no idea what the problem is, or because they have no idea that this or this can be a problem. To this, you must add the therapist’s subjectivity. And this is not the angry anti-psychiatry me talking. It’s just that therapists are human too. The best therapist can be the worst therapist to someone else. Therapists have bias too... Autism is less diagnosed to women, not because there are less of them, but because of what we consider autism is and what a woman must be. Schizophrenia is more often diagnosed to black persons. Etc etc. They can miss something, or don’t connect the dots well. They can be great to spot depression and PTSD but totally hopeless when it comes to personality disorders. And when you add to this that a huge part of them just think a magic formula exist to cure each diagnosis, or that they think they’re some kind of Brain Wizard, sexism, or transphobia... the result can be absolutely terrible. 

Understanding, not magic

Having a proper diagnosis will give you the tool to understand parts of your life history, of yourself, but it won’t fix it. This is very very very important. I’ve seen so many people, concerned or not, getting this wrong. If there is only one thing that looks like an absolute truth in this article it’s this : THERE IS NO MAGIC FORMULA. No pills. No word. Nothing but hard work and time... (like basicaly anything which worths it in this life)

It’s important to remember it. When you’re the concerned person, and you get to look for a diagnosis, it’s probably because you’re in pain, sometimes for years. You’re in pain and you’re tired. And you’ve been for so long, you want solutions, you NEED solutions. And probably you don’t have time to wait. If a diagnosis will give you a key to better understand what you’re going through, it still won’t fix anything. You’ll still have to do the work of understanding, of changing. And this is a long, painful, and terrifying process... We would like a pill to numb the pain, a formula to whisper to any god, but it doesn’t work that way. 

To me, word is the picture of a thought at a given moment. Meaning that the word will last, but not the thought. And one day, the thought might be gone so far, that the word won’t make sense anymore. You’ll have to come up with a new word for the new thought.  Well, I think diagnosis makes no exception. It’s still a word that describes a reality at a given moment. We think it’s carved in stones, but it’s not. Diagnosis is a process. The definition of a diagnosis changes from time to time, but so do we. And what might have been true once, might not be in the future. 

Schizophrenia is not what it used to be. Shrinks say you’d better have cancer than schizophrenia. That you never heal from it. But people did, and people do (at least a third of schizophrenic people get cured !) I was told I’m sick, I’ve always refused to think so. But a schizophrenic friend thinks she is. And it’s not a matter of who’s right or wrong. She has the right word for herself, and I use the right words for me. (I think we’ll come to that special part later) I used to just say that I was psychotic. Then I said I have schizophrenia. Now I say I am schizophrenic, or neuroatypical if I’m not sure I’m in a friendly space. Each of this words are part of my journey along the diagnosis.A new one may come in the future, or not. 

Words and diagnosis can change, but you still got to do the (hard) work. Which means to try things, and sometimes fail. 

It also means that : run away from any therapist who pretend they have a magic formula (may it be meds, yoga, type of therapy, words). Run as far as you can from them. They’re dangerous... because they won’t listen to YOUR words. They won’t let you choose the right words for yourself. Because they think only one set of words exist for one condition... 

One word for so many realities

Let’s go back to a simple thing : a cold. If you’re like me, you may think a cold is a very simple (and genuine) illness. That it’s pretty easy to diagnose, in fact, so easy that probably none of us ever goes to a doctor to get a cold diagnosed. But we all be so wrong to think that a cold is the same for eveyone (but we still do). The symptoms are easy to spot : a blocked up nose, maybe a sore throat, headache, maybe a bit of fever, sometimes a pain in the eyes, like they’re swollen. The thing is... none of us live it the same way. A friend of mine, as soon as she has a 38° fever (NB : if you’re not used to the celcius system : normal body temperature is 37°C, 38 is barely a fever for an adult, but 39 and 40 are worrying, and at 41: run to the closest hospital) she can’t move and is in pain like me at 40... A cold is supposed to be short, but I had cold lasting for 4 uninterrupted months. A friend of a friend just got cancer and chemio, he’s cured and fine, but if you have a cold next to him, you might kill him. Also, do you know what has all the symptoms of a cold but is not a cold ? Allergies, the flue (and probably a few others). The only difference being the causes or the intensity. But what if you didn’t know you had allergies and they started during the cold season (meaning all your relatives and people in the subway have it) ? If you feel terribly sick with a 38° fever, how will you notice the difference of intensity between a cold and the flue ?

Even a simple cold isn’t that simple.  So now, if we transfer this logic to mental health, we will have a glimpse of the tricky part of diagnosis: it’s not that simple. As we say : the definition of diagnosis changes, the subjectivity of both patient and therapist has a role, and now we must remember that a simple word can recover so many different realities. 

In this blog, as often as I can, I try to explain how schizophrenia is for me and people who has it differently. So if you’re a regular reader, you might have an idea of this, but just for fun, let’s illustrate it even more.

Did you know that hearing voices is NOT a symptom of schizophrenia ? Many people hear voices without being schizophrenic and many schizophrenic persons do not hear voices. Both are often associated because it’s quite common in schizophrenia, but in no way it’s a rule.  Regarding the voices, some recognize them. They even name them. Some can clearly understand them, when for other it’s just a fog. Some hear only one voice for all their life, and it’s always the same, when other hear different voices at different ages. For only ONE element of ONE symptom (not being able to recognize a thought as theirs), the possibilities are almost endless. Can you imagine the number of possibilities when we add ALL the element of ALL the symptoms ?

This is why I told you to run from anyone pretending they have some magic cure: if you consider this mathematic reality, it’s impossible. This is why there are still to many things which are unknown or missunderstood: because mathematically the number of combinations is barely understandable by humans. A diagnosis is a list of GENERAL symptoms that are supposed to cover very different realities so they can fit in one unique box. 

A diagnosis CAN’T be a magic cure because the risk of error is way too big.  So remember : when you’re given a diagnosis, you have the right to ask why. Why does your therapist think this diagnosis fit you ? What does it mean ? And you have the right to disagree. Being wrong doesn’t mean your therapist is a horrible person wanting to hurt, maybe they just didn’t consider a key element as key, maybe there is something you didn’t tell because you didn’t think it was relevant, or maybe there was a bia. If your therapist is a good one, they’d be willing to discuss it with you. Because, once again, a diagnosis being a tool, you’ll need to understand how the tool works, and they have to make sure they give you the right tool. Once again, if they refuse to discuss the whys with you : run. 

Loneliness and stigma

Diagnosis can also be a double-edged sword. 

On one side, having a word means you’re not alone. They don’t create word for just one person. Having a diagnosis means having the right tool, it also means you’re going to be able to look for people with the same diagnosis. You’ll be able to share experiences, to exchange tricks, to be heard without having to over explain yourself. Knowing that you’re not alone can be such a relief ! No, you’re not a monster, you’re not the problem. You even have peers that can understand you ! 

I think I don’t need to develop this point much more right ? :) We’re humans, none of us like feeling lonely and forsaken...

But on the other side... it comes with a price. Stigma around mental health is clearly no joke. For some diagnosis, the stigma is so strong that we have to live in the closet. We have to do some kind of coming out to our relatives (I call it “a psyching out”, because English is so easy to neologise with). 

Schizophrenics are psycho killer. Bordeline Personality Disorder people too. And so are Multiple Personnality Disorder. 

For us, it’s sometimes better not to tell because we really take the risk to lose everything. 

But even if it doesn’t get to that point, other diagnosis come with their share of stigma too. We hear of those diagnosis so often that we think we know what they are. Spoiler alert : we don’t, for most of us. 

Depression, PTSD, autism, bipolar disorder, ADHD, anxiety, suicidal, eating disorders etc... we hear those words so often we think we know when we don’t. We know the exageration, the stupid things media say without checking. We know from a distance. We use the wrong words, we do poor choice of words, we have the wrong reaction. And people with these diagnosis suffer from this ignorance, they have to deal with it daily, coming from their loved ones sometimes, which make their life even harder. 

Also, being diagnosed is being labelled... and that part is hard. How not to get stuck in your diagnosis ? How can you do to keep it a part of yourself but not let it becoming your whole self, especially since for some of us it had a huge impact on the construction of said self ? Those are already tricky question to ask oneself. But telling your relatives about your diagnosis means you’re also inviting them to the labelling party... and you won’t be able to control how they will label you ! Will they just listen to what they think they know because they saw this TV show or read one article ? Or will they do some research on their own to understand what you’re going through and know how to support you ? Will they run away from you ? Will they bring everything to your diagnosis ? Will they stop inviting you not to “tire you too much” in a “hell in paved with good intentions” way ? Will they ask you directly so they know what to do and what not to do ? Will they avoid the subject and act like nothing changed ? Did something change anyway ? Will they tease you about it ? If so, will they bother asking for your permission or not ? Will they tell you what you should do and what your should not do after they’ve heard of the wonders of yoga and gluten-free food ? Do this list ever end ? (no)(at least that last one was easily answered)

Whatever diagnosis, wherever we are on our journey with it, we ask ourselves all these questions all the time. 

Bonus question : what’s easier, telling them the diagnosis, or explaining what it means ? Saying “I’m schizophrenic” is quicker and less overwhelming (the irony of this sentence...), but if I’m not sure the person I talk with is aware enough, this might not be the right strategy. They won’t know what it really means, either because their head is full with psycho killer bullshit, or just because they genuinely don’t know (hence the birth of this blog). So it might be better to explain a bit “I hear voices and have recurrent hallucinations which I can tell apart most of the time. In general, I have to live with a broken sense of reality”. But this solution might sound terrifying because it opens too many doors and these doors all lead to an unknown world (and I don’t even blame them to be scared. I mean... I live in this said unknown world. It IS scary...). And there’s not really a third way. 

So a diagnosis helps you feel less alone, until the moment it makes you feel even more alone than before. 

Responsability and power

I know I may sound pessimistic, so I want to emphasize this, even though I already mentioned it : a diagnosis gives you power. Knowledge is power. Naming things is power. It’s no longer an unknown thing eating your brain. It’s a thing you can name and learn to understand. There is no much more to say, but it is so important I will repeat it over again : IT GIVES YOU THE POWER TO UNDERSTAND AND GET TO KNOW YOURSELF. It’s not going to fix you, because you’re not broken. You’re hurt. You’re different. You may be not functionning well at the moment. But no psychiatrist was stupid enough to create “broken” as en entry in the DSM, and I think it says something.Even if some of them talk about “broken brain”, they still haven’t turned it into a full diagnosis, and even though, you’re not your brain, it’s just a part of you. 

It gives you power. The power to define yourself. The power to choose the words that work for you. And you can change these words as you’re working your journey ! 

Use the words, don’t let them use you. 

Also, and this might be a bit more polemic so I hope I’ll succeed in phrasing it well, don’t let them, or yourself, tell shit like “it’s not you it’s the disease”. I know sometimes our brain makes us do to stupid shits. But sentences like that, they directly open the gates to hell... They take away the responsability of your action from you. Thing is, if you’re not responsible for your actions, in the long run, someone will have to be. I’ve been there, in this place where all responsability is taken away from you because “it’s not your, it’s the disease” and believe me, you don’t want to go there. It’s hell, it’s the worst that have ever happened to me, and i’ve spent nights seeing my own body being torn apart so I could see my own head rolling on the kitchen floor... It’s always for your own good, it’s always to protect your. People who say this are very well intentioned, whether they’re therapists or your relatives. But at the end of the road : you don’t get to decide what you feel, what you think, what you want. Anytime you’ll express a slightly strong emotion “it’s not you, it’s the disease”. Which means that if they did you wrong ? Well, you’re not really angry, it’s the disease, so they don’t really have to question themselves. You’re sad ? Well, not really, it’s the disease. Take this pill / do some yoga, you’ll be better. You’re happy ? Well that’s suspicious, might be the disease talking, are you SURE you’re really happy ? You’re afraid ? Well the disease makes you afraid of everything so why bother ? Anytime you’ll try to express what you think about who you are... well the disease makes you unable to form a proper thought or to clearly see the world around you, so your opinions are biaised and we won’t listen to them. And when it comes to what you want to do regarding your own life... well, with your disease it’s not possible to do so and so. They won’t let you think about what you can or can do. They will decide what are your limits. For you. Without asking. 

Don’t let you trapped in the “it’s not it’s disease” road. Sure, it sounds easy and tempting, and we all want to do this once because it is so so hard. I write all this shit (with which you can always disagree, remember), but let me tell you a secret : there are still so many moments when I just think “when don’t I just give and let myself turn completely crazy so I will not have to take responsability for anything”. Maybe this too shall pass, maybe it won’t. It happens to the best of us. It’s normal, and it’s ok. But if we give up to this... we might never come back. We will lose so much.. we will lose our feelings, our right to think and disagree, and even our power over our own life. Everything comes with a price... if we give up the responsability of our life because it was too hard... we’ll give ourselves up to them. A them that might not be very comprehensive or well-intentioned... 

I often want to give up to the madness just so I can be declared not responsible of my action anymore, which means I won’t have to decide, won’t have to fight anymore. But schizophrenia is a well-crafted defense system (schizophrenia is an artist, a weird gloomy scary artist, but still), and anytime I have these thoughts, it brings back some conversation with the therapists from these days :

“I want to stop going to the temp hospital... I hate it here. I hate being there. I hate the people there. It scares me, I don’t want to me one of them. _But it makes you feel good ! What about going twice a week instead of only once ?”

“I forget my meds the other day and I had troubles falling asleep. Are the drugs breaking my sleeping system ? Does it mean I will never be able to sleep without pills ? What will happen when I stop taking the drugs for good ? _You must not forget your pill !”

“I’m jealous. They live with my friend, and when she’s on the phone with me they still talk to her, they’re stealing my time with her, it’s not fair.. they get to live with her and I can only call once in a while when I have no friend here. It’s not fair and I’m jealous of them. _This is not what you feel.”

And I remember what it truely means to let them tell you “it’s the disease”. Don’t fall in the trap. 

Don’t trap your relatives in this hell. Let them chose how they define themselves. How they name themselves. Stop the injonctions and listen to them, even if you disagree (I’m very anti-drugs, but I will never force my beliefs on friends who chose to be on drugs. We’ll discuss it if they want, but I’ll respect their choice anyway. And If I can do this, I have no worry, you can too. Because you truely have no idea how anti-drugs I can be...). It also means that if they don’t want to get a diagnosis, they can. Some people need a word to fight. Others will rather tackle each symptoms on their own. With all the stigma, a diagnosis can be ultra scary and for some people, it’s a real handicap in their quest for well-being. You have to respect that. If they want a diagnosis, hold their hand in the process. If they don’t, well, still hold their hands because they still have issues to fix ! :o 

Ask your therapist why this diagnosis. Make your own research. Search for other people like you. Search for their stories. Disagree with your given diagnosis if needed. Get to know yourself. 

I hope life will give you the time to do this diagnosis-travel on your own terms. Whatever way you choose, I wish you the best. May you find the tools that work the best for you. 

I hope you found this article interesting (or even helping :o). 

I want to try to write here more regularly, like maybe once a month... so if you have any question or topic you wanna see discussed here, let me know ! I’m looking for way to communicate with you (so you can submit question or topics more easily), but FB is worse and worse for this kind of this and I’m regularly forced to avoid it because it triggers my paranoia... a discord maybe ? Any ideas ?

Also, I have a little ask... I’m back to precarity shit and all the money anxiety it brings with it. So maybe, if you like this blog and you can, maybe you can buy me a coffee ? Or just share the articles you like. And if you can’t, it’s ok, I still with you the best of way on your own quest for well-being <3 

[lilixloveswriting]

Prompt: Delirium

Summary: Peter decides Monster is a good replacement for his ADHD meds.

Characters: Peter Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Charles Xavier, Jubilation Lee (mentioned), Wanda Maximoff (mentioned)

TW: angst, hallucinations sort of? Caffeine overdose

Word Count: 2,031

Peter tossed his fifth energy drink in the trash can, barely making it in the basket. He swiftly popped open another, taking a swig. He knew his stomach would hate him for it later, but it was hard staying up for 48 hours straight and the caffeine helped him to focus. And god, did Peter need to focus. 

His grades were slipping. Badly. The professor had informed him that if he couldn’t get them up in two weeks, then they’d have to call his mom. Peter, being Peter, put everything off, and now it was 2 am on the Friday of the second week and he was panicking. He’d locked himself up in his room for the past two days, only emerging to sneak Jubilee’s energy drinks from the fridge. Now he was staring down at a blank piece of paper, trying to figure out how to write two five-paragraph essays before 8 am. 

He looked at the clock. 2:03 am.

A groan escaped his lips. Time seemed to move so slowly when he was doing school work, and yet somehow he still didn’t have enough. Peter picked up his pencil, fully intending to write at least a few words, but as soon as the lead touched the paper, his letters looked though they’d been through an earthquake. The speed at which his hands were shaking made him feel as though he was vibrating. It made him feel sick, but he took another sip. He had to get his grades up, no matter what. Or at least convince the professor not to call his mother. She had enough to worry about, not including Peter’s grades.

Peter’s mom was always concerned about him; whether or not he was eating enough, if he was getting enough sunlight, the state of his mental health. She dedicated her entire life to Peter and his sister, and boy, he did not make it easy for her. He knew this, and he didn’t want to make her worry about him now that he was out of the house. It wasn’t fair.

But concentrating was so. Hard. The surplus of caffeine in his system was the only thing keeping him from getting distracted, but that didn’t mean he was thinking clearly. He was tired, oh so tired, and it didn’t help that he’d run out of his meds two days ago. His eyes felt like they would slam shut if he didn’t hold them wide open all the time. Peter bounced his leg to keep himself awake, this, in turn, caused pretty much everything in his room to vibrate and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d burned a hole in the carpet with his shoe. He just hoped he wasn’t bothering any of the other students.

Peter lifted his pencil from the paper. “According to.”

Lovely.

He looked at the clock again. 2:14 am

Peter sighed loudly, throwing his pencil down. Maybe he just needed something to eat. Yeah, that was it.

He stood up quickly, and the entire world spun. The ground tilted under his feet and he stumbled back into his chair. He briefly saw the ceiling fan spinning and wondered when he had turned it on before his head hit the floor.

When Peter came to, he had no idea where he was. The room was bright, the glow searing pain into his eyes. He couldn’t move a muscle, feeling as though he was chained down by bricks, but at the same time, he felt light, like he was floating. 

A feminine voice rang in his ears. It was soft and gentle, a bit concerned, maybe. His eyes rolled around in his skull, searching for the owner.

“Wanda…?” Peter mumbled, his eyelids fluttering rapidly. The muttering that he had been hearing stopped, replaced by soft footsteps. 

“Good morning, Peter.” A different voice said. Peter recognized it, but he just couldn’t place who it was. Where was he?

Peter didn’t respond, unable to make his mouth move.

“Can you hear me?” The voice asked, and Peter twitched his nose, eyes still shut.

The next thing he knew, he was being blinded by what he just assumed was the sun; he couldn’t think of anything else that would be that bright.

“Your pupils are responding well.” Peter heard clattering before the voice spoke again. “I can’t tell if you’re cognitively responsive or not, but on the off chance that you are, your dopamine levels are extremely low.” Something cold ran over his head and he shivered, “No fever, that’s good.”

He continued to talk, but Peter couldn’t comprehend any of it. He still didn’t know who was talking to him, or where he was, and he felt as though he was spinning on a carousel. So in other words, he felt sick.

“Stop…” He mumbled out.

The voice laughed a little. “Stop talking? You sound like Charles. Who I should call, by the way. Maybe he can do something about the state that you’re in.” 

Peter pinched his eyebrows. He felt as though his consciousness was floating around in his mind, unable to ground itself to anything.

“Where…?” He tried to form a sentence, but nothing was working.

“Where is what, Peter?”

This was all too surreal. The floaty feeling, the blinding light, the disembodied voice. He must be dead. He must have overdosed on caffeine or something. How stupid he was...this would kill his mother. “Where...Wanda…”

“I’ll be right back, alright?” The voice said, slowly fading away.

Flying, spinning, tumbling through empty space. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t call for help. It was dark and cold, just like how it felt before. Except for this time, he was alone. All alone, all alone.

~~~

Peter slowly opened his eyes and stared straight ahead. It was different this time, not so bright, just fuzzy. He rolled his eyes, desperately trying to get them to focus. 

“I’ve got something.” More voices. It wasn’t so echoey anymore, just British.

British? The professor!

Peter blinked rapidly and rolled onto his side, still unseeing. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t do that to his mother.

“Die…” He breathed shutting his eyes closed again, squeezing them this time. “Don’t…! Can’t…”

“Peter.” 

No. The ringing. It was like he was in a tunnel again. He had to get out. He had to. He just...needed something. Something to ground himself. Something to pull him back.

“Peter!”

Peter inhaled sharply, his eyes flew open and his body went shooting upwards. He screamed and shook, his eyes still unfocused, but he was here. He could feel.

“There you are, there you are.” The voice came again, much clearer this time. Peter looked to his right to see the professor, leaning forward in his chair with one hand squeezing his own, the other on Peter’s back. Human contact seemed to be enough to bring him back. “You’re alright. Just breathe.”

His body shook uncontrollably, and he balled his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms, just to make sure he was really there.

“Where...where am I?” He panted as his eyes finally began to focus properly.

“You’re in the nurse’s office.” The professor said, rubbing his hand reassuringly on Peter’s back.

Hank grumbled and pulled up to them. “I’m not a nurse.” He said, shining a small light into Peter’s eyes. The boy jerked away, lifting a hand up to shield them. 

“Well, you’re the closest thing we’ve got.” The professor said.

“That still doesn’t make me one. I’m a doctor of biological sciences, Charles. I don’t specialize in medical-”

“Hank.”

“Yes?”

“Stop talking.”

Hank sighed and unwrapped the velcro that he had strapped around Peter’s arm. “Your blood pressure is spiked. I’m assuming it’s from all the energy drinks.”

“Uh…” Peter blinked, flashing back to all of the Monsters lying in his trash can. “I only had like...a couple.”

“Of course,” Hank said, jotting down something on a piece of paper. “That must be why there was so much caffeine detected in your blood samples.” 

“You...took blood samples?” Peter asked. “Am I dying?”

Hank chuckled a bit. “No, you’re not dying. Sleep-deprived and high on sugars, but not dying.” He turned back to Peter. “When was the last time you slept?”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “Uh...Wednesday?” He guessed, then nodded. “Morning.”

“Jesus Christ.” The professor coughed.

“What happened?” Peter asked.

“Jubilee found you passed out on the floor,” Hank explained. “She said you weren’t waking up, so she dragged you here.”

“You were delirious.” The professor added. “Hank said you were talking in your sleep.”

“You kept mentioning a ‘Wanda.’ Who is that?” Hank asked.

Everything was still a bit blurred, but Peter heard that question quite clearly. His heart, which had been pounding violently suddenly seemed to stop and the sickening taste of bile climbed up his throat. “What?”

“You said-”

“No one.” Peter interrupted, swallowing thickly. “I don’t know.” His voice shook and he looked away, praying that the professor wouldn’t try to dive into his subconscious. “Did you call my mom?”

“Not yet-”

“Don’t,” Peter said, earning a surprised look from both of his elders. “Please. I don’t want to worry her.” He added, fiddling with his thumbs.

The professor looked at Hank who gave him a little nod and ended up wheeling out of the room before the doctor turned back to Peter. He sighed, he was definitely calling his mom.

“Well, how are you feeling now?”

“Fine,” Peter answered quickly. “Just tired.”

“That’s to be expected, considering you haven’t slept properly in the last 50 hours. Your dopamine levels are also dramatically low. Any idea why?” Hank asked and Peter blinked.

“I...don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s a neurotransmitter or a chemical in your brain which sends signals to the nerve cells in your muscles.” Peter scrunched up his face in confusion and Hank sighed. “It’s a large component of your motor function, it basically makes sure you can move properly.”

“Are you sure you’re not a nurse?” Peter asked and Hanks placed his fingers on his temples.

“Peter.”

“Yeah, no. I don’t know why they’d be low.” He shrugged.

"Nothing?" Hanks rested his elbows on his knees. "This is a safe space, Peter. You won't get into any trouble."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking if I do drugs?"

Hank pressed his lips together. "...Do you?"

"No." He smirked slightly. "I don't."

Hank nodded, satisfied. 

"Well," Peter placed a hand on his chin and Hank snapped his head back in his direction. "I take Adderall. It's a prescription."

"Ah. And when was the last time you took it?"

"Uhhh, I don't know. Like the other day?"

"What day?" Hank asked.

"Ugh, um…" Peter thought back in the week. His brain was mush and all he could remember was the studying that he had done. "T-Tuesday?"

Hank nodded. "That would do it." He picked up his pencil and began to scribble something down. "Any other withdrawal symptoms?"

"I dunno. What are the symptoms?"

"Fatigue, nausea, depression, etc." Hank listed off a few and Peter looked to the side. 

"Uhh…anxiety? But that's sorta normal."

"Okay," He clicked his pen. "I'll have to call your mother to order more for you. You can't quit cold turkey, like that, it's not healthy."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm not an addict or anything."

"Doesn't matter," Hank said, placing his clipboard down. "Your body is used to having it in your system, that's why your brain isn't producing enough dopamine." He tilted his head. "Also because you haven't slept since Wednesday."

"Yeah, yeah." Peter hung his head.

"You'll be fine, you just need to sleep. And continue to take your Adderall."

Peter groaned. "But…I have to finish my homework or else-"

"I'm sure we can figure something out." Hank gave him a small smile. "Get some sleep, Peter. And don't come back to class for at least 24 hours." 

Peter sighed and stood up, making his way toward the door. 

"Oh and," Hank started, "Watch out for Jubilee. She was going to kick your butt for stealing her drinks before she saw your lifeless body."

Peter laughed and shook his head. "Roger that."

[nerdymedzebra]

Round up of my mentions of MCAS reactions

“ Escape to the mountains for breathable air! I know grass makes my throat swell up and my chest get tight, but but I've not known what my other triggers are. Til recently. I downloaded the weather Channel app on my phone and now it alerts me during Ozone Action/Warning Days, and woops, they match up with my swelling, too. So this weekend I saw that the grass pollen was high AND it was an ozone action day, and tho I hate using the car on such days, my house apparently doesn't protect me from bad air (and I sure as heck can't afford an air purifier) so I just needed to escape. Picture 2 is just outside of Boulder, where I live, and my throat was already swelling up before we made it out of the area. But by the time we got into the mountains, it was calming down again.thank goodness! And TG for accessible overlooks, like in Pics 1 & 3! No hiking required to see prettiness. :) “

“ Whoa there, face. You look like you've been outside in the cold for an hour.. But I haven't left my couch all day! It's hard to get with this annoying portrait filter I can't turn off, but you can see the diff between my face and neck. I usually look much more pallid and anemic! ) I always say I have very little skin involvement with#MCAS (and I've only had hives once in my life) but I wonder how much of that is true and how much is just me not putting two and two together before. Like, my face has felt hot all day, I used to call this "fevering", but I've recently realized it's only my face that's hot and red, so it's prolly MCAS flushing, not a fever at all. Which is interesting that before I had an app for it, the only way I knew I was about to start my period is that I'd get one of these "fevers" for an hour or two the night before! I must be reactive to one of my own gd hormones. 😅😅😅 Yup, sounds like an MCAS thing! As I'm on my period now, (tho I don't think I usually am flushed at this poiny/for this long) and my stomach still feels full of good from yesterday, and who knows what else, but maybe I'm just reacting to a bunch of stuff. My face is redder irl, and I startled myself a few minutes ago when I went to the bathroom and saw my face. I've NEVER seen it this red while just sitting around the house! “

“ Oops I ate an often-trigger food without tacking my Cromolyn first. :( I feel like I have a fever and my belly is angeryyyy. Sighhh. “

MCAS & Cromolyn

(Jan 2019)

#MCAS: where normal food can make you shiver violently while your face blazes and your stomach thinks it's been poisoned.

Woops forgot to take my Cromolyn Sodium before eating. ☹️😷😱☠️

Also, this is what it looks like. Supposed to take 2 viles 4x a day, but I have yet to remember all 4 even once. :-x

Edit 1 hour later: my stomach and face have calmed down, but now my heart rate Is in the 130s as I'm laying here, and I feel like if I open my mouth I'll be like a megaphone and the sound of my speeding, thumping heart would loudly reverberate through the house.. It honest to God feels like my heart has grown wings and is violently trying to escape my chest.

“ Ok you can't really tell here, but my face is rosy. I'm wondering if these random few-hour "fevers" I've always gotten are really jus t flushing? Does your face feel warm and tight and similar to when your fevering when you're flushing from #MCAS? Or Allergies? We are house sitting a doggo, but I'm allergic, and I'm feeling it way more than I have before when we've watched him! Waaah. "I need vogmask, but for my eyes!" Me, earlier. “

“ Wait, what?! I react to freshly cut grass exactly the same in all months. Could it really be from different things?! Although maybe I do react differently. I feel wayyy itchier lately and maybe less swollen sinus cavity & throat, but I've only recent started noticing how itchy I get when I'm walking outside, particularly if I'm sweating even minutely, which could mean it's started up recently, or not. Adhd makes it so hard to keep track of symptoms :( :/ Fwiw, I think the same allergy test that told me I was allergic to grass said mold as well... 🤔 This post brought to you by my overwhelming need to scratch all my skin off. (Also my skin doesn't seem to really turn red til I scratch it, then it gets v angry btw). #allergy #GrassAllergy “

“ Ugh, motility issues are more than just delayed!! My psych had me request a emptying study from my GI to check for RAPID emptying (bc my meds don't work if I eat with them and she needs the results for dose adjustments) but this report is clearly looking only for delayed. Now, I sometimes do experience delayed for a few days a month, but I don't mind it much, it's the rapid that screws with my meds and makes it risky to eat at a restaurant without hanging around a half hour afterwards in case I have to run to the bathroom (in those cases my dysautonomia (and pain) also flares while my stomach is emptying, then I seem to get hit with reactive hypoglycemia or whatever it's called. Ugh.) Nausea is only a small symptom a few times a month, max, yet it is THE symptom on this test. Annoying. As I said day-of, my stomach was behaving that day, so I'm not surprised it was normal, but from the penciled in average emptying time I found, it does suggest that even when it's not acting up, it is a bit faster than normal. “

“Post treadmill stress test dinner. Vegan Pad Thai. It's been almost two hours and my muscles are still goop and I'm still extra shakey. My body did not approve. I'm surprised I made it a whole 5 minutes tho, tbh. “

“ Reverse progression of my chest today. I just now took the first picture. I removed the electrodes 6 hours ago, and boy, my body still wants it to be known that, I guess the gel that was over the round electrode itself, And to a lesser extent, the sticky stuff, was v annoying. When I first took the Holter monitor off, it was really only red on the circle bits, and where I'd been scratching (see pic 3). But then once they were off, I scratched a bunch because OMG, and that left me super red itself (pic 2) now where the sticky bits were seem red too. Is this normal, or allergies or mast cell (I've never been tested for it, but I think I should be) or what. 6 hours seems a long time to still be so red! “

Gastro follow up: Endoscopy, MCAS talk!

(Apr 2018)

During the appointment I told her that I had less rapid gastric emptying than I had been before, but more constipation and fullness-- but especially BLOATING.

I don't think I fully realized how frequently I have the sensation of bloating or stomach discomfort, because, I have noticed, when I experience it, I instinctively... eat... MORE. Especially crappy foods that frequently cause the rapid gastric emptying symptoms. That makes sense, but it's interesting to realize since I was doing it pretty unconsciously! But it hasn't been super helpful lately AND I've gained 10lbs in the last month alone! (after having gained 30+lbs in the ~8 months prior!)

And finally, I told her that I had been reading up on Mast Cell Activation Syndrome/Disease lately and it's fairly likely that I have it, and it seems to have a huge effect on the GI system. Surprisingly, her eyes widened a bit and she said that, in fact, she had just been to a conference this weekend, and they talked about Mast Cells as a cause of Functional GI Disorders! So, she said she will read up more on MCAS & EDS/HSD and how they influence the GI system.

[albizaralburn-blog]

sick day’s

This is not what i used to writing but it is an ZanexAtticus but. It is mostly a fluffy. There shouldn’t be much problems

Atticus pov.

I hate being sick. I was always getting sick when I was a kid. So much that I didn’t get to go to school. till I sunk out of my house for the entrance exam. It was the first time in my life I felt so alive. The problem was when my parents found out I left without permission. There were very mad when they found out where I went, but they were glad that I found a school on my own.

They let me go as long as I did show sign of my sickness. I did really well so they let me go. I ran all the way to the dock. I Looked around to see a group of kids as old as I was. I finally got nervous. That looked at me like I was very late. But the plane landed. We all when into the plane. I began to get tired again. All I could think was not to fall asleep cause I was scared that I would not wake up. My eyes started getting heavy. But then I felt an elbow hit mine. I looked up it was boy my age but he was a lot taller then me. “ I’m sorry did I bother you,” I asked?

“ no but you look sick are you okay,” the boy said?

“ I’ll be fine. For some reason I’m just really tired,” I said, “ oh sorry I’m Atticus. Atticus Rhodes”

“ Zane. Zane truesdale,” the boy said he smiled, “ are face is really red.” he moved his hand to my forehead. “ you have a fever.” no I can’t believe it my sickness did follow me again. I started to get angry at myself. How could I have let it get this bad again. “ hey.” he shouted, “ don’t fall asleep yet we are going to be there really soon then I’ll help you to your dorm. What dorm are you going in?”

“ blue,” was all I could answer. Before I fell back asleep. Zane was the one waking me up again. I got up put on my jacket. I realized as soon as i got off the plane there was no one beside zane wearing the same jacket as me. Zane told me it was because we are the best of the first years. I smiled I didn’t know where to go so I just followed Zane to where the dorm was. It was beautiful like I was a prince coming home from a quest. Zane stopped to look back at me he saw that i stopped. He walked back to make sure I was okay. I looked back to him. He tilted his head to head inside. As we when inside there stood one of the professors that did most of the entrance exams. He looked excited to see us.

“ Mr. Truesdale, Mr. Rhodes here is the keys to your room. I hope you don’t mind that you are going to be having you two plus anoud room mate.there is not much room this year so please say you will be okay with being roomys,” the professor asked?

“ yeah of course, “ we said at the same time. “ is the other person okay with that,” i asked?

“Of course he said he is used to having roommates,” he said. That made me happy. The room we got was 201. I ran upstairs to see our room. Our other roommate was already unpacking. He looked at me. He looked really nervous.

“ hello I’m yusuke fujiwara nice to meet you,” he was scared. But he put his hand out. I smiled and took it.

“ I’m Atticus Rhodes, our other roommate is coming. I just wanted to see what the room was. Like,” i said calmly so I didn’t scare him more than I already did. The room was beautiful. Their was three pretty big bed a balcony. One of the bed was one those bed’s that looked it could turn into a couch. I never had one and I wanted it. I asked fujiwara if it was okay if I took it. He didn’t care he already picked a bed. It was near the door so he can get out easier. Finally Zane caught up with me. He looked at us packing, he laughed, “ i guess I’m getting this” one pointing at the empty bed. He laught “ looks like my bed at home.” he lay down on it, “feels like my bed at home.” we both smiled. I felt dizzy again. My body stopped or so I thought. I guess I fell to the floor cause by the time I could see again. I was holding onto the the poles of my bed, and I was on the floor. Zane and Fujiwara were standing there tired to help me. They were calling my name asking if I was okay.

“ yeah I’m sorry I guess I lost my balances,” I said. I tired to stand up but Zane grab me he picked me up and placed me on my bed. He was really strong. He felt my head again. He frowned he looked at fujiwara and told him to do something. Fuji ran to my bag and he found my bag of medicine. He started reading the bottles. They started talking again. I was so out of it I didn’t understand what they were saying. But Zane pointed at me well looking at fuji as he went downstairs. Fuji was tiring to talk to me. He asked me if I eat anything today. I shock my head. He looked ever scared. He was still looking at medicine. Till he found my cell phone he looked through it, and he made a call. He was talking to someone as he looked again at the medicine. He grab one of the bottles he opened it and took out two pills. He looked over his shoulder. There was Zane with a glass of juice. I didn’t not want to drink it. Fujiwara tired to get me to drink it but I refused. Fuji gave up giving the glass back to Zane. he went in front of me he looked in the eyes and told he if I didn’t drink it I won’t feel better. So he got me to drink it and Fuji handed him my medicine. He tried to hand them to me but I didn’t have the moder skills so I ended up dropping them. Zane picked them. And helped me put them in my mouth.

“ I’m sorry,” I told them after the whole thing. They looked at me in a whole different way then what I wanted them to. They were starting to think I was damaged and that they wanted to be in a different room. But little did I know they weren’t they were making a plan for one of them to have an eye on me so nothing bad happens to me.

My mom called me that morning she was really mad at me. She told me that any of my friends call her for a problem that I was having she would come take me straight home. So I had to be more careful. So I made a list and time chart of the medicine I need to take and when to take them. It was pretty big but it made Fujiwara more comfortable About helping me with my problems. Zane looked at the type of medicine I was taking. Started arguing with fujiwara that most of the medicine I had would be normal very bad for someone like me.

Fujiwara had been really close to me. We became great friends. But I think I was starting to fall in love with my other caretaker Zane. he was kind, but serious he care about my health more than anyone. It made me feel so loved. He had this way to make his words that made people respect him, but at the same time he was quiet. I felt never more happy cause I think he likes me back, but I never had the nerve to ask. I found out one day that he was leaving at night. I decide to see where he would go. He when all the to docks. He went to the lighthouse he looked out at the ocean. I never know who much he really did like the ocean. watching the waves when calm him form the stressed life.

I had asked him about it. I found out that most of the time he would get stressed over my health. He said that he didn’t want me to end up dying for him out paying attention to me. I told him that he shouldn’t alway be worried about me. Cause I was not that important. Why were walking to class during that conversion. He started looking around then he pulled me into a closet. It was really small, but his eyes are fully on mine. His face was really close to mine. “ I will alway worry about someone like you. I couldn’t understand it. The day I meet you the first thing I know was that you were the one person on that. That didn’t match everyone else. Just like me you didn’t belong. I know that you were the one I wanted to be with. But my fear is that you liked Fujiwara more than me,” he said. His face was get closer. I could smell his cologne it smelled very good almost hypnotizing. His lips lend into mine. With that he stole my first kiss. But I fault no regret, I fall in love.

“ Zane I think I love you,” I whispered. Up he left the closet so I didn’t know if he heard me. But oh well. I continued my walk to class. I started feeling sick again. My body was weak. I told myself I had to keep moving. I had made it to class. I set down, and before I know it I fall asleep.

I woke up to someone carrying me. I looked to see who it was. It was Zane with Fujiwara looking worried. “ did you take your medicine atty,” Zane said. I shock my head. He was a little mad. “ you no better than to skip taking your medicine.”

“ I’m sorry,” I said weakly. I closed my eyes again. Know I was safe. I woke up not in my bed but in Zane’s which made me blush what was worse he was asleep in the bed with me. His arm was wrapped around my waist. Scared cause he was holding onto me very tightly. Fujiwara. Was still awake he looked like he was studying, but really he was looking up what to do about my medical issue. He looked very upset. He looked over at me. To see that I was a wake. “ hey Atty how are you feeling,” he asked. With him asking me that it woke Zane up. “ I feel okay why did something happened,” I Answered. Zane looked at me to Fujiwara. “ Atticus we’ve been looking up what type of diseases you could have, but we want to know before we end up losing our best friend.

“ it nothing I’m just a diabatic, with adhd problems,” I said but I lied about one with I have had a an Issue with my blood it was for some reason it was sick it couldn’t carry oxygen to my body it would make me tired. I  don’t think Zane or Fujiwara believed me, but they left it alone.

Zane was more worried than ever before I didn’t want him to. So made sure I took all of the medicine I was supposed to. So something like that wouldn’t happen again. I ‘ve been trying so hard for me to hide one of my meds form Fujiwara which was the one for my blood. Also hiding the needle wounds form Zane.

Me and Fujiwara started reading dark spell books when Zane wasn’t looking. And we found a spell that could fulfil one wish if they were to give up something  important. At first we didn’t want anything to do with it, but fujiwara was starting to being different he was more focus no that spell. I never know his parents died when he was a little kid, he know he could never wish them back but he wanted to forget them. So that he could move on.

He tried it but at the time he wasn’t sounding like himself. His wish wasn’t want he had wanted originally but he still made the wish it cost him his body to be a servant to darkness. I hated myself at that point cause I couldn’t stop him. When Zane found out what happened to Fujiwara. He started to make sure I never left his eyesight. But that made it harder for me to take my medicine. I started get worse again, but then professor banner told me that he was going to be the one in charge of my group for the final exam of the year.

At the time I didn’t know what was going on, but before I know it I was dragged into darkness, but before I did was I wished to not ever be sick again. So that was the good thing that came out of it even when Jayden saved me from darkness. I still didn’t get sick. But then Zane started getting sick most after the whole thing that happened to him after Yubel. I just wish Syrus would let me help him after all. He helped me when I was sick. Even when we all graduated I still didn’t get to see him, But fate hit me ever hard. As I was getting ready to do a pro duel. Then I began to get dizzy. Then before I know it I was in an ambulance had for the hospital. I fault was guilty. My body was breaking down. The doctor asked me if I had anyone to contact in the city. The only one I could think about was Zane. they called him before I know it they were all here. Zane, Syrus, and chazz. Zane ran I there with Syrus dragging behind him saying that seeing me was a bad idea. “ Atticus,” Zane said breathless. He looked around all of the cables all over the place. he was happy to see that I was awake, “ you look terrible what happened.” chazz pulled my medical chart out of my bed. His eye widen. “ how did you let this go no for so long? You should be dead your blood is almost 50% dead,” chazz said, “ who long have you had this condition?”

I looked away from Chazz acting like I didn’t know what he was talking about, but zane was not willing to let me push his question. “ answer his question Atticus,” zane said. He was trying get me to look at us. Next thing I know zane push me onto the bed he put his weight on me. “ ANSWER HIM,” he shoated.

“ seens I was born,” I whispered. Was still not moving he was just staring at me for a second. Then I felt zane wrap his arm around my head. He stayed there hugging me I did understand what was going on.

“ I not going to leave you like this.” Zane said he was crying i could tell. Syrus pulled on Chazz to get him away from us. Zane and I stayed their for a while. “ I’m so sorry I left you like that for so long. I hate myself because of me you’ve been fight this thing alone for the past two years. I’m not going to leave you ever again Atticus. I have always loved you.” I started crying with him cause I had left so alone after the duel me and Hell Kaiser had. I thought I lost the only man that I had ever. Loved. “ Zane I have always loved you.”

[bpdbiscuitblog-blog]

How Many Did You Take? How Many, My Angel? ***TRIGGER WARNING***

Woohoo is one of my oldest friends. She’s an ordained Wiccan priestess and performed the marriage ceremony for my second husband and me. She’s been my spiritual advisor and counselor since before I was old enough to drink, and I’m 34 now.

Before I was diagnosed with BPD, back when I hit the Big Red Button (the one that says - DO NOT TOUCH because the consequences are catastrophic) on my life, Woohoo was still there for me. I was obviously going insane, up and leaving my 13-year marriage with my then 35-year-old husband and my 14-year-old daughter, Moon, and my house and my entire existence to move in with Gypsy, a 33-year-old failed musician-turned-gamer who lived with his mother and had no job, education, hope for his future, or even basic social skills, where I immediately began a life of weird, unsatisfying, and infrequent sex, binge drinking, and running from past and present trauma-drama. On a positive note, I became a teacher again, a fulfilling experience speaking to my soul, as I am a teacher in more than just career, but completely mentally incapable of taking care of myself, much less a group of 17 8-year-olds, and became overworked, exhausted, and an emotional hurricane in a matter of months.

But between the Big Red Button and the hurricane was a time of destruction and devastation where I used the fires of my own personal hell to burn every possible bridge to my old life that I could, many of them badly in need of burning, as I would never return to walk them again, but others, like the Bridge to Woohoo, one of the few structures still anchoring my rapidly deteriorating mind in reality. Woohoo never traumatized me. She never hurt me. She never sought to control me. But the night I lost my daughter Moon and what remained of my ability to cope with the pain I was experiencing, in my grief and despair, she became just another representation of that trauma, and in the days that followed surviving my suicide attempt (notice I did not say my first suicide attempt) she became one of several targets of my BPD-strengthened rage at that long-buried trauma, a casualty of Hurricane Biscuit, although I was still more of a Tropical Storm back then.

Woohoo is a force of nature herself at times. Just as crazy, just as sarcastic, just as devastating a wit as myself, Woohoo brings with her a kind of controlled chaos, a tornado-in-a-bottle personality, ready to let loose a barrage of her own hellfire if the mood strikes her, but mostly just fun, easy-going, patient, a breeze that could whip up into a frenzied tornado if the mood strikes, but content at the moment just to enjoy the current. Voluptuous, sex-driven, raven-haired, loud-mouthed, and profane could all be used to describe her accurately, as accurately as kind, generous, soulful, and motherly.

I no longer believe in soulmates, but I do believe we have, say, connected souls, and as much as anyone I’ve ever met, she is one of my connected souls. And yet, when she stepped up to do what needed to be done to save my life, I turned my back on her.

She warned me about Gypsy. Told me there was something “not right ‘bout that boy,” in her Oklahoma twang. They had an immediate dislike of each other, Gypsy and Woohoo. Gypsy called her a man-hating feminist. Woohoo called him a lazy, worthless piece of shit, among other things. Neither of them were wrong.

My response to her warnings, over and over again, like a love-struck teenager fawning over a, well, a worthless piece of shit, was a protesting, “But, I love him, Woohoo! He’s my one and only.” (I am now picturing myself striking a dramatic pose, forearm to my forehead, turning away and looking plaintively out the window into a setting sun, while declaring that she just wouldn’t understand.)

I blatantly ignored the mounting evidence that this pairing would only leave me broken and broke, and continued blissfully unaware along my journey of self-destruction, orchestrating a series of events that would leave me running from my home, my marriage, my family. I’m not saying I should have been leaving these things, at least the marriage and the home, but I shouldn’t have been running towards Gypsy, of all people. Woohoo would have been a better choice. She did offer me a place to live, a chance to “get my shit together” in a relatively peaceful environment, free for a few months at least from financial worry, a safe haven to start anew. Meanwhile, I waved merrily from my car window as I drove away, hollering, “Nah, I got this!” as I hauled ass down her driveway, blaring Gypsy’s music at full blast and heading back to the city, to his mother’s house and the tiny 10x10 room that was to be my new prison of my own making for the next several months.

Meanwhile, still unable to communicate the massive amount of emotional stress and pain I was under to anyone, my mind began bringing all my fears and the traumas of my past to bear, forcing me to deal with them however I could. Financially, I was surviving, barely, in no small part to Woohoo herself, who kept my business running mostly smoothly as the day-to-day operations manager, supplying me with a steady income even when I wasn’t actively working.

My ex-husband meanwhile had no intention of patiently waiting out my midlife crisis, immediately replacing the vacated space in our marriage bed with the first woman who would tumble into it. He convinced Moon that my mental state was due to the fact that I was a bad person who did not love her, and therefore she had no need to further associate herself with me.

The day I received that smug text message from him, superior in his position as head of a new family to control, I gave up. Oh, not without setting a few more fires of course, screaming and stamping my foot and using whatever means I could to manipulate my ex-husband into returning my daughter to me, letting me hear her voice, even if it meant terrifying a complete stranger, his new bed buddy, into thinking I was going to share photos of her in lingerie with the world. And where did I get these photos? Oh, Mr. Manipulation himself had provided those just days before when he was so very interested in seeing if I would join them for a threesome. But, that’s another story for another day.

After several hours of realizing that torturing Mr. M and and the future Mrs. M was not going to get me my daughter, my emotions spiraled me into a well of despair that I was not capable of pulling myself out of. I seized upon a bottle of pills, a prescription Mr. M procured from his doctor that I had been told was for helping me with anxiety from my ADHD, but in fact were mood-altering antidepressants that, when prescribed incorrectly, could lead to suicidal ideation.

Google is a useful source for immediate access to the LD50 of literally anything. LD50 is the amount of a medication that will, when consumed, lead to death in 50% of the population of those who take it. The LD50 for this particular medication was 15 pills. I had 30. While texting Woohoo, Mr. M, and the future Mrs. M., telling them my intentions unless they returned my daughter to me, I began counting out 15 pills. I continued the threats as I used the Everclear under Gypsy's bed (where he was currently snoring after taking a dose of Benadryl after a long weekend of my emotional drama), to swallow them one by one. At eight pills, Woohoo warned me that she was calling the police. Hours away from my location, she would never arrive in time herself to stop me. She did the only the she could to prevent my death at my own hands - she narced on me.

At ten pills, for some reason, Gypsy stirred in his allergy-med-induced coma, and seeing me swallow the tenth, realized what was happening. He took the pills away as I screamed at him, “Just five more, please, just five more!” while he screamed back at me, “How many did you take? How many, my Angel?” (Gypsy didn’t call me Biscuit. No one did at this time, actually.) After counting and recounting, doing his own internet search, and counting once more, he sighed with relief, realizing I’d only taken enough to give myself a stomach ache.

My sobs had subsided at this point, and I sat in stony silence as Gypsy stared at me, seemingly in shock at how close I had come to leaving his life, and my own, at my own hand. Then one of those loud knocks that apparently policemen are trained in, one that can echo through a house to the back of a bedroom and enter into even the fevered dreams of a hallucinating woman who just wanted to be happy, smoke weed, and eat a chocolate bar in peace, sounded through the house, setting Gypsy's mom’s chocolate labs off in a frenzied bark as well as my wails of panic.

“Tell them I’m okay, Gypsy. Please, tell them I’m okay. Tell them she lied. Tell them they lied. Can I stay here? I’m so scared, Gypsy.” With an irritated sigh, he put his khaki shorts on over his boxers, pulled me gently to my feet, and guided me to the door. “No, you’ve got to talk to them. They’re going to want to see you.”

As if I was a frightened toddler meeting Santa for the first time, he guided me to the front door. In my head, I was psyching myself up. “You can do this, Biscuit. Just act normal. Act normal. Be angry. If you’re angry, you can’t be sad. If you’re angry, you won’t cry.”

After a heated discussion between me and the cops, a worried discussion between the cops and Gypsy, and phone calls and screenshots of my texts to Woohoo and Mr. and Mrs. M. between the cops and Woohoo, it was decided that it would be in my best interest if I was detained involuntarily at a mental institution for a three-day psych hold.

In the front yard of a house I had only recently moved into, in front of people I barely knew, in front of my beloved Gypsy, I was handcuffed, crying and scared. As the cuffs clicked into place, I could see Gypsy at the front door, watching behind the glass, mouthing, “I love you,” across the void separating me from the only vaguely familiar thing left in my life. Physically, I was being kept safe, but I was being traumatized all over again, my hands behind my back all over again, forced to do something I didn’t want to do all over again.

But what else could Woohoo do? Physical safety trumped mental safety. I could never be mentally safe again unless I was kept physically safe now. At the time, I couldn’t see that. At the time, all I felt was fear and anger. For someone with BPD, fear and anger are terror and rage.

By the time I was released from my prison 48 hours later (instead of 72, as apparently I wasn’t that crazy), my mind had been fueled by this terror and rage for days, consuming my thoughts completely. Unable to turn that rage onto the people who had hurt me, I instead hurled it at Woohoo, now the sole symbol remaining of that night. I stripped her from the business, allowing Gypsy to spew venom through social media as the new voice of the company, coming to my defense as Woohoo tried to warn our contractors that there was something seriously wrong with my mental stability now.

In my gathering momentum of destruction, I decided to strike one more blow against my former friend, business partner, and soul sister: I refused to pay her. I kept her final paycheck, using it instead to shower Gypsy with books and games, gifts for his loyalty perhaps. Meanwhile, Woohoo, still in shock over my behavior thus far, now had to figure out how to make ends meet without the money she was owed, how to provide for my own godchildren, her sweet son and daughter, now just that much shorter of being able to cover expenses.

The only wise decision I made in those days was enrolling in counseling. But of course, showing up to the first session did not instantly make me see what I had done and was continuing to do. That would take time, more self-destruction, more mistakes, more trauma, and finally, finally -- partly due to that first step and the hard work of a southern Biscuit, partly due to the luck of finding her Gravy -- peace.

[assholemurphy]

i need to write a 2pg (double spaced) paper over the ‘unitary executive’ being a myth argument, i’ve been assigned pro, which, bc the title isn’t v telling, i have no fucking idea which side i’m on. that means i have to read 10pgs and cite quotes from those pgs to back up my case and i just... don’t... want to.... bleh...

it’s so boring, so annoying, i’d rather debate abt the current presidency and how it’s gone to shit, but no, this class is abt debating technical aspects of the presidency, which is all well and good, i find it interesting, but like, not tonight. all i wanna do is write fic. that’s it. all i wanna do.

but my paper is due at 8a and technically (bc i’m sick) i need sleep today. esp considering i’ve got shop hours (unless i go to the nurse and get tested for the flu and it comes back positive, which i need to do, then i’m not allowed anywhere near theatre) from 1-3p, possibly til 5p, but probs just til 3 bc i don’t feel well. so i need sleep, and i’m tired, but i’m also restless and on edge and i just don’t feel okay at all. i’ve been trying to make myself do this assignment since 6:30p. it’s been 4 hours and i still can’t do it.

my adhd meds have worn off, if i even took them today?? i think i did, but i can’t remember. i need to drink some caffeine and get to work but i just don’t want to. at all. and ik even if i do it, i won’t go to sleep immediately bc i want to write.

so, i think i’m gonna try to write for a bit and see if i can get my shit together enough to write this stupid paper. it’s so fucking short, i wrote 2pgs single spaced in the span of 30 min last time (bc i wasn’t aware it was supposed to be double spaced cause she never told us) so it should be extremely easy, but it’s not. my brother is snoring and i can hear him thru the walls and it’s grating on my every nerve bc he’s been asleep ALL FUCKING DAY so all i’ve heard is him snoring and it’s incredibly annoying. and i can’t play music to write my paper bc that’s too distracting w/o my meds working (as is his fucking snoring, he needs a sleep study done so they’ll take out his tonsils, but he never calls the dr, tho he blames the dr for it not being done yet, even tho he never fucking calls) and i’m so fucking pissed.

i tried to go to class today but i left halfway thru my first one bc i felt like shit. i was shaking and had a fever and was sweating and my throat was on fire and just, ugh, i hate being sick. i rly fucking do. it’s not strep bc i saw the dr today and they tested me for it, but it might be the flu, apparently, bc one of my friends who was over here sunday night (we got drunk, it was great) has the flu, so it’s possible. i hope not, but like, if it’s not that, then there’s nothing that can be done for me bc it’s probs just a virus. but it sucks.

i just want to scream bc everything’s wrong and i feel like i’m gonna have a panic attack but i don’t know why. nothing is rly wrong, it’s just a bunch of little things, like this paper and me being sick and my self-imposed deadlines for a project i have that i’m behind on. i just rly don’t want to be alone rn but in the event that i’m sick, i don’t wanna get anyone sick. i’ve been incredibly out of sorts for the past several days and i don’t know why. it keeps getting worse. nothing is rly wrong, exactly, but i feel so fucked up for some unknown reason. ok, well, ik part of the reason and it worries me (it’s not something i can fix, tho). it’s frustrating. it’d be easier if i had all my meds (i’m getting them tomorrow, tho, hopefully, if my psych has called them in, if not, i’m switching psychs bc i’m done with this ‘we never got the paperwork’ bullshit when i don’t have this problem with any other dr, this isn’t even the first time it’s happened. i’m tired of this bullshit).

i just need a shower and caffeine and maybe a friend. if one is available. probs not, tho. but i’m gonna shower first. then see if i actually want to text anyone. but i need a shower before anything else. hot water will do me good. then some caffeine. then to write. then to do this fucking paper.