#whining-ego: schizophrenia

[dumbbitchgalore]

tf141 hanging out together and finding out that old man!Price has a girlfriend 💫

The crowded pub bustles with the commontion of drunkards of varying degrees. Some slightly tipsy while others have decided to forgo their pants in the name of the King.

And then there's a group of men occupying a table at the corner of the pub. Simon with his balaclava on, Kyle with a cigarette between his fingers savouring the arcid flavour and Johnny ogling some girls on the other side of the pub.

All that was left was John, who makes his way to the table with four pints of beer. He sits down at the table with a grunt as he passes each on of the boys a glass. They all start chatting and catching up about everything's thats happened after Price's retirement.

Johnny begins to bitch and whine about the new captain saying how uptight he was critising everything the squad does that John would've probably turned a blind eye to.

John chuckles slightly, listening to them all talk about what's is going on with the taskforce. Despite the smile on his face, there is a bitter resentment inside of him, gnawing at him.

Useless, useless, useless

He takes a swig of his drink hoping that it'll calm his worries down. And lo and behold he receives a call from you, his baby. He smiles to himself and picks up the phone.

"Hey birdie, doing okay by yourself at home?" He asks softly.

That one sentence caught the attention of the other boys as they give each other quizzical looks. Who the hell could their former captain be talking to?

His mother, maybe his sisters? Nah, he wouldn't call any other birdie.

They listen to John's gravelly voice and breathy laughs as he talks to the mystery person on the phone.

What felt like hours to the boys and a few fleeting seconds for John, he hangs up and faces the group. He raises an eyebrow when he sees their faces contorted into expressions of confusion and curiosity.

"What?" John asks slightly defensively

"Who's the birdie, Captain?" Johnny asks with a tooth grin.

John shakes his head, "my girlfriend." he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Their jaws drop to the floor. Shocked would be an understatement as to what they were feeling and thinking right now.

"You sure it's not schizophrenia, sir?" Kyle asks.

John huffs in annoyance. What the hell? Couldn't they just accept that John finally had someone in his life. A perfect little doll who patiently waits for him at home.

They all start to laugh obnoxiously, barking and howling as if they were witnessing a circus show. And John's irritation grew tenfold and he huffs a sigh of annoyance.

"Oi captain, why don't you show us a picture of your birdie and then maybe we'll believe ya. Or well just keep thinking that the sarin gas is still in your system." Simon says, followed by a cackle.

John rolls his eyes and opens his photo gallery and shows the trio a photo of you and him. The picture is of the two of you in bed, with you resting your head on his shoulder with a smile on your face as John is still fast asleep. Evidence of the previous night's lustful tendancies still apparent on both of them.

This time their jaws drop for certain as the tangible evidence is placed in front of them. You're beautiful, and that fucked-out, post orgasm face is something else. This isn't fair. How did Price get blessed with a beauty such as yourself.

Soap scowls and scoffs looking away and crossing his arms in annoyance. While Kyle gushes about how lucky Price his to hide his jealously rearing its ugly head. And simon simply stares at the photo with a discerning expression on his face.

John smiply smiles, his ego fuelled and his pride sky high.

"Well boys, I gotta get back to my doll. Maybe next time I'll bring her along." He exits the pub, leaving the boys all confused and jealous.

[whining-ego]

Quicksie: 04.06.19

so i guess in the end it all really was psychosomatic. i no longer wake up at strange times, miocloni (the one thing i couldn't actually fake) have gone from ten times a day to two times a week. the only symptoms to increase were the ones i can easily and actively fake. though ironically even my canonical """disorganized speech""" is much better now, no nonsense stuff and whatnot. im going to neurologist tomorrow to confirm i suck ass at pretending, i'm not gonna drink any medicine, and i do have plans for summer that my lazy ass ain't gonna do because... it's lazy. in the end, i'm not unique (not that having mental illness makes one unique anyway),  i should stop begging for attention and i should get a fucking life. yadda yadda yadda

[memoir-of-the-girl-who-lived]

Age Regression and BPD

A common, yet normally not talked about, symptom of BPD is age regression.

What is age regression? Why does it happen?

Sigmund Freud believed age regression was an unconscious defense mechanism. It was a way the ego could protect itself from trauma, stress, or anger (this is subjective in theory though-- this will be discussed later). Various things can occur when you age regress. Some people may only regress a few years back from their current age (for example, someone who is 25 may age regress to 22), while some can age regress as far as infancy, taking on more childlike behaviors such as thumb sucking or whining. 

It’s important to note as well that BPD is not the only mental disorder that can have age regression symptoms attached to it. Other disorders include:

Schizophrenia 

Dissociative Personality Disorder (once known as Multiple Personality)

Schizoaffective Disorder 

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder 

Major Depressive Disorder

Dementia

Age regression can be triggered for a variety of different reasons. The person who is regressing, also known as age sliding, can find themselves in a stressful situation that involves them making adult decisions and, to escape the stress, will regress to a younger age where they hold the memory of being safe and stress free. Some people who are under a great deal of pain or distress will age regress to cope with anxiety or fear. And some people are “triggered” (a response caused by a particular action, process, or situation) when they come face to face with distressing memories or triggers. Some people are able to willingly age regress to escape stress, while most people who are triggered do it subconsciously. 

[btsvt-adventures]

Sixty Percent

Title: Sixty Percent Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Warning(s): Mentions of death, suicide, dark thoughts, strong language, gore depression, overdosing, self harm, self deprecation, self hatred, anger, lashing out, verbal abuse, physical abuse

If you’re easily triggered, please don’t read this

Word Count: 3097

A/N: This is so dark oh god. Also i wanted to post this on Hobi’s birthday (for dramatic purposes okay) but things got in the way, and well… it’s late. Oh well.

60% of males with Schizophrenia attempt suicide at least once. Today is Hoseok’s fifth.

He glances at the handful of pills in his palm, watches them glint against the harsh white of the asylum’s bathroom lights.

Do it.

It ain’t like anyone gonna miss you

That bitch doesn’t really love you. It’s all fake! All so you’ll be a good, quiet little patient  

Do it right and we will go away, cross our hearts

And hope you die

The shadows were taunting him again, tempting him to try. They crept along the walls, in the mirror, behind him, next to him, in the corners of the room. Where he went, his shadows followed. When darkness came, his shadows ruled.

He’d stolen the pills, after getting Taehyung to distract the staff. Taehyung had been delighted, eager to lie and trick anyone and everyone he could. With that boxy smile of his, it’s easy to believe him, easy to fall into his trap, easy to let him lead you and all the others away. He stares at them for a moment, the bottle of water in his hand shaking slightly.

Six years. It was exactly six years ago that he was admitted. He’d kicked and fought, yelling at his parents that he was fine, that he wasn’t actually going to kill himself, and that he’d meant for it to be a joke. His parents cried, sobbed, wailed as they put their precious son into the asylum, swore that they’d visit him, that they’d get him out when he was better.

They never came back.

He resented them, of course he did, for never visiting, never calling, for basically leaving him here to die, but it was tiring being angry all the time.

It’s not so bad, he supposes, glancing in the mirror, eyes roaming over his gaunt features, worn and tired, making him look older than his twenty two- no, twenty-three years. He sighs, mind drifting again, to the things he’s done to all the messed up patients here.

And what fun it was.

He’s seated across Jungkook, scoffing quietly when he sees the younger lash out at another nurse. Jeon Jungkook, 20 this year, and still as easy to piss off as when he was admitted a mere three years ago.

Make him angry.

Fucking piss ‘im off real good

Fight! Fight! Fight already won’cha?

Don’t be a fucking wuss, do it, you little bitch!

It doesn’t take much for him to cave. The voices, the shadows, they loved screwing with Jungkook, pissing him off to the point that they’d fight. Hoseok’s lips curl into a manic grin, the shadows cheering him on as he stands abruptly, strolling easily towards Jungkook.

“Yah, you’re pathetic, you know that?” he sneers gleefully, and Jungkook glares at him, barely restrained anger burning in his wide doe-like eyes.

“Someone with such a baby face, you’re just begging to be babied aren’t you, cute little maknae,” he goads, and Jungkook’s glare intensifies.

“Shut your face, dickhead,” he snipes, fists clenching as he fights the urge to punch Hoseok in the face.

Hoseok gets stopped (unfortunately), dragged away before he can cause any more trouble. He lets out a manic laugh, eyes wild as he loses a shred of fragile, composed sanity. The male nurses take him back to his room and sedate him, threatening to keep him in lockdown if he misbehaves again.

He does, repeatedly, but the nurses eventually figure he won’t actually push Jungkook far enough for the younger to kill him.

With Yoongi it’s more… stimulating. He gets a kick out of seeing nine year old Yoongi bawl his eyes out when Hoseok ‘tells’ on him. Yoongi will sulk, pout, whine and wail, just so he doesn’t have to take his medication.  

But the fun part isn’t watching a twenty-four, almost twenty-five year old turn into a nine year old. The fun part, is when Hoseok can catch Yoongi at nine, and force him to turn to his deliciously violent, oh-so-sexy nineteen year old self.

“He faked taking his meds today,” he tells one nurse casually, innocent lilt in his tone. Yoongi cusses him out, and he just laughs, high pitched and gleeful, watching as the nurses pin Yoongi down and force the myriad of pills into his system.

“I’ll have my revenge, asshole!” Yoongi snarls, fighting hard against the male nurses, who all struggle to keep him from killing them (or Hoseok).

Hoseok would have let him, but the nurses pull him away, somehow determined to keep everyone alive. If only they’d realized that half of them didn’t want to be.  

He laughs, darker, more manic, slowly descending into the madness of his own mind. Everyone has their own demons, and he watches the misery, anger, hatred, fear, and uncontrollable urges consume the other patients. He giggles in wild, deranged glee when the sounds of their screams echo along the hallways, knowing their nightmares taunt them, their own demons rip them apart, piece by delightful piece.

He revels in the knowledge that they’re suffering too.

That he’s not the only one.

The therapists try and tell him his demons aren’t real, that he should stop listening to the false promises and dark whispers of the shadows, but they don’t understand.

They’re real.

They haunt him, and taunt him.

They make his life a living hell. But the dreams are worse.

Failure.

‘Course you suck. Pussy.

Well look who fucked up?  As per-fucking-normal

Looks like you failed again.

He growls, swiping at the shadows, screaming for them to go away, to just leave him be. He screams until his voice is hoarse, but they laugh at him, hurling razor sharp insults until all Hoseok wants to do it slam his head against a wall until he’s broken, and they’re gone for good.  

Hoseok wants to die, to leave this dismal, dark, horror-filled world for the peace of eternal darkness, and this time he’s going to succeed. He closes his fist around the colourful pills, eyes shut as he takes a deep breath.

A brief memory flashes in his mind, a burst of colour in his dark, dark world. A memory of you.

Your first meeting wasn’t significant, just a fleeting smile, and a sweet “good morning,” but it stopped Hoseok in his tracks. You were new back then, fresh faced and hopeful to help the people in this place.

Hoseok almost wanted to scoff when he first saw you. No one here could be helped. It was an asylum for a reason. But you tried anyway. Everyday you helped Jimin battle his demons, coaxed Yoongi into being more receptive, switching the way you spoke as effortlessly as he did between his childlike innocence and violent alter-ego.

He saw it in the way you refused to take nonsense from Taehyung, but let him get away with those white lies he couldn’t help but tell, in how you gently reminded Seokjin that eating six people’s worth of food was too much, but letting him have that extra bowl of rice anyway.

He wanted to hate you, to sneer at how easy it was for you to lie (read: talk) to the patients, how all of them seemed happier whenever you were around. He found himself gravitating towards you, unknowingly craving the same affection you offered the rest of his ‘circle.’

You were just so good, too pure for this hellhole they’d assigned you to. You never said a word about what Jungkook did to his teacher, the way he mutilated her, tortured her in ways so twisted the news dared not report the severity of it, before she was granted the painful mercy of death. You spoke to him like the troubled teen you knew he was, coaxing him to talk to you about things that interested him.

Hoseok tried to deny it. He didn't want to be friends with you, didn't want to have hope in his already hopeless world. He pushed you away, insulted you, sneered and treated you terribly, anything to get the glimmer of hope blooming in his heart to stop growing. It taunted him, mocked him almost, but he was just so fucking drawn to you.

“Jung Hoseok right?” you grinned brightly at him, and he’s blinded, bathed in brilliant, beautiful colours, contentment and sheer peace washing over him. He’s floating, high on your gentle voice and kind eyes, drowning in so much… light, that for the first time in his life, he truly, truly believes his life isn’t meant to be shrouded in shadows.

He nods, completely enamored by you, but more enraptured by the fact that you didn’t classify him by his illness. He was just Jung Hoseok.

It was good, so, so good.

At first.

You chased the shadows away, made him laugh, made him happy. You snuck in sweets and snacks after bedtime, shared silly stories about childhood and about family, friends, and Hoseok felt… normal.

Then the shadows come back, fiercer and darker than before. Hoseok’s plagued with horrifying, terrifying nightmares, of you mocking him, of you looking down and laughing at how much of a shell he truly is. He wakes up screaming your name, and grabs the nearest thing (his plastic cup), hurling it at you when you come sprinting in. Every time.

“You! You!” he screams, thrashing as the other nurses try and hold him down, injecting him with relaxant. “You’re a liar! They say you’re a liar and you don’t really care! They say you’re using me,” he shrieks, tears sliding down his face. Hoseok looks you dead in the eyes, and for the first time you see how truly haunted he is.

You’re frozen the first time, heart dropping when you see how much he truly believes his nightmares. The helplessness claws at you, tearing you apart as you watch him struggle, shrieking at the top of his voice, frenzied with fear and panic while his mind falls apart once more.

“You. You’ll break me. You’ll break me, and I’ll let you,” he whispers, mellowing out as the medication takes effect.

You head straight into the break room when he’s completely calm, eyes shut in temporary peace, and you hiccup, letting your weakness, your pain wash over you. Hoseok’s only a few years older than you, but his eyes, in that moment, were filled with more pain and torment that you could ever think was possible.  You let your emotions take control, sobbing in the tiny break room while the other nurses bustle around, some shooting you sympathetic looks, others leaving you alone to cry it out.

It doesn’t stop you. The shock eventually wears off, and you’re more prepared to handle him. You come back each time he screams your name, reassuring him you’re not going anywhere, that you truly do care, that the shadows are lying.

“How do you know they’re lying?” Hoseok asks you one day. It’s a good day today. The shadows are quiet, lurking in the darkest corners of the brightly lit room.

“Because I’m here, right now. The shadows, they never tell you good things, like how your laugh makes everyone laugh, how you’re so pretty when you smile, how you’re kind to everyone, even the ever-so-grumpy Min Yoongi,” you ramble on, and on, and Hoseok feels hope and affection bloom deep in his heart.

You lace your fingers with his, and he stares at it, almost in shock, before he turns your hand over, tracing the lines on your soft palm with almost childlike curiosity. He wants to memorise just how soft your hands are, learn each line and cut, trace over the smoothness of the tips of your fingers until he can see them imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Hoseok’s in awe, because he thought your hands would be calloused, rough from having to deal with patients like him and Yoongi all the time.

He leans down, pressing soft kisses to the center of your palms, and comes back up to peck a soft, sweet kiss to your cheek, feeling his already impossibly wide grin widen when he sees a pretty pink dust your delicate cheekbones.

When Hoseok first realizes it’s love, he knows he’s screwed. He tries to deny it, but he can’t resist. Each smile makes him want to push harder. Each sweet kiss gives him hope. The nurses are amazed by how much progress he’s made. Each time you praise him, he feels so full of love he thinks he’s going to burst.

But that was only in the light.

Once darkness takes over, the shadows taunt him for it. It’s a constant struggle, desperately trying to remember the happiness that filled his heart when he saw you mere hours ago. The days you’re not there are the hardest. He’d resort to sleeping pills, just so he could hide his struggles, because your happiness meant his happiness.

She’s lying

She only wants to see you when you’re happy

Once you crack, she’ll disappear

They all disappear

Always

Two nights later, it’s a bad night. He’s angry, violent, furious at both you and the world. He stalks you, like a predator would a prey, hurling sharp, hurtful words that burn themselves into your brain,

“Slut! Bitch! You’d open your legs for any damn guy who asks, thinking it’ll heal them? Make them better?” he snarls, eyes feral as he grips your arm tight. You gasp, not in pain, but in shock. There were bad days, but this was different.  

“Only for you hobi, I only want you,” you murmur quietly, reaching out to cup his cheek, not resisting when he pulls you closer by your arm, snarling in your ear.

“Liar. What a fucking liar you are. Here’s some breaking news, bitch. We’re all here because we can’t be fucking fixed. So get the fuck out of here and leave us to rot in this goddamn hellhole!” he roars, shoving you away, before letting the nurses tackle him.

He looks straight at you, lip curling in disgust, eyes filled with contorted hate and glee.

“I told you you’d break me.”

Four nights later, he cracks. The lack of sleep, the constant torment, the whispers in the dark about hurting you before you hurt him, about him already being broken, drive him over the edge. He screams at you, hands flying and voice hoarse.

You reach for him, cooing softly, lacing your fingers together so he’ll calm down, but he tries to pull away.  

“This is your fault! All your goddamn fault!” he shrieks, pulling away violently. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you fucking dare touch me!” he hollers, glaring hatefully at you.

It’s a choice. You can see the choice he makes in his manic, wild eyes, but it’s too late to stop it, and the sharp sound of palm meeting cheek echoes in the suddenly silent room.

It’s enough to shock Hoseok back to his distorted reality, and he panics when he sees you on the floor, eyes glazed over as you hold your reddened cheek, the mix of pain and shock clearly evident in your eyes.

“I- No, no please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, the shadows they-they keep telling me to hurt you, I try, I try so fucking hard to ignore them, but they haunt me. They torture me with dreams of you leaving, of you mocking me, saying I’m hopeless, that I can’t be cured, I just want the voices to go away!” he screams, falling to his knees in front of you, reaching out to tug your hands away so he can see the damage for himself.

“And they will go away,” you promise softly, letting him run his fingers over the mark, his mark, heart shattering at the remorse and regret on his handsome face. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. You’re going to get better, okay?”

You’re still stunned, because you knew the risks of getting too close to a volatile patient like Hoseok, but you couldn’t help it. He drew you in, mysterious and haunting, one minute goofy smiles, the next hateful glares. Your cheek burns hot, tender to the touch, but the pain doesn’t compare to how much it hurt when he broke, when you saw just how much you broke him.

Hoseok was right.

You did break him, and a dark, demented part of him hoped the knowledge would haunt you, knowing it was your fault.

He tried. Hoseok tried so hard for you, but they kept getting worse, and worse. The voices, the shadows, whispering evil into his sick, twisted mind, telling him to end his misery, to end his pain. He’d tried so, so hard, but the shadows, the torment, the torture – He failed.

60% of males with Schizophrenia attempt suicide at least once. 10.5% of them succeed.

For the first time in his life, Hoseok won’t be a failure.

This time he’d succeed. This time he’ll make them go away for good. The shadows will finally leave him in peace. He’ll be free.

He grips the bottle tighter, tilts his head back, and downs everything. It doesn’t take long, and he gasps in pain, feeling his insides churning. His vision blurs out, and he’s on his knees, body trying desperately to reject whatever he’d forced down. He vaguely hears the door slam open, hears your voice cry in alarm, and almost, almost wants to fight back, but he’s tired.

He’s just so tired.

He feels himself being lifted onto something soft, so, wonderfully soft, and glances up to see you, yelling out orders to try and cleanse his stomach, to try and figure out what he took.

“N-no,” he forces out, mouth drier than the sahara desert. “N-no m-more,” he rasps, and you look down at him, desperation clear in your eyes. He knew it was time, but he needed you to know it too.

“A-always...Love y-you,” he breathes, shaky hand reaching up to try and brush your tears away. He misses, stroking your cheek instead, but you choke on a sob-laugh, letting him see, openly, how much this hurts you too. He hears, just barely, your heartbroken plea for him to stay, to keep fighting, but the shadows are crowding his vision, his world darkening one final time. He lets himself languish in the darkness, feeling it envelop him in it’s cool, soothing embrace.

Peace.

At 12.00am, Jung Hoseok sees his twenty-third birthday. At 12.28pm, he realises he’ll never see his twenty-fourth.

At 12:29pm, on 18 February 2017, Jung Hoseok closes his eyes on his twenty-third (and final) birthday.

[whining-ego]

tumblr:

me:

S I K E ! !

[image description: a screenshot of tumblr post saying 'it's normal to think one might be faking symptoms, but I can assure you, no one wants to fake psychosis, it's too horrible']

[whining-ego]

Quicksie: 22.05.19

today once again i’ve got this idea that i should sew shut all pockets and opening on my clothes. since things might fall out of them or i could get pickpocketed. while i was walking back home this thought preoccupied my mind. however, once i was back, i realized: i wouldn’t be able to wear my clothes anymore & i’m too tired to do anything this grandiose. though the first one didn’t bother me as much, because lmfao looks like i’d rather not loose my stuff than wear clothes. now, looking back, i perceive this idea as mindless, but at the moment, it seemed like the most real thing i could ever do. and it was not the first time.

welp

edit: i lied. i actually still really feel like sewing my clothes. i'm lazy as fuck. same reason i never completed indexing every item in my room. laziness and egocentrism

[whining-ego]

Quiksie: 21.05.19

after a brief review (read: scrolling through several articles from google) i discovered that, in fact, hearing music doesn't do jack shit in regards of schizophrenia. neither is noise in ears, as i'm quite aware only i hear those sounds. auditory hallucinations are a whole lot different. bummer

[whining-ego]

Quicksie: 16.05.19

thus far this morning i've heard at least six different songs and melodies in my head and it's only been one hour of being awake

guess i never noticed that bc i was wearing headphones. but now as they're broken

life's gonna be so much fun

edit: it's seven now

edit 2: at the end of the day i counted up to 15+ and like. wow. gimme my earbuds back the floodgate is open

[whining-ego]

Update: about schizophrenia

as i stated before, i believe i have schizophrenia

not a full-blown psychosis, just symptomatically. it will only get worse in future. but i guess the best tactic is to wait a few years until i actually develop disorder and let it take over my life, bc then it will be just in time to get treated

so where do we begin. ah yes longpost under cut

1. language problems.

to be clear, i’m using three languages in my daily life, so it is pretty common for me to make mistakes in vocabulary and grammar in all three of them. but but but. this one goes past just mixing up languages. i experience several symptoms that could be a part of thought disorder. note: currently i’m in my better state of mind, it goes better and worse from day to day, as well as i’m using laptop so it marks mistakes

symptoms: thought blocking, clanging, phonetic and semantic paraphasia, neologisms, preservation. i shall not explain each in here, maybe will one day provide example in english

another thing is that it’s hard to find words. imagine speaking in foreign language you’ve only started learning a week ago. that’s the struggle i have even in my native language.

due to this i started recently believe somebody is taking and putting thoughts and words in my head. i kid you not i feel like the head just goes on on its own. another reason is

2. loud thoughts and music.

imagine you had radio in your head. you’ve got no control over it. it switches to podcasts, then to music from ‘80, then some news, and so on. this is how i feel. though this is more of a new symptom, bc i can’t tell if i had it prior to attending specialists

it’s not too bad, i find it interesting to hear tunes i’ve forgotten or even hear my head generate new melodies just fluently. but it really tides my head, as well as i sometimes am too immersed into speech and music to perceive reality. fun fact: i hear it as inside-my-head only, so it is not hallucination. however my thoughts are getting increasingly loud, and i keep hearing loud narrations while reading and remembering stuff, like natural voices with full personality and intonation

one thing i actually physically hear is ringing in my ears. sometimes it’s louder and sometimes it’s only dominant in one ear. but like i’ve definitely had this since last summer. the ringing is loud and troubles me when falling asleep. however i’m not sure about this one because i remember having noise in ears from early childhood, so not sure about it.

more reasons to feel used by some other force:

3. erratic thoughts behavior

i’ve always been the weird kid. i guess it happened due to being abused and therefore not socially educated enough, but there are some patterns i started to notice in the last half a year

i do shit that i have to motivation to. like poking people around me. sounds dumb but it’s as basic as it gets. it scares people even. but i just do it? literally no underlying meaning. the other day i felt like my body is nonexistent. that’s why guess what? let’s bite your hand. i still have deep marks. all of this goes on, like cutting pieces of skin with scissors just for the sake of it. not self-harming. doing it because that’s what’s in my head. i guess i have an explanation now

as from previous posts, i have maladaptive daydreaming. well actually i’ve been doing it less recently, not so maladaptive huh. but one thing i did was talk to myself and portray characters’ emotions. another thing similar to this was talking to invisible audience. giving my opinions, describing daily life. guess those are the ones that learned a lot about me and now have got their way into my head. not that i mind a lot tho

so now i have a brilliant idea of trying to overdose on quetiapine once i get a hand on it. i feel no underlying reason as to why. i don’t wanna get admitted to hospital. i don’t wanna make my parents sad. i don’t wanna get attention. i don’t wanna die. i just have this recurring idea. same thought fixation happens on daily basis too, like just getting stuck with word ‘alleviate’ in head and repeating it to myself just because

and with this i think i conclude major symptoms. others are categorized into these three i guess. but now after writing it down i feel like i exaggerate and just want attention. which of course i do but shit happening above is actually happening

at the moment i have some paranoid beliefs as well, that’s why i started cleaning and sorting everything and everything. i plan on completely leaving my friends, because they know me and i’m afraid they can find me. i’m cleaning all social and not-so media, though leaving the accounts be because they contain valuable information i cannot export. hoarding tendencies have been relieved, just as i said it february - i will drop my obsessions. perhaps i will drop the schizophrenia one too. as to why i’m writing this on tumblr if i feel paranoidal - well i write this stuff specifically for attention, so i try to not leak any information that i do not want to be on the web. thought now i think i’ve exposed too much of my contacts. oh fuck-

tryna end this school year like a decent human being. that’s why i’m writing this post instead of assignment that is due tomorrow oopsie

stay healthy and get help

also worth mentioning i never told about any of these to psychiatrist bc i went there with my stepmom and i don’t want her to worry or expose me as i liar

also worth mentioning 2 i didn’t mention any of the negative symptoms because most are described in the previous post

[whining-ego]

Update: current status

i lived bitches

well guess what. got to doctors. got a blood analysis taken, got to a neurologist, got an mri taken, got an eeg taken, got to a psychologist, and, most importantly, met a psychiatrist

i can’t say i’m not disappointed.

my symptoms (starting february and up until now) include: bad ability to concentrate and focus, memory worsening, some sort of language disorder (i shall talk about it later), low energy, myocloni, feeling of emptiness in head. what’s peculiar is that my ability to ingest information didn’t change, however it takes me a lot of energy to perceive and digest it. in other words i can learn a formula, but it is hard to read it in the first place and understand what it’s about

both neurologist and psychologist said they have never seen anything like that. that’s fine, i know i’m a special snowflake. blood analysis, mri, eeg they all are fine, except eeg but i guess it explains myocloni

so. about psychiatrist.

- well you got some psychosomatic disorders due to your abuse mother, go have therapy

thanks doc

i mean yea, trauma does shit. but for fuck’s sake. the time either this or my self-harm (which nobody listens to me actually explain) gets mentioned. ta-da. you got the explanation to all yer problems

and i don’t deny i’m a munchausen hoe, it just irritates me to no end. oh well

i’ve been swinging between ‘i have schizophrenia’ and ‘i don’t have schizophrenia’ since the time the neurologist written it down as a possible diagnosis. currently i’m in the first phase. but i gotta elaborate on this in a different post (though so far i’ve been explaining myself pretty clear, indicating i do not, in fact, have this disorder)

also i’ve been prescribed two things: escitalopram (cause my physician thought i had depression) and quetiapine (cause psychiatrist said it should alleviate my symptoms). currently i take neither of these, since i gotta see neurologist first

overall, these three months were okay. i’m slowly degrading into lazy piece of shit, but thankfully summer is soon. not like it’s gonna get better, i’m just tired

in the next post: Little Girl Romanticizes Schizophrenia, Loses Her Shit After Realizing She Might Have Some Symptoms

[whining-ego]

Quicksie: 06.06.19 [2]

i’ve been feeling more, well, strange lately. dumb thoughts coming into and leaving my head, like that one about sitting on floor. today i (again) remembered that mirrors are my enemies, that they bend the reality and that’s why i can’t recognize myself and each time look different. i also got a thought that each window lies about what’s behind it, that’s why no man should look through a closed window and instead ought to open it each time he wants to see the outside, for the window deceives. i want to keep all the windows open but i can’t, because the burglars can break in and also we have two cats. maybe each reflecting plane is a lie. we can’t trust them. that’s what’s been bugging me. i also see patterns on ground and walls, like some sort of portal to other world. though i know those are floaters of sorts, and unless it is on reflective surface it is nothing to worry about. i also found myself to feel interesting connection to grass and plants in the ground, as if a know all their rotts and can manipulate them. but not really. what is a cool ability though is seeing words and concepts in colors and textures. like number one is red and stone-like, month of june is pink and slimey but in a good way, and the word ‘amnesia’ is white and bubbled but those bubbles are poked and hollow. though i become increasingly worried that my viewers want to posses this ability. but i’m cool to share my experiences. i like being unique

it is strange to realize this all is not real and not true and simultaneously believing each word said. 

[whining-ego]

Update: on thought disorder

the results from psychologist came in. and there was actually some interesting stuff. tl;dr you’ve got some thought problems gurl needs to be studied further

what i wanted to share were actual insight into what screwed up processes roll in the background of my mind. this test is called “eliminate unnecessary items” (tho i couldn’t find the same in english). the examinee is provided with four images of common objects and has to exclude what they think does not match with others by a characteristic, and also explain why

i have to mention that there are variations to ‘correct’ answers, so don’t think those are the only ones that are true. i only showcase these to contrast with mine

1. thimble, smoking pipe, spool of thread, scissors.

my answer: spool of thread correct answer: smoking pipe my explanation: you can put the other ones on a human’s body; thimble on a finger, scissors on two fingers, pipe in a mouth correct explanation: the other ones are sewing tools

2. umbrella, peaked cap, gun, military drums

my answer: umbrella correct answer: umbrella my explanation: others produce loud sounds; gun shoots, drums play music, when people wearing peaked cap are marching they are loudly stomping correct explanation: others are related to military

and i mean now, rereading what i’ve initially answered, mine seem stupid and illogical. but back in the moment i was completely sure these are good to go. and while i believe i might’ve faked everything, i tried to be sincere at least

can’t wait to get my hands onto some juicy psychotherapy

[whining-ego]

Blog update: first post

tw: abuse

music in my earphones is too distracting for me to write the greeting

this blog is deficated to me, wholely, solely, purely to me, my ego, and my whining. and i know it might get negativity. i do. but honestly will i even remember this blog in a week or so

but hey, babbling bout oneself is totes fine, innit? there are ton of blogs out there. nothing special. and i dont claim myself to be neither special nor ordinary. because either option is egoistic as fuck, (only in relation to me dont worry). with this much build-up, take that: i think im mentally ill/neurodivergent, and the diagnoses change day to day, and thats what i base my life on

hooray yer so special!!! congratz!!!

and i dont wanna change. like if i ever got diagnozed with anything, (even not on list), id be 'ooohhhh yuuuhhhh!' and. done. ima not gonna change my life for better. meds? cool. talk therapy? awesome. actually getting up yer ass up? understandable have a nice day

i dont know where it comes frome. perhaps its child abuse i experienced, something along the 'if im sick then people like and care for me' lines, yet honestly i cant remember most of the stuff or i feel great deattachement from the memories. either way, as i said, im not willing to change my lifestyle in any way.

thats why it might hurt people with actual diagnoses. because they struggle day to day to live their lives, theu fight for rights and understandement, then here i am with wild fantasias and 'please be patient im xxx' cap

(to be honest, i really see myself being called out. having drama. and it gets me excited and immersed into these scenarios. what would i answer, how to hide in case of total failure. i crave attention no matter the source apparently)

thats kinda why im making this blog. because i know my friends and relatives have their own problems; my whining is not worth their time. like when two people at the same day cried by my side (both in reality and in the internet) and i felt so. overwhelmed. like dayum bitch how do i comfort them??? never was my strong ability. so wasnt empathy. not tryna be an edgy kiddo here, but yea. egoism.

i wanted to do a listing of different diagnoses ive ever thought of having; most likely it will not be complete, since i dont remember vast majority of anything that was three days before.

currently, most suspicious of: inbetween adhd/autism, additionaly dissociation/depersonalization-derealization (the first one would explain both my childhood and present day, the latter is just something i have started to experience about half a year ago)

honorable mentions: depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, dysthymya, cyclothymia, obsessive-compulsive disorder, obsessive-compulsive personality disorder, antisocial personality disorder, hoarding disorder, panic disorder, hypochondriacal disorder, dyslexia, schizophrenia, maladaptive daydreaming, and so on and so on and so on (like whole dsm list)

forgive me god for spamming in those peoples feed who will be looking for mentions of these above on tumblr

oh and also i want to become deaf. i know well that it would affect greatly my life, to the point i will suffer and suffer greatly, but everybody deserves a small guilty pleasure eh?

at different moment of my life i have immersed in these conditions soooooo much. researching information, projecting those disorders on my favourite characters in all sorts of ways (remember madd?), acting out real situations. it becomes my whole life. and then it shuts down and im not interested anymore. kinda like with everything else interesting, hence adhd.

and this blog will be a place where i can let myself out all i want. be as much of attention whore as i want. talk illogicaly and shitty and whatelse. heck yeah freedom

im not willing to change because i dont see a point. i love my comfort zone (fucking hate this phrase), i love being a stick in everybodys else bikes. and thats not a self-hate talk. i genuinely understand that i lack motivation or interest in changing, therefore i wont. if people leave me i just find different ones

(but i still believe it is not acceptable to talk this egoistically, to act this childlishly, not for me not for me. had really bad times because of this way of thinking)

enjoy this paradize of selfishness and laziness! i love feedback

just dont me dicks youselves

________________________

ive been meaning to write this post since like 3pm and its 11pm now even though everything i had on my mind this whole time was "write this post!!!" but then i decided to reinstall os on my computer and it took three hours and after that i was too exhausted to do anything. so around time i started writing this i was surfing youtube and stuck on one particular video. i found it interesting but at the same time i needed to write! this! post! so i kept nervously watching the red line of time and simultaniouly wanting to turn on some music even though the video had audio and agggrhh. here we go. by the way i started writing This Post with this paragraph, not the main part, despite the fact that i dreamed so much about writing it. yay