inch resting how i am such a nice, normal person up until the point where i get triggered by irl things that feel too much like being on tumblr, and then i lose my cool...

like (now, after a ton of therapy) im totally cool agreeing to disagree, or understanding that someone might have a different worldview but the same underlying beliefs as me, or understanding that the reaction they have to something might be different than mine but not fundamentally incompatible, and understanding that we are closer in our differing beliefs than either of us are to OTHER beliefs even when we disagree on the exact specifics of lefty progressive ideas... but then it gets to the gaslighting 'actually, the society has always been the way we're trying to change it to be, and this all makes perfect obvious sense as objective TRUTH, and you're the weird one if you think it's new or need an explanation because nothing has changed even though it OBVIOUSLY has' or 'actually these people believe [opposite of what they believe] and [deliberate misreading of what they believe]' and i black out 🙃

its a problem. it's an actual panic response or smth and i can't control myself very well when it happens. and also i don't like feeling compelled to censor my observations about the world around me, and i don't like watching others be asked to either. why can't people just acknowledge that they're asking for something new, and then defend it to people who find it confusing? If you can't defend something without lying and/or using emotional manipulation to get people to stop asking, then maybe you need to think it through more??? or at least accept that it's not THE objective truth?

i regularly find myself begging my therapist to tell me if what im saying is a 'normal people' belief or not because my perspective is so, SO skewed from being terminally On Tumblr for 12 years. i used to believe crazy shit, even when i didn't believe it anymore. imagine my shock when i learned that many of the absolute no-nos on this webbed site do not even register as anything to average progressive joe. that many of the strict, important social rules on here are seen as crazy as fuck by people who vote progressive, hold progressive values, but aren't in these no-nuance no-debate no-disagreement echo chambers? god it's confusing.

the world is so much more complicated than anyone wants to admit, it seems...

I woke up this morning full of existential dread and was really depressed. I was contemplating asking the health nurse/HR to take leave for my mental health. I've never done that for mental health reasons before but I'm just so overwhelmed right now and I have been struggling for a long time. I had a really bad panic attack and had to lock myself in the bathroom at work for like 10 minutes to hide it. I am just so tired.

I also have only been eating once or twice a day for like 2 months because my stomach is constantly in knots and I'm always anxious. I know I need to eat more and I try to force myself. I don't know why it's so hard for me. It's nearly impossible to eat when I'm in this state but I am way too thin right now and it's really bad. I burn more calories than I can consume. I have been unhealthy for so long and sometimes I wonder how I'm even alive. I have been trying to drink supplement shakes to try to make it through the day and snack when I'm able to. My soda addiction is also out of control but I need the caffeine to keep moving. I hate it. I told myself that I need to tough it out a little bit longer. I have been so emotional and angry and my moods have been all over the place and I started experiencing intrusive thoughts for the first time in a while. I probably need to increase the dosage of my medication again or try something else. I have been more anti-social than usual and I've been avoiding everyone as much as possible because I have truly felt insane.

I also have felt shunned by some of my family lately and they know how depressed I've been so it really doesn't help. I keep to myself now mostly and I try to be quiet. I thought things were starting to get better but I was wrong. My sister has been running away from me again and I don't know what I did. We are 15 years apart so I guess that could be part of it. My brother acts the same way but there are only 8 years between us but he's too cool to talk to me or something. I know he has been going through a lot too. I haven't been getting invited to do anything with them. They went to my aunt's for her birthday but I guess they didn't want me there. Last night my dad grilled burgers for his girlfriend and everyone else but didn't say anything to me. I don't expect him to cook for me all the time or anything but sometimes it would help and I am afraid to ask him. I kind of feel left out. I know I'm an adult and should be able to take care of myself. He knows I have struggled with food since I was a kid and I still remember him getting so mad at me for being picky and him fighting with my mom about it. I feel like he hasn't enjoyed cooking for me since then. I'm not as picky now as I used to be and I almost always eat everything he makes me when he actually does offer me something. He still does do a lot for me so I can't complain too much. I guess I just wish he and I had a better relationship so I would feel comfortable talking to him about stuff like that. We get along most of the time but we have never been that close. We definitely don't agree on some things. Sometimes I wish my mom was around too because at least she made sure I was fed. Her cooking wasn't even that good a lot of the time but I miss it anyway. I wish I could call her and have an actual conversation instead of hearing her tell me that I'm evil and then rambling on about shit that doesn't even make sense. I don't even know where she is right now and my dad had to block her on all of our phones because she was harassing us. It's so hard because I used to be able to go to her for advice when I was a kid but I can't do that now. I'm also afraid of ending up like her because I feel like I'm headed that direction mentally. I really need to see a psychiatrist in the near future.

I'm not sure what happened but I'm feeling stable at the moment but I don't know if it will last. I guess I took a shower and picked up a little bit when I got home so I suppose that could have helped. My back hasn't hurt too much today at least. Salazaar also came to sit with me so that was nice. I need to try to eat something but literally nothing sounds good and I'm frustrated about it. I will figure it out eventually like I always do. I'm also kicking myself for not taking my birthday off this year but it's not like I have anything going on so it doesn't matter. I guess it's probably better for me to go to work and try to be social than sit at home by myself in the dark all day.

I am going to try my best to pull myself together tonight because I desperately want the rest of my week to be better than today was. I feel like I have been saying that a lot. I'm also going to attempt to cut down on my caffeine consumption too because it's just exacerbating my current issues. I'm trying to focus on making healthier choices even though it's really hard. I don't want to end up in the hospital. I'm going to eat as much as I can and try to relax. I'm planning on meditating for a while before I go to bed too because sometimes that helps. I don't like feeling like this and I don't want to do it anymore. I am reminding myself that I do have people that care about me and I'm not totally alone right now. I will get through this and everything is going to be fine.

childhood secrets ~ hannibal lecter;hannibal

word count: 1711

request?: yes!

shady80smusicsingercolor “Hey! Can i request something

Hannibal l x reader

The reader kept her childhood a secret from everyone,until she was watching news about a teen getting bullied,she remembers her childhood and just cries.Hannibal notices and goes run up to her,ask what's wrong.She explain what happen,that her childhood friends used make fun of her,or calling her weirdo.Hannibal comforts her

Hope is okay❤”

description: after hearing the story of a teenager’s tragic passing, unwanted memories are brought back to her

pairing: hannibal lecter x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of suicide and suicidal thoughts, mentions of bullying

masterlist

“Did you hear about the Thompson girl?” Zeller asked as we examined some DNA for a case.

“Who’s the Thompson girl, first and foremost?” I asked.

“She was friends with Abigail Hobbs when she was sent to that psychiatric facility,” Price explained. “They were room neighbors I think.”

“Oh! That Hannah girl! What happened to her?”

“Her parents found her dead in her room. Suicide.”

I was so shocked at the response that I dropped the tool in my hand. Both of them looked at me for a moment as I just looked down at my hands. I was trying to calm the growing PTSD rising in me.

“The poor thing,” I finally managed to say.

“Yeah,” Price said. “I think she was in the facility because of mental illness. Her parents put her in there after her first attempt.”

Zeller shook his head. “Poor thing. They shouldn’t have let her check out so soon. (Y/N), are you okay?”

I was still staring down at my hands. They were shaking and it was getting hard to breathe. I could barley register the fact that Zeller had asked me something. They were both looking at me, expectantly.

“What? Yes, I’m fine,” I responded. “I gotta get some fresh air.”

I threw my coat and gloves on a nearby table and quickly raced for the exit. I had to wait for the elevator to take me to the ground floor, but the wait was antagonizing. My chest and throat felt tight, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

When the elevator door opened, I was faced with Jack Crawford, Will Graham, and Hannibal Lecter.

“(Y/N),” Crawford said. “Are you okay?”

I couldn’t respond this time. I had to get out, I had to be away from there.

The breathe of fresh air in my lungs was just what I needed, but I was still feeling panicked. Flashbacks were running through my head, things I had repressed for all those years coming back all at once, hitting me like a freight train. I sat down on the sidewalk, trying to calm my breathing enough to go back inside.

“Miss. (Y/L/N)?”

I looked up to see Hannibal stood behind me.

“I’m fine, Dr. Lecter,” I told him. “You don’t have to check on me.”

“You’re very obviously not okay. You’re breathing is abnormal and you look as though you’ve been crying.”

I felt my cheek and was shocked to find that Hannibal was right, I had been crying. I hadn’t even realized it before.

“I’m fine,” I repeated, but the crack in my voice gave me away.

Hannibal sat next to me. I tried not to let him see my face, but I knew there was no turning back now. He had seen me in the elevator, he saw how unhappy I was at that moment. Any other person would just think I was overwhelmed from work, or maybe one of our discoveries had upset me, but Hannibal was a talented psychiatrist. He probably already knew what was wrong with me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

I chuckled. “How often does that one work?”

“Enough times to keep me employed.”

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “Zeller and Price were telling me about a girl that used to be friends with Abigail, Hannah Thompson. She...she...”

“I know,” Hannibal finished for me, luckily. Just thinking about having to finish that sentence made my throat tight again. “I wasn’t aware you knew her so well.”

“I didn’t, but I know...the feeling. Like you’re trapped in your own mind and there’s only one way out of it.”

Hannibal was looking at me, waiting for me to continue but not pushing me to go any further than I felt comfortable with. I wouldn’t have to go any further with my explanation if I didn’t want to, I knew he wouldn’t force me. We could’ve dropped it right then and there.

But my mouth moved before my mind could comprehend what I was sating, “I was the weird girl in school. While other girls wanted to be princesses or astronauts, I wanted to be a forensic scientist. I always had a fascination with crime and forensics and such. At first, I was just an outcast with no friends, until a group of girls took me in and added me to their group in high school. They weren’t super popular girls, but they also weren’t my level of outcast or anything, so, understandably, I was excited.”

“I’d assume it wasn’t as ideal of a situation as you were led to believe.”

I shook my head, tears forming in my eyes again. “They only befriended me so I could be their verbal punching bag. It started mild at first, just some friendly jokes that I could throw back at them. Then they started calling me the weird girl, the freak who liked death and murder. They’d make fun of me for reading stuff about unsolved murders, or even just murder mystery novels. They told me I’d probably grow up to be one of the unfound murderers in those stories. They put me down at every chance they got, but they were the only friends I had so I just...I dealt with it. I even gave up the opportunity to shadow at a police department during my senior year because I was afraid of them making fun of me more.”

“What was the tipping point?” Hannibal asked. “Obviously they are no longer around. I assume either you got rid of them or...they left themselves.”

“A bit of both really,” I responded. “One day, their bullying just got too much for me. My parents never liked the group, so I felt like I couldn’t go to them because they’d just tell me ‘I told you so’ - not because that’s how my parents are but because that was my irrational fear - and the teachers and guidance councilors and principals at school were garbage. They did nothing unless they actually witnessed the bullying first hand, and even then it was always a slap on the wrist punishment. So, I thought...I thought I only had one way out.”

I was still half conscious when my parents found me. My mother’s screams were permanently etched in my head, her sobs breaking through the otherwise muffled sounds I was hearing. Even when I blacked out, all I could hear in my head was my mother.

“They sent me to the same hospital Abigail was in,” I continued, skipping over the nasty parts that I couldn’t bare to relive. “My parents said I needed actual, medical help, that they couldn’t ignore my mental health issues anymore. I was there for months. I met people just like me, people who understood what I was going through. I made friends with a lot of them, and they’re all still in my life right now. My high school friend group came to visit me at one point. They seemed genuine enough with their apologies, saying they didn’t realize how much I took their words to heart and how they didn’t know how dark of a place I was in mentally. I don’t know how true any of that was, but they put on a good act. When they finished their groveling, I told them to go fuck themselves and to never contact me again. They were...offended, to say the least. Apparently they spread rumors about me at school, but I finished my senior year at a different school so it didn’t really matter to me. Went off to do forensic science in college and...here I am.”

For a moment, a look of pride passed over Hannibal’s face, as if the end of my story made him feel proud for me. I guess it made me feel proud, too, but sometimes I kicked myself for sticking around with that toxic friend group for far too long.

“I’ve never told anyone that,” I admitted. “Not anyone who didn’t know me at the time, anyways. I tried to keep it repressed, but hearing about Hannah Thompson...it brought all those memories back for me. Maybe I’m not over it like I think I am.”

“Mental trauma when your brain is still developing is not something one can easily get over,” Hannibal said. “It takes years, and even then those painful memories could follow you to your grave.”

I winced at the thought of having to battle with those memories until the day I died. Part of me was still worried that they would be the reason I would eventually die.

“But it is important to know that your old friend group was wrong,” he continued. “There is nothing wrong with being interested in something that the masses aren’t interested in. I’d argue that being interested in murder and police work is much better than wanting to grow up and be a princess or an astronaut. Your job helps the police to find serial killers and to save innocent people from being their victims. There’s nothing weird about that, not in my eyes.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Lecter. I think I just needed to hear that when I was younger and...no one really said it to me before.”

“I’m saying it now,” he said. “If you ever feel overcome with those memories again, please do not hesitate to call me. A beautiful and brilliant mind such as yourself should not be worrying over what irrelevant people have to say about you.”

I felt myself blush, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the reassurance Hannibal was giving me, or if it was from the compliment.

“I want to sit out here for a little while longer,” I told him. “I still need some air, and to come down from what happened back there. You don’t have to wait for me.”

“I don’t have to, but I will,” he decided. “I want to make sure you’re okay before I join my collegues again.”

I smiled at him again. I definitely wasn’t about to fight him on staying there with me. Quite the opposite, actually. If there was anyone I wanted with me in that moment, it was Hannibal.

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 14

Hannibal reads too much into Max's attempt to reconcile and cult girl revisits her past.

@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare

Trigger warnings: discussions of death, abandonment, military casualties, emotional abuse

You soon returned to the opera knowing you had nothing to hide. Hannibal selected for you an off-white maternity gown so form-fitting it was practically painted on. He wanted everyone to see that you, his queen, empress and goddess, were carrying his child.

It only took that evening for the whole dynamic to change. Suddenly, you were an expectant new mother. Imogen had been a massive hit, you were planning to go again.

You were affixing your heavy cubic zirconia earrings when you heard a knock at the door. You hesitated, but hurried down the stairs when you saw who it was.

"Max?" You said, upon opening the door. He stood there awkwardly, holding a bouquet of flowers. "Hi?"

"Hey, [F/N]." Max greeted, eyes darting nervously around the porch. "I just came around to apologize in person. I'm sorry I was such a chauvinist prick."

You leaned against the door. "Oh?"

"You were right." He continued. "I don't know what it's like to carry a baby, and, unless something goes very wrong, I never will."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." You smiled.

"Anyway, these are for you." He said, handing the bouquet over. "They're chrysanthemums."

"Thank you, Max." You said, accepting the flowers.

"Archie and I-" He scratched the back of his head. "We thought that, maybe, if you'd still have us, that we'd name the baby Chrysanthemum. With your permission, of course."

"Like the picture book?" Your face lit up. "With the little mouse girl?"

Max nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, exactly."

You hugged the bouquet into your chest and considered it again. You looked back at Hannibal, who hadn't looked up from his expectant fathers' website for a second all day. He surrounded himself with books about child psychology, attachment theory, developmental behavior patterns and somehow found himself on a tangent about institutionalized misogyny in medicine.

"I'm sorry, Max." You said, sincerely. "I really do appreciate you coming down here and apologizing, but-"

Max put his hands up and gave you a disarming smile. "I understand. Plans change."

"I just really want to stress that it's not you." You assured him. "I've kind of... really grown to like the idea of being a parent. And I think that was Hannibal's plan all along, too."

"I believe a congratulations is in order, then." His voice turned up in delight. "I'm very happy for you. Both of you."

You clutched the bouquet to your chest. "Thank you."

"Well, I'd better get going." He stepped backwards down the stairs. "I've got three pints of Ben and Jerry's in the backseat and Archie'll have my head if I come home and they've melted."

"Max, wait." You stopped him before he could get down the driveway.

"Hm?"

You leaned against the threshold and smiled warmly. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

Max returned the smile. "Of course not."

You waved goodbye and shut the door. You hurried to the kitchen to put the flowers in water before you had to go.

"Who was that, love?" Hannibal asked, half-heartedly. He was still very fixated on his research.

"Max Thomas-Park." You answered, unwrapping the flowers from the decorative plastic.

Hannibal looked up from his computer, but left the room silent for you to fill.

"He wanted to make amends." You explained. You walked across the room to the china cabinet and selected a vase big enough to hold the ornate bouquet. "Brought flowers and everything."

"Chrysanthemums?" He asked, sniffing the air.

"I see your sense of smell is coming back." You commented.

"Interesting selection." He narrowed his eyes on the bouquet.

"Well, he said that was what he wanted to name the kid." You offered. "It was a cute pitch, not gonna lie."

Hannibal shut his laptop and examined the bouquet up close. "If he wanted to express regret, he would have done better to bring you blue or purple hyacinths."

"Well, like I said." You made a point to project a little more. "He said he wanted to name his daughter chrysanthemum."

"Mums are given to show sympathy for those in mourning." Hannibal continued, clearly having his own conversation.

"Hannibal-"

"I think your cousin got her hooks in him and he's planning to--" He cut himself off, lest he speak the unthinkable into reality. "That's why he brought mourning flowers."

"Max Thomas-Park is conspiring with Anna to kill our unborn baby?" You said, flatly, to emphasize how insane he sounded.

Hannibal held a bloom between his fingers and looked closely at it. "It's the kind of hint I would leave. For courtesy's sake."

"I think looking at parenting blogs all day has made you a little paranoid." You observed, knowing full well that an overprotective husband and soon-to-be father of your child was not a bad problem to have. Nevertheless, you shut the laptop and touched his cheek. "Come on. We're going to be late for the opera."

You heaved yourself into the passenger's seat of the car, feeling the seat give beneath your heavy frame. Every time you got into the car, you remembered that you needed to shop for a car seat. The thought just as soon left your mind every time. 

“We need to look for a car seat.” You said as Hannibal shut the door, hoping that he’d remember. 

“I mean,” Hannibal blurted out, still lost in his own conversation. “Max is a cultured and well-educated man. He has to know the implications of his flowers.” 

You huffed, dreading to think that paranoid delusion was symptomatic of his parenting style. “Right. The twenty-seven year old data analyst who graduated with a finance MBA from UChicago is also proficient in the outdated and frivolous language of flowers.” 

“In Italy, mums are only given as comfort for loss.” Hannibal said with undeserved conviction. “Exclusively, [F/N].” 

You rolled your eyes and typed something up on your phone. You raised your eyebrows, feeling a bit proud of yourself for what you found. 

“In Korea, y’know, the country that Max’s family is from,” You corrected. “The chrysanthemum is a symbol of friendship.” 

Hannibal tensed up for a moment, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. It was as if he were trying to break himself out of a trance. “...I’m sorry, darling.” 

“I know you’re scared.” You stared at his profile, trying to make out an expression. “I’m also... pretty scared. But you can’t take it out on a guy who has nothing to do with it.” 

“I am scared.” He affirmed, but the way in which he did was a telltale sign that he wasn’t giving you the full story. 

“Of?” You raised your eyebrow. “Finish the sentence, Hannibal.” 

"I need to keep our baby safe." He answered. "And I cannot in good conscience let her come into the world knowing that someone wants to hurt her. To hurt you."

You sighed. "Hannibal, are you seriously still worried about Anna?"

"Don't underestimate the role privilege and entitlement plays in the decision to commit acts of violence." He enunciated carefully. "You of all people should know that."

"Anna has cultivated such a perfect victim image to project outwardly that even a hint of proactive violence would shatter it." You explained. "She's the poor girl who has things done to her. Her evil cousin ruined her marriage. Her evil cousin destroyed her career. And she's the innocent victim in all of it."

"Logically, I know that you can speak on her behavior with more authority than I." Hannibal admitted.

"No shit." You scoffed. "I had to live with her."

"Can we at least entertain the idea that she has something planned?" He pleaded.

"I'm surprised at you." You said. "You never really struck me as the overly-cautious type."

Hannibal shook his head. "With my own life, I'm willing to gamble. But not when it's you. And not when it's Imogen."

You tensed up. His admitted willingness to put himself in danger unlocked a core memory you had buried deep down. The only thing you knew about your own father was that he was willing to put himself in danger. To go overseas and die for fuck-all instead of live for the child he selfishly created then abandoned. He chose to give his life for oil. You didn't choose to grow up without a father and your mother didn't choose to raise a child without a partner. He made that choice for you.

"Now what are you not telling me?" Hannibal broke you out of your trance. "I know that look, [F/N]."

"Nothing." You shook your head. "You should really not plan on dying anytime soon."

"I promise you, I am not going anywhere." His voice softened. "Least of all, to Iraq."

"Okay, you're a pretty good therapist but you never told me you could read minds." You threw your hands up in defeat. "Are you a psychiatrist or are you Loki?"

"As fun as being the god of mischief would be," Hannibal smiled to himself. "I just happen to have a steel-trap memory and an admittedly quite obsessive fixation on the mental health of the mother of my child."

"I swear to god I never told you about him." You denied. "Not even in passing."

"You didn't have to." He assured you. "Beatrice did."

You were surprised for a fraction of a second until the information sat in your head long enough to realize it wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Beatrice took every opportunity she got to brag about her son's sacrifices. She never once mentioned the sacrifices he forced upon you. Only that her son was a hero.

"Did you get the 'don't believe anything [F/N] has to say about my son' speech?" Your voice flattened in complete non-surprise.

"It was a prepared speech?" Hannibal chuckled. "Pity. I thought I was special."

"She gave it to my first boyfriend." You rolled your eyes. "We were, like, fifteen."

"The root of your psychological issues becomes clearer every time we talk about Beatrice." He commented under his breath.

"I know." You conceded.

He pulled into the parking lot, turned the car off and placed his hand over yours.

"Your father was a coward." He said, bluntly. It was nice to hear what had been echoing in the back of your head out loud for once. "I know no country to serve. No god to glorify. I promise, you have the whole of me. My mind, body and soul belongs to you and our child."

You squeezed his hand. "I couldn't ask for anything else."

In Defense of the Psychopath

Alright, wanna venture into my crazy ass brain? I’m going to start by saying one thing that will set the tone for everything else that follows: Villanelle is not a psychopath in the way that we currently understand them. Why am I even bothering to write about a fictional character, you ask? Because representation is important. Media portrayal of various mental and behavioral health topics (including ones that people might not think need to be discussed) is important and this show has a big audience. I also just want to contribute to the conversations that are taking place because I am seeing A LOT of them and the reason for that I believe boils down to the fact that Jodie makes Villanelle so relatable and people want to know what that means and looks like for them. Even those who felt they could relate to Sandra’s Eve, or the relationship between the two, maybe questioned what that meant the further they went down the path with them. “It’s probably a bad thing I relate to a psychopath, right? But she can’t be a psychopath because she cries and she feels things! Psychopaths don’t cry, which means she isn’t realistic so therefore it’s okay that I relate to her! Right? Or are my assumptions about psychopaths and people with antisocial personality disorder wrong? I relate to Eve but look what she is underneath it all...so does that mean I relate to that part of her too?” Not only is villanelles character relatable, but people see the freedom inherent within her, the freedom that Eve sees, and they realize that, at least on some level, they want it too. The show has (unintentionally I think) created a massive dialogue which is super cool and you can tell everyone involved on the show is aware of that now, I mean they have a consulting psychiatrist so I think that speaks for itself. This is less of a commentary on the character herself and whether or not she is a genuine psychopath, and more so a commentary on the conversations she has inspired and why... For the record, this is literally just my opinion sprinkled with a few facts, nothing else.

So, the term psychopath gets thrown around in the show, more so in the beginning, MI6 explicitly labels Villanelle this way, even going so far as to use her in a presentation about psychopaths, although I think that was more so to gauge Eve’s response than anything else. The reality of Villanelle, which we come to learn, is that nobody has been able to get close enough to really know the truth. Anna and Konstantin both got close but we never hear either of them use that word (Konstantin says it once but he clearly doesn’t mean it, it was more of an attempted manipulation tactic). They make it clear that she has, and can, and WILL cause damage, but that’s as far as they go. Eve is getting close and she tells Villanelle when they first meet that she knows Villanelle is a psychopath but it’s obvious from Eve's behavior and things she says later on that she truly doesn’t believe Villanelle is what everyone says she is. It’s easier to label her as a psychopath because that alienates and isolates her and her behavior completely. She is an outlier with behavioral anomalies and therefore it isn’t necessary to look any closer. For MI6 and others (not talking about the shows creators) to label Villanelle as a psychopath is easy, it’s lazy, it’s reductive, it serves a single purpose... a means to an end. They (anyone other than Eve basically) simply do not care about Villanelle’s truth. But as an audience we are lucky enough to see more of her with each episode. The psychopath label begins to fade and Oksana is what’s left. We know based on what she has said that she is aware that people think she is a psychopath, a monster, a person built to kill. It’s not always easy to decide that who you are is different from who you’ve always been told you are, especially given her history. Villanelle hasn’t told us yet if she thinks (or knows) that she is a psychopath, but it’s clear towards the end of last season that she no longer wants to be the person that they (meaning the twelve, Dasha, Konstantin, etc.) created. We see moments where she clearly has no remorse and clearly enjoys what she does, but then we have little moments sprinkled in between where she very obviously struggles, even if its short lived. And those moments are important. We have the moment where she struggles with the choice to shoot Konstantin, saying he is a good person, she thinks. This comes shortly after a conversation she had where Irina tells Villanelle she thinks she is a good person because she is sad, so we know she is thinking about it, we know the awareness is there, and it becomes more and more there as times goes on. I like to think of it in terms of having moments that are pure Villanelle (ie the way she killed Inga in the Russian prison), and then we have moments that are Oksana, vulnerable and emotional. Villanelle is a creation and a mask whereas oksana is the truth. Those moments are starting to really mean something. I'm not even going to start with her trip to find her family, that’s its own thing, but it's a Really Big Thing.

So. Villanelle is not a psychopath in the way that we currently understand and perceive them. Yes, she displays psychopathic traits, and yes, she absolutely has antisocial personality disorder. I read an article where the psychiatric consultant for the show (makes it pretty obvious how hard they worked to make Villanelle as realistic as possible) said that the Villanelle in Luke Jenning’s books scored a 32 on Hare’s psychiatric checklist, but I like to think (and I think a lot of people would agree) that number is a bit high, at least for Jodie’s Villanelle, maybe not even hitting 30 at all (close though, let’s be real lol). The max score is 40 which would be a fully blown primary psychopath. For reference, Ted Bundy scored 39. This checklist is flawed though, mostly created and based off the prison population. Which is why it isn’t used as a proper diagnostic tool. 32 is apparently extraordinarily high for a female (think Aileen Wuornos), which brings me to my next point which is that because it’s hard to measure a lot of the classic traits objectively, there is not a ton of solid data surrounding psychopathy, and even less of it is on female psychopaths. Like most things in life, psychopathy exists on a spectrum, there are levels and layers. It’s not black and white, there’s no definitive test (psychopathy isn’t even in the DSM-5 because as I said earlier it’s extremely hard to measure objectively) and it's important to distinguish between someone who exhibits psychopathic traits and someone who is actually an identifiable psychopath. Chances are high that someone you know displays at least one characteristic shared with psychopaths and this doesn’t make them one.

I think what’s important about this is that mental disorders (mental illness/personality disorders/etc.) of any kind are much more nuanced than a lot of people tend to think they are. That they exist less in black and white and more in shades of grey. Jodie Comer is absolutely remarkable for showcasing that through portraying the different layers of Villanelle. Her performance is a literal gift. We cannot keep thinking and acting like we know everything about how a person thinks, feels, and behaves based strictly and entirely on one label. The thing that has stuck out to me the most, the reason I decided to even write this bullshit babble, is that one of the most searched topics about the show is whether or not it’s realistic that Villanelle cries, and honestly how sad is that? That makes me sad for V. Is it more realistic for her to develop connections and cognitive empathy if she was made into a psychopath vs if she was born that way? Is there a legitimate difference between the two? And how do we even decide which one is applicable for someone? It’s important to add that antisocial personality disorder is not the same thing as psychopathy or sociopathy. You can have aspd and not be a psychopath. Research has shown that about only a third of those diagnosed with aspd would meet criteria to be considered a psychopath. Society is not doing a great job at getting people to understand this. But to be fair, understanding personality disorders specifically has been somewhat problematic, a lot of diagnostic confusion and overlap between disorders. A LOT of work needs to be done. But as far as portrayals go, society has strictly chosen to go the route of giving us psychopathic characters and having them be inherently violent, incapable of remorse, feelings, or change. Poverty of all emotions. Subhuman. They are made out to be so abnormal and unrelatable to the point where the character of Villanelle has sparked so much debate and fascination simply because she exists in a way that actually IS relatable...and layered and beautiful and thrilling. We thought she would be the bad guy and yet we root for her at every turn, we cry for her, we want good things for her! We see her darkness and without question or hesitation we forgive it. She makes us question what we’ve previously been shown. Questioning whether or not it’s realistic that she acts the way she does is less important than questioning our own personal assumptions and beliefs and where those come from. I think that’s awesome. Villanelle is truly a gift. She is hands down one of the most well written fictional characters, which is saying a lot considering when you put something, or someone, in a box it doesn’t leave tons of room for expansion. and I honestly don’t even really need to say this, but.. Jodie Comer.

hey..i’ve been back from my stay at the residential facility for several days now and A lot happened, which i’m putting under a a readmore bc it’s potentially triggering (warning for mentions of s*xual abuse/gasl*ghting/etc) my life is basically being uprooted, so much happened in the month of June and is currently still happening, which i’ll explain below

i was admitted to the residential facility on June 9th, it seemed super promising, there was an abundance of 4-5 star reviews from patients online. my friend who currently is working in the mental health field researched about the facility and also confirmed that it seemed a lot better than most places are. the first day was kind of rough and i knew getting adjusted would be difficult but could never have expected what happened the following several days to happen. i made friends pretty quickly, my roommate on the first day there was very kind to me, she told me if i ever needed someone to talk to that she’d be there for me, we also shared the fact we were both nonbinary/just a lot of things we had in common so it was comforting to know her on the first day there.

i spoke to my psychiatrist the next day who told me i could get off “close observations” which is why i was in the room i was, the label is basically something you get put on if you’re at risk for s*lf h*rm/etc and need a staff member w/ you at all times. so since i was taken off of that i was switched to a different room with a different roommate. she was a 60 yr old woman who was in the other program offered at the facility (mine was mental health related and hers was for substance abuse/addiction) i didn’t feel too comfortable around her the first night, she complained about every single thing, she never participated in the groups offered at the facility, she told me over and over again how much she hated being here. the next few days were a blur and are still very fuzzy, my mind is still keeping all the memories locked away which has happened to me many times before w/ trauma where everything’s vague and not fully there.

basically, over the course i was roommates w/ this woman she groomed me and manipulated me into doing anything she wanted me to do for her, she physically/s*xually assaulted me multiple times, and caused my mental health to plummet even further than i thought was possible. i eventually did get to switch rooms, and i only recalled (again, vaguely) what happened those nights about a week later and reported it to the staff where half of them treated it like a joke. i went to the hospital the night i reported everything to get examined and ended up calling my mom on my friend’s phone (she drove to the hospital and stayed w/ me the whole time) and my mom was probably the worse to take my trauma/situation out of anyone. she told me i should’ve spoken up sooner, asked why i didn’t defend myself from this woman, basically the whole phone call was her blaming me for not doing anything about my assault. when i hung up my friend even told me that what she said wasn’t okay, and was victim-blaming.

i left the hospital and got back to the facility around 1:00 am, and the following days i spent there i was continuously getting worse because being in the environment my trauma had happened was preventing me from healing, plus i literally had to be in the same rooms as the person who had assaulted me and seeing her was extremely triggering. she continuously would call me crazy and delusional and that i made the entire thing up, i had difficulty telling what was real and what was not because of how bad i was treated by her and the staff. i’m thankful i met some really kind patients there that became my friends, they helped me the most out of anyone there. at one point a nurse had pulled me into a room and told me how i should never have spoken up about my abuse, how i should consider how it makes my abuser feel, and stop talking to the friends i made about it. but i’m glad i had people who would actually listen.

i mentioned it once but again, my mom was probably the worst person to talk to when all this was happening, at one point one evening when phones were available i called her and told her i needed to leave, i wanted to come home because this all of this was affecting me so badly, and she screamed over and over that i can’t come home and i have to stay, that it’s too bad that happened but continuing to do the program was more important. at that point i broke down and cried, begging her to let me come home and she screamed repeatedly for me to shut up and then hung up on me.

after that evening i knew that i wouldn’t be taking any shit from her any longer, i called my friend who lived nearby about her the following day or so, asked if i could stay with her at her apartment, which didn’t end up happening because we both worried my mom being as spiteful as she is would take legal action if i did leave w/ my friend instead of my mom. i ended up talking to a couple of the friends i made there that i was having bad intrusive thoughts, and that evening i was baker acted (involuntarily hospitalized) and transferred to another facility, which could’ve been because of the staff or me being reported for the thoughts i was having, but regardless i was away from my abuser and didn’t have to see her again.

the hospital i stayed at was...a lot worse than the other place, i barely got to speak to the psychiatrist/therapist during my entire time there, people would joke about how little time you got w/ them. they ended up keeping me there longer than the required 72 hrs, which i asked multiple people why and never got an answer, at one point my mom wanted to make sure i was sent back to the residential facility of which i had to explain would be detrimental to me and my health, but as usual when she had her mind set on something she won’t listen to reason or anyone who explains other (more beneficial) options.

i ended up calling my friend that lived back in the town i live in, told her the whole story and what’s been going on, and ultimately asked if i could move in with her because her and her family had already offered to let me. she was more than happy to have me move in, so that’s what i ended up planning on doing when i got discharged, was have her pick me up instead of my mom. and i called my mom to tell her that i’d be moving out, all the reasons why it’d be beneficial to us both, she took it horribly and told me if my friend picks me up i can never ever come home again and that i’m kicked out. i told her that’s fine, even though it hurt so badly when she said it.

finally, the following monday i was discharged, my friend from back home picked me up along w/ her husband, and we made sure to get all my things from the residential facility (my clothes/shampoo/makeup/etc) before heading back to her house, which was about an hour and a half drive home.

so now i’m staying w/ her, i still feel out of place and disoriented and uncomfortable but her and her family have been very welcoming. i’m trying to get all my stuff from my mom’s but it’s been a huge struggle to get anything from her because she loves to overcomplicate anything and then make it seem as if it’s all your doing and she’s the biggest, kindest saint ever to grace your life. my friends and i all think she has undiagnosed/untreated bipolar, and i definitely think she at least needs therapy and meds too but she doesn’t believe in either for herself. i just want my stuff back, and i do miss my room a lot and jazzy but there’s no way i’m getting either back, i’m also worried how my mom is treating jazzy because she hates him and i’ve witnessed first-hand what she’s done to him before.

i might post my p*ypal / v*nmo (censoring bc i think tumblr is weird abt posts that have these keywords or smth) because i don’t have any income rn...thank you if you read all this lmao i still didn’t even cover half of the other stuff i went through at the place i was baker acted but essentially my life has been turned upside down and i’m having to figure out how to keep going despite it all

Cliffany (Claire×Tiffany) part 1

Hello there!!! It’s been a while. Yes, you’re not dreaming, this is a crackship fanfiction between Claire and Tiffany from sweet elite. I wrote this a couple of weeks ago and posted it on the Dulcet discord server. I’ve decided to post them on tumblr if anyone is interested (or not, that’s fine too.)

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"Cut the bullshit, Claire. I told you to stop sticking to me like glue!"

Tiffany was tired of it. No matter how many times she showed Claire how terrible she can be and how her words can cut deep, Claire kept coming back to her, looking for an explanation that doesn’t exist. Saying nonsensical one-liners like "are you really okay?" Or "You can talk to me if you need someone to listen." Tiffany found it pretty funny at first. Like, she could do any atrocity and this blond haired dumbass would come back to her anyway, thinking that she had some issues that needed fixing or something. After a while though, this shtick got annoying real quick. It was like Claire was completely unaware of who she was talking to and was blindly following the childish belief that everyone is kind and understanding on the inside.

"I’m just worried about you Tiffany, you keep pushing people away from you. That’s not good for your mental health. If you have troubles you can share them with someone..."

Tiffany sighed in exasperation. Was this girl senseless? Is that it?

"Listen here. I know you like to believe that everyone is good deep down but that’s not always the case. Not to mention, we’re not exactly close, you and I. If I wanted to "share" anything, it wouldn’t be with you."

"But..."

Claire’s eyes wavered for a second and she looked around, checking to see if there’s anyone nearby.

"...Honestly, the reason why I’m offering is because I don’t feel like you have anyone truly close to you. At least not in Arlington."

"Excuse me?"

One of the things that pissed Tiffany the most about Claire was that she could say the most insulting things with the best intentions, without any ounce of malice.

"Ha. And you’re the one to say this? You’re pretty much a wannabe psychiatrist who goes around being a punching bag for your classmates. People rely on you when they need you, but really? They don’t give a shit about you, honey."

Somehow, Claire’s gaze stayed on Tiffany, unchanging. This made her want to be meaner, more vicious, strike the parts she’s sensitive about. Claire was known to be patient like a saint and understanding like a mother. How nice would it be to finally put this dumb bitch in her place? Tiffany wanted to get a reaction from her, not only to make her leave but also because she was kind of interested to see what face she would make when she got upset.

"Oh, my apologies. What I told you just now, you were already aware of it, weren’t you? That you’re only needed as long as you’re useful. You might think that people like you Claire, but don’t get the wrong idea. You’re only useful, not lovable. Tell me about it sometime, how is it to be a walking doormat?"

Tiffany could feel it. Despite the fact that Claire’s expression still hasn't changed, there was a certain glow forming in her eyes. If she went on for long enough, she may be able to get the reaction she wanted.

"...Are you done, Tiffany? Can we talk like two civilized people now?"

"Hm. What was that? Do I hear some bitterness there, Miss I-Have-A-Savior-Complex? You probably got a lot of praise, huh? For your stupid speech at the department competition with your whole "people gather in front of misfortune" bullshit. Or- Ah! How could I forget, you also volunteer at the city’s hospital during weekends, right? You get all the praise and credit needed to get into Gold Tier even though all you really want is acknowledgement for your sorry existence."

Claire grabbed her skirt’s hem and kept tugging at it, looking down. In reality, Tiffany knew that there was no ill-will whatsoever behind Claire’s benevolent actions towards the people she took care of at the hospital. That was, however, the reason why she was so pissed right now. Instead of protesting against those baseless insults, Claire kept her silence, swallowing up her pride, waiting for this storm of verbal abuse to be over. At this point, Tiffany’s small conscience was telling her to stop. Yet, she couldn’t. Not now, not when she was getting closer and closer to results. And so, she kept pushing, wondering when Claire will finally talk back.

"Is that really what you think of me, Tiffany?"

"What’s wrong? Are you unable of taking any criticism, Claire? Or maybe you’re not used to being called out for your BS. You want it, don’t you? You want everyone to love you and have them keep you by their side while you’re playing the role of a perfect little girl who helps the weak but who’s just no fun to be with. The truth is that you just never learned to say no when people asked favors of you and it stayed as a habit. But instead of fixing that habit, you just went along with it, enjoying the attention."

Claire’s lips were starting to twist downward. There it was. The anger of being so blatantly insulted, the frustration of having to play nice even in front of someone who’s rude to you, the need to get all of those negative feelings out on someone and hurt them back either mentally or physically. Come hit me, yell at me and insult me. I finally get to see what you’re always hiding. No matter how ugly it is, I’ll accept it and laugh at it once you’re done pouring it out. When it comes to belittling others and making them feel worthless, I’m just the best at it.

"Honey, what’s going on? Want to turn back after coming so far? Well, I wouldn’t blame you. This is about the time when anyone would leave. Ah, by the way. Did you know that there was a certain rumor going around about the Durand family? Something like... a family member having a real nasty disease or something? So tell me who it is. Your mom, your dad? Surely not! He’s still working diligently everyday to take care of his little research facility in Florida. It would be terrible if he was actually pushing himself too hard to keep the business going, right?"

Tiffany finally went silent, grinning to herself, waiting impatiently for the crack to open and let the ocean out. Show it, Claire. Show that you can fight back so I can ridicule you even more for overselling your annoying "sweet girl" image.

However, none of that ever came.

"...Why... did you have to..."

Claire finally raised her head, showing a face full of tears. Despite that, she was trying to keep a smile on her face. "I’ve never seen anyone cry like that." Tiffany uselessly thought at first, until a wave of guilt she wasn’t even aware of went through her small conscience. There was something so upsetting about someone getting insulted to no-end and choosing to cry instead of letting their anger out. If only she exploded and hit her or yelled at her, it would’ve been better. But now, Tiffany felt like she just did something illegal. Attacked someone who didn’t have the means to defend themselves, who *didn’t* want to. Like she just robbed a homeless person who had barely any change left. It may have been the first time in her life that Tiffany truly felt pathetic for what she did. Shame, guilt, confusion. It was all welling up inside of her.

"Wh-why... *sniffle* Did you have to go so far... *sob* That was uncalled for..."

And yet you’re still not leaving? What’s wrong with this girl?! Before she even knew what was happening, Tiffany’s arms were reluctantly holding Claire into a tight embrace.

"A-are you a complete lunatic?? Why would you let me say all of this shit and cry afterwards?! That’s not how it works, you should’ve insulted me back and told me to fuck off!"

"I-I can’t... *sniff*"

"Why not?! Why can I and you can’t? You’re such a fucking moron, what the hell is wrong with you... When someone hits you, you hit them back! That’s basic knowledge every little kid has ever since kindergarten."

Claire’s hands slowly went up to return Tiffany’s hug. Through that small gesture, Tiffany felt every bit of emotion Claire was trying to communicate to her.

"Because... *sniffle* If I did you’d get sad and this conversation would end with both of us feeling sad... *sniffle* I know that you always act like you don’t care but, the truth is that you always get upset about what other people have to say about you, right? ...Especially with all of your social media accounts and the exposure you get. It must already be so hard to get so much unwanted criticism everyday even though you never asked for it..."

For some reason, before she even knew it, Tiffany’s heart rate picked up ever so slightly. To the point where neither she nor Claire even noticed it. After a relatively short amount of time, Tiffany let go of Claire, finally noticing how wet her blazer had gotten.

"Ugh. Seriously? Couldn’t you have at least- Oh God... You look like complete shit, go wash your face."

To that rude remark, Claire smiled gently, knowing that it didn’t have any malice behind it. Tiffany caught herself thinking that Claire really was an angel. She quickly erased it though. She didn’t want them to get involved in each other's business again, seeing how it can end. She didn’t want to make her cry again, no matter how weird that sounded coming from someone who never misses the chance to be a jerk. While parting ways, Claire’s crying face went through Tiffany’s mind again, filling her up with the desperate need to punch herself.

congrats on 100! #3 + hinata if you don’t mind

prompt list here and requests are still very much open!

#3 from prompt list with hinata shoyo (trigger warning: depression, mental illness, mentions of suicide)

think

hinata shoyo doesn’t think.

no, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t use his brain. he’s bad at studying, sure, but that’s another conversation for another time. shoyo doesn’t think about the things around him. some might call him a simpleton or an airhead, but he knows he wasn’t like that. he’d rather call it a defense mechanism.

he doesn’t think about losing, especially in his school life wherein he devoted all his hours in volleyball training. he doesn’t think about his family getting mad at him for not taking care of his health because he knows pushing himself to the limit is going to benefit him one day. he doesn’t think about his friends leaving his side because he is well-aware that they all have their own paths to walk on.

he tried not to think. he tried to alleviate the pain from thinking too much. he could try and try until his life ended, but his gears simply started to turn whenever it came to you.

no, he wasn’t in love with you. that mere thought of being in a romantic relationship with you felt uncomfortable. after all, you were a sister figure to him, just like natsu. but he hated seeing you like this. so broken, so fragile, it was as if you were on the brink of your limit.

you and shoyo had been best friends since god knows when. he just knew that from the moment the two of you were born, you’d be inseparable. you were like two peas in a pod: bright, ambitious, optimistic.

where did it all go wrong?

it had been seven weeks since you last showed up to school. seven weeks since he last saw your face. seven weeks since he last heard your voice. he attempted to know what was happening with you, but your mother insisted that he should not bother.

“it’s too much.” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “please, just go home and pray for her.” shoyo didn’t listen. he visited your house everyday after practice, desperately trying to get a glimpse of you. he’d bring over your favorite snacks, asking your mother to at least bring it to you for you to enjoy. then, finally, your mother gave in.

she led him upstairs to your room, and he felt a strange aura as he walked towards it. everything felt dark, grim, and heavy. her mother took a deep breath before opening your bedroom door. “i just want to say, shoyo, i’m very very sorry.”

“wha-what do you mean?” he stuttered. your mother didn’t answer and proceeded to finally open the door. what he saw next made his heart drop to the depths of the earth.

your room was dark, lights weren’t opened, the blinds were closed. clothes were sprawled everywhere on the floor. the food he was bringing you everyday was still inside the classic opaque plastic bags, untouched and rotting. you were curled up in a fetus position, blanket over your whole body.

“what.. what’s going on?” he managed to speak out.

“y/n, sweetie, shoyo’s here.” your mother didn’t answer shoyo and instead called your attention. you shuffled slightly, but gave no response. your mother sighed and closed the door.

“let’s talk downstairs.”

she led him to the dining area, gave him a cup of tea and sat down adjacent from him. “you see, y/n’s sick.”

“sick how?” he asked.

“she..” your mother sighed once more, pausing to think. “she feels there’s no hope for her in this world.” her voice cracked, tears started to fall down on her face.

“what do you mean?” shoyo asked, getting impatient.

“it started last year. it’s like she’s a different person. she doesn’t eat, she doesn’t sleep, her grades were dropping.” she sniffed, sipping on her tea. “i asked her what’s wrong, she didn’t answer. instead, y/n told me that she doesn’t want to live anymore.”

your mother then continued to explain that she brought you to a psychiatrist in order to at least cure you from whatever you were feeling. she then told shoyo you were diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety disorder, and that information alone caused you to spiral. you didn’t want to believe you were sick.

shoyo went back home with a lot more on his mind than he wanted. he understood why your mother acted the way she did. shoyo wasn’t educated enough about the concepts of mental health and mental illnesses, but he knew things. at least, that’s what he believed in. he remembered the day your father died. tons of people from your neighborhood had visited to pay their respects and to say their condolences to the family he left behind. he saw you sitting at the front row, gazing at the casket that was lying there in front of you. he angled his neck to see if you were crying, and to his shock, you weren’t.

“i don’t know who to blame.” you said, sipping on your orange juice. shoyo had offered to walk with you outside of the memorial for fresh air to which you happily obliged.

“you don’t need someone to blame.” he responded, cracking open a can of soda.

“perhaps.” you smiled sadly. “but it makes it easier if i had one.”

shoyo stayed silent while you continued talking.

“i was the first one to see dad’s body.” your voice quaked slightly. “we just got home from school, i walked into his room, and he’s just there. not moving.”

you stayed silent for a few seconds before speaking again. “you know what, i do have something to blame.”

shoyo snapped his head towards your direction. “who?”

“i blame dad’s brain. if he stopped thinking, he’d be alive.”

shoyo tried to muster out a reply, but ultimately failed. you giggled and brushed the topic off and offered to play some volleyball with him back home and he said yes.

you didn’t cry during the funeral. you didn’t cry after the funeral. life went on normally.

shoyo had forced you to enroll in karasuno high school with him, much to your dismay. you really wanted to get out of miyagi and go somewhere far away, but he wouldn’t let you. not in a million years, no. “you promised we’d be together, forever.” he whined, causing you to say yes reluctantly.

shoyo adjusted just fine in his new high school. he gained friends at a terrifying speed. he became popular and was known as the new little giant by his friends and his teammates. you, on the other hand, stayed alone. when shoyo noticed this, he tried to talk to you about it.

“go out and meet new people, y/n! karasuno students are very nice!” he exclaimed.

“yeah, no.” you responded nonchalantly.

despite his busy schedule (mostly volleyball, eating, and socializing), he always swung by your house to hang out. you did attempt to throw him out multiple times because he was disrupting your study session, but he stayed nonetheless, enjoying your annoyed reaction. everything seemed normal, seemed happy, seemed bright. shoyo continued to flow naturally, accepting everything that came his way. from game losses to injuries to failed exams, he lived life.

he liked living life because you were mostly there to help him out, even if it was against your will. you helped him study for his make-up exams, you lent an ear whenever he was rambling on and on about how annoying and stuck-up kageyama and tsukishima were, you went to his games, you were there when they lost to aoba johsai. he liked living life with you by his side.

shoyo whipped out his phone when he got home and called your number. it rang a few times before it stopped, meaning you had cancelled his call. he wasn’t going to give up then and there, since he has attempted to call you for seven weeks now. during his fifth try, you finally answered.

“what?” you said in a hoarse voice. shoyo felt a lump form in his throat.

“i.. i..” he struggled to find the words to say.

“i heard you come in earlier.” you said, the hoarse voice gradually going away.

“i did. sorry.”

you let out a soft yet sad chuckle. “it’s fine.” the two of you stayed silent for a couple of seconds. shoyo felt his eyes sting. he hated seeing, hearing, feeling you like this. he felt guilty. where was he when you were going through such a hard time? was he even worthy to be called your friend? how come he didn’t notice? why didn’t he try and notice? millions of questions rushed through shoyo’s head.

“shoyo, stop thinking.” you suddenly said. shoyo’s train of thoughts halted, tears falling down his face. “w-what?”

“i can hear you thinking right now.” you replied in a quiet voice. “don’t do it.”

“yeah.” he laughed, which sounded more like a sob. “yeah, i’m sorry. i’m really, really sorry.”

you sighed. “it’s not your fault.”

“but i should’ve known! i should’ve tried and become a good friend and ask you what’s wrong. i should’ve tried harder-“

“everything’s fine, shoyo.” you hushed him. “sometimes, it hits you like a truck. i was shocked as well, you know.”

shoyo choked back a sob.

“i’ll be fine. i’m going to try.” you said. he felt your smile against the phone as he tried to hold back his cries once more. “thank you for being by my side, shoyo.”

Some Meta on Murdock and mental illness

Generally speakig, The A-Team is a dumbass, light-hearted comedy with action on the same level as youtube poop videos. Obviously there isn’t alot of depth to be found here. The show had tons of different writers, all with their own take on Murdock and none of them offer any clear info or a proper backstory for the character. It’s basically up to the audience to fill in the blanks and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do by overanalyzing the mess that is the show’s canon.

The question of whether Murdock is ‘‘‘really crazy or just faking’‘’ has been around for over 30 years, but I’m gonna argue that he’s both.

When Kelly visits Murdock in the psychiatric hospital and confronts him about why he’s living there in the first place he gets instantly uncomfortable.

He really didn’t want her to ask, it’s why he’s been avoiding her. Joking about how you’re hashtag crazy™ is easy; having to admit that you’ve been institutionalized for over 10 years because you have legitimate problems is much harder. (Sure, the VA also gives him a convenient cover from the military police, but if that was the only reason for him to stay he wouldn’t react to Kelly’s question in this way). “It’s a long story”, is all he says. There are clearly some painful memories here that he’d rather not delve into.

He’d have to explain how he got committed in the first place. We know that after the gang was arrested for war crimes in ‘71, Murdock was still serving as a pilot in ‘72. They never clarified when and how Murdock was sent home, but i’m guessing without his only friends around and it being, you know...war, his mental health eventually deteriorated until he received a medical discharge straight into the VA hospital.

After Murdock gets wrongly released in season 1, instead of his friends being worried about his supposed cover getting blown they just shrug it off and go ‘Oh well!’ (This could all be due to the show’s inconsistent writing, but you know)

No longer being an inpatient would finally allow Murdock to be employed as a pilot again (his #1 passion), and yet he seems really disheartened about the situation. Even though the hospital gives him no privacy, the staff barely respects him and he spends most of his time there by himself, he still prefers to stay.

For a character who’s allegedly cheery comic relief, he sure gets his feelings hurt alot, mainly when dealing with other people’s ableism towards him. B.A. and Face are obviously just palling around, just guys bein’ dudes, they don’t want to hurt Murdock for real, they probably don’t realize how sensitive Murdock is about the subject. Usually he plays along or shrugs it off, but sometimes he gets genuinely upset. In the first half of In Plane Sight he’s so fed up with it he tries to ‘‘act normal’‘ until #Woke #Queen Hannibal reassures him that they love him the way he is.

PTSD was barely starting to become a diagnosis when the show first aired, but I think it’s fair to say he suffers from it. The pilot episode states that he has anxiety, paranoia and memory loss, so that checks out.

With PTSD you don’t just have to deal with flashbacks and nightmares, but also intrusive thoughts, images and memories about your trauma. Murdock copes with it by getting hyperfixated on a new activity or pretending he’s someone else. This is were alot of people will go ‘‘haha wow look how wacky and insane he is! He’s talking to his sock 😂’‘. But Murdock knows it’s all made up nonsense, he just needs his mind to focus on something else. What’s important here is that he never lets his coping mechanisms distract him when he’s flying, first of all he’s already focused and also he doesn’t wanna crash (lol). There’s a believability to his actions that’s missing in the 2010 reboot.

In the episode where the gang helps out the vietnamese cook from the POW camp where they’ve been tortured, Murdock tries to distract himself with some golfballs. He soon starts projecting his trauma on them however.

I think this is the only time in the show where Hannibal tears up, so this scene is kinda significant. As the leader, he probably blames himself for getting his team captured and tortured, and seeing that Murdock is still so strongly affected by it gotta hurt. 

Compared to the rest of the gang, Murdock’s alot more fucked up over the war. There are subtle changes in his voice whenever he talks about it. In the ep about their old war buddy Ray, Face was reminiscing about how cool of a guy Ray was for borrowing him his helmet, Murdock’s memories meanwhile are much less upbeat. ‘My bird was the only one left in the sky’ he remembers while we see an image of a field filled with shot down helicopters. His experiences are bound to be different from the other three as a huey medevac pilot. Murdock did have one off-screen breakdown in the present timeline, after collecting every newspaper article about the upcoming execution of the team in Firing Line. Apparently it was bad enough that he had to be restrained. It’s been 10 years, so he’s recovering and getting better, but he’s still not all there yet.

Everyone knows Murdock’s just messing around when he’s being interrogated by the military about his connections to the team, but like what about when the military isn’t there; or NO ONE is. He often talks to himself or just puts weird shit in his mouth for no reason while nobody’s paying attention to him (eating leaves, paint, an entire raw egg, a frozen sandwich). Sometimes he’s just unhinged like that.

Another thing that’s brought up a few times in the show is his anxiety. Murdock’s often seen being generally tense, sweaty, uncomfortable or reflective in the background of a scene. (I have no idea if this was a deliberate acting choice but Dwight does have anxiety irl so who knows if that had anything to do with it, I mean who knowsssssss, i’m just observing)

He’s got a habit of fidgeting with his hands or touching his neck when he’s stressed out. Murdock also does it when he’s telling his psychiatrist Dr. Richter about his dreams “If you were me, wouldn’t you be terrified to put your head down?” he asks him.

Richter isn’t really paying attention though, because he’s so used to Murdock’s non-stop clownery, he can’t exactly tell when his patient decides to be honest about his feelings for once. He just replies ‘Well only if it was a bad dream’. Which really irritates Murdock because what other dreams besides bad would he have? So he derails the session by rambling some made up bullshit on purpose.

Richter knows that Murdock uses humor and fantasy to cope, but he’s obviously tired of Murdock’s cringe antics, he just wants to help him. But Murdock doesn’t like to open up and be confronted with his traumas again, he just wants to avoid talking about it all together. There are still parts of reality that Murdock’s not ready to deal with, or he wouldn’t always retreat into his fantasies.

Before he can continue messing around a helicopter passes by and Murdock freezes for a second. Richter assures him that the helicopter is real; Murdock nods and starts fidgeting with his hands again, seemingly in deep thought. We know from the season 4 finale that he hears the sound of rotor blades when he dissociates. He was definitely being sincere here.

After getting drugged by some military goons he has a few brief flashbacks (feat. cheesy 80′s neon filters): seeing the chopper fly away, getting stuck in a potted plant as if he was walking through the jungle, being surrounded by heavy smoke and sparks from the burning carpet).

Despite being the 2nd highest ranked team member, Murdock dislikes being in charge and gets severly distressed when anything goes wrong that he might even be slightly responsible for. Most notably is the episode where the owners of the diner get kidnapped after Murdock got knocked out by evil cowboys or hill billies or whatever they were. Instead of telling anyone what happened, he’s just lying on the floor, repeatedly calling himself a failure until the others show up.

Seems like Murdock gets startled more easily than the rest of the crew as well. We often see him flinch when guns go off; one time he literally wore fluffy ear muffs to a backalley shootout.

This short moment from Family Reunion always stood out to me. Face opens the van door a little too quickly and it takes Murdock so off-guard he has to take deep breaths to calm down.

Murdock sounds exhausted when he has to remind Face not to sneak up on him. Face also realizes he messed up, he just wanted to check up on Murdock and not trigger him on accident.

When it comes to portrayals of mental illness in fiction there’s obviously better representation out there than Murdock. But sometimes you just wanna see a mentally ill character have a good time instead of being miserable 24/7. And Murdock’s already got the worst behind him, he’s had therapy for years and friends who love him. I just think that’s refreshing to see, especially with a character who’s so kind and openly affectionate.

Woke liberals and the occult

You may have noticed recently a proliferation of identity-centric liberals who also embrace magic and mysticism. They often, for example, argue (completely ahistorically) that belief in astrology is an inherently feminine practice, and so mocking someone for believing in fairies or wood nymphs or whatever is a sign of toxic masculinity. Where, you might wonder, does this come from? 

I've been wanting to write something about this for a long time, but it would take a lot of work, and attaching my real name to any such piece would make me unemployable. Here's some raw notes:

Legitimizing the occult allows authoritarian feminists to exert power over the people they dislike, and to do so in a way that nominally exempts them from the problematics of engaging in straight-up carceral feminism or other regressive politics. And I don’t mean this in a metaphoric or loose sense. There’s real-life precedence of authoritarian feminists doing exactly this.

Satan's Silence (1995), a book by Debbie Nathan and Michael Snedeker, does an excellent job of detailing many prominent iterations of the 1980's "Satanic" sex panic. Their work displays some concerning parallels between the 80′s panic the current sex panic gripping the mainstream left.

Nathan and Snedeker unflinchingly connect the 80's-era satanic sex panic (SSP) to an alliance between authoritarian feminists and weirdo conservatives who worked in psychology and sociology. Pointedly, these tendencies were not native to earlier generations of feminism, but came about when creeps from other fields made a politically opportune pivot. One of the key architects of early SSP was Dr. Roland Summit, a Freudian psychiatrist who was the head physician at LA County’s child protection services in the 70’s. Early in his career, Summit was renowned for being sympathetic toward incestuous fathers, whom he believed were driven to rape their children due to the inadequacy of their wives.

This sounds unbelievable, I know. But bear in mind, up until pretty recently, sex crimes were conceptually medicalized, understood as mental disorders rather than as pure violence. “Rape is about power, not sex” may be the first principle for all contemporary analysis of sexual assault, but back then, experts were more keen on understanding these acts as stemming from purely sexual perversions. (This might make the outrageousness of that Abducted in Plain Sight documentary a bit more explicable). Dr. Summit didn’t exonerate incestuous fathers, but he did view parent-child attraction as a fixable disorder that stemmed from the breakdown of the traditional family structure. His beliefs were echoed by many prominent child abuse prevention programs, which tended to have “a strong bias toward preserving marriages” (22): the belief being that strong, two-parent families would result in a sort of psychological equanimity that would blot out any inclinations toward sexual abuse.

Of course, this is the opposite of first and second-wave feminist thought, which almost universally regarded traditional families as incubators of violence. However, prominent anti-violence feminists of the early 80’s “were willing to excuse these gaffes for various reasons. For one, they knew they could not get the government to support antidomestic violence efforts if they talked about skewered power, whether it derived from maldistribution of wealth or, even more unmentionably, from patriarchal inequality” (22). The psychology-dominated violence prevention agencies may have been patriarchal, but they had ample funding, and tremendous amounts of social clout. Most importantly, they had raw power: they could take away a family’s kids, and they could put men in jail.

If I was writing a longer piece, I’d include a caveat here that of course we shouldn’t conflate regular feminists with authoritarian feminists and point out the obvious conflicts going on here. But let’s just look at one of the authoritarians real quick: Judith Herman. Herman was one of the loudest and least repentant of the Satanic Panic/Repressed Memory therapy grifters, and she became involved with Summit’s institute in the late 70’s. She was drawn to the pro-family rehab programs because of their ability to retool male behavior and make men regard all of their sexual impulses as sources of shame. She even approvingly compared these men’s therapy sessions with “forced political reeducation programs in revolutionary societies” (23). (If you’re at all familiar with wokeism in the late twenty-teens, you already know how much shaming and reconditioning are considered the means and ends of feminist praxis.)

The authoritarian feminist/pro-family psychology alliance was based on a simple proposition: abusive men could submit to re-education therapy, or they could go to prison for a very long time. The former option was of course the one most chosen, and suddenly a carceral program based on regressive notions of sexuality and domesticity was given a woke gloss. This set the stage for the full-bore panic, and segues neatly to another tenet of our contemporary sex panic: the supposed moral imperative to believe every account proffered by every victim, no matter how implausible or impossible their stories may be. (Unless, it turns out, the accused is a prominent neoliberal Democrat).

Summit believed that, in his own words, “children never fabricate the kinds of explicit sexual manipulations they divulge in complaints or interrogations.” This meant not only that kids should be believed if they, for example, say their mom and dad murdered 20 babies in front of them, but that it was okay to foster a therapeutic environment in which caseworkers asked leading questions to coerce these kinds of stories out of kids. A father could find himself in counseling for something heavy (beating his wife) or minor (drinking too much and yelling), his kid could run into a caseworker who got them to describe profane abuse, and then the dad had a choice: he could admit to every allegation and enter into reeducation, or he could face multiple felony charges. This led, naturally, to an explosion of such cases. And the hucksters who had installed this system had created a feedback loop that validated their practices.

Demonology and other superstitions could easily infiltrate this milieu. Behavior modification programs have always been cult-like. Entering into them requires patients and practitioners to suspend all forms of critical thought that may undermine the group’s practices and presumptions. Once an empowered group loses all recourse to rationality and critical thought, it becomes quickly indecent. Absurd assumptions snowball. What were once understood as misplaced libidinal drives become overtaken by ghosts and devils. Family violence and personal unhappiness are caused not by social structures or simple interpersonal conflict, but by the presence of mystical evil. And it all makes sense to the people who are caught up in it: what good is empiricism, after all, when we are battling demons?

I could say a lot more here, but I encourage you look up the figures I've mentioned in this piece. To this day, Debbie Nathan is a pariah in most feminist spaces, while Judith Herman is a celebrated mental health professional who has received multiple awards from prestigious organizations. The latter's work led to dozens of people going to prison and thousands of children being badly traumatized, while the former did nothing more malignant than document professional abuse. When neurotic but marginalized people formulate a way to glom on the violence of powerful organizations, they are heavily rewarded. Other vicious idiots rush in and seize the opportunity to harm the people they hate. Sometimes their anger is righteous, sometimes it's entirely misplaced, but that's all beside the point. The point is power. Occult bullshit is an easy way for violent people to hurt others.

Queer OC Questionnaire

Name: Sabine V. E. Lowell

1. What is your oc's identity?

Androgynous lesbian woman

2. When did they realize their identity?

In a way she's always known.

3. How did they feel when they found out?

(Trigger warnings: internalized homophobia and a suicide attempt)

Sabine had always felt like there was something different about her than the other girls. She never really understood how they could dream about getting married to a handsome gentleman. When she finally heard about other girls liking girls it was in a negative connotation. She hadn't thought that what she felt was bad but this was a respected adult saying it.

Her family being the famous Lowells taught her that one of the most important things that she could do was continue the bloodline by marrying a man and having children. When she asked about having children with a woman her grandfather Virgil laughed and told her it was ridiculous. She never brought the question up again.

Over the years the shame would build. It wasn't just her sexuality that made her feel bad. Her weird behavior caused her family to be ridiculed. She had indirectly killed her brother John. She was the cause of the argument that made Jacob leave. She wasn't feminine. Her parents deserved better. Being herself dishonored the Lowell name. She wasn't even sure if her parents actually loved her anymore.

She tried to be the best daughter she could be but she always felt bad about who she was. She couldn't even tell anyone because she didn't feel like her problems mattered compared to other's. Eventually all the shame and guilt built up which is when she decided to end things. She couldn't deal with the pain anymore.

She was fourteen when she stole a bottle of sleeping pills from a muggle pharmacy with the intent to take the entire thing. She decided on a date when the fewest people would be home and made peace with the people in her life. When the day came she wrote a note explaining everything and downed the bottle with a glass of wine. She became light headed and passed out a bit later.

She woke up in a bed at St. Mungo's. She didn't have the strength to argue when she was offered a spot in the pediatric section of Waterhouse Psychiatric Hospital and agreed.

4. How long did it take for them to accept themselves?

It wasn't until she was being treated in the psychiatric hospital that she began to let go of the guilt. Her parents hired a private psychiatrist to help them. The psychiatrist, Dean Garth, would help her and her family come to terms with their feelings.

She still sometimes has moments where she feels less than because of who she is. She now has technics and a stronger support system for those moments.

5. Are they open about their identity? Did they come out subtlety or dramatically?

She came out in her suicide note. She wasn't expecting to live so she didn't feel like it would be a big deal. When she woke up the day after she remembered the note and felt instant regret. When she had her first session with Dean she found out that her parents had read the note and given it to him. She felt deeply embarrassed about it.

After a few sessions with Dean he asked if she would be willing to have a session with her parents. She agreed. Sabine was surprised by how much her family really cared about her. They wanted to help her with her problems and felt like the worst parents in the world that Sabine thought the only way to stop the pain was to die. For the first time in years she cried in front of them. She no longer doubted she was loved.

She would slowly come out to her friends and extended family over the coming months.

She decided to be openly gay starting on September 1 1988.

6. What were the inital reactions of their friends and family?

Overall very positive. They were more concerned with Sabine's mental health at the time.

7. Did anyone know before they came out?

Her mother had an inkling by the time Sabine was 11. She thought she had a crush on Rowan. Her grandmother Colette knew by the time Sabine was 5. When asked to elaborate Colette responded with, "I just knew." Looking back on it, her grandmother had always been pro-LGBT. It turns out that Colette's uncle had been a closeted gay man that lived a double life until his death.

After she got out of the hospital she was hanging out with Rowan and told her. Turns out Rowan already knew. Not only that, but Rowan also liked girls and identified as a demigirl.

When she told Jacob his response was, "Yeah, no shit."

8. Was it a complete shock to some people?

Martinius Lowell, head of The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, a job that requires the ability to see minute details, had no idea.

Her oldest brother Sef came back from Switzerland to spend time with her. Turns out he wasn't aware either. He was embarrassed about never noticing.

One day when Marie was visiting Sabine in the hospital she told her cousin she liked girls. Marie responded by saying she also liked girls. That was when the girls realized they were both the gay cousin.

9. What has their love life been like?

There was a girl that went to the same ice rink as her when she was eight that made her feel strange. She loved watching her skate and talking to her. She wanted to say something to her. Then she remembered how her fellings were wrong. So she didn't say anything to her. She started avoiding her. Eventually her crush for the girl died off. They went to the beach when she was twelve and she saw an older girl she was unable to stop looking at.

Sabine joined the Slytherin quidditch team in her second year. There she met Skye Parkins. After months of training and playing together Sabine considered her a friend. Sometimes Penny Haywood would talk to Skye and make Sabine feel weird. For some reason she only wanted Skye to talk to her. After awhile she realized she was attracted to Skye. She felt awful for liking a girl again. She started to hang out with Skye less.

In the Summer of 1987 when Sabine was fourteen she met Yvonne Silverpot, a fifteen year old girl. She was doing some modeling work for Sabine's mother at the time and needed a place to stay. Yvonne took an interest in Sabine. She often asked Sabine to spend her free time with her, which she obliged.

Whenever Sabine or Yvonne were free they would be with each other, quickly becoming friends. One day Yvonne asked Sabine if she had ever kissed anyone before. She answered truthfully that no, she hadn't. Yvonne offered to be her first. This surprised Sabine. She tried to explain that girls aren't supposed to kiss other girls.

Yvonne closed her eyes and said, "I'm going to keep my eyes closed for five minutes. Kiss me if you want. I'd like it and I think you would too." Sabine fought against her instincts before she gave in and kissed her. Yvonne left a few days after that. Sabine knew she would probably never see her again.

It was late September when Sabine accidentally outed herself to Merula. She had felt so comfortable in the conversation they were having it had slipped out. It had clearly freaked Merula out. She didn't say anything. She just got up and left. Sabine sat there, marinating in her panic induced nausea. She closed her eyes and started to use deep breathing techniques.

Sabine could tell Merula was avoiding her. She wouldn't even look at her when they had potions class, even though they sat next to each other. In between classes Sabine asked Merula if they could talk in private. Merula agreed. Sabine asked her if she had told anyone, she hadn't. Sabine was relieved. She explained how she didn't want her to tell anyone. Merula agreed but stated it still made her uncomfortable. Sabine didn't like it but was glad she was being agreeable.

Weirdly Sabine and Merula started to get closer. Merula didn't seem capable of the venom she used to spew at Sabine. They even had a private sleepover to celebrate Merula's birthday, Sabine's roomates being gone due to Christmas. Merula had gotten comfortable enough to share a bed with her. Sabine had got to sleep happy that they had finally buried the hatchet.

That morning she woke up to an asleep Merula holding onto her. Sabine almost had a heart attack. That was when she had a thought; hold her back. She almost did. That was when she realized she once again had a crush. She would have to distance herself to keep her from getting hurt. She wasn't able to fall back asleep. When Merula woke up she apologized for holding her. Sabine said she didn't mind, even though she did. The day after she began to distance herself from Merula.

The problem with this being in the same house, having the same classes, and sitting at the same table. Merula often asked if Sabine wanted to hang out or study together. Everytime she would decline Sabine could see the hurt in Merula's eyes, even if she acted like it didn't bother her.

Then one day in spring Merula had enough. She challenged Sabine to a private duel at night. Sabine arrived at the location expecting an angry Merula ready to fight her. Instead Merula was quietly waiting for her. It was almost eerie. Sabine asked what was happening. Merula simply said, "Do you hate me?" Sabine would have been surprised by the boldness if it had been anyone else, she said no.

Merula then demanded to know why she was avoiding her. Sabine couldn't think of anything to say. How could she explain that she had developed feeling for her? Then something shocking happened, Merula hugged her. She said she wanted to be around her again. That it hurt not to be. Merula buried her face in Sabine's chest. She said, "I need you to stay in my life because your the only person that treats me like I'm worth a damn. I think I like you. And that terrifies me."

Sabine was in a daze. She liked her? Sabine was scared. She slowly moved her hand onto Merula's head. Sabine breathed in deep. She said everything she had been holding in her heart. She told her how special she felt Merula was. That was when a thought came to her. Sabine swallowed hard and said, "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

Merula looked at Sabine. She said yes. The two of them started to cry out of happiness. It was almost bitter when they had to part. They agreed to meet up in Hogsmeade the week after, Sabine would come up with a date plan. They went back to the Slytherin common room while holding hands.

A month later Sabine asked if she could refer to Merula as her girlfriend. She agreed.

Strangely, Sabine's never been romantically attracted to Rowan. That was when Sabine realized she had a type. Tomboys.

How do they feel about their identity now?

Sabine is significantly happier since she was able to get the help she needed. She accepts the fact that she isn't going to magically wake up one day as a feminine heterosexual and she's glad she won't. Her family likes her girlfriend and she wouldn't want it any other way.

Blank questionnaire here:

!!!trigger warning!!! this is a rant that mentions suixide, if you’re triggered by that please do not read!!! i love you and you matter!

i feel really weird. tomorrow it’ll be 2 years since i tried to kill myself and im not quite sure what to make of it or what to think of it. its weird to think its already been so long, and that i had so much hope for 2020. i had so much fucking hope that was just destroyed in front of me with each passing day that its almost surprising im still here. i dont know what happened. i never felt like i knew myself before, but at least i had an idea. now i look in the mirror and don’t even know the person im staring back at. i feel like im in such a weird phase of my life and i just want it to end. I want to move out of my parents house, i cant stand living with them. it feels like they’re holding me back from becoming the person i want to be. and honestly,, im mad. im mad at my parents. im mad at my parents for not doing their job. they had one fucking job when they brought me into this world, and it was to give me their time and effort to raise me to be a healthy woman, and im just not sure if they did that. i wont sit here and try to paint my parents as complete failures, because i know they love me, i know they care, i know they try, but its just not enough. they weren’t absent parents, they were there, i always had food, a warm home, and clothes on my back, thats not the department they lack in. they lack having and emotional connection with their child. my dad is pretty much oblivious to whats going on with me, he knows i have depression and everything, and always asks how i am or if im fine, but i can never actually tell him how i feel because he’s already ruined that opportunity when i was a kid by getting mad at me and yelling at me every time i didn’t answer him because i was too scared to answer. he got mad over small things because he has anger issues and it always really scared me, he even got mad at me once because he asked how i was and i told him i was fine but he didn’t believe me, and i was still very young at the time. he once got so mad he was screaming at me for like 5 minutes while i hid behind the couch by my door crying, waiting for him to finish yelling at me so i could go to my room and hide away from him while i sobbed. i remember after that, i sat behind my door sobbing, and that was the first time i ever thought about hurting myself. i was 8.. then my mom is, to put it simply, a bitch. she treats me like her little baby, but treats my cousin (who she WILLINGLY took in) like her personal fucking punching bag. then my other cousin she took in (he is very young) gets to call HER mom, but she is virtually NEVER here to take care of him. she doesn’t play with him, she barely does anything with him. but thats not a surprise to me because she didn’t play with me much when i was younger either, yet she was still my favorite because my dad scared me. (my dad is my favorite now because i can actually stand being around him sometimes, unlike my mom) she always has something snarky to say, shes judgy, and god forbid you need or want something in a timely manner. she always tries to hug me randomly and talk to me when im literally just walking around the house or trying to do something. its really annoying to be randomly forced into a hug when im not in the mood and im trying to do something. she forced me to go to psychiatrist appointments where she and the doctor had to try and pull any information out of me, i was made to take anti-depressants because they knew something was wrong, but not what.  i eventually switched doctors and made her stop coming in the room because i couldn’t talk with her around. but there was a time before the appointments where i was constantly trying to stay home because i was depressed and i always had to talk to her about staying home, and she would ask me what was wrong, and i tried to explain it but shes just not a good listener. it felt like all she was trying to do was solve the problem, she kept telling me things i needed to do that would “help me feel better” (exercise, taking vitamins, getting birth control etc, ik these help but you have to realize i was at a point in my depression where it was hard to just get out of bed, its a problem beyond that) and kept dismissing my feelings. it never felt like she listened because she really cared, it felt like she was just trying to get a quick solution, like she was just solving a problem. and then around march 2020 she stopped making my appointments randomly (without telling me!!!!) so eventually around july the question came up about what happened to my appointments and she said “well you seemed fine” so then around september or october i asked her to make me an appointment, she didn’t get to it until like november. got put back on my anti-depressant, so i asked her to go get the prescription for me. she couldn’t get it. and why couldn’t she do that, and why did it take so long for her to make an appointment ?  oh,, she was TOO BUSY. the pharmacy is on your way to work, you don’t work weekends, and the phone call to make an appointment doesn’t even last 5 minutes. but no, you were too busy to care about your daughters declining mental health. if she really hated how i hurt myself so much, you would fucking think she would take me seriously when i ASKED her for appointments. i asked you for help, my fucking MOM, the one person who is supposed to be there to help me no matter what, to help me, and she just couldn’t do it. she wonders why i treat her the way i do, and i have a fucking LIST of reasons. because she disappointed me, because i had hope she’d be there and she just wasn’t. shes too caught up in her own feelings and emotions that she don’t consider how others feel. i understand shes the adult, but she acts like the child. it always about what she wants, not what other people need. everyone thinks they’re good parents from the outside, but once you take a closer look and start to dive in, you’ll see that the best thing you can label them as is “mediocre parents” in conclusion, i can’t wait for the fucking day i move out of this hell-hole i call home.

Incredibly long, overly detailed post I spent too much time on.

Tl:dr AITA for telling someone they were coming off as an ungrateful, privileged asshole who didn't seem to recognize or truly appreciate what they have? I blew up after a series of encounters, they seemed oblivious to their lifestyle and support and how truly different life could have turned out without it. I called them out after weeks of trying to be empathetic but couldn't take how helpless they were acting when I would kill for the kind the support they were complaining about and taking for granted.  

I should use a throwaway because I know this person will probably see this but I don't have the energy. I'll try to keep this short (actually super long sorry) I feel like I already know I was sort of harsh and out of line. This whole thing has just been sticking with me and I feel really messed up about it.  

Alright, so context, back story. I had a breakdown in February and tried to kill myself. By some miracle, I got a bed at one of the best mental hospitals on this side of the east coast. After a long history of chronic mental illness, being on disability for years with medicare, getting an opportunity like this was amazing. I had been on waiting lists for months before my attempt, but fate, acuity, and availability all lined up. A true miracle. Unless you have a family with money or amazing health insurance, getting a bed is just extremely difficult at this particular facility.  

The reason being, they provide real treatment. Comprehensive, attentive, life-saving treatment. They actually provide real care with empathy, actual therapy, psychiatry, and groups, with educated staff, real food to eat, world-renowned providers, and treatment teams that listen and work with you to come up with effective long-term solutions/aftercare plans that set you up for long term success.  

Out of pocket, this place is unfathomably expensive. The more exclusive programs on-campus are for the ultra-elite/ ultra-wealthy, taking celebrities like Selena Gomez. The institution itself is known for its education and research. It is not funded by the state like almost everywhere else. Most state-run facilities are atrocious. a disgusting holding cell, where you're stripped of your clothes, dignity, and rights, fed prison food, overmedicated, physically and chemically restrained, only to be thrown back on the street in 3-5 days with no aftercare, med refills, or plan. Been there, done that, many times, not the point. The point was, I got some really helpful expensive ass treatment by the luck of the draw.  

While I was there, I met someone lovely. We instantly connected and expressed interest in one another. They seemed really cool, we talked at length about income inequality and how unfair it was that this kind of treatment wasn't the norm or easily accessible and how unfair that was. They seemed passionate and bright and we got along great. They were set to discharge only a few days after I got there, so we exchanged info before they left. We talked a bunch while I was still there (my discharge was a couple of weeks later) and decided to go on a few dates after I got out.  

A few days after I got out, I unintendedly overdosed, confused about my meds, and was incoherent by the time I got to the ER. I was restrained and chemically sedated. I was confused and fought so was deemed severely acute, and got sent to a state-run facility similar to what I described above. It was all very traumatic and I shut down once I got home. I was lucky I made it out semi-okay, that they let me out at all.  

I wasn't replying to anyone's messages but the person I had met kept reaching out wanting to hear from me and make sure I was okay. I was embarrassed but it was really sweet and soon we starting talking a lot again and really connecting.  

As I got to know them, I definitely thought they were very cool, we seemed to have a lot in common, they made me laugh and we got along really well. I was really digging them and saw us potentially becoming a thing.  After talking for some time, we decided to anxiously have our first date. It went okay but something was off.  

I didn't really pick up on it at first but the more we talked, the more privileged they offhandedly revealed they were. I know it's judge-y and lame, but that kind of put me off. I've been poor my whole life and struggled hard for everything, it's a whole different world living in poverty, so it made me a bit uncomfortable.  I still live in poverty, on disability, with food stamps, and can barely hold it together enough to have a part-time job, but I have no choice. It's rough. I've been homeless, lived in institutions, went through foster care, and have no familial support. I have one of the most serious debilitating mental illnesses. It's been very very hard.  

I am biased but I haven't met anyone well off who gets it. Some people don't realize how hard things can be when you've really had nothing, and had to work hard for everything. Even simple things are taken for granted, not understood, or there are miscommunications or assumptions made due to the lack of understanding. That's just my personal experience, it's hard trying to explain things and it's invalidating sometimes, it can be hard to relate or connect due to the lack of understanding.  

Honestly, though, it took me by surprise. We had both talked passionately about the struggles of being on disability, the importance of income inequality, how unfair the system is set up, the barriers against the poor receiving adequate mental health treatment. They explained how they advocated for social justice and regularly went to protests. I felt dumb because I did meet them at higher-end facility, but I assumed they ended up there by dumb luck as I did with how they presented and initially came across.  

They made it seem like we were in the same boat, poor af, chronically mentally ill, and 4 ever struggling. It was just a surprise because that was very much was not the case.  

They moved up here from Florida, (where admittedly their life was much harder and different), but since moving, they were being supported by their aunt and uncle, who were very, very well off. They had a very expensive private practice psychiatrist, multiple treatment providers, and an apartment in a very well-off area, that their aunt owned, so they paid no rent.  Their car/insurance/phone everything was paid for.  

They seemed to have money to burn, dancing around being well taken care of and not really having to worry. They were on disability though receiving payments and food stamps in addition, not reporting the assistance from their family. When I lightly inquired, they said their grandmother mostly controlled their finances and they didn't deal with bills etc. They spent freely, getting take out almost every night, etc. enjoying all the pleasure of life without a second thought.  

I was uncomfortable with this like I said, but they did seem cool and understanding, we did get along and I wanted to give them a chance. I put my biased experience aside and tried to give it a go.  

First example that really blew me away was their dog. They had several animals, including a cat and two dogs. Even for someone working, three animals is a huge expense. I only have one cat and while she's my world, it gets hard sometimes. The vet is expensive, litter, food, treats, it adds up. And she's only one animal!!! I provide for her and take care of her, but a $350 vet bill still packs a punch. Of course, I pay it, she's my baby, but it might mean only eating sandwiches for a few weeks. I love her, so I sacrifice, she is worth it in every way, but animals are expensive and a lot of work/responsibility.  

When this person and I first started seriously talking, they mentioned the dog they were closest to was very sick with a rare condition. I don't know the full details, but I guess it took a while for the vet to figure out what was wrong, he was on a lot of medications, needed loads of tests and scans. There were weeks of extensive treatments/ blood transfusions, all in a long, painful, and strenuous attempt to save him. They tried for a long time in the hopes he would get better.  

He, unfortunately, passed away a few weeks after we started talking. It was devastating to them and I tried my best to be supportive and help them grieve. They were understandably at a huge loss. Their mental health tanked. Their dog meant the world to them, I understand that completely. Pets are family.    

A few weeks after he passed. They were talking a little about the course of treatment and how hard it had been and what a long, painful road it was. They kind of casually remarked that his treatment cost over $20,000.  

I honestly thought I had misheard. I had to ask twice because I thought they meant $2,000. No. $20,000. $20,000.Holy shit.    

I just...$20,000 is what I make in a year. A year. Dogs are family, I totally, totally get that. People will do anything to save their loved ones. A pet is like an uninsured child, even with pet insurance, it can be expensive. I get that. If you have that kind of money, you pay it, without a thought, no problem.  

I just... wow. I still couldn't even wrap my mind around it. My cat is my world but it breaks my heart to say, if anything happened to her like that, it would kill me, but I would be forced to put her down. I just couldn't believe, $20,000. And they said it like, no big deal, of course, like anyone would/could afford that, it was obvious, a no-brainer. I just...wow.  

Next, kicker. I  came over to hang out one night and watch movies. I had never been to their apartment before. They claimed it had been super messy and they made a big deal about how they had cleaned for me. Sweet, but unnecessary, I get mental illness is tough. It was two bedrooms, all to themselves, decent space and light, but definitely scattered and cluttered. They had a huge king-sized bed, a bidet in the bathroom, and a super nice living room set up. Big comfy couch, loads of nice blankets, and honestly the biggest tv I had ever seen. They joking bragged about having all the streaming options. No kidding. Hulu, Disney plus, Netflix, Amazon, HBO, Paramount, and at least half a dozen more I hadn't even heard of. It just seemed crazy and excessive paying for that many streaming services every month.  But to each their own I guess.

We were both huge fans of anime, and they sort of decided to venture to studio ghibli. They asked if I had seen a particular favorite of theirs. I hadn't. They searched and it was only available to rent. $17. I nearly had a heart attack. I was like no way, we could definitely find it streaming for free somewhere if we look, or watch something else, shortage of options. They were like no it's no biggie that's what I want to watch and clicked rent. Like no problem *sweats intensely* Anytime I spend money, I have a heart attack and second guess it, it takes me like 10 minutes to click buy and my heart always drops when I do. I overthink, whether I really need/deserve it/whether there's a cheaper option, or if it's truly necessary. I know that's a poverty thing. It's just like we could have easily found it somewhere for free with a little effort!  

We go to order food, we both have celiac so finding takeout is a chore. They knew the area better so I was trusting them. They were very adamant about ordering expensive sushi. It was $36 for just one of the things they wanted. Not including delivery or tips or fees or anything else, which included appetizers and drinks, the whole nine. I wasn't feeling sushi. They were like fine, we'll order from two separate places then. Double the delivery fee, not something I ever do, it would be cheaper finding a place together, I could get something small and affordable but they wouldn't budge. I didn't really have money to order a big thing on my own, I wanted something small, but I felt pressured. I figured anything I got would be cheaper than having to split a big sushi order I didn't want. I was like okay fine.  

They kind of seemed annoyed that I didn't just give in and get sushi. They were a little short with me, didn't give me many options of other places, and were weirdly controlling, not letting me look at their phone to find something. I kind of gave up and said like just a burger is fine. I figured it would be cheap and filling, probably $20 max. I didn't take into consideration that they live in an extremely expensive area. It ended up being almost $30, plus tip. For a burger. I almost wanted to cry. I would have picked somewhere else cheaper given the option. They didn't even tell me the price until after they ordered it. I was like oh how much like $15 and they were so casual like oh no, $30 with tip. When it arrived, it was cold and disgusting, really inedible. I picked at the fries, which gave me a stomach ache as they were not gluten-free friendly and had been cross-contaminated in the fryer. I assumed they picked a place that they knew was safe.  

When I wasn't eating, they asked if it was bad. I said yeah and they were like oh well just order something else. Like no, I can't afford anything else, it doesn't work like that. I was like no it's fine I'm not really that hungry. I wanted to say, I trusted you, and you kinda fucked me. I guess they picked that place because there was a gluten-free brownie sundae (prepackaged and not cross-contaminated) on the menu that they really wanted. Obviously more important.  

My stomach ached all night. They ate their food happily. No big deal to them, $30 wasted on food I didn't really want, that I couldn't end up eating and got me sick. If it were them, they would have just ordered something else. No big deal to them. It was more important they got their brownie sundae and expensive sushi than making sure I was able to get something edible. Didn't matter that was half my grocery money for the week. Bologna sandwiches it'll have to be then. Awesome.  

We spent the night talking, I didn't let on to how sick I was or that I was upset about not being able to choose food. They picked all the movies. I wanted to go home, but it just got later and later, one more movie I just *needed* to see. I asked them several times as the clock was ticking if it was getting too late to drive me home. No, no they were fine. Let's just watch another one. Then casually, they went to their room and brought out their night meds, threw 'em back, and settled into the couch. I started to panic. I asked again, you're taking me home, right? I guess they decided they weren't. I was miles away from home, no public transit running or close by. They were like oh I'm so tired, it got so late. Just order a car. I pulled up uber, $25. That would definitely overdraft my account.  

Thankfully, after they saw me sweating and looking panicked, they were like, oh, I feel so bad, I'll order the uber for you. (If they hadn’t, I would have had to explain like, getting home on my own wasn't the plan nor was staying the night. If they thought I would be cool with just staying, they should have said something, if they wanted me to stay, it should have been a discussion, not a surprise.)  

I just felt really disrespected. I was simultaneously hungry and sick from dinner, broke and unprepared to stay over with no prior discussion. I didn't have meds, my cat didn't have food out, I was blindsided and essentially stranded/put in an awkward position. They didn't consider that it might be stressful or beyond my limitations to get home. Being able to just roll with punches isn't financially feasible for everyone. It just felt like they were self-centered and inconsiderate. The whole night was what they wanted, what they wanted to eat, where they wanted to order from, what they wanted to watch, changing plans to what was convenient for them without any regard toward how it might impact me. Just inconsiderate and self-centered behavior.  

We did keep talking though, I just sort of chalked it up to miscommunication and sort of beat myself up for not speaking up. It was weird though, kept just casually mentioning shit that was so privileged and complaining about shit that made them sound so ungrateful. I don't think they realized how it came across, just completely oblivious to their access to resources and not appreciating their position or supports.  

They started talking about starting ketamine treatments to combat their ongoing depression. They had received them in the past and went on about how life-changing and helpful it was, and that everyone should try it. Now, being on disability (and even with most insurances) the treatments are not covered. The clinics that administer them are all out of pocket, bougie as fuck, and extremely expensive.  

They talked about having several rounds in the past like it was nothing. It's easily $250-400 a pop and they were going 1-2x a week for a long time. They kept talking about all their options like what a painstaking burden. Should they start with lozenges and work up to IV clinic or ask for patches, and start that way. They wanted to work up to twice a week again but their family was giving pushback. They wanted me to agree with them, saying it was so unfair and lame and unreasonable/closeminded of their family for not immediately agreeing. The same family that would be footing the bill.  No, not unfair or unreasonable at all. You sound privileged as fuck.  

I was super bothered they were endlessly going on about it and complaining about pushback and asking me to agree with them. My treatment-resistant depression hasn't responded to anything, I've been on every waiting list for MDMA-assisted treatment whenever they pop up but never been selected due to demand and availability. Even ECT is too expensive and not covered. I'd kill for an opportunity like that! And it wasn't even like their family was saying no, they were discussing it in family therapy and seriously considering it.  

They talked about it so nonchalantly and kept going on and on about how amazing it was. Like great, tell me all about something else I'll never be able to afford. I'm sure Paris is great, and backpacking across Europe is awesome, like please do tell me more.  

I finally mentioned like okay that sounds great, will never able to afford it, glad it's so helpful They told me that I could just buy it off the street. That's what they used to do occasionally. It's only a couple hundred dollars and you get way more. Like oh okay. Let me just not pay a third of my rent in the hopes that this jam band kids ketamine isn't fentanyl or some shit and maybe have a shot at not wanting to kill myself for a week, you know on the off chance it works. Sounds great, super safe, much more affordable. And like as ridiculous as it was to offer that as an alternative, that still wouldn't be something I could afford! They just came off so clueless and privileged and oblivious.

What really got me was how they eventually talked about their family. They did weekly family therapy with their aunt and uncle and occasionally their dad since moving up here. They stayed with their aunt and uncle (lived down the street) more often than not so they weren't alone. This was encouraged/appreciated/welcomed. They did activities together regularly to help with depression and loneliness/ managing symptoms. They had their grandma and brother, whom they saw often and cherished greatly. They portrayed the relationships as really solid and important. I thought wow, truly wholesome and wonderful.  They seemed so loved, close, connected, cared for, and supported. Across the board, they had support.  

But then tables would turn. They complained often their family was too close, too conservative, and not understanding. They didn't want them so involved in their life, their treatment, decision-making, and recovery process. They resented the support, complained they weren't a kid and were capable/in sound mind to make decisions/have control of their life. I tried to listen and be understanding but I didn't get it. They came off almost like a spoiled, ungrateful teenager.  

You're getting help, love, and support all around, everyone wants to support you and see you do well and will give whatever that takes. Like legitimately whatever ?!?  You don't have to work, pay for anything, and it is made sure you don't have to struggle for anything. Anything you need, you've got.  

I get the concept that having family so close/involved could be crippling or invasive or just downright unproductive. But it was such a slap in the face they would complain to me of all people about having that kind of support.  

Family/support is such a foreign concept to me personally. Like I said, I grew up in foster care. I've never had family involved, healthy relationships, or any sort of support like that. The concept of calling your aunt when you're sad and she offers kind words, support, and tells you to come over to do something fun? Like, can't relate. I could only take so much of them complaining about being taken care of.  

Living with extreme mental illness, not being able to work for periods of time, living solely on disability paychecks and food stamps is damn is impossible to survive, especially where we live. Without the help they were being given, they wouldn't be able to survive. The cost of living is out of control, you can't even rent a room with a single disability payment. I know, I'm doing it. It takes everything for me to keep a part-time job, barely making enough to make ends meet. But if I don't. I'm homeless again. No matter what, no matter how bad symptoms get. And I have one of the hardest, most debilitating mental illnesses. I don't have any other choice.  

Their aunt would pay for them to go to school or learn a trade or anything they wanted. They have a world-renowned private practice doctor that prescribes them literally anything they could want or need to help and they have a great bond/ working relationship. I have a psych who can barely remember my name and sees me for 5-15 minutes maybe once or twice a month. I was asking for medications recently to get through a hard time, nothing serious, but my state-assigned psych does not prescribe benzos. Period. Neither does my PCP. It's state rehab or psych facility for me or bust. Another thing they take for granted. They almost bragged to me about immediately getting two heavy-duty benzos and another maintenance medication,  just by saying their panic attacks were slighting increasing. Meanwhile. I was at risk for DT's after relapsing and begging for basic Librium to maybe not die and was denied.  

The real reality of being on disability is the bare minimum or bad treatment. My psychologist is thankfully amazing but it took 10 years and hitting absolute rock bottom and being homeless to find her. She's a diamond in the rough but only works with the sickest of the sick. I would be in a state institution right now if it weren't for her and I avoided it by the skin of my teeth.  

So here's where I'm probably the asshole. After weeks, I broke. We were texting as usual and they started to sort of mope and complain. They were venting about having a hard time again and how symptoms were bad and there was just nothing they could do and it was so hard. They started going on about how helpless they were and how there was no opportunity to get better and everything was just super hard and impossible for them and how rough they had it. Their family was checking in on them too much and they were annoyed at them for being concerned and that they had no options and no chance and everything was just so hard and impossible.  

I understand, that's depression. I'm pretty empathetic and understanding and have been up to this point but it just felt like the rich person complaining to the homeless guy sleeping on the street, how awful it was they forgot their umbrella that day, and how unfortunate it was to be getting wet. I just wanted to scream. If you're anxious take your benzos, take your other meds! Call your aunt. Text your on call therapist. Call your fancy psych who answers night and day. Utilize any of the resources you have and all the support you are given!    

I was just tired of it. Things in my life have been super difficult, especially lately, and I have to figure it out alone. The voices were getting loud again which lead to a bad relapse that went off the rails, which I had to pull out of completely unassisted. I am in between jobs, my housing isn't stable, my bank accounts are low, my mental health is chronic and very severe, my treatment team was threatening to section me if I didn't reel it in. Things were bad. But I deal with it, alone.    

I know it was wrong of me, but I couldn't take it. They have everything to help themselves!!! They could go to a fancy hospital, they could ask all their supports for help! They would receive the best care. All the medicines, the best treatment. Anything.  

I basically kind of spelled it out for them. You have privilege, you have support, you have money, resources, a great treatment team, family, everything... please for the love of God, USE IT! You wouldn't have to worry about losing your job going into treatment, you wouldn't lose your housing. You wouldn't have to worry about falling behind on bills. You'd be fine.  

How can you not see or appreciate all you have and or see how oblivious and privileged you come across and how hurtful that is? You're complaining to the wrong person.

I went on a bit too long. I was definitely coming from a place of hurt, mental illness, and jealousy. I wasn't trying to make them feel bad, I just wanted them to understand. That kind of support would make all the difference for so many that are struggling. They are sitting with gallons of water around them, complaining to be inconsolably parched and that don't know what to do, all while sort of offhandedly bragging about how much water they have and how they can easily get more. I've been carefully conserving a 16 oz Poland spring bottle, rationing for weeks not knowing if/when I will be able to refill. They aren't alone, expected to make it on just disability. They weren't recognizing their position, how they were coming across, how hurtful that was. I didn't get anyone to catch me, love me, support me. This is the real reality of living with extreme mental illness on disability looks like without that opportunity or support. This is hard fucking work. We are not the same. You got lucky. Now do something with it.

They ended up calling me a dick, saying I didn't understand, that I was being cruel and mean for no reason. We haven't talked since. I do feel bad, I just couldn't take it anymore.  

So if you made it this far, lay it on me, AITA?      

Long Winding Road Stay Strapped My Dude

By: Astoria Cathryn Andromeda

Alrighty, this is a long one boys. So I touched briefly on this in my Welcome to Literally Everything post. No worries I'll recap you, so you don't have to switch back and forth. I just diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder, and then ADHD when I was 18 years old, and even then I had to fight for it after countless hours of research. See, there seems to be a wee bit of misogyny in the neurodiverse diagnoses. When I say a wee bit, I mean that scientists used to think that only boy could be autistic or ADHD. They only studied autism in males. Fortunately, nowadays we know that girls can be autistic and/or ADHD, but we present the traits differently than boys, and a lot of our traits are played off due to gender roles in society. For example, being overly talkative in girls is called chatty, whereas boys who can't sit still are sent off for testing immediately. This also causes problems for the boys, because little Johnny gets put on Adderall at the ripe age of 6 years old, just because he can't sit still for 8 hours straight, which by the way should not be expected of any elementary school kid, By the time, he's 25 he's 1) completely dependent on amphetamines 2) his body will stop producing dopamine due to being on the medication for so long. Nicht Gut. Generally, boys who are on the spectrum get picked out earlier due to late speaking, or lack of social skills. This is the one thing that girls happen to do better than boys. Girls are good at masking, which is basically taking social traits, phrases, personalities, demeanor, and copying them. In public, they put on a mask and at home, they have a meltdown. Girls are still not picked up as being on the spectrum, because shyness is called being 'ladylike' and 'dainty', and having a meltdown is just because :( girls are oh-so emotional, boohoo. Anyways tons of women do not get diagnosed with autism until they are well into their adulthood, I actually can be considered lucky to have technically still been a teenager when we finally got all the pieces together.

Alright, let's start with I don't know me as a baby. I did not speak until I was 2 years old, and then it was immediately full sentences from then on. I didn't do the babbling thing, which I don't know how impactful that really is to the topic. I was a very shy little girl. I was teeny tiny, we didn't know I if I was going to make it to 5 feet tall until I had a big growth spurt in 7th grade. I am 5'2 now and definitely done growing in case you were wondering, so not that short anymore. I did not like talking to adults, especially strangers, especially men. I did not look anyone in the face, and I will always hide behind my parent's legs when they would try to introduce me to people. I am an only child, and I spent a lot of time entertaining myself. I always had seasonal affective disorder, where my grades would dip in the winter. My parents knew I had a timer, they had 45 minutes from the moment they stepped into a restaurant before I would start breaking down. If I got off schedule as a toddler in any form, it was a catastrophe. Or this is what my parents and family tell me. I didn't really notice. I did not like being out in public a lot, I was a very picky eater, and I was extremely hyper. I was a very eccentric child, I only had 1-2 close friends and they were always a very well-liked outgoing girl who I just followed around. Looking back, I don't know how we missed it. I was shy because I didn't understand how social interactions worked, I was anxious about it because I didn't understand, I had sensory overloads, routines, and a very bland diet with a safe food which was ketchup. I put that shit on literally everything, eas, apples, mac and cheese, pizza, all meat, anything something forced me to eat that I did not like. But because I could sit still in class, and because I could zone out and daydream all day through school and still make A's nobody ever flagged me for anything and how I was supposed to know that not everybody just copied other people, scripted things before they talked, and could never pay attention. My mom always required me to be in a sport, and I was a gymnast and a swimmer for a long time, two very high-intensity sports, to help lower my energy levels, and because my mom has mild depression and she knows that exercise does help. Skip to middle school, my mom tells me I'm being bullied at church. It's not that I wasn't observing my surroundings I knew I was being excluded, but I didn't understand vindictive behavior, I thought it was my fault. I had zero friends in 8th grade until I sat down next to a random acqutaince I had gone to school with since I was 4 and the same gymnastics place. Then we were immediately attached at the hip after that. She is my best friend due this day and definitely got me through high school. Led me through so many social situations without either of us knowing. I had a very close friendgroup in highschool, all of them were on the drumline which I met through my best friend, and my first boyfriend was my best friend's neighbor. I ended up playing bass guitar for my high school's indoor drumline, and it was the best experience ever. I love my friends, but I had really bad depression when I was 15-now:) jk It's better. I didn't really realize I was depressed, I just didn't want to go to school, or swim practice, or do anything so of course, my mom noticed, and then once it was pointed out to me it got worse. My severe anxiety spiraled with my depression. Senior year of high school, my boyfriend and I were like toxic star crossed lovers, hurting each other over and over again without meaning to. My friends and I were self harming, all my close friends gad some demon going on. I finally decided to try therapy again after the disaster of being forced to go when I was 15 and the lady told me I wasn't depressed because I had a boyfriend and good grades. It helped a bit, I was able to get my panic attacks under control. Then I went away to college and stayed dating my senior high school boyfriend, we were just up and down as always, but with slightly better communication. My freshman year of college I joined a fraternity, a research lab, and my first hs boyfriend/ex/best friend and I went to a Christian campus place. By second semester, I had a lot of people who knew me and talked to me, but I didn't have any close friends, and even less close friends who were girls. All my close friends who were girls were at another college. My parents were worried about me, so they made me rush a sorority, which I knew was never my scene, but my parents made me join and I found a few girls I liked. Soon I was going to 6 classes, fraternity chapter, research lab meetings, christain crash group meetings, soriorty pledge meetings all on every Tuesday. I was different person at each of these events and wore a different mask. I was having what I know now were autistic burnout meltdowns every single day on the phone in my crusty dorm's stairwell. It was not cute. His mental health had always been bad too. Finally I decide I need to try a psychatrist and go back to therapy, and then he broke up with me. Then I made my first close friend, a guy who was in 3 of classes, and I took him to my fraternity's formal, and then coronavirus happened.  Rona kinda saved my grades, and mental health by sending us home event though it did suck. I got on anti-anxiety meds and things went up, but I was still having what I thought were panic attacks, they were austistic meltdowns. My psychiatrist, he's kinda an asshole, he diagnosed me with Obessive Compulsive Personality Disorder. I'll insert definition here: (OCPD) is a personality disorder that's characterized by extreme perfectionism, order, and neatness. People with OCPD will also feel a severe need to impose their own standards on their outside environment.> Basically hr told me I had rules for everything like how everyone drives on the right side of the road, but nobodythinks about it andwhen I broke one of my rules I got depressed, and when wasn't perfect I got depressed, and when I made an A I was relieved not proud. The diagnosis seemed to fit really well, and my therapist and I started working finding my rules, and getting rid of the bad ones, and making the others less harsh. I had thought every once and in a while in my life when I was really upset, what if I'm on the spectrum, because I just felt so hopeless for social interactions and I didn't understand. I always felt like I was a very specific person, but after the ocpd I started thinking more and more, and I saw a tik tok of a girl with lae diagnosed autism basically describing me and ranting about the misogyny. I did more research and I decide, yea I'mm gonna bring it up to mypsychatrist well he's a dick, so he was like um you don't act like sheldon cooper from the Big Bang theory,and I was like wellI just I have always thought I might have adhd like be neureodiverse, and he was like your grade point average in hs was a 97.8%, you're not adhd. I immediately cried, because I can't handle when anyone says anything in a even a slightest stringent tone. I'm baby, I know lmao. It made me angry though because I felt like he just brushed away all of my struggles I had in my whole life. I spent hours researching and typed up a 47 page document on evidence for why I was on the spectrum, and had my parents help will some of checklists to make sure I was getting outside perspectives. I rally my parents to be my back up and next psychiatrist appointment we actually talk about it and he asked my parents questions about when I was young and such and finally he was okay you're on the spectrum. I felt so validated and like I could start being myself. I slowly got more and more confident, changed my style of clothing, and researched more about adhd pushed to be tested, and oh look at that I also have ADHD. So basically discourse: "I feel like as a child I coded a machine to do life for me so I didn’t get bothered except I didn’t know about the machine I thought i was the machine and now I’ve become self aware and I have to learn how to read the code and rewrite the code because it’s dysfunctional because I’m not functioning well as a human being. I was really shy as a child. I would turn beat red when people talked to me or looked at me so I think I started cookie cutting situations and using them over and over again because they worked until I accidentally hard wired these expansion rules and expectations for myself. I didn’t may attention is class ever I just day dreamed and if I got good grades i wouldn’t be bothered i could just stay in my head and if I did my sport well my parents didn’t bother me. I was never asked if I did my homework I just did it so I wouldn’t be asked and have to deal with that situation. I would cookie cutter situations in class that would draw the least attention to myself.

I feel like i don’t have friends I just fulfill the expectation like a side quest on video games" I wrote this down pre autism confirmation when i just thought I had ocpd. Now I don't directly identify with ocpd, but I definitely think I developed that personality disorder a bit from living with undiagnosed autism. I am linking below the very informative Tik Toks by the lovely Paige on autism in girls. The imposter syndrome one really hit home. I had had so many panic attacks about thinking I tricked people into being my friend, or thinking I was smart.

I highly suggest watching these short tik toks, you'll definitely learn something

https://vm.tiktok.com/wVvcYA/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wqRRUf/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wnqhvX/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wqeyYg/

https://vm.tiktok.com/wnoE7u/

https://vm.tiktok.com/Kas6gB/

https://vm.tiktok.com/owM9hs/

Imposter syndrome

I am also linking an article about Sheldon Cooper from Big Bang Theory and Autism that explains why my psychiatrist was wrong, and also I am a girl and the spectrum is called a spectrum because it's a fucking spectrum no two autistic people are exactly the same it's like a color wheel.

http://www.autismsupportnetwork.com/news/problem-sheldon-cooper-and-cute-autism-387783

Here is a fun comic about the spectrum and how to view it.

https://the-art-of-autism.com/understanding-the-spectrum-a-comic-strip-explanation/

I am still learning about myself, and how to be me, and how to be myself but without breaking bad social rules. It's quite humorous though because I'll learn something is related to autism and I'm like oh shit again, like still, like, we're still discovering things.

"Tu ne me manques pas"

Bis später,

Astoria.

Well, it’s Bell’s Let’sTalk day, the day where we are suppose to talk about mental health and encourage people to come forward and seek help if needed. It is also a time to share our own stories about our battles with mental health. Today, I will share some more of my journey.

Well, I started my journey into policing back in 2004. Graduated from Depot, and was posted to Northeastern BC. This is where I learned policing, an oilfield town where the government employees were on the low end of the pay scale. When people asked me what policing an oil town was like, I always would say, “it was a great place to learn.” And it truly was. As a new officer, you got exposed to everything. Which was also a negative, as you got exposed to EVERYTHING.

My final year there was my first exposure to an in custody death in the summer of 2007. We received a complaint of a person acting erratically and attempting to smash windows. The long and the short of it, upon arrest, involving five officers, the person went into medical distress, ultimately passing away at the local hospital. From this, I got to be the subject of an investigation, and experience a Coroners Inquest. The outcome of the inquest was that the person passed away from excited delirium, something at that point in time, officers were not trained how to deal with people suspected of suffering from excited delirium.

Shortly after these events, I transferred to my next post, a three person post in the interior of BC. Two weeks after trasferring to this post, the organization changed their policy on on call and what was suppose to be only on call between shifts every once in awhile changed to being on call for probably 5 out of every 7 days of a week. Ultimately I was on call for three months straight at one point. I know that there are members that have gone longer, but this was my reality at the time. Unable to leave town, even when I wasn’t scheduled to be on shift as I was on call for the member that was working that day. Between dealing with no down time and having not processed having a person dying in custody, I started a downward spiral to the lowest point I have ever been in my life. At this point there was no talking about trauma in the organization or PTSD. I still remember the part of training where the mental health discussion was “you’ll have bad days, but you will get over them.”

At my lowest point I seriously contemplated suicide to the point that I had my pistol out one night at work wondering what it would be like. My life was so out of my control at that point that I felt that the only thing that I could control was whether I lived or died. Ultimately I did not do it, but at that point, I saw no other way out and just didn’t care anymore. A week later, I was off work as I couldn’t deal with the stress anymore. It is very disheartening as an officer when your supervisor takes away your service weapon and sends you home.

I started the process of recovery and was diagnosed with PTSD and Major Depressive Disorder. This started the journey of medications and treatments. Medications always seem to have interesting side effects for me. One I didn’t sleep, one my symptoms got worse, and one had other umm... side effects. Sleeping pills either didn’t work or made me into a drooling mess at their lowest dose. After six months I was deemed fit to return to work, which I did. After another year in that office, I transferred to Northwestern BC.

With my transfer to Northwestern BC, I made the vow to myself that I would talk about my experiences to the people I worked with to hopefully prevent anyone from going through what I did. Ultimately, by helping to remove the stigma within the office I worked, it helped others trust me to come to me with their problems and ask for help. I continued this through the rest of my career.

As I have written about in my previous posts, this lead to the week of hell. This time I was better able to read what my head and my body was telling me and deemed that once I was done two commitments I was going off again. Ultimately I was off for two months before I returned to work as I actually enjoyed my job there. Once back from being off, I transferred in the fall of that year to Southeastern BC, my current home. This also involved having a new family doctor.

After two years here, my doctor started to ask me if I wanted to be put off work due to all the things that were going on in my life. She just kept saying to me, “I don’t know how you keep going.” My psychiatrist was also saying the same thing to me as well. At this point, reading my own body and mental state, I was confident that I could continue on. I was able to continue this until another trauma event happened, followed shortly after by becoming the person in charge of the office that was short staffed. I fought through this until I wasn’t able to anymore. I decided that when I was driving to work in the morning and feeling like puking on the way that I shouldn’t be there as I was a liability to the public, my co-workers, and ultimately myself. As the person in charge, I didn’t have anyone to report to locally, so this time around, I locked up my own service weapon, turned the keys over to the exhibit clerk and called the district officer and advised them that they needed to have someone come and run the detachment. I have not returned to work since.

Approximately 5 years ago, I got really sick of being told I had a mental illness and started telling people I had an injury. Most people that I tell this to agree with me and it helps remove the stigma of the source of our problems. As it is Let’s Talk day, I will advise all three of my readers to talk about it. Whether you are suffering, or you see someone else suffering, talk, but remember, sometimes the best way to help someone isn’t by talking, but by listening. Or it could be as simple as giving a recommendation of a psychiatrist. Providing a ride to someone to their appointment because they aren’t able to at that point. So lets remove the stigma and tell our stories. Let the world know that we need the help and let our coworkers know that we are there for them. If you need to talk, PM me. If you already have my number, call me or text me. I would rather talk to you than talk about you at your funeral.

My song selection today is very appropriate as sung by JT and CS. Justin Timberlake and Chris Stapleton. I fell in love with it when I first heard it as it is very true, the greatest way to say something is to say nothing at all. This has so many meanings today. It could mean that when I was at my lowest, by not saying something, I was saying a lot. But coming out the other side, I decided to put myself in the middle as the song says. So without further ado, it is “Say Something.”

Cheers all, and remember, Let’s Talk About it.

Hi! Supposing MC and her boyfriend are trying to get pregnant. How do you think each of them (if they are her boyfriend), is going to react when she says she wants to do the deed right at that time?

Hello! This ask had me imagining so many different scenarios, but stuck with this one. I've had such a busy Sunday and wanted to end the day on a light note, so let's get on with the reaction of these four gorgeous guys. I hope this lives up to your expectations…

Victor

When you first brought up the idea of having a baby, the twenty-eight-year-old CEO thought it was such an easy task, even Goldman could do it - NOT THAT HE WILL EVER LET HIM… but six months and sixty various Kamasutra positions later, you were still not pregnant. Each month you'd get your period, he felt less and less confident that his swimmers were not competent enough. 

You consult a specialist and were given a kit to use to test when your fertility was at its peak. The specialist said that you need to do the deed within 24 hours before you ovulate because that increases the chances of getting pregnant. Easy right? Except, you've got irregular cycles. 

Victor waits patiently for your call, day in and day out, all while maintaining a good diet, staying hydrated, working out (for more stamina), and reading up articles on the best position to get your girl pregnant (or something to that effect)  in various Men's Health magazine.

Since you hadn't given him "The Call", he decided to bury himself at work, randomly auditing his company's account receivables against expenditures. He's gone through tons of ledgers and reports since he came to work that day, he hadn't noticed he had fallen asleep on his desk. Then at exactly one in the morning, he woke up to the sound of his mobile ringing. He picked it up and saw 50 missed calls and 100 messages all coming from you. Flustered, he called you back right away. 

"It's about time you called, Victor. Do you know you kept me waiting for so long? Where were you? " you didn't bother concealing your anger the moment you heard him on the other line. 

"You're getting braver, " he would reply, sounding slightly annoyed at having been told off right after waking up. "That's quite a mouth you have on you."

"My mouth would have been ON you if you'd picked up sooner. My test shows I'm fertile and that we've got another 18 hours to get busy or we try again next month. You've got ten minutes to get here."

Victor straightens up as soon as you ended the call. He phones a sleepy Goldman and orders him to cancel his appointments that day, adding, "don't call me, I'll call you." 

And he freezes time to get to your place and spend what seemed like an endless 18 hours completing all the positions in the Kamasutra, in the hopes that one of them will get you pregnant. 

A month later, you test positive and he's changed his reading material from Men's Health to Parenting weekly. 

Lucien

It was a warm and sunny Saturday morning when you had visited his apartment armed with his favorite cream puffs and his favorite tea. The neuroscientist almost choked on the cream puff you lovingly made for him when you told him you wanted to have a baby together, but immediately recovered and processed your emotions. In the end, he agreed to do this the right way - complete with menstrual charts, an eating plan, and a list of vitamins and supplements you need to take to get your body ready to carry his baby for the next nine months. 

Every month, during your fertile window, he'd turn his apartment into a spa of sorts to help you relax - he'd give you a massage, and make sweet and gentle love to you the whole night through. Unfortunately, after six months of trying, he hasn't succeeded in his quest to get you pregnant, and he starts doubting himself. 

After consulting with a  specialist (and your lover actually went through all the tests he needed to take), it was clear that you were both perfectly healthy. His colleague, a psychiatrist, advised you both to spice up your sex life. 

Lucien was working on a medical journal entry supporting the study that the brain is wired to procrastinate and hasn't been home in the last three days. You were down to your last twenty-four hours before ovulation, and you desperately needed to get laid. Fast. Taking matters into your own hands, you visited him in his research center and saw him typing like a madman on his laptop, with a few cans of energy drink on his desk. 

He looked up the moment you stepped in, and you locked eyes briefly. "What are you doing here?"

"It's late and you haven't been home in three days, Lucien, " you said, pouting. When he explained that it shouldn't bother you by now since there had been times in the past that he hasn't gone home, you held up your hand to silence him and said, "We've got less than 24 hours to get pregnant. Are you up to the challenge or not?"

Your words sank in immediately, and you see his eyes flicker and turn dark. Downing his energy drink, he tossed the empty can aside and stalked you like a predator locking down his prey. 

That evening, you did the deed in every possible surface in his office, and you were so loud, he knew he had to bribe the guard the next day not to spill the beans. After all, that night was an exception, you were never gonna fuck in his lab again.

A month later, you came to him straight from your doctor's appointment and showed him the ultrasound picture of your little bean. And on that very day, he made a mental note to bribe the guard again, because there was no way in hell he wasn't going to keep his hands off you. 

Kiro

You were chilling out with Kiro at the studio just before his new album launched when you both started talking about the future. When you said you wanted to start a family early, the blond superstar was more than happy to comply. Too happy in fact, that he insisted you start trying right at that very instant - inside the soundproof studio, with an unlocked door separating you both from Savin and his staff. 

Since Kiro had to go on his worldwide album tour, your plans had been put on hold. He was more disappointed than you were when you got your period the following month. 

He wanted to start a family so badly, he went behind your back and spoke with Anna about the possibility of you taking a brief vacation to join him on the Japan leg of his tour. Having gotten the necessary approvals, he flies you to Tokyo and you arrive an hour before his concert. 

Not having seen you in weeks, he corners you backstage and leads you to his dressing room. "I missed you, Miss Chips, " he said as he peppered you with kisses. 

"I missed you too, " you replied. 

"Is that all you have to say to me after not seeing you for weeks?" 

You smiled at him and whispered, "I'm fertile." To which he responded smugly, "That's great… because I'm horny. But we gotta keep it quiet in here or they'll hear."

While his concert front act was performing and the audience were having fun banging their heads to the music, your twenty-two-year-old boyfriend was busy banging you against the wall. 

He performed exceptionally well that night (in his concert and in private), and a month and a half later, he penned a new song dedicated to your baby. 

Gavin

Gavin had just arrived at his place after a long day when he saw you pacing back and forth in his living room. When he asked you what was wrong, you fidget nervously and tell him that you had actually been thinking a lot about having a baby. Immediately, the Police Officer stared at you with his jaw hanging and it took him several minutes to process what you had just said. You were so scared he would reject your idea, but all that was going through his mind was the excitement of fucking you bare and how Minor would react if he gave him the boxes of condoms he kept in his apartment. 

Gavin's missions kept him away most of the time. The two of you would have quickies in between missions, but of course, those weren't enough to get you pregnant. As you track your fertile window month over month, you start to see a correlation between your ovulation and depression especially when Gavin wasn't around during those days. 

As expected, Gavin had been sent on a mission again, five days before your ovulation, and you once again get into a state of depression. You were down to your last twenty-four hours of being fertile, and your boyfriend was nowhere near you. Sighing, you tell yourself this was just not meant to be and that perhaps you should just break up. Lo and behold, your phone rings and you see Gavin's name on the screen. 

"Hey, babe. You don't sound too good. Are you okay?" He would ask. 

"No, I'm not, " you would respond and add, "You said you wanted to have a family with me but you're always away. For the past six months, you've been missing in action when my fertile window opens. Like today, for instance - today's my most fertile day, and you're not here. I don't think I can do this anymore. I want to break up -"

You were cut short by the sound of the glass in the window shattering. And there, inside your apartment, among the shards of glass, stood your boyfriend in full uniform. The sight made you lose your breath because he was so hot. 

"Gavin -"

He walked towards you with a purpose and each step he took made your heart best faster and faster. "I'm sorry about the glass, I'll replace that later, " he said. "But right now, I need to convince you not to break up with me and I've got twenty-four hours to give you what you want."

A lamp, a few vases, and a couple of plates joined the shards of glass of the floor in the wake of your passionate reunion. A month later, he requested to take some time off duty to spoil you and what he hopes would be a little version of you, growing inside you. 

(I hope these made sense... These were visuals I used to come up with each hc)