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madamhatter · 3 years

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act 0. observer’s notes your name is….. finding place in exile, the ramifications of war, and the scars it makes (Posttraumatic Stress Disorder)

Discussion on PTSD and its play in writing Sophie in the Topaxi verse. A general (mental) profile of the Sorceress in this setting would be included. Includes connecting recurring imagery and rifts spotted in-character writing in the Topaxi verse. (Kind of spoilers!)

READ AT YOUR OWN CAUTION.

The story of displacement is a common tale for many of the Roles in Topaxi. Be it if you’re of those surviving past the war, having escaped the clutches of social prejudice of your home country, or even in rift from self-persecution, the belongingness that was once felt is adrift and lost to the ever-revolving and never-stopping world we live in. As of the latest conquest conducted by the Topaxi Advancement Forces (TAF), the continent of Gaea has had several of its countries turned territories or effaced within the past seven to eight years. It has been over two years since the invasion and TAF is on standby as the last emperor had suddenly and mysteriously passed away.

One of the last countries to be taken by the Empire was a smaller region towards the north of the continent with one coast belonging to the open sea. Such a place, which was incredibly small and considered nameless by then, was the home of the Sorceress.

In the wake of post-war life, most have found their living in making a living, while a rare few live to make a change. So ends up Sophie Hatter, the confirmed one of eight survivors from her hometown, to Topaxi with no remnants of family with her as they are located elsewhere in the Topaxi empire. (A complicated situation. It is connected to Sophie’s mother and it is the reason why Sophie is the last Hatter to leave her home country). She is holding herself together with only the clothes on her body and whatever items survived the destruction in a small messenger bag she found in the debris of her late childhood home. So, where does Sophie find herself...? What is she like now?

Similar to discussed cases in Topaxi with certain roles being exposed to and/or participating in the war, Sophie Hatter is one of those cases. She developed Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) that is comorbid with general anxiety disorder, panic disorder, and major depressive disorder. NOTE: Major depressive disorder would be a differential diagnosis. However, the symptoms exhibited by Sophie by the time she is 19, and after the course for acute stress disorder to be diagnosed (~3 days to a month), does reflects does include symptoms for “PTSD Criterion B or C symptoms” and “PTSD Criterion D or E” (p 279, DSM-5). Meaning that comorbidity is possible diagnosis or this disorder soon developed because of the traumatic event in place.

Sophie struggles with creating herself as she was before; there is an intrusion that exists within her and she is acutely aware of it and believes that she must do something about it. This nuisance she classifies, however, cannot be as easily undone as she realizes and her understanding of it is very limited, given the fact that the world of Topaxi has limited resources and research committed to psychology.

While the city-state of Topaxi can be considered modern and ahead of its time with the presence of UCAT, their progression and developments are not concurrent (yet) with the going-ons of today. While its history may not have been dedicated to vulnerable populations and certain experiences they might have faced, changes are being made with new projects, but there is still a way’s to go.

Sophie Hatter, externally, is a persistently active figure, working with the newly made community in her apartment and living day-to-day with newly found relationships. However, she remains within arms’ distance with others while providing help, working to her best to keep stability around her as much as she can. Her schedule, during the day, is extremely limited and refined by her to avoid as many external variables that may affect her and she does not want to even imagine or experience how she’ll respond.

Internally, however, Sophie Hatter is still a young woman who is grasping with the reality of what has happened to her during the invasion. Preceding the conquest, she already exhibited behaviors of a childhood that left her perception of the world altered and her self-perception low (to the point of being uncaring to her own safety). However, the inclusion of adversity from events during the war and the continuous exposure from her curse to her escape has heightened and created characteristics, responses, and coping mechanisms to handle what the mind is still attempting to fully comprehend/accept has happened.

Be note, that there are two events in the war that affected her: (1) discovering her decimated town/facing the its destruction and (2) her time before her “escape.”

Following DSM-5 and the Diagnostic Criteria for Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (figure 43.10), Sophie has the following symptoms and tendencies underneath these particular categories: (Numbers denote which event is tied to what.)

A “Exposure to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violation in one (or more) of the following ways” [EVENT]

Directly experiencing the traumatic event - (1) The travel through the desolated country and seeing first-hand accounts of dead bodies, murder, and other atrocities ; (2) Detainment and what happened during then.

Witnessing, in person, the event(s) as it occurred to others - (1) The final bombings and scourge that swept over the valley ; (2) Was forced to watch mutilation and unethical experiments

B “Presence of one (or more) of the following intrusion symptoms associated with the traumatic event(s), beginning after the traumatic event(s) occurred” [INTRUSION]

Recurrent, involuntary, and intrusive distressing memories of the traumatic event(s) - (1) & (2) happens a lot but does not come out through direct and perfect images of what has happened. Usually plays out that she sees the dead bodies and imagines fire around her if moving too quickly or in areas that she avoids because of stimuli that can trigger her.

Intense or prolonged psychological distress at exposure to internal or external cues that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the traumatic event(s) - Will enter a state of intrusive thoughts that will repeatedly tell her to leave and push her to go away. Would end up apologizing repeatedly and would begin her move as soon as possible.

Marked physiological reactions to internal or external cues that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the traumatic event(s) - Turns blank in the face and stares out whenever stimuli (or a combination) is in contact with her ; memories will begin resurfacing mainly through smell, but she has routinely removed herself ASAP. Flight or fight response will be immensely present and it DOES depend on her hypervigilance and whether she is moonlighting as Simeon as not. if moonlighting, the “fight” reaction WILL be used and will devolve into violence. If not, Sophie’s immediate response will be to leave and leave as soon as possible, no matter what it is she is doing. Would end up shallowly breathing like there’s smoke in the air, holding herself, and bowing her head as if avoiding seeing something before her.

C “Persistent avoidance of stimuli associated with the traumatic event(s), beginning after the traumatic event(s) occurred, as evidenced by one or both of the following” [AVOIDANCE]

Avoidance of or efforts to avoid distressing memories, thoughts, or feelings about or closely associated with the traumatic event(s) - (1) Continued rejection and avoidance of topics relating to latest conquests and usually avoids districts that are heavy with TAF occupation (bases, ports, air fields, etc.) ;

Avoidance of or efforts to avoid external reminders (people, places, conversations, activities, objects, situations) that arouse distressing memories, thoughts, or feelings about or closely associated with the traumatic event(s) - (2) Adamant refusal to enter or get close to medical facilities and certain smells like ammonia will make her hostile and intense (first mentioned in Headcanon Dump #1)

D “Negative alterations in cognitions and mood associated with the traumatic event(s), beginning or worsening after the traumatic event(s) occurred, as evidenced by two (or more) of the following” [NEGATIVE ALTERNATIONS IN COGNITIONS AND MOOD ASSOCIATED WITH THE EVENT]

Inability to remember an important aspect of the traumatic event(s) (typically due to dissociative amnesia and not to other factors such as head injury, alcohol, or drugs) - Confirmed for dissociative amnesia where the events of (1) and (2) meld together and the timeline is mixed together ; there are very specific images that do not reflect the real scene or are reduced from the original signifier (I.E., the specific image of draping/pouring red)

Persistent and exaggerated negative beliefs or expectations about oneself, others, or the world (e.g., “I am bad,” “No one can be trusted,” “The world is completely dangerous,” “My whole nervous system is permanently ruined”) - Consistent and returning thoughts of worthlessness for self (’Why am I still here versus....?” ; others are seen to be temporary in her life and cannot be held onto for long ( “they need something from me, that’s why they’re here..”)

Persistent, distorted cognitions about the cause or consequences of the traumatic event(s) that lead the individual to blame himself/herself or others - Consistent blame on herself for (2) but (1) is vehemently targeted towards both herself when it comes to the deaths of her community -AND- people she distinguishes as responsible for the outcome (Topaxi officials and, at times, associates of TAF ) and authority figures from her country

Persistent negative emotional state (e.g., fear, horror, anger, guilt, or shame) - Amplified when Simeon and the persona is seen as an outlet to let out these emotions she believe she needs to keep in line ; usually guilt, anger, and shame meshed together, which leads to fueling reckless behavior and decisions that may hurt herself (which she dubs as necessary)

E “Marked alterations in arousal and reactivity associated with the traumatic event(s), beginning or worsening after the traumatic event(s) occurred, as evidenced by two (or more) of the following” [MARKED ALTERNATION IN AROUSAL AND REACTIVITY]

Irritable behavior (with little to no provocation) towards objects and people - Most visible when moonlighting as Simeon.

Reckless or self-destructive behavior - Refer to purpose of Simeon persona and her views on her livelihood and how she actively “punishes” herself.

Hypervigilance. - Already present in Sophie, worsened from war. Contributing to this would be her consistency to keep her and her night persona separated; add on need to keep herself on a low-profile and not recognizable in certain locations with medical personnel and researchers.

Sleep disturbance (e.g., difficulty falling or staying asleep or restless sleep) - Already present in Sophie, worsened from war.

F “Duration of the disturbance (Criteria B, C, D, and E) is more than 1 month.”

Has been persistent throughout the ~2 years she has been living in Topaxi.

G “The disturbance causes clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.”

Confirmed.

H “The disturbance is not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance (e.g., medication, alcohol) or another medical condition.”

Not able to be found in context of the comorbidity exhibited by Sophie. Many new symptoms took form after the experiences she had in war. To note, she has been showing signs of a new comorbidity (substance reliance, alcohol).

SPECIFICATION: Depersonalization with delayed expression (taken a year for these symptoms to begin).

- - -

Sophie Hatter, as previously described, is someone who is coping with trauma through the best way she knows and has done before with her other trauma: ignoring it and shunning herself. However, she has particular outlets that may come of casual consumption of alcohol which happens concerningly frequent throughout certain days if stimuli are present.

Additionally, while Simeon is throughout the criteria, they were not originally made as a result of what occurred. The original creation of Simeon was meant to be a persona she could use to live a “double life” as she needed to make more money and dangerous work paid well. Having them as separate lives, in her eyes, keeps her safe from anyone targeting or her family (but, it is clear that her sisters and stepmother are not on the island).

Instead, they have became a violent outlet for her internalized dread, anguish, and anger. Having the “informant” as an extension of herself, excusing bad decisions and feeling out of her body while the world around her happens, has proven detrimental to the process of the awareness, acknowledgement, assistance, and acceptance of her condition.

Here are several examples of Sophie’s PTSD appearing:

Self-harm/demanding herself to be hurt/trying to mark herself and punish herself

Haggardly, Simeon grimaces while their vest was shed off and resting on the tower hanger, alongside their binder beside it. Their dress shirt was half-way unbuttoned. Over their exposed shoulders and underneath their breasts were imprints.

Scarred fingertip digs into their collarbone. A sharp jab into their clavicle, feeling a minor ache as they push further. Bruise, damn it. Make some mark. Make color, be red.

-- EXCERPT FROM THIS DRABBLE (SOPHIE’S DISPOSITION).

Association with red and the bleeding of traumatic events (1) and (2) joining together, causing her to respond blankly to the situation before being distracted by Yunuen speaking

Red skies, red sparks, red flow, red blossoms in the sky, red stained on metal, red dyeing gowns, red fringes framing a scratched off face that hovers over your pinned body, red hot pain searing into your body, red, red, red red-

-- EXCEPT FROM THIS THREAD (FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH YUNUEN).

Survivor’s guilt and persistent negativity directed at herself because of her survival (The marks are related to (2) and the thought is related to (1)):

On her right hip, roughly the same size as the other, but longer as it had dragged along said hip, the scar was horizontal and deeper than its neighbor, visible from its crinkled appearance. Reminders of life’s misplaced luck, she concludes, not used wisely by Fate this time around. How silly of them to pick me.

-- EXCERPT FROM SILVER STIGMATA (PHYSICAL SURVEY)

Hypervigilance and abundance of stimuli that make her extremely uncomfortable/distrusting of situation:

A heaviness swells in their chest, an unshakable pressure tightening their rib cage, and yet, this was only normal symptoms of living a life like this. Industrial foulness mixed with fresh market fragrances from the decadent and wealthy market by the mouth of the alley; all the more gag-inducing for the young informant.

However, they clutch onto the empty box in their hands, making out the plastic ridges against the faintest callouses on the tip of their fingers They weren’t ignorant to the truth; how these sounds that place them on edge, instead soothed others. After all, this was home for many. But, for Simeon – rather, the one beneath the mask, it was not. And it never would be.

-- EXCERPT FROM THREAD (discontinued as person is inactive in verse)

One of the first instances of Sophie’s PTSD affecting her and being active in a thread would be her firstt, but short-lived, interaction with Tatyana. The avoidance nature and immediate removal from the situation happens in this case when Tatyana revs up the engine on her motorcycle, shouting from a stranger from the apartments joins in, and the heavy and direct smell and vision of smog.

Here’s the break down:

Physiological numbness in the moment; mind is still active, but taking a backseat and removing herself from situation (recognizing self as powerless in moment):

The shouting began as Sophie turns her face away, feeling her skin crawl to a coldness. The words that left his mouth were no less understandable but the ferocity and indignation in his tone was far too recognizable. If she considered it, she could’ve spoken back and defused the situation. The gift of tongues came with the ability to grant passage for others who can’t be brought together by difference of languages.

Physiological response and addition of stimuli that directly relate back to the image of hometown [INTRUSION]:

Sophie Hatter’s eyes are now but a distant gaze over towards the taller blonde, only wishing like she did when she was younger. To disappear, to toil and fade away, to crawl back to whence she came from. Roaring engines, the smell of smoke, it was sickening. It was inespacable in the floating island, but it smelled too much like what remained of home. Add onto the shouting and it was already enough to make her head ache.

(Unknowingly) reenacting particular body language used during trauma; feeling of helplessness in situation that is out of her control:

Some of her body was already numbing at the fingertips and she was pulling the black collar of her turtleneck over her mouth and nose. It wouldn’t work to cushion and black the sounds, their volume growing louder and louder like the pain in her head.

Active avoidance, mind begins flight-or-fight situation with altered perceptive of reality:

“I need somewhere quiet.” She feebly comments, glancing back to the apartment buildings, and believing that there were more people creeping by the windows. The silver-haired woman promptly steps aside. Now, she was ready to shuffle away and avoid the incoming shouts on the block if it continued.

She wasn’t a fan of the memories it brought.

Sudden and abrupt removal from situation, signal of struggling to keep body language together as she wants to avoid an episode:

“Good luck,” she waves a hand, glancing back to the stranger, before balling her hands into the pockets of her sweater. She began her quiet leave.

- - -

More is to be written about Sophie in how she is greatly affected by this. Some drabbles have been scrapped and were planned to express how deep the trauma works. Though, it can be already seen in how Sophie views death, treats her body, a persistently negative view on certain parties and the outcome of life, etc.

Drabbles that were scrapped but would be considered “canon” that relay back to Sophie’s trauma would include:

As Simeon at Lunazul, she ends up getting to a brawl with someone after the table next to hers is repeatedly mentioning the conquests and graphic detail of what has happened to unnamed people (unnamed nationalistic person). Ends up intensely cold, getting up from her seat, and nearly beating the man unconscious with far too much wrath in her body; she rushes out of the bar and has a sobbing breakdown several blocks away.

A confrontation of “Red” that she remembers time and time again; a consistent night terror that follows her nd makes her unable to sleep some nights; actively ‘speaks’ to it while in sleep paralysis and it acknowledges her well. Scene usually ends up with “Red” above her, face reveals to be face heavily mutilated and gouged, screaming loudly and repeatedly at Sophie.

A shutdown in public when there are large amounts of traffic near her because a detour led her to the highway; leading her to hide somewhere and refusing to come out until “they drive away,” which makes her miss the day she’s meant to be working at Miya’s detective office.

A short meeting with one of her neighbor’s children, a young 26-year-old working at a hospital in Central and professor at UCAT, still wearing their scrubs and the heavy smell of ammonia on them. The image itself leaves Sophie cutting conversation short and retreating to her apartment.

- - -

Sophie Hatter is a 20-year-old facing the aftermath of exile from her own country and self and the trauma coming with displacement and surviving the horrors of the world. She is by no means a hopeless case or a lost cause.

But, she is someone who is going to go through development as someone who struggles constantly: as someone who is unsure of what to do with her life, as much as she wants to live normally, her stability and infrastructure has been destroyed her very eyes. She attempts to reconstruct herself but fails to realize how that’d harm her because she is actively avoiding what has happened to her and denies herself that all of this happened.

She believes she can “make up” for something she calls an inadequacy and blames herself for. She “makes up” for it by being a community figure in a place that she would never feel right in or safe in; she "makes up” for it by being a reputable person who would never turn down anyone and offers help whenever she can; she “makes up” by continuously lying to herself and hurting herself.

Part of her screams, another part weeps; one part wants to take vengeance, tear apart everything, and the other wants to curl up and lose herself to the numbness. But, she persists in her hurt with a solution that even worsens these parts that want comfort and healing.

It is a difficult reality she must navigate, which is difficult because she is alone.

No matter how anyone looks at it, the path of exile is a lonesome one when you do not recognize there are someone else’s footprints on the dirt road. Her feet are long tired, dirtied, and bloodied by how far she dragged herself across this time to figure herself out.... But, with each passing day, it seems she’s getting further and further out from anyone’s reach, and before she knows it, she’ll be going down a path of destruction that’d engulf those around her in ash, fire, and death.

#( in which we learn about the eldest ; headcanons )#( verse: ¿cual tu vas a ser? dentro del espejo ves; ¿algiuen más en ese cuerpo? | yni )#trauma tw #ptsd tw #war tw #death tw

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onigirimsby · 4 years

Text

but all love is uneven

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Character: Todoroki Shoto

Pairings: Todoroki Shoto x reader

Tags: Angst with a happy ending

Warnings: implied/referenced suicide

Word Count: 3024

Good intentions, bad decision. You have the ability to reset time by dying, unfortunately, the consequences start catching up to you, and your husband is in the crossfires.

(Title from Anne Carson's Town of Uneven Love (But All Love Is Uneven))

Read on AO3 or keep reading:

“I’m sorry. This isn't how I wanted to tell you.” You can’t look him in the eye, so you fiddle with the results of the MRIs and x-rays and other medical exams. You shuffle through the papers in the folder that all say the same thing. For no reason any doctor can explain, your body is suddenly riddled with the remnants of several impossible injuries. You touch your head on the spot where they found the tumor - the thing that would kill you before any of the other injuries could. The tumor was your most recent injury, if you could call it that.

“I don’t understand.” Shoto says quietly. You think about how you never really planned on telling him anyway. All this time, you let him - everyone - think you didn’t have a quirk. The truth was too complicated.

“I can...rewind...time,” you start explaining again, “by dying.” You sneak a glance at his face, searching for any clues about how he’s feeling.

“I get that part. What I don’t understand...is why you wouldn’t tell me.” Shoto fiddles with the ring on his finger that matches your own. It was a new enough accessory that he didn’t have a permanent tan line on his ring finger yet.

“I didn’t want you to worry, Shoto.” He looks at you sharply as you speak.

“How many times?” You tilt the test results so he can see every unusual injury on you. “Did you save them?” You smile at the question. You knew that part he would understand.

“Every time.” You said. You can see he’s thinking it over, and you know him well enough to dread the next question.

“Have you ever saved me?” You nod, because your throat is suddenly too thick for words. “How many times?”

“Just once,” you manage to whisper. His fists clench.

“Which one?” He asks, gesturing to the body scan showing your injuries. You wish you could lie to him now, but it’s a little too late, perhaps.

“This one,” you point to a shadow over your chest, “and this,” your hands are shaking as you point to the tumor in the picture of your brain. His head whips from the images to your sorry face.

“What happened?”

“You died,” you choke, “so I...jumped off a building-”, you point at the shadow on your chest, “-and went back to the day of the incident. I was too late that time, and the villain, he…” Shoto took your hand and squeezed. “He shot me-” you pointed at the tumor again, “and the time reset again. I went back a week earlier, this time, and gathered enough evidence to get him arrested before he could try anything.”

“So, this is my fault,” he says, utterly serious, as he traces the shadow of the tumor growing in your brain. He couldn’t believe how oblivious he was. How could he not notice that you’d spent a whole week gathering evidence against a potential villain? Getting the evidence to stick so the villain went to prison? Saving lives?

“No!” This is precisely why you hadn’t wanted to tell him about your quirk. “This was my decision, Shoto. I wanted to save you. I couldn’t live with myself if I just let you go like that!” He suddenly takes you in his arms, holding you tight.

“I’m so sorry.” He tucks his face in the crook of your neck. His voice is serious, but you can tell he’s holding back tears. You bring your arms around him.

“I’m not sorry.” You say, rubbing circles on his back the way you know he likes. “If I hadn’t done that, then I wouldn’t be holding you like this now. I wouldn’t be hearing your voice. I wouldn’t be sharing my life with you.”

“But...what am I supposed to do now? I can’t save you from this.” This is a side of him you’ve never seen. Shoto never gave up, never backed down. You never wanted to see him hopeless, yet here you both were.

“You don’t have to save me, Shoto. Being here with you is more than enough.” As you speak, you think about how you’d trade your life for Shoto’s any day. “Maybe I’ll come back again. Maybe I’ll rewind again.” You’re crying now, because deep inside you know this might be it. The injuries of every reset are catching up to you, and this might be the final death. This time, it’s not your choice. You’re not throwing yourself off a building, or slitting your wrists, or any of the other things you’ve inflicted upon yourself. This time, your own body is saying enough is enough. There was no way you could save yourself - you had 5 years left - but maybe you could save him just one more time.

*~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~*

You’ve been thinking about this for a month now, which to you seems like a long time if you want your plan to work out. After all, you wanted to see at least a small glimpse of his future before your time was up. Shoto had no idea you were planning anything, of course. After all this time, after all the resets, you’ve gotten very good at keeping things from him.

Shoto has been the perfect husband. He went to treatments with you, sometimes even forcing you to go, even though the prognosis wasn’t good. He took care of you the best he could, even though you could tell it was breaking his heart. You couldn’t do this to him any longer. That’s how you found yourself lying in the tub full of sleeping pills and alcohol.

*~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~*

It’s four years ago, on the day you and Shoto would’ve met for the first time. You wake up in your old apartment, and you feel a pang of nostalgia. You haven't travelled back this far since you first realized you were in love with Shoto. You hadn’t wanted to risk messing anything up.

The first thing you do is write down every incident you’d ever stopped, every life you’d ever saved, that was about to happen all over again in the next four years. You plot the dates and times, and write every last detail you could remember, including detailed plans to prevent them from happening.

Only when you’re finished do you sit back and think about what you’ve done. You glance up at the clock. You met Shoto after your friend and his friend set the two of you up on a blind date. You figure standing him up would be the best way to ruin everything right now. The clock ticks to 3:30PM, which was when you left your apartment the first time around.

You feel your throat tighten as tears roll down your cheeks, but you continue watching the clock, thinking about everything you’re giving up. The clock keeps moving until it’s 4PM, the appointed meeting time. Your phone buzzes. As expected, your friend has sent a good luck text.

4:15PM and your phone buzzes again and the name that appears makes your chest feel tight. “Hi, this is Todoroki Shoto. Our friends set us up for a blind date today.”

“Sorry! Can’t make it.” You send back, trying to sound rude enough to hate, but not too rude that it’s unbelievable. You can imagine the cute flustered look on Shoto’s face. You can’t seem to stop crying.

“I’m sorry for the trouble. Would you like to reschedule?” His familiar politeness in spite of it all makes you laugh through the tears and you’re feeling a little crazy. You leave him on read and hope he doesn’t try to contact you again.

*~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~*

You’re at the hospital again, and receiving the same “shocking” results. It’s a different doctor, but she still isn’t able to explain your strange residual injuries. She can, however, tell you that the injuries aren’t what you should be worried about. Even though you’ve reset to four years ago (not that the doctor knows this), the tumor in your brain will still kill you in five years or less. You’d already guessed this before resetting. You were just biding your time.

You had the uncanny ability to remember everything when you reset. You spend the familiar four years with your friends and family, and you avoid Shoto, but that’s easier said than done when he’s always saving the day on the news. You save the same lives you’ve saved before, but you manage to fly under the radar. You don’t tell anyone about your quirk, but of course you can’t lie about your diagnosis. Everyone is loving and supportive, but you miss him.

*~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~*

The hardest thing in the world happens three years after you travelled back in time. You’re in the hospital again, sitting in a wheelchair, because treatments leave you feeling weak. You’re supposed to be resting, but you find yourself people-watching in the cafeteria, unread novel abandoned because you’re a little too dizzy to read right now.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” Your heart clenches at the familiar voice. You shake your head without looking up. He slides into the seat next to you, because the cafeteria is a little full. You know you should leave or pretend you’re reading, but the temptation is too strong. Against your will, you turn to face Shoto.

“Who are you visiting?” You smile, even as you curse yourself for giving in. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. You tried to take him in subtly, every feature live-in-living-color in front of you, so close.

“How did you know I was visiting someone?” He asks, then takes a bite from his sandwich.

“You don’t look like a patient.” Of course, you could guess who he was visiting. You flashed back to the memory of another timeline, when you’d visited an injured friend with him. In that memory, you were holding a “Get well soon” balloon, but the Shoto in this timeline hadn’t brought anything. “Are you bringing them something?”

Shoto looks surprised for a second. “Should I?”

“Most people here seem to like it, even if it’s usually useless stuff. It’s just a nice gesture, I think.” Just a little more. You’ve missed him so much, it was unbearable, but the next two years might be a little easier if you could see him and talk to him just a little bit more.

“What do you suggest?” He asks.

“The gift shop is near here. You could pick something you think they’d like.” When you finish speaking, Shoto balls up the sandwich wrapper and you think the conversation is over.

“Could you show me?” You’re surprised when he asks, and he’s looking at you so earnestly. You see the tips of his ears are flushed pink, and your heart stutters.

“Of course!” You want to kick yourself. You need to back off now. Instead, you let him wheel you to the gift shop.

“I’m Todoroki Shoto, by the way.” He says as you inspect the chocolates in the gift shop. You panic. What are you supposed to do? Tell him your name? Give him an entirely fake name?

“You should get this!” You quickly hand him a random bar of chocolate large enough to surprise him. “I have to go now. Bye!” You wheel yourself out of there as fast as you can, and hope Shoto forgets about you.

About an hour later, a friend comes to pick you up. As you get inside the car, you see your favorite nurse jogging towards you, giant chocolate bar in her arms. She yells your name and your heart sinks.

“Todoroki Shoto was asking around about you. He said to give you this.” The nurse says as she hands you the chocolate bar. She looks incredibly impressed that a pro-hero, the Todoroki Shoto, would be looking for you, let alone giving you chocolate. You see that it’s not the exact one you pushed into Shoto’s arms, so maybe he gave that one to his friend. The card attached has “Thank you” scribbled in a familiar scrawl. Underneath the scrawl, the words “Get well soon” are printed in a bubbly font. Your friend and the nurse eye each other awkwardly.

“Thanks!” Your friend says to the nurse. “We better get going now.”

*~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~*

It’s your final mission. You have submitted your evidence against the villain who, if not stopped, would end up killing Shoto and several others. Except, you’ve run into an unexpected hitch. This time, you’re not married to a pro-hero. The police are insisting you need a personal guard, just until the villain is put away for good.

You end up under the careful protection of Uraraka Ochako. That was one of the worst things about resetting the timeline. You also lost half of your friends: the friends you and Shoto shared. You wonder if maybe it would be okay to be friends with Uraraka again. You’ve missed her a lot too.

You’re thinking some more about befriending Ochako again on the way home from yet another treatment at the hospital. Another friend is driving you home and it’s a little awkward because Ochako insisted you sit beside her in the backseat just in case. Ochako was right. Just a few minutes into the drive home, a much larger vehicle slams into your friend’s car. It takes you a moment to recognize the SUV as belonging to the villain you were currently prosecuting, and another moment to realize that Ochako has your friend’s car suspended mid-air, mid-tumble. But it’s too late. The SUV slammed into your side of the car. It was a purposeful and targeted attack, and the impact alone has you slipping into unconsciousness.

*~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~* *~*~*~*

You’re floating in and out of sleep, and everything is hazy and confusing. When you’re awake, you have the sense of being in a very busy place, lots of people, lots of noise. When you’re asleep, you feel a thread in the middle of your chest tugging and tugging, threatening to unravel you. Something in your brain is telling you to hold on to that thread; don’t let it unravel. But you’re so tired, and so weak.

You hear your name, suddenly, loud and clear, even though Shoto isn’t shouting it. You crash into wakefulness. Shoto? It takes longer for your eyes to open, and you find yourself in a hospital room. You hear your name again, and this time you’re sure it’s him.

“Hi.” You manage to say, though your throat is dry and scratchy and the word comes out in a breathy rasp.

“Do you remember me?” Shoto frowns, and you recognize him both as your Shoto and the Shoto of this other timeline where you were never supposed to meet him.

“Yeah…” You say again, because trying to nod hurts too much.

“I...remember you.” Shoto says carefully. You don’t know what to say, so you stay silent. He continues, “We all...remember you.”

“What?” Is all you can say, sounding dumb even to yourself.

“You were in a car crash.” He gestures to your body, which must be lying injured in bed, though you can hardly see. “And after that, we all started getting these dreams...almost like weird memories...of things that never happened, or things that did happen but different.”

“Oh…” You suddenly remember the feeling of unraveling in your dreams. You remember your subconscious screaming at you to hold on, to keep those strings to yourself. You realize now that what you were holding on to were the timelines and memories, and clearly you hadn’t managed to hold on to them.

You notice Shoto is nervously fiddling with his empty ring finger, right where his wedding ring was supposed to be. He notices you looking and stops. “I died.” He says this in a matter-of-fact voice. “I was supposed to die.”

“God, I messed up.” You start to tear up. “You weren’t supposed to know. No one was supposed to know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I love you...a lot. I know that sounds crazy coming from someone you don’t even know,” you’re full-on crying now, “but it doesn’t matter now, and I’m going to die, for real this time, and I just didn’t want you to feel bad.”

Shoto looks perplexed. It was his job to be the hero, to save people, and here you were resetting timelines to keep him from being upset. A long silence passed as he thought about what to say to you.

“We were married, in the dreams. I remember that. We were supposed to go on a blind date, and it was really fun, and you were so easy to talk to. But it didn’t happen like that.” Shoto’s still confused.

“Sorry,” you say on reflex, then you correct yourself, “Actually, no, I’m not. I’m sorry you’re confused now, but it beats seeing you miserable because you had to watch me dying slowly. So, I’m not sorry.”

“I’m still miserable. I’m still watching you.” Shoto grips your hand fiercely. He wipes your tears away without thinking and you miss him so much. God, he’s right there, but it’s different, and you miss him so much. “I may not remember everything, and the memories - the dreams - aren’t always clear, but I remember loving you.”

“One year left. At the most, I have one year left.”

“Then we’ll just have to make the most of it.”

“You just said you barely remember me.”

“I remember what it’s like to love you, and the me that loved you that much was the happiest version of myself. I was happy just dreaming, remembering, the life we shared. If we have one year left to try again, then I’ll take it.”

“I feel so stupid trying to reset the timeline. It was never going to be anything but you and me, huh?” Shoto smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back. You don’t know what’s going to happen now, and you no longer want to know. You’ll do the best you can with whatever time you have left, because that’s all you can really do.

#bnha fanfiction #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shoto #todoroki shouto #todoroki shouto x reader

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keelywolfe · 5 years

Text

FIC: Blow By Blow ch.3 (baon)

Summary: Set the day after ‘With Brotherly LV’. Jeff is having his first day working at the Embassy, Stretch is having a bad anxiety day, Red is having a bad text day, and Edge is just having a day.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Prejudice Against Monsters, Angst, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, LV Issues, Brother issues

Notes: My timeline is getting a little wonky due to a few drabble sets and shorts. So this chapter directly follows With Brotherly LV

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter One | Chapter Two

~~*~~

Read Chapter 3 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Two hours and another coffee later, Edge had worked his way through most of the folders and had a brief web conference with the Economics and Global Affairs. He was starting to think absently of lunch when he heard the commotion from the outer room.

It was only raised voices so far, Janice’s sharp and very likely protective. Edge couldn’t make out what she was saying, but the other voice came through the door clearly with, “…my fucking brother!”

Perfect, may as well add to the chaos of the day. It was his brother who’d taught him trying to avoid unpleasantries only led them back to haunt you. Edge pressed the intercom button. “Let him in.”

Of course Red would have to make a grand entrance. He could have teleported in and no one would have been the wiser. That meant he wanted Janice to see him, as well as anyone he passed in the hallways. Trying to fathom Red’s reasoning for the things he did was a fool’s game, but all too often it turned out that he was right.

It didn’t mean Edge couldn’t be aggravated about it.

The door opened allowing Red to shuffle in and Edge frowned. His brother looked tired. His clothes were more rumpled than normal, his jacket pulled close around the same t-shirt he’d been wearing the night before. Dark reddish circles were embedded beneath his sockets, but his endless grin was as wide as ever. That grin had stopped fooling Edge long before he’d been out of striped shirts.

“When did you get in this morning?” Edge kept the question light. It made it more likely for Red to answer than if it were a demand.

True to form, Red only shrugged. “never left last night.”

He bypassed the guest chairs, coming around the side of the desk and when he took Edge’s chin in two sharp fingers, forcibly turning his head, Edge didn’t protest. Using his injury as an excuse to manhandle him was getting to be a habit of the people around him, anyway; his own brother at least should be allowed.

Unlike any of the others, Red only studied the bruises impassively. “got you good, didn’t i. coulda given you a matching crack.”

No apologies and Edge did not expect one. Instead, he pulled away from his brother’s grip with a scoff, saying dismissively, “Not a single one of your attacks came close to the force necessary to break bone.”

“no?” Red wandered back around to flop into one of the chairs with enough force to send skittering back an inch. “might hafta try harder next time.”

It was incredibly difficult to keep from smiling at that. He shouldn’t be as darkly amused as he was; every other person he’d met today was upset by the bruise, including his husband who was likely still fuming at home. But his brother whom Edge knew loved him, who had sacrificed a great deal for him over the years in so many ways, his Underfell brother, only suggested that perhaps he should try to up the damage.

He really did love Red.

But thinking of his husband— “Where is Stretch?”

“hm?” Red’s bland confusion at the question was one of the worst lies he’d ever told. “you askin’ me about your liability? dunno, probably at your place.” His grin widened even as one sharp fingertip scraped over the wooden arm of his chair. Edge stifled a wince as he silently mourned the loss, watching curls of wood shavings fall to the floor. But demanding Red stop might tempt him into dangling answers rather than being direct, if only to be aggravating. “see, that’s a good question because it’s been a helluva morning. first, the honey bun shows up on my porch and when he sees i ain’t there, i start getting these interestin’ texts. dusting off some old threats, if you get my meaning.”

He did, all too well. Edge could have done without knowing Stretch already tried to see Red before Edge secured a promise from him and that sheer chance prevented it. Ah, the barriers against peril this morning were conspicuously thin, weren’t they.

“Let me see them.”

He didn’t hold out much hope on that and it was no surprise that Red only grinned wickedly. “nah. s’between me and him.” Red shifted to lay sideways in the chair, his feet dangling over the newly shredded arm. “your liability has a hell of a mouth on him,” Red said, contemplatively. “or fingers, i guess. does pretty good with those languages, think i learned a coupla new things. his science needs a brush up, though. some of the shit he suggested ain’t physically possible, there’s no way in hell my skull is gonna fit where he wants to shove it.”

And there was a field of landmines to tread carefully over. “He was only worried about me.”

Red slanted a glance his way, his eye lights brightening. "you think i’m mad at him?" He laughed, raucous and loud, pounding his fist on the cushioned seat as if Edge had told a joke filled with offensive references to bodily functions. “for trying to protect you? nah. he’s like a tall version of one of them little weenie dogs who thinks they're a rottweiler. thinks he can do some damage. ‘course they can still give you a hell of an ankle bite. bet your pretty little liability would give it a good ol’ try.”

There was something boastful in that, a sort of pride, Edge realized. Red was terribly smug that Stretch would try to threaten him over his own brother.

Of course he was. He was probably patting himself on the back for ‘helping’ Edge secure such a perfect spouse, the little shit.

Some of Red’s humor faded. “you, now. you might’ve stayed home.” It was mildly said but Edge knew a rebuke when he heard one. “and not just 'cause you look like a walking ad for a new fight club. he’s awful wound up about lizard lady’s tests.”

“I know,” Edge sighed. “I’m not sure why. I’m worried myself, but he’s had lower HP.” And if those thoughts were keeping Edge awake at night, a memory of the last time Stretch had been down to a base of four HP, well, he wasn’t about to bring it up.

Red sucked on his teeth loudly. “wanna know what i think?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“i think that it ain't about the tests. it’s that he thinks all this shit’s his fault.”

Edge stilled. He blinked once, slowly, breathing in against the sudden raw magic thickening in his throat.

“he’s thinkin’ about how stupid he was to use their little machine alone,” Red went on, and each word stung, “and now he’s let you down, let his bro down, let the whole world down. he’s been stewing about it for a while, i’m bettin’. he gets out of the hospital again, starts doing better, then finds out his hp’s dropped. every time he just gets that little voice in his head to shut up, here it pops up again, like some kinda nasty yo-yo remindin’ him how he fucked up.”

“and then we’ve got you here,” Red waved a careless hand at Edge’s face, “lookin’ like i belted you, and his brain latched on to that shit. this's his chance, right? all ready to protect you from your mean ol' big brother, that'll make it up to you, for sure."

"That's ridiculous, he has nothing to make up for."

Red shrugged. "didn’t say it made sense. honey bun has issues, you knew that before you ever saw what he keeps in his pants."

"I'll thank you to not talk about his pants in any capacity." But Red was wrong about one thing; it made an upsetting amount of sense. Stretch had been trying to avoid telling him about his HP from the beginning because of Edge’s reaction at the hospital. Frightening as it was, he’d kept this to himself, even dragging Red and Sans along to keep quiet about it, though that probably hadn’t taken much persuasion. All because he was afraid of making Edge angry. If this was anyone’s fault, it was Edge’s; in trying to protect Stretch from his temper, he’d hurt him deeper than he’d realized and the memory of Stretch begging him not to leave was still painfully sharp.

Enough. Assigning blame wasn’t going to help anything, but now he needed to think about what would. Point blank was not going to be effective for Stretch, that much he knew.

Red was still lying in the chair, his hands folded over his chest as he contemplated the ceiling with unnecessary interest, and the urge to needle that blatantly rude calm was nigh on irresistible. “If only you were as apt at dissecting your own issues as you are others.”

His brother only snorted loudly. “oh, i got myself all dissected, don’t you worry about me, little brother. diagnosis: complete fuck up.”

Edge shook his head, reluctantly amused. “I stand corrected. Have you seen Jeff yet today?”

The chair squeaked as Red turned his skull towards Edge, his sockets narrowed, but he accepted Edge’s reorientation, “not yet.”

“It’s his first day. He was very nervous when we drove in this morning. He’s been through a lot lately. I don’t want him worrying that if he’s a little overwhelmed, his job will be in jeopardy.”

“like you’re gonna fire him?” Red laughed with more honest amusement, “after all the work you put in gettin’ him here?”

Edge allowed a reluctant smile. “Exactly.”

“your side liability is doin’ fine—”

“Don’t call him that!”

“—they’ve had him reviewing press releases all morning, makin’ sure they sound right to a human audience. shit gets lost in the translation, sometimes. he’s not bad, got a decent eye for detail.”

“Good.” Jeff would likely discuss his first day with Stretch later, hopefully with excitement, but it was good to confirm he wasn’t struggling.

“welp, can’t say i enjoyed the chat,” Red sagged out of the chair to his feet, already fumbling into his jacket for a cigar. “fuck me, you all are exhausting.” He paused, the slender cigar clenched unlit in his teeth as he dug around for matches. “paps? you need another workout, you call me.” It was not a question and Red waited until Edge nodded. “i’ll try and avoid that pretty face next time. oh, and maybe check your phone.”

“Brother, don’t you dare…!” Edge started, irritated, as Red lit a match with a flick of his thumb, holding it to the cigar. The first foul curl of odor filled the room even as he shortcutted out, lingering behind him.

“Asshole,” Edge sighed to no one at all. That pointed little reminder would be hanging out for hours. He started to reach for another folder and paused. His phone was sitting where he’d dropped it, dark and inconspicuous, and he picked it up, unlocking the screen. The last text wasn’t from Red as he’d assumed.

i’m sorry

Edge exhaled slowly. That had been over two hours ago, and he could easily picture Stretch curled up miserably on the sofa, waiting for a reply.

His fingers hesitated over the screen, ready to type out an answer. Instead, he opened the phone app to repeat his last call. The line picked up, but there were no words, only a damp, shuddery breath. He’d been crying and Edge closed his sockets, pained.

“You don’t have to say anything, love,” Edge told him quietly. “I’m sorry, too. I know you’re worried about, well, a great deal right now. Listen to me, no matter what Alphys has to say, we’ll handle it together. I love you. We can talk about everything else later, anything you want, and I won’t try to lie about any of it. That’s a promise.”

There was no reply, and Edge considered disconnecting, giving Stretch some time to gather himself. But before he could came a single word, “wait.” Small and soft, almost too low to hear. He did, patiently, listening to hitching breaths and sniffles that ached in his soul, until finally there was a faint, “i love you, too.”

It was enough for now. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“okay.” Still too quiet, too subdued, but this time Edge disconnected the call. He held his phone a moment longer until he could force his fingers to uncurl before he broke the glass. The temptation to go directly home was difficult to resist, but he did it anyway. He needed a little time to think, to settle his thoughts and his soul. Stretch might well still be miserable and worried, but going in without a strategy was only going to make things worse.

And strategy was his strength.

His door suddenly opening caught him off-guard, halfway to forming an attack before he saw it was only Antwan, likely taking advantage of Janice getting coffee to sneak in. “Hey, can we talk a min…what the fuck happened to you!?”

Edge groaned.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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garlique · 3 years

Text

all the things i would tell my mom if i went back to my ten year old self with what i know now

under a cut because it got really really long i guess i have a lot to say to her lol

1. hi mom i know i look like yr ten year old but im actually yr 19 year old. im gonna tell u some things i need from u and i need u to write these down and remember them

2. im fucking transgender, i found this out for myself at like 14 or 15. im going to change my name twice; both of my h names are deadnames. my gender is also a lot more complex than i’ll realize it is but with you and dad, i will settle on the name miles and he/him pronouns. please please actually take me to get new clothes when i come out i might tell you i don’t need it but i really really want it. also you and dad for years have nasty habit of calling me the wrong name and pronouns when you get mad at me. i don’t know if it’s because you genuinely want to hurt me by doing it or if it’s just that you still think of me as a girl named ****** and can’t hide it when you’re emotional but jesus christ does it fuck me up. dont do that shit. also pls dont leave me to transition on my own. im a child with a lot of issues and because you help me so little with my transition i’ve been yet unable to get top surgery. im incapable because

3. i am really fucked in the head and idk how much of it is nature vs nurture. i have adhd, am autistic, have *, believe i’ve been depressed my entire life, and have been having panic attacks since i was around 6. i also have cptsd; i dont know if telling you this will make that better, because im already really traumatized. but my first memory in my entire life was sitting on the closed toilet late at night while you brushed your teeth, sobbing because i was having a panic attack and you brushed me off and sent me back to bed where i continued to have a panic attack until i wore myself out enough that i couldnt physically keep my eyes open. which brings me to my next point

4. i need MORE from you. as a 19 year old before this i have SO many issues with trusting people and getting help. i have a form of ptsd which i believe is partly due to what i consider your emotional neglect. i dont know what you can do to make it better because if i did i probably would have asked for it in this timeline. but it really is not my responsibility to make sure YOU can parent me effectively. how are you so unaware of my emotional needs?

5. YOU need to receive mental help. by the time i’m like 15 or 16 you seem from my perspective to hate your life and you LOVE to unload it onto me. i remember telling you SO MANY TIMES that you should see a therapist (i started therapy freshman year) and every single time i suggested it you will say “no i dont need therapy” . which is because you used ME as your therapist. please dont fucking do that to me. you can tell me about your life and your day to day but holy shit the amount of breakdowns i had because of what you told me? please for the love of god you have so much fucking trauma please please please get help this is how generational cycles begin and is the main reason i decided at like 17 to never have kids.

6. in either 5th or 6th grade im going to get lyme disease and im not going to tell you because you told me when i was very young that you hated taking me to the doctors and so im not going to tell you for months that i can’t use one of my arms or that i can’t put weight on one of my legs. if i remember right it first showed up in my right shoulder abt 3 months after YOU injure your shoulder and so when i first tell you my shoulder hurts you tell me that it doesn’t and that i’m just mimicking you. please just take me to the doctor in like february instead of june. im basically fucking crippled as a 19 year old and i think it is in large part because of the lyme disease

7. please for the love of god please please fucking take me to the dentist regularly

8. in 9th grade early/mid december im going to confess to a friend that i am feeling suicidal and she and basically everyone else in my life who finds out is going to handle it terribly. im going to attempt suicide again in the spring of my sophomore year and it’s going to be awful for everybody again. after that attempt you don’t let me shower by myself for three months. i know it’s because you’re scared to lose me but i’m going to tell you a little secret: im terrified of dying. i dont Actually want to die. i just have so little control of my brain that dying or sleeping for a long long time is the only way i can see to get my shit under control. in 8th grade i make friends who are terrible for me and spend my nights talking them out of suicide. here is where i learn how to keep people alive lol. i dont know what you can do to help me that won’t make me hate or resent you but i’m telling you now so that maybe if you have the time you can prepare.

9. abt my mental health: pls take me to get autism/adhd tests n diagnoses. my * diagnosis will b impossible to get before i turn 18 and i am going to try to keep it from u . i promise u tho raising an autistic kid is not as hard as it seems and by now im so fucking traumatized that i’ve already learned to internalize everything

10. when im in high school i forget what year you severely injure yourself and spend a really long time in the hospital and rehab. this is what i feel most guilty about in my entire life: that the time you were gone was literally the easiest few months of my life. right abt two weeks before you do that is when i decide that you weren’t a good parent to me and that i am no longer safe around u; maybe if we can deal with some shit now we can have a better experience. btw i feel like it would b cruel if i didnt tell you so here r the brief details of yr injury **

11. by the time im in college i have constant panic attacks and dissociate heavily for the weeks before i have to leave college to come home. you need to take me seriously, i don’t know what else i can say to make this believable. i’m already real fucked up; you need to change the future for me or it WILL affect me for the rest of my life. i latch on to every woman who’s older than me who’s nicer to me; i think that’s the definition of mommy issues

12. i came back to tell you this because i really do believe you can change. if i thought there was no hope i wouldn’t have bothered telling you this. i think you can change because you DO love me (speaking of which telling me i love you but i don’t like you is? kinda fucked up? maybe don’t say that to a child ever again although i think by now you’ve stopped saying it because that will set me up with some fucked up ideas of love until i really begin to be loved by other people) and i think you want the best for me and i think you would want to change so that i could have a better life. i love you and i believe in you

#pleaseeeee dont rb this #this was so fucking therapeutic to write out?? obv this is not ALL i want to say to her but its def a start :3 this feels good #and my anxiety is way down now hehe

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gaiatheorist · 5 years

Text

“Good enough.”

Jagged Little Pill was a good album in 1995, the recent-ish internet brouhaha about it being ‘bad’ was a matter of perspective and perception. The album hasn’t changed, we have, we’re almost a quarter of a century older, we observe and experience events and stimuli differently. I was 18 years old in 1995, and, when the ex bought me the CD, I loved it. Alanis, with her waist-length natural hair, her jeans-and-shirts, and her erratic, jerky ‘dancing’, she wasn’t blonde, covered in make-up, wearing a couple of hankies, her ‘alternative’ appealed to me. Lyrically, I was ‘there’, too, a confused, conflicted creature, on the cusp of ‘real’ womanhood, with All These Feelings, and no idea what to do with them. (Spoiler, I became ‘Mary Jane.’)

I ‘joked’ with my psychologist, about a month, or maybe six weeks ago, “Alanis Morissette, Jagged Little Pill, track three, ‘Perfect’, that’s the theme-song for my life.” I was only half-joking, and he’s about 12 years old, he probably has no clue who Alanis Morissette is, possibly even what a CD is. I haven’t pulled my ‘Catholic guilt complex/Protestant work ethic’ card on him yet, I’m trying to keep a lid on my ‘humour’, there’s a time and a place for that, and when the NHS is trying to fix multiple complex medical and mental issues in me isn’t it. (Mental is medical, but there’s a distinct lack of communication between the three different hospitals attempting to sort me out. Share notes, kids, I have long-term mental health issues, brain injuries, and a raft of physical issues, what you’re doing here is attempting to refurbish a house without letting the plumber or electrician see the blueprints, because that’s the architect’s department.)

Cognitive Analytic Therapy, ‘A 16-week, intensive, relational therapy’, it’s not perfectly aligned with where I am, or what I need, but it’s what the NHS has, for people who tick the boxes I do. (Analytic-slant on that, I don’t have a formal diagnosis, I’m on a waiting list for that, ‘nobody knows’ whether my disordered thinking is learned/reactive behaviour, or if it’s an organic issue, and my atypical responses are down to structural differences in my brain. Or, I might just be a drama-queen.) Eight weeks in tomorrow, we’re making progress, even if some of it is sideways, he’s identified the three areas he thinks cycle-breaking would be productive in, and I’m working with him, not against him. (Which is not to say I didn’t become prickly and resistant when he identified them, my first impulse was the Arya Stark “That’s not me.”, it almost-always is, but we’ve discussed the issues I had with what he said/wrote, and how I interpreted it. I thrive on criticism/challenge, because I have an inherent need to prove myself. I’m less adept at accepting externally imposed instructions. Tell me I can’t do something, and I’ll do it twice, and take a photograph as evidence, tell me what to do, or how to do it, I’ll almost-always balk, and think of a better way.)

‘Dealing with overwhelming and difficult emotions’, ‘Pushing people away when I feel they are getting too close’ and ‘Unrealistic standards and expectations of self and others.’ The first two are very logical in my strange-brain, they’re embedded-protective. I ‘can’ deal with difficult emotions, as long as I can pinpoint a trigger, or reason for them, once I know why I’m melancholy, or apathetic, or, as I was last week, hopeless, I can generally self-resolve. Overwhelming emotions are different, the clue is in the name. I recognise the structure of the thought-pattern, but my ‘shelving’ strategy works, in the short-term. I distract and deflect from the overwhelming ones, because they’re not safe states to be in. Last Thursday, I had brief but pervasive thoughts that there was no point to anything, I didn’t quite tip into suicidal ideation, but I knew I was close, so I distracted myself by making a complicated set of curries for dinner. It worked, I couldn’t wallow in the futility of everything while I had pans to watch, and ingredients to time. As a bonus, the curries were really good. Pushing people away is learned behaviour, I keep most people at arm’s length, because, as I keep telling the therapist “I don’t need 500 friends on Facebook, that’s superficial nonsense, and I don’t have mind-space for that triviality.” Atypical female behaviour, we’re conditioned to approval-seek, and buy into faff and flounce to fit in. No, thank you. Over the course of my life, I’ve ‘cut off’ more people than I can count, when they cross my imaginary lines. ‘Friends’ complicate everything, and I’m quite complicated enough to begin with. In the last four years, I’ve had far too many people tell me I ‘have to’ join in, do things, that I’m doing life all wrong because they do it differently. I’m not them.

The ‘unrealistic standards and expectations’ genuinely offended me. The therapist’s time is structured, and he has a fixed quantity of content to bring to each session. I’ll blow my own trumpet, here, for three, or four weeks, I was ‘sitting on’ “How DARE you assume to know what I’m capable of?”, without blowing up, and pushing him away. His thought-process is that I’m dismissive of anything I view as less-than-perfect, I have it in writing, based on one comment, from one session “I’ve had a load of shitty jobs, that I don’t mention on my CV, and then I found my niche, and I was excellent, until I wasn’t.” He’s also observed “I’ve noticed that when you feel a difficult emotion rising, you stop yourself, and that seems to work.” It does work, that’s why I do it. My over-analytical, pattern-seeking brain wonders if he thinks I view the difficult emotions as less-than-perfect, and that’s why I push them under? That’s surface-scratching, and I’m a deep-cutter, while the difficult emotions, and pattern of “I’ll deal with that later.” ‘could’ trigger the rumination-resentment cycle, I also know that bouncing off on a tangent would derail the session, and we’re already over-schedule. Square peg, round hole, he is more attuned than the GPs who’d ask me if I was “A bit weepy” when I was chronically depressed, but his time is structured, the therapy timeline is fixed, we quite simply do not have time for me to have a breakdown about past-events that have profoundly damaged me, so I rein it in.

Semantic-pedantic, we’re clashing on ‘good enough’. That’s where the wider-focus lens comes in. I don’t want, or need an Instagram-perfect life, that particular perception of perfection isn’t me. (There’s a long-ago conversation with an old manager, “How do you DO that?” “I just do.” “Why don’t you ask someone else to do X?” “They wouldn’t do it right.” “Ah, perfectionist?” “No, control-freak.” There’s a reason I ended up with the ‘...any other duties’ role of checking all outgoing documentation for various departments, I did it right, except that one time I didn’t.) The psychologist is concerned that I’m over-reaching, “What will happen if you aren’t allocated a place, or funding, for this OU degree?” “I’ll be down one postage stamp, and have the same qualifications I have now.” The rage-bubble, that he’d stated a month ago, that an OU degree might be ‘too much’ had reduced to a gentle simmer by the time we spoke about it. “I know you weren’t patronising, but I felt you made an assumption, nobody knows what my baseline was, so it’s unfair to assume my capability.”

‘Good enough’ is both subjective and objective, and I believe that’s part of the issue. I had a discussion yesterday with someone online about the subjective assumptions people-in-general make about ‘unemployed people’, and the objective reality of navigating the UK’s Universal Credit systems. We’re malingering, we’re just not trying hard enough, if we went for a nice walk, or did a bit of goat-yoga, we’d be fine... I’m on a long leash in terms of my Universal Credit ‘Claimant Commitment’, having ‘Limited Capacity for Work’ means that I don’t have to complete the full 35 hours a week of searching for any/all suitable employment. (Paying minimum wage, up to 48 hours per week, within 90 minutes of home etc.) I have brain injuries, I’m barely lucid for 48 hours per week, I’d present a significant risk of harm to self or others if I accepted, and was accepted for ‘any/all suitable’. That doesn’t mean I’m not trying. I’m trying for four hours a week, in high-end Mental Health therapy, another two hours in Social Prescribing activity, and then a further five hours a week doing OU freebie-courses. My Claimant Commitment is 5 hours a week, I’m doing more than double that, in case the therapeutic hours aren’t ‘good enough.’

There’s the rub. A proportion of society would demonise me for ‘sitting on my arse’ while they’re out on a 9-5. My therapist thinks I’m setting unrealistic targets of what I ‘can’ achieve, and DWP’s pincer-movement wants me to prove I ‘am’ trying, to qualify for unemployment benefit, but will likely use that evidence to prove I’m not-disabled-enough for disability benefit. I’m stuck in the middle, not good enough for any of them, or myself.

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