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only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are · 8 months

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Redwood Pyschiatric Institute - Part 6

MASTERLIST - PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5

CWs: mention of ECT, mental hospital whump, mental health gaslighting, force used against patient (electric shock baton), forced psychiatric care

Matthew Cooper pulled up in front of a small house on the end of the street, pulling out his phone to send a quick text that read 'I'm here.'

On the screen were a series of previous, unanswered and unread messages he had sent to his friend Rowan.

'Hey Rowan. Just checking in.'

'Rowan, it's me. What's up bud?'

'Where are you?'

'PICK UP ROWAN'

'Fine. If you won't talk to me, I'm not going to try anymore'

Then, from today. 'Rowan, I'm coming over.'

Matt sighed as he dropped his phone into his pocket and clambered out of the car. He walked up to the front door, and rang the doorbell. He waited a moment, and when there was no answer, he rapped on the door with his knuckles. Still, nothing. The whole house seemed to be silent and still. He pressed his face to the one of the windows, attempting to peer through.

"Rowan!" He called.

No answer.

"Crap." Matt murmured. "Where the hell are you.."

He strode around the back of the house, searching for any signs of life from his friend. Finally, he spotted a back door, slightly ajar. It struck Mathew as strange. Rowan was not a careless person - in fact, quite the opposite, he could be rather paranoid, in Mathew's opinion. So it was completly out of the ordinary for his friend to leave a door unlocked, and Mathew also had no idea how long it had been open or if Rowan was even in the house still.

Cautiously, Matthew entered through the door, calling Rowan's name as he went. There were no traces of recent life - everything was put away neatly as Mathew would expect of Rowan, until he reached his friend's bedroom. This room was a mess - papers were scattered everywhere, on the bed, on the floor, on the desk.. Rowan's laptop was also still there, but Mathew wasn't keen to go trying to break into that. He pick up a paper sitting on the desk, and scanned through it. It was a newspaper article.

'Redwood Asylum patients claim gross mistreatment'. The headline read. The article was dated 1964. The next article, from 1970, announced the closing-down of the Institute. The outdated facility had claimed around 1000 lives by the time of its closure, almost a hundred years since it opened.

All the other papers and articles were about the institute, why puzzled Mathew further. Why was Rowan so obssessed with this place? And more importantly, where was Rowan?

Mathew did a quick google of the place, finding that it had since been reopened and claimed to now be running as a more modern psychiatric hospital. Matthew was all out of options - his only remaining option was right in front of him. He hit the phone number listed on the web page, drew a deep breath, and hit the call button.

"Hello, you've reached Redwood Psychiatric Institute. You're speaking to Carol, how can I help you?"

"Uh, hi Carol, my name's Mathew Cooper. I was wondering if you recently had a visitor by the name of Rowan Murdock?"

"I'm sorry but we can't disclose information on our visitors. We have, however, got a patient by that name. There's a note on his file saying he can't have visitors, are you family?"

"Oh, uh.. no, I'm a long-time friend of his though. I was just wondering if I could get some more information on what happened." Mathew stammered, shocked at the news. Rowan was a patient?

"I can arrange for you to meet his doctor, in that case. Doctor Wilson. I'm sure he'd be willing to discuss Rowan's - well, yes. Rowan's recent weeks with us."

Mathew arranged a time for the meeting and then hung up the phone. He began to head out the room, when he turned back, picked up one of the articles on the psychiatric institute, and then continued on his way out of the house.

------

"Mathew Cooper, I'm here to talk to Doctor Wilson." Matthew announced to the woman at the front desk.

"Sign here, and then take this visitor pass, and it'll be the third door on your left." She smiled, a friendly but tired, 'I've been here all day and I'm just trying to be friendly to you but I could care less' kind of smile.

"Thanks." Mathew smiled back as he followed her instructions and then headed down the hall.

Inside the office, the doctor sat behind the desk, looking comfortable but composed.

"Hello Mathew, take a seat. My name is Doctor Wilson." The doctor smiled from behind his glasses.

Mathew sat in the chair across from the doctor, and extended his hand to the doctor, who took it and shook it firmly.

"Thank you for coming, Mathew." Doctor Wilson greeted. "I understand these circumstances must be.. rather confusing, and I appreciate your willingness to discuss this in person."

"Thank you for meeting with me, Doctor Wilson. I understand you must be very busy." Mathew acknowledged.

"Indeed. Now, allow us to get right into it. Now, when did you last see your friend?" The doctor asked.

"Well, I must have seen him last a few weeks ago." Mathew answered.

"I see. Well, he came here as a voluntary self-admission on September 13th. He was incredibly unstable, and we immediately began his treatment. When we admitted him, we looked into his medical records and his personal records. Now, while I'm afraid I have some hard news to digest, there is no other way to say this - his name isn't Rowan Murdock. His real name is James Lawton."

"What- you mean, he's been lying to me this whole time about who he is?"

"No, not at all. James is a very mentally ill young man, not a pathological liar. We discovered symptoms of schizophrenia throughout the last few years of his life, but it was not yet diagnosed or treated. It has just since accumulated and worsened. He has been in dire need of treatment for years, but when he came to us, he was at the height of a schizophrenic breakdown, believing he was Rowan Murdock, a profilic journalist investigating the asylum before deciding to admit himself. We've been treating him with medications and ECT. He has been doing better the last few weeks, however, we are worried that a visit with you, an old friend of 'Rowan's may cause another setback." The doctor sighed.

"Oh..." Mathew's heart sank at the explanation. He couldn't comprehend the whole story, it was not anything he could have imagined. Of course, he had accepted there was some horrible series of events that had led to Rowan- or, James - being here, but not like this. "I.. I'll do anything you need, I'll say anything, I just- I need to see him, I need to talk to him."

"Alright, I'll arrange a visit." Doctor Wilson conceded. "But you mustn't encourage any of his delusions relating to 'Rowan Murdock'."

"Understood, Doctor. Thank you very much."

------

"James, I have a visitor for you." Doctor Wilson stood in the doorway, ushering Matt ahead of him.

Matt entered the room hesitantly, his eyes scanning around until they landed on a small figure, hunched up in white in the corner of the small room.

"James?"

The figure Matt had once known as Rowan did not acknowledge the presence of anyone in the room. He simply muttered something under his breath.

"James. I've brought you a visitor." Doctor Wilson repeated, mild annoyance already in his voice as he approached James and bent down, waving at his patient to try and gain his attention.

James blinked, several times, slow and sluggish, as if drawing himself out of a trance. He glanced around the room, eyes landing eventually on Mathew.

"Who.. whoareyouu-" James slurred softly, as Doctor Wilson grasped him by the arm and helped him onto his feet, bringing him over to the small bed in the centre of the room.

"He's on a lot of medication right now. He may be suffering some short-term memory loss right now, so remember that this will pass. Just remind him who you are." Doctor Wilson said to Mathew.

Mathew nodded and approached the bed, kneeling in front of his old friend. Rowa- James, he reminded himself, looked pale, and his usually-thin frame looked even thinner than usual, or maybe that was the ill-fitting hospital gown. The circles under his eyes were dark, and his face was pinched and gaunt.

"Hey, James. It's me, your old friend Mathew." He said softly, reaching out a hand.

James didn't take the hand, instead, he sat there, staring blankly at it as Matt continued talking.

"We've known each other since university. You used to come and 'study' at my house. I'd steal your notes, and then we'd play video games together until 3am, even if we had class the next morning at 9." Mathew chuckled slightly at the memory, his heart aching a little to see his friend of five years in this situation. They'd been very close through university, but in the last two years they'd drifted apart slightly as both adjusted to their adult lives. Still, he cared for his friend.

Matt drew himself out of his own thoughts and looked up to see James staring at him with an.. odd expression.

"James, are you alright?" Matthew asked gently.

"That's.. not my name." James said flatly.

Shit.. He'd triggered James. His friend began to cry - no, more like tears were slipping down from expressionless eyes.

James suddenly stood and lunged at Mathew, knocking him to the ground as he began to scream at Matt.

"HELP!"James screamed as he shook his friend. "THEY'RE TORTURING ME, LET ME OUT YOU HAVE TO LET ME OUTYOUHAVETOYOUHAVETOYOUHAVETO-"

Mathew was so shocked, he couldn't react. James screamed himself hoarse until suddenly, he gave a suprised shout, and collapsed onto his back, convulsing in agony at the hands of orderlies who had appeared in the room.

"Are you alright?" Doctor Wilson asked as he extended a hand and helped Mathew to his feet, pulling him away as the orderlies descended upon James' form, brandishing a syringe. Quickly, Doctor Wilson escorted Mathew out of the room, away from James' dreaful shrieking protests.

They returned to the doctor's office, where Wilson handed Mathew a glass of water. Matt graciously accepted it, ignoring the odd drop spilling out from how badly his hands shook. He downed the glass, wiped his face, and finally spoke. "What- what will happen now?"

"We will have to change his medication, and I'm going to perscribe another course of ECT." The doctor replied, calm but with a hint of frustration.

Mathew realised that clearly, James' treatment had been quite a difficult process that was now far from over.

"Shock therapy?" he asked.

"While that is the outdated term for it.. yes. It is now quite safe, and often used in quite severe cases of mental illness. Clearly, his schizophrenic hallucinations and paranoia are not yet treated. We will have to increase our efforts to stop these delusions that he is being trapped here."

"Will I be able to return and visit him again, Doctor?"

"Maybe after the next round of ECT. Thank you for coming, Mathew."

As Mathew drove away from the Redwood hospital, he wondered what fate he was leaving his friend to.

Tags:

@jazatronasmr @onthishamsterwheel @bumpthumpwhump @bloodsweatandpotato @whatiswhump @jancameforthewhump @dream-whump @ratking-whump @inkstainsonmyhands12 @halstead-shaw13 @sparrowsage @sowhumpful @whatwhumpcomments @caspersdelusion

#whump community #whumblr #noncon drugging #psychiatric hospital whump #redwood psychiatric #whump fics #electric shock baton #ect mention #medical gaslighting #medical whump #forced psychiatric care whump #forced psychiatric treatment whump #forced medical care #forced medical whump #medical gaslighting whump

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hitlikehammers · 2 months

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💜✨🖤WIP Wednesday🖤✨💜

Tagged by @dreamwatch, a week or so ago (or possibly more), sorry it took a bit but I always love a tag game so: thank you!

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post.

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

✨Filenames:

fuck google sideways with a toffee apple on a stick; pt 12

psychiatric greenhouse

to sacrifice a human heart

siren song

feeling freezes

Snippet, snippet, snippet...okay, let's go #5:

“How’d you know?” They’re driving to the gate Eddie made, the one he came through to start with—close the loop, that’d had been the justification, when all Eddie wanted was to rip open the world from where the new trailer sat in hopes it’d budge, that it’d let him through and give him Steve when he landed, where Eddie could fall into him and save him and maybe save himself, too, the part inside his own chest that’s been throbbing like a wound, open and weeping since Eddie came through and Steve wasn’t here. But, he’s okay with sticking to the plan. Taking no unnecessary chances. Playing this close to the books, at least to until they go off-script and burn the fucker down. However. However, Eddie would like to lodge…not a compliant, per se. Not exactly a complaint. A complaint is very one-dimensional. He’d be more interested in, like…whatever the instantaneous-immediate version of a Strongly Worded Letter is. Because his words wouldn’t allbe complaining words, exactly, but they would all be very very strong. Because this is the fun fucking thing: they’d apparently driven Robin to the cabin in the goddamn squad-car. As in: the fuzz-mobile belonging to none other than one Chief Back-From-the-Dead, Eddie’s favorite law enforcement professional who’s definitely taken him for a spin in this here vehicle more than once, involving far more irritation and threat than anything else, including what was honestly a disappointingly low actual number of incidents involving handcuffs. “Robin does not drive, because Robin does not have a car. Steve,” El had explained as she’d climbed in and made no mistake that Eddie was to follow: “Steve helped her get her license, because he needed another driver,” and yeah, okay, right. Because, for a brief window that seemed much bigger, much longer, much more life-changing than its timeframe should have been capable of and yet: for a brief window? Eddie had been a fully-capable—if not always comfortable for the more sensitive types among his passengers—‘other driver’. And then Eddie’d been gone. Fuck.

As ever, some no-pressure tags (and ignore if you're not writing OR have already been tagged): @steddiely @vthx @penny00dreadful. @markcat @gutterflower77 and legitimately anyone who wants to participate, tag me so I can see your words, too! 🖤

#tag game #wip wednesday #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes

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schizoetic · 11 months

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CW psychosis experience

Psychosis is trying to lift a several hundred pound hospital bed to the point you badly throw your back out.

Finding hidden messages anywhere there's words to be read.

Sensing cameras in every light.

Thinking you're financially rich without a penny to your name.

Paranoia that comes and twists you apart.

Breaking things that mean everything to you.

Alternating from laughing and crying again and again to the point it confuses those around you.

Thinking illegal substances are making you better.

It is thinking all food is poisoned or made of unmentionables.

Knowing the fate of eternity is on your shoulders.

It's thinking you're God and seeing that your powers make things happen.

It's remembering past lives so vividly it makes you sweat.

It's feeling a chip in your brain you want to remove yourself just for some relief.

... losing total touch with how to talk and not even noticing it.

Forgetting who you are in entirety and watching people be confused that you don't remember them.

It's ending up with no friends because you freak people out.

Playing a few notes on an instrument over and over and over thousands a times a day... For years.

It's fabricating complete relationships with people all in your mind without knowing it.

Psychosis is convincing yourself you don't need food and not noticing your body dwindle away from malnutrition until your ribcage is exposed.

Feeling the whole world wants you dead and in a coffin.

Waving at the sky to the aliens above.

Losing complete trust in yourself.

Banging on the confines of a psych ward cell and not getting why the girl in the room across the hall is crying.

... drinking dangerous amounts of water until your organs legitimately start shutting down.

It's feeling responsible for everything in the Universe... Including the bad stuff.

Wandering up a highway in a hospital gown blowing in the wind after narrowly escaping a psychiatric ward.

Hearing planets of prayers being broadcast in your ears.

The simplest of things working you up until you hyperventilate so scared that you hide.

Misplacing everything.

Trusting the worst people who take you for everything you're worth.

Being laughed at by nurses who can't contain themselves.

Trying to get on planes that you can't fathom aren't yours.

Throwing yourself at traffic to test the Universe.

Being under the belief that you know anything that can be learned.

Talking in slow motion or so fast that people can't make out what you're saying.

Finding yourself bed bound.

Feeling every atom look at you without stopping.

Pacing a tiny room without understanding of why you're there.

Reading signs all over... Even in the sky, grass and glare of the sun.

Having the thought that everyone on Earth knows who you are.

Drinking fowl tasting urine thinking it'll protect you from death.

Shattering loneliness from being locked away involuntarily.

Certain that you own every house and vehicle in sight.

Uncountable pills and appointments.

Having whole conversations with the use of telepathy.

It's not "strange smiles".

But yes, it's often rocking back and forth.

It's sending hundreds of thousands of texts only to end up remembering virtually none of them.

Wandering the woods aimlessly.

Writing to convince people you're totally sane until doctors beg for you to be helped by them.

It's making this list which is making me shudder.

It's being unable to tell what's a memory or imagination.

I guess it's also not knowing if you're thinking or talking.

It's to die every day until you get help and a community intervenes.

#schizophrenia #psychosis #long reads #long text #it's bothered me a long time

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hexonthepeach · 9 months

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a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 9: secret

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate’s clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [0: prologue] [1: escape, again] [2: lost and found] [3: returned] [4: bound] [5: home] [6: gift] [7: reunion] [8: security]

wc: 4.2k

chapter warnings: [redacted] is a menace

"Send me back to the Dome," you say, trying to sound authoritative rather than a beggar. "I need cryotherapy."

Taeil pauses in the middle of checking his screens, face limned in a gradient of green to red.

"You'll just wake up in heat, again." He says, not looking at you fully. "Like I said, it's a stopgap. Not a full stop."

"There has to be some way." You try not to sob, wiping snot away from your face with a microscope lens cleaning tissue. "They can isolate me better there."

"Taeyong risked exposure bringing you here." The doctor sounds more terse than usual, raised light pen highlighting specific data points on the glass screen. "If you go back they'll know you aren't being mated."

"I'm not!" You can't help the pitch change, voice cracking as you cycle through the latest round of humiliation. "He doesn't really want me, none of you want me. I'm just an inconvenience and a joke to you."

"No," he says, shoulders slumping. "You're not. Not a joke, at least. Inconvenience, maybe."

"But you just made a joke." The wetness flooding your nasal cavity makes you splutter rather than laugh.

"I wasn't trying to."

You fall apart at that, actually laughing. It devolves into hiccups as you lie down on the cracked couch next to his station. The stained vinyl sticks to your cheek, blessedly cool.

"Can at least one of you have a normal response to this?"

That earns you a sidelong glance. "I'm not sure we're clear on what a normal response to this situation is supposed to look like."

"A hug would be nice," you say, meekly.

"Not exactly standard Imperial protocol." He adjusts his glasses, mouth opening and closing before he decides whatever he's going to say next isn't worth the effort. "We're looking out for your safety."

"I don't care."

"You will when this is over."

"I said, I don't care." You roll over, circled to protect your vulnerable belly but also to indicate your displeasure. Your tail flops against your leg.

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"Did you get enough sleep?"

"I dreamt about him." Bitterness drips from every word. "I always dream about him."

You have the impression from Taeil's sigh that he might tell you that he's not that kind of doctor. Maybe, like Yuta, he'll ask you to pay by the hour. You'd had your share of what the Imperial college considered psychiatric treatment, parts interrogation and parts reconditioning–you don't want it from him. You fold closer to the seatback, sniffling.

"I was there, you know." He says, instead.

Your entire body goes rigid, shivers racing up your spine. "I don't remember."

"I was younger than you are now. We all were." He pauses, sucking in a breath. "Just kids."

You don't turn over but your jaw follows the direction of your ears, looking back at him. You know how old they were all too well–the same cohort as Johnny. Old enough to vote and die in a war, not at the age where they still slept with the dolls they'd been given for their last birthday celebration.

"And I was thirteen," you say. "Why does he treat it like it's my fault? Why is he angry at me?"

"He's not angry at you."

Your hackles rise at his words, fingers digging into a hole in the upholstery.

"I feel hate," you say. "I feel resentment."

"We all feel it. You just feel it the most." Taeil's hand ghosts over your head. "Do you understand what a pack bond is like?"

You shake your head, letting his fingertips graze your scalp. After a moment he indulges you, blunt nails scratching the place where your ear's fur blends into more human hair. He stops when you begin to lean into it.

"It's like what you can do through your own bond, in a way. Takes more time and exposure but once you fall into a routine your needs and the pack's start to blend together. Some of us chose Johnny, some of us chose Taeyong. Once they established a bondmark it didn't make a difference."

You sit up, swaying a bit with how dizzy you feel. The sedatives you’d swallowed were wearing off already, heat metabolism burning through everything.

"Who did you choose?"

"Does it matter?' He refuses to answer, going back to his work, but your stare remains fixed on the side of his face. Puzzling out what had bothered you about him for the past few days hadn't been easy but one thing is right there for you, now: the scars.

"Did he mark you, too?"

You watch him freeze, face grim. "No."

"But wouldn't something like that cause–"

"I said, no." Taeil's usual air of disinterest breaks, his voice raised. "It doesn't work that way."

It doesn't matter to you. You reach out to touch his face, nails trailing down his jaw. He needs a shave, skin dry but much more warm than you expected. Taeil is out of reach a few seconds later, chair rolling away now that he's stood out of it.

"What are you doing?" There's a bit of menace in his tone. "Stop it."

You expect the order, shifting back on your knees. The room is suffusing with a clean, sweet flavor as you breath through your mouth–like pear or another white fruit with a hint of burnt sugar from his anxiety.

It doesn't matter if it's coming from you, or him. The effects are transparent in the way he's mirroring you, breaths coming more rapidly as his pupils dilate. He removes his glasses, wiping the instant sheen of sweat from his face.

"You're all cowards," you say earnestly. You flex your muscles, unable to spring up but stuck in place. For now.

He frowns but doesn't speak, reaching for something on the desk as you twitch and test the limits of his order's hold.

"Hiding behind your prime like none of you can make a decision for yourselves," you continue, making it off the couch. You sink to the floor for a moment before you find strength in your screaming leg muscles. Taeil is busy rotating a glass ampoule into his syringe gun, but he has enough sense to try again.

"Be still," he says.

You stand up only to lurch forward, hands colliding with the tiled floor.

"If you stick that needle in me again, you'll regret it," you pant. You let your body lose tension, your tail the only thing rigid as it extends behind you.

"This isn't for you," he says. You look up, confusion fleeting as you watch the device disappear into the crook of his arm under a rolled-up sleeve. "At least one of us has to be in control."

You cackle, hiccuping again. "Oh now that's funny."

Jungwoo is the one to collect you, your body still trembling with a mixture of hysterics and blinding-hot rage–mostly at the fact that you continue to submit after the third and fourth command.

"You alright, Doc?" he asks, cheerily poking you with his nightstick.

"Nothing I can't sleep off," Taeil answers from the other side of the room. "I recommend she get some rest, too."

"Oh that should be easy enough." You flinch when he pulls you up, the floor much more appealing to your animal brain after the continuous reminder to stay down.

"Come on," he says, holding you by the neck when you can finally stand on your own. Under any other circumstances you'd balk at being led this way but the alternative of the weapon in his other hand has you compliant. Some instinct tells you he wouldn't hesitate to use force, however nice he might seem.

You swivel your head when you pass by the commons, catching Mark sitting at a table eating something from a bowl. He doesn't acknowledge you, nodding to Jungwoo instead.

"Y'all good?"

Jungwoo's thumb strokes your spine, making your tail bat against his leg.

"Passed her checkup with flying colors," he says. "No Containment, yet."

"Good," Mark says, going back to the faraway look that indicates he's reading again through his AR. "Switch off at three."

"Yuta's still dealing with the situation downstairs. I'll have him get the next meal."

"I thought Taeil was cooking?"

"Old man needs a nap," Jungwoo says. "Make sure to feed the freak."

You stay wordless through the exchange, skin prickling at the constant pressure beneath your hair.

"Such a good little pet," he says quietly once he's back to leading you upstairs, hand splaying over your back. You can't help but feel a little warmed by the expression, even as fear has your pulse racing.

"Why did you lie?" you ask.

"I'll be honest with you if you indulge me in something," he says.

You have no reason to trust him but the possibility of not having to return to your cell is too delectable to pass up, soothed by his easy manner. You give him a careful nod.

"Good, let's take a little detour."

Your legs are burning by the time you make it to the fourth level, surprised by the shift in layout even past the second. Here the open space is widened, walls no longer gray industrial synthetics but a rich dark wood slotted together modularly, doors spaced apart and lined by glass and soft lighting. The plants here are mostly fake, you notice–tasteful reconstructions mixed with statuary, the occasional nook between rooms exposing the glass edge of the building.

"Are these all your rooms?"

"Doyoung and Taeyong live up in the presidential suite," he points. "This floor is for the high-ranking Felids. They're territorial like us, of course."

You follow him to the far end, a strangely open door beckoning. At a closer range you see the thick slider has been forced open, bent so far outward it's cracked on the curve.

"Is that . . .?"

He brushes your ear with his nose, scenting you from behind. "Don't you want to see?"

"No," you murmur. You feel weak, trying to fight the contradictory emotions of fear and curiosity that have you pushing back against his willowy frame.

"Silly." He nudges you forward. "What are you afraid of?"

"Is this some kind of test?" You panic, looking back at him. Jungwoo has the nightstick raised like a conductor's baton, tapping it thoughtlessly against his shoulder.

"Maybe," he says, walking past you towards the door. "Maybe I just want to help you."

"Why?" you ask, with no answer. You're drawn to follow, finding his green scent a welcome thread in a tapestry of the rich leather and wood smells that have settled over the area, most of them emanating from the open door.

Just this once, you think. He won't know.

You slip into the residence behind him, avoiding the jagged edges of the broken door. The lights are dim and the glass filtered to maximum opacity, which makes the apartment seem smaller than what the space belies. It takes up an entire corner of the building, two floors opening up once you're in, drifting past the scattered wreckage of broken furniture and glass partitions to a common room centered around a circular biome aquarium that's blessedly still intact.

"A bit of a mess, isn't it," Jungwoo says, turning off a floor autocleaner thudding useless between a wall and what looks to be a broken bar cart. The contents of the kitchen counters are cleared, dry goods exploded over the marble and walls like manic art. You smell coffee and flour and fried electronics, but most of all the citrusy scent of a distressed feline.

"Was this all because of me?" you ask.

"Of course," Jungwoo says, already halfway up the floating staircase leading to the loft.

There's a more lived-in quality to this space, minimal as it is, the low bed flanked by an out-of-place VR station and industrial cabinetry. Your chest tightens seeing the human traces in the unmade bed sheets, the towel abandoned on the floor leading to the modular bathroom.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Everything here is yours," Jungwoo says, sitting down at the VR station, legs stretched out. "Take what you want. You'll need your mate's scent to get through your heat comfortably."

Your nails dig into your palms, a violent buzzing in your head. The circular mirror over the bed reflects a much smaller, meeker person than you imagined yourself to be, hunched down and ears pinned.

"I can't. I don't belong here."

"Come here." Jungwoo beckons.

You approach a little more quickly than you would under normal circumstances. Compulsion isn't necessary when your fox needs to be soothed, discomfort electrifying you from head to toe. The Canid recognizes it immediately, stroking your head and neck until you're more calm.

"You have nothing to be afraid of," he murmurs. "I'm going to show you something I found when I did a little digging."

He hands you the wired headset from the desk. You find it difficult to put on, allowing him to bring it over your ears gently and tighten the straps to keep it from wobbling.

"They don't let us use these in the Dome," you say aloud, feeling vulnerable with the sudden blindfolding effect as he lowers the visor for you, soft lights blinking on your peripheral vision.

"Don't worry, I'll guide you," Jungwoo says, powering it on. You turn this way and that when the virtual console appears, displaying a minimalistic view of the surrounding room. A red warning flashes to indicate you're an unauthorized user, quickly blinking away.

You're not sure how he's controlling the deck remotely, but then he lifts your hand to bring one of several access points to the forefront. The file markers and previews indicate reconstructed scenarios, something you knew from crime melos as detailed analysis tools. It was the norm to record certain events such as meetings or ceremonies. What you'd seen was more sinister: surveillance and evidence capture.

"Don't be scared," Jungwoo whispers, noting the way your body goes rigid at the thought of being exposed to something overwhelming. "These are very boring immersions."

He helps you move through a series of environmental reconstructions before finding a nondescript file without a preview, last access timestamp a week ago. An encryption key table appears as soon as he taps it with your finger and he chuckles, vibrating you both.

"What is it?" you ask, jerking at the sudden sound.

Jungwoo guides your finger to trace characters and numbers, each highlighted entry bringing you to a clearer understanding.

"How do you know my real birthdate?" you ask. It wasn't recorded, wasn't ever shared with anyone. The registered, publicized version had been chosen for astronomical significance, just a number to you.

"The other half of the encryption are the geo coordinates of what I suspect might be your birth location," he says. "Are you ready?"

"No." You squirm. "I don't understand."

"If I just told you about this you'd never believe me."

Jungwoo pulls you down onto his knees, pinning you by a hand around your waist. You're forced to finalize the entry, green pulse indicating the key is correct.

The environment builds in layers, schematics to colors to overlay textures, finally resolving with light when the time-matching settles on the right point in the recording. You didn't need the additional details–recognition in a sketch of a place so familiar to you that tears are springing to your eyes seeing it again.

"I don't understand," you repeat, much more sadly.

"It's more common than you think. One of your staff sets a few microcameras, collects them the next shift. Usually smuggle them out by swallowing them. No transmission, so the censors can't catch them. Temporary enough to miss their sweeps."

You're standing in your Palace residence again, your garden beckoning through the sheer curtains, moved by a manufactured breeze. The bridge to your isle in the canal system leads to a much less resolved external view of the rebuilt Imperial city, the accuracy blurring a landscape you know like the veins in the back of your hand.

"There's an incredible market for this stuff," Jungwoo says, showing you how to navigate without moving, spreading your fingers. "Some of your kin cut out the middlemen and release their own immersions. Fully staged and edited of course."

You squeak at the strange sight of a figure moving past you, unresolved with details outside of a basic skin. The person looks monstrous with flattened features and jerky movements.

"This is raw–not a lot of scrubbing. Whoever finalized the recording had a clear target."

You're turned to face yourself–not a reflection, but a fully rendered simulacra. You're curled into your favorite armchair, a daily scroll of events and schedules abandoned in your lap as you talk to someone ignored by the reconstruction.

You can't hear anything but you can read your lips–this conversation had taken place only a season ago, confirmed when you move closer to parse the pixelated images on the scroll–each colorful invitation burnt into memory with the detailed preparations in costuming and social ceremony.

"How did you find out about this," you ask. The sensation of viewing yourself in this way is akin to hundreds of insects crawling over your skin, your heart thudding in your chest.

"Oh he's careful. Just not careful enough at home." Jungwoo rests his chin on your shoulder. "Don't worry, this is a private collection."

He scrubs through the immersion, prompting a jump to another–this one a few years ago by the drastic change in decor and your own styling. The flash forward makes you dizzy, watching the ghost of yourself move around your home-turned-panopticon, reading a dog-eared 21st century romance book.

You spread your palm to freeze the experience after the Dome's sun sets to be replaced by a now doubly artificial moon.

"Do you want to know the most watched parts of these recordings?"

You can't stop him from following you into your bedroom. Even going back in time there's nothing obscene here; the recording area didn't appear to include your bathing chamber, in a different building entirely. No, here you merely sleep–curled into thick pillows without a whim as to the eyes drinking every detail in.

"You're cute when you're chasing something in your dreams," Jungwoo observes.

"They're nightmares." You pull free of his grasp, fighting the headset. You've seen enough. Once you're out you find a ghostly version of the feed projected across the surfaces around you, including his amused features.

"Why show me this?" You twist to snarl at him. "It means nothing."

You're met with self-satisfaction. Jungwoo's tongue darts over his bottom lip, distracted by your face inches from his. His hands raise in a gesture of surrender.

"I'm on your side," he says. "Even if Johnny doesn't want to admit it, you're our pack's omega already. You should know it."

"Ours?" You feel a twinge in your chest. Still wary, you test his conviction by adjusting on his lap, nose brushing against his. He isn't caught off guard in the slightest, slender hands engulfing your cheeks.

"You should be taken care of. Treasured." He says, searching your face.

You enjoy the sound of that more than you expect, unable to keep yourself from purring in agreement. You're wary of his motives but you need the touch more than oxygen.

"And you'll be the one to do it?" your voice goes husky. "Won't you get in trouble with the others?"

His scent response is sharp. The crushed hemp odor is a relief from Johnny's all-pervasive presence, making you feel lighter.

"You're not the only one they underestimate." He grins wickedly. "Do you think you can trust me?"

"No," you say, remembering Yuta's admonishment. "I don't trust you."

He pouts a little, brushing your lips with his thumb and making you shudder in pleasure. "You're such a funny little thing. Why deny yourself what you want?"

There's an irony in his words, seeing lust reflected in his eyes under the fall of his thick lashes. He's a very beautiful creature; it would be simple for your fox to roll into this seduction and take what you want. Perhaps you'd even enjoy it, losing yourself in his soft voice and his crooked smile.

But you recognize a fellow mesopredator, and unlike Taeyong or Haechan he's more of a threat to you and your long-term survival.

"What do you want to do to me?" you ask, slipping out of his hold to lean back against the desk, gripping the edge until your nails hurt. "Do you think you can claim me?"

"Claim isn't the word I'd use. Maybe instead . . . please you?"

He bumps your chest with his head, scenting you. Whether it's the surroundings or the warm bloom of arousal in your stomach you let him explore you through the fabric, teeth catching on your undergarment as he nips at your breast. Your breath hitches, back arching to bring yourself closer as warmth spreads through your core.

"Does that feel good?" he asks.

"Yes . . ." you whine.

It's a dangerous game but you're wound tight, hoping to get a little relief before you're forced back to your cell.

Jungwoo follows the lead, head dipping into the unmarked side of your neck, tongue slipping over your sensitive skin. Your knees threaten to give out as he presses his lips to your gland between gentle licks, touch wandering lower to sneak under the edge of your shirt.

His hands are cool against your flushed skin, and the shock breaks the spell.

"Not here. I don't want to do this here," you say. You're surprised it works—he pauses to breathe hot against your collarbone.

"Why not?"

"It's my first time," you say. Your face is burning, heartbeat loud in your ears.

"Again, why not?" He peers up at you charmingly.

"I'm scared," you say. You mean it, even if it's making your fox all the more intrigued.

"How about just a taste instead," he says, hands digging into your hips. In an instant you're pushed further on the desk, toes slipping off the floor as he forces your legs apart, burying his head between your thighs. You cry out, somewhere between protest and pleasure at finding his face against you through the thin material.

Icy fear melts into something dangerous as his tongue flattens against the moisture already there, more springing up in response as pleasure courses through you. You don't have the sense to stop him, fingers disappearing into his fluffy hair as he traces the shape of you through your clothes.

"So sweet," he says, muffled. "It's too bad you're not ready."

He breaks free with a final, long swipe ending in a tug of his teeth that makes you curl around him, legs twitching.

"Don't stop–"

"No." The word has a little more edge to it as his hand closes over yours. It's then you realize that you've grabbed the nightstick abandoned on the desk. "Let go."

"I wasn't–" you begin to say, the weapon wrested from your limp grasp.

"You don't have to lie to me," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Your body tells the truth."

He kisses the edge of your frown, pulling aside when you try to follow with your lips. His forehead bumps against yours, hunched over to circle his hips into your groin so you can feel the hard, long line of his arousal. If you'd been fearful of the toy he'd brought you, you're terrified now.

"You're not ready," he repeats, arched nose pushing against your cheek. You can smell yourself on his breath as he huffs, slightly bitter. "You’ll know when you’re begging for it."

The contact is too much of a relief for you to cringe away, your legs wrapping around his hips to try and bring him against you again. Despite everything screaming at you to stop, the pressure is incredible, your sex throbbing with each roll against him.

"Please, you said you'd help me," you blurt out.

Jungwoo has the nerve to laugh at your attempt, extricating himself and turning to look at something over your head.

"You called?"

Yuta's voice is a shock. You'd half-expected it to emerge from your agent, the emergency call you'd snuck through still pulsing red with no response. Instead you find him leaning casually over the railing from the stairs, gaze narrowed and assessing.

From his bored posture, he's been watching awhile.

"I didn't want to be alone with him," you say. "He can't control himself."

"Looks to be the other way around from here," he drawls.

Whatever hope you'd had that he'd be upset at the situation disappears in an instant. You slide down with your legs firmly pressed together, feeling exposed.

"She called you? Smart." Jungwoo sniffs, only a little displeased.

"Not really." Yuta says. "What's the story, then?"

"Well, she slipped out. Couldn't help herself but run here," Jungwoo says, tapping away at his hand with the rod. "When I came to get her she tried to get into my good graces, as you can see."

"But you brought me here to show me . . ." you don't continue, watching Yuta nod towards the other man with no acknowledgement of your rebuttal. Your heart sinks in your chest.

"Might want to add some flavor. A little realism."

"Sure thing, boss." Jungwoo jabs the nightstick into your hip, hesitating only a second to let you understand what's about to happen. You freeze, trapped against the desk, adrenaline slowing time down to a horrible crawl.

"Sorry we couldn't play more," Jungwoo says.

Then he activates the power switch, obliterating any thoughts or words you might have in an explosion of pure pain.

[previous] [next]

#agtbtb #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 omegaverse #nct 127 cyberpunk au #nct fic #nct 127 fic #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines

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ladyimaginarium · 1 year

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This month is Pride Month and Indigenous History Month so please support our indigenous turtle island communities, know who's land you're on and support queer indigenous turtle islander creators, & on top of that, July 13th is also my& birthday & July is also Disability Pride Month & Queer Wrath Month !! I& just find it's funny how white queers get all this support & clout, but the minute a queer Native Jew asks for any kind of mutual assistance, it's like cricket noises, but anyway, here I& go again, just in case someone actually does wanna help out!

While not obligatory, if you want to help support a local queer, trans, nonbinary, genderfluid, intersex, mspec, aspec, autistic, disabled, neurodivergent, hoh, chronically ill, psychotic spoonie witch two spirited mixed native and ashkenazi jewish bodied multigenic DID system who's an aspiring activist, ASMRtist, fashion model, voice & film actrex ( hopefully getting into something big on Netflix or HBO one day ), ASMRtist, youtuber/vtuber, polyglot & writer with asking us& to be your sensitivity reader, commissioning us& ( to be available! ), book a tarot reading with us& ( to be available! ), donating to help us& save up for getting our& multipurpose psychiatric service dog, and/or buying something from our& Throne wishlist which is a safe & anonymous way to buy gifts, because so far these are the best way to support us& or simply donating to our& P*yP*l because you enjoy our& content. Gifts are not necessary, but appreciated, & after receiving your gift if you choose to, I'd& be more than happy to send you a personal thank you photoset or clip or post something on tumblr or elsewhere, regardless, I'd& really appreciate it! We& didn't have a great childhood growing up as we& were abused for a decade & we& weren't taught many lifeskills so we're& still learning from the gate. Even though we aren't in a life threatening emergency, I'm& generally not in the right financial space to spend a lot & buying my& own shit because I'm& Saving Up™ for a lot of things, including the possibility of me& moving to my& first ever apartment next year & my& future service dog & I& cannot work due to my& multiple disabilities, the fact I& can't stand up for long periods of time without feeling exhausted & just being an overall madcripple, so whatever you do, it'd be greatly appreciated, especially if it's from white settlers, so if you're white, you can think of this as paying reparations us& for dealing with antinative racism, antisemitism, ableism, sanism, pluralphobia, psyism, audism, homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, multitransphobia, aphobia, exorsexism, intersexism and the ongoing colonization of my people and fighting on the behalf of the indigenous, queer and plural communities on here while for any POC reading this, you can think of this as extending your solidarity with us&, so after I& spent a lot of blood sweats and tears into what i& do, I'm& finally asking something that would benefit me& for a change, even like 10$ could help, but even if you still can't for whatever reason, please spread the word out to help us& live easier as a disabled, neurodivergent mixed native system in this ableist & racist world !!

#arcana.txt #** post; signal boost.#our& p.osts for our& t.arot readings & c.ommishes'll be open soon hopefully bc we& got Good Reviews !! TM #hennywayz please consider helping us& out !#also our& s.ervice d.og GFM is still a wip our& bad but you generally get the gist lmao

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vanillatalc · 10 months

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last night i was thinking how the NHS treated me whenever i was dim enough to ask for help for my madness + just getting like more and more angry remembering it lmfao

i actually think that severing myself from like the idea of "help" and "psychiatry" and "CBT" and "mental health" has been more beneficial to my QOL than literally anything the NHS ever did for me, so im at peace w/ it on the whole, however there were some real highlights:

me sitting sobbing my eyes out in a small room w/ two strangers begging them to Please Help, and receiving a letter a few weeks later saying i wasn't ill enough for any help + i was on my own

being diagnosed w/ BPD (a big regret i have - once i cann afford to spend £250 on a psych visit im going to try and get that scrubbed off my record bc at the time of diagnosis like ~8 years ago i was naive enough to think that a diagnosis that wasn't depression or anxiety would force the NHS into giving me "help". however, obviously, as you all know, a BPD diagnosis is the 2020s equivalent of Female Hysteria

i was offered a round of CBT (classic) but there was an 18m waiting list and in that 18m i was diagnosed w/ the BPD. so i had a conversation w/ them in which they were like "we can only do the anxiety/depression, if you talk about anything BPD-ish we'll terminate you"

went to the minor injuries unit after a particularly bad self-harm session + was not asked any questions about how i was doing mentally, they didnt check i was safe, they didnt ask me if i was gonna be ok at home lol, they just cleaned me / bandaged me / sent me home again (tbh idk what id rather they did tbh like. i dont want to be sectioned - i was just kind of astonished by the lack of pretence at caring how i was doing)

in the last-ditch effort i made to get some "help" i told my (beloved! none of this is his fault) GP that if he had anything going i'd be willing to give it a shot. he told me there was this local unit opening up for "personality disorders" and that given i was motivated + all that shit i would be a perfect fit for it. (at this time i was already leery of the BPD label but i was still thinking like: maybe it will actually open THIS door to "treatment") i said to him: i know for a fact they will not accept me. you're welcome to try, but i am 100% sure that they will find a reason to reject me as a patient. and he was like no no no! haha why wouldn't they :) i'll send them a personal email about you! and they'll take you on my reccommendation! and i was like lol ok roy. anyway yeah of course they didnt accept me - as i told him they wouldnt - and he was so shocked and upset during that conversation where he told me this - and i was just like totally unemotional like "i told you this would happen" and he was like just so shocked about it all (honestly idk why, as a doctor, he must see the carnage, but whatever) and just like "my god - you were right" (yeah no shit roy) and yeah that was just the moment i was like alright im never doing any of this shit again, never ever.

to be honest my suggestion to anyone in a similar situation is to read up on antipsychiatry lmfao (shout out to bananapeppers for forcing it into my eyeballs via tumblr) bc it really changed my mindset for the better. that's probably quite a bleak sentiment to end a post about psychiatry on but uh. i dont know what to say otherwise. i don't believe in "mental healthcare" anymore like i rly dont. im doing 100x better now that i refuse to talk to doctors about my madness. there is no moral to this post

ETA: from @bananapeppers herself: "for anyone reading this who may be interested, this is an England-based antipsychiatry organization that I recommend: Campaign for Psychiatric Abolition ( https://linktr.ee/cpabolition)"

#missed out loads of shit on here like the years of banging my head against a wall #trying to get “help” for literal years upon years upon years #it was all an absolute waste of time + i just wish id realised that sooner #now i take the fluoxetine bc it seems to make a real difference wrt obsessive thoughts #i see tina sometimes #and i will never ever talk to a doctor again about my thoughts: end of

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synthient · 8 months

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Probably observations that have been made by plenty of people over the last century, but:

Fascinating how the Evil and Unnatural control that Dracula wields over people, is mirrored against the Good and Natural control of men over women; the rich over the poor; the British over backwards and savage foreigners; doctors over the insane.

Fascinating how much the Jonathan's Spooky Castle Adventure segment is subtextally about the horror of feminization. On the obvious level of being subject to sexual violence, sure, but also on the level of being trapped in a domestic space that you're not allowed to leave. The person who's the greatest threat to you is the also the person you've been made absolutely dependant on. You have to keep up a cheerful facade, play along with his social games, and pretend to be too stupid to realize you're a prisoner, if you want any hope of survival.

Fascinating how much the rest of the (surface level) text is dedicated to frantically backtracking that (early, subtextal) insight. The Heteropatriarchal Gender Order is actually the greatest thing in the word! Look how rosy and wholesome the scooby gang polycule is! (Again, our cute jokey pseudo-polygamy is mirrored against their barbarous 3 brides). Yet all the while, the inherent grotesqueness of these relations can't help bleeding through the sentimental trappings - the "euthanasia is such a beautiful word" bit springs to mind

Fascinating how our Three Heroes are, respectively, representatives of The Psychiatric Order, The British Nobility, and American Colonial Expansion (Quincy specifically gets congratulated on the recent Texan secession from Mexio). Fascinating how Dracula and Van Helsing never actually face off directly - everything is mediated through Mina, and it all comes down to a brainwash-off to see who can control her better.

Fascinating how Jonathan's feminization narrative is also haunted by the specter of institutionalization (via the Renfield subplot, which barely ties in with the main story on a surface level). It's not the horrors themselves that affect him the most - it's not being able to trust his own perceptions. (It's the idea that if he really had been "mad," then his imprisonment would have been justified).

Fascinating that the book later goes to great pains to show that he's Regained His Manly Vigour And Has A Knife Now, yet his emasculation still clings to him in the Dracula-based cultural consciousness: he's composited with Renfield to keep that emasculation from infecting the hero in the 30s; he's the unappealing weak prettyboy of the 90s love triangle; he's Shaggy in the scooby gang (unrelated to the Serious Analysis, but it is deeply funny how obvious the Velma=Mina/Daphne=Lucy/Fred=Arthur inspo is now).

Fascinating how much the ultimate question of the book is "What's the Right way to do gender? (and therefore do whiteness/Britishness/patriarchy/colonialism/capitalism?) The answer, apparently, is that both sexes should aspire to a "a woman's brain and a man's heart" - Mina's man-brain, and the Five Guys' woman-sensitivity - while still dutifully playing the roles of their "natural" power dynamic. The obvious inverse is a woman's brain with a man's heart - and is that not Dracula and his "child brain;" the brides and their "cold hard voluptuousness"?

Fascinating to read Mina and Jonathan as effectively the same character (with Mina picking up the gender-power themes Jonathan left off, in a more socially-acceptable vessel). Fascinating how strong the religious cognitive dissonance is throughout. And of course, the whole thing is drenched with Bram Stoker sending some gay little letters to Walt Whitman (as every single victorian gay guy apparently did), then seeing the Oscar Wilde trial and Freaking Out

#[shows up 2 years late with a book instead of an email]#dracula

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rahullkohli · 1 year

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Hi, Annika. I just saw your last post and I wanted to check in and see if you're doing okay. I am sending you my best.

jesus christ this is two months old, i am so sorry. thank you so much for checking in on me, it's honestly so nice to log in to see. i appreciate it so much. i'll just put explanation under a cut because it's all just a lot. you don't have to read, but at least i can use it to dump my brain for what's been going on, because i don't have anyone to talk to about it.

but ily for caring about me, i truly was scared to log in and find that no one had noticed i was gone and that people just forgot i existed.

so basically, my dad was in the hospital with a blood clot in his eye at the beginning of december, which fucked up his sight a lot. and everything was just so heavy with christmas being the worst time of the year for me, and then on top of that last year was absolute hell for me so i just fell heavy into the depression.

then on january 4th or sth my dad had another blood clot in the brain, which brings us to the ninth blood clot in his brain in about two years. this time around was the worst hit so far, and he now needs so much help. so i'm basically his primary caregiver again. he has a nurse that comes a couple times a week, and social health workers coming every day to make sure he eats, do some cleaning, help with stuff like laundry and such, which is a huge relief. but there's still so many other things he can't help with, and that all falls on me. like going to his hospital appointments with him because his memory and eyes are basically worthless at this point.

on top of that my depression is just getting worse and worse. except for when i go to help my dad, i don't see anyone socially. my dad never asks me about how i'm doing, how my life is, or anything like that, neither does the rest of my family. i only hear from them when they ask about our dad. so i am more or less just a tool for them.

and tumblr just started feeling like such a negative place. most of what i saw was people telling others what they were allowed to like and not like, and if you didn't adhere to those rules you were told you were a monster. and most stuff i saw on my dash seemed to be new things i didn't have the energy to engage with (i still haven't watched wednesday even though i was so excited for it). and it was a lot of all the bad crap happening in the world, and tumblr didn't feel like an escape any longer, it just felt like it was amplifying my depression, and speaking into the catastrophe thinking side of my OCD and anxiety, and it made my intrusive thoughts hit a level i honestly haven't experienced before, and i was genuinely afraid of myself.

and i'm just exhausted. the past three months i have been in bed when i haven't been doing stuff for my dad. the only thing i have for myself to keep me sane atm is running twice a week, yoga once a week, and song lessons once a week. the support person i got switched to after my old one quit is on sick leave now, so i have a temp, but i can't really talk to her because all of my shit is just such a heavy baggage and i don't know where to start, especially since i'm hopefully only seeing her for another month.

i'm just tired. if i didn't have cas to take care of, i think i would have asked my doctors about options for psychiatric hospitals for a while. i feel like a zombie most of the time, and i only keep going because there's not really any other alternative. so i guess that's that.

at least i was able to work things out with my vet bill, and i'll be paying the last installment next month, and cas is strong and healthy as if nothing happened.

also, i'm using pedro pascal to cope.so that too.

#anonymoose #ask #thank you for caring about me anon ily <3 #i hope i can be back now

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chronicbitchsyndrome · 1 year

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hey, i've (due to chronic disorganization) lost a bunch of resources on mad liberation/antipsych discussions of psychosis, and i'm trying to send some resources along to someone who's currently struggling with the psychiatric institution and wants to learn more about psychosis from a mad-centered perspective.

can i get some links to good introductory readings on psychosis, how it's culturally constructed, non-western-centric views of psychosis, criticisms of consensus reality, and humanistic/positive treatments of psychosis and frameworks through which to view it that are not centered in the psychiatric institution? also just generally if you're antipsych and mad, links to your favorite readings on psychosis in general would be super helpful! thank you!!

#antipsychiatry #anti psychiatry #mad pride #mad liberation #madpunk #mad punk #antipsych #psych critical #psychpunk

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crippledpunks · 2 years

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when you're disabled, going to the doctor and being in medical care is a full-time job.

i have a therapy group for processing trauma that is 3 hours long, 3 days a week. i see my individual therapist once a week for an hour. i have to attend frequent appointments, about every 2 - 4 weeks, with my medications nurse to keep my medications stable. i book as many appointments with my primary care doctor as possible, usually once every 2 - 3 months. i am currently waiting for referrals for rheumatology, physical therapy, and genetics. i have a case manager, and am applying for in-home caregiving services. i generally speaking have such severe mental health symptoms that i need to go to the psychiatric hospital once every 4 - 5 months. i'm applying for disability and had to also find a lawyer who takes disability cases and have been up social security's ass for months.

i am constantly making phone calls, sending emails, reading discharge paperwork, learning about new medications and their effects, researching terms and diagnoses, trying to find programs and organizations to help with my specific disabilities, figuring out where offices are located, booking rides to and from appointments, having to find new doctors and therapists when i end up assigned bad ones who mistreat me and withhold medication- i am spending just as much time in my week interacting with medical professionals as my friends do at their jobs.

we bust our ass, just in different ways, and for many of us, it shouldn't have to be this way.

#cripple punk #actually disabled #disability advocacy #disability rights #disability problems #disability culture #mentally chill #neurodivergent #neurodiverce #neurodivercity #mental illness #mental health #chronically chill #cripplepunk #crip punk #cpunk #cripple problems #disabled culture

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kamorth · 1 year

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Hi friend, happy pride! please call me Mariam… don't worry, i'm not a bot😁, I'm a 24y/o lesbian, in the mood of pride i came out about the abuse i've been facing ever since my narc. family found out I'm gay. I've decided to call it out and seek help from the queer community. my pinned post is a detailed, frequently updated information about it all- how my grandmother thought making moves on me and forcing a kiss on me will change my sexuality, how my dad did his own and how they decided to take me to psychiatric hospitals to "fix" me. please check my pin post and help me move out of this prison called a home. A member of the community via "lgbtdonate" reached out to me to support by making me some paintings for commissioning, please help me and if you need a painting/drawing, we can send one in return. please read my pinned post for all information. Also' I'd appreciate a boost on my pinned post over this ask, as this isn't detailed it can easily be skipped. thank you for time and your support. Once again, happy pride!

Okay I'll post this. If you ARE a bot the amount of work put into making you convincing deserves a reward, and I don't have enough of a horse in the race to double check that you're not lying, so I'm going to chalk this up to "people doing stuff for attention at the very least need attention" and continue under the assumption that you are telling the truth.

I hope things improve for you soon. That sounds hellish. Your life is yours to do with as you please and you deserve better.

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pink-amethyst-tarot · 6 months

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Hello! hope you're well. I saw your post for free readings so I would like to get one please :)

I'm SR and I'm a Capricorn sun and my favorite color is blue!

So my question is - what messages does my sp has for me ?

Thank you in advance and happy holidays!

I'm hearing, I'm closer than you know

omg...

Death, The High Priestess, Two of Cups, The Empress

There is a major change coming into your life and your person is asking you to pay attention to the world around you. "What is hidden will be revealed and it will lead you to me" Your person wants you to take care of yourself and be in your more feminine energy. Your person is asking you to slow down before you miss it.

GET A FREE READING FROM ME TODAY FOR A LIMITED TIME! DECEMBER 9TH AT 4:42PM (16:42) CST, THIS WILL BE CLOSED!

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growandrecover · 11 months

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Hii, I have a question.

I haven't been diagnosed with anything, and no one ever really knew I had an eating disorder, which leaves me thinking if I ever did. My disorderedbehaviors started a year ago, and it has been just two months of *actual* restriction and fasting. With such a short term problem, could I still call myself anorexic? (or former anorexic, as I am trying to recover now)

Let me just start this off by saying, a formal diagnosis is not required for you to consider yourself an anorexic (or a bulimic, orthorexic, someone with bed, someone with ednos, etc.).

**Before I say anything else, I just want to mention that I am not a professional, in any shape or form (though hopefully one day, I will be), I just happen to have an ed and have been treated for it. I can't diagnose you, but I am someone who believes that self diagnosing can be very helpful and "empowering", in a sense. Also, me explaining this topic is not me being "pro" anything. (Anon, this is not pointed at you, I'm just saying this for the people who are reading this and could possibly interpret it the wrong way.) I am not pro ana, pro mia, or pro any other harmful behavior. I am, however, pro recovery, and if you need help, please don't hesitate to reach out if you need someone to talk to.

I'm going to put the rest of this post under a 'keep reading' in case anyone finds this triggering. (Anon, please don't take this as an insult, I am more than happy to answer your question <3 )

TW: ed behavior, symptoms of eds, mention of addiction, and specifications of anorexia (types). Please do not continue if you think this will be triggering to you in any way.

Honestly, I guess it depends on what the disordered behavior looked like prior to what it does currently. Fasting and restriction aren't the only ways to be considered an anorexic.

Also, no one knowing you were having trouble does not mean you didn't/don't have an ed. I think of eds as an addiction (just like drinking or gambling), and addicts are known for being good at hiding what they're addicted to. Our disorders tell us that we have to keep it a secret, and we listen. Even though I've been in recovery for over a year now, my mom and I talk about my ed sometimes, and she always admits to me that while she knows a lot of what I went through, she'll never know the entirety of it. And it's possible that it'll be the same for you.

But, I do have a DSM-5 (I needed one for a psych class), and this is what it says:

"There are three essential features of anorexia nervosa: persistent energy intake restriction; intense fear of gaining weight or of becoming fat, or persistent behavior that interferes with weight gain; and a disturbance in self-perceived weight or shape." (pg 339, American Psychiatric Association)

There are also 2 types; restricting and binge/purge. (both of which use a timeline of the last 3 months. for example: during the last 3 months, the individual has done *insert disordered behavior in here*)

It says a lot more than that, but I think (hope) that may be the most helpful to you.

I think it's 100% up to you whether or not you consider yourself an anorexic. You're the only one who knows what that looked like for you, and it's yours to decide. :)

If you'd like more information from the DSM, or if you have any other questions, feel free to send me a message or another ask.

I wish you nothing but the best in your recovery, and I'm sending you lots of love and well wishes, darling. ♡

#asks

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raventhompson · 1 year

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Hi Mariam!

Happy pride to you too <3 I'm terribly sorry for the abuse you suffered but I'm also really glad you're reaching out for help. Unfortunately I don't really have any money that I could donate but I'll gladly help bust this in case it reaches people who can <3

I wish you all the best in the future and I hope you can move out soon!

#guys please help #i hope this reaches the right people #bust

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rockinlibrarian · 13 days

Text

You Should

Wake up bright and early.

No, wait, feed the cat is first.

Feed the cat.

Wake up bright and early.

Give your spouse physical affection.

Help spouse get ready for work.

Clean the poor cats' food area sometime.

Throw out old food before it gets bad. Or maybe even eat it first.

Get dressed. Your clothes must be clean, wrinkle-free, appropriate for the needs of the day and for the weather, and they must fit properly and be flattering.

Well why HAVEN'T you been to the bathroom yet?

Get the kids up for school. They should be getting themselves up for school, they won't live with mom forever. If they don't get up on time, well, why didn't you get them up?

Take your medication. Make sure the kids take their medication. They should be taking responsibility for their own medication, they won't live with mom forever. If they don't take their medication on schedule, how do we know what's actually working or not?

Get the kids breakfast. They should be getting their own breakfast, they won't live with mom forever. If mom doesn't get them breakfast, they forget to eat. Also it should be a balanced breakfast, never mind the picky eaters. If they don't eat breakfast, they fall asleep in class. Why aren't they getting their work done in first period?

Make the kids do the chores they should have done yesterday. Yes, before school. Don't let them miss the bus. Your kids should be at the bus stop ten minutes before it is scheduled to arrive. Don't let them stand out in the cold.

Sign this paper for school. It was due yesterday. Also I need money for this, too. Why is it taking so long, we're going to miss the bus!

Get breakfast. It should be a balanced breakfast. Don't eat your kid's abandoned half-bagel. Don't let food go to waste.

This is the school calling. Sign this paper your kid should have given you two months ago. Do we need to send another copy?

Make doctors appointments. Make dentist appointments and also separate orthodontist appointments. Make counseling appointments and also separate psychiatric appointments. Make vet appointments. Make optometrist appointments. Make an appointment about your car. But not at that place, the other place, that specializes in that other thing. Our office is open between the hours of 9 AM and 4 PM, and is closed for lunch between 12:30 and 1:30. Please call back during our regular office hours.

Feed the cat. It's too early to feed the cat. Don't ignore your poor cat who is obviously in need of your attention.

You forgot your breakfast.

Stay up to date with current events. Call your senators. Volunteer. Give money to this cause. Give money to this other cause. How can you let such atrocities exist? Why are you not protesting? Amplify marginalized voices! Not those ones, THESE ones! Also, raise your own voice! Except not yours, we don't actually care what you have to say. Why aren't you contributing your voice? Don't like, REBLOG! Likes do NOTHING! Why does nobody ever like what you post? Maybe because nobody cares what you have to say. Why do you never post? Read everything. Leave comments. Care about your friends' lives. TALK to your friends. Nurture your support system. Get off of social media. Find new friends, then.

Time to go. What do you mean you have to go to the bathroom again? Why didn't you go before? Get more water. NOW feed the cats. Weren't you supposed to bring something? Find your keys. Put them in the same place every time and you won't have this problem. Make a homemade lunch, those frozen meals have too many preservatives. What do you mean you're late?

Don't speed. Don't be late. Call if you're going to be late. Don't stop now, you're going to be late. Don't use a cell phone in the car. Get gas yesterday.

Why are you out of breath? Wait to sign in. Sign in on time.

Keep a tidy workspace. Don't forget anything. Your ADHD brain needs visible organization techniques. Other people don't want to see that.

Stay up with correspondance. Don't email, phone. Don't phone, email. Talk to me in person. I'm busy right now. Why did you never tell me about that? Why don't you communicate better?

Plan programs that are engaging and educational! You're running too long! You're letting them go too soon! Clean and shelve and research grants! Don't spend all your time at the desk. The desk must be staffed.

Greet everyone who comes in. Chat! Respect their needs! Don't bother me! Be friendly! Talk! No, talk about NORMAL things!

Keep the collection up to date! Don't weed anything! It's too crowded and messy! Why don't we have the latest and greatest new books?

If you can't handle it, maybe you shouldn't work.

We don't have enough money, and you're smart, you should have a good job.

Go shopping! In person! Don't spend a lot. Don't waste money on junk. Why do we never have anything I like?

Make homecooked dinners. Make healthy dinners. Not that. No one but you will eat that.

Lose weight. Buy more dessert. The emphasis on weight is misdirected and doesn't really affect health. All your health problems would be eased if you lost weight, including your breath, balance, and bad foot. Exercise. Get your foot checked out by a doctor then.

Did you make that appointment yet?

This house is a pigsty. Then make the kids do it. Don't do it for them. Why is everything piling up?

You're always tired. Call the doctor.

Why don't we play games as a family?

You NEED to watch this show and/or movie.

Why don't you write books like you always said you would?

Make time for yourself.

Shower. Brush your teeth. Clean the bathroom.

Get to bed early.

Don't snore.

Feed the cat.

Originally posted on my Dreamwidth: https://rockinlibrarian.dreamwidth.org/294751.html

#ADHD #the fact that I know I've left things out is in and of itself exhausting me

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