#my therapist once told me that you have to be the friend and caretaker for that little girl who always had to be ok | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsapeterthing · 3 years

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Green || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: three times bucky realized you were more than a friend and the one time he finally admitted it (based on events from tfatws)

a/n: finishing this in time for the season finale tomorrow! reblogs and/or replies are super appreciated!!

word count: 3.1k

warnings: mentions of reader wearing a short dress, jealous bucky

masterlist || request || taglist

“Nice of you guys to call me.”

Your hands in your jacket pockets, you announced your presence as you strolled up to the group of four men standing outside of the police station. You could basically feel the tension in the air as each man had a resolute expression written on all over their faces.

“What’s going on here?” You asked, slipping your hands out of your pockets and gesturing towards the group.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked.

You might have been nicer about the situation if you weren’t utterly pissed that the two men hadn’t informed you about the mission that they had gone on.

“Incase you forgot, Sam, you’re not the only one who’s had to pick up where someone else left off. It’s my job to keep track of you guys.” You said. “... Also I’m Bucky’s emergency contact.”

“Well,” The blonde man leaning against the police cruiser said. “You’re a little late. I handled it.”

Looking up at the man in front of you, you gave him no inclination of defeat.

“You must be John Walker.” You said.

“So you’ve heard of me?” He smirked.

You crossed your arms, stepping away from the man who you had seen on television playing the role of Captain America. You had heard about the decision moments before the government had first displayed the impersonator on screen, but it had been too late for you to do anything about it or to inform Sam or Bucky in time for his appearance.

“I’ve heard of everyone.” You deadpanned.

“Yeah?” He asked, standing up straighter. “And who are you?”

Just as you were about to open your mouth, you felt Bucky’s hand land on your shoulder. Turning to glance at him, you watched as he shook his head, giving you a serious look. Despite the fact that you were now tasked with keeping track of the former members of the group of Avengers and were one yourself, you had been able to keep your identity a secret. Although to the world you were “Sorceress”- the Avenger with magical powers similar to those of Wanda Maximoff- to members of the team such as Bucky you were Y/n Y/l/n.

He didn’t trust John Walker and he didn’t want to bring you into their own mess. Although Bucky had been avoiding Sam’s text messages, Bucky had kept in constant touch with you since you first met him after he had come back from the Blip six months ago- even going as far as spending time together multiple times a week in person- not because you had to keep track of him, but because the two of you genuinely enjoyed spending time together.

You were the closest thing he had to normalcy and he didn’t want the knockoff version of his best friend messing it up not only for himself, but for you too.

However, you didn’t see much of a way out of it. You weren’t going to just leave Bucky and Sam to handle the situation on their own, but you also didn’t see a way that you could work alongside them and not have John and Lemar figure out your identity sooner or later.

Gently taking Bucky’s hand off of your shoulder, squeezing it lightly before dropping it, you reached out your hand to John Walker.

“Y/n Y/l/n.” You told him. “Sorceress... and I guess the current caretaker of the Falcon and the Winter Soldier.”

Later, after the group had dispersed and you followed Sam and Bucky as they walked in the opposite direction, you were surprised when you heard Bucky’s tone of voice when he finally spoke up again.

“You shouldn’t have given him your name, Y/n.” He said.

You shrugged, hands tucked into your pockets once again. “It’s fine, Buck.” You assured him. “There wasn’t much else I could do. He was going to find out eventually-”

“Don’t act so casual about it. This is your identity- your life- and you’re just going to share it with some asshole like John Walker?”

“Woah!” You exclaimed, stopping in your spot. “What’s your problem, Buck? Why do you care so much?”

Noticing how both you and Sam were staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to comprehend why he was making such a “big deal” about it, Bucky grew embarrassed, not understanding himself why he cared so much. Rather than admitting defeat however, Bucky threw up his hands, scoffing.

“Forget it, Y/n. I don’t care. Do what you want.”

And with that he picked up the pace, walking in the opposite direction of where you and Sam stood confused in your spots.

“I couldn’t have worn something- I don’t know- a bit longer?” You called to the three men ahead of you, following them into the club as you tugged on the hem of your short dress.

“This a club in Madripoor, Y/n.” You heard Zemo say. “If you wore anything else you would be giving us away.”

Groaning you steadied yourself in your heels following behind Zemo and Sam. You slowed your pace to walk besides Bucky who had insisted on being at the back of the line behind you- telling everyone that it would be safer for everyone if he kept their backs covered.

“How are you feeling?” You asked as quietly as you could in the loud club.

“What?” He asked.

“How are you feeling? With the while Winter Soldier thing? If you don’t think you can handle it we can find another way-”

“It’s fine, Y/n.” He said. “Don’t worry about me.”

Instead of letting it go, you gently placed your hand on his exposed, vibranium arm, causing him to stop in his spot, looking at you.

“Bucky, I’m serious.” You said. “You matter too. If you can’t handle it, I’ll find a way to get the information without all of this, okay? I care about you, Buck. Just say the word.”

He almost couldn't focus on the words coming out of your mouth as he tried to keep his eyes focused on your face, rather than trailing down your body, finally noticing just how short the dress that was adorning your body was. As good as you looked in green, he swore he would kill Zemo once he got what he needed from him for dressing you in that.

As gorgeous as you were, however, your words meant everything to him and he hung on to every single one- no matter what you were saying. Hearing the sentiment that you had for him and that you would stick your neck out for him of all people made him speechless.

Just as he was about to open his mouth however, the two of you began to feel the eyes of other partygoers staring the two of you down. As soon as you noticed, you quickly snatched your hand away from his arm and continued your pace in front of him, Bucky quickly following behind.

“Distracted?” Zemo asked as Bucky stopped beside him at the bar.

Rather than answering, Bucky remained silent, falling into character with the thought of your shared interaction still playing over and over in his mind.

Coughing on his hands and knees, trying to process what had just happened, all Bucky could hear was the obnoxious sound of the alarm blaring. When he opened his eyes again he saw the shipping container now consumed with flames and illuminated with a daunting red light. Recalling what had just occurred, he scrambled to his feet, calling out for you.

“Y/n?” He called. “Y/n!”

When he didn't immediately hear your voice, he began to feel his heart race in his chest. What if something happened to you? What if you were too close to the explosion? He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if something had happened to you. Just as he was beginning to start hyperventilating, the smoke catching in his chest causing him to double over and heave, he felt your hands wrap around either of his biceps.

“Buck?” You asked. “I’m- I’m so sorry. It happened so fast I couldn’t get a forcefield around everyone. Thank God you’re okay. I was so afraid something happened-”

Cutting you off, Bucky shook your hands off of his arms, instead pulling you into his arms. Although you and the super soldier had spent more quality time than you could count together prior to starting this mission, you had never hugged before, but being in his arms you couldn’t find a single complaint, instead silently wrapping your arms tightly around his torso, running your hands up and down his back.

“Hey it’s okay, Buck. I’m okay.” You said. “Let’s go, okay? Before this thing collapses on us.”

After that the two of you had followed Sam and Sharon into the area of shipping containers, taking out hitman by hitman along the way, when you had finally gotten through all of them, you watched as Zemo pulled up in a car besides the four of you.

“Nice ride.” You said as Bucky slipped into the front seat of the vehicle, yourself sliding into one of the seats in the back row.

“Thank you, Y/n.” Zemo replied, patting Bucky on the chest. “She’s a woman of taste.”

Bucky swore to himself for the second time within the past 12 hours that when given the chance he was going to kill the man beside him- with or without his therapist’s approval.

“You’re not going to move your seat up are you?” Sam asked.

“Nope.” Bucky said.

“That’s fine.” Sam conceded. “I guess I’ll just chill back here with Y/n.”

You laughed as Sam laid his arm against headrest of the backseats of the car.

“I’m fine with that.” You said. “Just me and my favorite person.”

Now Bucky knew that you were kidding, only teasing him to get a rise out of him, but glancing at the backseat and seeing Sam’s arm practically around your shoulders and you calling him your favorite person... just didn’t sit right with Bucky. Just as Zemo’s foot was about to hit the gas, Bucky shifted the car into park, swinging the door open and stepping out of the vehicle.

“What-”

“You can have the front.” Bucky said, swinging Sam’s door open.

“It’s really okay, Buck-”

“You said you wanted more space so you can have the front.” He said. “Go sit in the front.”

You watched as Sam turned to you, quirking his eyebrows before shrugging and stepping out of the car, switching to the passenger seat. You almost wanted to laugh as you watched Bucky squeeze into the backseat behind the passenger seat, his knees practically up against his chest.

“You good?” You asked.

Despite the groan that had involuntarily escaped his mouth from the discomfort of the front seat digging into his knees, Bucky nodded, stretching his arm out across the backseat, behind your shoulders.

“I’m great.” He assured you. “Now drive, Zemo.”

Although you didn’t catch it, the two men sitting in the front seat- despite their differences- couldn’t help but throw each other a knowing look before the car took off for their next destination.

“Hey!” Torres called. “I see you got your sleeve back!”

You chuckled as you turned to glance at the man stood beside you. Despite it being a joke, not a single hint of a smile cracked the man’s hard exterior. The only reason he didn’t walk out of the room on the spot was because you were standing beside him.

“He’s just in a bad mood today.” You said, reaching your hand out to shake Torres’. “I’m Y/n.”

Taking your hand and shaking it in his, he furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you doing hanging around these guys?” He asked. “...Not that you can’t handle yourself! Sam just won’t even invite me on these things.”

Pulling your hand away from his, you smiled. “Think you can keep a secret?”

As soon as you asked the question you watched as the confusion written all over his face grew even more and you could hear Sam chuckling in the background.

“I’m Sorceress.” You said. “Like the Avenger? I just try to keep my identity pretty secret, you know?”

As soon as you revealed your identity to him, you watched as the man’s face dropped and he turned to look at Sam who was standing behind him.

“Wait- she’s-” Torres stuttered.

Sam nodded, laughing.

“Yep.” Sam said. “She’s the one you’ve been hounding me about setting you up with.”

Although you weren’t paying attention to him, Bucky had already disliked how the conversation was going- finding Torres to be a little too friendly for his liking and not loving that you exposed your identity to him immediately- but when he heard Sam’s confession, he stiffened in his spot, hands balling into fists at his side.

“What? Dude!” Torres exclaimed, glancing back and forth between you and Sam before finally turning back to you, chuckling nervously. “He's just kidding! I would never have a crush on you- wait! That came out wrong! Not that you’re not pretty because you are- I just think you’re cool-”

You continued laughing as the man stumbling over his words in front of you, finding it endearing until you heard the super soldier scoff beside you. You glanced at him only to see him cross his arms while rolling his eyes before making his way out of the room.

Turning back to Torres you gave him a quick smile, pulling a card out of your pocket. “I have to go, but it was nice to meet you Torres. If these boys get in trouble again, make sure to call me first thing, okay?”

He took the card from your hand, nodding. “Uh yeah- yeah! Of course!”

With that you waved to both him and Sam before following the path Bucky had taken out of the room seconds before.

Seeing his figure pacing across the room, you threw your arms up in the air.

“What’s your problem?” You asked.

Stopping in his spot he turned to face you.

“What?” He said. “I don’t have a problem.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, crossing your arms.

“Uh yeah. You do.” You said. “Did I do something to piss you off or something? Are you mad at me for coming on the mission? Because I’m sorry if I wanted to help save the world and make sure you guys didn’t get killed in the process.”

Bucky just stopped and stared at you standing across from him with your arms crossed. He hated to admit it, but you look pissed at him. It hurt knowing that you were upset with him, but it hurt a little more knowing that you felt as though he was mad at you when in actuality that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Y/n.” He said, stepping closer to you. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Then why did you just storm out of the room?” You asked.

He couldn’t think of a reason besides the truth. He could lie and say that he was mad at you, but that wouldn’t solve the situation for anyone and could possibly strain your relationship farther- and that was the last thing he could possibly want.

The two of you stood there in silence, staring at one another as Bucky attempted to find the words in his head to ease your concern without exposing himself in the process.

But you were never one to back down with him.

“Bucky,” You said. “What’s the problem? What did I do? Why are you so angry-”

“Because I don’t like the way that guy was talking to you!” He exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

“What?” You asked. “What are you talking about?”

Bucky realized he was in it now. He couldn’t see a way out of it.

For the past week, Bucky couldn’t help but notice that he cared for you a bit more than friends should. Maybe he always did. He thought back to the times he would eagerly await your weekly lunches or the comfort he felt when you took him furniture shopping after seeing his empty apartment for the first time. He thought back to the times you would show up outside of his door when he was upset because you were the only person he trusted there with him in those intimate moments- he knew that you were more than just his colleague, but he realized now that you were more than his friend.

Recently it became more obvious, the burning in his chest he felt when others became a little too comfortable with you- he attempted to mask it with just wanting to protect you, but he knew you could handle yourself. He was protective over you so he wouldn’t lose you.

Just when you opened your mouth to speak again, he cupped your face in his hands. He watched as your eyes widened, but didn’t make any move to stop him. When he caught your eyes trailing from his eyes to his lips, he pulled you towards him, meeting your lips in the middle.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t kissed anyone in eighty years, but he had never felt the way he had in that moment before. He was so utterly consumed in you- the feeling of your hands reaching for his jacket, tugging him closer as you deepened the kiss, your soft lips against his, your warm breath against his face- he was lost in it.

When you finally pulled away, he didn’t want to let go, but leaned back anyway, staring at his world- you- that he now held in his hands.

“Buck...”

“I think I like you more than a friend.” He confessed.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face at his words. You had always cared for Bucky as more than just your former fellow Avenger, but knowing that he felt the same as you was something you could hardly believe.

“I think I do too.” You laughed, then recalled what you had come in there for in the first place. “James, were you... were you jealous?”

Thinking back over the past week the two of you had spent together on the mission, he could almost laugh at the question you had just asked.

“You’re joking, right?” He chuckled. “Yeah. You could say I was a little bit jealous.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #Bucky Barnes drabble #bucky barnes blurb #Bucky Barnes fluff #Bucky Barnes angst

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fuckyeahasexual · 3 years

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Hey I’m sad and you’re the only Asexual blog I know so.. I was talking to a therapist and told her about my asexuality snd she kept on trying to find an explanation for it?? She persistently said that there is no way I could be born Asexual and it was such an invalidating experience. She made me feel like something is wrong with me

And she’s wrong. Don’t take her words to heart, and please don’t feel like you have to hesitate finding a new, better therapist.

I myself didn’t experience an asexuality-excluding therapist until just a few years ago, when I was talking to the dad-of-a-family-friend who helped take care of me for a couple days while I was in a crisis. He was an older, retired psychologist, and we talked a long time about my feelings and why I’m the way I am; once I mentioned briefly that I don’t have sexual feelings for other people, he gave me this side-eye and went on a lecture about how so many problems are influenced by human sexuality, and that any therapist that doesn’t look into my interpersonal relationships would be ‘naive’.

My current therapist says that there exists an entire class of therapists that value schools of therapy popular from the 70′s-onwards. They think that the way your parents raised you has 99% to do with who you are and what ‘problems’ you have. It’s not as bad as Freudian pyschology, but it’s goddamn close. Sexually violence tendencies being a manifestation of the resentment towards your parents. Fear of sex traced back to your parent’s divorce. Etc.

Newer psychology doesn’t do that. They tote methods such as mindfulness, radical acceptance, DBT/CBT, and so on. If you’re looking for a therapist, you’re less likely to run into a 70′s-era armchair-sitting-notepad-and-pen caretaker. No gaurentees, of course, but I honestly think that different types of therapists are less likely to be aphobic.

- Fae

#ask box #aphobia

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star-anise · 3 years

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Thank you for your reply. My ask was kind of all over the place. (I've done some dbt before with a previous therapist and it helped! But that therapist was not a good fit I'm at a new one now tho).

Random thing, you mentioned bpd I heard in my abnormal psychology class that a lot of therapists won't treat someone diagnosed with bpd??? It was the teacher who is a grad student studying to be a therapist who said it. And like. I don't understand. They sound like a very in need population who was often abused and there's a whole huge book of treatment resources written by someone with bpd. I've heard they're "hard to treat" and talked about like they're hopeless. but like why be a mental health professional if you don't like mentally ill/different people?

This is also the same professor who insisted trauma is only the few things listed under dsm ptsd definition as traumatic events.. like she said parents getting divorced isn't a traumatic event because you aren't physically in danger... that class really scared me about the mental health field because of all the awful people in it aspiring to be therapists including the teacher.

Sorry for all the asks I love the work you do on this blog

Ahahaha, what IS it about undergrad abnormal psych professors? Mine said he wouldn't touch clinical practice with a ten-foot pole, and told a story about how once a student told him she had schizophrenia, and he knew that she was lying because obviously nobody with schizophrenia could actually manage to attend university.

(It's seriously untrue. I've had both friends and clients with psychotic disorders who succeeded in university. He was being an ableist bastard. Like, I know psych students can tend to over-identify with a disorder they're studying without actually having it, but that doesn't mean no psych student is ever entirely correct about their deal.)

Okay so, BPD. The thing about BPD is that it requires a special skillset that does not come standard in most clinical training. If a therapist who doesn't have that skillset tries to treat someone with BPD, the therapy will not be very effective and the process will be very frustrating for both them and their client. To be very frank, it's just as true that ordinary therapists are bad at treating BPD and don't like feeling stupid, as it is that people with BPD are hard to treat.

(And training to deal with people with BPD clinically is often not included in grad school education. DBT training is expensive and they won't accept you unless you have an adequate clinical placement.)

Also, part of dealing with BPD in particular is... people with BPD often have trouble seeing authority figures with anything more nuanced than "adoration and compliance" or "fear and loathing". As a therapist, you're signing up as an authority figure. Part of the work means letting your client express all their feelings about you, and helping them work to something more nuanced and sustainable, like, "I am furious and enraged that I'm in pain and I wish my therapist could take that pain away, but I realize that's not within her power. I have to admit that she's not being an evil villain here, so I can feel my resentment but let it go."

Which can be stressful to deal with, as a therapist. You have to live with a lot of hurt and anger and rage headed your way, and keep your perspective. Be empathetic without getting carried away in those emotions. You have to be able to face that pain and say, "I can't take that away. I can only help you learn to bear it."

Basically everyone I know in grad school had a nervous breakdown somewhere along the line because we go to therapist school because we're smart and capable and feel good about helping people, so when we encounter a person we can't help, or are put in situations where we have to stop helping, we tend to have existential crises and end up sobbing in the student lounge about What Am I Even Good For Now. I was lucky because I had a version of that breakdown before I entered grad school, and my therapist warned me to get a new shrink when I moved for my Master's, "Because if you don't need one at the beginning, you'll definitely need one by the end." So I was more equipped to help classmates for whom this was a wholly new experience.

In my opinion, the healthy way to approach the problem of A Person You're Not Good At Helping is to practice humility, set reasonable boundaries, recognize the limits of your competence, and see where you can learn and grow. But many therapists and helping professionals use what I consider to be an unhealthy approach, labelling such clients as "defensive" and "resistant" and "hard to treat" and blaming them for the difficulty.

Which like, I get that "practicing humility" is like "doing exercise", sometimes you're tired and cranky and don't want to go for a run. Sometimes you just want to blame the other person for not accepting your magnanimous help.

Anyway, within the field of mental health psychotherapy, complex trauma is a unique sub-speciality that many therapists don't want to touch at all. I had many classmates say, "Woof, you're into complex trauma? You must be so tough, I could never." 🙄

(Technically I have the ethical obligation to represent my profession in the best possible light to encourage public confidence in the field of psychotherapy. But I think it's not undermining the profession to admit what everyone already knows, which is that some therapists are oblivious assholes who do bad work. I've seen it, I've met them, I want them to piss off forever. Jordan Peterson is a blight to our names and Phil McGraw can go choke.)

So people who are on your wavelength about BPD and trauma and What Therapists Are For are out there. They're just a little rarer than the usual run of therapists. For what it's worth, I've found they cluster more in areas like complex trauma, DBT, Narrative Therapy, and the Hearing Voices Movement. Next year (knock on wood) I'l be going to a conference on the treatment of complex trauma with a friend, and this sounds weird given that it's a weekend all about child maltreatment, but I expect it to be a blast, because I'll get to be among My People, talking about the work that fills our souls.

I really wish that as an undergrad, I'd spent more time hanging out with Social Work students, and going to conferences and trainings. Those are where I met some of the coolest people I really clicked with. And in grad school, I had the extreme pleasure of meeting other people who were a lot like me. Those friendships were especially rewarding because as skilled helpers, we ended up playing a game of Needs Chicken, where each tries hide their own needs and caretake for the other, which finally ended up in a standoff where we had to agree to put down our caretaking skills and just be honest about what we wanted, even if that felt new and scary and raw.

(Support me: Patreon and Paypal.)

#therapisting #advice about therapisting #borderline personality disorder #ableism tw #long post

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thunder-mountain-railroad · 2 years

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My Journey To Awakening

Yeah I'm Codependent. I've been codependent for most of my life. I'm 34 years old. I'm a male who was raised by a single mother who was, and still is, an alcoholic.

Maybe someone will be able to relate to my story so far. I'm writing this here instead of on paper so maybe someone can relate. Am I rescuing strangers on the internet? Maybe. I rescue and caretake and I'm realizing it doesn't go away once you are aware of it and give it a label.

I started seeing a therapist because I was having trouble focusing at work, and cutting down on alcohol, nicotine and caffeine - All which I think I abused to get me through each day. I have been seeing the therapist for 5 months so far, and we have spoke about ADHD and just recently in the last months Codependency. He said adult children of alcoholics either become the alcoholic or a caretaker. Well, I've found I'm a caretaker and rescuer who struggles with their own alcohol abuse. Not full blown alcoholism but it does have a pull on me and a negative effect on my life. I abuse alcohol to make me feel better I think, maybe numb and maybe not care. I did 6 months sobriety last year and 6 months of drinking. A truly scientific approach. Something is telling me that I prefer sobriety and haven't drank since new years, so 8 days. One problem at a time.

Since starting therapy, I felt like I was behaving strangely. I actually describe it to my friends as my "mania". I bought a ton of new clothes, actually bought a ton of stuff that I wanted. I'm still buying things that I want, when I want. I started doing things that I want, when I want I think. I started some crafting projects. I started working out, and sticking to it for the most part. I bought a bunch of tools and actually started a small tool shop in my basement for projects and crafting. Started a bunch of projects actually. I described it as doing things that spark joy. Following what is sparking joy and not being concerned with how others or the world will see it. More on this later.

I'm reading through Codependency No More by the recommendation of my Therapist, which I think a lot of people have read and related to, as I'm doing more research on Codependency. Initially I was afraid to read more after I started. I knew this book and information would be life changing as it struck very, very close to home. Reading through it, it was like someone had summarized my life and feelings of how I see the world into print. Reading it I felt like eyes were wide and my jaw was on the floor in shock. I'm still reading through it, on Chapter 16 currently.

I had a fake breakthrough and I think a real breakthrough soon after and I'll describe them. I actually do the exercises in this book because I couldn't believe how relevant the information was. I never do the exercises in books, but I felt compelled. Chapter 11, like the bankruptcy, "Have a love affair with yourself". At the end of the chapter, it asks you to write about yourself, so I did. This is what I wrote.

Well if you told me I have low self esteem and low self worth, I wouldn't believe you before reading this book. But yes, I have low self esteem and low self worth.

It's confusing because I know I have value. I'm a good person, I do good work and am a good friend, husband, son and employee. However I do not treat myself with the same love / thoughts/ fuel that I put out into the world. I have needs thoughts and desires that I need to be nurtured and met. I'm a person and that person deserves just as much thought and attention that everyone else gets. I need to be self preserving and selfish in the most noblest way.

I thought this was a breakthrough and maybe it is because I'm recognizing I have needs and should treat myself better. I continued on reading, then I had an 'Oh shit' moment.

I think my real breakthrough came next. In the above response, where I describe how I know I'm a good person, because I'm a good friend, husband, son and employee. This is the crux.

I fundamentally describe my self worth as the value I provide in my relationships.

For me, this was fucking huge. I realized this and went back in my notes and wrote things I thought about myself. "I'm strong", "I do what I say I will", "I'm smart" etc. I described myself as I see it, and I think the way other people see me as well.

I imagine a dark room, with an overhead spot light pointing to the center of the floor. All the people I love and are close to are there in a circle, my friends, mom, wife etc. Everyone is happy and smiling. There is one person though, who is like a stranger. They are smiling too. That person is me, and who I really am in reality. That person deserves the same love, respect and care that he gives to others. That person cares a little too much about how he is perceived. That person needs to let go, and be true to who they really are. That person needs to follow their instincts, and say no when they want to. He will still be loved.

For me this was when I think I realized what self worth and self esteem actually is. I had a broad concept of it but it really hit me then. I have lost a sense of self honestly. I have been second guessing my instincts and repressing my feelings for so long that I don't really know who I am. I have been people pleasing, perceiving needs and wants for so long, I don't know what I actually want. The problem is I know I am fundamentally fucked up and I want to be normal so I don't trust my gut and instincts. I do what I think I should do as opposed to what I feel like doing. Again with the "shoulds". "Shoulds" have run my life.

I've been fortunate and have a good life, good relationships with a lot of friends and I think a good relationship with my wife. I'm so fucking hard on myself that I'm actually pretty successful in my career. There have been some fights with my wife since I've started therapy, because I have been putting my needs before hers and others for the first time in our relationship, which has been like 17 years or something, married almost 9. I'm still struggling with expressing myself and my needs. One problem at a time.

I know I'm going to change, and I think I know who I really am. I've seen glimpses of that person, and I like what I see. I think my wife will also love the person I really am. I hope I'll still love her too.

If you read this and can relate and it helps you in some way, then I've written this for a reason. But thats wrong. The reason I've written this is for myself. This helps me, to write things out. To talk about my story. My codependency is telling me I'm writing this to help other people, but I need to do it for me. Maybe I should write privately so I know I'm not rescuing. Yeah I think I need to do that.

I wish you well in your recovery.

#codependant #codependent no more #codependency

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buddhasfanficdictatorship · 2 years

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Been a long time; Going forward

I know it’s been forever since I updated any of my fics, and I’m real sorry for that. I hold a lot of guilt over my disappearance and my constant broken promises and excuses. I haven’t made any progress reports here, because the only stuff I’ve accomplished is a lot of half finished chapters, so no real progress to report. I just wanna give a belated update on where I’m at, both with fics and in life. (if you dont care about my boring life story, you can skip down to the next bold part where I talk about whats going on with my fanfics. lol) I haven’t been resting and relaxing like I said I wanted to in all my previous updates. My Hiatus hasn’t been productive. I only manged to write pieces here and there. To be honest, I’m exhausted, burnt out, and more depressed than I’ve ever been. I wanted to step away from writing to collect myself, to try and regain some passion. Instead, my life became even more chaotic and my ability to write even less focused. The last few years have been hard, even putting aside the pandemic. My mother had a stroke (along with a bunch of other health issues) so I’ve had to become a full time caretaker for her, and I have no support from anyone to help. My family treats me either like a servant or like dirt, and I don’t have any friends anymore either, so I don’t even have anyone to talk to about all this. My computer fell off my desk and broke, and my cellphone decided to randomly crap out too. Which is disappointing because I had notes for fics on those that weren’t backed up. My pet bird died suddenly and very early (she was only 2, and they can live to be 15) because my neighbors were screaming at each other in the middle of night, which scared her and caused her to fall and break her leg, and she died of shock. And most of all, once again I am cursed with horrible neighbors. I was optimistic and happy once the last shitbags were kicked out. Only for them to be replaced with NEW jackasses doing all the same crap within a few months. Blaring music, screaming at each other day and night. I’ve done everything I’m supposed to; bought earplugs, called the police, told the manager, still can’t afford a better place. All I want is to be able to sleep a bit at 2AM without hearing people even through earplugs screaming at each other for 10 hours straight. These people ambushed and threatened my sick, elderly mother after she was returning from a doctors appointment and threatened her after we DARED to complain about their nightly screaming matches that last all through the night. It’s a constant barrage of noise and stress. I haven’t slept a full night in a year now. I’m beyond tired. My bloodpressure is skyrocketing and my doctor tells me I’m headed for a heart attack at this rate. I’ve been hospitalized twice now for mental health crisis reasons. I don’t know what else to do at this point. I’m falling apart from anxiety and exhaustion and depression, and the most I can get from doctors and therapists when I’ve tried to get help is telling me I need to relax more and stuff like that. I feel so trapped and helpless.

So what does this mean for my fanfics?

I honestly don’t know anymore.

It’s not that I lack ideas. I’ve actually had a TON of thoughts, I’ve made a bunch of notes and wanted to write a lot of new things! There’s been many ideas I’ve wanted to post and I’d LOVE the chance to get back to writing for real. But I don’t have enough sleep, enough quiet, enough energy. I’m just too stressed, too depressed, too overwhelmed to make much progress. I’ve been able to do bits and pieces of writing here and there, but that’s it, and I’m never able to finish anything since my brain is too worn down to think properly having to take care of my mother and listen to constant yelling from my neighbors as I do everything she requires.

I’ve been thinking about maybe doing paid commissions and opening a Patreon to see if I could collect enough to move someplace in a less crappy neighborhood, or at least try and move my mother into a care facility or even just hire a nurse to help me out sometimes. Not having anyone assist me to take care of her even for a couple hours is killing me, and its been two years since her stroke that I’ve had to do this, she needs more and more help all the time and I’m only one person, I can only do so much. But I’m reluctant to start asking for money, considering I can’t promise I could keep up a constant stream of quality, lengthy content that would be required under my conditions. I’m uncomfortable with the idea of taking cash and not being able to promise things would be done quickly and of high quality. That’s not even mentioning I have a fear that even if I started taking commissions, I still wouldn’t be able to make enough to make a difference in my life because demand would be so low because of all my long hiatuses and people lost interest. I just don’t know anymore. I need to be honest and stop making up excuses or breaking promises for future updates that never come because I end up caught between other people’s Jerry Springer screaming day and night and having to be a full time caretaker. I don’t want to string people along, especially since readers have shown me such support and understanding. At the rate things are going, I’m not sure when or even IF I’ll be able to make a full return to writing. I don’t WANT to give it up for good, I still have lots of ideas I’d like to share and it’s always been something I’ve enjoyed. But I want to be realistic, and not keep people waiting for my life to get less chaotic, when I know it won’t any time soon. I’m tired, I’m depressed, I’m exhausted, and I just don’t know if I have it in me anymore. Thank you for the readership, the positivity, the understanding.

#update #fanfic #fanfiction #hiatus #progress update

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void-galaxy-shenanigans · 2 years

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Hi hey hello, I have something ¿that might be unpopular to say? but it’s important.

The “Therapist Friend™” is (almost always) emotionally neglected and/or emotionally abused (& likely abused in other ways too).

I mean the one who’s always helping everyone else, handing out advice like free candy, rushing to help people who get even a little upset....but they don’t ask for help, & if you offer “hey, what’s wrong?”, they either (1) go “I’m fine, nothing’s wrong, why would you think anything’s wrong, don’t worry about me haha” (*cough* the underlying thoughts: ‘please don’t take this moment of vulnerability & use it to hurt me or abuse me or use me in some way’, ‘please don’t ask, it’s unsafe to be vulnerable, I always get hurt if I admit I’m not okay’, ‘it could be worse’, &/or ‘please don’t waste your time/energy worrying over me, I don’t wanna burden you, I’m insignificant/worthless anyway’ (all thoughts we’ve actually had)), (2) they decide to trust you & dumb so much heavy sh!t at once you can’t process it (‘I tried to k!ll myself an hour ago, my sister is sick, my mom be*t me this morning, I didn’t sleep last night’), &/or (3) they tell you but laugh it off/diminish it (psst, so you won’t or it hurts less if you do) (‘mom made me take care of my sibling instead of hanging out with my friends and I didn’t sleep last night and my dad told me to k!ll myself in an argument but haha I’m sure he didn’t mean that and we all say things we don’t mean when we’re angry ¿right?, and my parents are super busy anyway and yea I basically raise my sibling but all older siblings do that ¿right? and I’m fine’). Those ones.

I’m saying this because I was one of them, since I was five years old and the first adult told me their husband was abusive and I tried to tell them to “please get away, that’s not good”. I got praised for being “mature enough to handle” this, but in reality it made me emotionally repressed and confused and I felt like if I couldn’t help someone (who likely had a problem I had no business trying to solve at that age) then I was a worthless/useless burden & had no right being alive.

Also, the “Parent Friend™”, your Mom Friend™ or Dad Friend™ or enby parent friend? Yea they were also probably abused &/or neglected.

They were at least parentified (made to be their parents’ &/or siblings’ parent from a young age), & while they may appear to be “a natural” at this, it means someone forced them to be a caretaker & nurturing, mature adult //long// before they should’ve been. When they should’ve been learning to be a person, they were taught to be an “Adult™”/Mature™ doormat for anyone who needed a parental figure, including their (adult) parents. (Some of us heal from this & maintain being a parent friend in a healthy way, but it still likely stems from childhood.)

What are the consequences of this? I didn’t know how to make a decision for myself, at least not healthily. I was always focused on how everyone else will be affected by my choices, & how ’if that choice in any way harms another person or prioritizes myself then I’m a monster who deserves to d!e’. ‘If I don’t make sure everyone around me is safe, even if I can’t relax for a second, then I’m useless.’ It again prioritizes other people and leaves me unable to take care of myself. I constantly neglected self care & I’m very slowly struggling through trying to teach myself how self care even works & how it’s not evil to take care of my own body & mind first so I have a cup to pour from in the first place.

& lastly, the “Happy Friend™”. The one who’s //always// down for anything, full of energy, ready to go, smiling, “no no no, you decide!”, & seems like nothing is wrong.

I don’t mean that there aren’t excitable ADHDers (I’m one of those) who are fine. I don’t mean the people who smile easily. I mean the one who doesn’t stop, who gets hit & smiles at you a second later, who laughs it off when someone does that “x has a crush on you! kidding haha” (y’know, implied it’s gross & embarrassing to find you pretty/handsome), who is //never// bothered even when alone with you. The one who never, ever shows they’re not okay.

Everyone thinks this kid is Mature™, Carefree™. I even got hit with “I don’t know how you’re so bubbly all the time” & “you’re just never brought down by anything! 🙂” as if that was a compliment.

But the reality is, that kid gets punished for not seeming happy. They learned it’s only gonna lead to abuse to seem not okay, or even d*ath. Because they get called ungrateful and stupid and evil and all kinds of nasty things for not faking it, they learn to fake it.

So pay attention. Please.

I was drowning (/met). I was terrified. I was using fawn response to not d!e.

Don’t assume those kids are okay. It’s not just those crying for help, it’s also the ones who hide it when they’re dy!ng.

~Nico

#trauma #childhood trauma #abuse #child abuse #tw abuse #neglect #child neglect #silent suffering #~Nico

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holy-stevie · 4 years

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His Little Girl

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Daughter Reader

Summary: After a fight at school Ransom and Y/n get into a nasty argument.

Warnings: swearing, bullying, anxiety and panic attacks, arguing, bad writing

a/n: i have a few fics that have been requested and i promise i’m working on them i just haven’t been in the right mental space to follow a planned fic right now.

Masterlist

Please do not repost my work anywhere else!

Ransom Drysdale was a lot of things. Playboy, Trust-fund brat, Clever, Wicked, Heartless, Black sheep, Grandson, Cousin, Nephew, Son. He never thought that he would ever add Father to that list. He never anticipated that one quick fuck without protection when he was seventeen would result in him becoming the sole caretaker over a tiny little girl, his tiny little girl.

“Y/n are you paying attention?” A voice startles you out of your little daydream you had found yourself in. Your math teacher stands at the front of the room with her arms crossed, a sour look on her face as she watches you snap up and give a small smile.

“Yes ma’am.” You mumble, clenching your hands as you feel the stares of all your classmates on you, the situation not helping your already overwhelming anxiety. The teacher huffs before turning back to the chalkboard, making you sag into your seat with harsh breaths when you hear a few snickers around you. Breathe, in and out, hold it together.

When the lunch bell goes off, you’re the first out the door. Rushing through the hallways to your locker and then outside to the spot you feel safest in, a single dying tree at the edge of the big schoolyard. Sitting below the tree with a sharp breath you close your eyes to centre yourself, going through all the breathing exercises your therapist gave to you for the bad days.

You’re coming down from the small anxiety attack when you hear them approach, the playful laughs and taunting whistles making your chest freeze up again. You had never really had friends at school. In your younger years’ parents would pull their children away from you because of your last name, That’s Ransom Drysdale’s daughter, they’d whisper to each other every day you exited the car. When you reached high school they just simply hated you because you were Ransom Drysdale’s daughter, your fathers shadow clouding over you.

“Well if it isn’t the little rich girl, crying over your hair again?” The snarky blonde at the head of the group mocks as she kicks the bottom of your foot, earning snickers from the four other girls crowding around you. Macy was her name, she was the richest girl in the school, besides you of course, and her mean girl show was what made her pray on you every day.

“G-Go away Macy.” You stutter out, your chest was aching from the lack of air, the panic swirling in your mind dangerously.

“Aw she’s going to cry. Why don’t you call your daddy to come s-save you?” She mocks you, rubbing her eyes like she was crying and laughing in your face. You feel the flame of anger rise through you and before you can stop yourself you kick a leg out from under her and quickly jump on top of her, delivering two solid punches before you’re ripped off of her by a nearby teacher.

“Miss Drysdale to the principle right now!” The teacher barks in your face, dragging you away from a now crying Macy. You don’t even try to hide the little grin on your face, satisfied for a whole two minutes before you’re told to sit on the plastic seat outside the office while they call your father.

You groan and bury your face into your hands that are propped up by your elbows planted on your thighs, your fingers tangling in your black hair as you get a hold of yourself.

You cringe as you hear the sharp clicks of heels walking down the hallway towards you, you lift your eyes to confirm your fears. Your father walks powerfully down the locker clad hallway, his expensive scarf draped over a cream sweater, his usual brown coat and pressed slacks that ooze money. That’s not what bothers you, though his angry expression is going to cause another panic attack later, no it’s the busty blonde that walks besides him in a barely there red dress and black coat. She was his newest girlfriend, an accountant or something like that, that thought she was your new mother.

“Mr. Drysdale, this way please.” The old bald man says from the doorway, not even acknowledging you. Your father tells (Veronica? Vivian?? You couldn’t remember her name) to wait with you and closes the door behind him. The blonde sits next to you awkwardly and tries to talk to you, but you aren’t listening to her, instead closing your eyes and gripping your hair tighter until it starts to sting lightly.

Five minutes later when your father emerges from the office he doesn’t say anything, grabbing your arm and yanking you up to your feet and dragging you to the car roughly, his girlfriend walking behind the two of you trying to get his attention. He almost throws you into the car when he opens the backdoor, slamming it shut after all of your limbs are inside the car.

Ransom doesn’t say anything as he pulls up to his girlfriend’s house, seriously what the hell was her name, just stopping the car and waiting until she gets the hint and gets out of the car. The ride home is silent and tense as you dig your nails into your hands at the anger you know was waiting for you at the place you called home.

He doesn’t wait for you when he pulls up the house, immediately going inside and grabbing a glass of the oh so desirable brown liquid. You however wait in the car for a few minutes to gather yourself before going inside, standing patiently in the doorway to living room as you watch your father down the glass in a single mouthful.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He yells, not even trying to calmly talk this out. You swallow heavily as you try to find your voice through the lump in the back of your throat.

“I was-” You’re immediately cut off as he whirls around to face you and holds up a dismissive hand.

“I’m not done. You think you can just walk around being a brat? Ruining my date because I had to come deal with you ONCE AGAIN.” His voice booms through the house, tears rising in your eyes at his anger. The cloud of disappointment overwhelming you, a constant let down to the only person in your life.

“Dad I-” Your throat once again closing up and causing panic to spread through you like a wildfire, but he doesn’t notice. He never notices.

“God can’t you be fucking normal for once in your life!” He shouts again, glaring at you. You feel the tears that were held tightly in the corners of your eyes drip down your cheeks, that same flame of anger raging through you again as you connect your eyes to his identical ones.

“I’m sorry I’m not normal, that I can’t go five minutes without getting lost in my head. I’m sorry that I cause you so much fucking trouble, that I can’t even make a single fucking friend in that shitty school. I’m sorry that I am and will never ever be enough for the great Ransom Drysdale! I’m fucking sorry that my existence is such a burden to you.” You don’t wait around for a response from him, instead bolting up the stairs to calm yourself down in the safety of your room.

The house is quiet for the rest of the afternoon, the faint sound of the tv downstairs waking you up from your nap. Groaning in disgust at the stickiness of your face you have a quick shower, padding downstairs barefoot half an hour later in one of your dads’ old sweaters and a pair of comfy pj pants.

You don’t say anything as you approach the living room doorway, your dad is sitting on the couch with a blanket draped over his strong form. He doesn’t say anything either as he lifts one arm, inviting you to snuggle into his warm side. You smile sadly before taking the offer, curling into his side as you lean your head on his shoulder when he wraps his arm around you lightly.

“You’re not a burden.” He says, not looking away from the tv. You sigh as you close your eyes trying to push away the screaming thoughts.

“The day I first held you I cried, like embarrassingly hard.” You giggle a little bit at his confession before he continues.

“I couldn’t believe I made something so perfect, something so wholeheartedly mine. I knew things would be difficult, I mean I was seventeen for heaven’s sake, but I also knew that none of that mattered because you were mine.” He looks down at you with a small smile, that type of smile that was rare to see from him, and cups your soft cheek in his big hand.

“I knew from that day that I would try my hardest to be a good dad, to be the dad you deserved. Today I didn’t listen to you, I didn’t ask for your version of the story and immediately placed all the blame on you. Today I failed as your father and I’m so sorry y/n.” He chokes up a bit on your name, making you frown and pull back to look up at him.

“Dad it wasn’t your fault, I know it wasn’t. I was just angry, a-and you were angry, and we aren’t really good at communicating.” You frown at the last part making him chuckle lightly, his hand coming up to soothe away the frown in your brow. He sighs and shoots you an apologetic look, the guilt eating away at both of you for hurting each other.

“I’m still so sorry baby girl.” He mumbles, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. He raises an eyebrow in confusion though when he sees the mischievous smile on your face.

“I know how you can make it up to me.” He narrows his eyes at you, looking way too innocent.

“And how is that?” He asks warily, amused at the little grin that lights up your whole face.

“Buy McDonald’s for dinner.” He groans at your request, making you giggle.

“That stuff is so bad for you y/n.” He complains but gives in when you pout at him.

“Fine.” He says with a roll of his eyes, laughing himself when you get up from the couch and cheer, the child like glee making his attitude completely melt away.

Taglist: @scarletsoldierrr @chrisevans-imagines @patzammit @onetwo3000 @yoncevans @harrysthiccthighss

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom thrombey x reader #dad!ransom #daughter!reader #chris evans #angst #anxiety

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morosoro · 3 years

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Reuben

Chapter 20

Summary: Reubens happy little Valentine’s Day bubble pops the moment he gets home.

Ao3 link here

He came home after school to find two visibly upset Scottish women taking tea on the sofa as his boy crawled about on the floor playing with a stuffed rabbit toy. Playing was a generous term, actually, Neal was more so just dragging it around and giggling as it moved each time his hand did. Quality entertainment for a baby, Reuben was sure.

He avoided the scowls from the older women as he crouched down to play with his son, gently taking the rabbit and making it wave to him. The babe giggled at that too. Oh what simpler times, when your happiness would depend on whether something moved or not. Reuben longed to be in the child’s place as Glynis cleared her throat.

“The Hatters called us yesterday.” She supplied.

Reuben huffed a sigh. He was getting tired of people asking about Jefferson. He’d had to answer several people today when asked, and not once had it been met with the aloofness he thought it deserved, Yes, they had a fight! It didn’t seem like a very big deal to him! “Yeah? What about it?” He asked.

“Mrs. Hatter informed me that Jefferson are no longer friends? That you told him to stop acting like himself? Now she didn’t explain precisely what happened, I get the impression she doesn’t know her son as well as she should, but Edith and I got the gist of it. And we are immensely disappointed. We thought we raised you differently.” The women told him, jaw set firm and spine rigid in her discontent.

“What? In the two months I’ve been here? Yes, a lot of raising done on your part.” He replied sardonically.

“You say that as if we weren’t pivotal caretakers of you since birth. You know full well we brought you up just as much if not more than your parents did. Now I suggest you start explaining yourself.”

“We had a disagreement. So what? It’s hardly the end of the world!” He was instantly in a sour mood as soon as this conversation had begun. He was so done having to explain himself to people who refused to understand. Even Belle had been upset with him when he told her what had happened in full. She’d told him he was in the wrong and that should apologize. He had thought out of all people she would’ve understood where he’d been coming from. Now his Aunts seemed to be antagonizing him too?! How come nobody could just give him the benefit of the doubt or see his side?!

“It was more than a disagreement and you damn well know it.”

It’s not like he’d really meant anything he said anyways. He just didn’t like the implications Jefferson’s words had set on the table. Jefferson needed to be taught a lesson, that’s all.

“Okay so I got tired of the jokes. I’m sorry that I don’t want people thinking I’m a bloody buftie who's shagging a dude behind his girlfriend's back.” He sneered, fed up of the conversation already. “I’m sorry for setting some god damn boundaries. In all honesty I think that if he were really my friend and not just hopeful he could ‘turn me queer’ or whatever then he would respect said boundaries.”

Edith gasped at his language, still remaining silent. Glynis’s glare only hardened. “You sound an awful lot like yer father saying words like that.” She said coldly.

His head whipped over to look her in the eye, bewildered rage taking root. How could she say that?! “You take that back!”

Glynis stared right back at him. “Or what? You’ll call us auld hags? Stomp around and break things?” After a beat of silence where he said nothing in preference of continuing to fiddle with his son’s stuffed toy, the woman continued. “Oh? Ignore us then? Your father liked to do that too.”

He stood to his full height quickly, discarding the rabbit as he went. He gestured sharply as he shouted. “Shut the hell up! I’m nothing like him!”

His son started to cry, obviously startled by the loud volume. He froze, staring down at the scared little boy in alarm. Oh no… what had he done? Had he hurt him- he didn’t think he did… but then again he had tossed away the toy pretty carelessly. Had it hit him? No! The idea made him sick.

Could he really be turning into a copy of his father? Was this proof?

Before he could think to reach for his son to try to comfort him, the boy was picked up by Glynis instead. “I wouldn’t be so sure, the lines seemed quite blurred lately.” She hissed in response.

“Glynis- please!” Edith pleaded, her expression softer but still troubled. “Give the lad break? He’s been through a lot lately.”

“That’s no excuse for bigotry and slurs! Did you not hear him, Edith? ‘Buftie’, ‘Queer’? Doesn’t that upset you?” The other woman asked, sounding incredulous.

“Well, yes…” Edith agreed before pausing to sigh lengthily. “But I’m also aware that he’s in a very tough spot. He’s still only a boy, see… He’s bound to have bad days and ugly moments. We all are, Love.” The other said, calm but firm. “ Besides, shouting at him and making him feel like shite won’t get us anywhere productive...”

Still holding the sniffling child, and with her jaw still set Glynis also sighed heavily through her nose. She seemed to calm slightly before deciding “Fine then, you deal with him. I’ll be taking Neal for a stroll down the paths. I suppose I could use some air.”

Edith nodded. “I think that’s best, dear. Thank you.” She then looked at her still visibly angry and hurting great-nephew. “Why don’t you go to yer room? Put on a tape, read a book… calm down some? I’ll come up and speak to you before dinner, Aye?”

Reuben, with clenched fists and hunched shoulders, let out a grumbled “Fine…” before hurrying his way upstairs.

—

He was only a couple chapters further into his copy of ‘Lord of The Rings’ (borrowed off of Moe, actually. The man had recommended it to him a couple of weeks ago) and the chorus to Genesis’ ‘Land of Confusion’ was playing when there was a knock on his bedroom door.

Sighing, he paused his cassette, marked his place in the book and called for the person to come in. To no surprise, Edith entered, and she had brought more tea for the both of them.

She sat herself on the foot of his bed and offered him the mug, he accepted it and took a sip. They sat in silence for a moment before she finally decided to speak. “You know lad, it doesn’t matter how upset you are, it’s never okay to be disrespectful.”

He stayed quiet, only grunting over the rim of his mug in response. She continued. “But we’re not going to talk about earlier today. Glynis and I are older than dirt, we’ve heard it all. We can take it. I want to talk about what happened with Jefferson.”

“We had an argument. What more is there to talk about?” He responded lowly.

“Why?” She asked. “Why were you arguing with him?”

“Because I was sick of the gay jokes.” He answered. “The ones that implied… stuff. I’m no feckin’ fag and he can’t bloody turn me into one!”

The woman let out a hissing sound, as if she had be burned. “See, what we’re not going to do is use terms like that.” She told him, stern voice in place. “Like Glinnie and I have both said, upset is no reason for disrespect.”

The teen was once again quiet as he sipped his tea again. The woman moved ahead in the conversation. “A person cannot ‘turn’ gay or straight. They either like the same sex or they do not. And it is not a bad thing to be that way.” She explained.

“Sure, okay… whatever.” He replied. “It still doesn’t fucking matter. He crossed a line and it made me uncomfortable so I told him to knock it off. That’s it. I don’t see why everyone’s making such a big deal out of it!”

“Because you hurt his feelings. And I think you knew what you said would hurt his feelings. That’s not okay, Reuben. You need to understand that.”

“I get it!” He barked. “I was just upset, okay? I lashed out. It happens…”

“Then it sounds like you need to work on controlling yourself. Maybe start by thinking things over before you say anything, like why Jefferson’s jokes upset you so much in the first place.” And with that she got up to leave again, throwing a casual “Dinner will be ready in an hour.” Over her shoulder as she went.

After the door shut behind her and he was by himself again he let out a frustrated growl. After setting down his tea, he drew his knees to his chest and raked his hands through his hair frustratedly, head hanging low. Why was he like this? Why was his anger like a light-switch? This was definitely something to bring up with his therapist next time.

He sighed then as he made a small connection in his head. Dr. Hopper had told him last time that he ought to take time for himself to think and figure things out and work on ‘self-improvement’. Edith had just told him to do pretty much the same thing. He glanced to his nightstand where the crinkled pamphlet-turned-coaster sat, and after a moment’s consideration, he reached for it, taking it out from under his mug. He turned to the second page.

‘Ask yourself ‘Why?’. Contemplate response. Consider your reasonings. Repeat.’

Why did Jefferson’s Joke upset you?

“Because it made me uncomfortable.” He mumbled.

Why did it make you uncomfortable?

“Because… I could picture it?”

Picture what?

‘I’m straight!’

‘So is spaghetti until you get it hot and steamy.’

‘Hot and steamy’

Hot and steamy...

“Fuck!” He growled out, tossing the pamphlet away. “This is bloody stupid! I’m not getting anywhere!” He told himself as he rubbed at his eyes, trying to will the unwanted images away. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with him today?! He hated it. He hated himself.

It was hard to believe today had started out so lovely, with his girlfriend in his arms and a promise ring in question.

“I need a nap.” He decided. “A long one.”

———

Doctor Hopper was a strange individual. The kind of man that made Reuben wonder how his son Archie had become… well… Archie. Guys like Archie tended to have strict, straight-edge, academics-obsessed fathers. The type with the big glasses and button-down shirts that they tucked so neatly into their khakis. They were a vision of who their sons would become, but not Doctor Hopper.

No, Doctor Hopper was more laid back. Yes, he wore khakis and button downs but in a much more sloppy-casual sense. His hair was long and he wore a cowboy hat atop his head. He didn’t tip-toe with his words, he just spoke freely from his thoughts (and his degree, hopefully). He was also just odd enough for Reuben to believe he’d likely had a few run-ins with the law in the past. Yes, Reuben could definitely see this man scamming people of their money, or being picked up off the street where he lay a drunk… or something… fool. And yet this man was somehow his therapist and he was supposed to trust him and his advice. It was certainly a peculiar situation.

They currently sat opposite each other, Reuben on a large leather sofa, and Dr. Hopper laid back in the matching armchair. The latter was having a cigarette as he listened to his patient’s concerns.

He puffed out a measured stream of smoke before speaking. “So, basically, you’ve been acting like a cunt to your friends and family and you don’t know why?”

“Uh…” Reuben shrugged his shoulders awkwardly. “Yeah?”

“You just freak out when you feel targeted? As in you just suddenly feel like you have to defend yourself… but really all you're doing is spewing shit?” At the teens nod the therapist took another puff, answering with his exhale “Sounds like anger issues to me, kid. Probably got it from the alcoholic disgrace you call a dad.”

Reuben huffed a worried sigh. “So what? You think I’m going to wind up like him?”

“Nah, unlikely.” The man responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You both have issues and bad trauma, but yours is just…” he mimicked the sound of an explosion. “Different. That stuff really shapes a person. You’ll be fine… or well… as fine as someone like you could be.”

Someone like him? He wondered what that implied. He didn’t want to ask. Instead he focused on the positive. “You think so?”

“Yeah, kid. As long as you keep trying to get better, hell yeah! Anger issues? No problem kid. We can manage that with just a bit of work.” The adult said before taking another draw.

Curious, Reuben asked him “What kind of work?”

“Thinking. Self-help work, kid. You know about it, it was in the pamphlet. First off, why do you think you were acting like a cunt in the first place?”

Running his hands through his hair, Reuben groaned. He should’ve known. “Because my friend was making jokes that I didn’t like. They made me uncomfortable.”

“Okay, but why?” The man prompted him to expand on it.

“Because they were implying something that I didn’t want to be implied.”

“So it’s something you’re insecure about then?”

That gave Reuben a moment’s pause. Was he insecure about his sexuality? “.... no?” At least he didn’t think so.

“You don’t sound sure about that.”

Fuck.

He huffed, frustration growing. “What do you mean? I’m definitely secure about it!” He snapped.

“Whoa man-“ the therapist warned. “Don’t go acting like a cunt on me now. I’m just trying to help you figure this out.”

The teen pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated with himself more than anything. “I know… I’m sorry. I just don’t know why it upset me.”

“Then you just gotta think a little deeper about it sometime. But don’t try to rush it. Take your time to figure you out, Y’know?”

“I-I guess?” They were quiet for a moment before he asked “What do you think the reason was?”

“Hey, I can’t really say for sure, I’m not in your head. But to me it just sounds like the jokes just hit too close to home. He hit a nerve, something you're insecure about and don’t want to address. Whatever it is, you should probably address it before you try to apologize to this guy. You do want your apology to be as genuine as possible, right?”

Confused and practically in a stunned silence, he realized the implication his therapist had just made. He only swallowed thickly and nodded, squeaking out a broken sounded “Yeah, right.”

#ouat #once upon a time #fanfic #rumbelle #Rumplestiltskin #high school au #80’s au #this is my ventfic

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itsjasperblue · 5 years

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Tips from my Top Surgery Recovery

I am almost 3 weeks post op double incision with Dr. Mangubat in Seattle now and here are some things I learned that weren’t necessarily on other lists I read on the internet prior to my surgery.

- Be vocal about how you’re feeling. Tell the nurse, your caretaker, your surgeon, etc., how you’re feeling if only for peace of mind. I was EXTREMELY shaking coming out of the anesthesia and felt really nauseous. I made sure they knew, and I was taken care of. As someone who has a hard time advocating for themselves, this was important.

- For the love of all things good REST. Even if you think you are feeling better take an extra nap. Surgery is HUGE and your body needs to focus on recovering. I did not do this and it definitely delayed my recovery.

- Be on top of it with the pain meds, but also be mindful of how you feel. The drains were the worst part and like 90% of the pain for me. Once I got them out I was able to stop using the opioid pain meds and just use good old ibuprofen. The Percocet made me super nauseous and sleepy so I was glad to get off them.

- Benadryl will help with itching because those incision sites are gonna itch like a new tattoo. No one told me this, I wasn’t prepared. BUT Benadryl will also knock you out. You need the sleep but just make sure you’re not taking it and going to work (if you work a desk job) cause you will be sleepy.

- Eat a bunch of pineapple prior to and after the surgery to help prevent bruising. I was very on top of this and ended up with extremely little bruising. Also just eat a balanced diet in general, but ESPECIALLY around the surgery. ALSO Hydration!! With straws! I had a reusable $3 cold cup from Starbucks that I used that worked well. The straw is just straight but it doesn’t spill so I didn’t mind not having a bendy straw.

- You have to stop drinking and smoking about a month prior to surgery. Please do this. It’ll help your body heal better and give the nipple grafts a better chance at taking.

- Post op depression is REAL. I cried so much in the first week after my surgery just from being overwhelmed. I wrote myself a letter prior to surgery to read when I got down, I had a support system of friends and my therapist, and I watched a BUNCH of TV and played lots of video games. Most importantly though was I tried to just let myself feel what I was feeling. Holding it in isn’t going to make you feel better, especially when you’re already feeling pretty down. Know that you’re gonna heal, you’re gonna get through it, and you did not make a mistake.

- SO. MANY. PILLOWS. You have to sleep propped up and on your back for what seems like forever, especially if you’re not a back sleeper, so just use like all the pillows in your place and go buy some more. Make a pillow nest. Sink into it. Get comfy.

- You’re not gonna sleep through the night for the first night or two. It’s ok. It took me two days to be able to sleep for a good 6-7 hour stretch. At first I could only sleep in 15 minute increments. Your body will adjust back to normal. Just try to relax and sleep as often as you can. When you can’t watch some Netflix.

- A lot of tips will tell you you may be constipated after surgery. I wasn’t but definitely be prepared for that. However, I did have a slightly hard time peeing after the anesthesia, which I was informed is normal. It was like I had to extra focus on relaxing the muscles down there. This also went away as the anesthesia made its way out of my system.

- Even though you want this, when you get to see your new chest regularly it’s gonna take some mental processing. At first I cried from happiness, but then it started looking alien to me. Part of that is because it’s gonna be bruised and bloody and scabby for a long time, but also because I was so used to seeing something else and just like that my chest is flat now and it took some time for my brain to catch up. Be gentle with yourself and give yourself the time to process it. It’s good, it’s weird, and it’s ok.

Overall, just relax and let your body focus on healing. Ask for help. Take extra naps. Eat good food. Rest. I initially took 2 weeks off of work but asked my boss for a third and I am so glad I did.

#top surgery #ftm #trans #trans boy #gcs #grs #transmasc #transgender #ftx #nonbinary #transnonbinary #surgery

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pluralismajestatis · 3 years

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Having several thoughts at once.

1. Visited my friend in a different town for a couple nights. I'm not sure how understanding she is about my... situation, and since everything is so very new to me, too, I don't feel confident explaining to her in full proper what it means for me to be a system. I mean,

2. what if it does turn out that I'm just making this up? I don't know how I could be just making this up - I believe it was J who was explaining to me that whether or not this is made up or dissociative or what, it's still really happening, and that makes it real, and therefore I'm not making it up. But what if I am?

3. I have therapy tomorrow, and I'm so scared the therapist will out me as a faker. Like, pull a 180 and just tell me it's all in my head. I know this is the previous time I brought my system up in a mental health setting coming back to haunt me, but I'm so scared I'll be called a faker, that I'll be told that I'm crazy and delusional again. Even though she explicitly told me she can't tell me it isn't happening because clearly it is happening to me, and therefore

2. J is right. It shouldn't matter what it is, it's real. So even if I'm making it up it's - oh my god. But I wouldn't make this up. How do you make up something so hard that your mind splits into pieces? You want to be broken so bad that you just spontaneously give brainbirth to several new individuals? It's not like they weren't here before I called them a system. They've always been here. But I just feel like I'm connecting dots that nobody else sees, and since I didn't see them before either, they must not be real.

2.5, M: How many times do you want to go through this? We. Are. Real. We are real. We are real!! You're hearing us right now! No matter how much you twist it or bend it or put it backwards or upside down, it's still the same in the end. We're here and just. It's tough. Suck it up.

2.5, K: You know it's bad when the caretaker loses his shit with you.

1. Anyway, it was tough pretending to be a singlet again. It wasn't... "safe" to be plural, so it was me and me alone again, and since we didn't have proper means of communication and I'm not done figuring out how to do communications internally so that it doesn't interfere with whatever's happening on the outside, everyone had to stay back while I fronted 100%. And god, these guys just - you never have anything to say when it's all quiet and there's nothing but time, but the second I lock the doors it's like all hell breaks loose and everyone needs to say something. I get it, I don't want to be gagged either. The second we got out of there and into solitude, it was nonstop talk from everybody. It was so good to connect with them again. I need to find proper means of internal communication so we don't have to lock up to look "normal".

Besides, I don't look normal anyway. I kept slipping up with pronouns. It's "we think" when it's something we've talked about and have an opinion on. But then I have to say "I think" as if they never existed, and this conversation was never had to begin with, because I'm playing the singlet role. It's awful. It's horrible, trying to watch your own language so you don't sound weird.

This is why my url is pluralis majestatis. I keep referring to myself with the royal we. We who? Me. I meant me. Nothing to see here. This is normal.

I have a lot of shame about this. A lot of fear about looking weird, a lot of weight from the stigma. And yeah, I'm making this up, too. Tomorrow can't pass fast enough so I know what the therapist will actually say to me.

#J: none of this makes any sense.#K: shut up.#k post #dissociative identity disorder #plurality #life update

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peshcel · 4 years

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Riddle Me This: A Tom Riddle Character Study

[Also posted on Reddit, if you want to comment/share your thoughts!]

Riddle Me This: A Tom Riddle Character Study

*Warnings: some profanity, spoilers, and puns.

‘Twas but a regular Saturday eve when a question of utmost importance grabbed hold of me: ‘Voldemort, why such a You-Know-What?’

You see, while Voldemort appears to be a very classic villain, Tom has proven to be an enigma wrapped in a Riddle (hehe). So, equipped with what I remembered from my BSc in Social Psychology, I also called upon my therapist friend with an MSc in Forensic Psychology to explore what would drive someone like Tom Riddle to become Lord Voldemort.

In this gone-awry Reddit comment, I will drag you along for a deep dive into how our little Dark Lord grew up and discuss concepts like power, control, sense of self, and terror management – all up to the point where Tom Marvolo Riddle introduces his clever anagram ‘Immortal Love Rodd’ ‘I am Lord Voldemort.’

Join me on this character study journey of about 5,500 words (15-30 min) where I try to figure out how Voldemort came to be.

Oh, and be sure to share your thoughts at the end of the ride!

Baby Lord Voldemort: A Pensive Pensieve Trip

“Voldemort is my past, present, and future.”

Long before we found out Snake-face Voldemort had barely a soul left, we thought he was the purest form of evil out there. He had done despicable things before his supposed death and had now resurfaced as a gross face on the back of someone’s head, hell-bent on killing this little kid. As we gradually learned, Voldemort was once Tom Riddle: a charming, brilliant, orphaned Wizard with the potential to go on and do great things. But, we also learned many little tidbits about the circumstances before his birth, about how he grew up and how he portrayed himself at Hogwarts, which has given us just enough to come up with our own theories about his personality and how he was shaped.

So, before we continue, let me quickly arm you with some abnormal psych. terminology. Both Riddle and Voldemort really match the three personality traits of (malignant) narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy, aptly known as ‘The Dark Triad’.

Plucked straight from the Wiki, summarized for your convenience:

Narcissism

is characterized by grandiosity, pride, egotism, and a lack of empathy.

Malignant narcissism

is when narcissism is combined with antisocial behaviors; the evil side of narcissism. (I stumbled upon

A Study in Evil: Voldemort, the Malignant Narcissist

after writing all of this, but I highly recommend giving it a read if you want a deep dive.)

Machiavellianism

is characterized by manipulation and exploitation of others, an absence of morality, unemotional callousness, and a higher level of self-interest.

Psychopathy

is characterized by continuous antisocial behavior, impulsivity, selfishness, callous and unemotional traits (CU), and remorselessness. (Better distinguished as ‘primary psychopathy’.)

*Sidenote: the term ‘sociopath’ is quite often used in pop culture, sometimes even interchangeably with ‘psychopath’. The actual diagnostic term is ‘antisocial personality disorder’, as described by the DSM-5. However, there is a difference between sociopathy and psychopathy, a whole slew of them actually. Important to note is that a ‘sociopath’ refers to a person with antisocial tendencies that are ascribed to social or environmental factors, whereas psychopathic traits are thought to be more innate, i.e. genetic causes (x).

We are given facts in the book that suggest psychopathic, antisocial, and (malignant) narcissistic traits are evident in Tom Riddle from early childhood. Using all that information, I want to take you on a ride to see how all these tidbits together shaped Tom Riddle and how that would lead him to become Lord Voldemort (not to be confused with ‘going Full Voldemort’).

The Interplay of Nature and Nurture, and Magic

Psychopathy is believed to be a complex interworking of mostly nature but also nurture, let’s unpack this in regards to Riddle.

Tom Riddle is born to a Pure-blood mother, Merope Gaunt, and a Muggle father, Tom Riddle Sr. When we are first introduced to the Gaunts, Salazar Slytherin’s last descendants, we meet a violent father and son, and a daughter who takes the brunt of it. We are told that the entire Gaunt line has a history of inbreeding and that they are known to produce individuals with violent and unstable personalities. They live in dire conditions but are incredibly proud people and sneer at the mere existence of Muggles. Merope grows up poor and abused, traumatized, ridiculed for her lack of magic that seems to be more the result of the abuse than the cause for it. Not far from their shack in Little Hangleton lives Tom Riddle Sr.: rich, handsome, somewhat of a prat, and the object of Merope’s affections. Being no great beauty and with little to offer, she “hoodwinks” Tom Riddle Sr. and escapes her dreadful life with her family. Merope is soon with child after their marriage and decides to release Tom Riddle Sr. of whatever spell he’s under, but he leaves her immediately.

Let’s consider the circumstances surrounding the conception of Tom Riddle. J.K. Rowling said that Voldemort could not understand love as he was conceived in a ‘loveless union’. However, she also stated that had Merope decided to live and raise Tom, his life would’ve turned out differently by knowing ‘love’. We could understand the tidbits shared by J.K. to mean that a child born into a loveless union would perhaps grow up in a loveless household, would have no good examples of what love is and would not know or be shown love. While Dumbledore hints that he suspects Merope used a Love Potion to “hoodwink” Tom Riddle Sr., we only know that magic was used. I always understood said ‘loveless union’ to be a magical violation – violation in every sense of the word – and that Tom’s incapability to love was due to magic that tried to correct a balance, i.e. the Laws of Magic™ were violated. Now, I’m no Magical Theorist, but this could mean that actual Magic™ is at play in addition to a genetic predisposition to explain Tom’s psychopathic traits.

Apart from these genetic and magical factors, we could also consider the environmental factors that influenced the biological development of Tom. Merope was left destitute and depressed when Riddle Sr. abandoned her while pregnant. In the dead of winter, with a lot of stressors and suppressed magic, she gave birth to Tom at the orphanage and then died. While we don’t know how her pregnancy developed, this being all guesswork, the prenatal stressors and perhaps a complicated birth due to her suppressed magic could have influenced Tom’s brain development. Brain development or deviating brain structures are linked to psychopathy (x). Simply said, the parts of the brain responsible for empathy and guilt or fear and anxiety don’t work the same for psychopaths, e.g. they don’t experience fear or other affects the way others might. In a psychopathic child, for example, this could mean that they would be hard to socialize because they don’t fear punishment even though they might know that it is a consequence of their behavior. It’s also what makes them great liars (psychopaths can ace a lie detector test like no other). It can also mean being more prone to boredom and seeking thrills as a result (low arousal theory). We could even view all of this in light of ‘Magic™ development’ instead of the Muggle term ‘brain development’.

In addition to taking into account these hereditary, biological and prenatal factors, we'd be remiss not to look at the effect of nurture. Now, we don’t actually know that much about Tom’s early childhood except for what we learn during Dumbledore’s visit to Wool’s Orphanage in 1938. We find out that Tom steals from people, has no qualms about hurting animals, scares and bullies other children, and is a consummate liar ‒ all while having/showing no remorse. Mrs. Cole, the matron of the orphanage, refers to Tom as being a funny boy and odd, that he was a “funny baby, too” and “hardly ever cried”. It is conceivable that the caretakers gave him less attention in response to his lack of showing his needs through crying and that he was picked up and held less often. It could also be a chicken-or-egg situation: perhaps he didn’t cry because he learned his cries would not be responded to, etc. Even if we leave magic out of the equation as to why they would find him ‘funny’, it is likely that he showed general ‘abnormal’ responses and behaviors not appropriate for his developmental stage that were unsettling to others. It is easy to assume that this would lead to people distancing themselves from him and alienating him further. Regardless of cause-effect, there are clear signs here that Tom grows up maladjusted and that his attachment style falls somewhere along the dismissive-avoidant. I think we can assume that the lack of developing a relationship with at least one primary caregiver would really put a damper on having any semblance of a ‘normal’ social and emotional development.

There seems to be a clear interplay here of genetic, biological (magical) and environmental factors as the perfect foundation for dysfunctional personality traits to really come to fruition.

Power & Control: A Narcissistic Trip

“There is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.”

Strap in as we first take a little detour for a quick exploration of narcissism. As previously stated, we clearly see signs of malignant narcissism in young Tom, characterized by grandiosity, pride, egotism, and a lack of empathy, combined with antisocial behaviors. What is particularly applicable in Tom’s case is Kohut’s theory of narcissism.

The Little Narcissist

In psychoanalytic theory, primary narcissism in children is part of their development.

It is normal for children to develop self-love and object-love, as Kohut puts it. Entertaining notions of greatness, magical thinking, feeling omnipotent and omniscient and believing to have a certain immunity to the consequences of their actions is all part of this development. It is quite innocent, but it can become pathological. According to Kohut, children are normally gently disillusioned of these grand notions, in a nontraumatic manner, by maturing and becoming part of society. Pathological narcissism, however, develops when the child basically has defective narcissistic structures of the self by having this process disrupted.

This defective structure fits Tom Riddle to a T. In addition, Kohut’s theory of object-love really applies here as well. According to Kohut, either a child has a ‘mother’ to confirm their grandiosity, or they seek an adult to create an ‘idealized parent image’. This means they will seek an adult, someone powerful they can look up to, so they can bask in their reflected glory. For Tom, having neither someone to confirm his grandiosity nor someone to look up to means he creates his own powerful parent. We notice this when Tom explicitly asks Dumbledore about his father being a Wizard, since his mother obviously could not have been; she wouldn’t have died if she was. One can imagine his (narcissistic) rage when this image was shattered later on. His five-year search for the Chamber of Secrets to confirm he’s the Heir of Slytherin is a direct result of Tom’s continued search for a sense of self.

The Narcissist’s Plight: Need for Control

One of our main human motivational processes is the desire for control. Actually, it is perceived control that really helps our general sense of well-being. This need exists and is deeply embedded in all of us. However, when people are tried and tested, feel threatened or powerless, a lack of agency can kickstart all kinds of coping mechanisms to maintain the sense of self. So, simply put: the less perceived control you have, the greater the need.

When we speak of power, we speak of control. If there is anyone who is desperate for control it’s the narcissist. The narcissist is believed to have such low self-esteem and fragile ego that it will, subconsciously, protect itself from being injured at all costs. Controlling your circumstances and those around you is a means of guarding and protecting the ego. Anything less just won’t do. A threat to that control, that power, is a perceived threat to the sense of self.

Power is a concept that really tickles Riddle/Voldemort’s Niffler as we pretty much learn from the get-go. Consider again, for a moment, where and how Tom grew up. His ability to control came from his magic. Seeing as how Tom grew up in an orphanage, not a penny to his name and very few resources, I think that Tom learned early on that everything could so easily be taken away from him ‒ by someone bigger, older, someone who had more power. While Tom could ‘control’ his circumstances to some degree with his magic, he was still a child. He seemed to have an innate understanding of his powerlessness, i.e. lack of control. Perhaps less helpless than other children, but still a child dependent on others. Not only that, but he was dependent on people he deemed lesser than him, less intelligent, less special. Something a narcissist like Tom would deeply resent. The thing here is that viewing others as beneath you or believing oneself to be superior to others is an ego defense to deal with insecurity, shame, rejection, etc. Tom develops this ego defense but also gets confirmation of his grandiosity through having magical power that actually does set him apart.

Rejection is another big theme in the life of a narcissist; one that Tom was very familiar with. He was unwanted and fully made aware of it: his mother ‘left’ him by dying, his father never came for him, he was not chosen for adoption, and there were many other children vying for attention. Attention that Tom did not receive but perhaps believed he was owed. Originating from a sense of entitlement, someone like Tom would come to view any sort of rejection as a slight (for he is smarter, better, etc.). While Tom might not have even wanted such attention or even had a particular need to belong – considering he didn’t view anyone as a peer/equal – the fact that it was not automatically given to him was probably construed as insulting.

Control Through Controlling Others

Mrs. Cole told Dumbledore that Tom scared the other children and that it was hard to catch him at any bullying or other malicious acts. With the ability to control his magic at such a young age, along with being highly intelligent, he was quick to figure out how to use this to his advantage. He could fly under the radar when needed, manipulate those in power, and use his skills to control others through fear ‒ ultimately to protect himself and what little he had, but also relishing how he could lord his power over others, establishing his superiority and showing them all how special he was. I believe that Tom honed the art of manipulation at a young age as he couldn’t fathom other ways of tying people to him, of forming relationships ‒ unless there was fear or a sense of owing. His magic gave him the additional tools to control those that didn’t have it.

Then, a defining moment: Tom meets Dumbledore. Using the same control tactics he has probably used with everyone around, Tom tries to command Dumble to do/say certain things. If you squint, you could even say that Tom was able to put a magical compulsion in his commands. Dumbledore, being who he is, is unmoved and even gently puts Tom in his place, which in Tom’s eyes would be considered a slight.

When Tom learns there is a word for his abilities, he is very eager to show off and be acknowledged for it by someone he could potentially identify with, someone who can show him the path to more knowledge, more power, someone ‘worthy’. For the first time, he encounters someone he wants to impress; he does this by boasting about his abilities. How telling it is that our Little Lord says that he “can make bad things happen to people who annoy me,” – not “mean to me” as the movie had us believe.

Here, Tom seems to have accidentally truly revealed himself – perhaps for the first time, definitely the last time. Out of childlike excitement and eagerness, he has shown his hand, which he immediately regrets when it is not followed by recognition and/or approval from Dumbledore. Dumbledore, quickly catching on to the power dynamics, asks Tom to address him as ‘sir’ or ‘professor’ and immediately establishes his authority. Tom accepts it begrudgingly, “expression hardened”, as he needs Dumbledore to tell him more. Upon Tom’s demand, Dumbledore’s power is then quickly, and casually, displayed when he uses the Flame-Freezing charm on Tom’s wardrobe. If I’m being honest, I always found Dumbledore’s ‘casual’ display of power to be very loaded and quite problematic, ‘destroying’ something of Tom’s where he had stashed his very few possessions. Yet, Tom quickly goes from outrage to “expression greedy” when he realizes Dumbledore was just showing his power and using it to impress, i.e. instill fear (Tom immediately asks Dumbledore where he can get “one of them [wands]”).

When Dumbledore uses his ‘power’ to then confront Tom with his stealing and bullying, Tom reluctantly concedes that he cannot manipulate Dumbledore and doesn’t deny his actions, knowing that ‘being truthful’ is how he can appease and steer Dumbledore. He even accepts the humiliation of having to return the stolen items and apologize to others.

Honestly, the whole interaction between them is so significant, so amazing and so telling of Tom’s typical interpersonal dynamics and relationships. It’s no wonder he starts to despise and avoid Dumbledore. Tom had made himself the master of his little universe, believing that no other has his special type of power. Not only did Tom lose his cool during the conversation, he showed weakness by being vulnerable. As Tom learns when he joins the Wizarding World, Dumbledore is even more powerful than he thought and holds strong political power to boot. Someone like Dumbledore, for example, is not just threatening because of his power but because he can see behind Tom’s mask.

Control in the Wizarding World

The interaction with Dumbledore seems to set the tone for Tom’s understanding of ‘power’ in the Wizarding World. It is something he further internalizes when he arrives at Hogwarts and gets sorted into Slytherin, a House of mainly Pure-bloods. I wholeheartedly believe that this little Snake immediately understood the blood status dynamics at school and the hierarchy within Slytherin House; things beyond his control. It is not a stretch to believe that the Slytherins, in particular, bullied him, ostracised him—rejected him—for his lack of Wizarding name, lack of status and money, and tried to show and put him in his place, thus fueling his rage. So at the age of 11, Tom had the mental acuity to realize he needed other tactics to become influential, to wield his power.

Seeing power and status being inherently awarded to Pure-bloods, the very ones who reject him, his own search for a claim to power/his superiority starts off with an obsessive in-depth exploration of his heritage. It is natural to assume that, along with this quest, Tom educated himself on social politics and how to improve himself. He was able to show humility and regard for others, be inhibited and not boastful. We learn from Dumbledore that Tom at Hogwarts showed signs of covert narcissism: no outward signs of arrogance or aggression, seemed polite, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. He had already learned how to control certain impulses, ingratiate himself, how to hide in plain sight. He just continued to perfect it; he became above reproach by being the perfect student in the eyes of the adults, while fooling his fellow students and building his own following (feeding his ego along the way). He played into Slytherin politics and managed to establish himself as something to behold and to be frightened of, especially when he learned of being a descendent of Salazar Slytherin – a legit claim to power. He now had proof of something he had always believed: I am above them.

Loss of Control and Terror Management

Throughout his time at Hogwarts, Tom managed to perfect his control over others. Despite all his received praise and accolades, his ego remained fragile. I think the fact that he could not escape his blood status, his class – made especially salient when he had to return to the orphanage during the summer – really fueled his obsession to confirm he’s the Heir, i.e. to strengthen his sense of self.

Apart from the orphanage, Tom spends the rest of his formative years at Hogwarts, where he is, at most, considered a Half-blood if not a Muggle-born – i.e. lesser than. His fragile ego and sense of self is constantly challenged if not outright attacked. What’s even more confronting is that he also still has to return to the orphanage during summer break in the years 1938-1945 until he is of age. A place where he cannot use his magic; where he cannot sow the merits of his efforts at Hogwarts; a place where he has little to no control. He has to go back to being an orphan, in an orphanage, among Muggles. This having to return to Hogwarts is even more interesting to note when you consider there is both a Muggle war (WW2) and a Wizarding war (Grindelwald) happening.

That’s why we should also place all of this in the context of when this all took place. Tom experiences both WW2 and the Grindelwald days while he’s a teenager and still at Hogwarts. While he was safe at Hogwarts during most of the year and the winter holidays, he still had to return during the summer. Let me quickly add here that Grindelwald never attacked Britain, but Muggle London was dealing with (the threat of) bombings during those years, with heavy losses in terms of homes, businesses, and lives. Tom just about avoided The Blitz (Sep 7, 1940 – May 11, 1941) and the evacuation of children of Sep 1, 1939 (although, how he managed that, don’t ask). It’s safe to say that times were incredibly tough and unsafe in those days.

So on that note, let me introduce you to Terror Management Theory (TMT). It basically means that when faced with ‘terror’, i.e. one’s own mortality, the anxiety that goes with it can make people do some really effed up things. People will start chasing ways to boost their self-esteem, their self-worth, and for ways to confirm that their life has meaning and that they certainly are not insignificant or disposable. That they matter. Mind you, this all takes place without people even realizing that this is driving them. This theory rears its head when we speak of racism as well. In trying to elevate their sense of self, people can attach great importance to the group they identify with. They will then seek out ways to confirm their group is superior to others (well, well, well).

This theory seems to also fit Tom’s strange, half-assed Heir of Slytherin shenanigans. Same as what happened in the interaction with Dumbledore, Tom’s glee at finding out he’s indeed special makes him impulsive and greedy, disregarding the consequences and acting out of his ‘careful’ character. He has new power within his grasp, new thrills to seek and uncover. In his excitement, he is reckless and gets Myrtle Warren killed. While the rest of his attacks seem very planned and controlled, perhaps to impress his new Knights but most likely to see how far he could push boundaries, it also shows that he either doesn't think or doesn’t care about potential consequences. He is arrogant and unfearing. He could never get caught. Tom only starts caring when his actions become disadvantageous to himself; Hogwarts would close if the attacks continued, meaning he would lose all that he had skilfully and carefully cultivated.

In short, the need for control can drive one to go to really terrible lengths. Straight up tomfoolery, if you will. And if anyone went to great lengths, it was Tom Riddle’s becoming of Lord Voldemort.

Becoming Lord Voldemort: The Narcissistic Psychopathic Wizard’s Guide to Ultimate Power

“What I was, even I do not know … I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal – to conquer death.”

Before we found out the little tidbits about Tom Riddle, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s motives seemed straightforward: Pure-bloods must reign supreme. Knowing what we know now, it would be too simplistic to state that Lord Voldemort was purely driven by hatred for an imagined inferior Other. Namely because at the core of hatred lies fear. A need for control and the deep-seated fear of losing said control would be something Tom would and could never admit to. It would mean acknowledging that something (i.e. fear) had control over him, in effect a weakness.

He is a Half-blood orphan with nothing to his name, a nobody. He has a smidgen of hope when he discovers he is a descendent of Salazar through the Gaunts, but any notion of tangible rewards associated with that is shattered when he finds the Gaunts fallen from grace into obscurity. There is fear of forever being a nobody, unremarkable; entering the world with nothing and leaving the world with nothing ‒ all the while knowing that he is obviously destined for greatness (hello narcissist, my old friend).

He derived his new sense of self from being a descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin, who ‘rightfully’ detested those of lesser blood. As is typical for the malignant narcissist, Tom really has a ‘transparent’ defense mechanism to protect his fragile ego: projection. His hatred of his own lack of pure blood leads him to distance himself from it, denying whatever undermines his belief of being something special and extraordinary or not being worthy of the name. Distancing himself from that what makes him common and unworthy, he literally takes on a new name and kills off the Riddles. By going to extreme lengths, he can distance himself and 'eradicate' that what he despises most about himself. He is not like those 'filthy' Muggles: the ones he was forced to be dependent on, those lesser beings that deprived him of what he was owed; the ones that left his mother for dead, etc.

His 'great' blood is obviously the reason for his 'greatness', his destiny. Not only was this thought fed by the Pure-bloods around him, but it is the rhetoric that gives him a supply of Pure-bloods fanning at his feet. A thrill in of itself to see the privileged worship him.

Riddle's actions seem to have always been very self-serving. He never preached what Grindelwald did; it was never for the ‘greater good’. It is quite evident in the vagueness of Voldemort’s politics regarding purity. It was simply a means to an end; just a way to see how far he could go in amassing power. The ‘mission & vision’ he proposed was probably one of the few things that Pure-bloods could get behind and would go to great lengths to achieve/protect. For Tom, it was a way of opening doors. Not only financially and socially, but also in terms of access to knowledge hoarded and guarded by Pure-bloods. Becoming and remaining uncontested in every sense of the word would mean being in control. No longer dependent on what others are willing to ‘grant’ him. No one would ever be able to challenge Him, take anything from Him, ever again: the ultimate power.

Control of the Uncontrollable

So let’s turn our attention back to power: what would be ultimate power for a Wizard? Something a Wizard has never done and somewhere a Wizard has never gone before: beyond the veils of Death; surpassing mortal constructs ‒ and defeating something as terribly common as 'death'. I think this seed, this fear, was planted in Tom’s mind from a very young age. We see it when he asks Dumbledore whether his father was a wizard, for his mother couldn’t have been “or she wouldn’t have died”. Aptly enough, this fear of death or anxiety induced by the thought of one's one mortality stems from low self-esteem, which a narcissist has in abundance.

It’s also interesting to go back to a psychopath’s psychophysiology. Psychopaths are believed to have low arousal compared to others and are prone to boredom. They could go to lengths to find a ‘thrill’. Discovering the limits, pushing boundaries and going beyond that would be completely on-brand for a Wizard with psychopathic tendencies. Maybe I’ve read too many fanfictions, but a common thought seems to be that the Dark Arts are highly addictive, so someone like Tom would keep pushing it and pushing it, until he could go where no one has gone before. Thus begins his slow decline a la: ‘A Horcrux, you say? Hold my butterbeer, imma make 7.’

It’s intriguing that he went for dependence on external objects to safeguard his continued survival. Objects that he either entrusted his most loyal followers with or hid in locations that had meaning to only him. He even had a magical living creature be the container. As we saw over the course of the series, it really wasn’t all that foolproof. But that’s the arrogance of Tom Riddle; he believed that while not many Wizards would even go down the path of creating a Horcrux, none would even conceive creating seven. What’s more, how would anyone even have the smarts to figure out his pattern, his way of thinking – preposterous. If only he had known about the Hallows sooner. Alas.

Granted, there were other ways of circumventing mortality. But ‘cheating’ death by becoming a vampire, for example, would mean being a slave to one's own bloodlust and limitations, dependent on others still to sustain you, i.e. no control, still killable. Another obvious avenue would be using the Philosopher’s Stone as Flamel did, but it would not be anything new. Stealing it or copying it would mean nothing to him. He would be ‘immortal’ but weak and feeble, dependent on a stone, also still killable. So it seems that it’s not necessarily immortality in and of itself, but controlling how and when you die.

Conclusion: Spiraling out of Control

To summarize the why, Tom Riddle was a narcissistic psychopath with a high IQ, immense magical ability, a chip on his shoulder and something to prove ‒ and a need to be acknowledged for it. The potent mix of nature, magic, and nurture seemed to have really worked their, ehm, magic (sorry). Tom’s ‘abnormal’ behaviors in his childhood were strong predicting factors for the potential to entertain notions of one day being a Dark Lord. However, the odds seem like they were already in that favor before he was even born when we consider his genetic makeup along with the circumstances surrounding his conception and his birth. The Muggle environment he grew up in and the Magical world he was then introduced appear to be the ‘umami’ flavoring for the mix to inevitably lead him down his self-destructive path.

Tom’s actions and behaviors all seem to boil down to an excessive need for control and the deep-seated fear of losing it. Growing up with Muggles, he used all his talents to exert his control over those weaker, sans Magique. In his peak Riddle days, Tom was quick to figure out he could control people by using his glib charm, his looks, and his extreme intelligence to manipulate everything to his liking. He was able to trick people into ‘wanting’ to give him the things he desires, making people believe that he’s ‘giving’ them something in return. With his psychopathy and narcissism fully taking the wheel, it seems that he no longer cared – or saw the need – to pretend to cater to the wishes of others. Fear became his main tool in the peak Voldemort days; the only thing he deigned to ‘give’ others was allowing them to stay alive, avoid punishment, or allowing them to unleash their darkest fantasies. In chasing evermore control, power, he ends up spiraling. His actions shift from sly, cunning, covert manipulative behaviors to more impulsive, erratic and desperate behaviors, all stemming from a loss of control, of his carefully cultivated power. His mask, literally and figuratively, disappears.

It’s impossible to look past the incredible symbolism and irony of the Horcruxes. In his belief that eliminating and eradicating his weaknesses would make him untouchable, that very pursuit ended up being his undoing. With the killing off of the last vestiges of ‘normality’, he seemed to be completely driven by his impulses (or his Id, as Freud would say). If we add ‘death terror’ to this, it would explain why it went as far as Going Full Voldemort and becoming a mass murderer blindly obsessed with a prophecy that merely hinted at his potential defeat.

Rowling said that Voldemort's boggart would be his own corpse, and I think that makes sense ‒ for Voldemort, that is. His corpse would signify the fact that he could die and thus be defeated, the ultimate loss in the ultimate battle for ultimate power (say ‘ultimate’ one more time!). I think Tom Riddle's boggart would've been a poor man's grave; not only did he die (ugh, lame), but he died with nothing to show for it.

With all that being said, being a psychopath does not evil make. However, Tom Riddle’s dire need for a sense of self, immersion in the Dark Arts, and the mutilation of his soul are what really made him turn into an unmitigated You-Know-What. The destruction of his soul left a shell of a man driven by dark base emotions: Full Voldemort.

The end.

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