#or else these intrusive thoughts will just eat away at my brain until only anxiety and The Sads are left | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

suekre · 3 years

Note

So ive followed you a VERY long time (like from the deviantart days lmao) and i only just realised that you were talking about ocd in that post. Just wanted to let you know that i have ocd as well and god it is exhausting and i know exactly how you feel! I finally start therapy for it in 2 weeks. Pls know that i love your art and you very much and appreciate everything you create and share with us. All the best!! X

Hey you, I know you! Thank you for coming to my inbox and sharing this with me, I appreciate that so much. :) I am SUPER happy for you that you are about to get the help you need, that is awesome. I wish I could have had it at the time!

(And oh boy, the good old deviantart days, haha! Always happy to have my longtime followers around! :D)

OCD is exhausting indeed. People who aren’t affected can’t imagine what a nightmare it is. I, personally, am more prone to intrusive thoughts than actual obsessive-compulsive behavior. When people hear „OCD“, they usually think of obsessive hand washing or „leaving out every black tile while walking through a kitchen“ or so, while it can manifest in other ways. I didn’t know back then. I just thought I was going completely crazy at the time. I think I mentioned my disorder at times but I never actually openly talked about my own experiences (where I come from, mental disorders are a big NO NO, because it’s all in your head, just pull yourself together, other people are ACTUALLY suffering, it’s just dumb thoughts, you just need to think positive, y’know).

I kinda feel like doing it now. Just to get it out, and also to occupy my brain and hands and hey, maybe someone else can pick this up and find themselves in my own experiences. I sure know how relieved I was when I found out I wasn’t alone with my what I thought was a ‚Very Weird, Unique and Niche Problem‘.

I gotta admit first - I’m doing much better nowadays. Even my worst days, as horrible as they may feel at the time, do in no way compare to the hell I went through in the second half of 2015. I have come a long way since my last (and so far worst... omg, oof, I hope there won’t be another) episode of intrusive thoughts. But, oh boy, was it intense. It was the absolute worst time of my life, ever. I’m not writing this to scare anyone. Anyone who is familiar with this, will know how bad it is and anyone who can’t relate at all won’t feel affected anyway and will maybe even think something along the lines of „What the fuck?!“. I get it. It DOES sound crazy.

I have always been an overthinker. I always needed more validation and reassurance than other people around me and for the longest time I had no idea why that was. It was usually subtle - always kinda there but never strong enough to actually affect my life in a negative way. I just felt off at times, and not always super good. But I was generally ok, I could always manage.

Until that one episode that changed my life forever. I know that sounds dramatic but, even though I am in a good place nowadays, it sure DID change my life. I was 31, I lived together with my then-boyfriend and I still remember the exact date. Friday, July 24th, 2015. I remember the exact moment when my entire mind collapsed. It’s so weird, it literally happened from one second to the other. I am not making this up to sound more dramatic, it was a matter of seconds.

I was on my way home after work and I felt… restless and stressed. It felt good to get off work (it was my first full time job and... it didn’t go well, to put it nicely) but I was no longer really looking forward to my week off, and our trip to our favorite Open Air the following week. I picked up some dinner on my way, I came home, and I saw my boyfriend in the middle of the living room, he was making some preparations for our upcoming trip. When I saw him, tall and handsome and smiling at me, I smiled back but inside I felt like crying. My smile was fake. Kissing him felt weird, and also fake. And all of a sudden, there it was. The life changing thought:

„I don’t love him anymore.“

A simple thought. I had weird thoughts before, like anyone does, but they never had any greater impact on me. This time, though, that one thought knocked me off my feet. Not literally, I had turned into a pillar of salt somehow. This was the Perfect Man Of My Dreams (at least that was what I thought back then). The man I wanted to spend my life with, the man who made me happy every day! How could that even be, how could I even think something like that?

I felt even more restless. I didn’t tell him, of course. When he asked how my day was, I put on my fake smile again and said it was okay. We ate our dinner (although I had instantly lost any appetite), and I kept looking at him and the thoughts... just kept coming back.

You don’t love him anymore. What if you don’t love him anymore?

On repeat. It was awful. I just couldn’t shake them off.

It’s the stress, I tried to tell myself. You’re overworked. It’ll be good, you just need some rest.

But I couldn’t relax. My heart was racing, my blood was pumping. I didn’t know what was going on. I begged him to leave his work undone and take me out for an after work drink and he agreed. All the time, the thoughts wouldn’t leave my mind. I didn’t want to think them, but they were merciless, they just kept coming back. I felt so helpless.

A few drinks later, I had calmed down a bit, at least so much that I could stand to look at my BFs face again without feeling guilty. There you go, I said to myself, not quite convinced, you’ll be good. It’s already wearing off. When we crawled into bed later, I was tired and relaxed (and tipsy) enough to sleep and convinced that this was just a little glitch, that things would be just fine in the morning.

When I woke up, I felt exhausted. My heart was racing... and the thoughts came back IMMEDIATELY.

You don’t love him anymore. You gotta leave him.

What. The. HELL!? Why are these thoughts still a thing? Why are they still there? Why do they keep coming back?

I kept trying to push them away but the more I tried, the more intense they became. As if they tried to spite me. I started losing focus on everything else around me, the world slowly started to blur. It was just Me And My Thoughts from here. I tried my best to hide my state, and I think I managed for a while, but I felt like a robot any time I talked to someone. When people would pick up on my confusion, I usually brushed their concerns off. It’s nothing, I’m good.

I mean... how do you even tell someone that you just. can’t. stop. thinking. about whether you still love your boyfriend or not? According to the world, that is something you “just feel and know” after all. Except that I didn’t. I had no clue. I couldn’t feel anything. But, according to the world, that was perfectly normal, too. “Honeymoon phase is over at some point, babe. That’s everyday life, you grow comfy, it’s no longer a flash of feelings every day, you know that. You guys have been together for a while after all, what did you expect?!” ... what I felt didn’t feel like comfy everyday life either, though. Comfy everday life shouldn’t come with high key anxiety, sleepless nights and a loss of appetite at any lived second. If that was comfy everyday life, I sure didn’t want it.

So, what do you do when you have no clue about something? Right! Google! Go and ask the world! “How do you know that you still love your partner?”, “Is the love gone?” ... I spent hours, DAYS doing that, but no answer I found was remotely statisfying (or maybe it was for a minute, but the reassurance never lasted long) and I felt that those articles didn’t actually understand what I was asking in first place. I would spend every day like that. Permanently asking myself the same questions, analyzing myself, testing if the Big Feels for the man had decided to come back... nah, not really. Maybe NOW? If I just look at him close enough?! ... maybe if I squint a little?! Fuck, still nothing! Niente! Nada! I am a horrible person, aaah!

(Our open air trip was an emotional disaster by the way, I felt horrible all the time, and the permanent rain didn’t help. -3/10, do not recommend).

If I had known at the time that I wouldn’t spend just a few days but (more or less) six months with this shit... oof. I was already exhausted after those few days.

Over the course of the next weeks I stopped eating almost entirely. I just couldn’t. This permanent tight anxiety knot in my stomach made me want to throw up at the mere thought of food. At my worst point I weighed 138 lbs (63 kg), at 6 ft 1 (1,85 m). I often joked about how I had almost reached runway model standard. I was sick, I was weak, I was scared, but I just couldn’t eat and the bits I DID force myself to eat were burned almost right away by my crippling anxiety. (I still have clothes from that time, and I sometimes beat myself up for no longer fitting into them before I remember that I should NEVER fit into them EVER again.)

Instead I smoked a pack a day. I hardly got any sleep and when I did, it wasn’t relaxing. Always in Fight and Flight mode. My body was at alert level any minute, any day. I’m still asking myself how it could be that I never actually... collapsed. I was always tired, exhausted and malnourished... I dunno, you tell me.

The thoughts never really disappeared. They kept coming back in all variations. You don’t love him anymore. You have to leave him. You may not want to, but you have to. You don’t love him. I had very few “good moments” in between but in those good moments, my mind was usually frantically looking for explanations and reasons behind all this. For ways to improve my relationship, to feel better about my boyfriend. I came up with the WEIRDEST shit. Almost every day I found something new that bothered me. One day he was a little boring. That’s it! We gotta go out more, do more stuff, that’ll change everything. ... aaah, no. Guess not. The next day, it was something else. The day after THAT, it was something entirely different again.

I was suddenly prone to making some HELLA weird impulsive decisions, too. „I gotta break off contact to that one person RIGHT now, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!“, “I gotta talk to my mom about THAT particular incident in my childhood right now, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!”, “I gotta make a trip to the mall JUST NOW, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!”… the decisions made total sense to me the second I made them, for about ten minutes at most, but the initial rush of relief started to fade again quickly and I frantically started looking for new solutions. Google was my best friend. I couldn’t go a day without googling exessively. Overthinking, pacing, googling. Any day, any hour awake. Over weeks. A few months even. My mind was constantly reeling. It was a bottomless pit.

I cannot put into words how exhausting that was. Sometimes the idea of throwing myself out of the next window seemed SO tempting, not because I wanted to die, but because I wanted the thoughts to stop tormenting me.

(I was out of regular therapy at the time, btw. I thought about calling my therapist about it but never did it. I felt isolated, I literally thought I had to do this all by myself.)

At some point, a few months into it, I somehow transferred to zombie mode. The thoughts became a little less intense over time. They were never gone but not quite as nagging anymore. But any time I wasn’t in alert mode, I felt just hollow instead. Sucked dry of any joy, of any emotion, of any sign of life. I just... functioned. Still tried to hide it. I dunno how well I did with that. Probably not at all well. I kept it all to myself, just because it felt that ridiculous. Tried to find excuses. “I’m just tired.”, “You know, there’s a lot going on in my head right now, but I’ll be good.” ... truth is that I don’t remember a whole lot of that time, it’s all blurry. There are just a few significant moments.

Such as that one evening, after work, when I left the building, made a few steps and stood five (or ten? fifteen??? who knows?! not me.) minutes on the spot, motionless, because I could no longer remember my way home.

I got fired from that job, by the way. I’m sure it was mostly due to low performance, I get it, but I can’t blame my poor state alone - they were also assholes.

Anyway.

I had, of course, never stopped the googling and one day, after hours of browsing any niche I hoped I hadn’t browsed yet, I somehow found a blog written by a young woman like me. The description tackled almost all of my thought patterns and I was blown. away. She asked herself the very same questions, with the very same twists, and... she even had a name for it.

ROCD. Relationship Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I cried for what felt like hours. Out of relief. There was a person in this world who knew exactly what I was going through. And she even had tips how to overcome it. It wasn’t the first time I had heard about OCD, but as it had never affected me in any way before (I, too, associated it with compulsive hand washing and tile jumping), I wouldn’t have thought of it. After doing my own intense research on the subject, a huge part of me and my life finally started making sense to me. Not much was known about ROCD at the time, but it kinda didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was the OCD part. The subject of the thoughts is entirely interchangable. It’s the chain of thoughts itself that has to be broken. Don’t focus on the relationship. Break the chain instead.

The internet also recommended exposure therapy but as therapy wasn’t an option at the time (weird German laws... regular health insurance covers only a limited amount of therapy lessons within a certain span of time and I had used mine up and there was no way I could pay myself), I decided to try it myself, the key points being:

* No more googling, no more reassurance. Learn to live with the uncertainty, learn to live with Not Knowing.

* Let the thoughts happen. Watch them pass by. They’re just thoughts, they can’t harm you. Don’t fight them, just recognize them and let them stay, they’ll get less scary over time.

* Focus on other things, as hard as it is. Try to occupy your mind and your body. Any minute you spend doing something else but brooding is a win.

It all sounded so very abstract at the time, but I was determined to give it a try. Oh gosh, was it hard. After months of emotional torment and getting used to unhealthy ways of coping, it was SO DAMN FUCKING HARD to NOT google. To NOT think. It felt like torment all over again. How was I supposed to just let the thought sit with me!? It was scary, I didn’t want it! Just ONE little peek, only a second, come ON! I won’t do it again after that?!

Oh god, it was the worst, it really was. Trying to break the chain while I was so desperate to save my relationship was terrible. I honestly don’t remember HOW I made it... but I made it. I somehow... clawed and bit my way out of it. I went right through the pain and made it. It’s not actually a linear process but there comes this point (and I know a few people I met on online platforms who would back me up on this) when you know the worst is over. You just know it. Things weren’t exactly good by the time the thoughts were history but I had reign over my own head again, I could actually SEE the world again, and that was worth everything plus my body weight in gold.

I’ll stop right here because the following months weren’t about my OCD anymore, but about figuring out needs, figuring out myself and what I wanted from life and this particular relationship and it’s not quite relevant and another story. (I DID love my ex-BF but it turned out he wasn’t at all good for me, I had ignored all the red flags for too long, and it didn’t take long after this for us to go separate ways)

I hated this particular time in my life while it lasted but I have learned and taken so much from it. It has changed my life in so many ways. I learned that things are never set in stone, not for anyone. That there will always be uncertain times on our ways. That change is always scary. That it’s okay to be scared. That staying in crappy situations for the sake of it isn’t always the right thing to do. Sometimes, doing the right thing (aka leaving a relationship that isn’t good for you) can make you sad. Love does not equal compatibility.

Looking back, I am - in a very bizarre and twisted way - grateful for the experience. It was an incredibly important lesson for me that taught me to be kinder to myself, to look out for myself and to listen to my own needs. That I should put myself first at times. For the first time of my life, I really got in touch with myself and my own emotions. I learned to understand them, I learned where they come from. I learned to cut myself slack at times.

The list goes on and on, but you get my drift. I know myself inside and out at this point. That wasn’t always the case. Not until 2016.

It still comes back at times. Not with such full force, but it keeps creeping back in, pretty much any time I have to deal with uncertainty in my life. Bad news at work, not hearing from a friend for a while that I’m dying to hear from (inevitably thinking that they MUST be mad at me) or when I spot a few symptoms of sickness that I’m not familiar with (I practically never get sick). Not Knowing What Will Happen drives me CRAZY. I hate uncertainty, I need my life to be stable and calm to fully function.

Now, in COVID times, it’s mostly the fear of suffering from an incurable disease. AGAIN. I’m familiar with that, too. I’m not even scared of catching the virus, I just fell right back into overthinking any symptom I have, even if it’s just a short pain in the neck or whatever (you know, things that one usually brushes off). When my life was busier, I was MUCH better at handling those thoughts. Most of the time, they didn’t even come up in first place. Sitting inside and avoiding contact 99,9% of all times, and having little to no actual distraction („reading/watching movies“ doesn’t help me personally, it does’t occupy my mind enough, I usually just stare right through the pages/screen), however, leaves FAR too much time for the thoughts to unfold, once they come up.

This subtle but lingering concern for my health puts my body into a permanent state of anxiety once more. Fight and Flight mode. The pace of my heartbeat is always slightly, but perpetually, increased. It isn’t always outright panic attacks, it’s this constant state of having to be… alert. Something MIGHT happen, y’know. Be prepared. Relaxing and doing nice things becomes almost impossible. Instead, I get tired and exhausted. Depressed, even. It sucks the joy right out of me. I feel like living under a glass dome. I see what’s happening around me but I am unable to connect, emotionally. People keep living their lives and I can watch them, but I can’t be a part of it. It’s a deeply crushing feeling. I manage to somehow function but I don’t really feel alive. My abandonment issues and fear of „getting left behind“ kicked in again, too. I want to catch up and take part but can’t so I stress myself over THAT, too. This only adds to the exhaustion and makes me feel even more isolated.

Hello, vicious circle, my old friend.

I didn’t even realize that I had such huge potential to fall right back into it. It all started… I dunno, by mid/end of January?? It’s a bit blurry this time. It is directly connected to Germany’s recent lockdown, though. A massive case of Not Knowing How Things Will Turn Out. I failed to take better care of myself in the past few weeks. And now I’m here. AGAIN. Ugh.

But well, as I said, it’s not as bad and, as I said, I have at least learned some important things over the years. In this particular case of intrusive thoughts, the first rule is: NEVER GOOGLE SYMPTOMS. And never google shit like „chances to survive (whatever illness think you have at the time)“, either. The mind longs for reassurance but googling symptoms is BAD, as we all know by now. It’s not even reassuring when you do it. Because you’ll inevitably end up diving through the vast internet for HOURS, picking up an entry that some person named Kevin made on a cancer forum way back in 2004, saying that his uncle died the next day after finding out he has cancer and that is, OF COURSE, what will happen to YOU, too. There is no other way. YOU WILL DIE.

Excuse the text walls. I took an opportunity to ramble about my own experience, for the first time ever since it happened (not including the few short talks I had with the few people I met on internet forums).

To anyone who made it this far: Thank you so much for reading. It sure felt good to write this down for once, even if it’s just a short summary (yes, really, I mean, we’re talking six-ish months here), and the descriptions fall woefully short. If anyone affected by the same happens to read this - I am so, SO sorry you are suffering so much. You are NOT alone and you are NOT weird. Talk to someone. Open up. To your doctor, or you therapist, if you have one. To a person you trust. It is the worst but there are ways, there is help. I wish I had known at the time it started for me.

You know now. :)

P.S.: DON’T FUCKING GOOGLE:

#ocd #rocd #obsessive compulsive disorder #relationship obsessive compulsive disorder #mental disorder #sanne rambles

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novantinuum · 4 years

Text

Intake (SUF one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences (TW: brief discussion of mental illness related topics like suicide ideation and intrusive thoughts.)

Words: 2800

Summary: Steven fills out an important form.

This is set multiple months pre The Future, and is a small glimpse into Steven’s journey to find a therapist.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

His leg bounces with a restless fervor as he slumps in the waiting room chair, clutching the clipboard and pencil the receptionist gave him with a white knuckled grip. Gaze hardened, he takes a good long look at the other patients spread across the room, a few of them appearing equally as spent and fidgety as him, and hunches over the intake form so his answers will be conclusively obscured from their view.

He grimaces. Ugh. Why would a place like this lay out their chairs so close, anyways? Why even give people the option of being nosey? He may be stuck seeing this therapist Connie’s mom recommended because he’s all messed up in the head, but it’s not like he wants the whole planet to know about it. Goodness knows all of Beach City and Little Homeworld already does thanks to his little ‘incident’ a month back. That’s bad enough.

His chest almost feeling hollow as he sighs, he scrawls in his name, his birthday, his cell number, address, and an emergency contact (Dad, who left for the car to give him privacy after signing a few forms he can’t fill out as a minor) on the lines indicated. He leaves out his many middle names for once, all of them leaving a bitter taste in his mouth at this present moment. Briefly, he wonders if this will be a problem, as these past few weeks Dr. Maheswaran assisted his dad in finally acquiring legal documentation and health insurance for him, and per those records he’s officially ‘Steven Quartz Universe’ in the eyes of the law.

Eventually he shrugs, figuring the likelihood of there being another sixteen-year-old ‘Steven Universe’ here today to confuse him with is nearing zero.

Okay, what’s next?

He briefly skims over the next few passages— a bunch of legalese about the terms of counselor-patient confidentiality and when they might have to breach that for safety reasons— and signs where indicated so they know he looked over it.

Someone sitting two chairs away coughs. He can’t help but flinch at the sudden noise, and folds himself tighter in his own seat as he flips over the first page of the form and continues to read.

In a few words, explain why you’ve chosen to reach out to us today. How can we help you?

Steven frowns, fingers twitching around the shaft of the pencil as he contemplates how to respond. For whatever reason, the question “explain why you’re here” feels very blunt and antagonistic to him in a way he can’t quite ascertain. Like... in a “give the wrong answer, get booted right out the door” sorta way. He lifts his head, peering at all the humans spread across the room, each and every one with their own story, the central character of their own worlds. Some are texting on their phones as they wait for the receptionist to call their names, others are filling out forms as well. What brought these people here, he wonders? Surely there’s plenty of people having a worse time than him right now. Surely there’s people with real problems, people who are literally struggling just to stay alive from day-to-day. He’s not like that, right? Besides that one little wobble a month back, he’s been handling his problems on his own fairly okay. Hasn’t he? So what makes him selfish enough to think that he’s worth anyone’s time?

In his pocket his phone vibrates, knocking him back into reality. He yanks it out and switches it on to look at the new text splashed across the lock screen:

Dad: Hey Schtu-ball, just wanna let you know that I’m proud of you and love you very much. You’ve got this!

He stares at these words for a good minute, the kind sentiment— despite reading as a little hopelessly over-encouraging— filling the hollow space in his chest partway. Even if his dad’s been a bit overbearing in his affections this past month, it’s clear he means well.

So. Why am I here today, he thinks, reading the question over again. He folds his fingers up into a stiff fist, pulling his thumb across his knuckles. After licking his chapped lips and shoving his phone back in his pocket, he scribbles a hasty reply.

I feel really angry and empty and tense and just want to be better.

The teen pauses, allowing those words to echo over and over in his mind, to truly sink in. It’s such a succinct and to-the-point admission that he suddenly wonders why he ever doubted he was less deserving of aid than anyone else in this waiting room.

His countenance a little lighter now and his shoulders growing less stiff, he moves on to the next section.

To aid our counselors in providing you the best possible care, please rate the following statements on a scale from zero to four, zero meaning “not at all like me,” and four meaning “extremely like me.”

Steven’s eyes dart across the length of the massive table below these instructions, his previous anxiety rushing back into his brittle bones as if it’d never left. Each row is host to a short sentence and five blank boxes, numbered zero to four. Read it and rate yourself, right? Should be simple enough. But as his glance flits over these statements and he understands the sort of personal, probing questions they’re asking through them, he begins to mistrust his previous burst of optimism. Dread floods his system, making his cheeks flush bright pink. Heart pounding at the mere thought of people staring, he drops his head lower, successfully hiding most of his face behind the clipboard until he can coax that betraying glow into fading away.

In the end, this goes to prove that it doesn’t matter if everyone says therapy will be ‘helpful’ for him; reflecting on all this junk is still gonna suck.

Quietly, he takes a steadying breath and forces himself to read on, to crack open the hornet’s nest that is the depths of his crap brain.

1. I am shy around others.

He considers this for a moment. Shy. Historically, this has never been a word people would use to describe him. For years he reveled in the thrill of meeting new people, new Gems. His childhood eagerness to engage in fellowship with those around is half the reason Era 3 even exists. And he’s fine around people he knows. Like, on a rare good day he has no problem playing board games or watching cheesy soap operas with his friends. But to be fair... as of late, his eagerness to meet anyone new feels like it’s all but vanished. Is that being shy? Or is that just him failing to care for anyone beyond his inner circle?

With a small shrug he checks the box for one, and moves on.

2. I don’t enjoy being around people as much as I used to.

Hmm. Probably a three. People are unintentionally exhausting these days. He used to be energized by social interaction, and now it just leaves him sucked dry. Most days he’d rather stick to his room.

3. I feel isolated and alone.

The weight of the diamond embedded in his belly— something he normally barely notices— grows ever more apparent as he marks off a four.

4. My heart often races for no good reason.

Uh, yeah. What happened just a minute ago is a pretty good tell. Four.

5. I have spells of terror or panic.

Another four.

6. I am anxious that I might have a panic attack while in public.

Four once more. He holds his pencil tighter, squirming in his seat as he tries (and fails) not to think about the pale scars spread across his back, hidden in his hairline, and on the underside of his arms, indentations that once marked the base of the crystalline spines that jut out from between his scales.

7. I think about food more than I’d like to.

Steven pauses at this one. For once, he’s not sure he can say this statement applies to him. Truth be told, he only started caring about what he put in his mouth earlier this year, when he cut meat and fish out of his diet. And that’s not... a bad thing? It’s not bad to want to consider the impact your food choices have on the environment? He definitely didn’t choose to do so for self-denying reasons, and that’s probably what they’re asking about. He checks zero, and moves on.

8. I feel out of control when I eat.

He almost checks another zero, but then he remembers that day after the proposal... and the week after his incident. And he decides that even if he doesn’t consciously obsess over the food he eats, there’s still a few occasions where once he starts snacking he finds it difficult to stop. A one it is, then.

9. I have sleep difficulties.

This statement nearly makes him laugh. Does he have sleep difficulties. Hah. He doesn’t think he’s gotten a truly restful night of sleep since he sacrificed himself to Homeworld at fourteen.

A solid four. No question.

10. My thoughts are racing.

Four.

11. I feel uncomfortable around people I don’t know.

Hmm. Two.

12. I drink alcohol frequently.

The only alcohol he’s ever had is a tiny sip of his dad’s with permission at Garnet’s wedding reception, and it tasted terrible. He has no interest in drinking again. Zero.

13. When I drink alcohol I can’t remember what happened.

Zero.

14. I drink more than I should.

Zero again.

15. I have done something I have regretted because of drinking.

Another zero. It almost makes him feel better, just knowing there’s a decent number of lines on this paper that aren’t a carbon copy of his lived experience.

16. I feel sad all the time.

Aaaand back to “the story of his life.” Briefly, he wonders if ‘feeling sad’ is the same thing as feeling nothing at all. But then again, does the difference really matter? He checks the box for three.

17. I am concerned that other people don’t like me.

Three. Although honestly, he’s even more concerned that people continue to like him after everything he’s done.

18. I feel worthless.

Steven nibbles at the inside of his cheek as he reads this statement, memories automatically flashing through the pathetic events of the last few weeks, through all the days he barely crawled out from under his covers, all the days he didn’t even manage to brush his teeth or run his fingers through his greasy, knotted hair, all those awful days he couldn’t so much as play one of his video games without growing tired of it in minutes and taking a restless nap for the rest of the afternoon instead.

Four.

19. I feel helpless.

Two. Everyday affairs are a drag, but at the very least he knows he can fight his way out of danger in a pinch. He wouldn’t call that helpless.

20. I have thoughts of ending my life.

He freezes. Goes back, reads this line again. Reads it a third time to make sure he’s not horrendously misconstruing the prompt he’s been given.

(Tries not to think too deeply about the graphic images that flood his imagination some nights. It’s just stray thoughts, though. He’s fine.)

One, he marks, although his muscles can’t help but twitch as he shifts his wrist, as if deep down he knows he’s underplaying his answer.

21. I feel tense.

Steven gives a small snort under his breath. Yeah, he outright admitted as much earlier in this form. Four.

22. I get angry easily.

His grip tightens.

Four.

23. I have difficulty controlling my temper.

He swallows hard, his mouth feeling abnormally dry. He’s not sure he likes how blunt and probing this questionnaire is becoming.

Four...

24. I sometimes feel like breaking or smashing things.

His knuckles go white around his pencil, and he only barely resists the temptation to snap it in half as he feels a rush of hard light flow the distance from his gem through the veins of his arm. Geeze, it’s not like he means to break things! It’s just that all of his stupid powers are linked with his emotions, and whenever he gets even marginally upset now things start to splinter, crack in half, and inevitably end up broken. Just another sign he’s fated to ruin everything around him forever, and that his intent doesn’t matter. Why do they have to pry into this? He already feels terrible enough for thinking these things.

Three, he checks, his eyes damp, but mostly because he’s too scared what their response will be otherwise.

25. I am not able to concentrate as well as usual.

He takes a deep breath, coaxing his body to return to a baseline state. Eh. He’ll give this a two.

26. I feel self-conscious around others.

His glance skirts over the edge of the clipboard to monitor the four others currently spread out across the room. One’s rhythmically swinging their legs, another is still filling out a form like him, but sitting criss-cross on the chair, and the other two are quietly typing on their phones. Thankfully none of them are pressing an ounce of attention his way, (at least, not right now), but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like an exposed nerve. Three.

27. I am afraid I may lose control and act violently.

The raw memories hit like lightning before he can even think to prepare.

Flashes of Pink. Orange fragments, cold and slick in his palms. Thunder splits the skies overhead, each cacophonous sound manifesting in perfect synchronicity with his erratic heartbeat, with each tidal wave of thoughts gushing like a maelstrom through his head: SHATTERER, I’m a shatterer, I’m—

Feeling almost dizzy from the intensity of his heart’s pulse, he knows with full certainty that his cheeks are glowing bright pink again. All he can do is clench his fists, suck down whatever amount of fresh air his lungs will allow, and pray to the very stars themselves that it’ll fade away before it garners the attention of every last human in this place.

He checks the box for four, pencil marking so hard that slivers of graphite splinter off onto the page, and moves on before he can be cowardly enough to change his answer.

28. I have thoughts of hurting others.

His fingernails claw into the thin denim at his knee, limbs outright quivering as he stews in his seat, as he’s forced to reflect upon all the ugly, ugly thoughts that have flit across his awareness over the past weeks. Thoughts about one Gem specifically. He’s... always been angry, always harbored deep resentment... but ever since his most recent trip to visit Her, he hasn’t been able to shake this awful idea: a vision of him standing over the remnants of her gemstone, shattered, fragments spilled across the otherwise pristine floors of Homeworld. He... he didn’t do it when he had the chance. He wouldn’t do it, would he?

(Orange fragments, cold and slick...)

Would he??

And yet nevertheless, the thought tortures him with its frequency, makes him feel downright nauseous at every turn. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to feel this way at all.

Four.

29. I am unable to keep up with my schoolwork.

Stop. Sharp inhale. Staccato, shaky exhale. Repeat, deeper this time. Repeat.

(He can no longer see neon pink reflecting in the smooth metal clasp at the top of his clipboard.)

Okay. Schoolwork.

N/A, he writes in one of the boxes, arm still trembling from the last two questions despite his attempt at cool-down exercises. Not applicable. He hasn’t even been to school, and dreads the inevitability of this therapist asking about that mess.

30. It’s hard to stay motivated for my classes.

N/A.

31. I feel confident that I can succeed academically.

N/A, once more.

And like that, the questionnaire is over. Steven is quick to hide his answers behind the front page, and slides the pencil through the length of the metal clip. He glances around him, drinking in his surroundings with pinpoint precision. Despite his earlier concerns, no one is maliciously staring. No one’s whispering. He internally wrestled with a few challenging subjects and what do you know, it didn’t end in an embarrassingly public meltdown. He— he wipes a stray tear from his eye with the butt of his palm— he took a solid step forward today.

Coercing his body to move, he pulls himself out of the cushioned chair and crosses the room.

“I finished,” he says softly, proudly, as he hands the clipboard and pencil to the receptionist. She smiles and accepts his hard-fought offering.

For the first time in a while, the smile he instinctively flashes back almost feels genuine.

I want to be better, he thinks. I will be better.

____

Notes:

This fic is loosely based on my own experience of the intake process, and the questionnaire I had to fill out. No two intake experiences are the same though, of course. This is merely one possibility. I also take personal liberties on the way I depict Steven’s struggle with mental health, and acknowledge and respect that no two fans’ interpretation will be the same.

Additional notes: -Steven’s still a minor, so he can’t actually sign contracts. I figure Greg signed a handful of forms beforehand as his guardian, and then left to allow his son a bit of privacy with filling out the questionnaire stuff. Since he's a teen, they're still giving him the full confidentiality clauses to look over so he's wholly aware how that works, though.

-To expand on a brief comment made in the midst of this, I headcanon that Steven cut both meat and fish out of his diet, and thus actually slipped up on his vegetarian diet when he was training with Jasper. I interpret this as further showcasing how the poor kid— due to being mentally vulnerable at the time and thus liable to coercion/unwise decisions— began to take actions that went against much of his established morality. He ended up sacrificing his dietary choices during those days, just like he briefly sacrificed his pacifistic views to fight Jasper.

-I also headcanon that the therapist Steven is going in to see after this isn’t the one he eventually sticks with and mentions as “my new therapist” in The Future. It’s totally normal and okay to try a few different people to find someone who you click with, after all.

Thank you for reading!

#su #su future #steven universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff #okay the official crosspost #here you go #i keep switching how i post fics here hhh #i LIKE having the ao3 link in the post itself #but when i do that the fic almost never shows up in tags so *shrugs*

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ironmanstan · 4 years

Link

Rating:Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:Graphic Depictions Of Violence (tw for: self-harm, vomiting, canon-typical violence, intrusive thoughts, self-worth issues)

Categories:F/F,Gen

Fandom:Apex Legends (Video Games)

Relationship:Wattson | Natalie Paquette/Wraith | Renee Blasey

-----

-Renee Blasey felt like the name of someone else. Like the name you found in the back of the book you bought at a thrift store. Foreign, strange, completely removed, yet tied to you in a small, tenuous connection. A name where you know of the owner, but they will never know of you.'

Renee Blasey didn’t, and would never know Wraith. But Wraith felt like she was learning more about her everyday. ---

Wraith thought she stopped being afraid a long time ago. The voices disagree.

-------

This is a fic I've been wanting to write forever, the voices of the voice always struck me as similar to my intrusive thoughts, so this is my interpretation of Wraith having OCD. This isn't beta-read so please let me know about any inaccuracies or grammatical/spelling errors.

Reblogs > Likes :)

--------

Renee Blasey. 32 years old. Home planet: Typhon, destroyed decades ago.

None of it seemed to fit.

She’d thought finding answers, having a place to start, would make everything feel worth it. But it only brought on more questions. More fear.

Typhon, where the IMC tested their fold weapon? Were her parents IMC? Was that how they evacuated the dying planet after she was born? Were they still alive. Still working for the IMC, stealing from the world like a blight of roaches?

She may never find out.

It didn’t discourage her. But it felt… Weird. She’d thought she’d have a moment when she heard her name for the first time. It’d fit like a missing puzzle piece and it would sound familiar. She’d wear it with pride and regain a part of her identity.

Renee Blasey felt like the name of someone else. Like the name you found in the back of the book you bought at a thrift store. Foreign, strange, completely removed, yet tied to you in a small, tenuous connection. A name where you know of the owner, but they will never know of you.

Renee Blasey didn’t, and would never know Wraith. But Wraith felt like she was learning more about her everyday.

She didn’t often think about her home planet. There was nothing remarkable she’d found about Typhon from her searches. A research outpost for the IMC’s ARES division. Destroyed in the battle of Typhon. All she was left with was knowledge of a place that no longer existed. Typhon was gone, just like Renee. She didn’t have a home waiting for her. She wasn’t even sure if she had any family who would be waiting for her.

The most home she had was here. The Apex Games were, ironically, the most stable thing she’d had in her new life. No more worrying about where to sleep, or whether she’d eat that day. She had her own apartment in the dorms provided by the games. She hadn’t known what it was like to have a place to call her own before.

She’d wake up and go eat breakfast in the commons. Watching the resident nerds, Elliott and TaeJoon, bickering over engineering schematics. Usually ending in Elliott pouting and TaeJoon rolling his eyes. Ajay smirking as she pissed both of them off with a “Why dontcha just kiss already!”.

It was always strange when a newcomer joined at first. But over time they always melded with the group. Natalie was a great example. Renee could often find her with Caustic. Talking in that bright, sweet voice of hers, as she rambled about her inventions. The fact that he never told her to be quiet or to stop talking surprised pretty much everybody.

Wraith wasn’t sure if, after all this time, she’d melded like the others.

There was that separation she couldn’t help but keep up. The internalized fear that wouldn’t go away. The pain and the memories of the facility she’d been trapped in since she’d woken up. The IMC was ruthless, and crafty. She wouldn’t put it past them to send someone after her undercover. A legend infiltrating the games to carry a mission out for them was a plausible worry.

At least, that’s what the voices said.

The voices were the other thing that kept her from getting too close. They’d gone beyond their usual problems. Which were their constant chatter, and warnings. A few had split off, and become paranoid.

The anxiety she felt from them wasn’t normal.

The paranoia was intense, and seemed never-ending in the moment. When she got stuck in a cycle of it it felt like she was trapped. Everything was worrying and nowhere was safe. She was a bird in a covered cage. Or rather, a bird in the trunk of a moving car. Scared, alone, and not sure what the hell was going on.

The paranoia was strange. It always found some arbitrary thing, some stupid, small detail to hook its claws into. Then the voices would obsess, and obsess, and obsess . No issue passed without being checked from top to bottom for something to worry about.

Like Bangalore mentioning the long lost IMC scientist, Renee Blasey. It obviously meant she knew that was what Wraith really was. It meant Bangalore’s life as a soldier was a cover story, a lie. It meant she was here to capture her for the IMC.

Obviously.

The IMC was dead, defunct. Even Bangalore couldn’t find their survivors. Even if the IMC was looking for Wraith, seeking to dispose of their experiment gone wrong, they would’ve found her by now. How long had she been a legend, known to the Outlands as the universe’s only voidwalker? If they weren’t competent enough to find her by now, she shouldn’t worry for the future.

And yet their mantra would circle her constantly, for hours on end.

The IMC will find you in your sleep. They’ll find you and kill you. They’ll kill everyone else too. You’re not safe here, and you never will be.

She couldn’t be afraid forever.

The conclusions she had to jump to, to confirm the thoughts, made no sense in her moments of clarity.

And those moments were far and few.

She always had to disorient her mind to see things for what they were. These voices loved it when she was tormented, in pain. Hurting herself, wasting her time, disrupting her body. It was the only way they could be satisfied, the only way to quiet them.

They craved power over her actions, forcing her to do against her will. But the blurry state of mind after she did what she was told made it harder for their words to hit their target.

She couldn’t sleep until she did what she was told, she couldn’t do anything. She wasn’t allowed to, or else bad things would happen.

But tonight she’d done what she was told. For once she’d given in. Fingers down the throat made quick work of it. Vomit it out, flush the thoughts away, take it all away. A quick burn for a night of peace, why won’t you just get it over with? Do it. Do it now. please PLEA̢̽Ś̯͇̽Ẹ̌ ̼͕͍̄̉N̜͍͎̟͕̋̓̏͐̋O̹͉̜̠͊͒̍̚͘ͅW̢̗̰͎̌̿̎͆͜͠

The voices were convincing, to say the least.

Vomit in the sink.

Vomit on her fingers.

Vomit on her lips.

Renee’s breaths were slow, and reverberated on the tile walls of her bathroom.

Her mind was silent for the first time that night. All she could hear were her shivering fingers hitting the porcelain of the sink, muffled by the hum in her ears. The hum being the hundreds of thousands of voices, the other Wraiths. They were all stirred together in her mind. It'd sounded like they'd melded into a singular tone once she started vomiting.

She didn’t do this often.

Often enough.

Only when she needed the voices to stop.

The sinking feeling in her chest told her what she was doing was wrong, dangerous even. She buried it, shoving it down. What else could she do? Let the voices scream and wreak havoc? Let her brain catch fire every time someone looked at her wrong?

She turned the faucet on, washed her hands, her face, and brushed her teeth. She turned the water off, and looked in the mirror.

If she was seen by anybody else, they’d think she was like them. Not always hearing voices from other worlds. Not paranoid and terrified at every waking moment. Just her. Thirty-two year old Renee Blasey, standing in her bathroom, getting ready for bed.

She watched her reflection a few more moments. She sighed in relief when she didn’t see her eyes shift. They always did when the voices spoke to her. She pulled her gaze away, stepping off the bathroom carpet and leaving to her bedroom.

It wasn’t always like this.

She sunk back into the softness of the pillows and fresh sheets around her. She stared at the ceiling. Her thoughts for once not racing, no stray voices crying out in fear every few seconds. She shut her eyes, feeling herself start to drift. All she could hear were the comforting voices. The familiar ones who’d been with her from the start. The ones who caused her pain, who made her go through task after task, ritual after ritual until it all felt right--until it felt safe ; those ones had shown up later, and made themselves right at home with the rest.

She was fine. She could deal with it. Another obstacle in her way. Nobody needed to know, nobody could help her anyway. The worst they even did was disrupt her in the arena. They’d never come on strong enough for her to not resist them. Yet, she still worried. Whether it was the paranoia overtaking logic, or the tasks they made her carry out to be relieved from the pain, she knew her mind was a risk.

Without the voices there to spiral her thoughts she brushed the worry away with relative ease. Vowing to think about it in the morning. For now, she slept.

-----

This is stupid, I don’t need to do this.

She shook the thought away as she pulled the elastics of her face mask behind her ears.

It was morning, and she was getting dressed. The walk from the apartments the legends stayed in to the drop ship that took them to the arena wasn’t that far. She was still worried. Recognition from fans was one thing. Recognition from an IMC agent is another.

The chances were slim, sure. But, the fact there was a chance at all, was too big a risk to take. The voices would rationalize. And after all, even if there was no danger, wearing a mask and a hood wasn’t hurting anyone.

She checked the sides of her mask in the mirror, making sure they were secured. The front was decorated with pale pink cherry blossoms, like her legend card.

She’d seen Crypto drawing once before they dropped in for a match, and asked if he’d help her with a design for her mask. He still had her on edge with his whole act of being touchy, secretive even. Especially when people asked anything personal. But he hadn’t done anything to give her a reason to think he was IMC.

Not yet anyway.

She shut her eyes, taking in a breath, ignoring the voices. She pulled on a hoodie and sunglasses, to hide her eyes, and made her way to the door. The constant heat and humidity of Solace City hit her face like a bucket of water. The sweat was worth relieving her of fear.

It wasn’t long after she’d left her house when Natalie spotted her. No matter how hard she tried to hide herself, Natalie always was able to pick her out of a crowd. Maybe it was the way she walked, or the fact she looked so covered up on a planet stuck in endless summer. Either way, Wraith would never know.

“Bonjour Wraith!” Natalie called out from across the road. Wraith waved in response as she crossed over.

Natalie was wearing her signature chunky sneakers. A light denim jacket, adorned with patches covered a white t-shirt she wore underneath. All paired with white shorts. She’s so cute. Wraith caught herself thinking, almost blushing in embarrassment at her own thoughts.

Natalie was picking the threads at the ends of her jacket sleeves and smiling. Wraith couldn’t help but stare. At the light freckles dotting her full, round face. The way her blonde hair was frizzy, standing on end in the summer heat. Her bangs making a curtain over her blue eyes, glinting in the sunlight.

Wraith couldn’t pull her eyes away, even if she wanted. Natalie seldom made eye contact anyway, Wraith wasn’t worried her staring would be noticed.

“Sorry I didn’t swing by your room yesterday.” Nat started, grabbing Wraith’s hand loosely and walking alongside her. She struggled to keep up since her legs were a bit shorter. Wraith held her poker face, though inside she was on fire. She couldn’t tell if she was imagining how warm and soft Natalie’s hand was. “-But I was really busy working. I thought of new ideas for my interceptor pylon, and how I could make it more useful in the ring you see!”

Wraith looked over to her and nodded, humming an “Mhm?” in response. Natalie loved electricity and all the different ways she could harness it. Wraith often heard her in the mornings, talking over its properties and uses with Caustic. Both of them having intense discussions over coffee.

It’d been a while before Natalie started opening up to her about her interests. A little ramble when Wraith asked a question here. A squeal of delight when she thought of a solution there. And bright, beautiful laughter that Wraith thought she would die from if she listened too long. Lighting up the room with pure joy, paired with her stimming her hands, when something went right. That was all Wraith would catch a glimpse of before they really got close.

And she was glad they did. It felt like she could hear Natalie talk about anything for hours on end. No matter the subject. It didn’t matter if she understood the technical terms, or wrapped her head around how it worked. The pure joy in her voice was fulfilling enough. She wanted the melody of Natalie Pacquette’s voice to envelop her completely as she melted at her words.

What if that was her plan all along?

She jumped out of her thoughts at the voice chiming in. Natalie stopped mid-sentence and looked over, brows raised.

“You okay Wraith?” Her hand held on tighter, squeezing Wraith’s gloved one in reassurance. Wraith screwed her eyes shut and muttered under her breath at being so noticeable.

“Yeah I- I’m fine don’t worry about it.” She waved a hand, like she could brush the issue away. Talking about her problems was moot. It made the people around her feel bad for her. And that didn’t help anybody. She especially didn’t want to do that to Natalie of all people. She had enough shit to work through, she didn’t need to hear about what the voices did to her everyday.

“Are you sure?” They’d stopped walking, stuck at a crosswalk, waiting for traffic to pause for them. “You’ve seemed sort of, on edge the past few days. And I don’t know if I remember the last time you hung out with us, or even left your room this week.” Wattson burrowed her other hand into her pocket. She was bobbing her head, moving along to music that wasn’t there.

Wraith sighed out of her nose. She pays attention to me enough to notice that? She held back her smile at the thought. Turning back to Natalie’s concern.

“I’m, good I just, feel kinda out of it lately. The voices y’know, sometimes they can be overwhelming.” She tried not to get too in detail.

Natalie didn’t need to hear about how her throat was still burning. How she’d go into a frenzy, holding her head in her arms and crying, trying to scratch the thoughts away. How she’d stay up all night cleaning and organizing her apartment because what if they find me and I can’t get out of my room fast enough.

What if Natalie’s one of them??

The thoughts were overwhelming. It felt like she was strapped to a chair, forced to look at something she didn’t want to. The harder she tried to shut her eyes or turn away, the clearer they became. She often ended up shaking her head at them, shutting her eyes or plugging her ears. Trying to get away from her own brain. Even if she resisted, and did nothing, it just felt like acceptance.

“I get feeling overwhelmed,” Natalie replied. Her voice lower, more monotonous as she dropped the peppy mask she often put on. “When I get overwhelmed it’s like everythings closing in and I can’t get away. I’ve got to push it all out and curl in on myself until I feel better. It’s awful.”

She re-threaded her fingers through Wraith’s and smiled up at her. Her bright, half-lidded eyes, filled with understanding. “If you need to talk about it more, I’m always here for you Wraith.” She paused, biting the inside of her cheek before continuing. “I-It’s hard for me, to tell how others view me, but I hope you can see me as someone to trust.” Her voice was quieter this time, but still filled with the same softness, and genuine love.

Wraith felt like she was going to burst at the seams.

“Y-yeah I. Of course I trust you Natalie. You’re one of my closest friends here, I’d trust you with anything.” She let the words spill out, curiosity and concern jumping out at the pain she heard behind Natalie’s words. The voices stirred, uneasy. She could feel them analyzing everything Natalie said, trying to find all the wrong ways to interpret it.

Don’t let her tell you we’re hurting you.

She raised a brow. So that’s where they’re going with it.

They continued, ignoring her casual observation, drowning her out.

Who was it who saved you from the lab?? Who did the Voidwalker say to trust???

She shook her head, willing for them to go away. But as usual, nothing happened. Luckily for her, they had other things to focus on. They’d arrived.

The gates to the boarding area for the dropship were in front of them. The rest of the legends were gathered around waiting to board. All except Elliott, who’d probably woken up late again. Wraith wondered how angry Anita would be with him this time.

When they finally boarded, she stayed in her area of the ship. She could hear the stories the others told amongst themselves. But she stayed alone. Stuck with her voices as company. The quiet wasn't ideal, but it was better than talking to people. Their words were ammunition for the storm in her head.

She wants you to stop listening to us. She’s trying to take your power away from you. She's with the IMC͙̑ ͇͗Y̱͠OU ̝̂KN̬̊O̢̾W S͚̒HE I̻̮͑͂Ŝ̙.̰̙́̀

She bit down on her lip and hoped the flight wouldn’t be long.

Her back hit the ground with a heavy thud.

You’ve let your guard down.

She grunted, eyes opening, then squinting at the brightness of the sun. Her ears were ringing, and her body was sore. Her back was raw like she’d been dragged. Her chest heaved. She winced at the burn in her throat, and pushed on the ground to lift herself up.

It was the second-to-last ring. They were in the endgame of the match. This was what they’d been building up to. Her, Wattson, and Bangalore were on a squad. The three of them working in almost-perfect harmony.

Almost.

The match had been wearing down on her. They barely had time to loot for supplies, to find higher ground to survey from. Squad after squad rained bullets down on them. For once ultimate accelerants were a thing of desire. The three of them were tired. But they had to press on. They’d almost won this.

The last squad they’d downed was Octane, stuck by himself after his team had died to the ring. Wraith might’ve been fast, but he was faster. She was down before she could blink, crawling away in fear.

There’s no more respawn beacons. We’ll lose if I die now.

He’d crept after her, ready to finish her off, when, in the distance, Bangalore took her shot. A loud crack echoing across the canyon. Wattson rushed down after Bangalore killed him. She'd ran out to get Wraith up under the cover of smoke Bangalore had thrown down.

“Wraith, let me help you!” Wraith paused at Wattson’s voice. Her vision was still blurry, but she could hear Wattson loud and clear. She let herself be guided into a sitting position. And shuddered as she felt Wattson kneel over her. Wattson's hand hovered over Wraith’s chest ready to inject her with the syringe.

“You ready?” She asked softly. Most other legends would just hit you with the needle without warning. Wraith always felt a sense of fondness tighten her chest when Wattson asked first. She nodded in response, and gripped the hand Wattson offered to brace herself.

This time, it didn’t happen like it usually did.

The smell of fire, the ringing in her ears, and the needle piercing her body. It was too similar, it felt too much like a memory she’d thought she’d forgotten.

The soreness in her head grew instead of lessening as the medicine entered her body. The comfort she felt was replaced with fear and anxiety. She could almost smell the scent of rubbing alcohol. The smell that’d lingered in every crevice of the medical facility she was kept in so long ago.

Her hands shook. Her armband, a gift from the Voidwalker, beeped. Telling her that her portal was ready. The familiar noise drew her further into the fear.

It’s just like before it’s just like before it’s just like before it’s-

Calm down, it’s okay. It’s okay, she’s just trying to help.

As the syringe released its last drop of fluid she let go of Wattson’s hand. Wattson gasped as Wraith suddenly lurched backward. Her legs kicked about, sloppy from the after-effects of the medication. She couldn’t think straight, overwhelmed so suddenly by the voices, it was all too much. She grabbed the syringe out of Wattson’s hand and flung it away into the swamp grass.

Both her and Wattson stared after the syringe in the grass as Wraith’s breaths slowed. God damnit. She didn’t want to act on her impulses , especially not in front of Wattson.

She slowly crawled out from underneath the other girl and stood to her feet. Trying to move on from it, she reloaded her weapon and turned to Octane’s deathbox. Wattson sat there for a moment longer, before she got up and joined Wraith in looting.

“Are you alright Wraith?” Wattson whispered, glancing at her face as their hands brushed together. She’d already noticed Wraith seeming antsy, on edge because of the voices. Sure if she was having trouble it would be a hindrance to their game. But a loss was a loss, Wattson would live through it and try again. It was Wraith that she cared about.

Wraith pursed her lips and nodded, feigning interest in the large array of healing she’d found in the box. We can handle it, it’s fine. The less she knows, the better. Besides, what if she’s looking for information on us? The voices were quick to share their distrust. Wraith went along with them out of convenience. There was no point in worrying her, especially this late in the game.

They’d find the last two teams, take them out, and be done with it. The voices would calm after the match, they’d have nothing to discuss. Simple.

The sound of gas canisters being thrown in their direction was the first sign of her plan going downhill.

They were down in the stream where Bridges used to be. A ravine of sorts. Perfect to line with toxic gas and trap the two of them in. Caustic didn’t think twice about taking his chance.

Wraith’s voices, the good ones, the ones she trusted, hit their target first.

There’s a shooter, move.

Traps being placed, it’s not safe here.

Two sentences, calm and collected. That was what the voices should always be.

She grabbed Wattson’s hand and outstretched her free arm, opening a portal through the void.

“Someone’s got a shot on me, pretty sure. Let’s move.” She turned to see Wattson nod in response, her question to Wraith forgotten. Wraith pulled her through the portal behind her. They ran. Circling the broken-down buildings and heading to a zipline. Riding it up to where Bangalore was sniping.

“Caustic’s close by, probably up at the top near you, we’re heading over.” Wraith spoke into her ear piece. Bangalore copied back with an “Affirmative.” And their plan was in motion.

They lurched out of the void together as they reached the top. Bangalore was already in combat. Caustic was with Bloodhound, both of them trying to force Bangalore out of hiding behind a boulder further up on the cliff.

Bangalore aimed and took her shot, and a loud ‘crack’ split the air. She didn’t have much, but she did have a Kraber, the strongest, and hardest to use, sniper in the outlands. And had downed Bloodhound in a single hit.

Wraith ran up alongside Wattson. She slid behind the boulder with Bangalore, pulling out her own sniper rifle, a Triple Take. She leaned it on the rock, preparing to take aim, when the voices shouted.

He’s throwing something, MOVE.

She dropped down, a loud hiss moving over them, before a cloud of toxic gas filled the area. She felt her eyes burn, and her lungs heaving as she breathed in the fumes.

Wraith choked and coughed. She pushed through the burn as she trudged forward in Caustic’s direction. She switched her weapons, pulling out her R-99, raised it up, and looked through the sights, trying to spot him. She heard movement behind her, and turned on her heel, but Caustic shot before she had eyes on him.

Wraith fell to the ground, coughing up blood and wheezing as her gun was kicked away.

What’s wrong with us what’s WRONG WITH US GET UP NOW.

Trap this is a trap this is a trap it’s a tRA-

Caustic aimed his gun down at her, ready to finish her off, when Bangalore’s Kraber echoed through the canyon a second time. He fell, standing on his knees for a moment, before his body dissipated. Leaving behind his deathbox of items.

Wraith leaned back on her hands, gasping for air. She wasn’t fully downed again, so she got back to her feet. Her hands were trembling around her gun, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

The voices were scared. They watched every direction, scanning the world for its dangers. Hundreds of thousands of eyes staring from the void, circling her head. Are there more? Are we safe? Where are the others? We’re going to die that was too close too close too clOSe we need to watch out, watch out, watch out-

She paused.

Anxiety. It’s anxiety. Calm down.

She tried to tell herself that. She wanted to believe it was anxiety so strongly. But it felt wrong, like she was lying to herself. The voices had their own verdict.

Our chest is so tight̤͂.̻̇ W̝͘H̨͗y̞͐ ca̤̔n̙̎;t ͎wḙ͂ ̖̺̏̏b̲͈͊͛r̒͟EA̘̝̐̔th̢̅e.̪̤̌̌? ? ? ̨͋WHERE AR̛̲E T̛̟̒͢H͕̩̀̚E̲̰̍̑̚ͅ Ř̺Ĕ͎͍͒Ŝ̫͠ͅT̤̝̟͖̙̋̒̇͊̈́

̟͍́̒?̣̞͞ ͙̞̣̲̌̋̓͜͠͝?͚̜̱̥͊̓̌̊̚͟ ̤̮̣̘̰̌͌̀̾͠ ̧̦̖̠̀͐̋̓̈́͢?̖̥̱̼̬̿̂͌͠

It was louder, clearer. She could feel them filling her ears, screaming. ͈͂LIS̪͋T͓̉E̽͜N̜̼̎̌ T̎͢O̜̒ Ǔ̩̝̆S̹͚͂͗ͅ ͔͐P͚̲̦̐̇L̗̏Ę̫͙̲͆̓͠͠AS̗̲̬͋̇́Ȩ͉̠̲͑̏͆̚͟͠.̡̠̼̯̺̈́͐͊͌͘

She could hear Wattson calling for her to come loot with them in the distance. Bangalore yelling, asking if she was okay. The two of them, realizing something was off, calling across the cliff what was wrong. Feet hitting the ground as Wattson jogged over to her.

Her breaths were going faster, faster, faster . She could barely hear over the screaming in her ears.

Danger, move.

She couldn’t tell between the real warnings and the paranoid ones.

Her hand reached up to her forehead. Digging into the skin. Like she could tear the voices out of her mind. She dug her nails further. Stop stop stop please just stOP.

Her knees hit the ground. She screamed. Mouth still closed. The noise rumbling in her throat. Warmth ran down her hand and stained her forehead. Blood blood blood… Faster. Faster. Her breaths were going faster.

The whir of Wattson’s interceptor, usually held on her back, drew Wraith’s attention. She jolted at gloved hands touching on her shoulders. She could barely hear now. The voices. Everything. It was all just so LOUD.

Run.

Get away from her get her away from us now now run rUN.

It was all they could agree on. Get away, get to safety, from one voice. Get away, don’t let them see us like this, from the other. Either one worked.

So she did.

She shoved away from Wattson’s touch, heels kicking into the ground before she burst into the void. Bangalore and Wattson left behind as she ran through the opening in the mountains. Running. Running. Running. Through the Repulsor Station. Down the stairs leading to the Swamps. Run. Keep running. Don’t stop. Not until we’re safe.

The swamplands were just ahead. Filled with enough buildings and crannies for her to hide away. Perfect. Behind her, she heard their voices. She jumped out of the void. Staying in too long made her feel like she was burning.

Bangalore and Wattson's voices echoed on the buildings around her. Sounding like they were still back at Repulsor. She threw her arms behind her, and holstered her weapon. She zipped in and out of the void to lose their trail.

Don’t let them find us get away get away we’re not safe here.

She crossed a shoddily-made bridge across the swamp water, and slid into a house. She slammed the door behind her and sat there, gasping for breath.

What the fuck am I doing.

She couldn’t stop her thoughts from swirling. She felt like throwing up, or crying. Anything to pour it all out. She couldn’t focus on the game. All she knew was that she was in the ring. She could hear her team, both of them both shouting on her ear piece. Wattson, desperately asking where she’d gone. Bangalore telling her they needed her back in the game. They both knew Wraith was too serious to play around. Something was wrong.

She pulled the piece out.

Break it break it what if they find us what if they find us and CATCH US.

Don’t let them find us don’t let them find us.

Sparks jumped under her boot as she stomped it into the wooden floor beneath her. The shouting of her teammates silenced.

She couldn’t see. She couldn’t hear. She clapped her hands over her ears as she shook. She fell to her knees, and lowered her head. Her whole body was trembling. Every breath strained against her lungs. Air felt scarce. She felt light headed.

cant breathe cant cant cant see what is, whats what happening

how do we calm down how we calm down how do we

Her hands clawed at her throat.

Everything was so… Loud. Gunfire. Shots rumbled beyond the windows of the building she hid in. Her own breaths were so much for her to hear. Her throat felt like it was closing. Closing… Cutting our air off. Can’t breathe. Can’t hear. Her grip on her throat tightened. More. More. Until she was dry heaving. Head thrown back. Eyes wide. Staring at nothing. Burning bright white.

The voices were screaming .

Her nails dug in further.

Need, air. Need to BREATHE.

The dry heaving kicked up.

Her stomach lurched.

She snapped out of it and fell. Body falling in a heap. Eyes rolling back as vomit flowed out of her mouth. She laid there for a moment.

Vomit on her lips.

Vomit on her face.

Vomit on the floor.

The voices had fallen back to a hum. She didn’t have long. She could still feel them. Like the water in a pot before it boiled over. She clenched her teeth and balled her hand into a fist. She pushed herself up from the floor, and staggered to her feet.

Her eyes rolled forward. Returning to their usual piercing blue.

“Wraith!”

She jumped back at Wattson’s voice. Which didn’t sound too far off. The paranoia had settled. For a moment. She still felt uneasy. Her hand hovered over her gun in its holster.

Wattson hesitated before she knocked on the door. She’d been running around, looking for Wraith for a few minutes now. Searching while Bangalore closed off a spot for them to spend the final ring in.

We don’t have time for this. The thought had crossed Wattson’s mind many times by now, but she brushed it away. Wraith knew better than any of them not to mess around in the games. Something wasn’t right.

“Wh-What do you want.” Wraith's voice was scratchy. A side effect from the vomiting. And it quivered, sounding weaker than her usual stoic tone.

“I just want to know what’s wrong. This isn’t like you.” Wattson stood her ground with baited breath as she waited for a reply. She heard shuffling, and then a sigh.

“I-I don’t, I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Wattson’s face fell further, a pang of sympathy echoing within her when she heard just how small Wraith’s voice was. Shaky and scared. She took a few steps closer to the building. Her hand settled on the front of the door, as she eyed the handle. She edged her hand closer to it, but stopped when Wraith started talking again.

“It feels like everything's swirling and I can't tell what’s real anymore. All my thoughts are awful and I can’t think straight. I-I mean I know the awful ones aren’t mine. But, I just. I don’t know. I-I aaAHH!” Wattson flinched as a sudden ‘thud’ hit the wall. Probably Wraith’s fist.

“Can I come in, Wraith? Are you okay?” Maybe she had a bad reaction to the medicine. Maybe it messed with her voices. Theories ran through her head. She could never be sure. Wraith was the one who knew the voices best after all. She waited for a response, but she got none. Her hand reached for the door handle, and pushed slowly, when it slammed shut from the other side.

“Just leave me alone!” Wraith hissed out. Her voice was.. Off. It sounded like it wasn’t just one of her talking. Like the voices were bleeding through, and talking alongside her. Some were lagging behind, making her sound glitchy, and skewed. Her eyes were visible to Wattson through the dirtied glass of the door. Wide, and crazed.

White as pearls.

“Why do you wanna help anyway??! Just leave me here and win the match without me.”

“I-I care about you Wraith. I don’t care about the game if something’s wrong. I want to help.” Wraith stepped back from the door when she heard that. The voices in her head were tugging her in all different directions. She couldn’t tell what to do.

She’s lying!!

She just wants to help!!

Tell her to fuck off!!

Let her in!!

“You only- You’re only here because you’re with them aren’t you. You don’t care about us. Y-you want to hand us back over. Their expe̤̿r͖͞i̹͛ṃ͂ē̟̻͠ṋ̡́̅t̼̪͎̦͚̐̇̒̿͛.”

Wattson’s brows furrowed in confusion. She didn’t know who they were. Or what experiment she was referring to. She drew her hand around the door handle, and cracked it open slowly.

“I don’t know who or what you’re talking about Wraith,” She said softly. “-But I’m not here to hurt you. I love you, mon ami, I need you to try to breathe, and stay calm. Let me help you.”

She opened the door wider. Wraith was crouched back in the corner, R-99 raised at the ready, aiming for Wattson’s arm.

“Don’t, move.” Her words were slow, and surprisingly calm. Dried blood was caked on her forehead, and vomit still coated her teeth. Her eyes were wide, and white. A stark difference from her voice.

Wattson wondered if her Wraith was the one speaking.

“Wraith, please. I know you’re in there. If you just let me i-” Wraith stopped registering her words as soon as she took a step closer. It was probably absent-minded. She probably didn’t mean to encroach on her. She probably didn’t mean to go against what she’d just asked.

The voices didn’t care.

She’s going to hurt us she’s going to hurt us she’s going to hurt us she’s one of THEM.

“Wraith, please,” Wattson said softly. She leaned closer to Wraith, reaching her hands to pull her up from the floor.

BANG!

Time seemed to slow.

Blood flew past the two of them, less than Wraith thought would. As her eyes adjusted after the muzzle flash, she saw why.

Metal scraps flew through the air. One of Wattson’s jacket sleeves had torn and burned at the gunshot. Revealing the synthetic metal arm underneath. Wattson’s arm was scorched and dented after being hit with bullets. She looked down at Wraith in shock. Her outstretched hands hesitating before she turned her attention to her broken arm.

“Wrai- Wraith, merde. What the hell-” Her wide eyes caught on Wraith’s frantic ones, clouded with fear. Wattson ignored her arm for the time being. Teammates were unable to permanently harm each other in the arena, she wasn’t worried for herself. It was the fact that Wraith had acted out so violently. Shooting her like it would do something, like she needed to protect herself from Wattson. It worried her more than the sparks bursting from her sleeve.

Wraith crawled back. Furthering herself from Wattson and fumbling with her grasp on the gun. Her portal armband beeped, signalling her portal was charged again, and turned her head.

She raised her arm behind her, wind whipping up from out of nowhere, and a hole to the void ripped through the air. She raised her gun again at Wattson as a precaution, and pushed herself backward, lurching into the void.

“Wraith wai-!” Wattson’s words were cut off as Wraith disappeared. All that remained where she’d been on the ground were purple wisps of smoke.

---

She gasped for breath as she fell through the other side. She stood on her hands and knees, coughing, rubbing a hand across her face.

Around her, all around her, everyone was trying to cage her in, catch her off guard, make it easier to capture her. We told you so didn’t we. But no, you didn’t LISTEN.

The tears fell fast, but she brushed them away. Crying didn’t have a place in the face of danger, and she couldn't afford to be more distracted than she already was.

BEHIND YOU!

A shot hit her side before she could react. She spun on her heel, firing two blindly at whoever was behind her. She let herself fall a bit when she heard a cry of surprise, and a thud on the ground. She grunted at the swivel, the wound on her side ripping further. No worrying now, no time.

She sprung forward. Hissing at the pain. She chased after her attacker, before they'd have a chance to recover and run.

A few feet away from where she stood in the mud of Swamps, was Mirage. He was hiding (or at least trying to) behind the pipeline stretching the ground between them like a line in the sand. Blood was settling in the pools of water around him. And his leg was drawn close to his chest, a long tear across his pants gushing with blood.

“I know we’re fightin’ and all Wraith,” She heard him call out between swears and gasps of pain. “But like, are you good?”

She heard him hiss out “Fuck this burns,” Before he continued. “You don’t "ty-tycip-typical,” He stuttered, cursing under his breath as he thought of another word. “You don’t often cry after seein’ my good looks.”

She didn’t care to roll her eyes at him, she couldn’t risk letting her guard down because of a stupid joke. Even if she could hear the concern dripping through his tone.

She shut her eyes. The voices knew what to do. They were here to keep her safe. She took a step. And another. Her pace quickening with each one. She pulled herself over the pipe, and leapt forward. Closing in on the hobbling Mirage, trying to escape the inevitable.

She ignored the shots that landed in her arm, she ignored the dirt that kicked up into her face. She unclenched her teeth, closed her eyes, let out a breath, and crackled out of existence, into the void.

Mirage stood his ground. Blood dripping from his leg and his mouth, bubbling in his throat, ears ringing like a fire alarm. He took his window of time to pull the mag out of his gun and swap it for a fresh one. His fingers shook as he pushed the bullets into his Wingman. Wincing as he tightened his grip on the grooves of the pistol’s handle.

“Damnit Wraith.” He swore under his breath. “One on one, one on one. I can do this. We’re both wounded, it’s fine.”

He didn’t say another word that match.

Wraith, no. The Voidwalker, ripped back into reality. Behind him.

She didn’t give him time. Not to turn. Not to scream. Her kunai blade, usually held at her hip, was in and out by then. Resting on it's strap in her belt as he fell to his knees. His gun skittered away from his hand, sinking in the swamp mud. His respawn card glowed against her blood-smeared face as she crouched over his body.

He’s got healing, shields. Need to protect ourselves. Keep us safe from the others.

She pulled what he had, dropping it in her bag, when her vision obscured. The world went dark, and her limbs went numb. She stood up, spinning around in the darkness, reaching for something, anything-

Then the words pierced the silence.

You are the Apex Champions.

…

He was the last one.

They'd won.

Nothing was wrong.

She was safe.

“Oh no.”

---

“Wraith, Wraith over here!” She walked past the reporters, ignoring their desperate pleas. “What happened out there? What were you saying to Wattson when you shot her?! Are you working with the criminal TaeJo-” She tuned them out. Wraith’s eyes hadn’t un-widened from the shock at what she’d done. She looked like a ghost, living up to her name. Trailing through the lobby, walking the red carpet laid out for the winning team. Her hands were shaking. And the voices, of course, were silent.

Natalie and Anita trailed behind her, both of them quiet. Wraith couldn’t bring herself to face Natalie. Nat had reached over before, when they’d left the hospital wing. She'd tapped her on the shoulder, startling Wraith.

“Wraith, what’s going on? What happened out there?”

She’d walked away without answering.

---

The voices were quiet that day.

And the next.

And the next…0

It felt like the first time she’d truly had her mind to herself in months, maybe years. It was so quiet. Almost too quiet.

Whatever space the voices left for her was filled with her own rushing thoughts. Screaming internally over everything that happened. Every time she saw Natalie she averted her eyes. Every time she heard her tell-tale, skipping footsteps, she turned in the other direction. She couldn’t think about it, she wouldn’t let herself. Thinking about it meant remembering how awful she was, how she’d hurt Natalie. Thinking about it meant scratching at the healing wounds up and down her arms, put there in the first place when the voices got to be too much. Thinking about it meant retching from the anxiety that it gave her to recall the look of horror and disgust on Nat’s face when her arm had been shot through by Wraith.

She could barely tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore.

She knew when it was real, she could feel it, whether it was a gut feeling, or something striking a chord with her soul, she didn’t know. She always could tell just by instinct. But it was so hard to believe what she saw, even when it was right before her eyes.

She hates me she hates me she fucking hates me.

She’d gotten nothing but smiles and kind words from Natalie all week. She’d apologized to Natalie, (“Oh don’t worry Wraith! Are you.. Feeling okay? You seemed very on edge.” “Oh yeah, I’m fine it’s nothing. Just kinda spooked is all.”) Nothing to tell her the contrary of the fact that she’d forgiven Wraith. She couldn’t accept it, she just couldn’t. Nobody gave that kind of mercy to Wraith. Maybe they gave it to Renee Blasey, but she wasn’t Renee anymore.

Renee died in that lab.

She was Wraith now. An experiment gone wrong. An error in the system. Something that wasn’t supposed to exist but damnit she was here to stay.

Didn’t mean she deserved to stay.

Or that anyone was happy she was there.

She was used to the hard stares, the cold expressions, the whispers behind her back, the loss of trust. She was well acquainted with the fear glossing over peoples eyes when she leaned over them, pressing them against walls, gritting her teeth, asking for answers.

Nobody trusted the Voidwalker. Nobody spoke ill of the Voidwalker. Nobody acknowledged the woman behind the wraith.

So when Natalie played off that she’d even had her arm shot through, sparks flying, fear in her eyes as Wraith had leaned over her, gritting her teeth, asking for answers, it didn’t compute.

What is she pulling? What's she going to do? Are we in trouble? Is there danger whATS GOING ON-

Even the voices didn’t have a clue, with all their paranoia scattered around, they couldn’t land on a single conclusion.

The idea that anybody willingly would care for Wraith and try to understand her as a person was so unbelievable she didn’t allow herself to seriously consider it. She’d spent countless nights fantasizing, imagining finding that perfect person. Someone who understood her flaws, her issues, her past, and loved her for it. Someone who didn’t care that she saw herself as wrong, a bastardization of the woman Renee Blasey should’ve been able to be.

She thought of Renee Blasey often. In a guilty sort of way. She’d researched the name thoroughly once she’d found it in the uncovered lab in the canyon. An old recording from Renee had stuck with her. She played it every once in a while, astonished at the weirdness of hearing your own voice saying things you couldn’t remember saying, or even understand. She’d never been drunk (at least while being Wraith) so she couldn’t relate the experience. Renee’s calm voice listing off the formulas and the evidence behind her theories for Project Wraith were often played before she slept. The only time of day she felt somewhat clear headed.

Every morning her eyes were red, and puffy. Often enough where nobody wondered if she’d been crying all night, sobbing at the fact that she’d stolen this woman’s life, and work, and everything she’d worked towards, and turned into an anxious, paranoid fuck up. Something nobody wanted to get close to.

She thought about every time someone had tried to get close, and gravitated away, realizing the layers underneath the exterior were too much for them to handle.

She thought about how Natalie didn’t back away.

And then she forced herself to face the reality that Natalie would never extend herself and try to get any closer than she already was to Wraith. It was selfish, childish, and downright stupid to think so.

Wraith called herself Wraith because she didn’t deserve to parade around using Renee Blasey’s name as her own. She wasn’t a thief, and even then, she could never live up to the void scientist’s name even if she tried.

And heaven knows she’s tried.

Every day she’d tried to do her best.

It’s never enough.

Maybe one day, when she died, she could meet Renee Blasey. The woman she couldn’t be.

Every night, after she’d cried her eyes out, and her throat ached from holding in the sobs l’est someone heard and pitied her enough to check in on her, pretending to care only because they’re people, amazing people, and felt empathy towards her. She stared at the ceiling, thinking above it, to the stars, the galaxies, and everything beyond, and hoped that Renee was somewhere out there, watching what's become of her corpse.

She hoped she'd be proud.

- -

Why do things always have to happen like this?

It never felt like she could have a break, between fucking up, and having things around her be awful. Either the lab was getting uncovered, and she was forced to relive the memories of being trapped inside, or she was hurting Natalie.

This time, it was closer to the former.

Things were bad enough when Revenant had joined the games. A demon forged through metal. She’d tried her best to avoid him. The voices rang out so clearly around him, more than around any other “person” she’d met. Wraith didn’t fear anyone, but if she never had to be near him another day in her life, she wouldn’t object.

Then Loba joined.

And more IMC and Hammond tech was uncovered.

If the screams of the voices were audible, they would’ve deafened her by now.

“We’re dropping at Salvage.” The idea of seeing the wreck of the first place she remembered living in made her stomach quiver like nothing else. She’d never thought that match with Natalie would be topped, but she was so, so wrong.

“Watch out, they’ve laid traps.” She spoke over comms to her team. Her feet hit the dry ground, kicking up dust clouds as she turned the corner.

Stop, danger.

She skidded as she realized she was at the edge of a cliff, freshly made once half the fucking canyon had collapsed. She stared out for a moment, eyes captivated by the glimpses of metal, ruins of old lab rooms and hallways scattered amongst the rocks belows her. Cold, white, metal rooms. Scented with rubbing alcohol and gun metal. Suffocatingly small, and hundreds of feet underground.

She couldn’t hear the yelling of her teammates in her ear piece. She couldn’t remember to grasp her weapon. Her knees buckled before she could say a word. Eyes rolling back as she fainted, falling over the edge.

---

WHAT’S WRONG WITH WRAITH?

WRAITH FREEFALLS, OFF THE EDGE, AND DOWN THE LEGEND RANKS.

The articles written about her performance didn’t hold back.

The other legends didn’t either.

The concern the concern the conCERN.

It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real.

They were never mad at her for losing. For ruining their game. Fo R FUCKING UP OVER AND OVER AND OVE-

“Are you alright mon ami?”

Natalie had walked into the common room, and noticing movement on the balcony, saw Wraith standing alone, clutching tightly to the railing, staring out at nothing.

Back heaving as she tried to control her breathing.

The glass door had slid open silently, and with the voices rambling on and on, Wraith hadn’t noticed Natalie stepping up behind her. She jumped, whipping around and moving her hand in front of her in defense. Natalie looked over her spooked figure and felt apologetic immediately.

“Aah I’m sorry!! I didn’t mean to startle you Wrai’, I was just checking on you.” She waved her hands around as she spoke, over-expressive as always, and mentally felt like kicking herself. Natalie slowed down when she looked past the shocked and curious expression on Wraith’s face and realized how red her eyes were, and how the moonlight glinted off of her wet face.

“Really, Wraith, are you okay?”

Natalie asked, hiding the uncertainty she felt, but it still stewed underneath. The unknowing at how she was supposed to handle situations involving other people. Day to day chatter she’d gotten good at, once she’d been told, either through people ignoring her, or full on yelling in her face, about how much they didn’t want to hear about whatever project she was working on.

Wraith and Dr. Caustic were anomalies on that front.

Am I supposed to comfort her? I don’t know how I'm supposed to. Do I hug her?? I’ll just, I’ll just do how Ajay did for me when Papa died.

Wraith just stood there, frozen. Hands shaking at her sides as she felt the pressure build up inside her. She didn’t feel Natalie brush her hand down Wraith’s arm, wrapping her fingers around her palm. She barely registered her arms pulling her close.

“Wraith, what’s the matter?” Her voice was so soft, barely audible above a whisper, each sentence ending with a tone of unsurity. It made Wraith’s heart swell, that she was trying so hard. Natalie barely talked to anyone outside of her and Caustic, and maybe Octavio, just because of how hard it was for her to talk to people. And here I am making her do all this just to check on me being an idiot.

She sat there, numb, unmoving, as Natalie held her in a stiff embrace. She didn’t mind it, she knew the effort she put behind trying to comfort anyone and appreciated it all the same.

Wattson lowered the two of them to the ground, holding Wraith snug to her chest. She gripped her tight, just as her papa had when she was having a meltdown . Like a weighted blanket helping to ground her.

“You don’t need to tell me what’s wrong if you don’t want to, I mean, I don’t want to-to force you to talk you know?” Wraith shivered from the chilly air around her and pondered for a minute.

Don’t tell her she doesn’t need to hear this from us right now you’ll just be bothering her.

“I-I… “ Her voice trailed off as she searched for something to say. Natalie had taken to brushing her fingers through Wraith’s hair, which just made it harder to form a coherent thought. The voices commanded her to keep her mouth shut.

“I lied.”

The words hung in the air, Natalie stopped brushing through her hair to glance at her face, and didn’t get anything out of Wraith’s blank expression. Wraith sat there in her lap, eyes wide, mouth parted.

Screaming

All she could hea r was scREAMING.

Her body started to shake as she heaved on another sob, holding it in so Natalie didn’t hear. Stupid stupid stupid why did I SAY that it’s so loud it’s so loud. Tears threatened to spill over the edge again, and her cheeks flushed red. Hold it in, hold it all in you have to-

“-I lied when I said I was fine. After everything, you know.” She couldn’t bring herself to meet Natalie’s eyes. She didn’t get any indication of how she was feeling from her body language. Her hands didn’t shake like Wraith’s did when she was nervous; her breathing didn’t hitch when words wouldn’t come; her eyes didn’t spill over with tears she wouldn’t let anybody see.

She envied her in a way.

Then again. She remembered how it was when her dad had died. Nobody saw her for days, until Ajay and a few others had found her hiding under a table in her house. She hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, hadn't spoken to a soul since they put him in the ground.

It struck her as similar to herself in a way.

Both of them quietly felt their pain until someone came to tell them it was okay.

Maybe that’s why Natalie was sitting here on the balcony, holding Wraith’s head to her chest as she listened to her try to explain what Wraith barely understood herself.

Don’t get too hopeful there.

Nobody’s that nice.

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you lie about how you felt?”

Genuine curiosity strung through Natalie’s voice and Wraith couldn’t tell if she was listening too hard for it or if she had been blessed in some way in the form of Natalie Pacquette. No matter what she saw herself as being more deserving of, Natalie had asked a question, and who was Wraith to not answer?

Natalie had already seen her like this. If she was going to be abandoned or seen badly, it was too late to fix anything. She may as well accept her fate and lay her cards on the table. Maybe she’ll understan- no.

Don’t get your hopes up.

“The voices don't always help me. Sometimes, they get paranoid, and scared, and act out. And it’s overwhelming. I can’t tell sometimes which thoughts are me and which thoughts are them .”

“Sometimes that means I feel like everyone hates me and I’m going to die, and-”

“Sometimes, it makes you fear that we’re a danger to you. That you have to protect yourself from your own friends.” Wattson finished for her, raising an eyebrow as she questioned whether her addition was correct.

She looked up in shock at Natalie’s face. She’d told people about this before yeah, but she’d never gotten a hand reaching out to grab hers in the darkness. Nobody ever tried to understand before labelling her a freak. She’d been scared when she first made it known she even heard the voices of the void. But she’d been too scared to speak further on it.

“E-exactly.” She was speechless. Her eyes locked onto Natalie’s as she tried to process but the words wouldn’t come. Just speak. Keep going keep going!! She’s listening to us!

“Why didn’t you just say that though? We could’ve talked about this, or you could’ve gone to the medbay for help?”

“And get treated even more like an outcast? Like I’m not human anymore I’m just the freak everyone always assumes I am? You think you’re the first person I’ve told this to before?? How do you think EVERYONE else reacts to this shit?!”

She hadn’t meant to sound harsh but it still came through in her tone. Confusion turned to compassion turned to frustration. WHY is she listening to me?? Why is she acting like this is normal is she stupid?? It’s not fucking normal what the fuck is she doing???

Wraith stood up out of Natalie’s lap and took a few steps away, her shoes sounding against the wood of the balcony floor. She stood there, quiet, fingers curling and uncurling into a fist. Natalie stayed where she was, knees slightly drawn up as she watched Wraith stand there in silence.

“I’m, I’m sorry I didn’t think about it like that. I get it, in a way.” She stood up and approached Wraith. She hadn’t reached out like before. She kept her hands to herself, fiddling them together as she rocked on the balls of her feet.

“It��s not the same, but people always told me I was annoying or weird for talking about things I liked, things that were close enough to me to be a part of me,” She started. She couldn’t see Wraith’s expression, and reading the room was hard enough. She let out a breath and continued, hoping to everything that she was saying the right things.

“I get not feeling comfortable telling people about these things I mean. That’s, that’s a big thing to tell people about and I’m glad you told me, especially if it was hard for you. It- it shows how much you trust me. Honestly you and Dr. Caustic are the two people I’d trust most to talk to about things like this and I’m-I’m glad you feel the same as far as I can tell Wraith, I really am.”

She’d been watching the floor while she spoke, she barely looked at people while she talked anyway, why should I when she’s got her back turned. She glanced up when she was done though, and almost jumped when she saw Wraith was watching her, turned to face her now, closer than Natalie remembered her being before. Natalie looked up into her eyes and felt her heart strain at the fresh tears resting in the corners waiting for their release.

Wraith started gasping for air and Natalie was confused, until she realized, with mild shock, that she was sobbing. Nobody’d seen Wraith cry, let alone sob so freely before. She almost felt privileged, but didn’t have time to think over the implication of her being the only person Wraith allowed herself to break down and look weak in front of.

“Breathe Wraith, breathe,” Wraith could barely focus her eyes on Natalie’s face but she did as she was told. Shutting her eyes, relishing a bit in the way her name sounded when Wattson said it.

She reached out and hugged Wraith, properly, holding her close and shoving down the fear of overstepping their boundaries, just for then.

She felt Wraith’s breaths shuddering against her chest. She didn’t know what part of what she’d said had hit her, but she was glad she’d made an effect at all. Sometimes what she said missed the mark, sometimes it hit far too close for comfort. She’d learned by now the look on people’s faces when she finished talking was the easiest identifier of when she’d crossed a line.

“It’s okay ma chérie, I’ll stay here with you, I promise.”She said softly. Her voice was so quiet, so gentle. Wraith could barely be in the moment, but she’d heard that. She wasn’t sure if it was Wattson’s promise to stay, or the way she’d said it. But tears welled back up all the same. Rolling down her cheeks silently and wetting Wattson’s jacket.

“ I’m s-sorry I’m so fucking sorry.” Her voice was so small but it reflected exactly how she felt. Oh she’d yearned , for a moment like this. To hear words like that from someone. She’d never felt this, unconditional love expressed to her when she told someone about the pain she went through every day and every night. She wished it hadn’t had to come to her hurting Natalie to show a sign of something being wrong. She hated that it had gotten so out of control that she risked her relationship, risked losing this moment, and risked hurting her.

“ I’m so sorry for-for everything, fuck.” She buried her face in more, and they leaned back, sitting in one of the few chairs decorating the balcony. She tried to ignore the way her heart sped up when Natalie pulled her further in her lap, and felt guilty in a way. Her thoughts focused on light-hearted stupid things. Like how she could smell the sweet scent of conditioner still lingering in Natalie’s hair while her head rested on her chest, or how nice it was when she trailed her fingers through Wraith’s hair.

“If I’m being honest, it feels like you do more apologizing than anything worth saying sorry for.” Natalie remarked with a slight laugh, looking up at the sky around them and breathing a sigh of relief. “It’s not like you hurt me back there. Our wounds are healed after the match, and you hit my false arm, it’s not your fault mon ami. I’ve forgiven you to the moon and back for that.”

Tears welled up again. She pressed her face to Natalie’s chest and let them fall. She breathed her in, the vague scent of metal lingered in her hoodie she was wearing, but Natalie herself smelled... Like lemons. Tangy, exciting and electric, just like everything else about her.

Wraith couldn’t explain the sensation she felt. Little did she know Natalie was mulling over the same thing. The feeling of utmost safety and comfort, like she could bleed every scar she’d bore over the years and Natalie would still wipe her tears away and call her a piece of art.

The reality of night settled into her thoughts, her eyes closing against the fabric of Natalie’s hoodie as her sobs turned to sniffles and hiccups. Natalie’s fingers gently ran down her scalp, brushing through her hair, nails scratching ever so slightly, in rhythm with the low hum Wraith heard building in her throat.

I’m going to die. Wraith thought. I’m going to die right here right now in Natalie’s arms oh my God.

“ Je t'aime toujours ma chérie. No matter what’s bothering you. I’ll stay here with you, I promise. As long as you’ll have me.”

#apex legends #darksparks #wraith apex #wattson apex legends #natalie paquette #renee blasey #apex wraith #apex wattson #apex fic #apex fanfic #dark sparks #wraith #wattson #fic #ravagingvaliance #yeah its me lmao hi if u saw me writing on my old blog no you didnt

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awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands · 4 years

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I never wanted you to die ( Axl x reader)

A/N: Fic requested by this anon. It will be sad as hell, pure angst no happy ending. Thank you so much to @smokeandmirrorz for editing this, he’s the best!

Summary : Y/N who is engaged to Axl is killed, and he finds it out after coming back from touring.

TW: Death, funeral, mentions of murder, sad as shit.

Axl was looking out of the window of his limo, his fingers absently playing with his engagement ring. He smiled because he still couldn’t believe that you said yes, that he was going to be your husband and spend the rest of his life with you. You were constantly in his thoughts. The tour had been wonderful but also tiring, and he missed you so much. Hearing your voice during a phone call was not enough anymore, and now that he was coming back he couldn’t wait to hug you forever.

“I just wish this fucking car would go faster.” He thought impatiently. However, when he recognized the block on which you two lived, he also noticed something strange. A dozen police cars were all parked in the driveway and on the street. He felt anxiety rise up in his chest as he started wondering for what possible reason the police could be there for.

Fire? A burglar? Fight between the neighbours? The car stopped and Axl felt a sense of dread as he realized that the police were right in front of his house. His heart started beating so fast he felt like something horrible must have happened, because why the fuck were there so many cops where you and him lived? He exited from the vehicle and told his driver to go away. While he started walking towards the building, every step felt like a punch in his guts and his mind was losing its sanity little by little.

He tried to reassure himself, he kept repeating that you will show up eventually, probably scared and hopefully not hurt. Then he will hug you and tell you that everything is going to be alright and that he's here now. But before he could reach the front door, a cop crossed his way. “I’m sorry sir, you cannot go in. This is a crime scene.” Crime scene? Axl’s face fell at those words, feeling his heart clench. “I’m Axl Rose. I live here with my fiancé Y/N Y/L/N. What happened?” He asked, trying to sound firm and authoritarian but failing. “Sir, I’m sorry I have to tell you this but Y/N Y/L/N was found dead here in the early afternoon. It has been confirmed to be a murder case." Everything stopped for the singer. All his surroundings were fading out. He felt like he was in a bubble, unable to get back to the real world but drifting away in a world of pain.

You can’t be dead, his amazing fiancé can’t be gone like that, who would dare to hurt such a perfect person? He felt the tears running down before he could stop them, and without any warning he found himself falling on his knees. He wanted to scream so bad. Get angry and punch something, but he felt completely drained. It has to be a nightmare, he often got those so all of this isn’t real and he will wake up in sweat only to find you sleeping peacefully next to him. His thoughts were erratic, maybe this was his punishment. Maybe this was the price he had to pay for his sins.

“You’ll poison everyone who you claim to love, because you’re so impure!” His stepfather used to say to him, and it couldn’t have felt more true than now. “Sir? Sir?” Someone was calling him, but his mind felt so far away. Five months before Axl was nervously biting his nails, checking his pocket now and then to see if the ring was still there. He asked you to come at midnight. To be sure he was on time and to relax and prepare a bit, he decided to come up on the roof five minutes earlier.

The view was beautiful from up here and the stars were particularly shiny that night. The only thing off were the noises coming from the party downstairs. Maybe choosing to do this the same day as their goodbye party before going on tour was not a great idea.

But Axl didn’t care, because he knew that he wanted to ask you to marry him right before going on tour, so he could have that nice memory cheering him up during the stressful period of being on the road. His thought were interrupted by someone opening the rooftop’s door. And there you were, so beautiful and stunning. The redhead felt so lucky to be called your boyfriend. He was 100% sure that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. “Did you want to talk to me?” You asked a bit scared. What if he wanted to break up with you? Axl smiled sweetly and held your hands, looking into your eyes. “Y/N, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I was a broken man but you managed to show me what being loved feels like, you dealt with all my bad sides and stuck with me through my darkest times. But you were also there for me at my happiest moments, ready to hug me or kiss me. Ready to make me feel like the luckiest man alive. I can’t imagine a life without you and I don’t want to so…” and he kneeled on the ground.

“Y/N Y/L/N would you like to marry me?” You couldn’t help but cry as you saw him holding a beautiful ring, with tears in his eyes too. You wanted to answer back so badly, but you were too emotional so you simply nodded and when you gained your voice back you answered. “Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times yes! I want to marry you Axl Rose. You have no idea how much. You better finish this tour early so I can call you my husband!”

He looked at you and he gently kissed you. Both of you feeling like you were flying, too happy to be bothered by anything. You were about to call him your husband and there was nothing better than that. “Oh God, I love you so much Y/N!” He said picking you up and spinning you around. Present “Sir, sir, can you hear me?” Axl snapped back to reality, only to be crushed by the pain again. Everything was real, it was not a nightmare. He was still outside of your house and you were still dead. Gone forever as you took his heart away with you. “Sir, we need you to come with us to the station for some questions.” The policeman said, looking him in the eye. “I was touring for five months, I have an alibi.” Axl said, angry and disgusted that they could ever think he would hurt you in any way. “We know, we just need to know more about who would have killed your fiancé. Don’t worry, you can call your lawyer when you want, Mr. Rose.” The singer was too tired to argue, so he decided to follow him.

As soon as he entered the station, he felt all the eyes on him, but again it seemed like nothing but the pain mattered anymore. They held him for an hour, asking him general questions such as who could want you dead, if you had any violent ex-boyfriends or anything else who could have helped them.

He answered back without any emotion, because it was still so hard to believe that you were gone forever. They promised him to find the killer and they asked him to not leave the city. Axl almost laughed because he felt like he could barely move without you, let alone traveling outside the country.

When he got outside, he sat on the sidewalk and grabbed his phone. His hands were shaking and he felt more and more tears coming but he needed to be strong. He can cry later.

Biting his lips, he waited, until after three rings the person answered. “Uhm… hello?” Duff’s voice said, and the singer felt so guilty to have woken him up. The bassist was probably still hungover but Axl knew that without hearing or seeing his friends he wouldn’t make it. You’re so weak Bill, you’re a pathetic excuse of a man! And now more than ever, those words felt right.

“D-Duff… Y/N… is gone, murdered. I-” Axl wanted to continue but he started to hyperventilate. “Fuck Axl, where are you? What’s going on? I’m going to pick you up, just tell where you are, okay?” The blonde said, sounding as distressed as Axl was.

“O-Outside the police station.” He replied, trying to not sob.

“Five minutes and I’m there, just stay calm Ax and don’t move!” Duff said firmly, but a hint of panic could be heard in his voice.

Axl sat still, biting his nails and trying as much as he could to distract himself but his mind kept shouting intrusive thought at him. Eventually he had lost track of time, because now Duff was standing in front of him, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“Let’s get in the car Ax. All the boys are waiting at Izzy’s house.” He gently said, pushing the redhead inside his vehicle.

He sat down and looked out of the window, hoping that what was outside would distract him and burst that bubble of pain he felt inside his heart. However, he knew that it was useless.

Three years ago

Axl was so nervous and he didn’t even know why. It wasn't like it was the first time he was going on a date. But with you it felt different, almost special. He was constantly checking himself in the mirror, trying to look badass but also sweet and mentally stable, he didn’t want to fuck things up with you. He felt like you were the one.

A knock on the door almost made him jump, but then he opened it and found you waiting for him. The singer was struck by your beauty and he might have zoned out for a few seconds.

Then he smiled and grabbed your hand, leading you to your destination.

Everything went good, you two clicked and he found himself so comfortable talking to you about almost anything. However, something was eating him alive and you noticed it.

“Hey Axl, what’s wrong?” You asked gently.

“I like you and a lot.. but I’m scared that I will screw things up or scare you because I’m me..” He said, biting his lips.

“I like you Axl. I even like the not so good parts and I know the real you. I’ll be there for you, step by step, okay? Don’t be scared to give us a chance!” He cupped your face and gently kissed you, feeling totally different from every other kiss. And it was at that moment that he knew you were meant to be.

Present

Axl snapped back to reality right before Duff parked in Izzy’s driveway. He felt so exhausted but at the same time he didn’t feel like he could sleep. Only his brain was tired. Numbed by the pain and the sadness.

He saw Slash and Steven waiting for him in the doorway, a sympathetic expression on both of their faces.

The curly haired man then grabbed his suitcase and headed towards the guest room, as footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. Izzy.

The singer felt like he was about to break down again, he couldn’t hold it anymore but fuck to start crying right in front of his band was different from what he did earlier and he didn’t want to be seen like this. Izzy stared at him, with the same look that Jeff would use every time Billy showed up with bruises at his door.

It meant “You can let it out, it’s okay, nothing bad will happen” and he knew you would have said the same, but you were gone forever and the only person that was close enough to break down his walls was his best friend.

The tears just fell, he didn’t make any sound but he felt them slowly rolling down his cheeks and before he could realize it he was silently sobbing in Izzy’s arms.

At that moment reality hit more than ever and your loss was so heavy on his heart. It was like a wave of pain crushed his heart every minute with increasing violence.

At some point the others joined them, Slash and Steven patting his back while Duff and Izzy made him sit on the couch. He felt too numb and exhausted to care about being seen like that, you were the only thing occupying his mind. The good memories mixing with terrible images of you laying motionless. And he was angry because all of this was not fair. He loved you so much and you did nothing wrong.

“Y/N is gone forever…” He said through the sobs and slowly he felt tiredness taking over.

So he simply closed his eyes, imagining your warm smile.

---

They say time fixes all wounds, but that’s bullshit.

Axl stayed at Izzy’s house, with the boys coming over every day to help. He barely ate or slept. He was mostly just staring at the ceiling or the TV.

Occasionally he tried to write a song for you, but the pain and all the emotions didn’t help him as well as he thought. He felt bad for his band, who basically had to be his babysitters. It hurt to wake up every morning and not find you by his side.

All his energy was mostly focused on the telephone in his room, hoping that his lawyer or police would give him news on your murder. But it never rang.

The boys would try to distract him, make him eat, sleep or do anything else really. But they didn’t understand that was the only thing that didn’t make Axl feel like he had lost all control.

Two weeks after your murder the phone rang. He was eating a sandwich just so Duff wouldn’t die from stress because the poor man was like a worried mother most of the time.

When he heard it he started running towards the bedroom and quickly picked it up and five minutes later everything was over.

“What did they tell you?” Slash asked impatiently. Axl was so wrapped up in his pain that he forgot the band were your friends too. “They said it was a robbery. Someone thought that Y/N would be with me on tour so they wanted to steal all my things, but they found Y/N, got scared and shot them. They could have called 911 and maybe Y/N would still be here.” Axl said with a flat tone, a single tear streaming down his cheek, as all the boys hugged him sadly.

---

He started to write a song for you.

Nothing much had changed, he still broke down while hidden in the bathroom. He slept two hours a night and ate one meal a day, but writing was his last hope. He fooled himself into believing that if he could say his last goodbye to you, things would be better.

---

A week later your funeral took place at a local church. Axl offered to pay for it, and your parents thanked him for everything he had done for you. Everything was so sad and Axl was glad neither of them or him broke down and cried when he told them.

It was hard for all the boys. Sure Axl was your fiancé but you were close to the rest of the band as well so all of them were pretty down. Especially when they had to see your casket and your parents breaking down while all your relatives were sorry for their loss.

Axl thought that this day was even worse than the one on which you died, mainly because now everything would be over forever. Now he had to see you laying dead and forever gone. He was the last to go to your parents, both of them tried their best to give him a sympathetic smile and they were very moved when he mentioned the song he wrote for you.

He also prepared a speech for you, his proper last goodbye. The one that only you, him and the people close to you will hear. Trying not to cry was getting harder and harder as he was listening to all your friends and family talking about how amazing you were and before he knew it he felt Duff tugging his sleeve and then whisper: “It's your turn.”

Slowly, he walked towards the wooden pedestal with the microphone. Then he took a big breath and started speaking.

“Y/N was out of this world, the best person anyone could possibly ever ask for. Sure there was attitude and sassiness in my fiancé but also love, understanding, talent, happiness and kindness. My darling found a way to love someone as broken and damaged as me, by bringing me together piece by piece, showing me what love was and that I deserve it.” He stopped for a moment, because he felt the tears coming up again.

“Y/N didn’t deserve to die the way they did, and I’m sorry to not have kept my promise to protect my fiancé. I’ll miss Y/N so much, I can’t even imagine how my life will be, but at the same time I won’t forget and I’ll love you forever my angel. Nothing lasts forever but you will be in my heart, babe.” He finished and got back to his seat, feeling the tears silently running down.

“Hey man, why don’t you come outside with Steven and I? He needs to find a bathroom and some fresh air will help you. We will be back soon, promise.” Slash proposed and the singer decided to follow him, feeling the need to be outside.

They sat on the church’s stairs as Steven ran towards the bar across the street. Saul lit up a cigarette and then offered one to Axl who gladly accept it. He tried his best to distract himself but his mind was racing at high speed, almost hurting him.

“Hey Ax, it was not your fault, you didn’t know. And Y/N loved you so much. It was almost sickening how much you two talked about the other when they were not around!” Slash said a bit awkwardly but the redhead appreciated it very much.

Before he could reply, Steven joined them and out of nowhere he hugged his singer. Axl was far too sad to be angry at that, so he simply let the younger man hold him for a couple of seconds, then all three got back into the church as the priest was finishing the ceremony. It had started to rain.

As everyone was getting outside, Axl gave one last sad goodbye to your parents before getting in the car with the band. The boys decided on where to stop to eat, not without arguing on what was the best place to go. Eventually, Izzy decided for everybody, ‘cause you don’t mess with Stradlin. The redheaded singer put his head against the window as he closed his eyes.

Before he could stop himself, his mind drifted to a memory with you.

“You better finish this tour quickly, rockstar. I can’t wait to call you my husband!”

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll be back soon and I’ll put a real ring on your finger.”

“ I already have a real ring Axie, don’t spend too much on me! I just hate having you away from me.”

“Well, I’ll come back and you will find me at your door, with a big bouquet in my hands. Just don’t go anywhere babe.”

“And where should I go? I’ll wait for you until you’re back and I’ll kiss that pretty mouth of yours as soon as you get here!”

Axl smiled sadly and couldn’t help but think that you didn’t keep your promise. He looked in the distance wondering what will happen next, but especially how he will live a life without you.

1 year later

“This song is dedicated to a very important person, who unfortunately isn't here anymore. Life is unfair and it takes the best people away. This is my goodbye to Y/N.“ Axl said, managing to not cry, as he started to softly play the piano.

He looked up and he felt the same warmth he used to feel when he was with you. He smiled sadly, then he started singing.

After a year, you were still in his heart, even if it hurt.

#axl rose #guns n roses #guns n roses fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #axl rose x reader #80srock #80s rock band #tw death #tw murder #Axl Rose fanfiction

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cartoonsrulemylife · 3 years

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OCD-based hyper-responsibility . my mental illness.

I'm getting vulnerable

Hyper responsibility involves feeling responsible for others all of the time. It is an involuntary urge to avoid disasters – all day long. This urge consumes your mind every minute of every day.

Ex You see a nail on the floor,

so you pick it up before someone accidentally steps on it. You pick it up not just for yourself, but also for anyone else who could step on it. You feel like it is your responsibility to look out for everyone – to ensure that everyone is safe. If someone was injured because of that nail, the guilt would eat you alive because you left it there.

Because you were the first person to see the nail – protecting others has become YOUR responsibility. So, if you don’t pick up the nail and someone steps on it – it is YOUR fault. YOU saw the danger and did nothing.

So, ultimately, hyper-responsibility involves feeling overwhelmingly responsible for someone else’s thoughts, beliefs, actions, safety, and happiness. Hyper-responsibility feels like it is your responsibility to solve all the ills of the world, and if something happens on your watch, it is your fault, even if you played no role in it. Hyper-responsibility is often termed a “savior complex” because of the need or urge to “save” others from impending danger.

You truly believe that if you do not act immediately, you will be blamed when someone gets hurt. What if the nail becomes so deeply lodged in the person’s foot that he or she needs surgery to remove it? Or, what if the person doesn’t feel the nail in his or her foot, causing an infection and leading to gangrene?

This is called hyper-responsibility and it is common in people with OCD.

Those scenarios most likely will not happen, however, the mere thought of it terrifies you, triggering extreme anxiety. You quickly pick up the nail and place it on the kitchen counter.

Crisis averted.

Of course, the world will not shatter if you don’t pick up the nail, because most likely if you don’t pick it up the next person will. But, in the mind of someone with OCD, a tragedy will occur if you don’t do something (like pick up the nail).

OCD-based hyper-responsibility involves feeling responsible for others all of the time. It is an involuntary urge to avoid disasters – all day long. This urge consumes your mind every minute of every day.

OCD fears permeate your mind until you remove the stimulus (the nail). To you, the danger feels real, even if it’s not entirely realistic or plausible. You become obsessed with the fear then the anxiety rushes in and the only way to calm your nerves is to engage in compulsions (ritualistic behaviors).

Although hyper-responsibility is more prevalent in people with OCD, we all experience forms of it from time-to-time. For instance, most of us would pick up a nail, if we saw it to prevent injuries. This is instinctual. Most people would also feel some degree of guilt and shame if they did not do something to prevent someone from getting hurt. But, this is especially true if you struggle with OCD.

People with OCD perform ritualistic behaviors to try to ease their stress and anxiety and avoid feeling guilty for their feelings. Unfortunately, this reprieve only lasts a short time. Once, these individuals are exposed to one of their OCD triggers, the cycle of obsessions and compulsions repeat. And, yes, the feeling of hyper-responsibility can return with a vengeance.

The fear of danger, harm, or death infiltrates your mind (obsessions), so you spend most of your day extinguishing “small fires” (averting disasters). It’s time-consuming and exhausting, yet, you feel it is YOUR responsibility alone to prevent these tragedies. Taking responsibility for yourself and others becomes the sole focus of your life. It is an insistent urge to protect everyone from devastation, however, what actually happens is you end up devastating your own life.

hyper-responsibility involves feeling overwhelmingly responsible for someone else’s thoughts, beliefs, actions, safety, and happiness. Hyper-responsibility feels like it is your responsibility to solve all the ills of the world, and if something happens on your watch, it is your fault, even if you played no role in it. Hyper-responsibility is often termed a “savior complex” because of the need or urge to “save” others from impending danger.

What is the Relationship Between OCD and Hyper-Responsibility?

Doubt and fear are the main hallmarks of OCD. But, this isn’t your normal everyday fear and doubt – when you have OCD, it’s more intense and persistent. For people with OCD, hyper-responsibly involves incapacitating and paralyzing fear and doubt. And, the only way to stop these intrusive thoughts (obsessions) is to “remedy” or “fix” the situation (compulsions). It is an urge to solve any problem that crosses your mind – or path. It’s assuming responsibility for others – on steroids.

It feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, because you’ve become a real-life superhero – preventing disasters and saving lives. This hyper-responsibility impacts every area of your life, because when a problem pops up, you feel the need to resolve it. If you don’t act or you try and fail, guilt and shame sit in – even if it was an impossible feat. Should you feel guilty and ashamed? No, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling that way.

Hyper-responsibility threatens to take over your entire life, controlling your thoughts, emotions, and behaviors. Understand that people with OCD are fearful and doubtful of almost everything

Is it possible to end this never-ending hyper-responsibility cycle? Yes.

You can stop feeling like you’re responsible for the world, but it will not be simple or easy. It involves confronting your fears and guilt and fighting your urge to “fix” the person or situation. Understand that this urge to “fix” every possible problem is a compulsion. So, if you can change the way you perceive (see) a situation, the urge to perform actions to “remedy” the ills of the world will lessen and hopefully, go away altogether. But, it will take work and help from a qualified mental health specialist (i.e. counselor, therapist, or psychologist).

Imagine what you can do once the obsessions and compulsions are gone. You’ll have more time to engage in the things that actually bring you joy. You’ll also have the ability to really help others by volunteering at domestic violence, animal, or homelessness shelter, helping a friend work through personal, social, or work issues, spending time with the elderly, donating your time to a charity, etc. There is so much good you can do once you get your OCD under control.

You can’t make the world a better place until you realize that you are not solely responsible for everyone’s safety and happiness.

https://impulsetherapy.com/hyper-responsibility-ocd-what-does-it-all-mean/

This is my life/ mind everyday and I hate it. I lose hours to it i changed a diet once for it that went badly. I just want the bad feelings to go away

My thing.. As a kid i tapped Jesus pic three times bec if i didn't my parents would die

I would have bad thoughts or curse out ny folks in my head felt guilty and wrote em to my parents.

As s young adult i wanted to tell store people i ate grapes as a kid without paying for em or chocolate mints from a cracker barrel or a cop about checking out a abandoned house. Any small crime the itch to tell was loud

It got worse

My thing for a while was china has concentration camps and child labor don't buy from china don't buy from stores that sell stuff from china or feel bad when you do because that means you support child labor. Don't buy from companies that profit from child labor . This was impossible its like every store and every company at some point. I stopped using crayola for like a year they're toys are from china

Farming industry has abuse issues my brain just buy meat from stores you trust only eat meat from stores you trust. ended after a gallbladder attack

Now its about the pedo guy from ren x stimpy i have to know everything he worked on and his workers to never watch anything from em .

or how do i know if any cartoon is clean and made by good people maybe everyone sucks you don't know you need to know.

My brain is all about wanting to know or wanting to tell others the negative bullshit i know or I'm human garbage if i don't it's an itch but telling people never ever helps in the end

. some days its manageable others is not and when my ocd fixation leaves it opens a new one every time.

It just it sucks I'm so stressed

#ocd

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spacegaywritings · 4 years

Text

The Wonders of Sleep - You are a Nightmare (4/5)

Summary: Remus is in another chaotic frenzy and refuses to calm down, so Virgil has to step in and convince the Dark Creativity that sleep can be fun too. At least Thomas well get to rest with this.

Tags: Remus things! Talks about murder, death, violence, inflicting pain etc on others/self (your basic favourites in intrusive thoughts), weapons, brutality, Remus, virgil, dukexiety, the duke of nonsense and bullshit, caps, angery remus, moth man/ rat man mentions, sexual innuendo, food, (eating) worms, plants, weird living conditions, disgusting room description, absolute chaos, caring about thomas, mutual care, fluff, domestic fluff, swearwords, lotsa cursing, dismissive nicknames, self harm (mention)

Tumblr : 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 . Ao3: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / all.

My KoFi - Support me ♥ or Commission me

Story under the cut: (<2k)

A gargantuan mace hit the ground, sending splitting stones and other pieces of damaged ground flying through the heart of the imagination.

“KILL HIM, I SAY!”

Dark Creativity screeched into the air. He ripped the mace out of the ground with great effort and immediately struck the ground with a loud war scream.

His deafening screams and yells filled the vast emptiness of the mindscape. Other than that, the slightly more silent noise of Remus consistently breaking and devastating the rocks and mountains of the desert he was in.

“Thomas just needs to get a simple baseball bat and SMASH HIS SKULL IN!”

Remus repeated his motion of shattering the bleeding ground as he hurled his mace out and behind his back for the maximum amount of swinging power science would give him.

“No more PAY! No more BILLS!”

He worked the mace down into the ground, his whole body following the movement. His upper body went down with the large weapon and stopped just shy of the unsteady ground, splitting it.

A growl could be heard. It erupted from the depths of the ground could as the dark floor slowly drove itself away from one another in two halves.

The Duke’s rage had halved the currently imagined world.

He freed his mace and brought it back to his chest. One of his hands brushed over the end of it, the one without stabby spikes! Still a pretty side, to Remus.

A little light bubble, dark pink, grew at said end with a bit of distance to the stick-part itself.

Remus shook the mace, letting the spikes give way to nothing but a long, black stick. Once the hurty spikes were gone, he YEETED the consistently expanding bubble in front of him and repeated.

“KILL HIM!”

The bubble manifested itself in the air, sticking to the invisible laws of the Duke’s whimsy. Slowly, a picture started to fade onto the dark background. Thomas could be seen, holding a bat. It was just as Remus had predicted.

The scene became crystal clear and with a simple snip of his fingers, Thomas moved as if trapped in the gifset of a violent mind. He bashed into his head, again, again, again and again as Remus chanted in moral support.

“GO! YES! GO! AGAIN! MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE-”

“Remus.”

The Imagination shifted at once, the bubbling magma morphing into a small river while the dark ground, the stones and rocks and destruction turned into a field of grass.

While the air remained heavy, the bubble popped and Remus’ stick became nothing but an elegant twig.

“Why are you up so late?”

Creativity growled in response and shook his body like a wet dog. His flouncy outfit floated as if in timelapse.

“Why are you up so late? Stop asking me silly questions. I am creating.”

Virgil hopped over the small river and turned to look directly at the raging side.

“You look as if you are pouting”, he stated calmly, much like Logan would, “what got ya stinki mood up, poopy boy?”

Remus glared back at the smaller side and cleared his throat. He bowed to pick up his twig.

“My mace.”

That was definitely a pout. Remus’ lips were pursed into a pout, even his words seemed to pout despite his sentence being so short of them.

The mustache seemed to stretch his face into a long, sad face. Maybe he was actually manipulating his appearance, maybe the facial hair really put an extra emphasis after all.

“You are the Duke of Creativity. If you want it back, you do that. Now, how about we give this financial discussion a break and fucking chill for a minute.”

Remus threw the twig away and shook his head, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Yeah, you would like that. How about Thomathy here gets it on with a hot dude and I will shut up?”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“We could eat that cockroach Thomathy squished this morning! I will get it from the trash!”

The Duke started running for time before the other could even react. Anxiety kicked in, shifting the imagination in a way, they found themselves in Remus’ messy bedroom.

A huge vine came out of the closet and ended mid-room before the bed.. or whatever one wanted to call the mess of clothing. There was a glowing blue trail of splatter on the floor. Weapons and.. hair??? were cluttered all over the floor.

Virgil could hear a distant slapping of meat.

The floorboards seemed rather loose and rattled.

“My room! ROOM ROOM ROOM!”

Remus drew Virgil close.

“Emo! Look at my plant! It is really cute! It will love you!”

Virgil clung to the ever-changing mess of ideas and shook his head.

“I want to sleep, Remus. Shut up and go to sleep with me. You can wreck havoc and reek tomorrow but Thomas needs to sleep or else he will be shit in the morning.”

The man in question bounced.

“If I make Thomathy beat up himself, he will look like shit for sure!!!”

The emo rolled his eyes and nudged Remus towards the bed. He had not even expected the room to look as bad. Maybe he should have taken this to the living-room or literally any space that had a comfortable ground to lay on. He was a metaphysical being who could not really perceive pain after all - the choice to sleep was really just allowing Thomas to deal with things more calmly, at least in the case of Anxiety. Also, only given that Virgil did not deliberately clock out in order to spare Thomas any effect from his side.

“Nah, that is work. Work sucks. We wanna sleep forever and eat weird shit, right?”

Remus grumbled.

At heart, he sort of agreed. Right now, he was driven to do things, to be active and creative or destroy and simply do as much as he could because he had that energy.

“Nap time, Dukey.”

Virgil tugged him towards the bed.

“Oh, Virgil ~ I did not know you were into this kind of thing ~”

The addressed side blushed but shook his head.

“In your dreams, fucker.”

He stepped closer to the unmoving wall of Creativity. Confidently, he let their chests collide, sending Remus backwards.

The wavering Duke gasped in surprise and squeaked insolently.

“EmO!”, he screeches with a voice that got scratchier and scratchier by the minute. His arms flailed into any direction until he drew them in front of his chest to cross them.

“How can you be cunning and cunt-y?”

Virgil could hear his brain yell a conditioned “language!” response at him. He literally heard Patton scold Remus in his brain. Judging from the sour look on the other’s face, the anxious trait assumed he could hear it too.

“Now you know how tiring it can be to hear something in you, that you can’t stop? Pretty fucking shitty, huh? Move, babysitting you is tiring.”

The reveal of a long, pink tongue was the response but Remus kicked off his boots and patted his clothings until they dissolved into some sort of magical glitter dust. It silently trickled down onto the floor and was blown into all directions of the room.

This place really had a mind of its own. Not that Virgil really minded this.

“Good Remus”, Virgil praised softly as he joined the other on the bed. They laid down together and Virgil kicked a bundle of weapons and books off the bed, “oops. My bad. I thought it was your pet raccoon.”

Remus giggled.

“No! That is you!”

Virgil shook his head, grinning into his oversized mess of a self-ruined jacket. The Duke looked at him in his own naked glory and patted the space next to him. To join him on the fun, he eyed the stack of his dirty single socks collection and gave it a strong kick.

“PARTY!”

“Nooo, nap time. We wanted to be nice to Thomas and fuck shit up tomorrow.”

Creativity blinked at Virgil. A rare occasion. The blinking and directly looking at someone. He usually just stared into something nobody but him could see. It was chilling and so deeply terrifying, Thomas would feel it in his bones when anyone but Logan or the (former) Others interacted with him.

“You will join me?”

Virgil threw his head back as he slowly snuggled up to Remus, filling the spot he had previously patted. A groan escaped his lips and he let his head roll against Remus’ shoulder.

Instead of answering, he clapped his hands together, summoning a little bowl he thrusted into Remus’ hands.

The bowl was full of little gummy worms which looked surprisingly disgusting with how slimy and wet they appeared to be. They had a certain shine to them and the colour was so unnaturally neon orange, they were glowing in the dim lighting of the Duke’s room.

“Have a cursed snack and get your creative energy into a fucked up sex dream instead of making Thomas uncomfortable. He’s got some shit to do tomorrow.”

Silence took over the room.

Virgil caused some rustling sounds as he curled up next to Remus. The room was surprisingly un-stinky compared to what he had expected.

Loud chewing sounds interrupted the momentary silence.

It was good while it lasted but Virgil was willing to trade his own discomfort for the sake of Thomas’ well-being. He needed his sleep with another tough schedule coming up.

“Virgil?”

He hummed in response.

“Are you anxious because of the new projects they planned?”

The former dark side curled further into himself, shaking his head stubbornly.

Chewing sounds continued for a bit until Remus took a small break and suddenly snapped his head back and emptied the whole bowl into his mouth. Without even moving his jaw to chew, he swallowed his big ball of cursed sweets and made a lewd lip-smacking sound.

Virgil opened his mouth to comment on how disgusting the other was but he interrupted him.

“Come cuddle. It is okay to be scared. I will eat your mean anxiety.”

He shook his head. The Duke turned to pull Virgil into a hug. The anxious side chuckled.

“This is not how I work.”

“Yeah, but it is how I work.”

“Whatever, Remus. Shut up if you wanna cuddle, you rat man.”

It was Remus’ turn to chuckle.

“You just wish I was moth man!”

Virgil shook his head, smirking into Remus’ neck. He finally allowed himself to close his eyes and hold onto the other.

It was silent.

For real.

Within minutes, Remus was asleep and Virgil was ever so silently snoring, nobody could hear it.

#ts remus #remus sanders #fanfiction #fanfic #fanficion #fanfic fluff #ts fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides virgil #virgil sanders #joey writes #domestic fluff #Fluffy Fic #fluff

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neighborhoodmoonchild · 5 years

Text

I Could Use A Hug (Uni!Yoongi Oneshot)

1. “Can you please come and get me?”

4. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

20. “I could really just use a hug right now.”

Pairing(s): Yoongi x Reader

Genre: University!Au, fluff

Warnings: insomnia, allusions to depression, signs/symptoms of depression and/or anxiety (if you or someone you know is struggling, don’t be afraid to seek help)

Word Count: 2.3k words

The thrum of rain drops pelting every surface around you dulled your senses and fogged your aching mind. You could barely see two feet in front of you, the darkness surrounding you only broken by the sparse light of the street lamps that became farther and fewer the longer you walked.

You weren’t sure how long you had been walking, hell, you weren’t sure where your feet were taking you anymore. All you knew is that you couldn’t lie there and pretend like everything was alright; like your mind wasn’t tearing itself apart bit by bit for seemingly no reason, and no matter how much you wanted to believe that closing your eyes and forcing it all away would work, in the end, it never would.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had slept, really slept, and the nightmares in your head seemed to enjoy their slow torment of you from the inside out.

You’re friends would tell you you’re in your head too much; your parents that it’s stress and lack of a proper routine. None of them seemed to dig deeper, try and see that you’ve tried every solution you could think of to fix their idea of the problem, and that none of them worked.

Then again, why should you expect outsiders to know all the answers when you can’t even pinpoint the why yourself.

So instead of staring at your ceiling and letting your mind run rampant with negative thoughts that feed off your sleep-deprived brain, you decide that taking a walk in the pouring rain at 2 a.m. alone would distract you from everything going on in your consciousness.

Only now, sitting on a rickety bench on the side of some street you’ve never heard of, illuminated only by the blinking bulb of a street lamp 20 ft away, you realize that there is no way to outrun this. And, honestly, your exhausted from running this marathon alone.

Wiping away the rain streaming down your face, that may nor may not have been mostly tears that you hadn’t even known had started spilling, you take out your phone to stare at the screen.

3:45 a.m.

“I shouldn’t bother him.” You whisper to yourself, although you bring up your contacts and push the one your looking for anyways. As you hold the phone to your ear, the dial tone ringing through your mind, you curse yourself for being so thoughtless.

How dare you call him when he’s just trying to sleep, knowing he’s probably been up late working, and expect him to drop everything for you. He probably won’t even answer the pho-

“Hello?” A raspy voice cuts through your intrusive thoughts and it takes all you have not to breakdown right then and there. You knew he’d already be worried by the time and nature of the call, no need to add in your hysterical sobbing.

“Y/N? Hey... are you okay?” Yoongi asks, and you can tell he’s getting more worried by the second, and you need to hurry up and find something to say before he panics.

Clearing your throat and taking a deep breath, “Can you please come and get me?”

You hated the way your voice cracked and how needy you sounded, having half a mind to just tell him it was a joke or something and hang up.

You hear him shuffling around, no doubt getting dressed and grabbing his keys, already one foot out the door.

“Of course, where are you?” His voice is soft, calming, and despite the weight it lifts off of your shoulders, you can’t help the pang of guilt that rumbles through your chest for dragging him into your bullshit all the time (though he’d tell you it’s not bullshit and he’s happy to help).

Your eyes dart around your surroundings, trying to find an indicator to your location, spotting a street sign a few yards away, relaying the information to Yoongi.

After a few seconds of what you’re assuming is him getting in his car and trying to figure out exactly where you are, he clears his throat, “Alright, stay there, I’ll be there in, like, 15 minutes...20 minutes top,” And then hangs up the phone to begin the journey.

Slowly tucking your phone back into your pocket, you discover that the rain pelting down just a mere few minutes ago has died down to a light drizzle. It’s a cool evening, but not uncomfortably cold, though you felt so numb right now you doubt you’d have noticed otherwise.

Left alone to your thoughts once again, counting down the seconds till Yoongi would arrive to save you yet again from yourself, you can’t help but let your thoughts wander to the first time you met him.

You hadn’t been quite the mess you were now, freshly out of high school, entering uni and the real world with a blind sense of optimism that would soon be crushed under the immense weight of classes and college life that you’d been naive enough not to wholly consider beforehand.

Yoongi had already, as he likes to say it, “cracked the code” of university life, handling the stresses of student life with ease. Knew exactly what classes to take and avoid, which professors he could swindle, what work he could get away with skipping, and avoided campus social life like the plague. As far as he was concerned, this shit was a breeze and he’d be out before he knew it, degree in hand and job secured through suckering some admin for sweet connections.

He’d never guess he’d get swept up in your steep downward spiral into oblivion when he bumped into you, a happy-go-lucky freshie, that night he decided to let Hoseok drag him to some random new student event in the music hall despite his aversion to such poorly planned social nightmares. In all honesty, he would’ve just ignored you if you hadn’t asked him, quite honestly, where you could get a shot of whatever made him so “incredibly apathetic and disinterested.”

No one had ever really approached Yoongi in the 2 years that he’d been there, except for Hoseok and a few other guys that frequented their shared dorm, let alone a girl. He’s not sure if it was your blind boldness or your Arcadian demeanor that drew him in, but he won’t lie that he’s glad it happened, because you ended up being the best friend he never knew he needed (and the same goes for you.)

Yoongi was there through finals, bad blind dates, terrible roommates; everything. That kind of friendship also came with a front row seat to watch as your mental health deteriorated, with no sure fire way to help you, and it killed him inside.

Soon life was filled with insomniatic episodes that could last for days, a bad caffeine addiction, and an impending sense of doom looming over your shoulder every second of every day, and Yoongi felt like the only thing he could do was watch it all unfold. He was scared of saying the wrong thing, pushing you further into the black hole you edged closer to, and he didn’t want to lose the closest friend he’d ever had.

He quickly learned that just being there and listening when you needed it was the one thing you needed, and he happened to be pretty freaking good at it.

You’ve been up for 13 hours straight working on the exact same assignment? Let’s take a break and watch your favorite movie.

You’re roommate kicked you out again because she can’t deal with you being up for 3 nights in a row? Crash at my place and we can cuddle (which ultimately puts you to sleep, even if just for a little while most nights).

You’re crying for the 5th time today and you have no idea why? I’ll put on some calming music and crush you in a bear hug until you have no more tears left to cry.

Yoongi didn’t need an explanation or any answers, he just wanted to make sure you were okay. Admit it or not, he’d come to love every single piece, every inch, every molecule of you, and he hated to see the person he loved in pain.

So getting an S.O.S. call at 3 a.m., knowing that in your weakest moment you needed him and only him, sleep didn’t mean anything to him anymore, in fact nothing else did. You were his top priority and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And so there he was, in his pajamas and a sweatshirt, hair sticking out in all directions, on his way to a random street across town in the middle of the night with only one thing one his mind. You.

He could tell by your voice that you’d had a rough night, considering he’s been present every other time, and he know the signs when he hears them. The fact that you’d gone so far, alone, in the dark, scared him; you’d never done anything quite so reckless in the time he’s known you, and the the fact that you weren’t in the right state of mind had him picking up the pace, urgent to get to you as quickly (but still safely) as possible.

Yoongi learned early on that even though you had a calm and serene attitude, you took things to heart easily, and the more that piled on you, the harder time you had digging your way out. You were very good at hiding how negatively things affected you, and you always put others before yourself, even when the only person desperate for help was you.

He didn’t really understand how someone so in tune with others feeling and emotions, could be so blind to her own. Sometimes you’d even skip meals working yourself into a frenzy, but still manage to scold him for not eating the proper amount of meals per day.

Sometimes, he thought, it was as if you didn’t see yourself as a living, breathing, person that needed everything you were so willing to give to others. Whether you were selfless or stupid, that was a debate for another time.

Turning down the right street, he finally caught a glimpse of the girl he’d been looking for. Your hair was soaked, along with your clothes, and you stared off at the road with an empty look in your eyes. Parking and shutting his car off, Yoongi hopped out and approached you cautiously, shrugging off his sweatshirt as he went.

Your mind finally broke from it’s thoughts to see Yoongi handing you his sweatshirt. When you didn’t reach out to grab it, he quickly moved closer, pulling it over your head and helping your arms through. When you were situated in the warmth of it, the familiar smell of him flooding your senses, it was then that you finally woke up and looked him in the eyes.

You could tell he was tired by the slight discoloration under his puffy eyes, but the emotion that swirled through them was one you had seen him wear quite often when these things happened; sadness.

Without saying anything, he slowly reached out, taking your frail, chilled hand in his, rubbing it to bring back some warmth. You smiled slightly, though tears still spilled from your eyes.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?” He asked, continuing his ministrations, searching through the storm that raged on in your eyes.

You shrugged, a long, exhausted sigh escaping your lips.

“Not that long.” You lied, and he saw right through it, not only because he could tell by just looking at you, but he knew it’d had to be significantly longer than usual for this sort of thing to occur.

When you looked back at him, he continued to burn through your facade with his gaze till you broke.

“Like... 6...6 days.”

There was a short silence between the two of you as everything sort of sank in. It wasn’t unlike you to survive on a few hours of sleep, or maybe go 2-3 days without it, but never this long. Why didn’t you tell him beforehand? Why didn’t he notice?

“You know,” he begins, bringing your attention back to his face, which softens as he takes in just how tired and sad you looked, “if you need help, any kind, I’ll be right there for you.”

You’re a bit surprised by his statement. You know you’ve been in a bad state for a while, and he knows it too, but the topic of getting help outside of the two of you hadn’t really been discussed. Not that you were opposed to it, it just never crossed your mind.

Your silence seemed to worry him, making him add, “if you want, whenever you’re ready, and if you’re not, well, then that’s okay too....because I’m here for you, not matter what, and-“

Your light giggle breaks him from his tangent, and his mouth turns up in a half smile when he sees you wipe your eyes and turn to him, the life seeming to slowly trickle back into your eyes again.

“Ok.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, slight worry etching back onto his face even though he tried his best to remain as composed as possible for your sake. You nodded, and he gripped your hand tighter.

“Ok, when do you want to-“

“We can figure that out later.” You interrupt, the fatigue cutting through the bit of energy you seemed to gather just being in the presence of the most important person in your life.

He senses you fading, and lifts his other hand to rub your back.

“You know what though?” You say, causing him to tilt his head in question, awaiting your response.

“I could really just use a hug right now.” And without any hesitation, you’re wrapped tightly in his arms, face buried in his chest as his lips place a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, you know that right?” You mumble into him, and you can feel his body shake a bit with his light chuckle.

“I love you too, now let’s go home.”

————————————————————————————

This is my first attempt at a short prompt imagine type thingy, hope you all enjoy, and if you find any mistakes or have any questions, let me know! Feel free to message me for requests, I’ll try my best to answer if I can! I have lots of drabbles, imagines, and fics planned for this blog so stay tuned!

-Moonie🌙

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goldenmeme · 4 years

Text

Untitled Sanders Sides fic!

My fic got Jossed hardcore, so I’m just throwing up the first chapter as a stand-alone instead. It was originally titled “Five Time Deceit Told Thomas His Name (and One Time He Didn’t)” but like... obvs that’s not going to work now. So just imagine this snippet takes place sometime between Intrusive Thoughts and Putting Others First. No spoilers for POF.

Untitled, 2,200 words, PG-13 (Virgil says a swear), no pairings.

Summary: Thomas can’t sleep. Deceit wants to help.

"--then you'll say, 'Well, when you've seen one, you've seen them all,' and Patton will say, 'Yes but this one's eating my pizza!'"

Roman paused for the inevitable roar of laughter and adulation. None came.

"Thomas? Thomas. You're not writing this down. I'm giving you comedy gold and you're letting it fall through your fingers like sand through your... fingers…"

Thomas rolled over just enough to unbury half of his mouth from the pillow. "Roman. Buddy. It's almost 5 AM."

"Well we could have worked on scripts earlier, but you insisted on watching Parks and Rec until inhuman hours again. I need opportunity to create!" The bedsheets rustled behind Thomas with the force of Roman’s gesticulating.

"What happened to 5 PM, when I specifically set aside time to write and then spent an entire hour staring at a blank word document?"

The mattress dipped in a way that, even with his back turned and his eyes closed, somehow managed to convey the haughtiness of Roman’s shrug. "I wasn't feeling inspired at that time."

"Could we maybe try being inspired tomorrow morning instead?"

"I can't control when the muse strikes me, Thomas."

"You’re my muse," Thomas said. He rolled onto his back to starfish out, smacking Roman on the shoulder with one floppy arm. All he wanted in the world was sleep, but apparently Roman wasn’t going to let that happen. "Does my muse have his own muse? How does that even work?"

To Thomas’s right, Logan cleared his throat. Logan thought beds were no place for anthropomorphic personifications of facets of personality, so whenever they congregated in Thomas's bedroom his customary spot was sitting primly beside the bed in a utilitarian office chair he'd conjured from the Dreamscape.

He said, "As amusing as this musing on muses may be, I must remind you how essential it is to maintain a consistent sleep schedule for the--"

"Yup!" Thomas half-shouted. "Thanks Logan, I got it. We go over this at least four times a week."

"And yet you--"

Patton blindly batted a fuzzy paw at everyone and whined, "Nnnnnnnnn, s’sleepy time now." He was cuddled in a ball at the foot of the bed in his cozy kitty onesie. At night he also jammed an old-fashioned long stocking cap over the hood because he thought it made him look more, as he put it, "bedtimey", though the kitty ears distorted the hat and made his head look weirdly lumpy.

“Patton is correct,” Logan said. “It is, unequivocally, sleepy time now, so Roman, if you’ll just put a pin in your ill-timed inspiration--”

"But my witty dialogue…"

"--I promise we'll write your script first thing in the morning--"

Thomas squinted at Logan's silhouette in the darkness. Something seemed... off...

"—when we all have a fresh perspective and Thomas has gotten seven-to-eight hours of restful sleep.”

"… Deceit?" Thomas said.

"Hm," Logan said.

Like a flower blooming in fast motion, his silhouette sprouted a shadowy shape that coalesced into a bowler hat. Deceit pulled off Logan's glasses and threw them behind himself, where they crunched against the wall.

Roman smacked Thomas on the shoulder three times before pointing frantically, as if Thomas may have missed the transformation.

Deceit said, “I just love how much easier it’s gotten for you to spot my little dress-up games. What gave me away this time?”

“I always forget any ideas I have right before I fall asleep,” Thomas said. “Logan would tell me to write it down in my phone’s notes sooner than later, because if I just try to remember it Roman will keep me up for hours badgering me about it, and I’ll forget by morning anyway. If I make myself a note, Roman can be secure in the knowledge that his work won’t get lost in my brain over the next eight hours, and he’ll let me sleep.”

They’d worked that one out years ago. Thomas still had problems remembering the system if Logan didn’t pop in to explicitly remind him, because in the moment Thomas just wanted to sleep and it felt counter-intuitive to get out his phone and start writing instead.

“Curse that fool and his established systems,” Deceit said.

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t just stop by?”

“Um. Can you?”

“I know you don’t believe that I have your best interests at heart,” Deceit said, “but I do. You wanted sleep. I came to shut the Prince up so that you could get it.”

“Hey!” Roman said.

“You didn’t have to impersonate Logan to do that,” Thomas said.

“Didn’t I? Would you have even considered heeding my advice, had I appeared to you as myself?”

Well…

Across the room, the closet door swung open with an ominous creak.

When Virgil had first started showing up in Thomas’s room, he’d lurked in the closet like the monster they all thought he was back then, glaring out of the barely-cracked door, only ever speaking when Thomas was on the very edge of sleep, and only then because he couldn’t stand to let the important questions the others never asked go unsaid. Questions like, “If you died right now, how long would it take someone to find your body?” and, “Where is your wallet? Do you remember having it when you got home today?” and, “Remember that time in chorus?”

Now that he and Thomas had found a workable equilibrium, Virgil still hung out in the closet (yes, the joke had been made several dozen times) because it was small and dark and comforting. Except now instead of hiding behind a mostly closed door, when the others were feeling chatty he’d sprawl in the open doorway, back propped against the frame and one boot braced on the other side.

He still liked to make an entrance, though. Thomas’s closet door didn’t creak when anyone else opened it.

Instead of sprawling in the doorway, today Virgil appeared sitting aggressively crisscross applesauce in it. “No. He’d have told you to fuck off, like he’s doing right now.”

Deceit smiled bitterly. “Oh good, Anxiety is here.”

“Guys,” Thomas said. “Come on, no fighting. I’m--just--I’m just trying to sleep…”

“And I am just trying to facilitate that,” Deceit said. “I had hoped to do so with as little fuss as possible, but evidently you’re getting much better at spotting me. I may have to retire that tactic.”

“Wait,” Thomas said, horror dawning. “How often have you impersonated the others without me noticing?”

“Why, never!” Deceit said. “You’ve managed to catch me at it every last time! Brava to you.”

“Somehow I do not find that reassuring,” Thomas said.

“Trust issues,” Deceit said, nodding sympathetically.

Roman said, “Only when it comes to you, Deceit. Are you even capable of telling the truth?”

“Oh I assure you, I am very… capable.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it. Say one true thing, right now.”

“Fine,” Deceit said. “RENT is overrated.”

“HOW DARE YOU—”

Thomas had to physically stop Roman from launching himself across the bed. “Okay, woah, hey, eeeeeasy big guy.”

“Thomas, did you hear what he said about RENT?!”

“Yes, immediately after we’d established that he in incapable of telling the truth. Think of everything he says as like… backward-land.”

“So… when he says RENT is…” Roman couldn’t even bring himself to say the word. “What he meant was that it’s an incomparable masterpiece of theatrical genius soiled only by the somewhat questionable staging choices of the cinema adaptation?”

Deceit caught Thomas’s eye from behind Roman’s back. Deceit rolled his eyes.

“Yeah,” Thomas said. “That’s definitely what he meant.”

“It’s as if you took the words right out of my mouth,” Deceit drawled. “Playful ribbing aside, of course I’m capable of speaking the truth. Why, I’ve made five true statements within this conversation alone. I simply prefer to play my cards closer to the chest than the rest of you bleeding heart goodie-goodie-goobers.”

Thomas said, “You understand that the constant lying makes it really difficult for us to trust anything you say.”

Deceit, surprisingly, actually seemed to think about that. He pressed his steepled fingers to his lips. After a moment’s thought, he said, “You’re right. How about, as a show of faith, you may ask me one thing, and I promise I will answer truthfully.”

Roman rushed out, “Say one nice thing about RENT!”

Deceit said, “Thomas may ask me one thing and I promise to answer truthfully.”

“Really?” Thomas said.

“On my word as a construct of your imagination.”

“What’s your name?”

“… That’s it? You get one, single, honest answer from me, and you waste it to ask my name?”

“Well sure. I know the names of all my other sides, and I can’t very well make you a Christmas stocking with your name on it if I don’t know your name, now can I?”

“Dear god. Your moral side is asleep, how are you still this unbearably saccharine? Fine. My name…” he took a deep breath and gathered his pride, “is Ethan.”

“Oh,” Thomas said. “Huh.”

“What?”

“No, nothing, it’s a good name! It… goes with everyone else’s names?”

“Naturally! Logan, Patton, Roman, and Ethan. Derived of course from Logic, Pathos, Romance, and Ethos.”

Roman gasped. “Thomas, you named me for romance?”

Thomas said, “I don’t… think I named you? You told me your name. I don’t really know how this works.”

Deceit said, “That’s right, Casanova, he did! Did you catch the emphasis I put on the no there? Casa nooooooo va… Anyway, yes, we’re all one big, happy family, all with names that fit tidily into one single convenient naming convention. Well. Except Virgil, of course. Ah, Virgil. Our little eternal outcast. Even his name doesn’t fit in with the rest of us.”

Virgil said, “What do you mean the rest of us? You’re not like them.”

“Hey, you can’t argue with etymology. It’s science.”

Thomas said, “That’s not—a science…”

“Um, it ends in -ology, sooo, yes it is.”

Virgil said, “Remus doesn’t fit that naming convention either.”

Deceit’s smile froze. “Ah. Remus told you his name, did he? I should have known the embodiment of zero impulse control wouldn’t be able to keep privileged information to himself.”

“If you think about it,” Virgil said, “only Thomas’s Good Sides fit that pattern.”

“So nice of you to finally acknowledge the fact that I am one of Thomas’s Virtuous Sides, and not an Evil Side like you, Anxiety.”

Patton thrashed suddenly in his sleep, swiping a velvety, kitten-pawed fist at an invisible enemy before mumbling something mostly illegible that might have ended with, “me or my son again,” and settling back into stillness.

Virgil had to force the fond expression off his face before turning back to Deceit. “Do you really think Thomas is going to buy that you’re supposed to be the embodiment of ethos?”

Roman leaned close to Thomas to whisper-shout in his ear, “Thomas, what’s ethos?”

“Uhhh,” Thomas said. He’d definitely known that once. Logan probably still knew it, but Thomas hadn’t consciously retained much of the Communications course he’d taken in college. “I think it has to do with… the ideals of a society as a whole?…”

“And isn’t that just me to a T,” Deceit said. He was already sinking down as he rushed out the final words, “Okay well it was nice to officially be known by you, good night now—”

“Wait,” Thomas said.

Deceit reappeared, already glowering.

“Your name isn’t Ethan, is it?”

“Of course it is,” Deceit said, voice dripping with… something. Whatever it was, it was not sincerity.

Thomas should have known. With all his other sides, learning their names had felt right, like it was knowledge he’d already had that he’d only needed to be reminded of. Deceit just didn’t strike him as an Ethan.

Roman said, “Why, you’re… lying!” like it was only just dawning on him. “But you promised Thomas an honest answer!”

“And there’s no possible way I could have been lying about that, too,” Deceit agreed. “Are you not understanding this—” he gestured to encompass all of himself, “--whole thing yet? It really is a good thing you’re pretty.”

The ire drained out of Roman in an instant. “I am pretty, aren’t I?”

“And so very quick-witted,” Deceit said. He gave Thomas a tight smile and sunk out of the room before anyone else could protest.

“You know, I think he’s not as bad as everyone makes him out to be,” Roman said.

Thomas rolled onto his stomach and buried his face back into the pillow. With Deceit gone, exhaustion was making itself known again, darkening the edges of his consciousness. It was sooo past his bedtime. “Good night, Roman.”

“Good night Thomas.”

“Night, Virg.”

Virgil’s response was the click of the closet door closing. Thomas couldn’t sleep if it was open, on account of monsters.

Sleep came quickly after that.

***

The next morning—well, afternoon, but Thomas had just woken up—Logan scrolled through Thomas’s phone while Thomas puttered around the kitchen singing breakfast songs to the appliances.

“This is my jam, this is my jam, this is my toast, this is my knife, and this is my jam…”

“Thomas, where did you put Roman’s idea?”

“Hmm? What idea?”

“My records say that Roman had an idea last night, but I don’t see anything in your notes. You couldn’t have forgotten. We have a system.”

Oh. Oooooh no.

#Sanders Sides #Fic #No spoilers #RENT is overrated though #fight me

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

Text

J.B.B (15)

Bucky x fem!Reader

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul. Yes, the usual. With a dash of the not so liked canon that I wanted to set on fire and drop into a 2000 ft deep valley.

Chapter content: The Endgame stuff and more more.

Warnings: Pain. Anxiety.

Word count: shhhh! Just shhh!

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, doll

"Can I help you with that?"

You knew the voice. And you wanted to avoid it. But considering the fact you were standing in his goddamn hardware store, there was no escaping it.

"Oh, thank you, Ben," you acknowledged, "but I'm good. I got it."

Clutching the basket filled with soldering iron, transmitters and capacitors, safe wires and kid's walkie talkies, you passed a smile of gratitude at 'handsome Ben'- as Tony liked to call him, thanks to those doe eyes and cutting looks- before walking towards the billing counter.

You liked visiting Ben's store. It was never too crowded to make you feel lost and never too vacant to make you anxious in the huge space. And you had to admit Ben's presence in the place always made it ten times brighter. You never wanted to admit it out loud but he was one of the reasons you looked forward to visiting the town market. This guy had been a soft ray of sunshine since the day you bumped into him while trying to decide which remote-controlled car to buy for the daughter of a genius. He had been quite patient with your requests to please Morgan that day. And then it was a series of bumping-into-each-other incidents for the next few weeks, helping each other out through daily stuff while enjoying the time together.

"Soooooo," you heard Ben, watching him scratch the back of his neck in nervousness from the corner of your eye, making you bite down on your lip to stop the smile forming over them, "you and Morgan still working on Ivy?"

You gently put the basket of supplies on the counter and faced Ben, whose height reminded you that there were people out there who towered you like giants. "Yeah. Morgan's the brain. I'm the muscle. And the adult she needs to work the solder. And the tester. Her little robot is coming out pretty fine if you ask me."

Ben nodded and smiled. You could see the faint flush of pink under those fair cheeks while the wisp of his cologne could tell you he was getting heated on the nervousness building inside him. That poor guy had to hide it all by running his hand through his long hair. Just...just like-

"You going to the farmer's market?"

"Hm?" It was like you had just broken a glass wall he had been standing behind to admire you from afar.

"I'm going to the farmer's market. Have to get some blueberries. Tony's alpaca ate all the ones Pepper grew so...would you like to join me?"

He stood there frozen for a second. "Yeah," he finally blurted, his eyes going soft before lighting up. "Yeah."

The ride back home was filled with a car smelling of all the fresh vegetable scents and new soothing memories of an afternoon well spent with a new friend. The hues of the evening were running past the window along with the trees that humbly welcomed you every day back to your abode in the woods beside a peaceful lake.

Morgan will be excited for this, you thought to yourself as you side-eyed the new fruit Ben had bought you to try. It had been ages since you'd seen this juicy delicacy from your homeland. Yeah, but that can only happen if she and Tony don't experiment on it first.

Stopping the car in front of your house, you picked up the bags with a string of excitement playing inside you. It was game night and you were going to play charades and if there was anything that Tony had learned was that any team that had you in it always won. And he learned that the hard way when he teamed you up with Morgan.

You could see Gerald standing by the back of the house facing your yard, turning slowly to look your way as if he was sniffing those blueberries in your grocery bag from miles away.

"No, Gerald," you shook your head, swinging the bag away from his intrusive nose, "not today. I got something else for you though. I'll give it to you after dinner."

Gerald hummed, watching you cross the lawn to make it to the front of the house as Pepper walked out hurriedly.

"Hey, Pepper!"

"Hey, hon!" She called out, her voice carrying a little break somewhere in there, being hidden by the smile she gave you, "come let's have dinner," she added, pointing you to the kitchen door she'd just come out of.

"Oh, I'll be with you in a minute," you stated while skipping a step and raising the bags in your hand, "I just gotta show Morgan and Mr Stark something first."

"Y/N, sweetie, wait-"

She wasn't able to finish her sentence, for you were already two steps to the front porch, getting your excitement ready for the little one.

"Hey, Magoona! You're not gonna believe what Ben and I found in the mar-"

The last word didn't drop. It took a dive from the highest mountain and fell without any trace in the deepest of valleys with nothing but darkness. Just like your heart did on watching Steve, Natasha and a stranger standing on the porch with Tony. Morgan, who had been embracing Tony right that very second, felt her ears perk up at your voice, taking a tiny gasp before wiggling out of her father's protective hold to run down the steps and hug you by the legs, shrieking your name in excitement.

"Y/N! Ivy food!"

It wasn't until you felt Morgan's hug that you realised you'd been standing there, breathless, watching Steve's face bring all the memories back- the darkness, the dust, the tears and the crumbling of any last speck of hope left inside you. Had it not been for Morgan's hold, you were surely about to fall flat onto the ground, clenching your chest for air as the battle cries and stench of blood rose from the dormant crests of your hidden fears.

Tony saw. Natasha too. Steve couldn't miss it even if he wanted to.

"Magoona!" Tony softly shouted for his little one, "help Y/N with those bags, would you?"

Morgan took the two lightest bags and walked back up the porch to go inside as the stranger held the door for her.

"Y/N, are you al-"

Steve's voice made the infant ache inside your chest worse, making you gently dump the rest of the bags on the ground before stepping away to find space to breathe.

"Steve, I think you should go." You could hear Tony say as you walked back to your safe space.

"Tony she deserves to know," you heard Steve this time, "she deserves to know she has a chance of getting back Buck-"

You didn't realise the step, tripping on the concrete block and scrapping your knee, feeling no part of your body wanting to break the fall. And when there was an impact, no part of you wanted to get back up.

It was a blur, the next few moments. Two pair of arms were trying to support your weight on them to help you get back on your feet. But everything was distant. The voices calling out your name were dominated by the ever-increasing pressure in your chest and the unwelcome heat all over your body was not helping it.

"Y/N. Y/N? Are you okay?"

"Y/N, sweetie, can you hear me?"

"Guys, just hold her, okay?"

"Why? What are you gonna-"

A wave of cold struck your heated cheeks, jolting you out of the anxiety-ridden tenace to face gentle green eyes. "It's okay," they whispered, before the cold travelled to your neck, "you're okay."

"Nat," you whispered back, letting your arms wrap themselves around her frame.

"I got you," she responded softly, taking you in her hold, "I got you. Come on."

The fire in your modest living room crackled while Natasha drew the curtains. You sat on the carpeted floor next to the fire with a bottle of water in your hand, rubbing your forehead to get rid of the images springing inside your head.

"No, I think you've done enough for today Steve."

"Tony. Please. I just wanna meet her as a friend, I promise."

The muffled voices outside your door caught your attention. Natasha's too.

"We'll leave," she mentioned out of the blue, her smile warm as ever for you, "we didn’t mean to ruin your dinner plans."

"No," you shook your head, shutting the bottle, "you guys should stay. This...I... it's nothing to do with-I'm fine."

Before Natasha could say more, you got up and walked to the door to open it and see a furious Tony looking at nearly-down-on-his-knees Steve before they turned- finding all their emotions dissolving into one big pile of worry- in your direction.

"Sorry about that," you apologised, "let's have dinner," and walked out towards Tony's place like nothing had happened, leaving even Natasha a bit unsettled.

"The pie is amazing," the stranger, who introduced himself as Scott Lang, exclaimed.

I like this guy.

"Y/N made it" Tony added. Steve and Natasha could see the little puff in his chest as he mentioned that information. "She makes mean pies and noodles."

"And pasta," Steve muttered.

"Y/N, can we have creamy pasta tomorrow?" A voice called from the other side of the table- opposite where you sat. Morgan looked at you with her beautiful pleading eyes before stealing a look at Steve.

"Yes. Sure!" You smiled back at the little one, making her grin in delight at the Captain.

"Will you have pasta with us tomorrow?" She asked Steve, Scott and Natasha.

Straight to the point. You snickered internally on watching the gaping mouths looking at Morgan in shock.

"We'd love to!" Scott finally broke the silence that Pepper was probably going to fill with 'who wants some ice cream'. "But we have to go to work tomorrow."

"Oh," Morgan exclaimed, going back into her chair while pressing her lips and looking up at the ceiling, "hmm. We'll save some for you then."

Steve smiled at her. "Thank you, Morgan! That's very nice of you."

"It's okay. We'll have plenty because mommy and daddy don't eat it much. They say it's for the weak and lazy."

You and Scott nearly choked on your food while Tony coughed and Natasha tried to stop her giggle snort. Eventually, the entire table burst into a fit of laughter, making the tiniest member the happiest.

"Hey, can I talk to you?"

A second of confused surprise later, Steve nodded in your direction. "Yeah."

You walked down the porch midway between the Starks and your place.

Before Steve could follow you, he felt a tug on his arm, making him turn to face Tony standing at the door, looking at everyone else trickle down towards the driveway.

"Rogers-"

"Tony, I heard you loud and clear-"

"She still has nightmares."

A gentle breeze blew through the quiet estate, bringing with it a sombre song of the rustle of leaves and the last call of birds going back home.

Even in the fading light, it was hard for Steve to miss the pain in his friend's eyes as he tried to blink away the flashbacks of nights he would wake up from a satisfying slumber to find the air shatter into pieces with your screams. So intense were your wails, there were times Tony had feared your lungs might collapse and end it all. Every such night, he was there, running through your front door, to your room to find you curled up in a corner sweating and screaming at some invisible void till he would softly announce himself and take you in his embrace, finding himself trying to undo everything on Titan, making sure you did not disappear from his arms. Not this time.

"She still cries at night because of what she lost as if she hasn't seen worse and she has," Tony stressed, his eyes nearly giving him away.

Steve stood there, frozen, looking at a father and a friend, fighting for the ones that were left behind.

The breeze swirled around them, singing a faint ballad of the dusk and sleep.

"Don't give her hope until you're sure you can bring her happiness back."

Stepping away with a pat on Steve's shoulder, Tony went ahead to bid farewell to Natasha and Scott- who felt honoured to have been made busy by the little Stark's million questions of curiosity.

Your face did not give away anything to Steve. Maybe you'd lost some weight. Maybe you'd lost some shine in your eyes. Maybe it was the dark circles he was noticing right now. Or the distant look in your gaze that seemed to be looking back in time, trying to avoid pain but never seeming to.

"Hey."

Steve's greeting brought you back to the present.

He hadn't changed. The Brooklyn boy you'd known years back, carrying the weight of this world on his shoulders while punching Nazis for breakfast. He still had the same look. The same brows of concern. The same warmth in his surroundings. The same as his old best friend.

"Are you okay?" You had to ask. "Don't mind Tony. He's just really protective about his family. Especially Morgan."

Steve stood there for a moment before chuckling.

Apparently, you hadn't changed so much either.

"He's... yeah. He's Tony," Steve replied, his head going down to look at the grass under his shoes.

"He has everything to lose right now, Steve," you stated, taking the Brooklyn boy by surprise. "Us? Not so much."

That's it. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry-"

His words were cut short by your arms engulfing his torso, your head resting on his chest, letting you take in his anxious heartbeat. "I miss him too."

He moves his arms around you when the first chilly breeze of the evening started to blow, wanting to protect you from every bad thing in this world; wanting to bring back your happiness and his best friend. If only he had the power to do so.

"If only."

The whisper was left into the air to carry on the winds of hope, never letting any of you know how the tides turned that fateful night by the man who found the answers to the fate of the world when he found the answers to go back in time.

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prettywitchiusaka · 5 years

Text

So one of my favourite parts of FMA 2003 (that I don’t talk about often) is Al’s memory subplot, or the “Am I a Real Boy?” arc as I like to call it.

It’s the point where I started to really like 03, and it really made me love Ed and Al’s epic bromance.

But I’ve always felt this story is effective in 03 in a way that it isn’t in any other incarnation of FMA for a few reasons.

1. Al doesn’t believe it right away

I think one of the more frustrating parts about this story is how quickly Al doubts that his memories are even real because one person told him, and it just so happened to be a notorious serial killer.

03 side steps this by setting this arc up in an earlier episode, with Al being unable to remember much fo his childhood, and Ed admitting to wanting to ask him something but never getting a chance to.

That way, Barry bringing up the topic later feels organic to the story because these are things Al is thinking about, as opposed to mangahood where he more or less brings it up out of the blue.

Now Al is terrified, but for most of the Episode 21 and leading into Episode 22 he never mentions it again. This makes sense as Al is more focused on trying to find Ed and keep Scar from killing his brother, but he’s also probably not bringing it up because he doesn’t completely believe it. And even if he does, he’s more or less keeping it in the back of his mind for now.

And then Tucker says he cane make a new, better Nina using alchemy and Al’s anxieties flare up again, which is why he begs and is then rightfully pissed when Ed almost goes through with making a Philosopher’s Stone, which then leads into Episodes 23 and 24 where they reconcile the whole thing.

Basically, Al is having an episode of High Anxiety, or more specifically intrusive thoughts throughout this entire arc. With intrusive thoughts, a thought will pop into your head or someone will suggest something to you. And instead of just ignoring it, you entertain the thought, wonder if maybe the thought has a point despite evidence to the contrary. And the more you fight it the more it eats away at you until finally, you just admit defeat. You think the thought is what’s true, rather than what your own brain and emotions (your true feelings on the matter) is telling you is true.

And by the time Al’s thought have run their course, he’s confused. he doesn’t know what’s real and what isn’t anymore. The thought that even never existed, that his love for his brother, his friends, his life is a lie terrifies him and is what makes him leave Ed.

Which brings me to my next point.

2. It’s not resolved right away

I know some people view Al running away in 03 as “melodramatic”, but I’ve always felt it made sense. Al is so confused by this point that he doesn’t know what’s real or what to believe.

Him running away only happens because Al doesn’t know who to trust anymore, and because he’s scared and upset that he just hurt Ed he doesn’t know what else to do. It’s basically fight or flight.

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, so he just runs.

It also adds a bit more emotional baggage to Ed, confirming his worst fears about Al hating him for all the shit he’s put them both through. Even going so far as to be scared to even ask Al when they do find him, and Winry encouraging him to take that risk anyway.

Which brings me to my final point in this post.

3. Ed is the one who resolves their conflict

While I understand what Arakawa was going for in having Winry be the one to knock some sense into Al, it makes more sense for her to encourage Ed to not only find Al, but ask him.

Ed is the one who is not only guilt ridden, but anxiety ridden over his brother hating him. He’ll never be free of those emotions unless he just asks Al, so it makes sense for him to overcome that hurdle, not have someone do it for him.

It’s also way more emotional. I’m not gonna lie, but I choked up the first time I saw this scene. Seeing Ed be so vulnerable, so afraid of loosing the person he cares about the most, it’s just so sad.

And also beautiful all at the same time.

........................

Anyway, that’s how I feel. Let me know what you think, as I’m always up for debating/discussing when it comes to FMA.

#FMA 2003 #03 vs. Brotherhood #Elric Brother Bromance #Edward Elric #3Alphonse Elric #anxiety #intrusive thoughts

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mcrmadness · 4 years

Text

Feeling like some underlying anxiety needs to get out so here we go...

Hi. I have generalized anxiety disorder. Usually it’s behaving just fine and usually I get along with it. I just overly worry about things, I overthink and I can have minor anxiety attacks because of that. Sometimes I get bigger anxiety attacks but usually I’m able to get over them on my own. Sometimes I’m not. However, yesterday evening and last night were the worst in a long time.

I was triggered by something and my violent intrusive thoughts came back. In my case it means I start to worry about going insane and that I would do something terrible and later regret it. Something that I would never ever want to do! And I don’t actually think I would even be capable of anything like that which is why it makes it so terrifying because I’m literally afraid of falling into a psychosis. And I have never had a psychosis. And I don’t know if it’s just my mind shattering into pieces or my GAD just acting out, making me worried that I would go insane. (If you think of it, I’ve never been actually sane tho :D)

I was able to push these intrusive thoughts away by avoiding the thing that triggered me and I tried to do something else instead but since they are intrusive thoughts, they still keep popping up. I hate the images they create into my head.

Eventually I got super tired and decided to go to sleep and while I was in my bed, I felt it again. The anxiety attack taking over. At some point I had some sort of chronic anxiety and I was in that kind of state 24/7 but I’m pretty sure it was because I was quitting antidepressants and I was eating those with a very low dose, trying to get rid of them. And I had had something “traumatic” happen to me too (first time getting actual suicidal thoughts but in form of intrusive thoughts which meant I just felt so terrible I wanted it to stop and at the same time being terrified of doing something terrible because I still did not want to die! I have never wanted to die, I’ve more of been afraid of it. The reason for this was me just being under so much stress and not eating nor drinking enough + I had been lowering the dose of the meds so drastically at the same time that my brains could not take it all.) which probably caused the anxiety to kinda stick.

I’m actually really scared of the feeling of not feeling good and wanting everything to stop because I literally have no idea what to do with that and it causes me even more anxiety. It’s terrible. I have had these moments several times in my life and they have been really traumatizing. I am someone who cannot tolerate not feeling good, which is probably stupid because life isn’t that perfect ever? Anyway, I always start to feed it with something, basically “self-medicate”, usually literally feeding aka the first thing I start to do when I start feeling bad is to start eating. That often helps, maybe because food gives us endorphines anyway, but also because I often link it to low blood sugar which can has very similar symptoms to anxiety and I have had a hard time telling them apart too, having really bad obsession with my blood sugar levels (I don’t have diabetes, that’s why I call it “mental diabetes”) and I’m pretty sure I have even gained weight because of eating for “low blood sugar” which was just chronic anxiety or me getting anxiety from the idea of not having access to food in case of low-blood sugar aka anxiety attack. When I started to carry around these “fructose pills” and realized that I can eat whenever I want and it’s no one else’s business if I eat something in public (which is sometimes actually really hard with social anxiety, especially in quiet environments), no one even cares! So just having these with me (I literally have them everywhere, even in my bathroom if I’d need them while in the shower) helped so much that I don’t really even need them. It helps to know I have access to something that will increase my blood sugar levels if needed prevents the anxiety attacks and I don’t need to constantly eat because I’d be afraid of not being able to eat.

So since you know how I often eat when I have anxiety and it often helps too, the worst type of anxiety is what does not go away with food. Because then I’m again in this place: not feeling good but not having any idea how to feel good again! I’m afraid of this because... can you get traumas from your own old defeated depression? Anyway, I’m always afraid of the depression coming back. It was terrible time and I was feeling so terrible so often and that’s why I’m super scared of having to face those feels again. That all ended when I was 17, sitting in the kitchen, again feeling so terrible. I still can remember having low blood sugar - this time probablly FOR REAL because I barely ever ate nor slept because I was never hungry and sleeping felt like a waste of time, so I lost weight but I did not see that either. Until one day I looked at the mirror and realized I was quite skinny and I got so bad case of anxiety that I felt like eating fucking everything from the house because I had always been so determined that I, I do not have an eating disorder! And I did not understand when people said I have lost weight and my parents even were worried that I would have an eating disorder. But I was just so... I knew about eating disorders, I never felt fat and I never felt like losing weight so I was always really shocked and annoyed by people saying that because I had no problems with my self-esteem whatsoever. And so when I realized I had been losing weight, I got so scared by that and I literally wanted to gain weight in one night and I started obsessively eat that night because it was so damn scary to see myself be that skinny. I don’t really think I was underweight tho, but I sure was malnourished since I ate basically never. And I was drinking lots of coffee because it made me laugh.

But yeah, I remember that one night when I was again have one of these “low blood sugar episodes” where I would just feel sick and sit in the kitchen or toilet meanwhile feeling like vomiting and trying to eat something to feel better again. And I had one of these anxiety attacks too and I was just staring at the shadows on the rug and I remember to thinking to myself how I started to feel the old depression to come back. I could feel it approaching and the same stuff from couple of years earlier coming through. And I just thought myself that this has to stop, I can’t live like this anymore. And the next day I told my mom that I’m not feeling good anymore and I need to see a doctor and that I agree on even trying on antidepressants for this, I just need this feeling to be gone. And so did happen too, I ate them for 5 years until I quit at the age of 22.

I have that feeling still so strongly in my memory that I’m always afraid of it coming back. It’s just so terrifying feeling because I feel totally helpless and that I can no longer help myself. That is why I always start to have anxiety attacks when I don’t eat properly. I’m sure this was one of the reasons to trigger last night’s episode because I have been eating so badly cos I have had no energy nor inspiration for cooking. My sleeping schedule is again doing whatever the fuck it wants and I’m again not taking care of myself. Every time this happens that I don’t shower, at properly or start to stop care about my sleeping habits, I start to fall into that dark place. Or not really fall into there, but this kind of behaviour reminds me of it so much I start having anxiety attacks until I get my shit together, go to shower and eventually cook a real meal. I think I got my low blood sugar anxiety only so that I remember to eat. As a kid I always had trouble knowing when I need to eat because I either was never hungry or I “felt hungry” all the time but had no appetite, so I usually ate when I was offered food but I never ate because I would be hungry. A few times I ate because I started shaking and knew to tell my mom I need to eat. But usually I just ate because there was lunch or dinner or because it was a habit for me to get a snak (usually toast) when I came home from school and watch tv while eating. So the food anxiety in my head is like the adult telling me that you haven’t been eating in a while, here, take food.

I often think how good it is that I am a teetotaler. I’m very sure that if I ever drank alcohol, I would be an alcoholic. I once saw on TV how someone was talking about his alcoholism and that he drinks because it makes him numb. And I realized that it’s really good I’ve never been into alcohol because I would probably self-medicate too so strongly I’d probably never be sober because I’d just try to make myself numb. In a way this is also interesting because so many people become numb because of their depression, in my case I definitely am not numb, I just feel shit and I am aware of that and I’d rather be numb than feel that! But I guess if you feel shit for long enough, you eventually will get used to it and become numb... in a way that happened to me too but sometimes the awful feeling woke up anyway and made me feel like I want it to go away. Maybe me being highly sensitive person just makes that feel even stronger and therefore unbearable, idk... (I don’t have depression right now, but I definitely have had and I feel like I am one of those people who could fall back into depression any minute and that’s why I try to take care of myself to prevent that from happening. My depression is also a secretive type, just like the one when I was 17, I thought it went away but I was telling myself so and I had a hidden depression for 1,5 years before I figured it out. And still only after starting with the meds I realized how I was NOT fine!)

Last night I felt that again and my thought are always “no, not this shit again!!!” and I actually fell asleep but I just felt the anxiety raging all over in my body. A few hours later I woke up to go to the toilet and I was also covered in sweat and my blanket and everything were so so so wet. At that moment I actually felt a lot better tho, calmer and when I went back to sleep, I felt like I had “dreamed away” that anxiety. Anyway, I woke up again couple of hours again but the anxiety was back, maybe also low blood sugar (the real one this time) as I was shaking and feeling nauseous. I’m still feeling slightly nauseous and weird even tho I have been eating, but writing REALLY helps me with these things every time. I guess the intrusive thoughts are not that strong anymore which is great, so maybe this is just the aftermath anxiety. Sometimes it can last for a very long time. The last time I had this was when a few years ago MCR uploaded all the uncut versions of their music videos to their YT channel and I was watching those and boom, suddenly they triggered my anxiety because I was watching their dvd literally 24/7, it was on always when I was awake, because I used it as a background noise to hide away my own anxiety. So seeing those videos be on repeat triggered anxiety that lasted for like a few weeks :D But I got over it. (And I still love MCR, they helped me with so many things, I wouldn’t get triggered by the videos if they did not help me!!!)

But I need to shower now, finally. I’m meeting with the neuropsychiatric trainer in an hour so at least I can talk about this with someone. But I can already feel a lot calmer now, even tho I have some small snippets of anxiety going around the whole time but it might also be because I realized that the Apulanta gig will already be on NEXT FRIDAY.

#mcrmadness' random stuff #personal #anxiety #generalized anxiety disorder #gad #depression #tw intrusive thoughts

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justbreathandstopthinking · 4 years

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This is not a story, it's a voyage. A voyage inside my ROCD, and it's dedicated to all my faithful friends, boyfriends and family that patiently and with dedication are trying to help me the best they can, I hope this will help you understand a little better.

Every time it starts I feel this disconnection from myself, I have the impression that everything is happening in slow motion, it seems to me that I'm looking myself from the sight of a third person, and that I can't control what's happening to me anymore.

I had the feeling of a third person watching from the outside, a "myself" suffering, I feel sorry for her, every second, like it was the person I most care about in the whole world, and I can't help her, so I just feel this pain and sorrow for her.

Every time it starts I feel this flow of negative thoughts inside my head, pictures, sounds, they just keep flowing, and only if I listen to them they will pass by, otherwise like in a loop my brain keep playing the same thought, image, sound until I listen to it.

If I close my eyes the pictures become more vivid and I can see them in the back of my eyelids, like it was a film. The flow is unstoppable, the sounds deafening, the thoughts tiring, and the images scary; and they occupy my whole brain, I feel them like a big wave inside my head, filling every spot, forbidding me to think about everything else.

The more I try to defeat them, the more they put iced water inside my already broken certainties, making me see, think and hear things.

I feel this sense of detaching from myself, everything seems more distant, and more unreachable. If someone is talking to me, I have the impression of talking to him on the phone, if someone is sit next to me, I have the impression of being sit there alone, if someone is kms far from me, I have the impression she's an ocean away.

This feeling of detachment makes me feel incredibly lonely, making it even harder for me to ignore my thoughts. I feel this sensation of needing to confess what I'm thinking to seek reassurance, because only that will make it stop. Not mine reassurance, and not anyone's but only the directed involved person's. I can feel the words that start to flow to my mouth, to my teeth, I HAVE TO TELL SOMEONE WHAT I'M THINKING, and sometimes I find my close to confess things to that person that I find myself to stare at her, seeking her eyes hoping that she'll ask me first. But at the same time, I can't say what I'm thinking because I'm totally ashamed of it, and scared and I feel guilty, so I just keep my mouth shut. This just increase my level of stress, and of symptoms.

These thoughts, images, sounds, are all things I fear so they hit people I really care about, so if I ever had a "paranoia" about you, I'm sorry if that made you feel uncomfortable, but that is also my way to show you I care about you.

When it starts I try so hard to reject it that my hands begin to sweat and tremble so much that I hardly can write, my mind is so focused on fighting that she can hardly even concentrate on everything else, so usually I can't hear what you're saying to me, and mostly I can't remember what happened in that moment. I'm so scared of what I'm seeing, hearing, and thinking that my heart starts to pound so fast that my chest hurts, and my blood pressure becomes so high, I start to feel fainting and retching.

This sensation of sickness makes my stomach close, I don't want to eat, I CAN'T EAT, because all I can think about are my symptoms, if this happens during night, or in the evening and I can't solve it before bed-time, it keeps me up all the night long, not letting me rest; or if I manage to close my eyes and sleep everything I was thinking, seeing and hearing come and torture me in my dreams, making me waking up the next morning without energy and feeling like I had no sleep.

After a day of it, I don't want to do anything, I CAN'T , I have no energies, I just need to rest, I feel tired, my whole body is heavy, and aching. But so I can't rest, I can't sleep because my mind keep buzzing; I feel this general feeling of sadness, through all my body, I don't wanna do anything, like everything had lost its matter to me. I want to eat, so much, to gain back all the energy I spent trying to keep my equilibrium.

This is what happens to me when I have an anxiety attack due to OCD, and it doesn't stop, it just don't, it keeps going on for several days until finally.. the silence. Or better: the buzzing. My mind is never switched off, the OCD in the background is always working, every time I speak with someone, even someone I don't know, I can't help but wonder if I did something made him feel uncomfortable, or if I was sympathetic enough, or if I let him talk enough, If I was rude, if he liked me. Every time I park my car, I start to have intrusive thoughts about wondering if I've closed it, if the windows were up, if I've parked it in a no parking spot, if the lights were switched off, if the hand break was pulled, and EVERYTIME (unless I don't do it before), I have to go back and check.

That's my life for everything, did I say everything I wanted to say? It was my fault? Did I do something wrong? Did I showed I care? Did I do that? Am I procrastinating? Do I like him? Everything I do, is doubted. And this is the easy part because I can control these thoughts, even if at the end of the day I'm exhausted. But in the worst of the cases, when I really enjoy staying with someone, the OCD gives its worst flowing in real OCD attacks.

So I'm sorry if I can't remember what you said to me, I'm sorry if sometimes I don't hear you or it seems I'm not listening, I'm sorry if somedays I'm still in bed when it's 9 o'clock pm and I didn't do anything, I'm sorry if I can't study, or paying attention in class, I'm sorry if sometimes I act in a weird way or ask weird questions, I'm just trying to survive another day.

#ocd #pure ocd #ocd recovery #mental disorder #mental help

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arodrwho · 5 years

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well this is an interesting development. in the absence of profound guilt for specific past misdeeds the guilt brain has elected to now, like. try to convince me that i am a specific kind of person-i-dread-being due to associations i have developed over the last 2.5 years of guilt spiraling, + some old fears which contributed to the guilt spiraling, + some previously-only-occasional intrusive thoughts, + a couple isolated incidents from when i was a Literal Child, like 15 at the oldest!! that likely did not & do not make me this specific kind of person, probably

and as these associations & fears & intrusive thoughts are ongoing, this is harder to push away. and wanting to push it away only makes it worse, because of course when you try not to think about penguins.......

but i think maybe, somehow, kind of, this might be a good thing? it might be a good thing, because really this oldass fear is at the root of the worst of the guilt spirals anyway. so being forced to confront it like this--or learn to live with it w/out letting it eat me, rather--is probably good. bc neither ignoring it nor spiralling in it did me any favors. so. only way out is through & all that

so this doesn't feel good, this feels terrifying and abhorrent and a lot of other things--but it's necessary

letting it eat me is not necessary--but acknowledging and working on it is

the trouble though is i don't know how to do that yet. i have some ideas, i've done some reading--but i don't know how to put those ideas into practice

i don't know how to let myself think something i find morally abhorrent and then let the thought pass without trying to squash it, or rationalize it, or spiral about it. i don't understand how that process works. "thank you timmy, moving on now" and "okay, calm down edgelord" and "this is an intrusive thought/this is anxiety/etc." are things that i've heard work for other people, but i don't know how they're supposed to work? how do you think those and then move on, and how is that different from trying to squish or rationalize the thought away? these are questions i need to ask my therapist next time probably bc i just don't understand how they're meant to work & so it makes me feel like i'm doing them wrong

esp bc, of course, they're not insta-solutions? it takes time for this sorta thing to sink in, or so i hear

and it doesn't help that the associations have been happening near-constantly over the last couple of days? which leads to self-checking which leads to fear which leads to intrusive thoughts which leads to spiralling which leads to me trying to go "ok timmy, i hear you, this is anxiety tho, let's move on" which works for a few minutes until i see sth else i have unfortunate associations for, bc at this point my special interest has associations, and i don't want to stop engaging in it bc compulsive avoidance will only make things worse, and also, again it's my special interest? so it's like. i keep engaging, keep making associations, and the cycle jus keeps going no matter how many times i try to "let it pass" or whatever

which is how these things work as i understand it, and i'm sort of used to all this bc guilt spirals have functioned similarly? but i'm less used to this specific kind of thing being so constant bc it used to be occasional and only in the last couple days has it got like this

i think, though, in any case, that i may need to stop making these kinds of posts so often bc they are kind of a means of spiralling in themselves, in that they're both hyperfocusing & rationalizing? which aren't necessarily the most useful practices paired together like this

so i guess i just kinda gotta--

relax, a little bit. chill out. accept that maybe these associations & thoughts exist, and maybe others would be as horrified by them as i am, and maybe some people would want me to drop dead, and that nevertheless i am not going to do anything i personally consider morally abhorrent, and that that fact might not make a difference to some people--and that that's okay, in the end

it's okay. i'm gonna be fine

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aceyanaheim · 5 years

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Okay let’s try this one more time.

Questions from this thingy that I saw a friendo do last year.

Introduction: Acey. That’s it that’s the introduction.

Diagnosis: I’m working on getting a Diagnosis but Autism and some form of attachment disorder.

As of 2019:

Neurocognitive and Cognitive Disorder due to Seizures

Major Depressive Disorder

General Anxiety Disorder

Social Anxiety Disorder

Personality Change Due to Seizure Disorder ( later confirmed by a second psychiatrist to be Borderline Personality Disorder)

C-PTSD symptoms ( still waiting on final diagnosis but symptons have been confirmed and disorder is very likely.)

Autism more or less confirmed by multiple professionals but still waiting to be able to afford testing.

Symptoms:

Autism/ASD : Can’t read tone. Hard time with social interaction. Sensory issues. Adherence to routine. Stimming. Scripting. Childish behaviour. Meltdowns. Hyperfixation.

Attachment Issues: I tend to attach/get attached to people really fast. At the same time I push them away or tell myself I don’t matter to them. I also have a hard time getting attached to people. It’s either super quick or like pulling teeth. I want to be with people all the time. Codependence I guess is the word I’m looking for.

Social Anxiety: I’m...basically always scared when I’m talking to people? I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing. I have my answers and messages rehearsed and proofread and sometimes vetted by someone else ( unless it’s sensitive info) and I still feel like something comes across in a negative way. ( like This is too cheerful, That’s too morbid, does that sound dismissive? If I say This I fuck up in this way but if I say THAT I fuck up in another) It couples with my autism since that...actually makes me say awkward/wrong shit all the time.

Has come down since starting Lexapro but still present.

Emotional Flashbacks: Feelings that were there while you were experiencing the traumatic event. Happen at random triggers. Incredibly strong. To the point that they don’t correspond to the stimuli and feel freshly felt. ( tied to C-PTSD)

Hyper-vigilance ( tied to C-PTSD)

Anxiety attacks

Panic Attacks

Don’t act as mature as other people my age/more at home with younger people.

Hypersensitive to any perceived rejection.

Brain fixates on bad memories and repeats them : C-PTSD

Constant fear of it happening again: C-PTSD

Black or White thinking: I’ll think someone’s sick of me or can’t stand me at stuff like being left on read while also deciding I love them and they’re the best person ever when they do something nice to me. Intense but have some modicum of self awareness. ( i know on some level people dont dislike or hate me, i still spiral though)

“Duckling Syndrome” ( is what i call it) : I’ll see someone be nice to me and all I can think of is how much I want them to adopt me, to take me home, to make me part of their family. It’s too strong to be anything but disordered. It hurts. ( possibly part of bpd)

Has in the past put self in bad situations to not be alone ( connected to bpd/attachment disorder)

Other Stuff I either need to mention to my shrink and/or hasn’t been tied down to any of my dx disorders:

I want things to be Just So. Like I want a certain kinda paper for certain kinds of mediums in art. I want my food in a certain order. I eat it in A Certain Order I get really uncomfortable otherwise.

I think I’ve depersonalized or dissociated at least five times..but..only when things get REALLY bad...like when I spiral. I still get those two confused even after reading the definitions but it’s like….I don’t feel anything? But I’m weirdly aware that I’m supposed to? Like I flipped a switch. Also mixed with this weird its not real feeling. I hasn’t happened in roughly a year tho so I dunno if it counts? Its been happening again this year. Still unsure if disordered or stress reaction.

I tend to struggle with depressive episodes from time to time. Like I’ll just lay on the bed and not wanna do anything. I have games to play, I have hobbies I could indulge in but I just..don’t want to. Don’t see the point.

Have thought that I’d be better off not existing. ( AKA suicidal ideation) Currently under control.

I’ve developed these like...weird paranoia spells? Like this one time a cop yelled at me ( to mess with me) and I was suddenly terrified of him following me and hurting me and my dad ( which yes can be attributed to the amount of police brutality you hear about, especially to people who don’t speak english fluently but like I saw it in my mind’s eye and it would not stop and the dude left and I was still seeing in my head him like following me home and hurting us) or like just recently some man asked about my dog and how much she was worth and this weird ass alarm went off in my head to get the hell away from him and what if he follows me home? What if he takes my dog? What if he follows me home AND takes my dog? They’re pretty sporadic ( though not as much as I want them to be) but they’re also really intense. Have stopped since I started Lexapro.

Physical Self Harm in the past to ground, to punish myself, in times of high emotion. All of the above. ( has stopped as of last year. Even intrusive thoughts about it are at a minimum.)

Obsession with being “good”: If I ever do something I think is a mistake I all but turn on myself. I beat myself up. I think of myself as a bad person ( there’s only Good and Bad for me..but only in regards to myself) I have to be nice. I have to be kind. I have to be good in a way that’s disordered. ( this compounds with my social anxiety and bpd to bind me into being a “good person” ( someone who never gets mad never talks back never does anything but niceness irregardless of the fact that..it’s impossible) I tend to think if I’m “bad” that people need to punish me, yell at me, or hurt me. That I need to Atone) ( could be part of CPTSD due to past abuse. Answer pending)

Intrusive thoughts: mostly about self harm but also about “learning my place” and...calling myself things I’d rather not say. I’ve so far at least managed to recognize they’re intrusive ( might be related to any of the disorders listed above but also with past abuse but unsure at the moment. Shrink thinks its tied to bpd. Could be tied to past abuse I haven’t discussed in therapy yet.)

Disordered Eating of sorts: due to my mother being paranoid about unhealthy food I’ve gone days where I can’t bring myself to eat something because I’m scared it’ll hurt me. There’s times where I’ve needed my friend to tell me to eat. There’s times where I feel like if I eat I have to exercise it off. It’s about control, it’s about fear, it’s….about everything but weight. Hella strong last year. More or less brought under control as of this year. But remain as intrusive thoughts and pop up as intrusive thoughts from time to time.

React badly to being alone, especially at home and not getting social interaction. Depression kicks up, sometimes depersonalization ( might have ties to childhood epilepsy -having to be on lock-down and kept indoors a lot due to my own risk of being hurt via seizure- but combines with bpd/attachment disorders)

Have Shown Signs/Moments of Age Regression ( more often than not with the emotional flashbacks but not always)

Literally all the symptoms act up at night/around bedtime. Mostly anxiety but some others that have now been associated with bpd. Causes sleeping problems ( I hesitate to call it insomnia because I do sleep but it can get as bad as 3 hours a night until i just conk out at the end of the week -or 2 weeks- out of sheer exhaustion. Has been present since I was a teenager.)

In The Past: Recklessness and disregard for personal safety and care.

Sometimes get this physical feeling like my brain is overloaded. Often with hypervigilance or spirals where my mind races.

Stigma:

“I’m autistic” “I’m so sorry”

“I’m autistic” “And you’re sure you wanna go for that major?”

“I’m autistic” “But not that kind of autistic right?”

“I mean if you need accommodations to take a test then are you really cut out to have that kinda job?”

I consider myself a very patient person.

“She doesn’t know any better. You know she’s special” ( I was standing right there)

“I guess you don’t love anyone huh?” ( I was uh..I was nine years old)

“You’re codependent as fuck” ( that one my abuser said to me...after...making me codependent on her..yeah)

“You talk like a robot. It’s like you don’t feel anything.” ( eeemotianl detachment due to CPTSD in my teenage years)

“You’re choosing not to grow up” ( when expressing fears of develomental problems/disordered behaviour that could cause lack of maturity. I was asking for help)

“You’re a lot”

“People with your disorder tend to be a problem for other people”

“You need therapy” “I am in therapy” “Then why are you still acting like this.”

“You’re just making excuses.”

“It’s like you like to cause trouble.” ( circa 2013)

“You just wanna hurt people that’s why you’re doing this.” ( circa...most of the 2000s)

Multiple people in my family constantly make it a point ( or have in the past like..for most of my life) to tell me no one’s wanna live with someone like me ( I’m forgetful and before I figured out some ways to help it and the depression was bad uber messy)

Multiple people in my family try to discourage me from trying things because “you know you have that...thing”

And I mean..the usual constant bombardment of Autism being something you have to Fix. Of it causing people you love pain, and them never being happy because of it, of it being a defect.

People around me use autistic as an insult.

General comments about how horrible living with my mentally ill family must be ( ignoring that I’m mentally ill as well) and how my parents probably wish we weren’t disordered ( ignoring that they are also disordered) and how basically there’s no way for us to be happy.

I think at one point someone actually said to me something along the lines of “I bet your parents wish you and your siblings were born differently”

“I’m so proud you can do this incredibly easy thing that I think is all you can really do and I’m gonna talk to you in the most condescending tone about it like who’s a good lil autistic person look at you, talkin and solving basic problems and everything.” ( obvs paraphrased but thats...usually the gist)

Define Your Disorders

Autism: a developmental disorder that affects communication and behavior.

Attachment Disorder: the condition in which individuals have difficulty forming lasting relationships ( it was the only one I can find that doesn’t talk about RAD as I don’t have the criteria for that. This one’s tricky cause I don’t have the proper diagnosis for it yet, for all I know it could be part of a bigger disorder)

BPD:a mental health disorder that impacts the way you think and feel about yourself and others, causing problems functioning in everyday life. It includes a pattern of unstable intense relationships, distorted self-image, extreme emotions and impulsiveness. Symptoms include emotional instability, feelings of worthlessness, insecurity, impulsivity, and impaired social relationships.

Major Depression Disorder: Depression is a mood disorder that causes a persistent feeling of sadness and loss of interest. Also called major depressive disorder or clinical depression, it affects how you feel, think and behave and can lead to a variety of emotional and physical problems. You may have trouble doing normal day-to-day activities, and sometimes you may feel as if life isn't worth living.

General Anxiety Disorder.: Excessive anxiety and worry (apprehensive expectation), occurring more days than not for at least 6 months, about a number of events or activities (such as work or school performance).

Amnesic Disorder Due To Epilepsy :Inability to remember events for a period of time.

Myth about your disorders and the truth

Autistic people are dangerous

Autistic people are unfeeling

Autistic people are uncaring

Autistic people are all nonverbal

Autistic people are all mentally challenged. ( I ??)

Autistic people ar a burden on their families/a parent who abuse or even kills their autistic child ( which happens so much it’s an acknowledged problem) deserves sympathy.

Autistic people are brainy and mostly male.

Autism is a spectrum disorder. People exhibit different traits and while some hyperfocus on things that help them academically some hyperfocus on things that don’t or that even make their grades suffer like other interest tend to. ( my hyperfocus was fanfiction and I failed like five classes because of it) I have a friend who’s autistic and likes to party and drink and hang out with people. I have another friend who’s autistic who likes to skate and science. I’m autistic and I like neither of those things. We’re all over the place in every way even when we do share some common traits

Literally we all have people and things we care about.

Literally all of us have affectionate moments. I’m fairly physically affectionate if I’m close to/feel safe with someone.

Nonverbal and autism aren’t always correlated. Further, some autistic people go nonverbal for a bit but can speak other times.

Autism looks different in girls/afab people because we’ve been socialized differently.

Parents who kill their autistic kids are just straight up horrible people and I resent having to be told to have sympathy for them while simultaneously wishing I had “autistic” written on my forehead so I could be angry without a guilt trip and also simultaneously hoping to god I never stop passing for neurotypical because apparently the moment you show too many traits no one cares if someone hurts you or worse.

The whole “autistic people are dangerous” thing is mostly people showing videos of meltdowns which only happen under high stress and is something people use to demonize us and make us seem like burdens...and is actually why the whole “sympathy for an abusive/murderer parent of a neuroatypical” thing is fucked ten ways from Sunday. We aren’t dangerous.

I don’t...have a lot for the attachment disorder since I’m still waiting to figure out what that one’s really about and I haven’t really….met anyone else who has anything like it or shares symptoms with me.

I think off the top of my head it’s when people think it’s “cute” that you’re super clingy or go the other way and say people with attachment issues are uncaring. The first one romanticizes a behaviour that you’re trying to work on fixing/curbing and that is honestly hell. The second one is...is just as untrue as saying an autistic person is inherently uncaring ( or any mentally ill person for that matter)

I’ve also seen people say that people with any kind of attachment disorder are broken and that I feel confident enough in saying that they’re not...and I’m not.

I’ve been told people with BPD can’t be aware of their own disorder and have been denied testing due to this.

I’ve seen people say people with BPD are a problem to others.

Anxiety: I’ve seen a lot of people who think it’s fake. And also that the only way you can have anxiety if you’re rocking back and forth gasping for breath.

There’s actually multiple ways to have anxiety attacks.

Tips for those who know/love someone with same disorders/symptoms

Well, starting off with, and keeping in mind that I’m not a proffesional or expert in...literally anything ever like ever ever....

A very dear friend of mine once said “it’s a whole lot easier to be supportive than it is not to be” Let people with disorders tell you what they need, and then respect it. Open communication and making them feel safe is key...to everything. Being informed is important but at the end of the day, different people will experience things differently and what they need is really down to them. Don’t assume that reading about their disorder means you know what they need better than them. Don’t talk about how their disorder affects you. Even if you have good intentions, you’re going to make them feel bad. If you’re a parent, don’t talk to others about your child’s disorder in front of them. And if they don’t like a therapist, listen to them as to why. Don’t assume it’s just because “they’re disordered” that’s lazy parenting.

Take triggers seriously, talk to them about what symptoms they need help with, and which they’d rather process or deal with on their own. Just..show that you have that initiative, that you’re there for them. Listen. Be patient. Establish boundaries gently but firmly. If someone with my attachment disorder is ringing you a lot and you need time to yourself, let them know. Explain. Don’t go radio silent. People with autism can be bad at reading you. Again explain, be patient, but don’t just....leave them there to guess what they did wrong. C-PTSD is traumagenic in nature so I’d add to taking triggers seriously, be ready for Tragic Backstory drop behind disclosing some triggers ( and understand how much they have to trust you to disclose that.) but also be ready for “I just don’t want this in my field of vision and I don’t feel comfortable talking about it just yet.” Don’t push for details. Don’t push period.

And also just....treat em like people you know. Disordered people are still people, let them exist outside their disorders and do the things that people in that relationship that you have with them. ( whatever relationship that is) do.

How your disorder/s affect your relationships

In the past -and before I was a bit more self aware- it’s made me uber clingy. I would call friends constantly, message them a lot. Think someone was my best friend or even closer than they really were because they were nice to me. It scared people off.

On the flip side I would also convince myself people didn’t like me or I was nothing to them the moment I caught myself having strong feelings. ( which as said before would happen mcquicklike)

As one can imagine this would put a lot of pressure on new friendships. Often it would sour them, sometimes it would make people dislike me. Sometimes it’d make them unconfortable. Which as my disorder also affects how I receive rejection...was..really bad.

On the flip side of the flip side I was also incredibly ride or die and it left me open to a lot of manipulation and abuse from friends. I couldn’t be mad at them if they hurt me. I couldn’t say no to anything they said. I needed them.

My anxiety also contributes to this as I would constantly go through a checklist of how many good interactions vs “bad” or awkward interactions I had with people before I let myself feel like I was safe to call people my friends. Or even say I did okay interacting.

I had a lot of nights while I was making friends in college where I just felt like I was nothing to anyone. Like I was messing up. Looking back, it was just standard new friend interactions.

The more people mean to me, the more I’d freak out-I didn’t want to lose them. So it made it hard to even enjoy the friendship milestones I did achieve.

I’m using past tense because it’s gotten a lot better as situations that were making this 10 times worse have alleviated somewhat but there’s still seeds of it and sometimes it flares up. I’m just aware enough I can sometimes if not stop it identify it as my disorder talking. I don’t keep lists anymore but sometimes the thought pops up.

Facts About Your Disorder You Wish People Knew

I wish people knew what scripting and autistic burnout was. And that adults can have autism. And that vaccines don’t cause autism so stupid ass people didn’t risk their kid getting sick because they’re scared of my neurology.

I wish the only thing when I search about

I wish people took triggers seriously.

I wish more people knew about attachment disorders period.

I wish people knew how hard it all is sometimes.

Favorite healthy coping techniques

Plushies, pillows. Physical grounding techniques that include physical stimming. I’m very tactile when it comes to my autism and stimming so grounding techniques were Good Textures are involved help double.

For attachment disorder spirals: Watching YT animators or vloggers. Like a lot. It recently chased off my sleeping problems.

Playing with my dog.

Walking outside.

Going to the beach.

Looking at buildings. ( I don’t..I don’t know why?? It’s like a visual stim I guess? Like buildings that stand out to me due to their shape or being different than I usually see)

Basically going outside. ( to look at buildings, to look at nature, to the dog park, out in the grass in front of my building just..Outside Good, Inside Bad)

Sending fun stuff to friends/doing things for them.

I tend to get a good happy chemical surge from helping people/doing nice things for people so that’s something I really like using to my advantage. I’m looking at volunteer options.

Also cartoons and Disney Channel shows I watch a lot of those.

Cooking. I can’t understand this one either but cooking and baking sometimes even gives me more energy.

Current biggest struggles with your disorder/s

Being at home tanks my mental health. I don’t drive. So I’m home a lot.

Seeing families be happy hurts sometimes. And that’s my main confort narrative.

Seeing my friends with their families hurts sometimes. All I can think of is how much I wish I was a part of that. So I have to...not spend time with my friends.

I’m afraid to live alone.

I can’t get anything done sometimes. My train of thought has been crashing to the point that I completely lose it and I miss goals and deadlines almost every month. I need to get assignments done, build a portfolio, at least keep shrink dates, its all a hurdle lately. Even before that it’s hard for me to get stuff done when I’m home on my own ( aka when I’m supposed to be doing things) because all my brain can think is “we’re alone we’re alone we’re alone. It’s too quiet. We need to talk to someone.” According to my shrink DBT will help with this. I can’t wait.

It’s hard to see a myself having a good future sometimes. Because of how many hangups I have and how late I am in addressing them ( I’m 28) and how much there is to do.

What not to say to a person with similar/same disorder/s

“You’re making it all up”

“You should just get over it, it happened so long ago”

“You’re bringing me down stop talking about this”

“Its all in your head”

“Every one feels that way really”

Anything dismissive.

Anything from the stigma answer.

Literally any kind of pity (granted thats more a me thing due to childhood epilepsy meaning i had to deal with a lot of that. But honestly I’ll stand by it bc I’m not sure anyone really ...likes pity. )

Ways in which your disorder/s affect your daily life

I deal with executive dysfunction which makes it hard to get anything done. I feel like I’m starting over constantly. I feel like my age doesn’t match my brain. All of this augments my depression. I have to take days off in the middle of the week to just do nothing or catch up to all the stuff I haven’t done. I miss deadlines or just barely make them. I’m also a budding workaholic which I used to do to avoid dwelling on all these feelings so having to take breaks isn’t….something I’m used to or really like. I at one point handled school, work, and 2 editing jobs. I used to do martial arts, I like running, I like swimming. I’m the kind of person that needs to be on the move and lately that’s hard because spoons and energy.

Also a lot of basic self care is hard to get done because of the dysfunction mentioned above.

Things that give you hope

The fact that I’m finally getting therapy.

I guess having people I can talk to about it.

My family isn’t as bad as it was back in 2014.

I guess I know that even if I feel like I’m at a dead end, I’ll figure something out. That’s what I do. I mean that’s life, you think things are never getting better or that something’s the end of the world but really time marches onwards and so do you and you figure it out. Things fall into place. I believe life has a funny way of working out. If anything because it kinda has to, it can’t stand still yknow. I have moments of clarity where I just kinda remember that ( its not my first rodeo.in regards to hard times or Things That Happen..its not even my hardest rodeo so..if I got through that..you kinda figure you can muddle through this and see what comes next yknow) I’m oddly hopeful for the first time in a long time so, it’s p cool.

Treatment types and personal choices

I spent most of my childhood, and teenage years...and early 20s dodging therapy and help due to it being controlled by my mother and having really bad experiences with it in the past.I do regret it sometimes but I comfort myself with the fact that it was what seemed like the best decision and i didn’t have the information I now have about keeping her out of things.

After finding better insurance and getting into university I found a way to get myself a psychiatrist and am working on finding talk therapy. For the most part I tended to patch myself up a lot by finding ways to quiet the thoughts I had ( saving text messages to remind myself people dont hate me. Talking myself down. Joining social activities. That sorta home brew stuff. I’ve been soloing a lot of shit I probably shouldn’t have been until recently but hey live and learn. Also I didn’t have insurance.) As of recently I’m on an antidepresant and hopefully going into DBT. That reminds me I have to call them.

Your support system

I’ve found some really nice friends like they’ve kinda just collectively adopted me and when your disorder stems from losing family that..that’s been incredibly helpful. All my close friends are long distance but they help me. My younger sister is also there although i try to limit how much she’s privy to as she just turned 18. My brother and I tend to spend limited time together due to him having his own stuff goin on but I’d also put him there. My parents sorta count as....one supportive unit? ( they try with the best of intentions but it uh..thats..thats really all I can say about them)

Reactions from those who learn about your disorder/s

I get told I can’t possibly have them because i “look too successful” or whatever ableist rethoric they got going. When I talk about C-PTSD symptons I get side eye for “trivializing” it as they don’t believe I can have it and think I’m exaggerating anxiety symptons. When I talk about Attachment Disorders…..I often don’t because people always say something along the lines of “people with that are often too damaged and you don’t fit the bill” which..ouch.

Mostly it goes from “you don’t look like a damaged and/or psychopath crazy person” to “oh...I guess you are one” with a bit of “okay thats fine” but still anger and impatience when I show symptoms.

I don’t talk about my disorders a lot.

Future hopes and dreams

I’d like to get my attachment disorder under control as it’s the main life wrecking thing I have. After that or along with that I’d like to live somewhere where I get the social interaction I kinda need.

I wanna be happy with whatever profession I have and just..my life in general.

I hope DBT helps. Whatever it is It’s my first time even trying it.

I have a couple of personal creative goals but I don’t wanna jinx them by disclosing them ( I did mention I had anxiety)

Interactions with other people with the same disorders

I follow some peeps with BPD and also folks on the spectrum on tumblr. I don’t really have a lot of analog interaction. ( again no driving + suburbia = being cooped up A Lot) My sister and I share some disordered traits so we talk about them often and that helps a lot.

Things you want to work on/improve

The whole black and white thinking and maybe getting things done on time. I’d like to get the spirals under control too.

Work/school experience with disorder/s

Shit’s hard.

Often I don’t get the help I need and have learned to overcompensate/regulate so I can still get things done. I pretty much need to work since i don’t believe I’d qualify for disability. I get in trouble a lot for spacing out ( dissociating) and forgetting things at work. Work friendships are also slow burn if not just nonexistent due to my autism and people..not really knowing what to make of it. I’ll probably have to quit working while I study since I can’t really split focus enough to do both lately. Further, a lot of my energy needs to go into school things staying afloat and that tends to mean I can’t do things that contribute to my mental health ( i.e spending time with friends, going out, sometimes even therapy, taking breaks) as I’ve found out that sends me way back in recovery.

Free space!

Here’s a picture of my cat. She’s a demon. What it said Free Space.

Family history of mental disorders?

Mother has Bipolar disorder and depression. Sister has bipolar disorder, anxiety, depression, and eating disorders, Brother has anxiety and shows signs of ADHD, Dad has what we suspect is ADHD and possibly some disorder traits from past trauma. Used to have anger issues.

I uh..I used to call us “The Madhouse” for most of my late teens and early 20s.

Media representation of disorder/s

Attachment disorders: characters who are stalkers and so desperate for love family and acceptance they’ll do anything, even hurt people to feel it. Also often don’t have depression and can do things like learn villain skills.

Autistic traits are often cherry picked and portrayed in an unfavorable light. I think I’ve seen some rare cases of actual representation though.

How do you feel about talking about your mental health?

I don’t...like it as much as talking about mental health in general. Most of my life is...me running away from trauma and trying to reclaim a life outside of it. It’s what I did with my epilepsy of course that one was easier because the seizures went away.

Talking about it feels like going back. I wanna just move on with it. But I’ve reluctantly come around to see that talking about it is a way to move on. And I mean its not like dodging it’s worked out that well for me so.

The true face of mental illness (Selfie if you’re comfortable with it)

Aww yiiss. Selfies.

#mental health #mental illness #mental health awareness #mental health awareness 2018 #mental health awareness 2019 #mha2018 #well..2019 but thats what they said to tag it #depression cw #anxiety cw #self harm cw #suicidal feelings cw #ableism #abuse mention #fillicide mention #uuuh I think that covers it #here goes

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