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dorianbrightmusic · 9 days

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Some Kitakami Sibling Headcanons

These are things I wanna expand on more in fanfic (some of these ideas are gonna get thrown into Festival for False Heroes eventually), but wanted to post in the meantime. TW for discussion of domestic violence/child neglect and abuse.

He and Carmine were born in Mitsralton City, two and a half years apart from each other, and lived there till Carmine was 7 and Kieran almost 5.

Their parents didn’t exactly have the most stable marriage to begin with. They were both very good trainers, and had a chemistry built on that, but also tended to fight, sometimes violently. They weren’t bad people, but they brought out the worst in each other, and disagreed over how to raise the children, both of whom had substantial issues:

Baby Carmine had a temper, and learned to get attention from watching her parents fight. She broke plenty of porcelain plates even in infancy, and the property damage only got worse from there, as she physically couldn’t control herself when she was distressed.

Baby Kieran was withdrawn, worryingly so, and didn’t speak or respond to his name. For a few months, the family thought he was deaf – then he heard his first thunderstorm, and the cacophony made him cry.

The siblings’ mother, Michie, was determined that both kids needed some kind of intervention. Their father, who later became notorious under the pseudonym Colress, was certain that they would be fine in their own time, without external help. Michie won enough that both kids got an autism diagnosis and recommendations for behavioural therapy. Colress won enough that neither kid got to attend said behavioural therapy before he left.

As the kids got older, Carmine got rowdier, and Kieran stayed quiet. Colress knew his son could read and understand language, and parented him by giving him books and encyclopaedias to read that were well beyond any small child’s reading level. Colress liked Kieran, but never had the gumption to really be a father to him. Michie tried to calm Carmine down, but to no avail. She loved her daughter, but didn’t know how to deal with her, so, horribly, forced her to ride out her increasingly frequent meltdowns on her own. Both Carmine and Kieran were much worse off for the way their parents utterly failed to connect with them, and in different ways, they’ve both become terrified of being left alone for it. But Kieran learned to cope by withdrawing into fantasy and mythology, as Colress taught him to, while Carmine learned to drive others away before they could abandon her. They grew equally good at isolating themselves, in different ways, for fear of being isolated.

Michie would often call her parents to express her frustration. When Yukito and Hideko caught wind of the fact she and Colress had been fighting physically as well as verbally over this, and realised how horrendously the kids were being treated, they were furious. They were mortified that their grandchildren would be growing up somewhere so precipitously lonely. A year later, when Colress walked out on the family, Hideko and Yukito flew to Unova to collect the kids, wanting to give them a better home life than Michie, in her stranded and desperate state, could provide.

Kieran was extremely late to talk – he said his first words maybe a week before Colress walked out. While he understood Galarian, he didn’t get much opportunity to practise speaking it before he and Carmine moved to Kitakami. As such, he, unlike Carmine, had to effectively relearn his mother tongue for his first semester at Blueberry, and it’s left him with a light accent, which he later worked to rid himself of during his breakdown. He never quite managed to eradicate it, and it frustrates him to be proficient, rather than fluent, in his mother tongue.

Carmine and Kieran did tend to fight physically when they were younger – they learned to do so by copying their parents. Yukito and Hideko eventually managed to teach them not to, but while the siblings love each other, by god, their fights are acrimonious. Carmine and Kieran haven’t hit each other in at least 3 years, but that’s barely a starting point.

Kieran has a special interest in mythology generally, and knows every different variation on Kitakamian folklore possible. Moreover, he’s scarily aware of the complexities of broader Johtohnian legends, and can pull a twenty-minute infodump on Celebi out of thin air on cue. Asking him about anything relating to old Hisuian creation myths, or the Pearl and Diamond clans’ different deities, will produce a similar deluge of information. Even Unovan mythology fascinates him immensely, and he’s terrifyingly knowledgeable where Kyurem’s concerned. Ogerpon’s tale was always his favourite, though as it’s the one he’d escape into when he felt unseen.

Part of why Amarys and Carmine get on is that Amarys, despite her need to economise time, is incredibly patient with Carmine. The result is that when Carmine had one of her sporadic meltdowns and lost control of her actions, when Amarys witnessed it, she didn’t question it or scold her, but took her somewhere quiet, and waited it out with her. Carmine feels incredibly grateful to Amarys for that, and as such, she doesn’t feel she needs to be defensive around her so much as she does around others.

Carmine always has a huge supply of snacks hidden in her room, and she insists on sharing them with Amarys. She tried to share them with Kieran during his breakdown, but he refused to touch them, which was a sign of something being very, very wrong.

Carmine gets surprisingly homesick when she’s at Blueberry, and has been known to call her grandparents at 3am Unova time because she needs company, and doesn’t know where else to reach out. Occasionally, if she still feels awful, or if she feels she can’t call them for whatever reason, she’ll go to Amarys’ room and just sit with her, maybe making conversation, maybe just being there, proving she isn’t alone.

During his breakdown, Kieran tended to train in the Canyon Biome when he couldn’t sleep. Juliana once found him there at 1 in the morning, as she gets horrid insomnia, and tends to explore her surroundings so she can escape the dread of watching the ceiling. While Kieran ostensibly hated her at this point, as this was prior to the championship match, he reluctantly let her roll out a picnic table and make him a sandwich. He scarcely ate any of it, but he appreciated her company, not that he’d be caught dead admitting as much. (He insisted on cleaning up and walking her back to the dorms. Ostensibly, he still hated her, but…)

Carmine and Kieran use their grandfather’s surname in most things, but legally, their surname is Achroma.

Their mother is still in their life here and there – she meets up with the two of them, and is proud of them both for making it this far, but Carmine remembers how poorly her mother understood her, and tends to get oddly quiet around her nowadays, hoping she’ll approve slightly more now. Kieran gets on horribly with his mother, in that she clearly neither likes him nor understands him, and he feels downright betrayed by her.

Their father is mostly absent, but has, on a couple of occasions, randomly sent books and gadgets to BB Academy, with these books and gadgets all dedicated To Carmine/Kieran – keep working hard!. He knows they’re enrolled there, which means he’s gone out of the way to find that out. The siblings know, vaguely, that he’s out there. Carmine is outwardly resentful of his absence, but secretly wishes she could meet him. Kieran’s bitter, but curious about his father.

Carmine got the mobile phone in the family in part because Kieran tends to hog the home desktop back in Mossui. As of second year, Kieran’s grandparents have yielded and given him a phone, too, so that if he starts to break down again (God forbid), they can contact him directly, instead of having to go through Carmine/the school. He does have an Instagram, and he refuses to accept Carmine’s follow request.

When Kieran went back to Blueberry after his breakdown, he noticed that the notorious Colress of Team Plasma had a bit of an internet paper trail. Late at night, Kieran would follow this paper trail, working out over the course of weeks that Colress may well be one Mr. Achroma. This prompted mixed feelings, for while Kieran was terrified of his potential to go mad in the pursuit of power again, he couldn’t help but think that his dad, deadbeat and thrice-convicted criminal that he was, was at least a little bit cool.

On a forum where Colress was still periodically active, Kieran managed to reach out and politely ask about his research on strength. He did this half out of genuine curiosity about how to get better as a trainer, half as a way of screaming into the void – are you out there, Dad, and can you hear me?

Unbelievably, Colress responded. Since he’d been able to tell that the message was sent by a kid or teen, but a smart kid or teen who’d clearly actually read his work and gone to the trouble of finding him, he felt impressed enough not to be worried. (To be fair, Colress is incredibly laissez-faire about most things except his research.) As a result, they now correspond periodically. So far, Kieran’s let slip that he’s at Blueberry Academy, and that he’s a second-year, as well as mentioning once that he’s from Kitakami. He does not know whether Colress has connected the dots, but every day, he hopes he will, somehow, and that if/when he does, he’ll show that he still cares (if he ever did at all. And how Kieran hopes Colress did, indeed, care).

Carmine knows about this correspondence. She’s scolded Kieran for it, but she also insists on staying updated on what’s going on.

Someday, Kieran wants to battle in the PWT. When he gets to that point, he’ll register himself as Kieran Colress, and won’t tell a soul (except Juliana or Amarys) why he’d dare draw his stage name from a notorious amoral scientist.

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fatliberation · 1 year

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would you be willing to share some of the survey results on this blog? not necessarily people's personal experiences, but just overall findings/conclusions/trends?

Yes - I received over 200 responses, so here are some of the (unfortunately) common experiences I found:

(Big TW for medical abuse here.)

Of course "LOSE WEIGHT!" was by far the most common one, in other countries too - even for things like sinus issues and migraines. in one instance a doctor even suggested weight loss to cure anxiety and depression... without any prescribing medication.

There were multiple reports of outright verbal abuse and public humiliation towards fat patients, including refusal to help a patient get up from falling

Misogyny, misogyny, misogyny. Women and AFAB individuals reported their symptoms being downplayed and receiving incredibly sexist and false information from male doctors

An AFAB person's fertility is valued more than their quality of life

There was a trend of doctors/psychiatrists claiming they can “cure” autism by selling vitamins

"You're too young to have pain / X problem" was VERY common

A lot of pain / breathing problems were blamed on anxiety, even when patients did not have an anxiety diagnosis

Doctors dismissing symptoms as the patient being drug seeking because of assumptions based on race

Quite a few participants shared with me that they were taken seriously ONLY after posing a threat to themselves

Gaslighting, saying that someone's past trauma never actually happened to them

And the number one thing I saw the most of - participants expressed that they no longer wish to seek medical care (to the point where their symptoms progress) because they are afraid of experiencing more trauma.

To the 200+ people who filled out the survey and shared their experiences with me: THANK YOU. I read every single entry. Some of them kept me up at night. You all deserve justice. I believe you. Keep fighting.

#medical gaslighting #medical gaslighting survey #tw medical #tw medical abuse #fatphobia #racism #misogny #ableism #inbox

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hyperfixingfr · 3 months

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Someone was curious about jail headcanons for some reason? Sooo hi here's how many times Sector V has been arrested ... Some of them are crazy so brace yourselves

TW// IMPLIED ADDICTION, DRUG USE, MENTAL ILLNESS

Nigel: three times. Once at 19 for breaking protest protocols and assaulting a bigot. Bailed immediately. Once at 23 for possession and usage of heroin. Somehow managed to get lucky and only get 5 months community service, which he didn't mind because he already does that to begin with. Once at 31 for ending the life of a police officer. He escaped and is still on the run. I'm sure we all know he didn't do that for no reason...

Hoagie: three times. Once at 17 for possession of and selling of numerous different kinds of illegal substances. Got let off due to age (tested as a child) and a ruling of mental incompetence because of his autism diagnosis??? He was both mad about that and completely fine with it considering the punishment he would've gotten. Once at 23 for the same reason Nigel got caught + the selling of the heroin. Also got the same punishment. Once at 46 for (and this sounds nuts btw but I swear it makes sense if I explained it) 261 COUNTS OF ATTEMPTED MURDER, and a charge of fraud/faking the cure of a serious mental illness to get his piloting license, later on also being found to possess MORE drugs in his home which almost got Abby arrested too but she stood her ground and told them she didn't even know he had them 😭 yeah I kind of wasn't kidding when I said he went back downhill at 40... At least the other four are mentally safe lol? They visit Hoagie in jail sometimes. They wanna get him out but, with 261 charges of attempted murder... Yeah. To say they're disappointed in him is an understatement but he's healing from his mental illness in jail (slowly but surely)

Kuki: no charges!

Wally: one time. Once at 16 for possession of numerous different illegal substances. Got let off for same reasons as Hoagie. Charge cleared at 18, which is why he was able to get his job as a psychiatrist. He's actually done the most illegal stuff if you ignore Hoagie's attempted pilot suicide on a commercial aircraft but he got really good at sneaking around when he was younger so he honestly just never got caught... He only got caught with Hoagie because they had caught Hoagie and launched an investigation into Wally as well, finding him guilty

Abby: two times. Once at 20 under false statements of assault. Let go when proven innocent. Once at 29 under MORE false statements, this time allegations of being involved with a drug trade. Also let go when proven innocent. This is 100% because of her sister btw. These allegations were sourced back to people she was working with

#knd

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astrangerthatlovesyou · 6 months

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Tw: this is a vent, and this is not a nuanced take, this is just me screaming my feelings into the void. I’m talking about a lot of trauma that I’ve never mentioned here and there’s some triggering stuff. (CSA, cults, child abuse mainly). I just needed to get this out where nobody knows me

I don’t really feel anger, but today I at least feel my version of it. I’m angry. I’m angry that I’m a level II autistic and nobody cared. I hate that instead of accommodating me, people beat the autistic traits out of me (literally and figuratively) until I became a shell. I hate that when I reached the point of not being able to survive at 9 and told my parents I was autistic I was shut down. That I missed my chance to get screened. Nobody would screen me over 15, I’ll probably never get my diagnosis.

I hate that when I spiraled further, I was beaten and traumatized and told to kill myself by my parents. The people that used help as a weapon. I didn’t remember my second CSA for more than a day before my brain buried it.

I hate that I feel like an imposter in my own community. I hate that I feel like I’m appropriating the word semiverbal. Speaking is physically distressing for me 60-40% of the time. But I do it. I had to learn to repress myself to survive, my very mind spilt under the pressure to conform. In order to live, I had to forget myself. I grew up in a cult. My mind got good at being malleable.

But in the end, I don’t appear to be a level II autistic. The guilt of calling myself that is like acid in my throat. In many ways, my trauma is a privilege. I learned how to blend in with neurotypicals and I do it expertly. I got good at hiding my pain. I CAN work, I CAN go to school and do well, and have nightly meltdowns and shutdown and drown.

I’m faced with this constant dichotomy between my true self and who I adopted as myself to survive. DID makes the false identity, the false safety feel so real. But it crumbles and I sink in like quicksand. Some part of me always thinks I’m lying, no matter what I say about myself.

In the end, brains don’t invent pain, or trauma, or anything that isn’t conducive to survival. When I strip away the layers of plaster that my brain used to mold me into what I was “supposed” to be, to protect me, I’m left with broken, traumatized pieces. I wish I could believe their screams. I wish I was believed when their screaming still sounded like my voice.

No wonder people feel like bombs.

I feel anger that the child in me is still screaming

#vent #tags for organization #personality disorder #avpd #pdid #autism #ptsd #tw csa #tw sa #tw cult #tw child abuse

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albonium · 2 months

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tw sickness

my sister did the first mri for the ms diagnosis and there was nothing in her head, she's getting the second one of wednesday. apparently she could get false negative if the mri isn't done during a flare. i need to ask her if she's gonna do a lumbar punction and an eye exam. i barely slept last night i feel nauseous and i keep crying. my mom still is in the hospital and we can't tell her because emotional shocks can lead to an exacerbation of her illness and she's already in the hospital for one. fuck this life why do we have to gather every single health problem known to mankind

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schizosupport · 2 months

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tw for unreality mentions and vauge descriptions of trauma also general venty stuff

im actually pretty ok mentally i just started typing and kept going ig

i hate not having insight i hate being 100% sure people i love and trust are out to get me

i hate how no matter how many times it turns out to have been an episode i don't know the next time

i hate reality checks i hate how they make my episodes worse i hate how everyone needs to be told like 5 times not to try them before they catch on i hate how that's the default response

i hate that every online space about psychosis seems to be full of people who know when they're delusional

i hate how episodes make my cfc so much worse i hate how they exhaust me i hate it

i hate how the only time im 100% sure im not in an episode is when im in one and im wrong about it

i hate how i don't have any label more specific than "psychosis" or "delusion" or "anxiety" because i only have delusions. i don't have hallucinations or disorganized speech or thoughts or any of the stuff that comes with schizospec disorders. i know having them would make my life a lot worse but i don't like not having labels to easily explain.

i hate how much shit ive been through because no one knew what to do with my episodes i hate how im traumatized and have no one person to blame

i hate how my parents are partly to blame

because i love my parents

they're amazing

Hi anon, I'm sending you good vibes, it sounds like a lot is weighing on you, and I'm glad you got to write it out!

Reality checks can do so much harm and it sucks that random people think it's their duty to reality check people who they should in fact be leaving alone.

And I feel you on the "I only ever know I'm not in an episode when I am in one and balieving it falsely", that level of self-doubt and inability to trust your own understanding of the world is incredibly hard to live with, and my heart goes out to you and others.

I hope you are receiving some kind of help now, that is actually helpful to you, regardless of what the official diagnosis is.

#answers

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tomorrow-is-in-your-hands · 1 year

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Things I have in common with Sam Porter Bridges

I finally got my adderall so I can actually write without wanting to scream. Warning, there may be a tangent or two.

TW for mention of bullying.

General story spoilers and spoiler’s specific to Sam’s backstory.

- doesn’t like being touched

- on the asexual spectrum

Sam is canonically demisexual as stated in Lucy’s journals (I think it was #7.) While there is ignorance with how term is used with it being treated as a diagnosis instead of a label for someone’s sexual orientation, It didn’t feel malicious and wasn’t seen as something about Sam that needed to change. it’s really nice to see a character I deeply connect with explicitly stated to be on the ace spectrum.

Tangent time.

I also enjoy how in Director’s Cut they added an addendum to the An Asexual World entry and stated why and what they got wrong while also keeping the writing within the context of DS’ world.

For those who don’t know, the article made the false correlation between declining birthrates and a rise in more people identifying as asexual. In DC they made an addendum basically saying that a rise in acceptance of queer identities was why there were more people identifying as ace.

The fact that KojiPro took the time to correct that misinformation meant a lot to me personally and it made me cry when I read it.

Tangent over.

- brown hair

- blue eyes

- grew up in single mother households

- had a mother who worked all the time so was very absent during childhood

My mom is thankfully still alive and I now have a good relationship with her.

- described or seen as calm and or stoic but in reality it’s an unconscious coping mechanism

This is more my own interpretation of Sam’s demeanor

- have frequent nightmares and or generally disturbing dreams

- can fall asleep anywhere

If you’re AFK for too long Sam will sit down and eventually fall asleep.

Also hey I grew up on a school bus and lived with 9 people in a 4 person house, there wasn’t always a bed available or I had to share a bed with my siblings. Seriously put me anywhere and I’ll probably be able to fall asleep.

The End

That’s all I can think of. This is the only place I can really talk about Death Stranding ‘cause almost none of my friends/family have played it and I don’t wanna spoil it for anyone I know who might play it. (though my brother and sister plan on playing it and that makes me really happy.)

I also have a lot of shame from being bullied about my interests as a kid. I also hyperfocus on the things I like and won’t stop talking when someone asks me about them which may get annoying and then I feel bad so I don’t bring up the things I like, even though everyone says it’s fine. I’m doing the whole not being able to stop talking thing now...

Ahhggg alright...

The End (for real)

#death stranding #kojima productions #sam porter bridges #dsdc #tw bullying

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common-collectives-archive · 11 months

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Basic DNI Criteria

Ｉｎｔｒｏｄｕｃｔｉｏｎ

Hey! This account is for a bunch of systems (traumagenic, endogenic, other origins, etc) who have decided to come together and coin terms for the mogai community. We're all very new to tumblr and would appreciate your patience when we post! <3

Ｓｏｆｔｌｉｍｉｔｓ

Having said that, here are our soft limits. You can still interact if you meet this criteria if you stay respectful, do NOT spread false information, and keep an open mind. We believe in giving everyone a chance, don't abuse it.

Anti mogai

Anti mspec (lesbian, nonbinary, etc)

Sysmed / Anti endo or other origins

Transmed / TERF

Queerphobe in any capacity

Anti self diagnosis

Anti nonhuman / petreg

Ｈａｒｄｌｉｍｉｔｓ

These are an absolute no and we will not tolerate these people interacting with our posts.

(General TW)

Zoos

MAPs

Promoting and encouraging substance abuse, sh, ed's, etc (this does not include harm reduction and advice along those lines)

NSFW agereg / ageplayer

NSFW petreg

Proshipper

If you have anything we should add to the list then don't be afraid to comment it, this is pretty basic so far.

#AHHHHHH #system blog #mogai blog #endogenic friendly #cca #pinned post

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scenearcee · 16 hours

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tldr, the american medical system SUCKS ABSOLUTE DICK

tw for medical malpractice and aggressive attitude, I'm venting on main sorry guys. it's under the read more or wtv it is

some of my diagnoses (notably autism, adhd, osdd-1b and panic disorder) have vanished and others are not supposed to be there, and I was also illegally diagnosed with borderline personality disorder (which I do not have. btw) when I was 14-16 so doctors haven't been taking my concerns seriously for YEARS because they think I'm crazy and psychotic and attention seeking, they are convinced that I'm incapable of being stable and knowing what is wrong with my own body.

I experience psychosis when I'm having a really bad time, but that's about it idk what to say about it. I know when I feel pain, I know when I struggle to walk, I KNOW WHEN I HAVE SEIZURES. Now the ER doctors denying my seizures make sense, they thought I was faking them and instead having a horrible panic attack!!1!!11!

but yeah I haven't been treated for or even had my disabilities diagnosed because of a false diagnosis that makes doctors think I'm making stuff up :3

the american medical system is so fucked and I'm hoping I can get that diagnosis reversed, because it's not even true and should be considered medical malpractice. it's good to know that I've been utterly failed because of the fuckup of one pediatric nurse practitioner!!!!!!

there's obviously other reasons the american medical system fucking sucks dick but this is my personal experience and I think I get to share it

#venting on main #sorry for venting on main #erm what the sigma #medical system #disabled #mental health #american medical system

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emptym0rgue · 3 months

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Tw: overbearing family, homophobia, transphobia

“Everyones family is insane”

Not like mine.

I wasnt allowed to shower myself until i was twelve. They bathed me because they “couldn’t trust me to do it right.”

I couldn’t drink out of normal cups until i was in middle school. I had cups with safety type lids because they “couldn’t trust me to drink right.”

I couldn’t choose my own clothing until fourth grade. They picked my outfits because otherwise I’d go to school “looking stupid.”

“Don’t say they love your brother more.”

They literally do.

When i had an ear infection they waited too long to take me to the doctor because they didn’t believe i was in pain until my ear swole shut. When my brother had a ear infection, they bough an otoscope to check his ears themself.

When it was time to stack wood onto the patio, i did it for hours, just my jacket and bringing wood to and from the truck to the patio. My brother was bought gloves so he wouldn’t get splinters and he never had to do it as long as me because he complained and I didn’t.

All my life my mom always called him “the good one” and she called me “the bad egg” or “the problem child.”

“Every family has their problems”

Sure they do.

That doesn’t excuse my family sweeping my autism diagnosis under the rug. They refused to help me even after i was diagnosed because “i used it as a crutch.”

That doesn’t excuse my family forgetting I’m not straight. They used to call my ex my “friend” and say “its a phase you’ll grow out of.”

That doesn’t excuse my family dismissing that I’m trans. I told them and directly after they said “you don’t need to be a boy” and they forgot about it since.

“But they love you”

Not if their view of love is skewed.

Buying things is not love.

Empty words is not love.

False respect is not love.

“But its not like they hit you or anything.”

They damaged me without scars.

They stunted my growth because they “couldn’t trust me” from the moment i was born.

I never had adequate medical care because “I’m a hypochondriac” and they told my psychiatrist lies.

My self esteem and trust for myself is shot because I “never actually do what I’m supposed to.”

“Be grateful, other kids wish they had a family like yours”

I know for a fact they don’t.

Growing up my friends constantly said my family was insane.

My friends constantly said my mom was a bitch.

Even now, my friends say they wish they could give them a piece of their mind.

“But they’re your family”

I don’t fucking know who my family is.

My maternal family lied to me all my life about who my paternal family was.

My false paternal family still pretends im a part of them when all we share is a last name.

My paternal family by blood are “horrible people” who i only ever learned about through a series of accidents and letting the secrets slip.

“But you turned out fine”

I know I didn’t.

I find myself disgusting and never good enough.

I find myself not worth keeping alive.

I find myself pitiful.

#emptym0rgue #empty rants #abuse #help me

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qingzhouxi · 1 year

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Everyday OCD: An Outsider's Perspective on Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder

Blog Post #3 Preliminary Drafting: March 16, 2023 Blog Draft Created: March 25, 2023 Blog Posted: March 26, 2023 Selected Video: 'Sikreto ko, OC ako' by Sandra Aguinaldo

TW// Mental Health Problems. Please do not read if you are sensitive to mentions of mental health problems.

A. Background of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

There are a lot of mental health problems that are recognized by the arguably most influential organization about mental health in general—the American Psychological Association, also known simply as APA. In addition, some mental health problems are observed but not recognized by the APA, as demonstrated by the absence of these problems in the list of the formally recognized mental health problems included in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (5th edition) or DSM-5. According to Peterson (2019), the DSM-5 contains around 300 officially recognized mental disorders and is designed to aid psychologists, psychiatrists, counselors, and other mental health professionals to diagnose or recognize the mental health disorder, if any, of an individual. While the DSM-5 book can be accessed by common citizens if they so desired, it is important to note that it should not be used to self-diagnose because this may lead to incorrect diagnosis and false panic. One of the disorders mapped in the DSM-5 is Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD), characterized by a person's extremely disruptive obsessions that fuel compulsions that prompt the brain to take action on these obsessions by attempting to satiate them (Kelly, 2021).

B. Lives of People with OCD

While I personally do not relate to the people featured in the video, Engr. Efren Yebra, Jr. and Emile Enriquez, I am quite intrigued by OCD, especially considering I have seen the term being used on the internet, almost very easily. Having said that, I will be offering my most sincere and not sugarcoated outsider's perspective about OCD, but I will still try my best to word everything respectfully. Perhaps the reason why OCD is heavily stereotyped is that it is a mental disorder whose symptoms can mimic everyday normal actions like double-checking whether the door has been locked properly, cooking for a very exact amount of time, washing hands repetitively due to fear of getting infected while eating finger foods, and many more. To be completely honest, before I properly searched the internet to read about OCD, I have a poor understanding of it. I used to view OCD as something that is plainly just something that causes a person to do repetitive tasks and not necessarily something that disrupts their lives. Thankfully, I haven't really used the term "OCD" in writing or talking and as such, I never misused it whilst misunderstanding it, which I am thankful for since I have not made someone upset over a would-be misuse of the said term. Unfortunately, that is not the case with everyone, as is what happened in an article penned by Gudrun (2017) where she detailed her experience of being incorrectly dismissed by her former college roommate when she claimed to have been diagnosed with OCD. She stated that she was very disorganized which made her roommate think that she must have been misdiagnosed with OCD.

C. My View of People with OCD

In terms of what I think about those who have OCD, I really do not have any incorrect stereotypes in mind, although I must not deny that I will think of them as people whose actions tend to be unnecessarily repetitive. In my mind, I think of people diagnosed with OCD as regular people, although they have tendencies that do not conform with "normal" people. I intentionally quoted the word 'normal' because normalcy is relative and non-universal and may therefore change from person to person. That being said, I do not necessarily think of anything negative of them such as "wasteful," "inefficient," or many others because I recognize that it is not their will that is causing them to act as they do and that is beside the point that some of them are not even wasteful or inefficient in doing their actions. In fact, some symptoms may even have their own niche but nonetheless advantageous effect, although please note that this is only a side effect or a byproduct and should by no means imply or infer that OCD can be romanticized or dismissed. Langham (2022) expressed that due to the meticulousness associated with OCD, some sufferers may perform well in detail-oriented job positions where they can supervise things that need to be supervised during work.

D. What I Think People with OCD Feel

While I do not want to appropriate the experiences of people formally diagnosed with OCD, I will try to map how they may feel based on what I think they may feel. As a natural empath, I may be able to gain insight as to how these people may feel, especially having access to the cases of Engr. Efren Yebra, Jr. and Emile Enriquez. According to Yebra, in order to prevent the anxiety brought about by his disorder, he does what he calls "rituals," which are basically like routines that he follows to mitigate the effects of OCD. In the case of Enriquez, his OCD only happens when his mind is not occupied by thoughts, which means he functions well during work, thus qualifying him to be a High-Functioning OCD sufferer with accord to Langham's (2022) previous iteration. It also seems impossible to map the thought process of people with OCD apart from a generalist explanation that is summed up as such: "People with OCD have chemical imbalances, which makes them have disproportionate obsessions over some things, and they respond to these obsessions by doing them repetitively." As such, I will attempt to rationalize their thoughts by using the social phenomenon involving coming out with a mental health problem—social stigma or worse, ostracization. Corrigan and Watson (2002) argued that people with mental disorders deal not only with the disorders themselves but also with the stigma that they experience as a consequence of being diagnosed with mental disorders. Zoppi (2020) stated that the social stigma against people with mental disorders often leads them to socially isolate themselves, causes them to have low self-esteem, makes them feel shame and hopelessness, and may even cause the disorder to worsen.

References:

Corrigan, P.W. & Watson, A.C. (2002). Understanding the impact of stigma on people with mental illness. World Psychiatry, 1(1), 16-20. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1489832/

Gudrun, H. (2017). What It’s Really Like to Be “So OCD”. National Alliance on Mental Illness. https://www.nami.org/Blogs/NAMI-Blog/October-2017/What-It-s-Really-Like-to-Be-So-OCD

Kelly, O. (2023). What Is Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)?. Verywell Mind. https://www.verywellmind.com/what-is-obsessive-compulsive-disorder-ocd-2510675

Langham, R.Y. (2022). How Can I Tell If I Have High-Functioning OCD?. Impulse. https://impulsetherapy.com/how-can-i-tell-if-i-have-high-functioning-ocd/

Peterson, T.J. (2019). The DSM-5: The Encyclopedia of Mental Disorders. HealthyPlace. https://www.healthyplace.com/other-info/mental-illness-overview/the-dsm-5-the-encyclopedia-of-mental-disorders

Zoppi, L. (2020). What is mental health stigma?. Medical News Today. https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/mental-health-stigma

Word Count: ~1010 (w/o References), ~1095 (w/ References)

#psychology #obsessive compulsive spectrum #mental health #outsider's perspective

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raigash · 4 years

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Strawberry Sunset

(Inky Depths Masterlist)

[CW: drugging and mentions of past drugging, conditioning disguised as “treatment” for an illness that doesn’t really exist, mentions of broken bones/past suffering, and just overall creepy intimate whumpy saccharinity]

As the day faded, they sat quietly together in the study. The rocking chair had been drug from the center of the room to the far left side, where it sat cattycorner to the arched windowsill. From their vantage point, they watched the gold of the sun bleed through the treetops. Wrapped in a film of warmth and weight and beauty, grounded only by the feel of her fingers drifting over the rough patches of sewn designs, Rosalind floated.

She could barely breathe around the scent of strawberry. It clung to her senses like a specter, clogging her nose and lumping in her throat like wet sand. It was...uncomfortable. But that thought fell away as quickly as it had surfaced, pulled mercilessly under the waves of static crashing upon the shores of her mind.

The other voice, the one inside, had thrown a tantrum earlier that morning. It had been loud and obtrusive, and had, like always, brought on nothing but agony in its wake. Her voice, the one that rang clear and still, came easily. It materialized with only a soft ripple, parting the murky waters she found herself eternally submerged in with a gentle ease. It was a voice that talked of pretty things. Whole things.

The angry thoughts were excruciating, pitch black and rotting, leaking from a profound crater within her soul. She had often tried before to find it, and to patch it, but it never succeeded. The words burned too hot. The pit was too deep. It seemed to slash through her like an axe to driftwood, splintering her heart and shattering her mind with each fell swing. Screaming hateful, broken words, it lashed out over and over and over again. Maybe it thought it was helping her. But it didn’t have to pick up the pieces in the following hours.

She was sick. Normal people didn’t carry two voices within them, two souls in their hearts. She hadn’t known she was sick before. She hadn’t realized she spoke with the other voice, leaving her true one to atrophy and decay in the depths of her head. But she did now. She knew she was sick. She knew she was in good hands, and that her real voice was healing. Was growing stronger. And she knew she was lucky.

She was lucky someone cared enough to take her stripped and smashed wires, and form them into something useful. Something lovable.

She was lucky someone cared enough to treat her at all. She was lucky she had met Pascal.

A dull throb resonated in the back of her skull, and so she simply let her thoughts melt away and drip through the cracks once more. The medicine always seemed to work better when her mind was placid, anyway, and her thoughts were worthless anyway. If he required it, she knew, the words he needed would return to her. He had told her often that her voice was more beautiful on strawberry days. The fog that swept away pain took the edge of fear off as well, and left it a soft lilting timbur that seemed to please him more than anything else. And the way she would sometimes trip over her words as they bobbed in and out of her mind, stumbling disgracefully through the saccharine haze, served to infuriate him more than anything else.

His anger was terrifying, but was always meant well. She knew that. He always meant well. There was nothing she could do. It fared no better to sway on half built towers of logic than to drift within the waves. And so she let them crumble to the ground, lost to the brine of the tears she drowned in. And she floated away down the river without a second thought.

Pascal kept her within her lull, massaging her aching hands with his own and humming a soft melody under his breath. She was lucky he was so understanding when she grew so tired on days like today. He understood that her songs were sloppy, her voice slurred on days when the Voice would overtake her. He would always do what was best for her, to help her overcome the worst parts of herself.

To help make her better. One day, she would be whole again. She would be perfect.

What’s wrong with me now?

An ache tore through the left side of her head at the thought, and she flinched back into his shoulder with a slight whimper. She felt his chest rumble with an amused sigh before he eased his massaging, shifting both of her hands to rest in his left. With his right freed he began stroking her hair softly, his humming changing tune and pace to a softer, calmer melody. Instantly the whispers of pain, the migraine that was, that could have been, fell silent. She had learned to stomp out most of the small fires by herself. But she was still weaker than him, still untalented. Whatever she wasn’t strong enough to silence, he would finish for her. He was always so kind. And she was just so lucky.

The feel of a hand underneath her chin spooked her from her reverie once more. The hand in her hair had been removed, and was now tilting her chin upwards. She ducked her chin instinctively, chiding herself as his laugh tumbled through the room again. It was warm, but she shivered regardless. He wants you to look. Look. “How are you feeling, my love?” His voice was poised as always, and seemed to smooth across her heart the way his thumb smoothed across her cheek.

She could have been bleeding out at that point, for all she knew. Once her eyes met that sparkling green, she knew nothing but turmoil. The tides crashed against each other, a muddy river and a vast ocean, and she found herself within a whirlpool. She couldn’t breathe. The water in her lungs tasted like strawberry.

“I feel...like me again.,” she whispered, from another throat. One that wasn’t drowning in tidal waves, stripped raw by the salt. “I don’t...I don’t hurt anymore, and...and I, I’m not feeling bad any-anymore.” She glanced down as she felt the blood rush to her face, for a reason she was not in a position to understand. “Thank you.”

The words hurt for a reason she didn't understand either, and so she tried to focus on something, anything, else. Her hands caught her eye first, as they always did. They always seemed to shake less on days like this, when reality bled in and out of focus and she felt anchored to the seafloor by the taste.

They hurt less, too, like everything did when she needed treatment. But their appearance never seemed to deviate from reality, even when the world bent and she fell into hallucinations and delirium. Broken bones still jutted out at alarming angles, ruined beyond repair by countless destructions and intentionally nonproductive settings. They haunted her in her nightmares, jagged thorns of flesh wrapped a cage around her throat. Her heart. A shudder tore through her, and she shifted her attention again.

The sun, which had bathed the whole room in a honey tinted glow not long ago, had fled below the horizon. With it, the warmth that had cradled the scene had vanished as well. The stars did not filter through the trees as the sun had, she knew. The window sat open, but one would have to be sitting upon the sill to be able to look up past the mossy giants to the few unobstructed constellations. That would not be happening tonight.

She was tired, and the chill in the room had begun to sap the little relief her hands had experienced away from her. They were always the first to agonize her, and the last to satiate. The wound was a deep one, and cut through the membrane of her soul. It would never cease to pain her.

As she floated in thought, she felt Pascal plant a kiss atop her head. He began to sing to her in a soft voice. A song she knew, long ago. In the before. As tears she didn’t understand flooded her eyes, she buried her head back into his shoulder, and sobbed silently as the night drug her into a realm all her own.

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astrangerthatlovesyou · 1 year

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TW: Transphobia

If you see a news article claiming that a “new study is proving that transgenderism is socially contagious among teen girls.” I’ll save you the vitriol filled article. It’s not new, it’s not even a valid study. It’s just the 2018 Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria “study.”

For those unfamiliar the ROGD paper was written by Dr. Lisa Littman and suggested that there was a modern phenomenon of teens becoming transgender due to social pressure.

Littman did not include a single transgender person or even teen in her “study.” Her entire sample was of parents of transgender children that she gathered from openly anti trans websites.

No accredited medical institution recognizes ROGD as a valid medical diagnosis or phenomenon. It has been widely renounced as “fake science.” Not only has no study that includes transgender individuals supported the claims Littman made, countless have directly contradicted them.

If you have to make up science to justify oppression, then oppression isn’t justified.

I love you all, stay safe. My DMs are open if you need a break from the transphobia.

Here’s some reading:

Littman’s Paper

#trans #queer #rogd #transphobia #transisbeautiful #trans rights #transfem #transmasc #nonbinary #TERFs dni #transgender #transgirl #trans boy #gender #gender queer #genderqueer #genderfluid #stay safe #and do some goddamn research ffs

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tropes-and-tales-archives · 2 years

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Frederick Chilton: Please, Ma’am

Word Count: 2371

TW: Smut (femdom; oral sex, f! receiving; PiV, unprotected). 18+ only.

AN: The first part can be found here.

Frederick Chilton should have known to expect you. He had spent the past few days acting terribly: belittling his nursing staff, bickering with the FBI, and worst of all – squabbling with you over a second opinion you’d been called in to give. In front of a board of fellow doctors, after you delivered your diagnosis on a rather mundane case of borderline personality disorder, Frederick had snidely suggested that maybe you didn’t know what you were talking about.

It would not stand.

It remained to be seen which form his punishment would take. If he opened his door to you with an apology on his lips and contrition in his heart, you’d be merciful. If he greeted you with that same bitchy attitude he’d had at the hospital, well…then he’d reach the end of your forgiving nature.

You rang the bell to his mansion and waited, the little rolling carry-on bag sitting at your side like an obedient dog. You eventually heard his footsteps, and when he opened the door to you, he failed to take the proper tone.

Worse, he rolled his eyes.

You walked past him without saying a word, and you let the little squeaking wheel of your carry-on bag make all the noise it wanted. You stood in his foyer and only stared at him, and the silence quickly became heavy. Oppressive.

Frederick played it brave, all false bravado, for an entire minute. Then you watched him crumble, until he was ducking his head and apologizing.

“I am sorry, ma’am,” he said, and he did sound contrite. Unfortunately, his contrition came too late.

“What are you sorry for?”

He gulped audibly, and you noted how his Adam’s apple bobbed in nervousness. “Because I was rude.”

“When?”

“When I answered the door, ma’am.”

You sighed. “And?”

Another audible gulp. “And…at work. At the hospital. I was rude to you, ma’am.”

You reached out and cupped his chin, and you forced him to look at you.

“You said I was a hack, Frederick. You implied that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I am sorry – “

You cut him off, gripped his face a little firmer. You put a hard edge in your voice so that he knew how displeased you are. Because, well, you are. Self-important, officious pricks were a dime a dozen in psychiatry, and Frederick Chilton would never be accused of being pleasant….but his misplaced criticism of you had set your teeth on edge.

“I graduated summa cum laude from John Hopkins,” you told him with a glower. “I have built a prestigious private practice from the ground up and received awards and published respected papers. Does anything about my abilities scream ‘hack’ to you, Doctor Chilton?”

His green eyes widen as he stared at you. “No, ma’am.”

You leaned forward until your mouth was near his ear, and you can feel how he trembled, almost imperceptibly. “Then you better fucking act like it,” you hissed, and your casual use of a swear word made him flinch. “Because if you ever belittle me in front of others again, I will disappear from your life. You’ll never fucking see me again. Do you understand me, Doctor Chilton?”

He nodded his head so violently you swore you could hear his brain rattling in his skull. “I understand, ma’am. I am…I am sorry.” He sounded near to tears, and you stared at him so long that his eyes did start to get watery.

Finally, you nodded at him. “I know you are sorry. I accept your apology.” You reached down for the handle of your case, and you started up his stairs before you called over your shoulder.

“Come along, Frederick. We have a little matter of your punishment to discuss.”

-----

You had only used this sort of punishment on Frederick once before, and it was best employed for when his behavior was rude. The first time you punished him this way, he had continually talked over you at a dinner party, disparaging you over your thoughts on Oppositional Defiant Disorder.

You started by making him shower, and while he did, you unpacked your case and prepared. You shed your long coat and pants and sweater, and you pulled on the silk robe to hide your lingerie. When Frederick exited the bathroom, the look on his face was worth it: naked desire, as he took in your form. Something more primal, more basic, as he took in the items laid out across his dresser.

“Come here,” you said gently. When he came to stand beside you, you reached out to run your fingers through his damp hair. Unstyled, it made him look almost boyish. Less formidable. More himself, since the formidable was really just a façade anyway. Frederick leaned into your touch, starved as always for any contact.

Laid out on the dresser was a selection of toys in various sizes. Each one was unique, one-of-a-kind, discreetly purchased overseas during one of your annual solo vacations. Thank god for Amsterdam and its liberal attitude towards sex. It’s where you had also purchased the harness, as much a piece of art as functional. The leather was hand-tooled and soft, embellished with polished silver buckles.

“Pick which one you want,” you said. You turned to watch Frederick as he considered each one, his hand trembling a bit as he picked one up, put it down, picked another up to test the heft of it. When he took too long, you added, “you can always say ‘no,’ Frederick.”

“No, ma’am,” he replied. Despite his shaky hands, there was an eagerness in his voice that made you smile. “I am just considering the best one for my punishment, ma’am.”

There was the slender tempered glass one, perfect for temperature play since it was made from shatter-resistant glass and could be both microwaved and placed in the freezer. There was a stainless steel one, a little thicker. There was a colorful pastel one with a ridge encircling the entire thing, like a unicorn’s horn. There was one with a curved, bulbous head that was perfect to massage the prostate. There were three realistic ones – albeit in pink and purple – that felt like real skin, with curved veins and ridges.

“Can I…can I see what you are wearing, ma’am?” he finally asked, and you obliged him. You untied the belt of your robe and let it fall into a puddle at your feet. His groan was worth it.

The corset was a rich brocade of dark blue, like something from a Rococo fantasy. The matching panties were already damp with the prospect of the evening ahead of you, and you noted how Frederick’s eyes drifted downward and noted that fact.

“This one,” he finally said, picking his poison. The stainless steel one. Frederick was a sucker for juxtaposition, though he’d never admit it: the battered leather moto jacket over the silk slip dress. The torn jeans with the cashmere sweater.

The stainless steel dildo with the brocade corset. Elegant and industrial, in one person. The tenting in his pajama pants affirmed that you were correct.

“Go lie on the bed and wait for me,” you told him softly, and the man practically floated over to the bed in complete obedience.

It took longer to get ready than some may think. You peeled your panties off. The hand-tooled harness had a ridiculous number of buckles that you undid, adjusted, redid before you even stepped into it. You took the stainless steel unit and slid it into the harness, and you took your own selection – a smaller silicone dildo that would curve to hit your g-spot deliciously and slid it opposite the steel one. You didn’t need to use any lube on it, since you were already wet, so when you stepped into the harness and slid the silicone dildo into yourself, you didn’t even bother to muffle your moan.

It was an ingenious contraption that essentially allowed you to fuck yourself while you fucked Frederick. The genius of the Dutch craftsman you bought it from…every time you used it, you sent a silent prayer of thanks for that man.

Then you walked over to the bed, where Frederick waited for you, already naked. His eyes were dark with lust as he took you in, and you were reminded again of the level of trust that he extended to you. The man was notoriously closed off, repressed. That he not only allowed you to do this with him but that he enthusiastically played these games with you…it made you smile.

You climbed onto the bed and ordered Frederick to get into position, and you handed him pillows to put under his hips in case his strength failed him. The first time you’d done this, the force of his orgasm had taken him by surprise, and he had effectively collapsed under you. Now he got onto his hands and knees, and the man was practically vibrating with anticipation.

But you didn’t just get straight to it. The man was being punished after all. You kissed the back of his neck, murmured in his ear to remind him of the safe word. You kissed your way down his well-defined back, featherlight and ticklish as he squirmed against your ministrations. You bit him lightly on his ass, and you reached around to stroke his cock, rock-hard, before getting to business.

You reached over to the night stand for the thick lube, laying a generous layer on the stainless steel dildo that jutted out from your harness. If Frederick had been better behaved, you would have warmed it up in your hands first, but he was being punished. You coated a finger in the lube too, to tease at his entrance.

“Just relax, Frederick,” you murmured as you slid one finger and then a second into his tight channel. You could feel him fighting through the feeling of invasion, the tortured little groans he made as you worked to loosen him, scissored your fingers to prepare him for more. “Are you okay?” you asked.

“Y-yes, ma’am.” His voiced sounded strained.

“We can stop.” You pulled your fingers from him, and you smiled as he rocked back a little, whining at the loss of sensation.

“Please, ma’am,” he pleased. “I want more. I am ready for more.”

You tilted your head at him, openly grinning now. “I’m not sure I heard you. What did you say you wanted?”

His frustrated groan made a flood of heat go straight to your core. “I want you to fuck me, ma’am. Please. Please.” His voice got a wonderful whining edge to it, so different from the rude sneer of the boardroom when he had belittled you.

You’d draw it out more, but his whining turned you on more than you’d ever admit. There was something inherently sexy about kneeling behind him, a stainless steel cock pressed against him. Frederick gave a hilarious little squeal as you lean forward, the cold steel and lube against his entrance as you slowly start to push into him.

He whined. Fuck, how he whined. And moaned. And babbled, sometimes, both your name and the word please. You took your time – pressing into him a bit, pulling out. Pressing more in. Halfway, you reach for more lube, and that pulled another unmanly shriek when the cold liquid touched him.

“Would you like more, Frederick?” you asked. You couldn’t see his face, but you could see how the muscles in his back flexed and strained as you fucked your way into him.

“I want all of it, ma’am,” he breathed out, and he’s been so good, you obliged him.

When the steel was buried in him, you flexed forward a fraction and was rewarded by the feeling of the silicone buried in you going a bit deeper too. You both groaned at it, and when Frederick choked out a final “please, ma’am” you start fucking him in earnest. The silicone dildo inside you was pushed against your g-shot, bringing you right to the edge of the cliff, and you know the steel is pushing Frederick to his conclusion too. You reached your orgasm first, shuddering as you came, but you never stopped driving your hips against Frederick. He cried out, so close to coming, and you reached around to grasp his cock and give him that final bit of stimulation.

When he finally came, it was pure gibberish that spilled from his lips. You felt his cock twitch in your hand, felt the white-hot cum as it spilt over your fist and spattered against Frederick’s belly and chest. It was enough to pull a second, weaker orgasm from you, and you thrust shallowly against him as you did. And, sure enough, Frederick’s strength gave out in the end. The man collapsed against the bank of pillows under him, pulling you down with him.

Both of you were exhausted; neither of you did more than the bare minimum to clean up that night. You allowed Frederick to release you from your corset, and you smiled sleepily as he dressed you in a pair of his pajamas. He rolled the sleeves of the shirt, the cuffs of the pants so that they fit you. Then he scooped you up into his arms and carried you into a guest bedroom. The master bedroom was wrecked, and the two of you curled up in the guest bed.

Some people needed more aftercare from such an event, but Frederick only seemed to need what he always needed: you in his bed, sleeping beside him. Reassuring him that it wasn’t just sex. That you wanted to be with him regardless of the games you played with each other.

Or maybe now he needed a little more. Your eyelids were heavy, and you knew you were moments away from the deep, restful sleep that always came after a vigorous session with Frederick. Usually he was the same, but tonight, he hooked an arm around you and pulled you a little closer to him.

The last thing you remembered? His mouth – that smarmy, egotistical mouth that had hurt you, demeaned you – right near your ear. Whispering, as he thought you were already asleep.

Telling you that he loved you.

#frederick chilton #frederick chilton imagine #frederick chilton x reader #frederick chilton x you #hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #tropes-and-tales

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