#brain trauma

[dinoburger]

OH TRAITOROUS SYNAPSES

#dbarts #the boiled one phenomenon #doctor nowhere #body horror #brain trauma #head trauma #yahoo!

[unstablemotions]

Help Save My Cousin's Life 💜

My 25 y/o cousin Line, known as @nebulow online, needs for surgery for Craniocervical Instability (CCI). This is her last resort as she's been deteriorating fast. She's also diagnosed with Congenital Muscular Dystrophy (CMD), which will kill her if her CCI isn't treated.

Here's her Fundraiser

Any amount helps!! If you can't donate, just reblogging/liking this is a help 💜

#gofundme #fundraising #crowdfunding #financial aid #spoonie #brain injury #cpunk #cci #cmd #actuallydisabled #actually disabled #craniocervical instability #congenital muscular dystrophy #brain trauma #chronic illness #chronic pain #chronically ill #medical fundraiser

[alephnol]

MUST REMAIN SANE..

#rambles #everyone #ask blog #klein krause #Loooore #Angst #brain trauma #artwork

[spatialapprentice]

its your brain your brain is the problem we need to replace it with the new brain we made in the lab

we made this new brain we made i worse. on purpose.

you need the worse brain we need to put the worse brain in you. we need to get rid of your old brain and put the bad brain in

You'll be so healthy when we put the bad brain in, I swear. The worse brain will be so better for you. You dont understand YOU NEED THE WORSE BRAIN pleas let me do these surgeries to you.

oh? you want the worst brain im so glad. I worked so hard to make tha brain as bad as possible. here, lets get started

#brain trauma #lobotomy #wizardposting

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Claire Nuñez & Ophelia Nuñez, Ophelia Nuñez & Aja Tarron, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Ophelia Nuñez, Claire Nuñez, Javier Nuñez, Aja Tarron Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, If it's any help it's TLT-typical?, The Locked Tomb-typical Lobotomy, Locked Tomb Series Fusion, Harrow Nova AU, But you will not find Harrow in here just ToA characters, The Locked Tomb Series Spoilers, Background Ophelia/Javier/Original Female Character, Claire/Aja if you really squint, Arcadiatober, Arcadiatober 2023, no beta we die like cavs Summary: Commander Oh Ophelia You’ve Been On My Mind Girl Since The Flood dies, and then she watches her daughter grow up.

I’m getting my Arcadiatober fic in just under the wire by 30 minutes. Whoo!

AO3 link is archive-locked, so alternative places to read it are Squidgeworld and FFN.

#ophelia nuñez #claire nuñez #javier nuñez #aja tarron #arcadiatober #arcadiatober2023 #trollhunters #3below #the locked tomb #tales of arcadia #my writing #my au's #child abuse #death tw #brain trauma

[iii-han-nah-bae-iii]

I want to kiss your forehead and whisper sweet nothings to it.

Thank you for being the door to him.

For containing him, and keeping him safe.

Thank you for your folds and creases, that contain pages of his pleasure, pain and ponderance.

Thank for always being so supple yet strong.

The least I can do to show my gratitude is knock politely and leave my gifts by your doorstep.

- HB

#love quotes #poetry #soulmates #love #lovers #sad poem #sad poetry #soulmatism #modern poetry #original poem #poem #spilled poetry #my poetry #poets on tumblr #writers and poets #i love him #i miss him #him #i need him #physical touch #love language #books #i love you #unrequited love #brain trauma #spilled writing #spilled words #spilled ink #brain injury #gratitude

[jinx-rants]

You are a time traveller. You step out of your Time Machine into a bustling amphitheatre, filled with raucous laughter and cheers from the crowd. Below, armoured men face off, battling each other with bone crunching force. You turn to a spectator, “This is barbaric!” you cry, as heads bang and brains rattle below, “Back home we’d never let this happen!”

The bearded man, garbed in a colourful robe sewn with cryptic insignia replies “What’s your problem? These men revel in the fight! Sure, some of their lives are cut short, some of them go crazy, but look at the thrill in their eyes! Isn’t it worth your life, for the chance to fight for glory? For honour?! And they live like kings outside of the arena, mansions, clothes, any woman they want! Many of them came from nothing! From lives of poverty! These games are practically charity, when you look at it like that! And think of the public service they provide. It’s only natural for us red blooded men,” here he pounds a fist to his hairy chest, “to want to watch other red blooded men maul each other to death!”

You shake your head, wondering how anyone, in any era, could be so callous. The year is 2023. You landed in the middle of the Super Bowl.

#did I get you? #did you think it was gladiators? #football #concussion #brain trauma #bloodlust #entertain the masses so they don’t revolt #writing #microfiction #america is a dystopia #ancient rome

[queer-anarchist-rat]

I'm tired of people saying "if you have ADHD to make tasks easier turn it into a game" especially as someone with limited brain function I can't just 'turn something into a game' because I don't have the mental capacity, AKA my brain doesn't understand HOW to do that

#adhd #adhd problems #brain injury #disabled #mentally disabled #HIE #hypoxic ischemic encephalopathy #brain trauma #cripple punk #(yes i am physically disabled)

[gwydionmisha]

#Brain Trauma #News

[dynamoe]

My friend Rachel Vala is asking for help on Go Fund Me to help with an ongoing medical bills. 👁️ TLDR: She already had chronic illness, suddenly started going blind this year. Dr. thinks it's brain trauma from childhood = $34K+

→ x-posted to instagram

👁️👁️ GO FUND RACHEL 👁️👁️ TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY TREATMENT & RECOVERY

She was already life-long sufferer of chronic illness (POTS, a dysautonomic heart condition), but recently started losing her vision. The current diagnosis is untreated brain trauma from 20 years early has aged like fine wine into her current load of symptoms →

She is a crafter, kitsch-lover, occasional retro-fashion model, pug-owner and tutu-maker (see her work on Instagram).

I want her to recover for my own selfish reason that I need her to make all my bad ideas into things (like the diarrhea pennant). She's commissioned artwork from me in the past, like a Total Recall-esque three-breasted portrait of herself in space with her pug—

During the pandemic isolation was the sole intended audience for every stupid Billy drawing I've posted here. (She requested all of the nudes; told me Li'l Billy was too creepy.)

👁️ 👁️ Help a Stranger Out If You Can 👁️ 👁️

#dysautonomia #POTS #brain trauma #head trauma #go fund me #illustration #fundraiser #medical bills #medical

[alephnol]

klein lore.

Warning its kinda sad.

#rambles #everyone #ask blog #klein krause #Angst #brain trauma

[emberoops]

did you know I can manually change brainwaves? it’s how my “word of death” ability works! I make the brainwaves specifically responsible for the beating of the heart stop doing anything.

#murder #death #uhhh #brain trauma #ask to tag

[cyberneticlagomorph]

The Cleric stands over the shallow pit with a solemn expression, his kind are rare.

Finding someone who so thoroughly believes in the power of their gods that they can perform miracles is nigh impossible in this day and age.

The words from his lips twist the world like a liquefy tool in an image editing program. 

The landscape bending and warping into inorganic spirals before the world snaps back into place like nothing happened. 

The corpse in the pit sits up unnaturally, as if a string had been fixed to her chest.

Dirty mint green hair falls over a pair of wild eyes full of burst blood vessels. 

Beth wants to scream in rage, fear, or possibly even agony; but the liquefied remnants of her brain are still reforming and cannot process her request at this time.

She rises shakily from her grave, throat clotted with blood and soil. Streaks of gray matter are drying on her cheeks and chin from where they ran out of her ears and nose.

Someone was smart enough to remove her tongue post mortem, to keep her from snitching even in death.

Someone smarter would have burned her remains instead and made her nearly impossible to resurrect.

Those responsible would regret their decisions soon enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ride from V's place to yours takes a lot longer than expected and you find yourself sitting in awkward silence the entire way there. 

A seat belt across your little lap, because you found out the hard way that you do not weigh enough to be loose in the car with the windows open. 

The rest of the way home is largely uneventful. The vibes coming off of you and V are so rancid that anything in the Ruins with the good sense to avoid you, does so without hesitation. 

The wards around the Warren don't do much to V.

You didn't expect them to.

They're mostly harmless illusions and misdirection sigils after all.

They're meant to keep people who shouldn't be here out, and firmly dissuade anybody else who ends up here accidentally from coming any closer. 

You've learned the hard way that your wards do not work on: lost children, stray animals, milkmen, and anybody who really really wants to kill you. 

It's fine. 

That's what bullets are for.

V knocks on your front door and is met with a chorus of swearing from the other side.

When the door opens, your heart melts.

Jeanne stands there, coffee mug in hand, eyes bruised, but not a hair out of place.

You wave at her from your post on V's shoulder and she raises an eyebrow, looking the both of you up and down before sipping her drink - an Irish coffee, but it doesn’t smell half as strong as she usually makes them.

“It is scary how closely you resemble her.” she begins, gesturing you both inside.

“The sedative Rodin cooked up has been working well; your body only moves slightly, as though dreaming.” she begins “But we moved everyone else to the castle just to be cautious. Anthony, Cereza, and myself have been rotating positions; at the moment Anthony is with the children, Cereza is seeing to your tavern, and I am on watch here.” she gestures with one hand to the kitchen in passing, where a screen has a view of your unconscious flesh body. 

It looks magnitudes worse than you remember.

V isn't paying either of you any attention. 

Jeanne starts to say something else, but V rudely pushes past her and strides further into the Warren without so much as a word. Her coffee splashes onto her hand and she hisses, a sharp insectile sound that makes your skin crawl.

You can feel Jeanne's cold gray eyes digging into your back like a knife, but V is moving too quickly for you to give your wife the apology she deserves. 

"Your dick must be truly microscopic.” You hear her snarl as V rounds a corner with all the confidence of someone who actually lives here. 

V offers you a half glance, "So *that's* what you're into."

You feel your cheeks heat and are immediately thankful that you have no blood to blush with. "She's not usually this cranky I promise."

"No I get it, wanting to be stepped on is a human right."

Something in his tone makes you contemplate homicide. 

The closer you get to your proto-corpse, the more everything starts to look and feel Wrong.

The Warren's dirt walls are breathing. 

Wheezing. 

Webbed with dark veins.

Slick with mucus and sweat, making everything smell sour and sick.

The lights are failing. 

Fading.

Flickering and threatening to die as more of that black sickness starts to bleed from their sockets.

In your haste to protect your family from yourself, you forgot that your house was alive. 

An extension of you. 

Do houses dream?

You know that they can hate, devour and scream.

You've tended to too many haunted houses to forget that. Once beautiful creatures, haunted by their own grief. 

Love-soaked structures pulled into being by the need of another, nigh immortal monsters of wood and stone that crouch above you like a hen with her chicks. 

A dragon with its hoard.

Does it hate you now for what you did?

Does it hate your family for abandoning it?

Pipes rattle and groan overhead where the enchantments are being slowly stripped away. Steam squeals from cracks in the metal and smells like vomit.

Dirt gives way to the concrete skeletons beneath your spell weaving. 

Ancient graffiti lines crumbling subway walls.

Your hospital bed stands in the middle of a darkened station, surrounded by curtains of thick translucent plastic that slither away as you approach. 

The machines hooked up to your body stare at you and your brother with bloodshot eyes. Hideously organic.

V stops in his tracks, grabs you by the ears, and dangles you in front of his face.

"Explain." Is the only thing he says.

You can feel the stitches connecting your ears to your head begin to strain and fray.

Behind you, Blind Terror senses your pain and begins to stir. The eyelids of your almost-corpse flutter beneath layers of crust and grime. 

It doesn't look alive, it doesn't look like you anymore.

Skin graying.

Eyes sunken, bruised, encrusted. 

Bones straining against skin pulled taught by hunger and immobility. 

Its flesh is raw where the restraints have done their job too well.

Its hair is falling out in thick greasy clumps. 

Thin, wretched limbs crawl from the black abyss of its mouth and wave aimlessly at nothing. 

Your wide plastic eyes meet V's.

Your watch-heart is hammering.

The fingers of your future cadaver twitch with your proximity. 

Bile climbs the apex of your throat. 

"In September I was brought in on suspected murder charges, they showed me a video of a creature that looked a lot like me attacking a kid." You swallow, "It-it wasn't me of course, but they wanted me to prove it so… I found this forum post about a game called Ursumbra and the storyline is apparently really really similar to what's been happening so I went to investigate and…"

You trail off, V gives you a shake, "And?"

"Someone's been messing with the game, making it trap people inside and get them sick with the same disease the plot is based around." Several stitches in your ears pop, "But I don't know why yet. The game hinges on making you fight physical versions of your own trauma, but I can't do that with Terror loose. I lose my cool once and the entire house is dust."

V studies your face, you can't tell if he's pissed or not and that scares you a little. 

"And you didn't think that telling me about the disease was important?"

You narrow your eyes, "You left me to die when we were kids, you owe me."

"Bruh, the fuck was I supposed to do? Fry the brains of every merc Laz had on the payroll just so I could stay there in that hellhole with you and get glassed?"

"You could have made them take me with you."

"Mother wouldn't have let me, you know that."

Mother wasn't (and still isn't) your real mom, just some whack job scientist Laz (Lazarus Manufacturing) hired to experiment on you and your 'siblings'.

She's why Blind Terror exists in the first place, and when you couldn't control it she marked you as a dangerous liability and left you to die in the lab with her other failures.

The lab is gone now. 

Reduced to a crater full of twisted metal and molten glass that refuses to cool.

You still remember the sound that the bomb made when it happened. You still hear it sometimes, in your nightmares. 

To this day, you aren't sure how you survived. 

V puts you down, setting you gently on your own chest. The rise and fall of it is ragged and uneven, you can almost feel the fluid in its lungs. 

"So… what do I do?" You're starting to disassociate, better get this over with before you shut down completely. 

"Waterfall of Truth, you've gotta find a way to draw BT out and talk to it." 

"I don't know how to do that and not kill someone and I don't think that we have time to practice." You hug your knees to your chest. 

The Warren holds its breath in anticipation, the sudden absence of the warmth and humidity chills you down to your stuffing.

Something is wrong, but you can't tell just what it is yet. 

V paces from his spot a safe distance from your body, "Then kill someone." Your eyebrows knit, you look up at your brother and expect him to be joking but his expression is deadly serious, "If you can't get BT under control then you're just a bomb waiting to go off so you might as well get it over with, start with me or your wife since she's in the blast zone."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not joking," V says, picking something from underneath his fingernails, "It's all you're good for anyway, ruining people's lives, I bet your wife would agree."

The pit of your stomach goes cold, then hot as the hurt sweeps through you. You stand up, footing unsure and unsteady as tears sting your eyes.

You can feel it, V's power digging into your emotions, you know he's trying to upset you on purpose but the dominoes are beginning to fall, "Stop it."

"Stawp et!" V mocks, he screws his face up into a cruel mockery of your current expression, "Stawp et stawp et that's mean, leave me alone, I'm such a useless little pussy I can't own up to my own mistakes or else the big bad monstew will come out and huwt me."

He laughs, as if he'd just told the best joke in the world. 

And honestly, he has.

You *are* a joke.

The lamest, saddest joke ever written. A joke so pathetic that you are doomed to always be abandoned the second everyone stops finding you entertaining.

That's what you're waiting for, isn't it? For everyone to get sick of you so that they can leave you alone to die just like they did when you were little. 

It's what you deserve. 

It's your true purpose. 

Even outside the Narrative, the Writer left you and this world to rot without remorse the second you stopped being fun to play with. 

That's all you are Jack, a broken toy that nobody wants.

That nobody will ever want.

No one really loves you, they just put up with you out of pity

Out of lust

Out of their own amusement 

"Stop… please." Your pleas fall on deaf ears as your breathing gets ragged and the body beneath you begins to scream.

Make it stop.

Make it STOP.

Your eyes are wide but unseeing, blinded with the tears that pour from you like rivers. 

How pathetic. 

The littlest bit of truth makes you cry like a baby.

Make it stop.

Please. 

Make.

It.

Stop.

The world is gone, swallowed by darkness. You are kneeling in a shallow pool of black water full of bits of broken chains that scream in anguish. 

Make it stop.

Something stirs in the dark.

Lumbering, splashing footsteps that circle you like a vulture. 

You see eyes in the shadows, wide and rolling. 

Full of tears.

Closer.

A muzzle crammed with glowing blue teeth.

Closer still.

The sensation of a collar around your throat, pulled tight behind you. Straining against it, the chains clanking and clattering. Looking through the eyes of another. 

The air vibrates with a deep and terrible growl that settles into the pit where your soul should be.

You hiccup like a child struggling not to sob, and bite your tongue so hard it bleeds.

Make it stop.

Please. 

Make it stop.

"Oh I will." Says a voice from the nothingness. 

A truly massive beast rises from the pool in front of you. The eyeless head of a cheetah, the body of a lizard, six powerful legs, and a thick gecko tail.

Everything that isn't head or tail is covered in dozens, if not hundreds of wild staring eyes. 

They all roll forward to glare at you.

You blink away more tears and the beast is gone.

Before you now, stands a child, she is no more than 8 years old. Gray and black eyes nearly hidden beneath a mass of thick blonde 4c curls, brown skin, gray rabbit ears and ugly prototype cybernetics that press against the fabric of her white cotton jumpsuit.

Her voice is wrong when she speaks, raspy from disuse and horrifically artificial. 

"You left me." She whispers, "You locked me up like a bad dog and you. Left. Me."

"You killed people." You can't meet her eyes.

"I kept you safe!" 

"You almost got *me* killed."

"I saved you from the bomb."

A memory of a memory.

Of skin turning black and splitting as bones shifted beneath and flesh swallowed metal whole.

A hundred eyes looking for a way out.

An impossibly loud sound, and brightness like the sun had come to kill you himself.

Heat, blistering and absolute. 

Skin frying, peeling, regenerating all at once while eyes went blind and the world came apart at the seams. 

The smell of ozone and char.

Molten glass weighing you down, slipping like oil beneath your feet as you crawled from the crater. Bones exposed and bleaching, pain immeasurable.

Collapsing on smoldering grass a mile away and becoming smaller. 

Confused Resistance members hauling you into their truck.

"You locked me up and forgot me and got hurt over and over and over cuz… cuz why?" She puts her little hands on your face, the metal of her palms is icy cold and rough around the edges. 

"Cuz you hurt people and made everyone so afraid of me that they left me there; cuz if I hadn't, every time I got a little bit upset you would have hurt everything and everyone around me, cuz I… I…" 

"I did my job, we wouldn't be in this mess if you just let me do my job." The rage on her tiny face is bone chilling, "Imagine if you got put in chains while all your dumber impulses took the wheel for years, running headlong into danger after threat after cuddle pile after mortal injury that you know wouldn't have happened while you were around?

Some no-thoughts, Hedonistic turbosoftie living your life when everything in the world is determined to cause the two of you as much pain as possible… the damage you've done us, to ME, is irreparable!"

You're trembling, you can feel your skin splitting back in the real world.

"Let me do my fucking job." The sentence is a growl, a command, a threat. Metal gives way to flesh, to claws, to scales until the beast is looming over you again.

You're too numb to do anything but sit there, "Please don't hurt my wife, she didn't sign up for any of this."

Blind Terror hisses, the sound rips through you like claws, "You think me a monster? A mindless beast who hurts children and innocent bystanders?" It pushes its massive snout into your face, breath hot and vile, "If they are no threat then they have nothing to fear from me you fool."

Its teeth come down on your skull like a ripe apple. 

In the real world, your body twists and writhes. Skin darkening and sprouting eyes.

The restraints cut into your flesh as you grow, painting your surroundings with neon blue blood. 

The room stretches with you to compensate for your growth but even then your head brushes against the ceiling when you stand.

V is a mouse at your feet. 

"Took you long enough," he drawls, "long time no see BT how's it going?"

Hatred runs through your heart like a spike, memories of deep nothingness and endlessly whimpering chains pull your lips back in a snarl. You move faster than should be possible at this size, but you refuse to let your jailer go unscathed after all these years.

Your teeth come down on his skull like a ripe apple and his body falls limp to the ground. The taste and sight of blood makes you feel sick, and you spend several seconds foaming the taste off your tongue while V regenerates.

When he's finally ok to sit up, he wipes blood and spit off of his face before saying, "Yeah ok I deserved that."

You don't get time to respond before you hear your front door explode and your wife scream. 

#ic #long post #action post #body horror #blood #gore #death #child soldiers #child abuse #human experimentation #brain damage #brain trauma

[caintooth]

seeing people my age talk about how scared they are of memory loss, which they only associate with old age, is so surreal to see as a 24 year old who has actively experienced memory loss for a long time now

there are causes for memory loss besides dementia and alzheimer’s, i hope y’all know that. dissociative disorders, trauma, brain injuries, thyroid problems, even just stress and lack of sleep can fuck up your ability to store, process, and access memory. and that’s just a few of the many causes i can think of off the top of my head right now.

please stop treating disabled people like some scary “other” that you might become only in the distant, decades-away future. we are your age, too. you may become one of us sooner than you know. stop acting like memory loss marks the end of a life, when so many of us have so much living left to do!

#diary #memory loss #memory disorder #dementia #alzheimers #dissociative disorder #dissociative amnesia #dissociation #dissociative identity disorder #trauma #brain injury #memory #amnesia #actually dissociative #complex dissociative disorder #osddid #osdd system #dissociative system #other specified dissociative disorder #did system

[spit-out-the-dust]

I wish I were witty enough to come up with something original — a quote that I could put my name to.

But here I am. Simply trying to remember what it’s like to have an imagination and take pleasure in the little things again in life— I just want to wake up all the parts of my brain that that are beyond asleep— in a black hole believing that it’s protecting me when all I wanna do is scream at whoever is inside my head controlling all the levers.

Pull that level Kronk. I’m ready. Life isn’t meant to be forgotten, no matter how ugly it truly is.

#coffee #coffe is life #deep moments #random thoughts #trauma #brain trauma #brain #mental health #writing #creativity #imagination #awareness #self love #dark #restlessness

[lisafahrenheit]

been thinkin about how my ethics professor back in undergrad was like.

look. there’s no such thing as perfect altruism. you’ll always get something out of helping or being kind to others, whether it’s a stronger relationship or returned kindness or just the feeling of having done good. there’s nothing inherently bad about getting something from doing good either, especially since it’s completely unavoidable. people being rewarded for putting love into the world doesn’t make the world a worse place. so just do as much good as you can and don’t worry about being “selfless” while doing it, because being truly selfless is in fact impossible.

and like man did that take the pressure off of Being A Good Person!! you’re allowed to enjoy helping people! you’re allowed to be kind without worrying that you’re maybe secretly just doing it for yourself!! it’s okay if you are doing it for yourself because you’re still being kind to others!!!!!

#like truly i think that was what finally finished the process of un-fucking my brain from all of the Catholic Trauma #i don’t know what made me think of this again or what possessed me to make this post but. voila.