#also i've been having a mental fucking breakdown for the past week so i'm just like

[confinesofmy]

just finished my flowerbed weekend project. 😮‍💨 i've still gotta put some taller plants in the back and i'm thinking about some sort of shallow-root groundcover in between the ones i just put in, but i've installed sandstone pavers, got the vincas planted and edged the bed again, so it's looking like i'm gonna have an absolutely bangin' flowerbed in a couple months. it's fucking spring y'all!!!

#the weeding.... god almighty the fucking weeding... #about a day and a half was spent just getting the bed back to a clean slate #girls will spend 12 dollars on a couple of six packs of flowers and then dedicate 20 hours to making a nice place to plant them #adam talks too much #also i've been having a mental fucking breakdown for the past week so i'm just like #*finishing sewing project* *sobbing & screaming* *hanging clothes on the line* *biting my hand to suppress screams* *gardening* *wailing* #wild

[barbieaiden]

2. [Doorbell rings]

3. Kell: Sam. Fuck. Uh. I totally forgot you were coming. Sorry about the mess, I was going to clean.

Sam: Were you sleeping?

Kell: Yeah, but I should've probably woken up, like, 9 hours ago so it's a good thing you came.

4. Sam: I can help you clean.

Kell: Yeah, no, that's not happening, I would die from embarrassment. Sorry if it's smokey in here, I don't want to give you an asthma attack.

Sam: No, it's fine.

5. Sam: Are you okay?

Kell: Not at all.

Sam: Did something happen?

Kell: Well, I don't know if you know this, but one of my closest friends got himself into a coma?

Sam: Very funny.

Kell: Then it's been downhill from there. How is he? Aiden?

Sam: He's, um...

6. Sam: I don't know. He's acting like the whole thing was just nothing.

Kell: To be fair, he was unconscious the whole time so it was probably nothing to him. Plus, this isn't his first drug-related medical emergency, is it? You, however, were a wreck. Like a total mess.

Sam: I'm sorry, next time my fiancé is in a coma I'll think of being more presentable.

Kell: Good.

7. Kell: No seriously, pretty understandable with the situation and all. I'm glad things turned out the way they did, I'd have no one to get high with if Aiden died.

Sam: Kellan.

Kell: I'm kidding. Also, it wasn't weed that got him into a coma, Sam.

8. Kell: Seriously, though, actually seriously this time, I get it. I mean, I was a wreck too. Honestly, I don't know what I would've done if Aiden died.

9. Kell: Especially not like that. The waiting was the worst, not knowing if he'd be okay or not. I mean, I don't know about you but I had some hope he'd live, but still.

Sam: [Shakes head]

Kell: You didn't think he'd live? Like, at all?

10. Sam: ...no.

11. Kell: In other news, my date last weekend was so bad. Unimaginably bad. Easily top 3 list bad.

Sam: You have a list of your worst dates?

Kell: Well, Sam, some of us aren't super fucking lucky and randomly meet the love of our lives one day. I have to gamify it to maintain my sanity. She was really nice, though, it was my fault. I just wanted to go home the entire time.

12. Sam: Let me know if I can help.

Kell: With dating? You might be in a long-term relationship but you're not qualified.

Sam: No? You know what I meant.

Kell: Dude, you're literally the last person I'd unload my emotional baggage on right now. I'm more likely to do it to Aiden. Aiden.

Sam: Kell, you are not making me feel better.

Kell: I'm not trying to. I'm giving you a reality check.

13. Sam: I don't need a reality check, I'm well aware I've been a mess.

Kell: You literally went straight from a mental breakdown to taking care of Aiden.

Sam: Yes? He was in a coma? He's my fiancé? We live together?

Kell: Okay, now you're just making me feel lonely. You're literally third wheeling me and Aiden's not even here.

Sam: You brought it up!

Kell: Oh. Right.

14. Kell: Have you slept in the past week, by the way? Because it doesn't look like it.

Sam: I have. This is just what I look like.

Kell: It's not.

Sam: Yes, it is. You're just insulting me now.

15. Kell: My point is, you let me know if I can help you.

Sam: You could have phrased it in a nicer way.

16. Sam: Can we talk about something else? I'm getting tired of coma related conversations.

Kell: Oh, for sure. I can tell you about my worst dates list and you can laugh at me. I have it written down and everything.

Sam: What?

Kell: Yeah, with details. Do you want to see?

Sam: ...sure.

#me: idk if i'll mention that kell's trans in the story anytime soon so friendly reminder that he is #meanwhile giant trans flag in the background of this entire thing #something happened with the lighting halfway through this but i am not interested in fixing it lmao sorryyyyyy #just read the text it's fine #ts4 story #drugs cw #lost #lost: sam #lost: kell

[trektraveler]

Breathe Free Part One

Summary: You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, thank you very much! Dean knew that, he also knew better. He'd seen you sick plenty of times in the past five years, but this was different. This was much more than a cold, but you were so stubborn about doctors! Dean Winchester isn't about to let you slip away, even if it means going against your wishes. He only hopes he's not too late!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean x Reader, Dean x You

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Sick!Reader, Hospitals, Kissing, fluff

Word Count: 5447

One Shot - Two Parts

Author’s Notes: I have been sick with Covid for a month. Well... down sick for 2 1/2 weeks and recovering my stamina for 2 more. Its been a real bitch. Plus my disabled mother has it now. This is following a nervous breakdown I had in June. Writing has been my passion and my mental health balm, but I've not been able to produce anything in months. So this... this is a fucking triumph!! I'm still working on all my other WIP, so please stick around. I'll get there... eventually :) I'm hoping to finish part two shortly and post in a week... ish.

Thank you all for the continued support!

Masterlist (Part Two)

     You were going to kill him.  Honestly.  If this fucking cold didn’t finish you off, you were going to make it your life’s mission to succeed where every bloody monster, demi-god, angel, demon, and creator of all had failed.  Ridding the world of Dean Winchester would be a public service at this point.  The church would canonize you for this!  There would be bank holidays and parades in your honor.  Maybe an annual postage stamp?  A drink named after you at the local bar, at the least. 

     Of course, you’d have to live long enough to carry out your plan for fame and fortune.  As it was, your odds were 50/50.  Congestion, muscle aches, dizziness, sore throat, non-existent appetite and low-grade fever.  How is it that each of these symptoms alone were minor?  Almost unnoticeable.  You could easily carry out any task battling them one on one.  Yet together they took you down hard.  It was unfair and utterly ridiculous!  Not to mention hugely inconvenient. 

     It was probably that sneezing sheriff from that last case.  You had to introduce him of the concept of personal space more than once.  The douchebag said it was just allergies.  Contagious creep!

     Still, you were home now.  Back at the bunker with three bags worth of pharmacy remedies to ease your pain until the virus ran it’s course.  All you had to do was make it to your room and you could drown yourself in cough syrup and peppermint oil.  Unfortunately, Dean was not making it easy.

     “You sound like shit, Y/N.”

     “Well, I feel like shit, so that tracks.”

     You coughed harshly into the crook of your elbow as you trudged down the metal stairs behind Dean.  Sam followed behind you, carrying your bags and his.  Gentleman that he was.  Levelheaded and sensible, God must have given Dean’s portion of those admirable qualities to his brother. 

     “That cough is getting worse,” Dean said, tossing his duffle down on the war room table. 

     “That’s because you won’t shut up.”

     “What does that have to do with it?”

     “Because you keep baiting me into conversation with all of your pushy opinions.  If you didn’t make me talk so much, I wouldn’t be coughing so much!”  You broke off into a hacking fit that proved your point in your mind.  This was entirely his fault!

     “That’s ridiculous.  You’ve been talking non-stop since we met you five years ago and you never coughed up a lung because of it.”  Dean shook his head and looked to his brother, “Sam, help me out here.”

     Sam usually occupied neutral territory during these debates, but one look at you and he sided with Dean.  “Why don’t we go get you checked out, Y/N?”

     “I got checked out in Billings, they said it wasn’t Covid.  It’s probably just a run of the mill virus.”

     “That guy was like twelve,” Dean scoffed.  “I’m surprised he knew what to do with swab.”

     “He was a doctor, Dean!”

     “Debatable.”

     “There’s no harm in a second opinion,” Sam pointed out. 

     You were so tired you just wanted to cry.  Why were they being so hard-headed about this?  Typical!  Men always think they know everything.  It was all so simple for them, they never had to jump through the hoops that you did when getting care.  It was always the same when you went to the doctor, which is why you never went.  Doctors who dismiss your symptoms and bill you for the privilege.  If you were up to your usual fiery disposition, you’d launch into a lengthy explanation, but you just didn’t have it in you. 

     “If I could get a decent one, I’d consider it.  But the fucking truth is, I won’t.  Not without a fight and I just don’t think it’s worth it.  I’m not dying, I’m not bleeding.  I’ve got a cold, a really shitty one that I hope to God neither of you get because dealing with sick Winchesters might actually finish me off.”

     Dean frowned down at you, “What do you mean?  What is it with you and doctors?”

     “I do not have it in me to explain to you the numerous and colossal failings of the American healthcare system, so I am going to simply say this.  It’s my health and I still get a choice.  So, I’m going to my room where I can die in peace and hopefully tomorrow, I will be rise like the Phoenix with clear sinuses.  If not, then my ghost will haunt this bunker and you two will have to fight over my George Carlin collection.”

     Dean blinked at you for a moment, “You know, we killed a phoenix a few years back.”

     You rolled your eyes and started down the hall towards the bedrooms.  “If either of you wake me before noon, I’m licking every doorknob in this place.”

     “It’s a great story, we had to time travel!” he shouted after you.

     You voice echoed back, along with a few coughs, “I’m using your pillowcase to blow my nose!”

     “I don’t like this, Sammy.”

     Sam picked up his own duffle, “Of course you don’t.  Your mother hen instincts go into overdrive whenever any of us gets sick.  Remember Fort Worth?”

     “Food poisoning, God that was awful.  The pair of you were doubled over the toilet for three days from a damn salad.”

     “And Nashville?”

     “Shark week,” Dean muttered, remembering you curled up with a heating pad while he and Sam hunted vampires.  You wouldn’t even talk to them, just whimpered occasionally and buried your head under the covers. 

     “Right.  She doesn’t get sick often, but when she does all she wants to do is sleep.  The more you try to help the more it irritates her.  Just leave her be, she’ll let us know if she needs anything.”

     That earned a frown from the older brother, as did the sound of another sneeze down the hall.  You were a damn stubborn mule when you wanted to be, but that didn’t bother Dean.  It was a useful quality that served you well in the field.  But you tended to double down when you were hurt or scared, making a challenge for people who loved you to help. 

     And Dean did love you. 

     He came to that conclusion long ago when you burst in on him fighting off a werewolf in your barn.  Barefoot, with a sawed-off shotgun in your hands.  You were fearless, clocked the beast right between the eyes. 

Then:      “Are you alright?”

     Dean rolled the dead body off him and got to his feet.  He quickly took measure of the woman standing in the opened doorway.  Silk short shorts and camisole peeked out from under a worn buffalo check flannel.  Blood ran down bare legs and splattered in the cloud of wild curls that framed a pretty face.  Angel with a shotgun.

     Her expression was one of concern, but she kept a tight hold on her weapon.  Smart girl.

     “I should be asking you that question.”

     You glanced down at the blood stains, “It’s not mine.  My neighbor he, ah…I don’t know.  He went… rabid.  I put him down, didn’t want to hurt him, but he came at me…”

     “If you hadn’t, he would have killed you.  Or turned you.  It was a mercy, believe me.”

     You took solace in that.  With a nod, you lowered your gun and glanced over at the werewolf, dead on the ground. 

     “I don’t suppose there’s a monster removal service we call in a situation like this?”

     “It’s your lucky day Sweetheart, cause that’s me.”  Dean stuck his hand out to you, “Dean Winchester, monster remover extraordinaire.”

     You grinned, pulling your lower lip between your teeth and your eyes warmed up.  It was a look he knew well; he’d seen it in women countless times.  You thought he was cute.  You put your hand in his for a handshake and he winked.  You laughed softly, confirming his theory.  You thought he was adorable, or at least charming.  A good start!

     “Y/N Y/L/N.”

     “Y/N.  Pretty name.  If you’ve got a shovel around here, I’ll take care of this.  Then we can decide what to do about your neighbor.”

     You grabbed a pair of shovels along with your rubber gardening boots that you kept by the potting bench.

     “I built the retaining wall in the west garden by myself last summer,” you said, pulling the boots on.  “I’m handy with a shovel.”

     There was a glint of respect in his gaze as he studied you.  It wasn’t every day he met a beautiful woman who offered to help him dig a grave in middle of the night.  In her pajamas. 

     He glanced at the dead body then back to you.  “You sure?”

     “I’ve been saving this bottle of Canadian whiskey for something special.  I think digging my first grave is the occasion I’ve been waiting for.”

     Dean was a grade-A smart ass and never at a loss for a clever comeback.  But damn if you didn’t knock him speechless.  Standing in the middle of a falling down barn with a dead werewolf only a few feet away and blood splattered all over… you were the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on.  He was a confident man who loved women.  When he met a woman he liked, he turned on the charm, pursued her.  Simple.  But you… you held challenge in your eyes, pride in the tilt of your jaw and confidence in the carriage of your body. 

     You were a match to be met. 

     “Well Y/N, lets earn that whiskey.” 

Now:      The following morning, you didn’t come out of your room for breakfast.  When he still hadn’t seen you by noon, he decided to hell with it.  Even if you bit his head off, he was damn well going to check on you.  He was Dean Winchester, damn it!  He’d faced the Devil himself; he could handle a cranky woman with a head cold.

     He stood quietly outside your bedroom, straining to hear any sign that you were awake.  A moment later you broke into a series of coughs, and he took the opportunity to knock.

     “Y/N?”  He cracked the door open and stuck his head inside. 

     Your room was dark except for the glow from your laptop and the tiny light from the vaporizer billowing out peppermint scented air.  Your bed was huge and took up most of the room.  A king-sized masterpiece of cloud-like fluffiness and ruffles.  Princess and the Pea inspired mattress topper and ivory striped pillows stuffed with goose down.  Dean bragged about his memory-foam mattress so often that you took it as a challenge when they invited you pick a room and make it your own.  The bed itself was so big it wouldn’t fit through any door in the bunker, begging the question… how did you manage it?

     You’d teased Dean for weeks, refusing to tell him the simple cheat.  Castiel did it for you.

Then:     “You’ve gotta be kidding me!  I pray to his feathery ass for weeks with no answer and you just up and ask him to move your princess bed and he does it?  Poof?”

     “Well, yeah.  I said please.”

     “It’s very… white.”

     “I know.  We go so many gross places, skeevy motels and hunts covered in monster goop.  I wanted something clean.  You know?”

Now:      With the abundance of pillows and blankets piled on the bed, it was hard to make out your form in the middle of it all.  Dean stepped over your discarded shoes and hunting clothes.  There were piles of crumpled tissues all over the floor, cough drop wrappers and half drank bottles of water. 

     “What time is it?” you asked from the mountain of covers. 

     “Just past noon,” he replied, coming closer to the bed.  “Thought maybe you’d want lunch.”

     You shook your head and Dean could see you a bit clearer in the light of the computer.  Your face was flushed more than it was the night before and your eyes were dull.  You looked utterly miserable.

     He sat on the side of the bed; his hand went to your forehead.  You didn’t even pull away, “Fever.  You take anything for it?”

     Your finger pointed to the table littered with over-the-counter drugs and bottles.  You’d taken everything for it, but nothing really helped.

     “You get any sleep last night?”

     “No,” you said on a sneeze, then groaned.  “This blows.  You should leave so I don’t give you the plague.”

     “Hmm.”  He stood there for a minute, then disappeared out into the hallway.

     You burrowed back under your covers with a shiver, for the first time in his life, Dean Winchester actually did as you asked.  You must be in worse shape than you thought.

     A few minutes later, he reappeared with a large mug in his hands.  “Wanna sit up, Sweetheart?  I’ve got something special for you.”

     With a grunt, you untangled yourself from the bedding and sat up against the padded headboard.  He smiled fondly, you looked adorable, even as sick as you were.  Your hair was held back in twin French braids that were starting to come loose and you were using one of his missing Henley’s for a night shirt.  A few sizes too big, it hung off one of your shoulders.

     “I was wondering where that went.”

     You were confused for a second then tugged self-consciously at the collar buttons.  “It made its way into my rotation after that Wendigo hunt.”

     “Looks better on you anyway,” he held out the mug to you.  “Drink this nice and slow, it’ll take care of that cough so you can sleep.”

     “What is it?” you asked, stirring the steaming liquid with the cinnamon stick that propped against the rim.

     “That is Bobby Singer’s patented, super-secret, cure all hot toddy.  Sammy used to get sick all the time when we were kids, that stuff always put him right.”

     You took a sip, it indeed soothed your throat and although you couldn’t really taste it, the burn of alcohol was distinct. 

     “Wow, how much whiskey is in Bobby’s hot toddy?”

     “Enough to send you off to dreamland.”  He stood and turned to leave.  He knew you didn’t want to be bothered and now that you’d accepted his help, he felt a bit more confident in leaving you.  For a while.

     “I’ll be back in a couple of hours and see if you can stomach some soup and crackers.  Your meds will work better if you eat.”

     He was almost to the door when you stopped him, “Dean?”

     “Yeah?”

     “How’d you kill the phoenix?”

     “It’s a… a long story.”

     You gave a small shrug, feeling silly.  You’d made such a fuss yesterday about being left alone and now you found you wanted him to stay. 

     “I’m not exactly going anywhere.”

     That earned you a genuine smile from him.  He toed off his shoes and launched himself into the middle of your bed with a bellyflop. 

     “Dean!”  You laughed, covering the top of the mug so the contents wouldn’t spill.

     He made a big show of climbing up over the mountain of blankets and pillows, “Jesus, Y/N!  How do you sleep on this pile of marshmallow fluff?”

     “Shut it.  You’ve been dying to try my bed since the day I moved in.”

     “Who says I haven’t?  Remember that trip you took to Jody’s last month?  Sammy and I had a great time painting our toes and talking about boys in here.”

     “Shut up,” you said with a cough.

     “He wanted to try on your underwear, but I drew the line,” he teased, pulling you in close so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders.  “Comfortable?”

     You tucked into his side and let your aching head rest on his chest.  “Mmm.”

     “Good.  So, the year was 1861 and the place was Sunrise, Wyoming.”

     Hours later, long after the hot toddy had done its job, you were deep asleep when Dean woke up.  He was unbelievably hot, and you were the cause.  Obviously, your fever had spiked.  Sweat dotted your brow and soaked through your clothes to the point he was feeling damp where you were cuddled against him.  He gently eased you off, feeling your forehead with a frown.

     “Y/N?  Wake up, sweetheart.”

     You grumbled in your sleep and burrowed deeper under the covers when he pulled them back. 

     “Come on, Y/N,” he urged, pulling a thermometer from his shirt pocket. 

     You were only halfway awake when you realized there was a thin, glass tube under your tongue.  “Wha thmm hemmm?”

     “103.”  He brushed the hair back that had stuck to your temples.  “I think I should take you to the E.R.  High fevers are nothing to mess around with.”

     You shook your head, coughing deeply.  “The meds just wore off.”

     He handed you a box of tissues, “I think you need more than cough syrup and Tylenol.  Let me take you to get looked at.”

     “I’ll be okay Dean; I just need to give it time.”

     Behind the exhaustion and illness, he could see flicker of fear in your eyes, and he was torn.  The last thing he wanted was to push you or take away your choice, but he wasn’t going to let this get out of control. 

     He sighed heavily, “Okay, we’ll try it your way.  On two conditions.  One, you need to eat something, so you keep your strength up.”

     “Okay,” you agreed, trying not to cough again.  “And two?”

     “If this gets worse, you’ll let me take you to the doctor.”  He could feel you instantly withdraw, but he wasn’t going to let you.  This was too important.  He crooked a finger under your chin, gently coaxing you to look at him.

     “I know it scares you, you don’t have to tell me why.  Trust me, I’ll take care of you Y/N.”

     Your reluctance met with his resolve and after a moment, you nodded.  “Okay.”

     “That’s my girl,” Dean praised, brushing a kiss across your forehead.  “Now, if you’re very good, I’ll bring you a bowl of tomato rice soup.”

     “With that bacon cheddar panini you made last time?”

     “Woman after my own heart,” Dean said.  He climbed out of the bed, then noticed you doing the same.

     “Whoa, wait a minute.  Where do you think you’re going?”

     “A shower, I feel disgusting,” you muttered, pawing through the bottles on the nightstand.

     “No way, that fever is way too high.  And you use water hot enough to burn off fingerprints.”

     You tossed back a couple of Tylenol with a generous swallow of water.  “If I smell as awful as I feel, then you shouldn’t be discouraging me.”

     “Y/N…”

     “Super quick, more of a rinse than a shower.”

     “Ten minutes.  Any longer and I’m coming in after you.”

     “Wouldn’t be the first time,” you replied, gathering a fresh set of pajamas.

     “Keep that water tepid,” he called after you. 

     Once you were alone in the shower room, you turned on the water and allowed yourself the coughing fit you’d been holding in.  Dean was worried enough about you.  As sweet as he was, there was a claustrophobic feeling bubbling within you.  It came from a childhood spent as a sick kid.  Parents, teachers, doctors all seemed to hover.  Stealing your air and breathing down your neck. 

     Hidden in the clean clothes were two small bottles of essential oils.  An old remedy passed down from your grandpa.  You striped down and stepped under the water.  It wasn’t nearly as warm as you’d like it, but it was better than nothing.  You uncapped the bottles and sprinkled the contents over the floor.  They mixed with the heat and made a fragrant steam of peppermint and eucalyptus.  You braced your hands against the tiled wall and let your head hang down.  A few minutes breathing in the steam worked to open your nasal passages and more importantly, your lungs. 

     Tightness had been building in your chest since last night and out of all the symptoms, that was the most troubling.  Not even that heavy duty decongestant cut it, and that stuff always helped.  Thankfully, Granddad’s method never let you down.  You breathed as deeply as you could, until the coughing it caused made the room spin and your knees go wobbly.

     You sank down onto the wall bench and turned the water off.  You shivered and tried to work up a bit of strength to dry off and get dressed.  Utterly exhausted, even the thought of standing was enough to tire you.  Of course, you knew if you sat there long enough, Dean would come searching for you.  Potentially naked or not.

     Then:      The shrill scream cut through the bunker, reaching Dean even through his headphones.  He was on his feet and down the hall as another shout echoed from the shower room.  A twist of the handle didn’t yield entry.  Sam was out on a supply run, which meant you were the one trapped inside.

     Dean took a step back and splintered the door off its hinges with a single kick.

     Gun drawn, he burst into the steam filled room, “Y/N?!”

     You were standing on top of one of the teak benches that lined the shower wall.  Soaking wet with shampoo suds cascading down your very naked body.  Your already wide eyes got even bigger, and you screamed again.  You crossed your arms over your breasts and crouched down into a ball, it was the quickest option for modesty.

     “Dean!”

     He peered through the steam and the still running water, gun still drawn, “YN, what the hell?!  What’s going on?!”

     “Spider.”

     He blinked, twice.  “What?”

     You pointed a watery finger towards the middle of the tiled floor, “By the drain.  Huge, HUGE spider.”

     Dean tucked his gun into the back waistband of his jeans, “Damn it, Y/N.  I thought you were being attacked!”

     “Why would I be attacked?  You guys said this bunker is the safest place on Earth!”

     Dean angrily threw a towel at you.  “You were screaming bloody murder!  What the hell else was I going to think?!” 

     You wrapped the towel around your body, tucking It securely under your arms.  “I don’t like spiders, okay?”

     “We just got back from a freaking ghoul hunt, with dead bodies and gore and guts… the whole nine.  You didn’t flinch once, but a bug’s got you clutching your pearls?”

     “It’s an irrational fear, professor,” you replied, switching the water off.  “But since you’re here to rescue me… would you please?”

     Dean rolled his eyes but inspected the drain all the same.  “I don’t see a spider.”

     “What?!”  You looked around frantically, then grabbed Dean’s arm and pointed, “There!  In the corner.”

     He pulled his red handkerchief from his pocket, “Alright, I got him.”

     “Wait!  Don’t kill him!  Just… catch and release.”

     “You’re awfully picky for a damsel in distress,” Dean muttered.  “Is this one of your superstitions, like that cricket in Rhode Island?  Is it bad luck to kill a north-facing spider on a Tuesday?”

     “Nearly every culture believes that killing a cricket brings bad luck.”

     “You know what brings really bad luck?  Going into a vamp nest on no sleep because a fucking cricket was cruising for a date in our bathtub!”

     “That spider doesn’t deserve to die because of my fear.  I just… I don’t want to kill anything else.  Not now, not if I don’t have to.  Do you?”

     You raised your beautiful, luminous eyes and searched out his.  His heart beat in double time and he was suddenly acutely aware of the tiniest details.  Tendrils of your hair dripped water like diamonds on your shoulders and collarbones.  Your skin glowed a healthy pink, you probably used that fluffy loofa thing you always left hanging on faucet.  The scent of your favorite soap hung heavy in the air… what was it?  Ginger peach?  God, he loved it!  You had lotion that went with it and a tiny hand sanitizer that you kept in your purse.  It made his whole car smell like you when you used it, even after you were gone. 

     Dean gave himself a mental shake.  In under five minutes you had taken him on an emotional rollercoaster from panic to irritation to confusion to completely mesmerized.  How did you do that?!  It was happening more and more.  Every time he was around you, he discovered another piece of the puzzle.  He could never predict what you were going to say, but somehow it was always just what he needed to hear.  You voiced the emotions that he had never been able to put into words. 

     “No,” he said at last. “I don’t want to kill anything else either.”

          Now:      Dean was at the stove when you shuffled into the kitchen.  He smiled at you over his shoulder while you sat at the table.  You were in your Christmas leggings and yet another of his missing shirts.  Your face wasn’t as flushed as it had been when you first woke up, a positive sign. 

     “Hope you’ve got your appetite back, because this batch of tomato rice soup is on point.”

     “Your cooking is always on point,” you smiled wanly as he set down a bowl in front of you. 

     “You’re not wrong,” he replied, running his hand over your forehead.  “Fever’s down.  You feel better?”

     “The shower helped.”

     “You smell like a candy cane,” he chuckled, taking a massive bite of his sandwich.

     “Peppermint oil.  For congestion,” you explained. 

     You considered the man across the table from you as you silently ate your soup.  You couldn’t properly taste it, but it was warm and soothed your raw throat.  You’d known Dean Winchester for five years and there were still moments like this, moments where you felt like you were seeing him clearly for the first time.  The delightful domestic behind the swagger and the grit.  He took such pure joy in the mundane that it was hard not to get swept up in it.  The greatest hunter in the world was also the kindest.  Surely there was some sort of cosmic balance working itself out there, but you were too tired to reflect on it.

     “So,” Dean said, pulling you from your thoughts.  “You up for a little movie marathon in the Dean cave?”

     “That would depend on what’s showing.”

     “Lady’s choice.  So long as it doesn’t have subtitles.”

     “La Dolce Vita is a classic!”

     “Die Hard is a classic,” Dean countered.  “Plus, it’s a Christmas movie so it counts double.”

     “Ugh, fine.  You big baby.”  You thought for a moment, covering a cough with the back of your hand.  “How about Ghostbusters?”

     Dean grinned at that, “Yeah?”

     “Or Stripes or um… Caddyshack.  Mom was a Bill Murray fan; we always watched him when I was sick.”

     “Sounds like Mom had good taste,” Dean picked up the dishes and headed to the sink.  “Why don’t you go find a comfortable spot on the couch?  I’ll be right behind you.”

     Laughter always was the best medicine.  And Dean always was the best cuddler.  He brought his gigantic triple thick comforter from his bed and tucked the two of you under it as the 80’s classic played on the flatscreen.  It didn’t take long for the full stomach and the warm hunter to lull you back into a deep sleep.  You were out before the credits rolled.

         Your hacking cough that woke Dean hours later.  It was different this time, you were coughing so much that you couldn’t seem to catch your breath.  He was right behind you as you hunched over the arm of the couch.  As he rubbed your back, he could feel how deeply your lungs rattled.  It was a distinct, wet sounding cough that shook your whole frame.  Heat from your spiked fever radiated through your shirt to his palm. 

     He was saying something to you, but you couldn’t make out the words, only the soothing tone of his voice.  You were truly miserable.  Your head ached with every cough and when you finally managed to stop hacking, you struggled to catch your breath.  A glass of water floated in front of you, and you drank it greedily.

     One word broke through your haze: Doctor.  You didn’t really hear him say it, but the implication was there.

     To his surprise, and as a testament to how awful you felt, you nodded your agreement.  The relief was evident in his voice, “There’s my girl.  Stay put; I’m going to warm up the car.”

     As Dean left, you took stock.  The fever ravaging your system left you feeling disgusting, but you were too tired do anything about it.  Your head was pounding from the coughing fit and your chest was so tight it was painful to draw breath.  You looked down at your pajamas; the snowflake leggings and borrowed shirt were hardly a fashion choice, but they would have to do. 

     There was an awful taste in your mouth had to go.  You could manage a swish of mouthwash, even if you had to sit on the toilet to do it. 

     The minute your stocking feet touched the ground, everything changed.  Your chest got painfully tight.  The feeling of a crushing weight on your chest, as if Dean had driven his car over you and parked it.  The room started to spin and not even holding on to the table made the world steady.  You went down with a thump, landing hard on your ass.  Breathing became like sucking air through a tiny straw, you simply couldn’t.  Your mouth gaped open as you tried and failed to draw air.  Panic swiftly set in as your fingers and toes went numb from lack of oxygen.  Your vision blurred and went dark around the edges.  You dropped to your side and prayed Dean would be quick.

     He was gone five minutes, tops.  The sight of you curled on the floor had him shouting for Sam as he quickly knelt beside you.

     “Y/N!  Baby, look at me, I’m right here...  Sam!!”

     You tired to talk but, no sound came out.  Your hand was on your chest and there was a wheezing sound.  Tears formed at the corners of your eyes. 

     Shit!  He wasn’t sure what had caused this attack, but it didn’t matter.  He had you in his arms as Sam burst through the doorway

     Sam’s eyes went wide as he took in your pale features and distress, “What the hell?!”

     “Hospital now, you’re driving!”

     By the time the Impala was squealing out of the bunker’s garage, you were fully unconscious.  Your limp body sagged against Dean’s chest while he tried to get you to respond.  Sam was alternating between watching the road and checking the rearview on your deteriorating condition.  His foot pressed the accelerator down, pushing the Impala to the limit.

     “What the fuck happened?  I thought she just had a cold.”

     “Its this cough, she couldn’t shake it.”  Dean kept you upright in his lap, knowing it was the easiest position for you to breathe in.  He could feel you losing the battle, even your lips were turning from red and chapped to slightly blue and it scared the hell out of him.

     How the hell did you get this bad so quickly?  He had kept a close eye on you, kept your fever under control, kept you hydrated.  It just didn’t make any sense!  If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought you had… asthma. 

     Flashes came to Dean’s mind; puzzle pieces fell into place.  The vaporizer in your room billowing out peppermint was not a new addition; you took it with you everywhere.  It made even the grossest motel rooms halfway pleasant.  You always kept a scarf wrapped around your neck if the weather was even a little cold, and you pulled it up over your nose when the wind got bitter.  Even that time you helped them burn a body.  You turned away from the pyre and pulled that scarf up… Dean thought it was the smell that got to you. 

     “Shit,” he muttered, digging through your purse as Sam got closer to the city limits.  He pulled out a metal tube with a plastic dispenser.

     “Son of a bitch!” 

      Sam’s eyes caught the reflection, “Is that an inhaler?”

     Turning it over, Dean read the prescription.  “She’s fucking asthmatic!”

     He steadied your lolling head with his hand and brought the inhaler to your mouth, “Okay, baby… this medicine is gonna help you.  Breathe it in for me.”

     He dispensed two puffs into your mouth and prayed the meds got down into your lungs.  Was it the right thing to do?  Use an inhaler on an unconscious person?  Dean had no idea, but he was going to do whatever he needed to do to save you.  He cradled you on his lap and prayed as Sam pulled into the Lebanon Hospital parking lot.

Part Two TAGLIST @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseunbyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis  @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker

#dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #spn fic #supernatural #dean x you #sickfic #dean x sick!reader #Breathe Free #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen x reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen x you #dean x y/n

[lastweeksshirttonight]

So uh

Personal shit under the cut, tw: mental illness and its many manifestations

I had a straight up nervous breakdown at work last Friday. It was really bad and made a whole lot of people (like my poor horrified boss) rightfully concerned I wasn't okay. And I wasn't. I'm not still. I don't want to get into super detail but I have PTSD, I have depression, I have anxiety, I have ADHD, and the fact that just therapy kept all that at bay for over a decade is a miracle.

I'm going into the doctor to get my first prescriptions to help me function with these illnesses. I have a lot of paperwork to do to be put under the care of an ADHD specialist. I feel like I hit a rock bottom but I want to help myself and refuse to let this get me.

Why am I sharing this? Because I know I have piles of responses to posts I've not responded to, DMs I haphazardly answered, and tags I've missed bc my brain feels like it's been in a nutcracker's vice grip over the past few weeks. I'm sorry, I promise I wasn't intentionally ignoring you. I'm looking forward to actually replying and messaging everyone again soon. I honestly love that I have a community here and don't want anyone to think I'm aloofly ignoring them. Words are just really fucking hard rn.

I also have not been the most inclined to write a whole lot bc of this, though I'd really like to get back to it, at least for the LWT recaps. Enjoy random photos and parasocial barfing until my head feels like it's mine again.

Also a reminder to take care of your health, mental and physical. It's so very important. 💖💖

#lee's stream of consciousness #tw: mental illness

[threadsun]

🌊 anon here! after two bouts of illness and a disability flare I'm back and stewing in weeks worth of horny malaise

anyway I've chosen to use my powers for evil 💅 I come offering morsels.

Joseph hits me right in the size kink but in such a dommy way- like this precious babygirl is literally SO sensitive that he couldn't possibly take more than a few fingers from his (much smaller) partner- wrap a little hand around his throat and he's already gasping for air, shove his chest and he's boneless in an instant, there's no way he'd be able to handle a big, strong, meanie dom! his big ol body can hardly keep up, heaving and sweating and shaking with every tiny movement. too bad you're gonna make him take as much as you can give him anyway :3 he might cry but he won't complain!

Meanwhile Jean has my disabled ass in a headlock because can you imagine the manipulative potential of this bastard in any kind of caregiving position for a chronically ill sub? forcing his victim to work past their limits and watching as they're helplessly bedbound when he finally gets them to their breaking point, criticizing them for every dropped dish and missed deadline, forcing them right where he wants them when he comes up with the perfect way for them to "make up all those lost hours". Screwing with their meds and intentionally only providing painkillers, sleep meds, muscle relaxers, etc when he can make sure they're gonna be around him so they can associate him with care and relief no matter how badly he screws with their body and their brain afterwards. changing up their special foods and causing flares as punishment for acting out, "losing" braces, chairs, canes, and other mobility aids when it looks like they're gonna hightail it. the potential for Evil Fucked Up Nurse outfits?!? like this is an acquired taste for sure but damn there's no element of control QUITE like medical gaslighting and malpractice.

moving on if I don't see Ian pushed to the point of a complete mental breakdown but make it sexy I'm gonna scream. like. toy with him, lead him on, offer conciliatory dates only to take them away for real or invented 'wrongs', leave him constantly on the edge of relief of finally having his partner back, get him so worked up that when his partner finally dropkicks his heart into hell and tells him it's never gonna work he just. breaks. slams them against the door and sobs, pounds his fist on either side of their head and won't stop apologizing but MORE IMPORTANTLY won't stop shoving his cock between their thighs, mascara running down his face begging for answers, begging for reasons, threatening them to shut up if they want to see the sun rise all in the same breath type shit. forcefucking them on the spot and screaming as he cums, alternatively choking with laughter that they can never leave him now that they're knocked up like a common whore and cant-catch-his-breath sobbing that he's worse than the dirt beneath their feet and he can't believe he assaulted them and he should just go off and die and fuck he can't help but get hard again when theyre squirming like that and it's their fault for making him like this so why don't they go ahead and just bend over like they knew they should have all along? I can't be the only one that knows that when this bitch breaks, he breaks, right?

also 👀 ?!?! damn dad dom you think you can just flirt with your followers and have us leave our minds and our panties at the door?? you can and its phenomenal, a thorough round of applause for you

anyway your writing and general degenerate vibes have been giving me life blood, bless. thank you for getting me off getting me of- getting me through these trying times, hope you're happy and well!

I'm glad you're feeling better!! Also all of these are soooooo sexy you're so right about all of them!!!

Joseph is so desperate to be bullied, he'll let you push him around and hit him and he'll take it as if you're bigger than him no matter how small you are. And don't even get me started on how tight he is! How he'll never adjust to getting fingered or fucked by you, it'll always be an overwhelming stretch for him in the best way. He'll always feel filled by you!

And Jean as a fucked up caretaker 👀 that's a concept I always find sexy!! He fucks with your meds so hard, giving you fake ones sometimes or ones that do other things. Sometimes he'll replace it with stimulants or sugar pills just to see what happens. And he learns all of your weaknesses to exploit them and keep you with him. He'll make sure you're never well enough to leave, that you're stuck at his mercy forever. And he'll make you crave it, make you associate him with relief and comfort, as much as with pain and abuse. He'll even seek out legal means to give him more control over you as your carer until you have no rights of your own and can never leave him >:3c

And Ian snapping... oughhhhh I love him!! He's so pathetic about it. He's flipping between apologising and justifying it and blaming you, all in the same breath as he sobs and rapes you. Promising he'll make things better, begging you to forgive him, telling you he wouldn't have to do this if you'd just been kinder and more forgiving. And you know he'll never let you go after that. You'll be his captive forever~

You're so cute! I'm glad Dad can help you out, sweetheart 😘

#sunshine #18+ only #🌊 anon #sdj joseph #sdj jean #sdj ian #hiiii welcome back I missed youuuuuuuuuu!!! #also :3 glad people like my degenerate vibes!! Legit one of the best compliments I've ever gotten!!

[fereldanwench]

therapy/mental health talk under the cut:

so i've been doing therapy for anxiety and depression for the past month; today will be my 5th session, and i have one more scheduled for next week before we need to schedule the next round

last week was really hard--i left the session feeling worse than before just because of the shit that came up (stuff i have been avoiding dealing with my entire life) so I'm kind of dreading today, to be honest. i know sometimes that's a part of the process, but it sucks

prior to last week, i wasn't sure if i wanted to stick with the therapist i have right now because:

1) i don't feel that i can totally relate to her as much as i should (one thing, in particular, is i'd really like to have an atheist or agnostic--she's not preachy, but our first meeting she said "god made it happen" after we had some tech/scheduling issues and i was like.... no lmao)

2) it's a little too Therapy 101 for me sometimes (like she was telling me about "I feel" statements and I'm like yeah, I know what those are and how to use them. this isn't my first rodeo, which she knows, and I'm probably better versed in psychology than the average non-psych person so some of these textbook breakdowns feel unnecessary)

3) it's fucking expensive, especially for teletherapy. my insurance is garbage, so I'm paying $130/week for this, and i don't think i can afford another 6 sessions at that rate

but there has been more good than bad--i think one of the most useful things to come out of this past month is that she helped me realize i have some serious self-abandonment issues that i had did not recognize (which is probably because of the nature of self-abandonment)

i also don't feel like having to rehash all of this with another therapist to start over, but idk, maybe that might help treatment have more focus? the first few sessions we had were so all over the place trying to narrow down issues, i feel like going to someone else who maybe i vibe with better and being like hey, these are the issues I've determined I'm dealing with might help

but im also trying to be honest with myself and that maybe some of my resistance now is that i just really hated how i felt last week, lmao

idk, the money might ultimately be the deciding factor regardless of how i feel because paying that much is kind of adding to my stress

#t: wench.txt

[loulines]

I got my anniversaries mixed up.

Fuck.

Not that it matters. The thing on June 21st was something I confessed to someone which started a series of things that made me end up in therapy. Still ironic.

My fandom anniversary is about a week later. Can't really remember when exactly anymore.

Again, it doesn't matter.

I survived my first ever therapy session, that's what matters.

Normally I wouldn't write about it, in fact I haven't really felt like talking about the details for the couple of days, not even to my friends. My family doesn't even know I went there.

The only reason why I want to publicly speak about it is because I know there are many people like me who are struggling and on the verge of breaking apart, but they're too afraid to start therapy, or procrastination and executive dysfunction are kicking their ass. I can only hope to inspire at least one person.

I'd rather not talk about how I even got to that point aside from the thing I mentioned earlier because this should stay private. But it was that and also years of other unfortunate events that shaped me into the miserable wreck I am today.

I've been considering starting therapy when things were still somewhat "not great not terrible", but since I was terrified of talking to anyone, I did everything I could to not find a specialist.

Then, when I actually seriously considered getting the appointment, I have already done things I was even more scared to talk about with a stranger because therapist or not, the last thing I needed was to have someone confirm that I did morally wrong and unforgivable things...

And of course living in a hell of a homophobic country doesn't help either.

Hundreds of mental breakdowns later, and buckets of tears I've cried, my irl friend told me that I should really look for someone to help me. My first reaction was of course, "no way I will do it," but then she told me that she's looking for a therapist herself too. And she told me about her ways to look for someone.

So eventually I spent some time on research, wrote down some names and then left it like that without making an appointment.

It was fine. I did the first step anyway and that was what mattered. A few days later I was getting out of another meltdown and then I just... I grabbed my ipad, went back to the list and made an appointment with the therapist that "seemed" to be the best for me.

And that was it.

I almost started crying while I was signing up because it felt like I was making a life changing decision. And idk... Maybe because I finally agreed with myself to get the professional help I've been avoiding so much in the past.

On the day of the appointment I was stressed AF but it hit the catalyst 15 minutes before. I thought I would pass out and I don't know if it was my nerves or the heatwave or both.

And then it happened. Again, I don't want to share any details. Some things got clearer right away and made me feel calm now, the rest is still confusing. I definitely need more sessions. I might attend them feeling less stressed though. Hopefully.

I don't want to draw any conclusions now. I don't want to examine myself in search of finding immediate changes in me and my POV... That's gonna take a while and just because I've been feeling slightly better for a few days and not s**c*d*l (as usual) doesn't mean I'm already fixed. I'm not. I'm still beyond broken and more than confused.

Tbh I know absolutely nothing about mental health. All the attempts at trying to understand what is happening to me or others were only making things worse. I used to think I can DIY my own therapy without stepping out of my comfort zone. I cannot.

Had I started therapy earlier, say 8 months earlier, maybe I would be in a very different situation right now. And the people that were affected by my mental fuck up would be as well. Maybe things would be so much better now. I will never know. Time can't go in reverse, what's done is done. The only thing I can do now is to trust a specialist and hope I chose the right one.

And wait.

For days, weeks, months, maybe years...

Until life is good again.

#sorry for rambling again #I usually have this phases that I ramble a lot then stop and then go again #I honestly don't know what it's like to be happy anymore #all the good things that happened seem to be nothing but a fading dream now #also I slept very badly last night so I'm just exhausted and feel extremely bad #I wish I was a robot so I could juat switch myself off #I wish I could go back to drawing again I remember how I loved to do it #why am I still rambling in the fags ffs #I need sleep

[mortuaest]

Large rant, sorry. Please ignore if any of the trigger warnings are going to be an issue. I need to get it off of my chest because if I rant on FB I get hit with a character limit and I should make a personal Tumblr which I think I have but dont remember shit about.

Ive been having severe, and I mean severe as fuck mental and emotional breakdowns because of the fact that its literally been almost a year (Its going to be a year October 29th) since I've had to put down Ice Cube, my ESA of 14.5 years. He had cancer in his cheek and it was placed right to where it would effect his quality of life severely negatively if we tried to surgically take it out, and he would possibly die on the table if we did it because of his age, and he was declining (He wasn't eating, he was drinking, he really wasnt eating as much as I wanted him to, he was spitting back up the pills I was giving him, he was suffering) and my mental and emotional health has been severely suffering each and every day that passes without him.

I have another cat, I got him in April, thinking I was alright. Which I was I guess. Im being reminded via FB memories and just my own fucked up brain wanting me to join him to where I'm legit giving myself until December 31st, 2023 to have someone. Anyone give me a fucking sigh to keep on living. Im going to be going through a program my friend suggested to make a will, making her I forgot the words she used but shes going to make sure that my will is listened to and Albert Whisker, the cat I have now is taken care of.

I cant keep on living, and the fact that this heartbreak is fucking me up so badly to the point where the large baggie of medications (ranging from insomnia medications to Very STRONG painkillers and such, as well as my daily medications the day of me going to attempt) is very tempting to take now. And I mean very tempting. Meaning I almost took it yesterday, after my first mental break and me physically hurting myself by slamming a brush ungodly hard into my head because I legit believe I deserve everything that has happened to me (The physical, emotional and mental abuse that I got for 20 some odd years from my mother, the severe car accident from last year, the rapes, everything. My friends being murdered or dying around me, loosing the only thing that even brought light to my life).

No one in my life cares. No one seems to care. Ive been severely struggling and each time IVe even bothered to reach out for help via friends. Since my father hates me for being trans and my sister doesnt give a fuck to even bother to help me. My mother was the cause of my two rapes/sexual assaults in my life and wants me dead because Im autistic. No one wants to help, or no one seems interested in even keeping me around.

Cosplay isnt helping. Video games aren't either. I havent felt any happiness since last year. I could deal with this if he was still alive. But at the same time Im lying to myself, I havent known what made me happy other than my past cat Ice Cube. I stayed for him since I love him. I had him since he was five weeks old. We bonded. Its not the case with Albert and I feel he loves me but we dont have the connection and never will.

Im never going to feel anything other than severe misery and depression. At least, that's what I 100% believe.

TLDR: Im severely struggling and dont know what to do anymore. I dont trust my new therapist even though she has stated more than once and my friend who also goes to her has stated more than once she wont send me to inpatient or CPAP and she tries to avoid hospitalization if we can. But because of multiple decades of PTSD, abuse, and being denied the proper treatment, help, support from friends and family that I should of gotten Im at the point where Im giving myself until December 31st to find a reason to stay alive and if I dont then Im letting my queue run out.

#狼{out of lusty ambitions} #狼{out of lusty ambitions}狼 #tw: negative thoughts #tw:mentions of death #tw: mentions of suicide #tw: cancer mention #tw: mention of loosing a loved one #tw: suicide mentions #tw: suicide idealiation #tw: plans of suicide #tw: mention of assault/sexual assault

[sabakos]

.

So the mountain dew thing I posted the other day is um. Hm. I'm going to turn reblogs off on that actually. It's very good I posted it and got to see people's reactions and I think I made some people laugh with how I presented it, don't feel bad if you reblogged it. but uh. yeah. Not only is it unfortunately true, if anything I downplayed it a bit and left out the parts that weren't funny. Which I now realize I don't really want to think about every time I check my notes tab for the next few weeks. I never kept count but I'm pretty sure I spent more than just a few nights in high school curled up in pain in front of the toilet. I lost over 50 pounds in a year from that.

Kind of maybe also some not-so-unintentional self-harm was going on there I think. It fits in a pattern with some other past habits of mine that I don't post much about because, well, I don't want to turn this into a trauma blog. If you really wanna know, I was a high-functioning alcoholic until age 26. Like, rarely sober outside working hours, most of my calories from alcohol level. End-stage. Due to other personal issues ("wait sabi, weren't you in a serious LTR then?" yes and also my mom was in a psych ward, we don't have time to unpack any of that), I quit drinking cold turkey in 2019 and realized looking through old pictures on my phone that I barely remembered most of what happened in college, let alone anything before that. I don't even know if it's technically amnesia, so much as dissociating so severely from my past. I had a "bit" of a major mental collapse in fall 2019 after quitting drinking as my mind slowly remembered how to have emotions, real clutch scheduling that right before a global pandemic.

Thankfully due to doing nothing for two and a half years, I remember most of college now, and I've been able to recover almost 3 full years of high school from basically fragments in the past year alone. My liver doesn't hurt anymore. I'm also physically repulsed by alcohol as a result of the withdrawal. But it's starting to get back far enough to start reminding me of the previous mental breakdown that I had in middle school that made me almost get held back in 8th grade. I... might decide I don't need to know about anything before that for a little while. Not sure I actually have the ability to make that decision though. It will work itself out nonetheless, it will just be less pleasant.

I've actually almost never actually been suicidal or intentionally thought "oh I'm doing this to hurt myself." But I'm not just shitposting about the whole body dysphoria thing, beyond any gender stuff I just also would prefer not to deal with being a body. I hate every photograph of me as soon as I take it, I can only bear to look at any of them once enough time has gone by that I can trick my brain into thinking it's not me. I believe I drank alcohol for the same reason I drank horrifying concoctions in high school and still sometime make too spicy food or eat so many sour patch kids and takis my mouth bleeds. I only hated the stomach cramps in high school because I didn't know why I had them, but when I finally vomited so hard I puked blood and burst blood vessels in my face, it felt good. I enjoy pain, I like the feeling that my body has been hurt when I'm the one directly causing it. I'm punishing it for existing. I know a couple mutuals of mine probably know exactly what I'm talking about based on their own posts. I also know now that I'm doing this, and that I need to stop doing it. I'm not too worried now that I've figured this out.

But also I think for the first time I can remember, I actively want to continue to exist. I know on some level that I need to accept that that will include my body and not just living out my social life on the internet. I... like other people, not just in a flirty way, and I know I'm saying this on Tumblr of all places but I promise if I ever meet any of you I'm one of the weirdest fucking interesting people you'll ever meet because it's what people are telling me all the time. I'm really shy and don't know how to initiate an interaction with a stranger, but if you can get me to say anything at all, I talk endlessly in my (apparently, strange) voice, I hold my body wrong in distracting ways, I abruptly change topics when I'm not supposed to. None of this occurs to me at the time I'm doing it, and I do know how to act correctly in any situation, I'm just wholly incapable of doing so. But somehow this reads as charming and eccentric rather than horribly rude to most people I meet? People tell me I'm the strangest person they've ever met as a complement. I don't really know why.

All the memories I've recovered have contradicted my past beliefs that I've always struggled to make friends. I think I just... didn't notice? But dozens of my peers consistently made the decision to go out of their way to spend time with me almost the whole time I knew them. I don't think that was out of sympathy, I sure wasn't the Special Ed kid. So I think I actually had close friends almost my whole life from age 10 onward, many of them even? all despite the fact that I wasn't really capable of consciously reciprocating a lot of the time, and that I totally forgot in the years since that some of them even existed until later. So I want to do that again somehow, have a bunch of people I know in real life that I'm close friends with. And actually realize it this time. And I hope I'm not deluding myself with what I remember, though I've been able to independently corroborate enough that I don't think so.

Anyway if anyone was curious, that's... most of my whole brain problems deal from the parts of my life I remember. Or as much as I can condense into a post anyway. Much of it was in fact rather happy and I usually present things in a much more positive light. This post was just not about that.

#personal #really long #dddne #no more on the tags sorry

[many-but-one]

Updates on the Many but One system. Wins, losses, and formally announcing the new host team.

This may not end up completely coherent so I apologize if my rambling doesn't make much sense here, but I really wanted to share something that I kind of realized today.

As a system, we've had a lot of "wins" over the last few weeks, but also many many big and serious breakdowns as well. Alters are literally crawling up out of the woodwork. I met one of the very "first" EPs back when I was freaking two years old, I've learned more about our system in the past three months than I did the previous year and a half of therapy. It's been a fucking whirlwind of pain and terror and confusion.

I have been wanting to make a post about Valentine's huge "win" he recently had in therapy, but every time I sat down to do it I felt like I was in the middle of a crisis. I felt like I was being disingenuous by sharing something so positive when I'm fighting off urges to kill myself every other day and getting massively triggered almost daily and quite literally barely functional half of the time. This time of the year is a HUGE trauma anniversary, and I have many more lined up later on this year that I've learned and I just know it's going to get worse from here. Which sucks ass.

However, I still desperately wanted to share Valentine's success. He wanted to share his success, but struggled to write it himself because this time of year is his and many other parts' trauma anniversary in particular.

I don't know if this is making any sense, but I suppose I realized I really needed to stop the idea that I'm being disingenuous by sharing a huge win in our system while also going through severe mental breakdowns. Grippy-sock levels of breakdowns, almost daily. It's been rough, but I really realized I needed to hold onto those wins. These are really big and happy things that have happened, and I don't need to let the horrific parts of the disorder overshadow them.

So I'm going to talk a little bit more about Valentine's situation, and if I'm feeling up to it I may talk briefly about some of the less positive things that have happened as of late. Note: this is Dorian writing, with Valentine co-con to make sure I'm getting it right.

Valentine, as many of you know, appeared as a demon internally. When he first made appearances here, he was known as Pain. He chose a new name, mainly because of how difficult it is to introduce himself as Pain, sign off as Pain, etc, but also because it was a constant reminder of his trauma, the pain he endured. Shortly after his name change, he started being more open about fronting both irl and online. He started making friends both irl and online. He grew close to a lot of people. While he was open with online folks about being a demon, he was not with irl people. What he realized is that people were treating him like a person regardless of how they knew he looked. When I knew him as Pain, he was not a handsome little devil guy with red skin and horns. He was a literal monster. Almost dog-like, huge, and riddled with wounds and scars. He was the manifestation of being treated like a demon, being treated as "not human." Now that I know what his trauma was, I know why that is. It's devastating.

However, as he opened up with friends and came to care for them and many folks came to care for him in return, offering support when he was struggling, and expressing how much they cared about him, he began to change. He started turning into that "tiefling-like" demon that you may have seen in photos. He was slowly becoming more and more human, while remaining demonic in nature. However, it was during his trauma anniversary, at the very worst of it, that he reached out to friends and they aided him in his crisis. And that's when it REALLY hit him that he was finally being seen as a person, at the height of feeling the pain and seeing flashbacks of being treated like a "not person." He was being cared for and loved by people who never once saw him as anything but a kind human being. That's when he well and truly broke.

It took a week or so for him to recover from this, and I was shocked to realize that Valentine looks like a person now. And when I was sitting in co-con while he was talking to our therapist, I heard that when he first split, he WAS a person. A scared kid. Then the trauma twisted him into the hideous creature he was. It was always a shell. It was never who he really was, which was a scared kid deep inside. He aged up with the body, and now that I see him in the inner world, it's like he's a whole different person. Same voice, same demeanor, but human. Like he was supposed to be all along. And how interesting that his human self looks so "pure" by comparison. Those of you who are close friends have seen his newer face-claims and know that he has white hair and fair blue eyes, nearly angelic. It breaks my heart to know that the demon was what he felt he had to be. But now he can be what he wants, and not be tethered by that demon any longer. It is a massive win. And seeing as well over half of our system is comprised of various demons/angels/dolls/robots/nonhumans due to the dehumanization of our abuse, seeing a very important and influential member of the system "come out the other side" so to speak and be able to look and feel like a person again was incredibly hopeful for us. I am so, so happy for him.

Just a few other updates: had some new parts start showing up and a lot of shuffling around happening. A lot of the frequent fronters you see in our pinned have not been our frequent fronters for well over 6-8 months now, they have almost fully internal jobs now, and I will be fully updating our pinned to accommodate our new host team. As a system with complex DID, I learned that host teams and frequent fronters seem to rotate depending on the time of year, or what is needed at the moment. So who was frequent fronting back in the early days of me learning about the system were mainly frequent fronting because they were the most palatable for me to understand (humans, with very little trauma), when in reality, the most competent frequent fronters were ANEPs, (apparently normal emotional parts), AKA parts with trauma that can cope with everyday life as if they do not have trauma, many of them non-human in some way. Which is apparently not uncommon in C-DID. Many of them are considering making their own blogs, so I will help them with that process. They will likely begin signing off as themselves now rather than "blurry" or "Dorian." They were not known by myself or others for a long time, so they have actually been lurking around here for a lot longer than I thought. Not surprising, really.

The new host team:

-Dorian, main ANP, fusion of Foster and Jules. Genderfluid, he/him pronouns. Doesn't identify with an age internally, but externally will identify with mid-20s like the body.

-Ess, co-host, doesn't care about gender, he/they/she pronouns. He's around a lot and will probably introduce himself better another time. Ageless.

-Valentine, tertiary gatekeeper/primary protector, male, he/him pronouns. Also very often seen. Mid-20s, like the body.

-James, Primary gatekeeper, male, he/him pronouns. Not as often seen as the above three, but pops in often enough to be considered part of the host team. Mid-20s, like the body.

-Deimos, protector/persecutor, male, he/him pronouns, very first EP split. He will probably talk about himself eventually here too. He's been around a long fucking time. Doesn't identify with an age.

-Charlie, emotional neutralizer, male, he/him pronouns. He is kind of an honorary host team member, he rarely fronts on his own. He's fantastic when it comes to neutralizing big emotions like anxiety or severe depression. One of our most competent young parts. Yes, we let our child alters on the internet, go cry me a river. He's more mature than 99% of you idiots trying to gate keep other systems' littles. He's 7 years old internally.

There were many, many new parts, and perhaps sometime I'll make a breakdown of our basic system structure because it is honestly absolutely bonkers how interesting it is. (I say interesting just so I don't cry about it lol. It's absolutely devastating that this has to exist, and now that I know more about who came when, it is heartbreaking.) We were a system long before our most serious abuse occurred, which is absolutely wild to me. We were a functioning system as young as 3-4 years old, with more elaboration occurring as we grew up. Then the very serious, OA/MC/CSEM abuse occurred later in our childhood and that's when the system REALLY exploded and we had to completely restructure to be able to handle the shit we were going through.

Something I discussed with folks in our system server is something called "host guilt" that I don't see talked about very often on social media. People sometimes joke that hosts are "useless alters" or "all they do is front haha" but like. Hosts are incredibly important and influential. They were the "face" that allowed us to continue on normally and survive. And yes, I do feel guilty being that face. I feel guilty knowing there's dozens upon dozens if not HUNDREDS of shards of myself who are in constant pain and agony while I got to live blissfully unaware until my early 20s. I feel so much immense guilt knowing that they didn't choose to be what they were. They didn't want to be hurt, that was simply what they were made for. Why me? Why not James? Why not Alice? Why not Deimos or Ess? Why not the gazillion of little blonde haired blue eyed cherubs in there? Or fuck, why not the goddamn biblically accurate angel? Like, fuckssakes, how did I get the longest straw of them all? How was I the one that they decided would be the "face" the ANP? I don't know. And I am wracked with guilt almost daily. So many parts feel malice toward me. For the fact that I hold no trauma, for the fact that I sat with denial for years, for the fact that I sometimes still ride the denial train, thinking "This can't be real, this couldn't have been that bad" when they are screaming in my ear: "I AM HERE! IT WAS THAT BAD! I LIVED IT!!!!"

It's devastating, like I said in our spoken poem I posted yesterday, to realize the extent of the damage done. DID is not a fun diagnosis to have. It will rip you apart and spit you out. You will feel betrayal like nothing before. You will feel guilt and shame and pain.

But there is also beauty in it, and I am slowly trying to embrace that. I love our system. I would not trade it for anything. If I could be not-traumatized and not a system, I would take it in a heartbeat because this is suffering in its rawest form. However...what they've done for me is exponential and I love them for it. DID is the ultimate act of self-love and sacrifice. As I'm typing this, I'm literally crying and I know it's not me crying. I think we all feel it. I'm sorry you're hurting, parts known and unknown. I will never let you hurt again. I promise.

-Dorian & Val

#manybutone #did osdd #system update #personal post #host team #did alters #childhood trauma #polyfragmented #complex did #dorian #valentine #ess #deimos #charlie #james #cptsd

[bpd-angelcake]

guess who's back 🙃

tw: lots of ed mention

hi lol where do I even begin first off like... lmao every time I come back on this blog I think of that one ask that I got that was like "do u come back on here when things are bad??" and no lmao not always

life hasn't been bad it's just been busy im always busy i work a full time job and my social life has been the busiest it's ever been and im thankful because I love my irl friends so much and I do love my job as annoying as it can be and idk things aren't bad. they're not.

but I know my mental health hasn't been the best lately and I can't even blame my bpd. I had a really bad episode at the beginning of February and I tried pushing all my friends away because I thought they were over me and didn't take me seriously and they all came back to me literally crying wondering what was wrong and I felt so shitty and they don't know I have bpd (I don't talk about it in person unless we're going to date because I hate when people perceive me a certain way once they find out I'm not normal lmao) so we had to get in a circle and talk it out it was so rough but honestly I have never felt more secure in a friend group before in my life it makes me so sick thinking about it because idk what I'd do if anything were to change but whatever.

but idk I was doing so good with myself I was on top of my skincare and keeping my room clean and following through with things and idk everything just fell through the cracks and I feel like I have no control over anything in my life once more. I'm trying so hard to be better but it's hard. I just started saving money again because I spent so much of it the past few months and I'm so disappointed with how bad my spending got and it wasn't even for a good reason lol so I am trying I promise but ugh I feel like I was up there!! and I'm back at rock bottom.

Another thing that's been bugging me a lot is my weight too... back in 2020 I was so thin and I looked good and I had done it the right way by dieting and exercising but covid came and I got into that toxic relationship and I gained so much weight back and I look in the mirror and I am so disgusted with myself and I hate it. I see all these cute plus size girls on social media and I literally love them and think they're so beautiful but I look at myself and I can't even deal. I have to be a bridesmaid for a wedding in October and im dreading it because I'm going to look so bad....

I ordered a cosplay a few months ago and it came a week ago and it didn't even fit 🙃 I almost had a full mental breakdown about it and tbh I am 90% sure it ran small (not cutting myself slack because I know I'm fat but I also know how to measure clothes) but it made me so upset I literally relapsed and I've barely eaten this whole week. I tried to eat a spoonful of rice because I was so lightheaded the second it touched my mouth I threw it up.

And now I feel so fucking lame because I'll go on edtwt and see these girls posting their stuff and they're all in their teens and it's like.... I'm in my 20's dude I shouldn't be doing this shit anymore but I do and I hate it because it's all I know and it's so comforting because I'm literally a professional at it like I know all the tips and tricks I know what to do when I accidentally binge I know how to curb cravings and what excuses to say when I don't want to eat in front of people it's so sad because I thought I was over this but I guess not.

I haven't weighed myself yet, I was going to do it tomorrow but ugh all I need is to see that number go down or else I might kill myself because I can't do this anymore!!!! this is my life I feel like I'm 14 again in the worse way. IDK I might start posting more about it (with tags ofc) so if that's not your thing I understand but it's all I have to make me feel better and I'm not looking for advice I'm not looking for tips I just want to vent and if you're going to judge me do it kindly please lmao bye

#please tell me kiki!!

[trektraveler]

Breathe Free Part Two

Summary: You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, thank you very much! Dean knew that, he also knew better. He'd seen you sick plenty of times in the past five years, but this was different. This was much more than a cold, but you were so stubborn about doctors! Dean Winchester isn't about to let you slip away, even if it means going against your wishes. He only hopes he's not too late!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean x Reader, Dean x You

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Sick!Reader, Hospitals, Kissing, fluff

Word Count: 5873

One Shot - Two Parts

Author’s Notes: I have been sick with Covid for a month. Well... down sick for 2 1/2 weeks and recovering my stamina for 2 more. Its been a real bitch. Plus my disabled mother has it now. This is following a nervous breakdown I had in June. Writing has been my passion and my mental health balm, but I've not been able to produce anything in months. So this... this is a fucking triumph!! I'm still working on all my other WIP, so please stick around. I'll get there... eventually :) I'm hoping to finish part two shortly and post in a week... ish.

Thank you all for the continued support! Additional Notes: Still hanging in there, long covid is a bitch, but it does improve. More or less. I am SO happy with myself that I've finished a story! Even a little self-indulgent two parter. As always, thank you all! Your kind words and encouragement have really helped me. Love you guys :)

Masterlist (Part One)

     Hospitals were noisy places.  Filled with squeaking wheels, scuffling shoes, and code calls.  The ICU was worse with its beeping monitors and hissing ventilators.  The constant stream of nurses and doctors talking in hushed concern about things like hypoxia and bradypnea and other terrifying medical babble.

     This wasn’t the first time Dean sat beside someone he cared about while they lingered between life and death.   He was a hunter; it came with the gig.  Broken bones and bullet holes.  The waiting and the worrying were pure hell, and he would know.  It was the reason he was so quick to put himself in the line of fire.  Not just to save a life, but to spare himself the agony of the wait.  Minutes that ticked by endlessly, ratcheting up the uncertainty.  Underscoring just how powerless he was.

     Never did it cross his mind that illness would snatch you away from him.  That you would simply get sick, like a normal person.  Pneumonia could be dangerous for anyone, but for someone with asthma, it could be deadly.

     You were sedated for three days while the ventilator breathed for you and gave your body a chance to rest and heal.  The doctors assured him that it was standard procedure, but damn was it intense.  Dean had never seen you look so fragile.  So pale.  You looked as if you could slip away at any moment, the only thing keeping you tethered to the Earthly realm were the wires and tubes attached to your body.   

     Dean took your hand.  He wondered about your soul.  Were you here with him?  Watching from somewhere nearby?  Or were you negotiating with a reaper?  Would you bargain for more time, or would you choose heaven?  A soul like yours was guaranteed a ticket to the penthouse. 

     It was in times like this that he cursed his profession.  What good was a lifetime’s worth of supernatural knowledge if he couldn’t use it to save you?  God knows he tried.  He tried every trick in the book, in the end it was Sam who talked sense into him.

     “She doesn’t need you to sell your soul Dean!  She just needs you.  Be there, hold her hand, tell her it’s going to be okay.  Let her know she isn’t alone.”

     Sammy was right, as he usually was.  The nurses said you’d shown enough improvement that they were taking you off the ventilator today.  As much as Dean wanted to believe it, he was cautious in his optimism. 

     He was so wrapped up in his own worry that he didn’t notice your fingers shifting against his palm.  Your eyelids fluttered, then went still.  It was so slight, that Dean thought he’d imagined it. 

     He desperately searched your face and held his breath.  God please…

     “Y/N?”

     A few seconds later you did it again, this time you gave his hand a proper squeeze and Dean felt like his heart was going to burst. 

     He squeezed back, his other hand coming up to brush your cheek, “Y/N… baby, can you hear me?”

     After several tries, you finally managed to open your eyes fully.  Exhausted, you looked around the room.  When your gaze landed on Dean, he smiled.  You tried to say his name and when you couldn’t, you panicked!  Choking on the tube shoved down your throat, your eyes went wide.

     “Hey!  It’s okay!  You’re in the hospital, Sweetheart.  Just stay calm.  We’ll get that tube out, let me go get the nurse.”

     He stood and your grip became desperate.  And strong.  Incredibly strong.  Tears trickled from the corners of your eyes as you tried to convey your thoughts.  You were wide awake, and you needed him.  Relief washed over him; no reapers would come knocking today. 

     “Okay, okay.  Shh…” he sat beside you and pressed a kiss to your forehead while his free hand hit the call button.  “I’ve got you; I’ve got you.  I’m not going anywhere.”

     Sam was walking down the corridor towards the ICU rooms with two large coffees balanced in one hand.  You were only allowed one visitor at a time, so he and Dean took turns.  Although, Dean always came back early.  And he begged the nurses to let him stay past visiting hours.  Sam got the impression they felt sorry for him, but knowing Dean, he would have found a way around the rules one way or another.

     When Sam saw his brother in the hallway, he quickened his pace.  He was leaning against the wall, bent at the waist with his hands braced on his knees. 

     “Dean?  What happened?  What’s going on?”

     Dean raised his head, sniffling back emotion, “She’s awake.  They’re... ah… they’re taking out that tube.”

     Sam caught the glossy sheen in Dean’s eyes.  He clapped a hand on his shoulder, “That’s fantastic.  Dean, that’s great.”

     Dean nodded and pulled Sam into a brief, tight hug then released him and took a coffee. 

     “Good thing you talked me out of selling my soul, huh?’

     You weren’t really sleeping when Sam and Dean walked into your new room in the regular section of the hospital.  But every muscle in your body was so taxed that even keeping your eyes open was an effort.  There was an oxygen mask covering your nose and mouth, but it was far more comfortable than that damn ventilator tube.  You were cold too, but that was part of being in a hospital.  It was all so familiar and disheartening.

     The squeak of the door prompted you to open your heavy eyes and you smiled.  The Winchesters were there, a welcome contrast of denim and flannel against the sterile hospital décor.  They had arms filled with gifts; balloons, books, a bag of watermelon Jolly Ranchers, and the biggest arrangement of flowers you’d ever seen.  Dozens of roses, hydrangeas, and snapdragons.  

     “Flowers.”

     Your voice was a raspy whisper behind the mask, but it still made Dean beam brightly. 

     “Hell yeah, Sammy and I bought out every white flower they had.”  He set the massive vase down on the table.  “They’re your favorite, right?”

     You nodded, tracing a finger over the edge of one perfect bloom.  You had a late-night debate with him eons ago about how white couldn’t be your favorite color because it wasn’t really a color.  It’s a shade.  Technically, it was a sum of all possible colors.  Hence, the debate.

     Sam pulled out a stuffed a huge, stuffed moose from behind his back.  It was impossibly soft with floppy antlers and was wearing one of his flannel shirts tied in place with a white velvet bow.

     You laughed, “Aww!  A… Win..chester of… my own.”

     Sam’s throat got tight as the halting cadence of your words.  Even with the oxygen, you were out of breath.  He leaned down and hugged you.  Normally, he would squeeze you tight and lift you off your feet just to make you giggle like a kid sister.  Today, he was careful.  Mindful of the electrodes and wires and of how fragile you felt in his arms. 

     “You’ve already got two Winchesters,” he said, kissing the top of your head.  “Add him to your collection.”

     Your eyes were drooping, even after just a few minutes your energy was completely depleted.  You let your head fall back against the pillow with a tired smile, “Thank you… Sammy.”

     “We should get out of here, let you sleep,” he replied, catching his brother’s attention.

     “Yeah,” Dean gave a reluctant nod.  “If you’re lucky, we’ll smuggle in one of those triple thick strawberry-kiwi shakes you like.”

     You grabbed hold of his hand again and tugged.  It was so much effort to talk, you hope he got the message. 

     A wordless look passed between the brothers and Sam took his cue, leaving the two of you alone.  You tried to focus on your breathing and on the warmth of Dean’s hand holding yours.  It took every bit of strength you had to stay awake, but it was so important.  You couldn’t let him leave, not yet.

     Dean wiped away the single tear that slid down your cheek.  “Hey, hey.  What’s wrong, Sweetheart?”

     “I… I’m… s… sorry.”

     He soothed back your hair, “Sorry for what?”

     “Should have… gone… to… th… the doctor.”

     “No, hey, don’t worry about any of that.”

     “Scared… you.”

     Dean cupped your face with his large palm, “Listen to me.  I don’t want you to think about any of that stuff, okay?  It doesn't matter.  The only thing that matters is you getting better.  That’s all I care about.”

     You nodded; your eyes shuttered to half-mast.  “Tired.”

     He let out a chuckle and ran a hand over his five o’clock shadow, “I’ll bet you are.”

     You shook your head and pointed at him.  When he tilted his head in confusion, you patted the mattress beside you.

     He was exhausted.  It was etched in every line on his beautiful face.  His green eyes, the ones you had loved since you first looked into them were bloodshot.  His strong shoulders slumped under the strain of recent events.  Dean had been by your side for days, even after taking care of you back at the bunker.  It was a testament to his impressive stamina and force of will that he was still standing.

     Without a word, he turned down the lights, kicked off his boots and climbed into the narrow bed.  It should have been uncomfortable, given his size, but he gently arranged it so that you were partly settled on his chest.  Your weary body melted into the warmth he provided as his arms wrapped around you.  You were both slipped into a dreamless sleep without any effort at all.

     Three Weeks Later:      You were in the hospital eight days in total, three of them in the ICU.  When they finally released you, it was with a whole list of stipulations and guidelines.  Breathing exercises.  An oxygen tank for times when your levels dipped below a certain level.  Antibiotics the size of horse tranquilizers and updated rescue inhalers.  It was intense, but still preferable to staying one more night in the hospital.

     It was Sam alone who picked you up on your release date.  You were disappointed, but not surprised.  Dean was gone when you woke the morning after the two of you shared your hospital bed.  He texted you every day but only came back to visit you once when he and Sam dropped off some of your clothes. 

     It was okay, it really was. 

     You understood.  You’d scared him big time.  Frankly, you were still so sick that all you did was sleep anyway.  But when you were home and days passed with still no contact, you worried.  God bless Sam, he was right there every step of the way.  He drove you to therapy and helped you come up with a strength building regiment.  He kept you company and offered insight to his missing brother.

     “Give him some time, Y/N.  He’ll come around.  You know how he gets.”

     And so, you did.  Sam’s words offered solace, but they didn’t make up for the fact that you missed that salty, pain in the ass.  Somehow, the fact that Dean was just down the hall made you all the more lonely for him.  But you were determined to respect his need for privacy.  After everything that happened, you owed him that at the very least.

     When you were in the kitchen a few days later making one of Sam’s health smoothies, the last thing you expected was to hear Dean’s voice. 

     “Tell me you’re not gonna drink that.”

     You smiled but didn’t turn.  “Of course not.  I haven’t added the spirulina or wheat germ yet.”

     You heard him mutter something about pond scum under his breath while he rummaged through the fridge. 

     “I’ve got enough for two,” you teased.  “Should I get you a glass?”

     “Too bad your stay in the VIP suite didn’t improve your sense of humor, smartass.”

     You turned around and grinned at him.  God, he looked incredible!  Maybe it was not seeing him for a month, but he was a sight!  Dark jeans on bowed legs.  That red and black flannel shirt that somehow made him seem even broader.  Especially when he crossed his arms across his chest.  Like he was doing right now.  And glowering at you!  Ridiculous man!  You’d been busy recuperating from serious illness, and he looked like he wanted to reprimand you for leaving wet towels on the floor.  It might have pissed you off, if you weren’t so pleased to see him. 

     So, you laughed. 

     His expression went from sexy and grumpy to utterly baffled.  “Why are you laughing?”

     You shook your head with a goofy grin and answered honestly, “I’m just happy to see you.”

     He cautiously smiled back, “Yeah?’

     “Yeah.”

     “Huh.  Well in that case, you wanna get out of here?  I was thinking of going for a drive.”

     Your heart felt light, “I’ll get my coat.”

     Dean wasn’t sure how he was going to do it, but he knew he had to.  Even if it killed him, and it just might.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d made the hard choice.  Break a heart, save a life.  He may as well get it tattooed on his ass.  At this point it was more of a life motto than saving people, hunting things.  He glanced over at you gazing happily out the window and he tried to burn the image into his memory.  Beautiful.  Hands down the most beautiful girl he’d ever met.  Even after he’d ignored you for weeks and pushed you off on his baby brother, you laughed and forgave him. 

     You looked just like you always had, maybe a bit thinner from your time in the hospital.  But Sammy had been adamant about those smoothies of his.  Nutrient dense.  They tasted like absolute ass, but they certainly seemed to help you get your color back.  Your hair was shiny and bouncy, he loved it when it was bouncy like that.  Cascading over your shoulders and framing your face.  It looked so soft and smelled like peaches when you tossed it back.  Your eyes were bright and glowed with good health.  Looking at you now, it was hard to believe you’d been on a ventilator only a few weeks ago. 

     “Hey, you wanna get out and walk for a bit?”  You asked, pointing out one of your favorite state parks ahead.

     “Sure.  You bring your scarf?”

     “Obviously,” you replied, pulling out the length of soft, white fabric from your bag.

     It was still a bit chilly out, but all the snow had been cleared from the paths and only an inch or so remained around the trees.  Dean kept shooting glances your way, checking for signs of distress as the two of you walked along.

     “I’m not going to keel over, you know.”

     Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his black jacket.  “You need to be careful in the cold air, it’s no good for you.”

     “True, but walking is very good for me.  It helps build stamina.” 

     He didn’t reply to that and the two of you walked along in silence until you really couldn’t take it anymore.

     “It’s ridiculous, you know?  Me, having to rebuild stamina.  I was in the best shape of my life; I could run up ten flights of stairs and still chop the head off a vamp no problem.  Now I have to stop halfway through a beginner’s yoga class.”

     “Almost dying does that.”

     There was venom in his voice, but the fear was too.  Evidently, he hadn’t worked through it as much as you’d hoped. 

     “Is that why you’re kicking me out?  Because I almost died?”

     Dean stopped and turned to you, but he kept his eyes downcast.  “Y/N…”

     “Its really not fair.  You’ve almost died several times and I still keep you around.”  You tried to keep your tone light, but it was difficult with the tears threatening.

     “It’s not funny,” his eyes were getting red as he recalled the terrifying night he carried you into the E.R.  “You stopped breathing.  Your fucking heart stopped!”

     You knew this part.  After Dean closed himself off from you, you asked Sam to give you all the details.  Full cardiac arrest from a severe asthma attack, brought on by complications from pneumonia.  It had taken the doctors a while to stabilize you, but when they did you were so weak, they weren’t sure you were going to pull through.  Sam had a hard time talking about, even though you were sitting there alive and well in front of him.  That night shook them both to the core.

     You brought your hand up to cup Dean’s cheek, “I’m so sorry.”

     He closed his eyes briefly, letting the warmth of your touch comfort him.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  All this time… a fucking two year long pandemic… Covid is a respiratory virus!  What if…”

     You hurt him.  Far more than you’d realized.  And you hated yourself for it. This was going to take much more than a simple reassurance to work through. 

     “Can we sit?”

     He led you to a park bench, “We should head back to the car, it’s too cold for you.”

     “I’m okay, Dean,” you grabbed his hands, “I really, really am.  And I’m sorry.  I didn’t deliberately keep it from you, I just didn’t think about it.  I know it’s hard to fathom, but I’ve lived with it my whole life.  The things I do to minimize my risk are second nature to me now. And I haven’t had an attack in years.”

     “This wasn’t my first trip to the ICU; I spent my childhood in and out of hospitals.  Mom was very protective.  The doctors had her so scared that she didn’t let me do much.  No sports, no sleepovers, no camping trips.  She even moved us to Glenwood Springs because of it.”

     “Like Doc Holliday.”

     You rolled your eyes out of habit.  Every time you mentioned your home, Dean spewed every bit of old west trivia he knew.  Which, you had to admit, was extensive.  Last time you were there he insisted on visiting the Doc Holliday museum, he even had you take his picture with gambler’s gun. 

     Then:      “Nice place,” Dean said, scanning the neatly maintained garden beds and brick walkways.

     “Yeah, it is.  Remember, this is just a quick stop so I can pick up some stuff.  Don’t do what you normally do.”

      “What are you talking about?”

     You ran a nervous hand through your hair and straightened your denim jacket, “That charming rogue routine you do whenever there’s a woman in front of you.”

     His grin turned cocky, “Sweetheart, that’s just me.  Can’t help it if the ladies love it.”

     You brushed a piece of lint off his shoulder with an impatient huff, “Rein it in, cowboy.”

     Before you could ring the bell, the front door swung open and revealed a woman who would have passed for your twin in her youth.  Tanned, with a bright white smile and silver bangles stacked on both arms.

     “Baby girl!”

     “Hi Momma,” you managed to say while she squeezed you tight.

     Your mother drew back and quickly scrutinized your appearance, “You taking care of yourself?  Regular appointments?  Feeling good?”

     “Yes, Ma’am.”

     That radiant smile was back, “Good girl!  And this tall drink of water must be that friend you told me about.”

     “Yes, this is Dean Winchester.  Dean, this is my mom, Beverly.”

     True to form, he turned up the charm to eleven.  “No way I’m gonna believe you are Y/N’s mother, you must be her sister.”

    “And you are the smoothest liar I’ve had on my doorstep,” Bev said, slipped her arm through Dean’s with a wink, “But please, don’t stop.  Why don’t we go out back and have coffee?  Y/N, I made that peach pie you’re so fond of!”

     “I love pie!”  Dean gave you an infuriating grin over your mother’s head as the two of them sailed into the house together.

     Three hours later, you had endured the torture of baby pictures and embarrassing stories from your adolescence.  While Dean supplied plenty of his own anecdotes of you getting lost in the grocery store and getting locked out of the motel room in only your underwear.  Luckily, the pie helped keep your mood from going sour. 

     “Okay, I’m going to head up and grab those boxes.”

     “Lift with your legs, Baby girl.”

     “Yes, Ma’am,” you replied, disappearing through the sliding glass door.

     Bev’s jovial mood turned serious as soon as her daughter was out of earshot.  “Okay, Winchester, shoot me straight.  How is my daughter?”

     Dean blinked in surprise, “I’m sorry?”

     “I may not be hip to everything going on, but I can feel the pair of you dancing around something big.  I’m not going stick my nose in, Y/N isn’t talking about it, and I respect that.  But I’m a mom and that girl is my whole life, so tell me… is she okay?  Do I need to worry about her?  About you?”

     Dean weighed his words carefully, “Y/N is… amazing.  She’s smart and strong.  She has the biggest vocabulary of anyone I’ve ever known, and she loves to show it off.  Even when she shouldn’t.  But she knows how to handle herself.  She kicks ass.”

     The corner of Bev’s mouth quirked, “It runs in the family.”

     “I can see that.”

     She leaned back in her chair and studied him, “You seem like a decent man, the sort who keeps his word.  That being the case, I have a favor to ask.  Keep an eye on my girl for me.”

     “Already done,” was his quick reply.

     Bev shook her head, “It’s not the dangers of the world I’m talking about.  I’m talking about looking after her when she’s not looking after herself.  Y/N… has a lot of life to live and when she gets busy… she just doesn’t see how far gone she is until she falls flat on her face.”

     Dean leaned forward, elbows on knees, “You’ve got my word, Bev.  I’ll never let her fall.”

     Now:      “I like your mom,” Dean looked down at his boots.  “She made me promise to look after you.”

     “You never told me that.”

     “I got the impression she didn’t want me to.  Thought maybe she had a mother’s intuition about you getting into the hunting business.  Guess she was talking about something else.”

     You let your gaze drift over to the lake in the distance, half thawed already.  It would be an early spring this year.  A sign of hope for the future.

     “We got in this huge fight when I was nineteen.  I wanted to move out, go to college, see the world.  I missed out on so much as a sick kid, but I survived it.  I worked hard to strengthen my lungs and build up stamina.  I followed every doctor’s order to the letter so that I could actually live my life like a normal person… and it worked, but when the time came, I still didn’t have her support.  I was so pissed!  I packed a bag and left in the middle of the night.”

     “How’d that go over?”

     “I hadn’t yet mastered the art of covering my tracks.  Plus, she was dating the sheriff.  I was back home twenty-four hours later.” 

     Dean snorted, “Amateur.” 

     “Mom and I came to an agreement after that.  I stay local, stay in communication, and keep doing everything my doctors ask and in return, she would stop focusing on my condition like it was a death sentence.”  You shrugged, “Things were better after that.”

    “Your mom is awesome, I’m glad she supports you…. You’re lucky, Y/N.”

     Dean took your hand, surprising you.  His fingers linked with yours, rubbing his thumb over yours.  Then he frowned, his brows drew down over his eyes in worry.  Like a black cloud had settled over his heart. 

     “Y/N…”

     You knew what he wanted to say, you could feel it.  You could see it in his eyes whenever he dared to look at you.  The sorrow.  All you wanted to do was save him from it.  From himself.

     “It’s amazing how much we still don’t know about how the human body works,” you blurted out, making him blink in confusion.

     “What?”

     “Being sedated, for example.  Medical experts still aren’t sure why some people retain a certain level of consciousness and others remember nothing.  When I was seven, I was in the hospital for a month, my mother read The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe to me even though I wasn’t awake.  When I came out of it, I remembered the whole thing.” 

     You could see the realization slowly register in his beautiful eyes.  If you heard your mother, you must have heard him.

     Then:      It was cold in your room.  You hated being cold, it was one of your main complaints about the bunker.  You cranked the thermostat, took boiling hot showers, and frequently stole clothes from both Winchesters.  Although, you seemed to favor Dean’s over his brother’s.  A fact he griped about, but secretly liked.  He liked knowing that you felt at home enough to make yourself comfortable.  If you were comfortable, maybe you would stay. 

     Dean brought your favorite blanket and tucked it around you, careful of the machines and wires.  “There you go, Sweetheart.  Just like home.”

     He sat in the stiff chair beside your bed and studied your peaceful face.  He tried to think of you as an enchanted princess.  Sleeping Beauty, just waiting for the right prince to swing by and break the curse.  Unlikely in his world.  Still… it was easier than the truth.

     He might have been able to fool himself for a while if it weren’t for that breathing tube.

     “Actually, that’s a lie...  this place is nothing like home.  Home has all the amenities, right?  I’ll bet this state-of-the-art medical facility doesn’t even have a firing range.  Or a dungeon!” 

     “Course, it wasn’t always so awesome.  A lot of spiders when we first moved in.  Plus, Sammy and I added our personal touches to make it more comfortable.  That mini fridge in the library, totally my idea.  It really pulled the room together, you know?”

     He chuckled a little at his Big Lebowski reference, disheartened when the only response was the hiss of the ventilator. 

     He reached over and gently combed his fingers through your hair.  Your skin was cool to the touch since your fever broke in the night.  That had to be a good sign, right? 

     “I’ve got a confession, but you gotta promise not to tell Sam, okay?  I never really wanted to live in the bunker full time.  Not at first.  Don’t get me wrong, I liked it!  It was our personal Batcave!  But Batman… he doesn’t live in the Batcave.  The Batcave is for work only.  And that was my plan.  Work in the bunker as a base of operations but live like we always did.  On the road.”

     Dean’s hand moved to yours, toying with your fingers.  You had such elegant hands.  You never wore jewelry, just like you never wore make-up.  You didn’t have a closet full of clothes.  You wore things of nice quality, but you didn’t have lots of them.  Only what you needed.  Same with everything else, you didn’t do fussy or extravagant.  But it wasn’t because you liked to keep things simple, it was because you were focused on living your life, not adorning it.  

     He liked that about you.  You were straightforward and up for anything.  You never hesitated to jump right in.  You were quick on your feet and quick with your wit.  You came up with better cover stories than he or Sam ever did.  Your contributions to the team were welcome and seamless, almost from the start.

     With anyone else, your eagerness might have come across as a need to prove yourself.  But you didn’t seem to be afflicted in that way.  You knew your worth.  You were confident.  And that rubbed off on everyone you came in contact with.  Cops, sheriffs, coroners, witnesses, victims.  All of them responded to you in ways that were remarkable.  Your presence calmed them.  Dean too.

     “The longer we stayed in the bunker, the more obvious it became that life on the road was never gonna be like it was before.  Sammy loved it, and I never could deny that kid anything.  But for me…. I dunno.  It took a while.  I even slept in Baby those first few nights.  Eventually, I picked out a room, got a bed that remembers me, and it was better.”

     “You were our first guest; did you know that?  Well Cas was, but he doesn’t sleep so that doesn’t really count.  You were the first non-Winchester to sleep in the Batcave.  On that old army cot, remember?  Tried to get you to take my bed… stubborn.  You were so stiff the next day you could barely walk, but you stuck it out.  You should have taken me up on it, I was on the couch most nights anyway.  Nightmares.”

     “I’ll never forget the morning I woke up and found you there with me.  All warm and cuddled up against me.  I moved and you shushed me in your sleep, mumbled that everything was okay.  God, I don’t think I’d ever slept that good.  We went to that diner in town for breakfast and I asked you to move in.  Sammy nearly choked on his egg whites,” Dean laughed softly at the memory.  “The bunker was a home then.”

     “If you were awake, you’d probably laugh and tell me what I sap I am.  And you’d be right, but I can’t help it.  It’s you, Y/N.  You have this magic… I don’t know what else to call it.  You don’t even have to say anything, and my heart starts to race.  I think about you, more than I should.  In ways that I shouldn’t, and I can’t stop.  I don’t want to stop.”

     “I love you, Y/N.  In case you don’t know; in case you can hear me in your dreams right now… I love you.  I’ve always loved you and if you stay, if you come back to me… I’m going to show you every day just how much.”

     Now:      He tried to speak, but you moved your fingers to his lips to stop him.  Tears shimmered in your eyes, but you managed a wavering smile. 

     “I love you too.”

     You watched the conflicting emotions flicker across his handsome face.  Joy and torment.  Ecstasy and pain.  He traced the underside of your jaw with his fingers, making your shiver inside and your eyes closed on a sigh.  When his lips connected with yours, it was electric!  The world shifted.  Colors, tastes, sensations, all redefined from that moment.  Soft and warm and connected on a level that could only come from love. 

     It was everything you’d ever dreamt his kiss could be, and it ended far too quickly.

     He rested his forehead against yours, puffs of white, heated breath mingling between you.  After a few minutes, he brushed the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, “Don’t cry, Sweetheart.  It breaks my heart when you cry.”

     “Don’t send me away.  Please don’t send me away.”

     “Baby, that bunker is no place for you.  There are no windows, the ventilation is crap, there’s a mildew problem.  I talked to those doctors about the type of environment an asthmatic should live in… Bomb shelter from the fifties didn’t make the cut.”

     “I’ve been living there for five years without an issue,” you pointed out.

     “Yeah, with a humidifier and inhalers.  But it’s different now, that round of pneumonia damaged your lungs.  You need to be someplace where its easier to breathe, not harder.”

     “You’re right.  Which is why Sam and I have been designing a new HVAC system.”

     That stopped him, “Really?  Why didn’t you guys tell me?”

     “Because you went all emo and hid in your room for a month.”

     “I’m not emo!  What kind of HVAC system?”

     “A kick ass one,” you grinned so that your tongue peeked out between your teeth.  “Any other concerns?”

     “What about hunting?” he challenged.

     “I don’t know,” you answered honestly and there was a pang of longing that went with it.  “I have no idea if I’ll ever get back to the physical condition I was before all of this.  No matter how hard I work for it or wish for it and the truth is… going into the field with that kind of a handicap is not in the cards.”

     Dean nodded grimly and dropped his gaze to his lap.  Admitting the possibility of an early retirement was killing you, and he knew it.  You loved hunting, it was as much a part of you as it was for him.  The uncertainty of not knowing if you could do it again, must be terrifying for you.

     “I’m sorry.”

     “I’m not.”  His head shot up and you shrugged, “Most hunters don’t get sidelined, they get killed.  My life might not look they way I thought it was going to, but I’m still here.  Living it.  I’m going to take that win and run with it.”

     “You’re amazing, you know that?  You’re so damn strong… your life got turned upside down and you just roll with it.”  Those impossibly green eyes looked at you with such awe, like he couldn’t quiet believe that you actually existed. 

     “You deserve the best, and that’s not me.”

     “That’s not for you to say.”

     “Doesn’t matter, it’s my choice.”

     “That’s where you’re wrong,” you lifted your chin in proud defiance, “Team Freewill, right?  I will always have a choice, no matter what hand you try to deal me.  I love you, Dean Winchester!  And I am never going to stop.  And I am never going to disappear from your life.  Even if you tell me to hit the bricks, I’ll still call and text and email and whatever just to make sure you’re still alive and well.  Even if this ends, I will still love you!  You ridiculous man!”

     There was a change in his gaze, subtle but there all the same.  He shook his head with a chuckle.  He knew when he was beat, and he was grateful for it.

     “Your cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink when you get all worked up, you know that?”

     “My cheeks are pink because it’s freezing out here!”

     Dean ripped his coat off and wrapped it over yours, “Damn it, Y/N!  I knew you were cold!”

     “Well, if you were any kind of a boyfriend, you’d take my back to the car and warm me up properly!”

     He was pulling the hood up over your head when he paused, “Boyfriend, huh?”

     “Yeah, the kind that warms his girl up in the backseat,” you grinned and playfully rubbed your nose against his.

     He growled in your ear and stood, sweeping you up in his arms and making you yelp in delight. 

     “Dean!  I can still walk, you know!”

     “Save your energy, Sweetheart, you’re gonna need it.  Tonight, we’re gonna fog up all the windows!”

TAGLIST @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseunbyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis  @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker @chucksfavouriteprophet

#dean winchester fanfiction #spn fic #jensen ackles fanfiction #supernatural #dean x reader #dean x you #jensen x reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen x you #breathe free #dean x sick!reader #sickfic

[if-th3n-else]

I feel like I'm being two different persons at the same time... Like I'm ok with my alone life at home, it's far from being perfect but I'm being more indulgent to myself than before. Like the crushing guilt of having done nothing of the whole weekend isn't as heavy as before, because I know I am exhausted from work 200% of the time so I won't do anything of my Saturdays unless someone else planned something for me and I'm being more gentle with me cause I know I need to rest, I'm literally always close to have a mental breakdown. Just feeling guilty cause laying in bed doesn't help my back to heal. But I've learnt to live with this constant disturbance in my leg. Lately I've been watching shows, old shows but hey that count as doing something. And actually it keeps me from respecting a good eating schedule so I can have time to watch an episode before going to sleep so it's a win. Haven't had time to finish the deep cleaning, so my apartment still looks like a mess, but however since we have deep cleaned the kitchen I'm able to maintain this part clean and tidy so I have faith in me. I just need help for the big cleaning but then I think I will finally be able to maintain my apartment clean (excluding the fact that I have a cat dudjsjz), and we might do the bathroom next week (both me and my aunt helping just have been too busy to have time). I take care of my health. And also I'm reading. Not as fast as I was, not as regularly as I would like too but I'm reading. And I can feel the positive impact it has on my brain. Also I listen to SFF related podcasts at work and it genuinely give my brain good food. I even wrote some idea in a draft sheet for the first time in a long time. I have the creative part of my brain constantly working in the background. Don't think it would lead me anywhere to write, but I just love so much to have new ideas flooding through my brain.

But then, on the other side, there's like I said, the constant edge of having a mental breakdown. And it's all because of one thing: work. Luckily I'm good with my colleagues (although we're only that and I still have not friends in the neighborhood), and we are all like this close to the breaking point. Some have been absent for a while so I suspect them to have had the mental breakdown in question. But yeah, we work early, with a lot of extra hours, and they always ask for more and although we're in our rights to refuse it's still mentally draining. Not to mention that instead of simply suppressing our productivity bonus and telling it us like that, they just recalculated the whole thing so it's basically unreachable and it makes it looks like it's our fault if we don't get it. Anyway basically everyone is pissed off, not to mention we don't even know if our client is gonna stay anyway... So yeah work basically fuck everything up. I mean I've always been running on low energy so it's not the only excuse for my numbness but honestly working for a capitalist piece of shit company really takes all the fun in life... although our wages are minimum I'm trying not to complain a lot cause my way of living doesn't cost me that much (no cars, no friends to meet in a restaurant, too exhausted to go shopping etc.) so I'm fine with my finances and can go the fuck out somewhere else during my vacations. But... I have to go back... and yes basically I want to live. And even though I do have the finances to survive months without a job, my past broke family trauma does not allow me to think like that. I could never quit without having another secure job after. But the problem is that I'm way too exhausted to look for one. And also tbh I don't even know what to do with my life... truth to be told I don't want to work. Submitting to capitalism fucking suck. I'm thinking more and more about try some civil service exam, because if I get a position it would be secure. I'm not even doing it for money anyway (but like a few more days off maybe lmao). But yeah it's an exam. So it means I'd have to work on it to have a chance to succeed and tell me folk when am I supposed to find the energy to work on anything after a 40+ hours week of work????? So basically I can never talk about that with anyone, cause my colleagues are either on the same page and the other people just think saying "well look elsewhere there's plenty of opportunities" helps someone with severe anxiety and lack of confidence like me. Also speaking with people... basically every workplace is like that anyway... there's literally no escape from capitalism. Anyway still not trying anything else is totally my fault and I know it and I don't know what to do...

So yes I have to slice my brain in two different parts otherwise I would totally break apart. Thank god escapism is back in a more healthy way in my mind (I still spend way too much time mindlessly scrolling but it's better than before I'm telling you).

#misc

[bigbihatemachine]

TW graphic ED and fatphobia, esp in a medical setting

Siiigh it's like a running joke at this point that I literally can find the worst clinicians in any nhs facility or just have the worst experiences with them but like every now and then I break bc I can't take having a mental breakdown anymore and dip my toe in the MH services and oh boy. Bc I wanted my meds adjusted and psychiatrists LITERALLY DON'T FUCKING DO ANYTHING I ended up talking to a pharmacist and somehow ended up doing a whole ass mental health assessment bc in the three fucking weeks it took them to look at my referral for a specific antidepressants I wanted and call me back, I decided I also wanted therapy and maybe they wouldn't fuck me over this time

Anyways she fights me over the medication I want and asks me about how I'm doing and as always zeroes in on my weight p fucking quickly. She asks about my eating habits rn and no they're p fucking bad rn and I freely admit that. Like it's ED shit 5sure. Also for ED reasons and general sanity, I ask my drs to not fucking read out my weight when they weigh me for my depo appts. I know I'm getting fatter. I'm not blind. Upon hearing me disclose my eating stuff and without thinking, she tells me exactly what weight I am now and exactly how much I've gained over the last few month and stresses how much it is. I tell her I actually ask my drs to not tell me these things bc they set me off really badly.

She asks if I want a referral to the ED dept and I basically get extremely upset and say I don't have faith they're going to be kind about my weight and I've faced a lot of medical mistreatment and abuse and I can't really take it from an ED dept if they're going to be cruel. She asks again if I want a referral bc it's obvious it's a source of a huge amount of issues and distress so might be worth investigating. I reluctantly agree to hear them out, if they're compassionate.

She's also somehow got hold of my MH files from 2016 (so 7 yrs ago) where I was insisting on medication that didn't make me gain weight. It's worth mentioning I got referred bc basically I'm out of medication I can try through normal GPs and I'm antidepressant resistant. Also have disclosed fucking EDs during the phone call and actually talked about that time period during the phone call when I was in a different form of ED so yknow different priorities. She insisted on putting me on meds I tried fucking years ago bc they'd help me lose weight!! Over medication I asked for and actually worked before we start looking at the heavier duty stuff (that a psychiatrist will actually have to get off their ass and see me for). I nearly fucking lost it arguing with her!!

And now it's a week later and I've gotten the letter through.... And it's fucking disgusting. She's absolutely combed through my medical files and just wholescale invented shit?? Saying I have chest pains?? I might have during A&E visits in years past??? Fucking saying I had ptsd??? I mean I almost def do but I've never been dx'ed with it?? And she sure as shit hasn't had the authority to do so?? And it's never been on a single letter before that I have ptsd?? And yeah she fucking won't shut up about how fucking fat I am. Like horrifically fat. Using the clinical name for disgustingly fat. Again, she knows I'll at least hear this and that I have an ED. Like.... What the fuck.

At the end, even my GP who I was speaking to for the first time was like (multiple times).... Are you sure you want this referral to go ahead????

And like....I'm so fucking frustrating bc I got so used to no one taking my EDs seriously bc I'm fat that I'd openly talk about them bc fat ppl can't have EDs then someone called me out on it and it threw me and I appreciated being taken seriously but..... It's in the wrong way and I'm worried the dept will be the same and it'll be trauma on trauma at a time I really need support. It doesn't help she said she'd handle the referral and she fucking hasn't and left it to my GP.

Frustrating!!! Concept: we just offer respectful, non-judgemental, person-centered care

#personal shit #Liveblogging my breakdown

[matchbet-allofthetime]

The past 3-ish days have been so bad that I've decided to write a book about my sexual trauma, my life as an afab who grew up like basically an only child despite being the middle of five kids, having no father and a mother formed on anger and a gentle hand they only have for me, the struggles with my religious/sexual/mental trauma, adhd and autism struggles, issues with self-worth and learning to love myself, love of music and struggling between hoping and aching and wanting for and believing in a better world and the flipside of that being that everything needs to just end that has anything to do with humans because they only continuously fuck things up and can do nothing right for the world that we have abused for centuries. But is is ALSO a book about how I've healed and continue to heal. And the life I want and the deep internal struggle with being feminine and also being aro/ace while also being a hopeless romantic who craves polyamory and loving men and loving women and loving other genderless entities like myself and also-also the struggle of wondering whether my hatred for certain things is a direct result of my trauma but i don't know and it doesn't matter anyways, because there's no changing it. And the trauma resurfacing so much during covid and my life going so far downhill that it somehow feels worse than the traumas from back then. the covid traumas compacting on the old ones, and all the chronic pains and escapism and-

if you hadn't noticed, it's been such a bad fucking week so far and i'm too tired. i have been up since 6am and it is currently 1:48am the next day. but hey, if anyone is interested in the book, lmk. probably won't post updates BUT i DO have summer off, so i get to write more and it may be easier then.

i've so much to say and i just know these pages will fill too quickly. it WILL contain disturbing content because i'm not gonna mince what happened to me as a young child for two years of my life or mince my breakdowns or mince my pain just for the reader's reading pleasure. this is about getting my voice out there because this is therapy when i can't afford any because fuck the american healthcare system.

this is the only closure i get before a) my abuser dies or b) he gets out of prison in anywhere from 5-12 years from now or smthn, don't ask me to do the math

and in any case, i also won't mince words because in the words of Banksy: "Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable." and that is precisely what this is going to b written to do. if my words and experiences don't make other survivors of abuse of all kinds cry or feel their righteous anger, then i have not written well enough

but all that aside, how bad do days have to be to push someone to write out their traumas?

not as bad as you'd think and somehow still worse than you'd believe.

#writeblr #writing #writers of tumblr #book writing #novel writing #writing community #dohma.personal #selfpublishing #self publication #cw vent #i guess kinda