#as well as having diagnosed anxiety meaning that my concerns will be brushed off. AGAIN.

[altruistic-meme]

me: i have anxiety about doctors

my mom: everyone has anxiety about doctors

me: no, they actually don't

my mom: okay no they probably don't, but i don't like going to the doctor either

me:

me: you know that's not the same, right? like you do understand that this is not the issue i'm having?

#mom. mother. please. #i am not afraid of going to the doctor. i don't care about getting needed shots or whatever. #i'm anxious about wasting my time by having my experiences ignored bc they percieve me to be a woman #as well as having diagnosed anxiety meaning that my concerns will be brushed off. AGAIN. #and then having to do all of this shit over and over. #like. #please tell me you understand that going to a doctors office is not why i'm so anxious about this. #shh ac #seriously shut up

[thebibliosphere]

Hey Joy! Feel free to ignore if you've got low spoons 😊

I was diagnosed with Vocal Cord Dysfunction a few years ago, and it's been annoying but not majorly concerning until recently. My major symptom is gagging, and I've been have gagging episodes nearly every day (sometimes until I vomit) which is extremely discouraging. It tends to flare up when I speak a lot, which I can manage at home but is impossible to avoid at work.

Are there any exercises or tips that you use to help manage your VCD? My PCP tends to brush off most of my issues as anxiety related, which means he gives advice and not any useful information. I'm planning on getting a new PCP, but dealing with insurance is a nightmare lol.

Thank you so much Joy, hope your migraines ease up and please give the mop a smooch for me!

Hey, I'm sorry to hear you're dealing with this, and I'm sorry your PCP is being so dismissive.

If you can, push to find a speech therapist. They can better guide you through breathing and speech exercises that can help you identify your specific triggers and the best way to prevent future attacks. They may also recommend more targeted physical therapy that works to keep the throat and neck muscles in good condition.

Something else you can try is also called a "rescue breath." I'll see if I can describe it, but basically, you purse your lips together (like you're going to blow out a candle) and exhale for as long as you can through your lips, then take two quick breaths through your nose. You do it a couple of times (or however many it takes) to return your breathing to normal. I'm probably not explaining it well, but if you do it right, you can sometimes stop an attack if you can feel one coming on or stop it from getting worse.

But yeah, absolutely find yourself a speech therapist. Also, do your best to keep your neck muscles relaxed. I use heat wraps multiple times a day and also try to roll the tension out when I notice the muscles seizing up--though the way I do that is specific to my cranial instability, so I'd be reluctant to give you the same technique in case it's the opposite of what you need 😅 I also find cervical traction devices helpful, but again mileage may vary.

Best of luck. I hope things improve for you.

#chronic health tag #vocal cord dysfunction #tw vomit

[likeabxrdinflight]

I want to, somewhat out of nowhere, discuss why I think some of the mental health/neurodivergence awareness posts that have taken off, especially on tiktok and instagram, can be...a bit troubling to me. And it's not because it isn't important to talk about mental health or to discuss ways in which developmental disorders impact people- it's not that. and it's definitely not wrong to encourage people who might be struggling to seek out care, community, and if possible/helpful, professional diagnosis.

but what is concerning is that a lot of these posts paint with...very broad brushes.

for example, I am not autistic. I have never been autistic, I am never going to be autistic. and I know this because, frankly, I have access to professional autism screening tools, I have diagnosed autism before, I know how this process works. and in the process of learning how to use these screening tools, I did what basically every psych in training does- I practiced them on my classmates, and they practiced on me. for self-report forms, I filled them out myself to learn how to score them. I know damn well that I do not reach diagnostic criteria for autism, I never have, I never will.

but if I was getting all my information from doctor tiktok? I might think it was more of a possibility. because you go on tiktok and you click on videos like "signs you have undiagnosed autism" and it gives you things like "anxiety at school" "don't like itchy tags" "exhaustion after social interactions", etc. very generic experiences that yes, could be affected by/a sign of autism, but are also things a lot of people without autism also experience.

as well, the thing that people pay lip service to but no one seems to actually understand, is that autism is a spectrum. and if we consider something a spectrum, we have to assume there is a middle ground between "definitely not autistic" and "very obviously autistic". most humans fall in this middle ground. which means most people are going to, at some times, display some autistic traits. I guarantee you if I gave every person on the face of the planet a standardized autism screener, not one person would score a perfect zero. that just does not happen.

I'm seeing the same thing happening now with trauma. everything under the sun is a trauma response now, apparently, with absolutely no lip service being paid to the fact that a lot of things that can be symptoms of and/or related to trauma, are not, by themselves, actual definite indicators of trauma. again, for some reason social anxiety comes up a lot. as if social anxiety disorder isn't a whole diagnosis by itself that is very definitely not always linked to a specific trauma!!!

and on that note it's also very troubling how attachment theory is taking off at an alarming pace, as if it is the end all be all of understanding trauma. holy hell people, I like attachment theory, I use it with patients all the time when it's relevant, but I know damn well it is an imperfect theory developed in the mid-20th century using now outdated methods of considering family life. attachment theory does not consider attachment to fathers/father figures, was deeply heteronormative, both idealizes and demonizes mothers simultaneously, and absolutely fails to consider how attachment systems might get disrupted later in life by peers and other significant figures. it's also a categorical theory which has inherent problems by itself. we are not always a perfect embodiment of one of the four attachment types, and dimensional measures of attachment show this pretty clearly. it's not a perfect theory, and you cannot possibly try to explain every single mental health system under the sun in relation to it. not everything is attachment trauma, s t o p.

anyways, these are just a few examples. but the point is, stop trying to play psychologist on tiktok. there is a reason it takes 5-7 years on average to get a damn PhD. I understand there's benefits to making mental health information accessible, and in general I'm in favor of that, but please. consider some information shouldn't be consumed in short form video content or in three slides on instagram. it is perfectly well and good to talk about your own experiences with a given diagnosis or condition, but the problem starts when you think that makes you an expert on diagnosing everyone else, when you think your experiences can generalize to others, and when you think that gives you permission to "educate" people on theories and ideas that you've not actually studied in any real depth. and it's especially troubling when it's obvious that this stuff is trendy right now, and you're a content creator who wants clicks and views.

#and quit trivializing my expertise down to a few 30 second hot takes #I'm not writing a dissertation for y'all to make it palatable for an algorithm

[wtfevenismypage]

Observer Not Profiler PT.3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: You’re similar to a profiler, but you can tell almost anything about a person just from a single glance. What they had for dinner, if they took a bath or shower, their name, favorite color, if they lie, even if they’re good in bed. You’ve been running from the government ever since you got caught hacking into their systems and since then you have been diagnosed with Extreme anxiety, anxious tics, and paranoia. But now the BAU need you’re help in Identifying killers.

Warnings: maybe a curse word or two, mentions of death, anxious/nervous ticking, tic attacks

A/N: Hey all! Here’s part 3! Remember that requests are open! So is the taglist, however I may be closing the taglist in a few weeks! thank you for reading!

You never knew you were scared of being on private jets until Dr. Spencer Reid rolled along.

“Statistically, Private jets crash more so than commercial planes do. The rate is commonly expressed as the number of accidents per 100,000 flight hours. The accident and fatal-accident rates declined again in 2015. In fact, the fatal-accident rate fell below one to 0.84, meaning there was less than one fatal crash per 100,000 flight hours.”

You think he was trying to make you feel better, but it only made you even more terrified.

“I would like to join the Bureau!”

Emily smiles happily, she knew that getting to know you would be a blast, and your people reading skills would come in major handy.

“That’s wonderful!”

Garcia yells out before wrapping her arms around you, it makes you freeze at first, but the hesitation wears off and you hug her back before shaking hands with everyone else.

When you shake Dr. Reid’s hand, you linger for a second, barely a second, before shaking hands with Hotch.

“This is going to be difficult, you’ll need training.”

You nod, shaking his calloused hand firmly.

“Of course sir, I’m willing to go through all of the training in the world for this.”

He smiles, but barely, only noticeable if you were looking (which you are) and you feel ecstatic at the small gesture. 

“Well, we have a jet to catch, so let’s hurry up. wheel’s up in thirty.”

The first few weeks of training were intense, you were physically trained by Morgan, he got you into shape and gifted you with a subtle six pack that you could see if you squinted hard enough. 

Hotch trained you to handle a gun, which you kind of sucked at. Every time you shot it, you jumped five feet in the air and had a mini panic attack, which Hotch had to help you out with.

Emily, Rossi, and JJ made you into a pretty damn good interrogator, which made you smile every time they complimented you.

You were shocked when you learned that you actually did need lessons in profiling, you needed to learn certain behaviors at crime scenes when you couldn’t see the unsub. Reid helped you in that regard. He also told you all sorts of fun facts, which you happily listened to, you loved learning new things and you would even insist upon hearing the facts sometimes.

You and Penelope had races against each other to see who could get into what faster, so far you two were tied.

Today is the day though, your first day as an official member of the team. Surprisingly, you still couldn’t say the word profiler without spiraling, and you’ve been having anxious tic attacks all night and all morning.

As you walk into the doors to the big office in the early early morning, your wrists slam together twice, making you wince and rub them, feeling the bruises from last night scream in rage.

“I’ve gotta learn to stop that...”

You realize you’re the first in the office, so you just take a quick seat to try and ground yourself, but it instead spirals into a tic attack as you take in what’s finally happening after all of these long and torturous years. 

“Y/L/N. You alright?”

You turn to the cold voice, seeing Hotch standing at the top of the stairs. You thought you were alone, you hoped you were, but if anyone was going to be at the office, you weren’t surprised it was Hotch.

“Oh, sorry sir, I’m just having first day nerves! I feel like I’m back in middle school...”

He flashes you an understanding half-smile, walking up to you and patting your shoulder.

“Don’t worry too much, everyone here is already obsessed with you, you’ll fit right in.”

You smile, trying to act like you were okay,but when your fist harshly collides with the side of your head, you sigh and clutch the now bruised spot.

“Well, the others should be here soon, your desk is right there, next to Reid’s.”

You couldn’t stop the pink heat that bum-rushed it’s way onto your cheeks, trying to avoid Hotch seeing by moving to your new desk an sitting down, subconsciously clapping your palm against the desk.

“Wowie. I’m all official and everything huh?”

You smirk before the door clicks open, people beginning to enter the once-empty office space and making your nerves go through the roof once again.

That is, until Derek and Reid walk in with Garcia chatting about something random with Emily laughing at her.

“Hey Y/L/N! How’s the day so far?”

Derek asks, sitting on your desk. You immediately swat him off with a fake pout painted across your lips.

“Hey, I just got this space, I’ll be d-damned if I let some-some sweaty man sit on it.”

They didn’t miss your nervous stuttering, but in the short time the team had known you, they knew you hated when your tics were the center of attention, so they simply gave sad smiles and moved on.

“We have a new case, Y/L/N, I’ll give you a moment to adjust, round table in ten.”

Hotch walks away, back to his office before Garcia plops down on your desk. Derek notices how you don’t shoo her off and throws a whole fit.

“So you kick me off but not Penelope?”

“Is Garcia a-a sweaty m-man? I don-don’t think so!”

You all laugh before they sit down, Reid sitting next to you and logging into his computer before setting his stuff down.

“You ready for your first case?”

Reid asks, you shrug in response, a nervous smile plastered on your face.

“I g-guess we’ll find-find out.”

Your wrists slam together again, making you hiss in pain a bit, Reid looks concerned and takes one of your wrists in his hand, gently brushing one of his long, slender fingers over your bruised nerves.

“Well a better question, are these going to heal correctly?”

He asked with a sudden seriousness that you didn’t particularly enjoy. 

“Well I don’t know Mr. Genius, why don’t you tell me?”

He looks up at your sarcastic words and smiles a bit, cheeks being brushed with a bit of red as he answers.

“Well they won’t heal properly with your tics, if anything they could get worse, the veins in your wrists will actually get really damaged and it could affect your entire nervous system, you might want to get it-”

“Spencer, as much as I love listening to your rants, and I do, I don’t love listening to the ones about my health being in danger.”

He smiles and discontinues the topic, letting you take your wrists out of his gentle grip and returning to your computer.

“Alright everyone, let’s get to the round table.”

-

-

-

-

-

Throughout the entire case, you stick close with Reid, he made you feel safer than the others somehow. He didn’t say anything about you being with him the entire time, he just accepted the helpful points you gave him. 

One night, you two were up all night trying to find a connection, laying out on top of a desk, listening to Mozart (he insisted) and trying to make a connection between the victims.

You had gotten so excited when you finally made a connection you started jumping up and down with Spencer, holding his hands happily as he joined your silly theatrics.

He seemed to be the only person that can relax your anxiety, even just standing around him helped slow your tics. You didn’t know why he relaxed you, he just did. 

On the jet back to the BAU, the two of you shared earbuds to listen to classical music, you had left your headphones back in Oregon so Spencer offered his left earbud.

Even back at the offices when you were working with Penelope, he brought you green tea, telling you it would still keep you awake but it wouldn’t make you as jittery or paranoid as coffee would.

As soon as he left, Garcia started looking at you weird, giving you googly eyes.

“What?”

“You like him don’t you!?”

Your jaw drops, eyebrows furrowing down, your cheeks get all rosy. No way! You didn’t like him like that, you just enjoyed his company.

“No I don’t! You’re finally going crazy huh?”

“You totally do! You’re getting all blushy and everything!”

“I don’t like him like that! I’ve never liked anyone like that, why would it start now huh? It wouldn’t. I don’t like him.”

She gives you a doubtful look, but drops it, letting you spin around to another computer while sipping on your freshly hot green tea.

The next day, you take the elevator up with Spencer, Derek, and JJ, JJ and Derek were talking about some show, while you listened to Spencer ramble about how unrealistic the show was.

“But Spencer, Dr. Who isn’t very realistic, but you still love it don’t you?”

“Well yeah, but I’m immediately biased to Dr. Who for my love of it, with any other movie or show, I don’t hesitate to point out faults.”

You chuckle at that, Spencer’s passion for Dr. Who was unmatched for anyone else’s love for any show. It’s insane. 

“Okay before pretty boy goes on about Dr. Who for hours, let’s escape.”

The doors open, allowing you and the other team members to walk in. Your desk was still fairly empty, not even a plant there to accompany your computer, you were still holding onto your runaway life, whether you admit it or not.

“Y/L/N, I need to talk to you. My office now.”

“What was that about?”

Panic bubbles to your chest, Hotch’s tone was too assertive, too aggresive. It was scary.

“I don’t know...”

Taglist: 

@imsuperawkward @ithinkilovetruecrimetoomuch @l0ve-0f-my-life @hopebaker @thatonezesty13 @nightlygiggless @aberrant-annie @holybatflapexpert @spencerreidisbootiful @april-14-blog @jackryan-plz @ajwantsapancake @lightswriting @emilouu @yourmisosoup @lizziebritish @101donuts @rainsong01 @pretty-boy-genius @squirrellover1967 @gublerstyles @delievia @boxofsparklingmuses @annestine 

#criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia x reader #penelope garcia #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #david rossi #david rossi x reader #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau x reader #luke alvez #luke alves x reader

[a-sirens-melody]

Darkwing Duck’s Greatest Enemy: Type 1 Diabetes (And Definitely Not Self Loathing)

Quick author's note: Launchpad switches between he/they throughout the fic, just so no one gets confused! If you have any questions abt diabetes, feel free to ask me. With that said, enjoy!

***

So far, tonight has gone really well.

It's date night, and this time they're spending it eating takeout from Hamburger Hippo and watching Darkwing Duck at Launchpad's place. Wrappers lay on the floor, ignored in favor of watching Darkwing kick Megavolt’s ass on screen.

Drake is currently leaning into Launchpad's side on the couch, his partner’s arm wrapped around his waist. It all feels so cozy and domestic that he never wants it to end.

And then, because Drake must have seriously pissed off some powerful being in a past life, it happens.

Megavolt’s face becomes blurry, and it's a little harder to focus on the TV. A quick look around the room tells him that, actually, it's hard to focus on anything right now. He knows what this means; he's gotten better at picking up on the signs after twenty-eight years of living with a half-functioning pancreas.

His blood sugar’s starting to drop.

He tries to close his eyes and listen instead, but the shake of his hands quickly corrects him. He is dropping and he needs to find something to eat. Even though he just ate, like, an hour ago.

Dammit.

“Drake?”

He opens his eyes and notices that the episode is paused. He hadn't even realized, he was so caught up in his symptoms. The second thing he notices is Launchpad looking right at him.

He guesses that they felt his shaking because there's concern in their eyes now. A brief wave of guilt sweeps over him and he almost misses their question. “Is your blood sugar low?”

He finds it's a little hard to form words right now (and that scares him, it always does), so he nods his head slightly and hums.

“I'm gonna go get you a juice box.”

The arm wrapped around him vanishes as LP gets up. He helps him lay down on the couch, head pillowed on the armrest. He's still cold without his boyfriend, though, so Drake can't help the small whine that escapes him. God, he sounds pathetic.

Launchpad's eyes soften and they lean down to kiss his forehead. “I'll be right back, okay?”

A little embarrassed, Drake nods and watches the other duck head to his fridge. He closes his eyes again and almost sighs in relief as he's met with darkness. You can't lose your focus if there's nothing to focus on in the first place.

Did that even make sense? Whatever. His brain’s not working properly right now.

The sounds of his partner rummaging through the shelves fill the air. Drake is reminded of earlier when things felt so domestic between them. It's only been a couple of months since they started dating, but Launchpad already feels like the home he never had.

Drake doesn't know how he got so lucky; sometimes it all feels like a dream.

Launchpad leaving is his worst nightmare. He knows he's being a little dramatic, but his anxiety gets the better of him sometimes. He's too much, too expensive, too-

“Found it!” Footsteps pull Drake out of his thoughts and he cracks his eyes open. Launchpad already tore off the wrapping on the plastic straw and stuck it in the box. He holds it out now and places it near Drake's beak. “Drink this, okay?”

He moves the straw into his mouth with a hum and starts sucking the juice down, only stunned for a second at the chill. Fruit punch, his mind distantly informs him. It's his favorite flavor, but he's too focused on getting it into his system to really appreciate it right now.

When the juice box is thoroughly drained, he gives his boyfriend a small smile. He feels like he can talk without sounding like he's drunk now, so he says, “thanks, LP.”

“Anytime,” is the warm reply he receives. If Drake was of sound mind, he would kiss Launchpad breathless and maybe, maybe, utter those three little words that have grown harder to ignore as of late.

I love you.

The words are barely on the tip of his tongue even now. Yikes, his filter's pretty weak already. He tries to stuff the words down by chewing on the straw. Struggling with one of the disadvantages of diabetes is not his ideal confession scenario. Besides, it's way too soon to say that. Right? Right.

“Didn't think you kept juice boxes in your fridge,” he says instead. Not only is he trying to distract himself from his low brain feelings, he's genuinely curious. He doesn't recall seeing any juice boxes in LP’s fridge the last time he was here, and their favorite flavor is apple.

“Nah. Not for myself, at least.” They smile fondly at him. “I remembered that it's your favorite flavor, though, and I wanted to have something for whenever you went low over here.”

Wait.

Launchpad bought those for him? Specifically for him? And remembered his favorite flavor from a conversation they had three months ago when they asked Drake what he usually ate when his blood sugar went low?

That's...

“That's really sweet of you, LP. Thanks.” He says, because he's not really sure what to say. It's such a small act of kindness, something he's not used to, and he doesn't know how to deal with the sudden warmth in his chest.

He's too low for this. Feeling more intense emotions is a very frequent symptom of his when he's low, that's what this is. Yeah. Definitely.

His boyfriend's smile turns shy. “You don't have to thank me. Whatever helps you the most. Speaking of which, do you want me to bring your kit over here? I mean, obviously you feel low, but. Better to have an exact number, right?” Launchpad rambles, hand reaching to brush through the hair at the back of his neck.

That's a good point, actually. He has to be in the 40’s if he's feeling this bad. “Yes, please.”

Launchpad reaches to the side of his couch where Drake's bag is. Inside is his blood sugar kit (complete with a pricker, replaceable barrels, meter, test strips, insulin, and syringes), various small snacks in case he goes low when he's out, and a glucagon. He really hopes that last item is not going to be needed tonight.

He probably shouldn't have dropped the bag there, but he wanted to start their date. Can you really blame him?

The kit is found and placed onto the couch. Drake starts to reach for it, but suddenly there's a hand covering his.

“Can I check you, please?” He looks up and finds Launchpad staring at him. “I don't- if you don't want me to touch your stuff, I get it, but. You feel bad. So will you let me do it?”

You...want to help me? You don't want me to do this on my own?

“Sure. Just ask if you dunno what goes where, okay?” Drake says, thankful that his voice is somewhat steadier than his hands.

His partner nods and gets to work. They asked once how everything in the kit worked so Drake laid it all out and taught him. It felt nice having someone who wanted to listen to him talk about diabetes stuff.

He hears the test strip bottle close with a pop and the pricker calibrate with a ca-click. Just as Launchpad asks, he holds out a finger and lets his mind drift.

It's really not something he's used to, having someone around that he trusts will take care of him. For as long as he can remember, Drake could only rely on himself to get through whatever diabetic crisis he faced.

He was eight when he was diagnosed. At first, his parents did most of the hard work. He picked up on checking his blood sugar pretty quickly, but they would manage all his carb ratios and injections.

Then, they just sort of…stopped. Like they had only done it for him in the first place because he was too young to fully understand. By the time he was thirteen, he did pretty much everything on his own. So much so that more often than not on the tri-monthly visits to his endocrinologist, the car ride would be spent drilling his parents on what the past three months had been like.

Not that they ever told him they didn't care or want to care to his face. No, Drake had just picked up on it. But the night he overheard them talking about medical expenses was a particularly rude awakening.

He couldn't sleep for some reason and decided to watch some Darkwing Duck. He barely made it out of his bedroom when he heard voices.

“Why's everything gotta be so damn expensive!?”

Ah. His dad was looking at bills. So much for a DW marathon in peace and quiet. Drake had one foot back in his bedroom when he heard his mother reply.

“It doesn't really help that our current bank account looks like that, either…”

Forget going back to bed, his curiosity was peaked. He stayed still, straining to hear.

He wished he hadn't at what he heard next.

“Yeah, well, having a defective kid ain't cheap. Why couldn't you have had a normal one?”

To this day, he still remembers how his heart sank to his stomach.

Defective.

Defective.

Is that why they stopped helping? Why, at age sixteen, it was unspoken knowledge that Drake managed everything on his own? They didn't see a literal child in need, they saw a column of dollar signs. A black hole that sucked up all their cash and never gave it back.

His mom stayed quiet, and that hurt even more. She didn't care, either. Neither one of them did.

They were both selfish assholes that only cared about the alcohol they could've had stocked in their kitchen.

He cried himself to sleep that night, mourning the days when he could still trust his parents to take care of him and wishing he didn't have to live like this. If no one wanted to help him, he’d suck it up on his own. No one wanted to take care of him? Fine. Drake Mallard didn't need anyone else. He was better off on his own.

Those horrible feelings crash over him like a tidal wave now, twenty years later, and he doesn't know why they're here but he's overwhelmed by it all.

Why can't he just have a normal body? Why does his condition have to be so expensive and annoying and miserable sometimes? Why does he have to be so dependent on people when he tells himself that he’s better off working alone, when no one in his life has loved him enough to care anyway?

There's a price tag on his head (not just physical, because diabetes is a greedy little bitch), and it's only a matter of time until Launchpad figures this out. He won't want to stay up late to keep checking, to keep buying syringes or insulin or tests strips. He won't stay forever, and it's all Drake's fault, for getting so attached and having a broken, shitty body.

“Drake? Did I do something wrong?”

He blinks. There are tears in his eyes, a few of which have spilled down his cheeks.

“Uh,” his voice cracks. He wipes away the tears with his other hand. “No. N-no, you didn't do anything wrong. What were you doing?”

Launchpad cocks his head to the side and squints in concern. He knows there's more to Drake's answer, but he doesn't push yet. “I pricked your finger and put the blood in. You didn't even flinch, but I thought that was ‘cause you're used to this. Was there another reason?”

“I'm sorry.” And before Launchpad can start to ask for what? with his mouth already open, Drake rushes to say, “I'm sorry that out of all the people you could date, you got stuck with a chronically ill mess like me. You deserve a normal partner, and god you have no idea how badly I wish I was, but I'm not. I'll always be a burden and I know you won't want to stick around to deal with all the shit that comes with diabetes.

“Not that I don't want you to stay, please don't think that, but…” More tears fall and he brushes them aside, accidentally smearing blood on his feathers. “I’m not used to someone wanting to take care of me, and I don't want it to stop.”

He doesn't take his eyes off of Launchpad as he cries. If this were a cartoon, he would laugh at how quickly their expression changes. Confusion, concern, and realization flash across their face before their eyes soften again in concern.

“Baby,” they say, reaching out to cradle Drake's face. They gently wipe away the blood with their thumb, and Drake feels weak. Loving touches were something he was never given as a child, and it's taken some getting used to. It burns, unfamiliar and wonderful, every time Launchpad touches him. All he can do in this moment is lean into it and shut his eyes.

“Look at me, please?” He groans internally as he opens his eyes. Later, when his blood sugar isn't so low and he can properly think, he’ll recall the look on his boyfriend's face as determined. “I love you, so much. You're not a burden, and you never will be. Being with you is a new experience, sure, but it's a good one. It's not your fault your body's like this, and it doesn't make you any less amazing.

“Heck, if anything, it makes you even more so. You have to do more to stay healthy than most people, and you're really good at it! St. Canard is a better place with Darkwing Duck and Drake Mallard.” Launchpad leans in to kiss his forehead. “They were wrong, you're not unlovable.”

He's so gentle, so sweet, and it's all too much for Drake to wrap his mind around. Never mind the low, he's just heard what he's secretly always wanted to. He is good. He is loved. He...needs to know what his blood sugar actually was before he cries an entire ocean. One more thing, though.

“Uh,” seems like a good place to start as he scrambles to pick up the pieces of himself. He takes a shaky breath. “Thank you. Sorry I dumped all of that onto you, I don't know where it came from tonight, but. Thanks. I really needed that.”

LP still looks a little sad and it makes his heart hurt, but he bites down on his beak to avoid apologizing again. “No problem. Sometimes it just comes out of nowhere.” He strokes his cheek some more, and Drake sighs.

“This is nice and all, but,” his eyes dart to the meter still sitting in front of him. They got distracted for too long and now the little screen is dark. “Did you catch the number that showed up?”

“Buh?” Launchpad's eyes widen as he remembers what they were doing before. “Oh, dang it! Sorry! Do I need to do it again, or-”

Eh, they probably should, but Drake doesn't want to. It hasn't been too long anyways, maybe five minutes? He’ll be fine. “No, you're good, just press the button with the arrows. All the pricks get stored so you can look at them later.”

Any distress on their face is quickly replaced by a beaming smile. “Neat!” They do as Drake asked, and a number pops up: 46.

“Lovely,” Drake groans. “And I just ate. Maybe I just took too much insulin. Or am I getting sick? If I can't keep anything down in the next hour, I swear-”

LP snapping his fingers in his face pulls him away from his rambling. “Hello? Earth to Drake Mallard. I dunno what made you low, but we gotta fix it first. Would more juice work?”

Oh yeah. Hm, more juice or something else? Even though he feels exhausted, going to sleep is a bad idea. He's gotta stay up until he's back in range, so…

“Actually, do you have any Pep?” Launchpad tilts his head and furrows his brow as Drake explains. “Normally I wouldn't ask, but I think something with that much sugar would really help. Plus, the caffeine will keep me awake.”

They look less confused now, but their head remains tilted slightly. “There's not that much caffeine in Pep, though.”

“You forget I don't drink the regular Peps nearly as often as you do, LP.” The last time he actually had one was...ten years ago? They work great for treating a low quickly and that's the only time he ever cares to drink them. It's not worth the extra insulin or highs to try to look normal.

“Oh yeah! So you're not used to the sugar.” He nods. “Okay, be right back.” Launchpad takes about twenty seconds to get a Pep and come back to Drake. The tab's already open. “Uh, do you need to drink the whole thing right now?”

He really shouldn't, the juice is probably still processing. Still, it's very tempting to chug the entire thing just to put more sugar in his body. But he wants his blood sugar to be normal, not sky high. “No, I'll probably drink half of it right now. Thank you.” He takes the Pep and sips, blinking at the sheer amount of sugar flooding his taste buds.

The fact that most people drink enough of this stuff to where they hardly notice it boggles his mind. Not that the diet stuff is really healthier, but it's definitely a different taste.

Guess he's pulling a graveyard shift tonight. But at least he's with Launchpad.

(That's the other thing about drinking regular sodas; he gets really hyper. Last time, he couldn't fall asleep until exactly two am. Being tired but unable to sleep is the absolute worst feeling, and you can't change Drake's mind.)

Now that he can think a little more clearly, he realizes something.

“I can't drive like this,” he says. Driving with a low blood sugar is really dangerous, and not his usual kind. It's the kind of dangerous that could get himself, or someone else, or even both, killed. “And I'm definitely not walking home anytime soon, so. Guess our date’s been extended?”

Launchpad blinks at him, then claps his hands together and grins. “You're staying overnight! I mean, I wish it was under better circumstances, obviously, but. Yay!” He rocks on his heels before catching himself and looking away, a faint blush appearing on his face. “Anyways, is there anything else you need?”

Drake's about to reply not right now, thank you, but then he realizes something that's actually pretty important.

“Wait, since I'm staying here tonight, could I use your bathroom really quick? I, uh, need to take my binder off,” he admits. He’d forgotten it was even there until he remembered wait, you need to take that off before you go to sleep. He put it on about a half hour after he woke up, which was at noon, and it's midnight now so...oops. It's past time to take it off.

His boyfriend nods. “Yeah, no worries! Do what you gotta do. Wait.” His brow furrows. “You need me to help you over there?”

“I,” he falters. “Wouldn't mind it if you did.” The sugar's kicking in now, but he still doesn't trust himself. Given how clumsy he is? Better safe than sorry.

Launchpad holds his arms as he walks to the bathroom. He closes the door, Launchpad sitting in front of it just in case, and turns to the mirror. His shirt hits the floor, soon followed by his binder. A sigh of relief fills the air as he folds it. He hadn't realized how long he'd been wearing it. Tomorrow will have to be a skip day just to stay on the safe side.

(Hormones aren't a concern; he's not on them right now and is perfectly fine with that. The cost of that and insulin would be hard to juggle, anyways.)

He opens the door to find Launchpad staring at him, and he smiles shyly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Launchpad smiles back, and holds out his hand. Drake takes it and pulls his boyfriend to his feet. They walk back to the couch together. “So, what are we doing? You can't go to sleep until your blood sugar's back up and we were in the middle of an episode of Darkwing Duck.”

“I like the way you think,” Drake teases. “So long as you check every now and then to make sure I haven't fallen asleep yet.” He sits down in his original spot.

“Whatever you need,” they reply, and sit down next to him. They wrap their around his waist and Drake leans into their side as he tries to find the remote. It occurs to him just then that there's still something he hasn't said yet. Something bigger than “thank you.”

He taps LP on the shoulder. They turn to look at him and oh no, he's already flustered. “I just. You said you, uh, loved me earlier and I wanted to say that, that I love you too.” His face is burning, and he got quieter at the end, but at least it’s out in the open now.

Launchpad’s eyes soften and he tilts his head close enough to kiss Drake. It's a quick peck, but sweet nonetheless. When he pulls away, he's smiling. “You're wonderful, you know that?”

Drake only blushes more and buries his face in Launchpad's chest. He can feel Launchpad chuckle and oh. Oh, that's really nice. He likes that a lot. He would stay right here, but the sounds of the Darkwing Duck episode are a siren song that never fails to lure him in.

They stay there, watching episode after episode and Launchpad checking in every so often. By the time Drake's blood sugar has gone back to normal, he stops watching and starts really thinking about the events of the night.

He doesn't have to do this on his own anymore. Someone actually wants to take care of him now.

He is loved. Really, truly loved. And he’ll never let Launchpad go.

#IT WORKS ON MOBILE #thank you god #anyways tada!! #ducktales #darkwing duck #drakepad #drake mallard #launchpad mcquack #my writing #drake has t1d the fic basically #and really bad parents but that's not new

[massivedrickhead]

If you’re still taking prompts what about one where Beca finds out she has a heart condition and without a transplant could/will die, so rather than fighting for Chloe she lets her go so that she can have a happy life with Chicago. Only Aubrey, who Beca confided in, can’t bring herself to keep the secret from Chloe knowing that her best friend has been in love with Beca for several years. Refusing to deny Chloe the chance of being with the one she really wants, she tells her the truth.

This turned out way longer than I planned, I just hope it’s good.

Beca pulled out her phone as soon as she climbed into the back of the Uber, her other hand running absentmindedly against her chest, as if she could massage away the constant ache that was there.

“Patient or visitor?” The driver asked.

“Sorry?” Beca asked, tearing her eyes away from her phone. 

“I picked you up from the hospital. Are you a patient or a visitor?”

“Uh, neither,” Beca said, lying easily as she looked back at her phone. “My friend works there and I met her for lunch.”

“Oh cool,” he said. “What does your friend do?”

Beca tried not to roll her eyes. “Cardiologist,” she replied. 

“Cool, cool,” he said, nodding. “So, you single?”

“I have a girlfriend,” she said, lying again. “Am I cool to make a call?”

“Oh, yeah no problem,” he said, sounding disappointed.

She hadn’t planned on calling anyone now, but she didn’t want to deal with the nosey Uber driver for much longer. So she called Chloe and, of course, the redhead answered almost immediately.

“Hey!” Came Chloe’s bubbly voice on the other end of the phone. “How are you?”

“Uh, yeah I’m alright. Listen, are you free tonight?” Beca asked, her stomach twisting slightly as she crossed her fingers hoping Chloe would say yes.

“No, sorry, I’m out with Chicago tonight,” Chloe replied, sounding genuinely sorry. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason. I just felt like going for a drink,” Beca said, heart sinking. “Have a good night.”

“Will do, thanks.” Chloe paused. “Are you okay? You sound weird.”

“Yeah I’m fine. I’d better go but I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” Beca said. 

“Okay sure,” Chloe said. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

Beca hung up the phone and sat back in her seat, looking out the window. 

A jolt of pain shot through her chest again and she winced. 

She’d been hoping to tell Chloe tonight. She had a lot of stuff she needed to tell Chloe.

She picked up her phone again and called Aubrey.

Ever since the blonde had moved to New York a few months ago, the two had gotten close. They’d previously only spent time together outside of the Bellas because they had a mutual love of Chloe’s company. When Chloe started spending more of her time with Chicago, Beca and Aubrey just started hanging out together.

“Hello Beca.”

“Hey Aubrey. What are you doing right now?” Beca said, realising she couldn’t wait until tonight. 

“Nothing really, just working from home. What’s up?” Aubrey asked.

“Can you come over?” 

There must have been something in Beca’s voice, because Aubrey didn’t question her further. She just said “sure, see you in like 30 minutes” before ending the call.

The car pulled up outside Beca’s Brooklyn apartment, and she got out after shooting a quick “thanks” to the driver. 

She paced her tiny apartment until she heard Aubrey’s sharp and familiar knock against her door.

“Hey,” she said, letting Aubrey in. 

“Hi,” Aubrey said, looking concerned. “What’s going on?”

“Um… I don’t really know how to say it,” Beca said, running a hand through her hair. The pain in her chest was increasing her anxiety even more. 

“Sit down,” Aubrey said. Beca sat on the edge of her bed and put her head in her hands. “Take a deep breath and just tell me when you’re ready.”

Beca nodded put kept her head in her hands.

“I’ve been to the hospital,” she said, not looking at Aubrey. “I’ve… They just diagnosed me with a heart condition.”

“Shit,” Aubrey breathed out. She sat beside Beca on the bed and put a hand on her leg, which had been bouncing up and down. “So, what does this mean?”

“Well they told me a lot of scary shit but essentially I…” She swallowed hard, her voice shaking slightly. “I need a transplant.” 

“Jesus, Beca,” Aubrey said. “Did… Did they say how long you can wait?”

“About a year, give or take a few months,” Beca said, and she heard Aubrey let out a shaky breath beside her. 

“I’m so sorry Beca. This… This really fucking sucks.”

Beca let out a teary laugh. “It really fucking does.”

“But we’re gonna be here for you, you know that right? All of us,” Aubrey said. “You’ll just have to be careful when you tell Chloe, she’s probably gonna try and buy you a heart on the black market or something.”

Beca’s stomach twisted at the thought of telling Chloe. 

“Aubrey… Chloe… I’m… I’m in love with her,” Beca said, finally spilling the secret she’d held onto for years. 

“I know, Becs,” Aubrey said, sadly. “You know, you should tell her. She might… reciprocate.”

Beca laughed again but this time without humour. She shook her head.

“I’m not doing that to her. She’s happy with Chicago. They’re engaged for fucks sake. They live together. I’m not telling her ‘oh I’m in love with you and by the way I have about a year to live.’ Even if she does feel the same, I’m not gonna put her through that. She has a chance to be happy with Chicago and I’m not gonna ruin it.”

“Beca you should let that be her decision,” Aubrey said, her heart breaking slightly. 

Beca shook her head again. “I’m not doing it. Even if I get the transplant and it’s a complete success, it’ll give me maybe another 8 or 9 years if I’m lucky. Best case scenario, I’ll make it to my 30s and she’ll have to start over again. You can’t tell her, Aubrey. Promise me.”

Aubrey sighed. “I promise.”

Aubrey stayed and talked with Beca for a few more hours before leaving her to get some rest.

Having talked and cried for hours with Aubrey, Beca was exhausted. She changed and crawled into bed and fell asleep almost immediately, trying not to think about the ticking time bomb in her chest.

It felt like seconds later that Beca heard a knock at her door, but when she jolted awake the room was dark. She checked her phone and saw it was 9pm. They knocked again.

“Just a sec,” she called, flicking on a lamp before answering the door. Chloe was standing there with a worried expression. “What’s up?” Beca asked, stepping aside to let her in.

“You sounded weird on the phone earlier,” Chloe said. 

“I thought you were going out with Chicago tonight?” Beca asked rubbing her eyes to wake herself up.

“We were out, but I was worried about you,” Chloe said. “I asked him to drop me off on the way home.”

“Oh, you should have just called, I’m fine. I feel like you’ve had a wasted journey,” Beca said, her stomach twisting again at the lie.

“Beca,” Chloe sighed. “Come on. This is me you’re talking to, remember? I know when something’s wrong.”

“Have you spoken to Aubrey?” Beca asked, worrying about what the blonde might have told her.

“No? Should I have?” Chloe asked. Her confusion seemed genuine and Beca felt a small wash of relief.

“No,” Beca said. “She was here earlier, I thought she might have called you.”

“What’s going on Becs?” 

The use of the nickname combined with her soft voice and the scared look on Chloe’s face finally made Beca break. 

Through tears and stops and starts, Beca told Chloe about her appointment with the doctors. About the list of mediation she now had to take. About the length of time she had left unless she got that transplant.

Chloe cried with her, but was far more composed than Beca had expected. Chloe was devastated, but she was also calm and reassuring. 

At one point she sent a text to Chicago to let him know she would’t be home, and she crawled into bed beside Beca. Wrapping her in her arms the way she used to when she still lived there.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she said softly, brushing the hair from her face. “I’m gonna be with you the whole time.”

And to her credit, she was.

She took Beca to all her appointments, and stayed with her no matter how long the wait was.

She helped her keep track of all her medication and drove her to the pharmacy when she needed to get more.

When Beca was too sick to get out of bed, she’d come over and cook for her and stayed until she fell asleep.

And Beca fell more and more in love.

It lead to some heated arguments with Chicago, who felt like Chloe was being taken advantage of, and that she cared more about Beca than about him, but Chloe didn’t care. 

Beca was her best friend, and she loved her.

She really loved her.

When Beca collapsed in the grocery store and was rushed to hospital, Chloe was person they called. She was Beca’s emergency contact.

Aubrey arrived soon after Chloe, and what she saw upon entering Beca’s room broke her heart.

Beca was lying unconscious in the hospital bed, various tubes and wires attached to her. The beeping of her heart on the monitor was erratic, as if it was struggling to carry on beating.

Chloe was beside her, clutching her hand, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I thought she had more time,” Chloe said, her voice breaking. 

Aubrey swallowed the lump in her throat and sat in the empty seat beside Chloe.

“What did the doctor say?”

“She might pull through but,” Chloe sniffed and wiped her eyes, “but this might be it. Even if she does wake up, she needs that transplant soon.”

“Don’t give up on her yet,” Aubrey said, her own tears falling. “She’s strong. She’s stubborn.”

Chloe nodded, and so they waited.

“She’s in love with you, you know,” Aubrey said after a few hours of waiting. It was 11pm and her voice was hoarse and tired. 

Chloe, who had been lightly tracing the tattoo on Beca’s wrist with her finger, froze.

“What?” She whispered.

“Beca’s in love with you. She made me promise not to say but… But I know how you feel about her. I can see it. I can see how much you love her. The way you look at her… the way you talk to her, the way you talk about her. I can see it,” Aubrey said. “I want you to be happy. I want you both to be happy. You don’t love Chicago, not in the same way.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Chloe choked out. “We could have been together. We could have had all this time together!”

“Because she’s dying,” Aubrey said. “She thought you were happy with Chicago and she didn’t want to ruin that.”

Chloe shook her head, tears spilling out again. “Why are you telling me now, when it’s too late?”

“I’m sorry,” Aubrey said. “You just… You deserve to know the truth, while she’s still alive. I should have told you sooner but I… I thought she had more time too.”

A man cleared his throat and the two women jumped.

“Sorry to interrupt but, we’re going to need to take her to surgery now.” A man in a white coat was standing by the door and several other doctors and nurses came in. “We found a donor and we have to move quick.”

Chloe didn’t want to let Beca’s hand go, but she knew she had to. She kissed her on the forehead.

“When this is done,” she whispered to her, “when you’re awake, we’re gonna have a talk. I love you.” She straightened up and and watched as they wheeled her away, fear and hope flooding every part of her.

Before he left the doctor told them the surgery would take about four hours, so Aubrey convinced Chloe to go home so she could at least shower and eat. 

Chloe did, and while she was there she broke up with Chicago. Whatever happened with Beca, Chloe knew she couldn’t be with him. Aubrey was right, she didn’t love him like that.

When Aubrey picked her up a two hours later, her eyes were red from crying and she looked as tired as Aubrey felt.

They headed back to the waiting room, and they waited for news.

“Beca Mitchell?” The doctor asked the almost empty waiting room. Chloe and Aubrey jumped up and ran towards him. “You’re here for Ms Mitchell, yes?” They nodded, both too terrified to speak. “This way, please.”

They followed him down a corridor and he gestured towards a window. They looked through and saw Beca sleeping, still attached to various machines. Aubrey couldn’t help but notice that the heart monitor was showing a much more regular beeping.

“It was a success,” he said. “We’re confident the body has accepted the organ. The next few days will be critical, and she’s going to be in the hospital for a few more weeks, but she should make a full recovery.” 

Chloe dissolved into tears, and Aubrey thanked the doctor over and over.

“You can sit with her if you like but don’t expect her to wake up anytime soon,” he said. 

They thanked him again and spent the next few hours sleeping in the chairs beside her bed.

Beca was confused when she woke up, but after everything was explained to her the relief on her face was visible. 

Chloe waited for a few days before broaching the subject of ‘them’. 

Beca was sleeping, so Chloe sat beside her and picked up her hand as she always did, only this time she pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

Beca stirred and opened her eyes, smiling when she saw her.

“Hey,” she said, sleepily. 

“Hey,” Chloe replied. “I want to say something. Something I’ve wanted to say for a very long time.”

“Okay,” Beca said, confused. “Go for it.”

“I love you,” she said. 

“You… Really?”

“Really. I want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you too,” Beca said. “But, you know I’m still… I still don’t have a lot of time. I mean, I might have a year. I might have ten. But I don’t have… forever.”

“No one has forever,” Chloe said, pushing the thought of losing Beca out of her mind. “I want to spend whatever time is left as your girlfriend. I want to spend every minute of it with you.”

“You’re… You’re sure about this?”

“I’ve been in love with you since before we graduated. Since before you kissed Jesse. I don’t want to spend another second not being with you,” Chloe said, tears in her eyes. “If this isn’t what you want then that’s okay, but don’t push me away to try and protect me. I know this is going to be hard. I know we don’t have as much time as we deserve. But that doesn’t stop me from being in love with you.”

“Okay,” Beca said, finally giving in. “Okay, let’s do this.”

And they finally kissed.

#not super happy with this #but nevermind #bechloe #drabble #bechloe drabble #otp prompt #bechloe prompt

[feynavaley]

i'm not the same anon who asked about chronic illnesses and such but i decided to ask anyway -- do you have any mental health headcanons for any of the FACE family?

Thank you so much for this question, it’s a very interesting one! I also have to admit that this is a topic I’m quite hesitant to tackle, however, as I’m not an expert and I don’t want to dismiss or oversimplify complex and sensitive matters with careless words. That said, I can certainly talk about what my impressions from the manga are! Hope it all makes sense. 😊

First of all, I must make a specification: nations aren’t humans. Just like their bodies and healing rate are different from those of a human, the same goes for their brain and mental health. I often see people complaining that, for having lived through so many hardships and tragedies, personifications shouldn’t be as well-adjusted and cheerful as they are generally portrayed in the manga. I disagree with this. I think that if the manga tends to portray personifications in a certain way, that’s how they are. And the fact they aren’t weighed down by their past is, once again, due to the fact they aren’t humans. Think about it for a moment: we – humans – aren’t mentally and psychologically meant for immortality. After a bit, we just would collapse under the weight of everything we went through. Personifications, instead, are born to be immortal. Therefore, I’m also convinced that they have a different brain biology, different neural pathways – different ways to process memories and withstand trauma that make them more resilient. In short, unlike many people, I don’t think personifications suffer from PTSD or MDD by default.

—

Now, back to the characters you asked me about. I would be hesitant to ‘diagnose’ them with specific mental health issues, but I can see some things they would struggle with.

I’ll start with Canada because I think he’s the easiest one. It’s canon that he has awfully low self-esteem and sense of self-worth in general. Based on his interactions with other people, I would say he also has very high anxiety levels. (Social anxiety, in particular.) He wants to make a good impression but he feels like he never knows how to behave and ends up being awkward and self-conscious, he’s afraid of what others might think of him and he wants to please everybody and berates himself a lot for the fact he doesn’t… his not feeling worthy of other people’s time and attention (feeling like he has to do something to earn it) doesn’t help. I don’t know if Canada’s anxiety could be bad enough to be officially diagnosed or give him real anxiety/panic attacks, but it certainly has a significative impact on his relationships, holding him back a lot. Tied to his self-worth issues, I can also easily see him falling into the mindset of the impostor syndrome. (Since he feels like he isn’t good enough, when somebody claims he is, Canada thinks he has deceived them.) I also headcanon him suffering from some psychosomatic issues due to the fact he tends to bottle up negative emotions to avoid conflict. In spite of this, Canada manages to keep a positive outlook that pushes him forwards. He doesn’t cry over himself but keeps doing his best to improve. I wouldn’t say this is completely healthy (after all, he wants to improve so much because he feels like he isn’t enough) nor that he never has a breakdown, but his mental health issues aren’t (generally) so severe as to prevent him from going on with his life.

England also suffers from self-worth issues that he, instead, hides under a self-deprecating humour. He asks a lot out of himself and he’s a perfectionist to a level that isn’t healthy. He works as hard as he can in order to rise above others and looks down upon those who don’t work as hard in order to try to assert his confidence, but deep down, he will never believe he’s truly good enough. Moreover, the neglect he suffered during his childhood means he has a hard time developing healthy relationships. He’s mistrustful and hesitant because he’s afraid of getting hurt, but he also ends up feeling extremely lonely and isolated, which weighs a lot on him. He’s also unable to process his emotions in a healthy way, he bottles up and denies his feelings and ends up lashing out at people. Once again, England’s struggles aren’t bad enough to prevent him from going on with his normal life, but they make an impact. He has a pessimistic overview of everything and always sees a problem behind each corner, it’s very hard for him to be happy and satisfied.

As for France… with his melancholic personality, France actually is the character I can see suffering from minor depressive episodes when he finds himself in particularly bad spots. He does his best not to let this win over him, but there are moments he truly sees everything bleak and experiences nothing but despair. It’s particularly bad if he’s alone, and this is partly why France’s almost unable to stay without anybody. His constant need to be surrounded by people also partially stems from the fact he’s an extrovert and likes company, but he does tend to carry it a bit too far. His need to be liked by everybody can also cross the boundary of unhealthy. France wants to believe in himself and he tries to convince himself that he has a healthy self-esteem, but deep down, he has a lot of insecurities he doesn’t want to deal with. People not liking him always make those seeds of self-doubt resurface, he can’t shrug it off so easily. Aside from the first one, however, the others are fairly minor issues. Compared to many others, France is a fairly well-adjusted individual. And I think that the fact he doesn’t deny his emotions but instead deals with them plays a big part in this.

I think America is decently well-adjusted as well. He’s such an optimistic character, always able to find a positive spin in everything and focus on the opportunities each situation gives him instead of the drawbacks… if anything, I would say that his main problem is that his self-confidence is a bit too high and he’s too self-centred, but neither reach truly worrisome levels. America does have some issues, though. I’m thinking about attachment issues, in particular. America feels lonely and unappreciated, which makes him latch very tightly to people he’s close to. Moreover, due to what happened with England and Canada, part of him is afraid people are going to leave him so he turns possessive and clingy to avoid it. He also carries protectiveness to an annoying level. He backs off and apologizes if somebody makes him notice his wrong behaviour, though.

Now, I want to address another thing about America as this is a very widespread headcanon: I’m firmly convinced America doesn’t have an eating disorder in canon. First of all, I don’t think America has the right mindset for it. An eating disorder isn’t only an issue of body image, but a manifestation of deeper insecurities America has never displayed to such extents. Yes, it’s true that he tried many diets (without ever being able to commit to one). However, America’s wish to lose weight wasn’t tied to body image issues, but to health concerns. At a point, America realized he ‘weighed too much’. I have no trouble believing he could be at least slightly overweight according to the BMI: he isn’t slight-boned – which means he will always be more on the higher side of the BMI – and he has very developed muscles, which weigh a lot more than fat. In fact, many athletes would be classified as overweight if this weren’t taken into account. However, America wasn’t aware of that and he just thought he was overweight. Which does pose health concerns. America has never wanted to be thinner to look better, he just wanted to lose weight to be healthier. I’m so sure of this because it was explicitly stated in the manga. [x]

Had it been an eating disorder, America wouldn’t have stopped dieting once he had realized his weight wasn’t actually unhealthy. It isn’t so simple. But he did, which means the entire problem was rooted in a concern for his health, not a body image issue.

—

Since I envision the mental health struggles more tied to the characters’ personalities than historical events, I generally would headcanon them being the same in a human AU as well. Of course, the backstory of each character – their formative years, in particular – should be tailored to justify those struggles.

I have already talked about how picture things for Francis [x] and Matthew [x].

In Arthur’s case, I imagine him having a hard childhood and growing up in a quite dysfunctional family. Whether his parents mean it or not (maybe, because there’s a single parent with four children), Arthur ends up being often brushed aside and growing up without the support he would need. (If not with outright scorned and looked down upon by emotionally and verbally abusive parents.)

As for Alfred, I can picture his attachment issues coming from him having lived through the loss of an important person in his childhood (or also missing a parent, maybe). He never completely processes it, and whether he realizes it or not, this makes him more afraid than what would be normal of losing the other people he cares for.

#hetalia #hetalia headcanon #aph canada #aph america #aph france #aph england #feyna's headcanon #feyna talks about hetalia #face family #anonymous #feyna answers #thanks for stopping by! #still without my laptop :( #but turns out I actually had backed up the file with my references #so I could write this

[vernonfielding]

Life Writes Its Own Stories

EPILOGUE (AO3)

AN: There is discussion of symptoms of post-traumatic stress in this epilogue. It's nothing too dramatic, I don't think, but I wanted to note it for anyone who is sensitive to the topic. Please take care of yourselves, readers.

Jake was right – the ceremony was no New York Public Library gala. The room was decorated with wilted streamers and a few drooping mylar balloons, and it had a stale high-school cafeteria aroma. All of the appetizers plus the sparkling cider – which was definitely not Champagne – were an unappealing room temperature. The metal folding chairs were stiff and unforgiving, and Amy’s butt was falling asleep.

But as she sat in the front row among the cops and politicians who made up the bulk of the audience, as she watched Jake stand square-shouldered in his dress blues – as the commissioner thanked him for his bravery and hung the Medal of Honor over his chest – Amy blinked back tears and thought: This is exactly right.

An elbow nudged her gently, and Amy looked down to find a tissue pushed discreetly into her hand. She glanced to her right and caught Melanie’s eye.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Melanie whispered, quickly brushing a stray tear from the corner of her own eye.

Amy looked back at the stage, where Rosa was now getting her medal, and she saw the barely-there smirk on Jake’s face as he caught her eye.

“I think they’re onto us anyway,” she muttered to Melanie, and they both laughed under their breath and dabbed at their eyes.

+++

The weeks after they’d been kidnapped had been rough.

It started a day or two after she’d gone back to work. At first Amy noticed that she startled easily. Car alarms, the bang of a door slamming shut, the thud of a stack of newspapers dropped on a newsroom desk – any loud, sudden noise made her heart race and her breath catch in her chest. She thought it was lack of sleep or stress about work, then Charles came up behind her one day at the copy machine and she was so surprised – so scared – that she elbowed him in the gut and very nearly stomped on his hand when he fell to his knees. Terry took her aside after that and gently suggested she take some time off. Later he slid a business card into her hand and said it was his own therapist, and Amy should make an appointment.

She dismissed his concerns at first, but then she called in sick two days in a row when it was too cold to walk and the thought of getting on the subway, surrounded by the noisy chaos of too many strangers packed into a too-small space, sent her into a panic. So she called the therapist, and after one nerve-racking visit she was diagnosed with acute stress disorder.

Though Amy knew it wasn’t logical she felt instantly, deeply ashamed. She told herself that she couldn’t be traumatized, that she’d come through it all fine, no injuries, barely even a bruise. So she’d been scared for a few hours – they’d been held in a penthouse suite the whole time, lounging on a king-sized bed with silk sheets and embroidered throw pillows.

But she couldn’t stop feeling scared, and sometimes she couldn’t stop crying, and sometimes she felt so angry that her blood pulsed in her temples and her neck. The worst was when she was overwhelmed or overstimulated and seemed to float out of her own body, like the real world was slipping away while she stood by, cotton-headed and paralyzed. Her therapist called it dissociation. She said it was normal. It made Amy feel like she was losing her mind.

Jake figured out pretty quickly what was going on, and he told her it was understandable that she had post traumatic stress, that he’d been there too, in the past. He was gentle with her and he validated every one of her roller coaster emotions and he didn’t judge her or patronize her. And when she threw him out of her apartment one night because she fucking needed to be alone, she texted him an hour later and he was at her door instantly, because he’d stayed in the hallway the whole time, waiting for her to come back to him.

After that they talked about trust some more, because it always seemed to come back to trust between them. Amy realized she needed to trust that she could lean on Jake, that he wasn’t going to break and neither was she if she let him take care of her sometimes. And Jake realized he needed to trust Amy when she said it was time to handle things on her own. Amy knew she’d gotten the easier deal, because she couldn’t imagine watching Jake hurt and letting him go.

But it had been eight weeks since the Vulture. Amy could take the subway to work again. She didn’t jump out of her skin every time a taxi honked or Gina suddenly swore at someone on the phone. She still sometimes cried in the shower for no obvious reason, but she hadn’t yelled at Jake since that one night.

And Jake – he was so good. They were great.

+++

Jake and Rosa were swarmed by reporters as they walked off the stage after the ceremony. Normally this kind of commendation wouldn’t get any media attention, but the Vulture story was still huge, and now every local publication was present. Amy spotted Hitchcock in the fray – he was pretty much the only person on the Bulletin staff without any ties to Jake, at this point – and also Adrian Pimento, their new photographer. Pimento was a talented shooter but had a tendency to go rogue on his assignments. Amy avoided working with him.

Amy and Melanie watched with amusement as their significant others braved the throngs, and Amy couldn’t help the flush of pride at how Jake handled himself. She’d drilled him over the weekend on how to handle the press, and the practice seemed to be paying off. She could read the signs of stress in the fine lines between his eyebrows and around his mouth, but to a casual observer he would look courteous and professional. Rosa, on the other hand, was standing just behind his shoulder and scowling. Amy couldn’t hear what either of them was saying, but every now and then she saw Rosa frown even more deeply and respond with a “no comment” Amy could read from across the room.

When they finally broke free, they bee-lined for Amy and Melanie and both couples exchanged the briefest of cheek-kisses before everyone seemed to deflate with relief and the simple joy of being on their own in the crowd.

“I still can’t believe we got the same medal when only one of us was kidnapped and stabbed,” Jake said to Rosa, who smirked at him.

“Not my fault you got your ass captured,” Rosa said, and turned to Amy. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Amy said. “But if anyone should be annoyed, it’s the woman who helped take down the Vulture and got kidnapped and nearly died and isn’t getting any medal at all.”

Everyone laughed and Jake gave her a quick one-armed hug. Melanie said, “I thought there were rumors that the mayor was going to give you some kind of civilian commendation?”

“Yeah, but probably not after that piece on the mayor’s slush fund she wrote last week,” Rosa said.

“Plus, she’d never take a commendation from the mayor,” Jake added. When everyone glanced at him he shrugged and said, “Conflict of interest. Right, babe?”

Amy just beamed at him and said, “You do know me.”

+++

Amy had met Jake’s mom the weekend after the kidnapping, when she had a well-timed lull between breakdowns and Karen came by Jake’s apartment with a bag of frozen meals to get him through the couple of weeks his arm would be in the sling. Jake had met Amy’s dad and the rest of her brothers over Christmas. They both made great first impressions – Amy because Karen was kind and sweet-natured and basically impossible to scare off, and Jake because her family had decided he had saved Amy’s life, despite Jake insisting that it was mostly the other way around.

She’d been exhausted after the holidays, burned out on anxiety and too much family, and they spent New Year’s Eve in her bed, watching old TV blooper reels and favorite SNL sketches on their phones until they both drifted off, well before midnight. And Amy thought if it was true that how one spent the last hours of the old year would be echoed in the new year, she was all right with that.

They mostly stayed holed up in her apartment or Jake’s after that, though they met Rosa and Melanie for drinks more than once. Those two were an odd but charming couple, a sweet-and-sour combination that clearly brought out the best in both of them. Melanie was warm and easy to just be with, even when Amy felt socially exhausted. And Amy found in Rosa a surprising ally as she worked through her issues, because Rosa was an attentive listener and also brutally no-nonsense. Sometimes Amy needed to spiral a little bit, but sometimes she needed someone to shut her down, or to help her put things in perspective.

“I’m just tired of having a panic attack every time the Uber Eats guy buzzes my apartment,” Amy said morosely one night at Shaw’s, when it was just the two of them at a table while Jake and Melanie dueled over darts.

“Yeah, it’s ridiculous,” Rosa said.

Amy froze. She was getting used to Rosa’s bluntness, but there was blunt and then there was insensitive. “I mean, I wouldn’t say I’m ridiculous-”

“Not you,” Rosa said. “Our brains are wired to turn trauma into chronic stress sometimes. It’s dumb. I hate it.”

Amy stared at her, mouth agape, because it wasn’t every day a revelation was dropped in her lap. “Yeah,” she said. “It is dumb.”

+++

Jake slipped Amy’s glass of (flat) sparkling cider from her hand and set it on the tray of a passing waiter. Then he turned and offered her his arm.

“Time to mingle?” he said.

And it was a small gesture, but it made Amy’s heart rush to loop her hand over his bicep and let him escort her toward the crowd. Rosa rolled her eyes as he led her away, but Melanie gave them a playful wave and mouthed “good luck.”

“So now I’m just arm candy?” Amy said to him.

“Always. Wait- never,” Jake said. “Is that a trick question?” She could hear the smirk in his voice.

They hadn’t actually discussed that this would be their first big outing as a couple. Somehow, despite all the press around the Vulture and countless interviews with Amy (and a few with Jake) and multiple in-depth stories about the night they’d been kidnapped, the fact that they were dating had not been made public. Amy wasn’t sure why anyone who wasn’t family or friend would care at this point. Still, given their history, she’d expected Jake to be nervous about coming out.

But his only reservations in the days leading up to the ceremony had been for her sake – making sure that she was going to be okay with all of the people and the socializing. They’d walked into the venue hand-in-hand, Jake in his crisp uniform and Amy in a wintery-green day dress. She’d felt a flutter of nerves in her belly, but only for a moment, and he’d pressed her fingers as if he sensed she needed the reassurance. They’d met up with Rosa and Melanie inside, and Jake had found Amy a seat and he’d stayed by her side until the ceremony began, and she wasn’t sure if his attentiveness was out of concern or affection or both, but she appreciated it all the same.

Now, as they moved through the celebratory mob, Jake was enthusiastic with his introductions. Amy met men and women he’d been in the academy with, and former partners and mentors from before his time under the Vulture. Everyone seemed to have a story about Jake to share – some prank he’d pulled, an amazing solve he’d made, how if anyone was going to take down a captain they would have put their money on Peralta. There were also an alarming number of stories about horrible bouts of food poisoning, and Jake apparently had a bizarre tendency to accidentally pants people. She thought that was some kind of running joke until she caught Jake blushing furiously after the third story.

After a while they found themselves surrounded by a few high-ranking officers, stumbling over each other to congratulate Jake and make some comment about how they’d always had doubts about Pembroke, which was as hilarious as it was insulting because men like the Vulture didn’t climb the NYPD ladder without support from the top. Jake introduced her to his new captain too, a man who insisted she call him CJ, and who seemed pleasant enough; both Jake and Rosa had said the jury was still out.

Amy was glancing around the cluster of brass, thinking how odd it was to be standing with so many gray-haired white men who looked the same, when she noticed a faint buzzing in her ears and a tingling in her fingertips – signs of an impending dissociation. She fought it for a moment, impulsively chastising herself for becoming overwhelmed in such a non-threatening place, but then she reminded herself that it wasn’t her fault and she wasn’t alone. She was still holding onto Jake, and she squeezed his arm slightly. He glanced at her and must have recognized something on her face, because he interrupted his captain, and with barely an “excuse us, sir” he led Amy away.

He took her to a quiet corner of the room, where they could watch the clutches of people talking and laughing, wait staff slipping in between to pick up used glasses and plates. A DJ set up near the stage was playing something Amy couldn’t quite make out. Jake slipped behind her and tucked his arms around her waist, holding her to him. She felt him kiss the top of her head, felt his thumbs rub over her knuckles, felt his chest solid and reassuring against her back. She leaned into him and breathed through the anxiety. Keeping herself in the moment. Letting him ground her.

When she felt like herself again, she closed her hands over his briefly, and turned in his arms to face him. He gave her a careful smile, and she nodded back at him that she was okay – because she was, truly.

She let her eyes fall to the star-shaped medal on his chest, and she reached for it, holding it in the palm of her hand. It was heavier than she’d expected, and cool to the touch. She ran a thumb over the points of the star.

“You realize,” she said, now tracing the engraving with the tip of a finger, “I’m going to need you to wear this all night.”

She looked up at him with a coy smile, expecting a flirty smirk in return, or a whispered suggestion of what else the night would bring. Instead, the smile he gave her was soft, even wistful, and the warmth in his eyes made her stomach do a slow flip.

“You realize that I’m in love with you,” he said.

Amy felt her cheeks flush, felt the warm rush of tears in her eyes, and she nodded, because yes, she did know. She’d felt the same for a while now, and maybe it had been petty of her but she’d needed him to say it first. She thought maybe they’d both needed that.

“I know,” she said, when she thought she could trust her voice. She brought her hands up around his neck, felt his hands at her back, pulling her a little closer. “I love you too.”

The kiss was just a brush of their lips, but also a promise.

+++

Rosa and Melanie came up not long after, Rosa complaining that she was straight-up insulted that there was no open bar. “Can we leave for your mom’s now?” she said.

Jake pulled out his phone and glanced at the time, and he noted that they would be a little early to the after-party that Karen was hosting but she wouldn’t mind.

“Thank god, I’m starving,” Melanie said, ditching a plate filled with half-eaten appetizers on a side table as the four of them headed toward an exit near the stage.

“We might want to stop somewhere for a snack first – Charles arranged the catering,” Rosa said.

“Smart,” Melanie said.

They disappeared into the lobby, Amy and Jake right behind, but Jake paused when someone called out his name. Amy turned, and it took her a moment to recognize the man jogging toward them, an anxious smile on his face – he ran a new Brooklyn newsletter-slash-gossip blog. She’d seen him at a few recent press events. She thought his name was Teddy.

“Can I get a photo?” maybe-Teddy said, addressing both of them.

Amy opened her mouth to say no, but Jake was faster, and he said, “Sure” and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her to his side. Teddy grinned and lifted his phone, and just before he snapped the picture Jake turned and planted a kiss on the corner of Amy’s mouth. It was sweet and it was chaste but it was also a kiss, and Amy blinked in surprise as Jake pulled away with a sheepish smile.

The photo ran on the top of Teddy’s blog that night. Two days after that, Amy found a printed-out copy of it on Jake’s refrigerator, under a Donatello magnet. The image was slightly out of focus, and the quality of the black-and-white print was not good, but it was impossible not to see the warmth and the love between them. Jake’s eyes were closed, his lips curved into the hint of a smile against her mouth, and Amy looked like she was a breath away from laughing, utterly charmed by her impulsive boyfriend.

“It’s not the first time we made news together,” Jake told her, when Amy asked why he’d put the photo on display. “But it’s the best.”

Amy told him that was the cheesiest thing he’d ever said and she was never going to let him forget it, and he said, “Promise?” And she kissed him.

The photo ended up on Amy’s refrigerator when Jake moved in with her six months later. She laminated it.

And that, officially, is the end. <3

#b99 fic #peraltiago #jake and amy au #newspaper au #life writes its own stories

[winterfairyy]

So had a follow up with my psychiatrist the week after I brought up my very valid and well backed concerns about being on the autism spectrum, and he brushed me off completely. “Even if you are, from what I’ve seen you would be VERY high fuctioning anyway.”

Like wtf. Does he not realize the amount of physical and mental exhaustion I go through daily to suppress every symptom and act like I’m “normal” ??

The hours upon hours I spent in my room at night watching “social etiquette” videos and videos on basic human behaviour and conversations and meticulously studying human body language and social cues because I don’t fucking understand it?

Every social interaction is an act. I don’t know what’s going, it’s all a front, it’s literally acting. If you asked me a question about a social interaction or asked me to role play something, I couldn’t. Because my ability to communicate is based on watching people’s body language and giving them whatever they want in the conversation and playing to whatever they want me to say and what they want to hear. Because that’s the only way I can keep a conversation going. I have to keep it one sided so I’m not expected to genuinely contribute sincere conversation.

Because when I talk about something I’m interested in I’m “going on and on about the same things” and “I sound like a broken record” and “I’m not making any sense and jumping all over the place.”

Like I can’t express emotions because I’m always worried “that’s the wrong way to express this emotion”. I’ve literally googled “how to express X emotion” more times than I can count.

Like I hate my mom but I still rely on her for everything because “what if that’s not normal?” Or “I’m most likely missing something here and I’ll fuck everything up so I need an outside opinion to just tell me what to do”

I can be throwing up, fainting, and having trouble breathing but if even one person says “well I don’t think you need to go to the hospital” or “I wouldn’t go to the hospital for that” and I won’t go. No matter what I think. Because what if I’m missing something and that’s socially unacceptable?

And then stimming. I used to stim all the time. It was the main reason my elementary school teachers started trying to get my mom to look into an autism diagnosis. And then my mom used to shame me for it and say “that’s not what normal people do” so obviously I suppress it now. Which is hella exhausting and stressful.

And overstimulation. Loud noises, flashing lights, more than a few people talking at once, etc etc. Will set me off and I can barely function. It happened at work when I was luckily working stocking and not a till and I had to take my break early and lie and said I had a panic attack because something was beeping loudly in the bakery and I couldn’t handle it. Even though it does that multiple times a day. We went to a show and they had strobe lights and I had a meltdown and had to leave early and my mom called me an embarrassment. Even though no one saw and I left alone and just bussed home so they wouldn’t have to leave.

And talking to my psychiatrist he’s trying to explain every behaviour and issue I told him with a separate diagnosis. Like you can diagnose every single separate symptom as a different mental illness all ya want buddy, but I don’t think my karma is bad enough to be getting the “13 for the price of 1” mental illness blowout sale.

Like all symptoms relate to basic autism symptoms. All my experiences relate to nearly every experience I’ve found from talking to actual people who are diagnosed with autism and forums online. I’ve had multiple teachers suggest it numerous times.

I can’t relate to none of these countless mental illnesses he’s trying to explain each separate symptom with aside from anxiety and anorexia.

I don’t have social anxiety. I don’t have any issues with social interaction. My manager praises me almost daily on my communication and customer service. I can talk down any “Karen” you throw at me. Why? Because I’ve literally trained myself to do it and it’s all an act and I’ve spent YEARS meticulously studying how to react to any social situation you can throw at me. And if a new situation comes along or I don’t know how to react to something, I shut down. I cant function. I can’t hold a conversation. I can’t keep up the act because I haven’t studied that particular situation and if I try and “wing it” aka do what normal humans do, I’ll likely say something wrong or insensitive that I think is right and fine and fuck it up. I don’t fear social interaction. I fear having a situation thrown at me that I haven’t “trained” myself to handle.

I have massive trouble with empathy and relating to other people or “putting myself in their shoes”. Like you could come tell me your parent died and I wouldn’t be able to react and just shut down because I know that that would mean they’re upset. But I can’t comprehend how they feel. Because personally I don’t feel upset so it’s hard for me to feel empathy because Its not making me upset and socially I know they’re upset because when your parent dies obviously you’d be upset, but I just can’t relate and be empathetic because I’m not personally feeling it. And I feel like this is a bad explanation that’s making me out to be really insensitive but idk how else to describe it 😂.

When I was younger it used to be so much worse. Like when I was 14 my grandma died. And I was very close with her. But my response was “yes it’s very sad. And I’m upset”. But no crying. No outwardly sign of being upset. I just kinda shrugged and went Yea it’s sad, now what? And Ive blamed it on the meds I was on for years but am recently realizing after talking to a pharmacist friend that it likely wasn’t the meds as those ones don’t tend to have that effect. And not to that extreme.

Like I stopped taking my anxiety meds that were very effective and needed from above the maximum dose (different rant about my moms abuse through medication) to nothing literally overnight because of having no other explanation for these issues I was facing and no other solution as I couldn’t get help because my mom refused. I went through a week of withdrawals and then have had severe anxiety ever since then. And have had an irrational fear of any medication for anxiety or depression because I’m worried it might make that happen again and have refused 3 different ones from my psychiatrist because of this fear.

But I also realized that when I stopped taking my meds is when I also started meticulously studying human behaviour and social cues and the socially acceptable response to emotions and basic empathy every night and started up the act. So things got “better” because of that. Not because of my stopping taking the medication.

So much has been coming to light lately after conversing with people online and from autism forums and my own research and The one person I thought would be able to actually help me and got my hopes up two weeks ago just brushed me off and told me that even if I was on the spectrum I seem to be high function enough that I shouldn’t even bother looking into a diagnosis” and then trying to diagnose each symptom as a separate mental illness.

#long rant #mental health #autism spectrum #autistic community #autistic questions #anxiety #therapy

[deadmomjokes]

(Normal? 1/2) I just went to a psychiatrist for the first time today. I got a recommendation from a therapist I used to see for a handful of appointments. I tried to be open minded, but I think they were bad at their job? They didn't tell me what the diagnosis was for sure (I could only assume depression/anxiety), and when I brought up concerns with general side effects, they brushed it off saying all things have side effects listed. They didn't even ask for all my symptoms?

(Normal? 2/2) I brought a whole notebook of information per recommendation of my past therapist, but then the psychiatrist never even asked about my family health history or triggers or coping mechanisms Ive tried. I don’t know, I felt like I was just treated like a body and had a set routine she was going through rather than actually hearing me. Am I just being overly anxious about this? Was this normal? Do they not need to know all my symptoms if I think I know what I got???

(Normal, Bonus) I don’t know, sorry for bothering you about this, I’m just super worried and don’t know anyone I can ask if this is normal for these kinds of appointments/treatments. Thank you so much for your time, even if you don’t answer. Have a lovely day

You’re definitely not bothering me at all! This stuff is hard enough to navigate without having a rotten experience like you did. And I do think your experience was terrible. You’re not just being overly anxious, you’re well within your right be frustrated and confused by your experience, and I would certainly find it anxiety provoking, myself!

A psychiatrist should absolutely be interested in both your symptoms and how they are affecting your day-to-day, as well as family history. As my husband explains it, a psychiatrist is primarily a doctor that also knows some psychology. If you went to a doctor experiencing a bunch of symptoms, and with a family history of certain conditions, and they just kind of brushed them aside and sent you straight to pills, it would be bad form. This is no different.

While it’s true that all medications have side effects, even stuff like ibuprofen, a doctor should never dismiss or handwave your concerns, particularly when it’s a psychiatric medication, where the side effects can be more serious and bothersome. She should have spent time talking to you, too, about what her thoughts were and WHY she was prescribing you a medicine in the first place. The fact that you walked out of there with pills and no clearly stated differential diagnosis is concerning to me. Not to say that the medication won’t help, but she should have taken time to talk to you about her thoughts and what the medicine is generally used for. It’s possible that she wasn’t able to make a definitive diagnosis after one appointment, or that she assumed your therapist had more or less diagnosed you already and she was going based on that, but she should have explained it a whole lot better.

It’s possible that if the therapist referred you, they could have sent over their case notes and that’s what the psychiatrist was going off of. She could have seen things like your symptoms and history in the notes, but since the therapist told you to bring a list to your appointment, and you said the therapist was a past therapist, I find that slightly less likely.

Depending on what the medicine is, I’d say it’s almost certain to be for anxiety/depression. Medicines like SSRIs and SNRIs, which are used for anxiety/depression/ptsd are generally considered safe, and so most doctors are comfortable writing prescriptions for those even after just one appointment. I know you’ve probably been doing a ton of research on it already, but since the psych didn’t take the time to talk to you about these meds, I’ll give you a quick (non-professional) rundown. (Handy graphic I did here!)

SSRI stands for Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor. Basically, when anxious/depressed, your brain doesn’t get enough of the serotonin it needs from what you’re producing naturally. Serotonin naturally gets reabsorbed after a certain amount of time anyway, meaning the places its supposed to go are short because the supply is low to begin with, and then your brain keeps sucking it back up before it can get where it needs to go in the quantities it needs to be in. The medicine stops much of the serotonin from being reabsorbed so more of it floats around free and ready for your brain to actually use. It won’t naturally increase the amount you make, but it does increase the amount that’s available, and sometimes having a good, steady, sufficient supply will allow your brain to get back to normal levels of production, because hey, everything’s working great now and we don’t have a nasty feedback loop! That’s why some people can go off their meds after a while and be fine; their brain has fixed the deficit enough to fix the production problem. (If you’re like me, your brain has something wrong with it where it has never produced enough and probably will never until they make a bunch of medical advancements.) SNRIs do the same thing but with both Serotonin and Norepinephrine (Serotonin-Norepinephrine Reuptake Inhibitors).

Generally speaking, the first try for anxiety and depression is an SSRI. If, however, you only have anxiety and not depression, or depression which stems from the constant anxiety, they may try an SNRI, which is specifically for anxiety and things like chronic pain. That’s not to say that SNRIs aren’t helpful for depression, because they are (that serotonin again), but it’s generally for a primary anxiety or pain concern. SNRIs can also sometimes be helpful for people with ADHD, but it’s generally not a first try or used alone.

Some common SSRIs that they start people on are Lexapro, Zoloft, Prozac, and Celexa. they have fewer side effects than most, or are most easily tolerated. Generally it’s things like temporary headache and fatigue (which can be reduced by taking the medicine at night). Common SNRIs are Cymbalta, Pristiq, and Effexor. They tend to have more side effects or more annoying side effects, like nausea, dizziness, and sweating.

Ultimately, only you can decide whether you’re comfortable enough with that doctor’s analysis of the situation in order to start the medication that she prescribed, but it is well within your rights both to go ahead and see, and to find a second opinion. Most insurance allows for a second opinion if you schedule the appointment as such, or you could contact your insurance to find out how they’d handle a second psych appointment with someone other than the first doctor.

Your therapist wouldn’t have agreed to refer you to a psychiatrist if they didn’t think medication might be in your best interest, so the question here may be whether you’re comfortable enough with the analysis of your problems to start this medicine. Unfortunately, side effects with psychiatric medication are relatively common, but not all of them last the whole time you’re taking it or are that serious. Sometimes they can also be predicted by your past health history; for instance, if you’ve ever experienced migraines, you’re more likely to get headaches as a side effect when starting or upping dose on a medication.

I’m sorry you’re in such a sticky and anxiety-provoking situation. That’s a lousy place to be in, especially when you’re already having a rough time. Feel free to ask any more questions you like, to vent, to ask my opinion on the specific medicine (I’ve been on a lot of them, because my brain is garbage and likes to build resistances), or to keep me updated on what you decide to do. Also, I apologize if I’ve misread the situation/your asks, or if my response was totally off the mark for what you were hoping. I’m gonna blame that on baby brain and also switching dosage of my own medicine. (I’m starting the Weird Zone today, so hopefully this response has been coherent cuz I’m not in any position to tell that for myself.)

#asks #anon #mental health #anxiety #medication

[dropyourswordfanfic]

breathin - Peter Parker

part eight - Sweetener Series

Song: breathin - Ariana Grande

Prompt: “just keep breathin”

Summary: you have an anxiety/panic attack when you see Peter/Spider-Man get hurt.

Warnings: angst, cursing, hospitalization

not my gif

It was a casual day, just watching movies and trying to avoid the unavoidable. When out of nowhere you see your boyfriend swinging about outside. The strain on your heart started tightening as you continued to worry for his safety.

Going to your bedroom you snuggle under your bed sheets hoping the world would go away. But it made you more anxious, waiting for the inevitable. And despite your best wishes the inevitable happened anyway. Pretty soon you heard loud noises outside that could only indicate one thing. So you went to your window with your biggest pillow to your chest and watched.

Knowing he was fighting a battle so close to you gave a sense of hope the he wasn’t going to be hurt. Except watching him fight and not just save you from a mugger were different.

“Honey,” your father came into your room, “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you wiped your nose.

Setting down a cup of tea next to you he left the room quietly.

As you gazed out the window, your eyes heavily fell asleep. But your conscience woke you up knowing you wouldn’t want to miss anything in case Peter got hurt. This act made you very heavy. All thoughts consumed you as your boyfriend worked his ass off. Then out of nowhere you see his red and blue suit coming straight for your room. Getting out of the way you jump on your bed breathing faster and faster as you anticipate Spider-Man’s injury.

Crashing into your bedroom Spider-Man hit his head on impact. Window shattering a horrified look spread across your face as you gaze down on your boyfriend, hoping and praying he wasn’t dead.

The foe he was fighting came in behind him looking around the room. Resting his eyes on you a creepy smile spread across his face. Although you honestly couldn’t tell if the villain was a man or a woman.

Peter was still on the floor, so you took it in your own hands to try and be as brave as him. Gently picking up a few big shards of glass you put them in your cup of tea. Planning on throwing the now deadly weapon at the villain stomping on your territory. Except you never had the chance Peter woke up.

“You son of a bitch!” Spider-Man yelled in the villain’s face.

“This is a fight is it not?” they shrugged.

“I don’t fucking care! You are destroying peoples homes,” he got off the floor.

“So,” they moved closer to you making you extremely nervous, “more hostages I can take.” that made you start to hyperventilate.

Peter look to you hand stretched out and said, “Don’t worry, I wont let anything happen to you.” sighing in relief you nodded taking a deep breath.

“He can’t keep his promise’s,” the villain laughed, “he can hardly defeat me.”

That made Spider-Man angry. Webbing his way onto the ceiling, crawling over top of the evil doers head. Spidey dropped down onto their back strangling them until darkness comes over them.

“I WILL NEVER BOW TO YOU SPIDER-MAN!”

“I don’t want you to bow to me, I just want you to stop terrorizing my neighborhood!” Spider-Man struggled with his enemy.

Taking this time to decipher if you should help Spider-Man. Deciding to finally toss your deadly tea at the villain. Making a small sound as to not hurt your beau, he looked up and saw the mug coming toward them and made unique moves so that the murderous villain was getting the blow.

“AH,” the enemy yelled, “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT! IT WAS HOT AND STABBY AT THE SAME TIME!”

“That, my friend,” Spider-Man looked into the eyes of his foe, “was steaming hot tea.” Then the spider continued to web up the limp body to carry it out of your room.

“Wait,” you stopped Peter before he could swing off, “are you going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine, but you should watch your step,” he lifted his mask and gave you a kiss on the cheek. It was at that moment you were proud for always keeping combat boots by your bed. Except now what? Your room was in shambles, you had no idea if your dad was unharmed and Peter was hurt. Not knowing how badly was killing you. The breath in your lungs started to seize. Your eyes got wide as the room spun around you almost falling onto the glass covered floor.

Before you could fall you heard your father, “(Y/N) ARE YOU IN THERE? ARE YOU INJURED?” he heaved, “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET INTO YOUR ROOM THIS WHOLE TIME!”

“Oh my god dad!” you wiped your face from sweat and tears carefully walking over to your door.

Opening the door you saw your dad, uninjured and gave him the biggest hug.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, I never got the chance to drink my tea though,” you started to cry.

“Honey what’s the matter?” he rubbed your back.

“P-Spider-Man worked so hard to save me,” you sniffled, “again,” you mumbled.

“And you want to know if he’s okay,” your dad finished. Nodding and wiping your nose in reply.

Everything started to go dark as the thoughts in your head overwhelmed you. Suddenly you felt yourself being carried up and out somewhere new.........

Waking up in a hospital bed you looked around the room feeling alone, feeling cold. Down at your hand you saw it developed in a larger hand. You only knew one hand it could be, your father’s. He was asleep in a chair next to you.

“What happened,” your throat croaked out.

“Huh, what?” he suddenly woke up.

“What happened?” you questioned.

“You had an anxiety attack,” he sighed heavily, “I carried you to the hospital because I didn’t know what was happening.”

“Oh dad, I could’ve told you that,” you squeezed his hand.

“You knew you were having attacks?” his worried expression made you start to tear up.

“Yes,” you wiped your eyes, “it’s slowly been getting worse since I almost got mugged a few weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At first it was just anxiety. But then one day my chest started getting tight and the room started spinning. I knew what was happening so I thought of a comforting place to help calm me down, I counted slowly trying to take my mind off the situation. Stuff like that. Except they keep getting worse.” you started to breath fast.

“Why didn’t you tell me you almost got mugged?” he shook.

“Spider-Man prevented it. So I didn’t think it was necessary,” you said truthfully.

“Oh sweetie, you alway tell me something like that,” he caressed your hair.

“I was just trying to be as brave as mama,” your breathing hitched.

“Being brave can include asking for help and coming forward when in need,” he leaned in to give you a hug.

Just as the doctor came in, you started to wonder if Peter was okay.

“Well I think you can go back home (Y/N),” the doctor smiled at you.

“Really?” you said almost enthusiastic.

“Yup,” she said looking down at her clipboard, “but I recommend if you feel comfortable you see a therapist.”

“Why?” you looked puzzled.

“Well, I can’t diagnose you with why you had your panic attack,” the doctor sat down next to you, “but a therapist who knows more about this than I do might be able to help you through your stress.”

“I see,” you sighed.

When you walked into your apartment back from the hospital you fell onto the couch face first. Unhappy you groaned into a pillow.

“Honey I think it’s a good idea for you to see a therapist,” your father said closing the door.

“I know it’s just, I think I already know how to relax,” you sat up and sighed.

“You mean other than fixing your room,” he sat down next to you.

“Yes dad other than fixing my room,” you huffed out.

“I’m sorry am I making you feel anxious and stressed?”

“Little bit,” you faked a smile, raised your eyebrows and got up off the couch heading toward you smashed room.

Opening the door you see Peter in his suit crawling around on the ceiling.

“Can I help you?” you crossed your arms.

“(Y/N), oh my god. Are you okay? I’m sorry your room is in ruins,” he rushed over to you.

“Be careful!” you yelled.

“It’s alright, it’s alright i have shoe-like things built into the suit,” he said rubbing your arms.

“Oh thank god,” you breathed heavily in his face.

“So,” Peter widened his eyes, “how are you? Are you hurt?”

“No, are you?”

“A scratch here and there but nothing I can’t handle,” he smiled.

“You’re so strong Peter,” you start crying and shaking.

Peter kept rubbing your arms in comfort keeping you from freaking out. You wrap your arms around him in a hug. Sobbing into his chest.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he backed away from you to make eye contact. “Don’t you dare spend your time worrying about me!”

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled, “you’re my boyfriend and I love you. I will care if you die.”

“I know, I love you so much. That’s why it kills me when my battles keep finding there way to you,” he caressed your cheek.

Breathing suddenly became harder as you thought about if this happened again.

“Oh my god, (Y/N)! Just keep breathin,” Peter said holding you close, “just keep breathin.”

Coming back to life you repeated along with Peter, “Just keep breathin, keep breathin, keep breathin.”

“What just happened?” Peter sounded worried.

“Oh that, that was just a panic attack,” you brushed off, “a lot shorter than my last one thanks to you.” you gave him a hug.

“Last one?” he scratched his head.

“Come on, I’ll tell you all about it,” you nodded towards the living area.

“Um, can I change first?”

“If you insist,” walking out to the living area you waited for him to join you.

Joining you, you talked into the night about how you had been feeling. Peter had been more than supportive and concerned at the same time. Telling you it was all right if you just needed a break. You found your therapist. But your therapist was your friend, not your boyfriend. How on Earth were you going to tell him? You loved him so much, both ways.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: wow this part was hard to write for me. but i am so proud of it! i think it’s also one of the longest pieces i’ve written so far :) anyway part ten of Sweetener Series coming soon!!!!!!!!! and a little something special tomorrow because tomorrow is October 1st :)

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #spiderman #tony stark #iron man #dropyourswordfanfic #sweetener #breathin #sweetener series #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #marvel #mcu #soulmate #soulmate au

[letswritefanfiction]

Self-Medication

A Kimi no Na wa/Your Name oneshot

Word count: 13K.

Green Tea

“So, what brings you here today?”

They’d already covered the simple stuff. Name, pleasantries, basic info. This Ueda ishi didn’t look how Mitsuha had imagined that a therapist would; her black hair was loose and her clothes were somewhat casual. Perhaps a bit bright for her age, which looked to be forty, pushing fifty. But, apparently, with only a half-hour to meet, she liked to get to work quickly.

Mitsuha quit trying to analyze Ueda ishi’s look and instead focused on the familiar scent of the freshly brewed green tea warming her hands, knowing that it was there to give her comfort and provide a homey atmosphere while she tried to formulate the best answer that she could provide.

“My friends suggested that I try speaking to a therapist,” Mitsuha admitted. “Since this is a free service that the University provides, I figured what’s the harm?”

The woman was looking at her with an implacable expression. Mitsuha knew that she was comparatively easy to read. Her whole body was tense, the epicenter being where she was hunched over her tea and clutching it like someone was trying to steal it. It was like she was aiming to make herself small enough for Ueda ishi to look right past her. She tried sitting up a little straighter.

“Are your friends concerned for you?”

Mitsuha blew on her tea a bit. “I’m not sure I’d say that they’re concerned but…maybe a little worried that I’m not happy.”

A touch of amusement warmed Ueda ishi’s expression. “So, concerned for your happiness?”

Mitsuha blushed. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“What kinds of things have they said?”

A daring sip of tea made Mitsuha’s lips and tongue tingle. She hid her face in the white cup as she said, “They think that I might have depression or, um, PTSD.”

Ueda ishi’s eyebrows rose as she wrote something down in her notebook. “Oh, really? Why’s that?”

Really, it was because Sayaka had decided to go and become a school counselor. When they’d all moved to Tokyo, their respective high schools had all set them up with a session of crisis counseling in case of emotional trauma. Mitsuha had found it uncomfortable—even more so than she did now—as she’d never been in that kind of situation before. Tessie, at the time, had been on her side as well. But Sayaka had loved it; it was how she had learned that she had anxiety. Now she wanted to be able to do the same for others.

And Mitsuha was her next project.

Sayaka had already been working for a few years and had volunteered back when she’d been in university. So it had taken her a good six years before she started going about diagnosing her friends. Mitsuha figured it was because Tessie and Sayaka had started dating. Now that they were all happy, they were hell-bent on getting Mitsuha out of her fabled funk.

Honestly, she wanted to as well. Not because she felt she was actually depressed, but because she desired answers. “Once in a while, when I wake up, I find myself crying. I can never recall the dream I must have had. We call them my ‘lost days’.”

“Lost days?”

Sayaka had coined that term. Mitsuha thought that it was an exaggeration, but she went along with it nevertheless. “Yes. The sensation that I’ve lost something lingers for a long time after I wake up. It affects my whole day,” Mitsuha admitted. “I manage to go to work, complete all of my tasks, but something feels missing. It possesses me.”

“Well, Miyamizu, I will say that that description is consistent with symptoms of depression,” Ueda ishi said as she brushed some of her gray-streaked hair back. Though, that isn’t to say that you necessarily have depression. But let’s go back. You say that you wake up crying?”

Mitsuha nodded. “It’s different from when I usually cry. Tears simply spill from my eyes. And it only seems to happen in the mornings.”

“And you suspect that it comes from dreams?”

“What else could it be?”

“You said that your friends have mentioned PTSD in addition to depression. Perhaps it could be the feelings of a repressed memory?”

Mitsuha frowned. To some degree, she had understood when Tessie and Sayaka had said that she might have depression. Mitsuha thought of herself as a generally positive person, but those lost days…well, they were suspicious. Mitsuha knew that they weren’t normal. But over the years, she’d grown used to them.

PTSD, though…Mitsuha was fairly certain that no one would suggest them unless they knew what Tessie and Sayaka did.

“I’ve never experienced anything particularly awful in my life,” Mitsuha said. “I don’t know what I could possibly be repressing.”

“Nothing from your youth? Perhaps something a little more out of reach than recent history? It could be something hard to admit.”

Something hard to admit…

Ueda ishi was looking at Mitsuha like she could see the truth hidden right behind her face. And Mitsuha knew that the longer she didn’t say it, the more suspicious of it Ueda ishi would be.

“Well, I don’t think that this is the cause of my problems, but I’m sure of why the idea of PTSD occurred to my friends.”

A smile grew on Ueda ishi’s face, like she felt as though they’d accomplished a minor breakthrough. “What’s that?”

Mitsuha looked in her teacup of yellow liquid, watching it swirl around as she rocked the cup in a slight circle. She would catch bits of her reflection in the tiny whirlpool and then they’d roll right past her.

“Well, seven years ago…”

Chocolate Pie

“Mitsuha, over here!”

Mitsuha’s head whipped in the direction of Tessie’s familiar voice as he waved her over to the stools he and Sayaka were perched on. Back in the day, Sayaka would have been embarrassed by Tessie shouting over the heads of a dozen other patrons in a café, but now she was just shaking her head to hide the fond smile on her face.

Then again, back in the day they never would have been at a café in the first place.

“Hi, guys,” Mitsuha said warmly as she took her sweater off and placed it on her lap. Tokyo was fairly mild come late April, but it was still chilly enough at night to warrant layers. “Did you order yet?”

“No, we were waiting for you,” Sayaka said as she handed Mitsuha a menu. “We couldn’t deny you the great pleasure of ordering your own dessert.”

Going out and ordering the fattiest, most saccharine foods they could was an awfully bad habit the three of them had picked up as soon as they’d moved to Tokyo. For their first year or two they had and sampled the local cafés whenever they could afford it. The practice was bad for their wallets and their waistlines—especially Mitsuha’s. Sayaka had filled out a little bit, but in the good way. And Tessie didn’t seem to indulge as much as the girls did, not to mention all the exercise he did—but it was too divine to skip.

Fortunately, by that point they had decided on a few favorites that they frequented. This one wasn’t Mitsuha’s personal favorite—hers was a little out of everyone’s price ranges—but they had really good pie, which Mitsuha was going to order the second the waiter appeared.

She didn’t have to wait long. Mitsuha gleefully ordered her chocolate pie and a coffee. She saw Tessie shaking his head at how obviously excited she was, but she didn’t care. This was, without a doubt, her favorite pastime.

“So, Mitsuha,” Sayaka smiled conspiratorially, “how’s therapy going?”

“Oh, Saya—Mitsuha, you don’t have to answer that.”

“Of course she doesn’t have to, but I thought I’d ask my friend a question about her life—”

“Just because you enjoy talking about therapy doesn’t mean that everyone’s going to be comfortable with it.”

Mitsuha couldn’t help but smile as her friends devolved into a full-on argument. They seemed to fight more after being together over a year than when they’d just been friends. Luckily, it always seemed to be good-natured. In fact, Mitsuha really thought that it showed their love for each other. So, Mitsuha sat back and mindlessly blotted off her lipstick in preparation for the pie that certainly had priority over makeup. Sayaka was getting through with blowing a raspberry before Mitsuha finally bothered interrupting.

“Thanks, Tessie, but it’s okay, really.” Her two friends calmed down and Sayaka shot Tessie a gratified expression. “Therapy is fine. In the last couple of sessions we’ve just talked about Itomori and my parents.”

“Do you feel like you’ve made any progress?”

A slight bit of hope was shining off Sayaka’s face. Some people’s faces hardened with time, becoming cold and untrusting. But Sayaka never seemed to outgrow the glimmers of naïveté that had always shone in her eyes. And it made Mitsuha so want to bring a smile to her face with good news.

“Well, I mean, it’s nice to talk about these things with someone. Working through the family stuff was, uh, nice. Um, it’s possible that I am depressed, but if so, she says that I handle it well. Uh,” she looked at Sayaka’s expectant face, “and that’s it. So far.”

She finished with a deflated shrug, happy when the waiter returned with a pot of coffee so that she could focus on that instead of Sayaka’s assured disappointment. She reached for some sugar to stir in. Coffee was always too bitter for her, but it was even more pronounced when it was accompanied with something really sweet. Like pie.

“So are you gonna keep going?”

Again, Sayaka was looking oh so hopeful while Tessie sat back disinterestedly, trying to cool down his coffee. At least, he looked disinterested, but Mitsuha caught him arching an eyebrow in her direction for just a moment before his eyes flitted back to his drink.

“Of course I’m going to keep going. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you just don’t sound like you’re getting that much out of it.”

Mitsuha shrugged, not sure what she was supposed to say. “I mean, I’m not sure that I should be going in looking for answers. I’m not sure that there’s any specific reason why I feel the way that I feel. But it’s nice to have someone to talk to and add some insight. Plus,” she raised her mug as if in a toast, “it’s free.”

Tessie came to life as he raised his mug too. “Here, here!”

“Oh, good!” Sayaka cheered, livening instantly. “You know, I think that everyone should go to therapy on occasion whether something’s wrong or not.”

“We know,” Tessie groaned, rolling his eyes and sharing a look with Mitsuha.

Mitsuha laughed, trying to hide it behind her hand so Sayaka wouldn’t pout. Sayaka had said repeatedly that if Tessie ever proposed—and Mitsuha thought that he was putting it off just because of this—they would have to go to pre-marriage counseling.

The waiter was their saving grace at that moment, arriving with everyone’s wishes for the day, topped off with whipped cream. Mitsuha felt her own eyes glittering as her heart swelled with the kind of love that humans should only have for other people and not chocolate pie. As she lifted that first sweet morsel to her mouth, and she felt her lips puckering as she salivated at the sweetness, she wondered if it was possible for her to be depressed when she could get such joy from such simple pleasures.

Retail Therapy

University was kicking Mitsuha’s butt. She’d been so jealous of Tessie and Sayaka because they’d been able to breeze through university, like most students. But medical school was harder. It was without a doubt the most masochistic thing you could choose to do with your time after high school. Somewhere along the way she’d grown to look forward to her half-hour sessions, because they were a break in which she was fully allowed to not focus on finishing up her—hopefully—last year of school.

They had grown more comfortable over time. She’d had about a half-dozen of them and she no longer hid behind her mug, but rather just enjoyed the familiar tea. And Ueda ishi was growing to feel more like a friend than someone paid to listen to her issues. Especially since Mitsuha wasn’t doing the paying.

Mitsuha walked into the office at sat down, the pleather chair not nearly as comfortable in late-June as it had been in early-April. She was dressed in a short pink skirt and her legs were warm from being outside, so they instantly sealed themselves to the chair, promising to hurt when she ripped them up.

“Hello, Miyamizu,” Ueda ishi greeted as she set some hot water to boil. “How are you doing today?”

“I’m good; how are you?”

“Just fine, thanks.” Ueda ishi sat down in her chair and crossed her legs at the ankles, brushing down her knee-length skirt automatically. “And how was the rest of your week?”

“Uneventful, I suppose. Just work and school, mostly.”

“Still no lost days?”

“No.”

The electric kettle began to bubble and Ueda ishi stood up to pour the water. “No strange dreams?”

“None that I can recall.”

“None that you can recall…” Ueda ishi handed Mitsuha her saucer, which was happily accepted, before returning to her seat. “I find that dreams vanish very quickly after waking. The only way to catch them is to write them down immediately. I suggest that you keep a notebook and pen by your bed so that you can record what you remember. Even the slightest detail like an image or an emotion.”

Mitsuha nodded. “I can do that.”

Mitsuha went out that afternoon, intent on following Ueda ishi’s instructions. The fact that the instructions were fun was just a perk. Notebooks and stationary were beautiful and always fun to look at. Plus, it was just a little bit of indulgence without being as expensive as, say, buying a new dress or some shoes.

After some time absently browsing, she settled on a navy blue diary with shiny golden stars and a honey-colored moon on the cover. A few more weeks passed before Mitsuha could make use of it.

She woke up that morning with her knees up close to her chest and her pillow damp, as though she’d been crying for a while. She lay there for a moment, letting the tears dribble down her nose before she remembered that she was supposed to write down what had happened. She picked up the shiny new notebook and pen and realized that nothing was in her head. It felt completely empty, save for that tugging feeling of longing that she’d grown so familiar with over the last seven years.

All she could place on the page were the date and the last of her tears.

“Wow. And here I thought you were faking.”

Mitsuha nearly spit out her tea. “What?”

Ueda ishi laughed as Mitsuha tried to collect herself and keep from coughing up a lung. “I’m just kidding. I’m just surprised that we had to wait three months for one of these infamous days of yours.”

“I’m sure I said that they were only once in a while,” Mitsuha rasped. She cleared her throat and wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Sometimes they’re more frequent, sometimes they’re not for months.”

“I suppose you did say that,” Ueda ishi agreed. “Did you manage to recall a dream from this particular bout?”

Mitsuha shook her head. She hadn’t even bothered bringing her dream journal, since she hadn’t managed to put anything of substance in it. “No, nothing. I just woke up crying. As though I had been crying for a while.”

“And the lingering feeling you described…”

“Yes. I felt lost all day. I mean, even now, it still remains. Just not as strongly.”

She knew that the feeling would continue to ebb until the next dream. But it never went away entirely. Sometimes she felt that she had gotten quite good at overlooking it, but today, days after the dream, she was certain that it was still wringing her heart.

Tart

It was getting hot.

August in the city was not fun. At least out in the country there was plenty of tree cover, and grass to absorb the heat instead of buildings and cement that simply radiated it. Not to mention the promise of a huge lake that Mitsuha and her friends had loved splashing about in as kids.

No, August in the city was something else. Mitsuha had been dreaming her whole walk to the café of all of the frozen or iced drinks she could freeze herself with.

She’d finally decided on a frappuccino and a small fruit tart á la mode.

Mitsuha was absently sipping on the drink, trying to enjoy how cold it was before the air conditioning in the café made her regret it. She’d tuned out Tessie and Sayaka’s bickering; she didn’t even know if she’d done so on purpose or not.

“Mitsuha,” Tessie said, obviously not for the first time.

“Huh?” Mitsuha said, all but spitting her straw out of her mouth as she did so. “Sorry, what?”

“You just seem awfully quiet today,” Tessie replied gently.

“Oh.” Mitsuha supposed he was right. She’d been quiet all day. Ever since her last therapy session, actually. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?” Sayaka asked.

“I just…” Mitsuha paused, trying to figure out how to explain it. Maybe a question would work better. “Do you remember much about the comet?”

“The one that hit Itomori?” Tessie asked.

“No, the other one,” Sayaka jibbed sarcastically.

Tessie hardly acknowledged the comment, answering, “Yes, of course. How could we forget?”

“Do you remember how it was that we all ended up safe?”

“Of course,” Sayaka started. “There was an emergency dri…” Sayaka trailed off, eyes narrowing as a strange expression flickered in Mitsuha’s face. “That’s not right, is it?”

“Tessie?”

“Well, that’s definitely what was on all the news sites,” Tessie affirmed. “But why would your dad schedule a drill during the spring festival? That was that day, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Mitsuha,” Sayaka interrupted. “What brings this all about?”

Mitsuha stabbed at her fruit tart, the ice cream finally at the optimal level of meltiness to start eating. “We circled around to Itomori in my sessions again. You know we’ve usually just talked about what happened after, because that’s when any, you know, psychological unrest would occur. But this time we were talking about how things were right before and I hardly remember.”

“Well, that’s not crazy,” Tessie reasoned. “It was seven years ago. Of course there’ll be gaps.”

“But I remember what happened after really well!”

“Sure. Because that was a time where you were going through a lot of new experiences.”

He had a point there. “Well, I also remember things that happened, like, ten years ago really well!” Somehow her argument sounded less convincing when she was saying it around a mouthful of glazed fruit and flakey crust.

“Only important or interesting experiences, though,” Tessie insisted. “Things were really ordinary before the comet. But I’m sure you remember the stand-outs still. Like, do you remember doing the ritual that year? That was only a few weeks before the comet, right?”

Mitsuha cringed, the food in her mouth suddenly feeling uncomfortable as she remembered the sensation of having to spit it out in front of a few dozen people. She swallowed heavily.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Sayaka—who had been stealing sips of Tessie’s drink while he was arguing with Mitsuha—piped up, saying, “Let’s go back for a second. If you’re wondering what happened before the comet, why not ask your dad? Certainly he’d remember if it was a drill or not.”

“That,” Mitsuha started slowly, “is not a bad idea.”

With a smug expression on her face, Sayaka shrugged happily. “What can I say? I’m full of good ideas. Now enjoy your ice cream before it melts too much. You know these places frown upon you licking the plate.”

Mitsuha blushed.

Then, only to add insult to injury: “Which we all know from experience,” Tessie added.

Mitsuha hid her face behind her bangs as she reached for her drink. “I’ll ask my dad later,” she mumbled.

“Of course it’s normal not to remember everything in one’s life,” Ueda ishi said. “The only way otherwise would be to have an eidetic memory, and that’s little more than a myth of pop culture.”

Mitsuha nodded attentively. The semester was just about over and she wouldn’t be able to go in for session anymore until school started up again in October. So she wanted to make sure that she got all the answers she could before they went on hiatus.

Ueda ishi had been taken aback that Mitsuha had been carrying their last session with her all week. Especially about something that was so ordinary.

“Yes, I get that, I…understand that,” Mitsuha agreed. “But I feel like something’s missing. Like I should remember what happened in that period better.”

“You said you spoke to your friends about this?”

“And my family. No one was able to remember much more than me. Even my dad didn’t remember what happened just before the comet hit.”

Ueda ishi nodded, pressing her fingers to her cheek, making the fine lines around her eyes more pronounced. “Then you’re friends may be very right and there was little significant about the time before the comet hit. As for the day of, it’s possible that those events were overshadowed by the comet, or a surge in stress hormones overwhelmed the short-term memory, which is proven to happen. But again, all of this is perfectly normal.”

“Even the feeling that something’s missing?”

A hum escaped Ueda ishi’s mouth as she picked up her notepad. “That is interesting. You know what it sounds like?”

Mitsuha shook her head.

“It sounds like how you describe your lost days.”

Ueda ishi took a sip of her own tea, which was probably lukewarm by that point, looking over the rim at Mitsuha’s face. She was slightly slack-jawed and, if you looked closely, it seemed like you could see her thoughts flickering behind her eyes.

After a few silent moments, perhaps unnecessarily, Ueda ishi added, “Maybe they’re related.”

Booze

Mitsuha felt a weak buzzing trailing from her purse up its strap and onto her shoulder. She had a lot of things in there to muffle the device and, consequently, make it quite hard for Mitsuha to find. She was moments away from crouching down on the sidewalk and dumping out the contents of her bag when she finally touched the rubberized edge of her case.

“Hello?” she answered quickly, not even sparing a moment to look at the caller ID. She didn’t know how many times it had already rung and she didn’t want it going to voicemail.

“Mitsuha!”

Mitsuha’s eyes widened as she brought the phone a few inches away from her face. “Sayaka, you’re screaming,” she said with a laugh.

“Of course I’m screaming! Tessie proposed!”

“Oh my gosh!” Mitsuha noticed people on the street eying her strangely as the exclamation squealed out off her. “Sayaka! I’m so happy for you! For both of you! I want to know everything!”

“Thank you! So, we’re absolutely going out tonight and you’re coming with, okay?”

“I’m there!”

“Great! I’ll text you the details.”

“Okay!”

Mitsuha hung up the phone and put it back in the danger zone of her purse, a dopey smile on her face the whole time. Honestly, she shouldn’t have been surprised that Tessie had proposed—it had been a long time coming. But she supposed that no one could be fully prepared for something like that until it happened.

Then the smile seemed to sink a little. Slowly, the happy feeling pulling at her cheeks moved down her body, slithering around her heart a few times before landing coldly in her abdomen. It was the same kind of feeling that occurred sometimes when she would watch an American rom-com. The guy would get the girl through some over-handed gesture and some insipid pop song would play. Sometimes she loved those movies. And sometimes they made her…

Well, sad. And lonely.

And that made her feel guilty, and right then and there Mitsuha knew that she was gonna slap on a nice dress when she got home—to feel good about herself—put her braided chord around her neck as a choker—Yotsuha said it looked trendy and sexy—and get rip-roaring drunk.

For her friends. Of course.

Yomogi Dango

“So, here we are.”

“Here we are.”

“How are you feeling?”

Mitsuha looked down into her tea, wishing that it were a mocha or even some boba instead. Perhaps a nice hot chocolate, even though October was still a little warm for such an indulgence. Maybe a frozen hot chocolate? No, it was too cold for that…

“Miyamizu?”

“Oh,” Mitsuha said, slowly looking up to meet Ueda ishi’s kind eyes. “Um…it’s hard to explain.”

“Take your time.”

“Okay.” Mitsuha looked back at her drink. At least it smelled nice. Nothing decadent, but pleasantly familiar. “I guess I feel kind of heavy.”

“Weighed down?”

“Yes. It’s like time is moving slowly, but yet its passing right by me.”

“So, out of your control?”

Mitsuha nodded. “Very out of my control,” she whispered.

“That’s perfectly normal for people about to graduate,” Ueda ishi said. “Do you feel sad?”

A shrug. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure it’s active enough to be sad. It’s closer to nothing than sad.”

“An emptiness, perhaps?”

“A hole,” Mitsuha clarified. “Like there’s a hole inside of my stomach and the wind is just rushing right through it.”

“That’s a little more evocative.” Ueda ishi set her pad aside and leaned forward on her knees. “I’m starting to understand why your friends thought that therapy was for you.”

“It only took six months,” Mitsuha commented with a wry smile.

A chuckle. “Yes. Impressive. It’s interesting to see; this is quite a departure from your usual composition.”

Her friends had said that to her before about her lost days. But they’d also said that she’d seemed different ever since moving to Tokyo. But, in all fairness, a lot was different. It was only natural for her personality to adjust. Both of theirs had too, after all.

But she didn’t need her friends to tell her that she was different on these days. It was obvious from the second she woke up. Tears aside, for the whole day her heart ached. Or longed. For something. On the outside, her speech was slow and expressionless. Her face was expressionless. The effort to fake otherwise felt useless. Still…

“I’m not sure. Sometimes I think that too, but I more think that this is always a part of me and it’s just the bigger part on these days.”

“Interesting observation.”

It quickly became evident that Mitsuha had nothing else to say. She seemed altogether unwilling to speak unless answering a question.

“Miyamizu,” Ueda ishi began again, “before, it was more or less speculation, but now it seems relatively evident that you suffer from some sort of depression.”

Ueda ishi looked for some change of expression on Mitsuha’s face, but there was none. She was looking straight across the room into her eyes—a gesture that not many of her patients shared—but all that was there was dull resignation. As though she’d already known. Or didn’t care.

“There are about eight different kinds of depression distinguished as of right now. There’s overlap between all of them; some sufferers switch from one to another, some even suffer from multiple at the same time, depending on the diagnosis. Judging from what I know of you…”

Mitsuha did her best to listen attentively. She did want to know. After all, that’s why she’d started therapy in the first place. To figure out what was wrong with her.

A combination of Persistent Depressive Disorder and Atypical Depression. Strangely, having a name put to something didn’t make her feel better.

It kind of made her feel worse.

Ueda ishi had encouraged Mitsuha to list simple things that brought her happiness. Since her bouts of severe depression were relatively infrequent, there was a good chance that regimen changes on those days could help.

All Mitsuha knew was that she wanted to eat something sweet. If anything could improve her mood, it would be something that tasted awesome.

Mitsuha’s first impulse was to go to a café and get something smothered in either syrup, whipped cream, or powdered sugar. Or some combination thereof. But she never went to cafés without Sayaka or Tessie unless it was just to grab a cup of coffee. It was awkward to sit and eat alone. Plus, as expensive a habit as it was for the three of them to frequent cafés, it would be even worse for her to augment that by going alone as well.

So she’d probably go home and snack on some of the reserves she had in her cabinet; though she couldn’t decide if that was more sad than eating alone in a café or not.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her nose catching wind of something that piqued her interest.

A food stand.

Mitsuha caught sight of a man in a loose white shirt boiling some yomagi and putting it on a stick with some red bean paste. Well, it wasn’t as syrupy as her insatiable sweet tooth would have liked, but it did taste good.

And even better: it was right there.

Pills

Another lost day a few days later was what really hit hard.

“This has never happened before?”

Mitsuha shook her head despondently.

Sayaka was looking at her with such pity. Mitsuha hated to bring her down when Sayaka was so happily in engagement, but she didn’t have a session that day and she needed to talk to someone.

Well, she could have stayed in bed until she had to go to class, but it hardly seemed like the wise decision.

“Have you thought about medication?”

“No.”

Sayaka absently twisted her engagement ring around. “It’s really helped me. I don’t even want to think about how I’d be today if I hadn’t started with medication.”

Mitsuha managed a small smile. “I know. We were so happy for you.”

“Tessie and I would both be happy if you could get the same kind of thing.”

Mitsuha brushed her bangs out of the way and pressed her cold hands against her eyes. “I guess it’s just hard to admit you need help from something else.”

“I know,” Sayaka said, putting a hand on Mitsuha’s shoulder. “But it’s just a hump you have to get over before you’re on the other side.”

There was silence for a few moments as Mitsuha curled her fingers so that her eyes were uncovered, but her cheeks still rested on the palms of her hands. Her eyes were pulled down a little bit, and Sayaka staggered a bit at just how sad she looked.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Anti-depressants can take a few weeks before you start to notice a difference. It’s also common to have to try a few different anti-depressants before you find one that works for you. Think of it like dating.”

Mitsuha giggled, being in a moderately better mood than she had been in a few days before. “I’m not sure that’s a good metaphor for me personally, but I’ll take it.”

“Good enough for me,” Ueda ishi said as she wrote down the names of a few medications. “These are the ones I recommend in descending order. I can’t prescribe them to you, though; you’ll have to go to your general practitioner for that. Feel free to call if you have any questions before your next session, though.”

“I will, thank you,” Mitsuha replied as she took a picture of the paper on her phone before folding it and putting it in her bag.

“Since you haven’t been making much use out of your dream journal as of yet,” Ueda ishi began, “I suggest that you use it to keep track of your mood once you start the medication to keep track of any changes.”

“That’s a good idea.”

Ueda ishi bowed her head a little. She then leaned back, crossing one leg over the other and putting her hands on the notepad in her lap. “You are a peculiar subject, Miyamizu.”

Mitsuha blushed a little. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, you say you have had two major depressive episodes in the last week and yet today you seem fine. Almost cheerful.”

“That’s been the mystery,” Mitsuha offered with a shrug.

Mitsuha had been searching for diagnosis. Well, not diagnosis precisely, but answers. And if that was in the form of diagnosis, so be it.

When she’d finally gotten that answer, she’d told Sayaka and Tessie. Tessie, for one, hadn’t known how to react, until Mitsuha had been able to bolster the mood enough to convince him it was a good thing. Sayaka was quicker to jump on board, and shortly the three of them were celebrating with some depression dessert.

The excitement and novelty of a name, however, quickly wore off. Suddenly, every time Mitsuha was feeling unproductive or a twinge sad, she wondered if it was normal or if it was depression. If it was depression, than did that give her a good excuse to feel it, or should she be trying to shake it off?

It felt like a cloud constantly around her. A coat that she’d put on and wasn’t able to take off. And she wondered if she was worse for it.

But she was still functioning. She hadn’t had any grand bouts of depression since the last lost day and Ueda ishi said that was victory enough for the moment.

It was December before Mitsuha was able to record anything of substance. Ueda ishi had suggested the possibility of trying a different drug, but Mitsuha had been hesitant. Perhaps it was the uncertainty in starting anti-depressants hitting her a second time, but she hadn’t had any bad days yet and no real negative side effects, so she was worried that a new drug might be worse than this one.

Then, of course, came a day where she woke up in tears. She had no idea what to expect, and was almost a little nervous to see if her medication would make the day any easier or if it was to be as heavy as all the ones before.

When the day was done, she picked up that lovely blue notebook with its honey-colored moon and honey-colored pages and wrote her thoughts.

I usually report ‘lost days’ as weighed down or out of control…mostly like something’s missing. But today I didn’t really feel any of that? Not even like something was missing. Everything was more of a daze. Really, I just didn’t feel much at all. Not emptiness but just…nothing.

I suppose that’s improvement. It felt more like other days.

Sometimes she would catch sight of a random boy and feel a strange sensation. It had always been weird, because she didn’t even have to see their face or anything. The most cursory glance could send an odd awareness pinging through her body. It had been happening since she was a teenager.

Obviously, she was lonely.

She certainly hadn’t dated anyone back in Itomori. About a year back, Sayaka had laughed at the memory of Tessie’s “very obvious crush on her” but that had left Mitsuha stuck feeling like someone had pinched her coronary arteries off just for fun.

She had never noticed. Never ever, ever. But Sayaka—apparently to this day—made fun of him for it. “It’s funny how things ended up, huh?” Sayaka had said.

“Yeah, haha,” Mitsuha had agreed with choked off laughter.

Mitsuha supposed she could only be happy that it wasn’t a source of strain on their relationship.

As for boys in Tokyo…Well, she’d been too busy just trying to survive senior year when she’d first moved. Then there was surviving medical school, which she was still trying to do. Not to mention taking care of her grandmother and sister, and fostering a new relationship with her dad. Plus, she was too busy falling in love with her dream city of Tokyo—and all the cafés—to fall in love with any boys.

So she’d chosen her own path. But as she sat in her sessions talking about it with Ueda ishi, she realized that it was quite a lonely one.

Realizing that fact only served to make her lonelier.

It had been months since she’d passed a boy that made her body begin speaking for itself. Perhaps even over a year. It was an infrequent occurrence, and Mitsuha wondered if her medication would stave of those reminders of loneliness. She hadn’t been longing for male company hardly at all since she’d started the medication. So perhaps it was working?

All Mitsuha knew was that she was happy Ueda ishi had ruled out Seasonal Affective Disorder. Because when she walked outside, it was snowing.

Her grandmother needed some medicine and it wasn’t too long of a walk to the pharmacist. Yotsuha was busy with homework and her dad had work-work, so Mitsuha had volunteered. She hadn’t even considered the possibility of snow.

So she darted back inside, switched into her rain boots and grabbed an umbrella and went on her merry way.

Snow was almost a novelty in Tokyo. Mitsuha had lost her enchantment with it back in Itomori where it snowed with some frequency. There were hardly any fields to play in there, so it only caused sidewalks to become muddy and dangerous because you couldn’t see where the rocks were. If the snow got really high, you couldn’t even see the steps.

Usually snow in Tokyo made Mitsuha feel an itch of longing for Itomori. If they were lucky, it would snow once or twice in January, maybe February. Never in December. When it came upon them, she would watch as the snow fell, but never ever stuck. It always melted on the windows, at her feet, on her skin. The only place it could survive for a moment was in her hair or on her clothes.

This year, she didn’t much bother with it. She was glad that her rain boots were more than enough and that she didn’t need any extra cling on the concrete overpass. No snow, ice, or even puddles to make it slippery. Besides that, it was nothing more than a little change in the scenery.

Then she felt something.

A feeling that she hardly noticed, and then a harsh ache crashed down on her. All at once she knew that it was more than she had felt in a month and she froze, confused. It was a phantom sensation like she’d done something wrong, like she was guilty of something, but she couldn’t remember what. But the guilt lingered on anyway.

She felt compelled to turn around, but she only saw a boy in a suit walking away.

For a moment, she considered how cold he must have been. The snow had probably taken him by surprise too.

And then she wondered why she was even thinking about him in the first place, and she turned back around.

The tears didn’t come until she was almost at the end of the bridge. She wouldn’t have noticed them had it not been for the cold nearly freezing them on her face. She brushed them away with her scarf, confused, but choosing not to linger on it.

Her grandmother was waiting for her.

Mitsuha didn’t know what it was about fireworks. She’d always scrambled to watch them on TV with her parents and her grandmother. Her mother would be urging her to go to bed even though it was obvious she knew it wasn’t going to happen. Grandmother would doubtlessly tell a story about how much younger of a holiday New Year’s was in comparison to the small town celebrations of Itomori. Her dad would be getting out the champagne.

Then Yotsuha had been born and her parents were busier and more tired. Even Grandmother was getting too old to stay up with her. Then her mother had died and her father had left and holidays were never the same.

But watching the fireworks with Tessie and Sayaka was always something that she looked forward to. And she knew that they did as well.

They continued that tradition in Tokyo, finding a fun festival to join and often partying the night away until the new year began to crack on the horizon. Then it was time to go home and entirely sleep through the year’s first day.

This year, though. This year, as Mitsuha watched the fireworks shooting up into the air and splitting in fiery pieces, she was reminded of a comet cracking into fragments in the night sky. She didn’t know if that caused her to lose enchantment in them or gain it tenfold. Because at the same time that she couldn’t stop staring, she had no idea what it was that she was feeling. She only knew one thing.

It was a beautiful view.

Mitsuha could think of very few things—most involving food—that sounded more fun than the prospect of wedding dress shopping. She and Sayaka had dreamed of going to a fancy salon in Tokyo and trying on designer wedding dresses. Nothing in Itomori could even compare to the things they saw on their phones from Tokyo or—God forbid—Europe or America.

And here they were finally doing it.

Well, the salon wasn’t that fancy. Apparently there was a monetary reason why the dresses in Itomori didn’t compare.

After a lot of flip-flopping, Tessie and Sayaka had decided on somewhat of a fusion between a western and Shinto wedding—but with a western dress!—that would take place in Itomori. It was to take place in June, which meant that there was a little less than six months to get the dress. In other words…

It was crunch time.

“What about this one?”

Sayaka stepped out in a large tulle ball gown and Mitsuha couldn’t help but think that Sayaka looked like a large, heavily frosted cake. Not that that was entirely bad…

“Too much?”

Mitsuha smiled gently, wrinkling her nose and nodding her head. “Maybe try an a-line?”

“Coming up,” Sayaka said.

She was having fun. She really was. But maybe she’d built it up too much in her head since they were little girls. Because as much fun as this was, it just…wasn’t as much fun as she’d thought it would be. Or maybe she’d enjoy it more when it was her own wedding. Right now it was just a vicarious sort of fun and that isn’t as fun as one’s own fun, right?

Mitsuha tried to blink herself out of her thought spiral as she looked around at the frothy, bedazzled creations around her. They were beautiful. And they were gonna find the perfect dress for Sayaka. She was swearing that she was gonna lose three pounds before the wedding, but she didn’t need to.

If anyone needed to, it was Mitsuha. Ueda ishi had informed her that emotional eating was a thing and…well…

Well, it was a good thing the pills were making her less emotional.

“How about this one?”

Sayaka ripped open the curtain to her dressing room dramatically, a goofy smile on her face.

Mitsuha couldn’t help but gasp when she took in the dress. And, more importantly, Sayaka in the dress.

“Sayaka, it’s beautiful.”

“It kind of is, isn’t it?”

The dress had cap sleeves made of lace, which trailed most of the way down the skirt, where it tapered off in little tendrils onto light chiffon, hanging loosely all the way to a short train. And with the perfect pair of heels to make Sayaka less of a midget next to Tessie, it was perfect.

Mitsuha took in the joy on Sayaka’s face and was happy. Happy for her friend.

But a little deeper down, she wondered when she was going to be happy like that.

The time had finally come. Her eight years of school had finally culminated to this moment.

While Tessie and Sayaka had been able to goof off the whole time they’d been in university, Mitsuha had studied rigorously, passed truly difficult classes, failed even harder ones, and suffered a few setbacks in the last eight years all to prepare her for this.

If she passed, she’d be able to be a trainee, well on her way to a medical career.

If she failed…well, she supposed she’d just have to take it again next February.

But right now she wasn’t thinking about that. She was fighting to keep her mind focused. It had been so hard to study the past few months, harder than it usually was. But that was just because the stakes were higher.

Mitsuha twisted the braided chord in her hair around a finger as she waited for the tests to be handed out. She’d pulled her hair back the same way she’d done in high school to keep it out of her way. In recent years, she’d tried to get more creative with how she wore it, but she always liked to have it with her. Her grandmother seemed to talk more and more about the importance of musubi as she aged, and Mitsuha thought that maybe touching the chord brought her closer to something…important.

Somehow, when Mitsuha hadn’t been paying attention, a test had landed on her desk, and everyone else’s. And before she knew it…

“Begin.”

“Well, Miyamizu, I suppose this will be our last meeting.”

Mitsuha looked fondly at Ueda ishi. She was sitting cross-legged, weight heavily against her right hip as her left leg absently kicked at the air.

A few months back, Mitsuha had finally gotten up the nerve to pull legs into her chest, putting her feet on the nice pleather chair. She’d looked nervously at Ueda ishi at the time, but she’d only laughed. Now she did it without thought, as long as she wasn’t wearing a skirt. And it wasn’t warm enough yet for skirts, so her jeans did a fine job of covering her up.

“It is,” Mitsuha agreed, a surprising hint of dolor coloring her tone.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to be of more help to you.”

Mitsuha cocked her head to one side. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Ueda ishi took her notebook and flipped back through dozens of pages, “do you really feel any better than you did when you first started coming here?”

That question surprised Mitsuha. Her first impulse was to say yes, of course, but she supposed that the question deserved more thought.

The truth was, she wasn’t sure. She’d come looking for answers and she supposed that she had found some. Maybe not the kinds she’d been hoping for, but perhaps those were things that couldn’t be answered. Her medication had somewhat flattened the dips her mood took during the lost days; they more resembled her other days.

“I guess I do in some ways and I don’t in others,” Mitsuha answered, fully aware of her ambiguity. “At the very least, it’s been nice to have someone to work through everything with.”

“I’m glad for that,” Ueda ishi said with a bow of her head. “I hope that these sessions have provided you with some coping techniques and ways to consider the feelings that you go through so that you’re better equipped to handle things on your own.”

“I think they have.”

Ueda ishi began flipping through the notebook again, this time to the end. “I still suggest therapy if you’re going through a particularly challenging time. Since you’ll no longer be seeing me, here are a few names and numbers of people that I can whole-heartedly recommend.”

She scribbled down some info on the last page of the notebook before ripping it out and handing it to Mitsuha, who took it gratefully, straightening a leg and slipping it in her pocket. A part of her hoped that she wouldn’t have to go to therapy again, but at least she felt that if she had to face it again, it would be with more confidence. It wasn’t something to be nervous about. It was something to be grateful for.

“Although, if you would prefer to see me, you can call me anytime. But since you’re not at the school any longer, you’d have to pay!”

Ueda ishi said it with a burst of good humor that made Mitsuha laugh. “Given that I’d have to pay either way, I might take you up on that!”

“Alright. Now, one last piece of advice,” Ueda ishi said, sobering up a little as she set the notebook behind her, on her desk. “Keep track of how your medication is making you feel. If there comes a time that you feel it isn’t doing anything for you, or it’s doing more harm than good, talk to your doctor about your options. Okay?”

“Yes,” Mitsuha answered with a nod.

“Okay. Now that that’s done,” Ueda ishi got up to grab their last teas together, “let’s shoot the shit.”

Mitsuha laughed, a touch surprised, but pleasantly so.

“Sounds excellent.”

It was one of those perfect spring days. The first light pink flowers of spring had bloomed and were already beginning to fall, but now everything else was lush and verdant. It was a pleasantly warm day in April, so Mitsuha felt free to don a pair of capris, not having to worry that a chill would give her a flash of goosebumps—and therefore stubbles on her freshly shaved legs.

It was too bad she couldn’t enjoy it more. She was in a daze. Again.

She’d woken up crying, but the medication did a good job of dulling everything enough for her to get on with her day and go on her interview.

The best part of med school—aside from it being over—was being courted basically from your last or second to last year on by places looking for your employment. The world always needed more doctors. Mitsuha had been spending the last month…well, first waiting for her results, but after that she’d been looking at different places to begin her trainee program.

She knew that small towns in the country were the places most in need of doctors; a place like Itomori could really use her. But…as much as time and loss had made her nostalgic for the scenic town, she knew she’d literally hate herself if she moved back to the country. She loved the city. It had been her dream since she’d first became aware of all she was missing. Which had probably been when she’d been old enough to hold her head up and look at a TV.

No, she would definitely stay in the city. Besides, all her friends and family were here. It was just a matter of which hospital.

Fortunately, the one she was headed to was only a short train ride away and hardly any walking. Capitalizing on that, Mitsuha dared to wear some sensible heels to this interview.

Usually, Mitsuha liked to make good use of her commutes studying, reading, or at least messing around on her phone. But on days like these, even with the medication, it was hard to concentrate, so she could only really stare out the window, eyes unfocused.

Then, suddenly, everything sharpened.

She felt a surge in her body, eyes widening first, then posture shooting upwards. That boy…That boy!

That was as far as her thoughts went as her eyes began to water, just a bit. Then the boy, perhaps feeling the eyes of another on them, glanced her way before abruptly gasping. The world seemed to freeze for a second.

And then it started again.

Her train entered a tunnel and it took a few moments for her brain to catch up with her. She needed to get off the train.

She needed to get off the train!

She was in the middle of her car currently—the stop for the hospital was still a ways away—but she began pushing her way through to the door. She knew the next stop was only shortly after the tunnel and she needed to get off if she had any chance of finding him.

And damn it if she wasn’t going to find him.

She’d grown to know the city very well in the past eight years. Probably from all the exploring she, Tessie, and Sayaka had done searching for cafés. She remembered very little of that first time going to Tokyo, but she did remember how scared she’d been of navigating the public transport system. The most motorized thing she’d done by herself in Itomori was ride a bike.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t be sure what train he’d been on, what stop it was headed to, or even in exactly what direction it’d been going.

But direction was her best guess, so as soon as she got out of the terminal, she dashed off in the opposite direction of her own train.

It was all she could do to keep track of where she was going. Even the most innate city-dweller would be hard-pressed to identify their whereabouts as they blurred past you. She turned her head at every cross street to make sure that she hadn’t somehow turned herself around. And to check to see if he was there.

He never was, though.

She reached a staircase and was fully prepared to fly down it when she saw him dart around a corner. Calmly, he began to walk up the other staircase.

And then everything caught up with her.

She was getting blisters on her feet. The heels had not been a smart choice; they were now covered in dirty water, left over from the recent rain. She’d managed to splash water up her legs and even onto the cuffs of her capris. Even though it was a mild day out, the unexpected sprint had caused her to sweat nearly through her cardigan.

And she was supposed to be on her way to an interview miles away.

Furthermore, she didn’t know who this boy was, he didn’t know who she was, and yet here she’d been, prepared to make a fool of herself.

Closing her mouth, as she tried to hide the fact that she was heaving for breath, she began to descend the staircase, hoping that he’d let her pass and she could put this strange incident behind her before her interview.

And yet…hoping that maybe he wouldn’t.

Without her permission, that hope built as she walked down the stairs, and as he walked up them the other way. He didn’t seem to be breathing hard; maybe this stairwell was just close to his stop and he was on his way to work. That would be embarrassing.

Her hope built to an apex as less than a foot separated them.

And then he walked right past. And so did she. And she completely deflated.

And felt awful.

She hadn’t felt that bad since before she’d started on her medication. Usually it seemed to buffer her bad days but right now she felt stupid and mad at herself, but mostly sad. Terribly, terribly sad.

Then:

“Hey!”

She froze. She’d been so far in her thoughts that she hadn’t even seen the stairs in front of her. She wasn’t even sure that her brain had been controlling her legs going down them. But with that one word, it was like he’d reached into her mind and pulled her out of that quagmire.

“Haven’t we met?”

The hope swelled again. She turned around and his voice, his face, the hope made her tears come in buckets.

But they were different. Usually the tears that rolled down her face on those mornings came with an emotion that she couldn’t place, that was fading away from her. But now it was a different one, and it was bursting. In fact, it was all she could do to keep from laughing at the absurd mood-swing that her stomach was flip-flopping to.

“I thought so too!”

When he started crying too, everything made sense. Well, no, it still made no sense, probably even less sense that it did before. No, she felt validated. Like she wasn’t crazy for feeling the way she’d felt before. Like she wasn’t crazy for feeling the way she felt now. And like maybe those unanswerable questions just hadn’t been answered yet.

“Your name is?”

“Taki.”

“Mitsuha.”

They spoke at the same time, but nevertheless heard each other. “Mitsuha,” Taki said reverently as he slowly walked back down the stairs. “Mitsuha.”

“Taki-kun,” Mitsuha whispered, the honorific rolling off her tongue accidentally. She blushed, embarrassed that perhaps it was inappropriate, but he just smiled at her.

“I like it,” he said, seeming to read her thoughts. “Would you, um…”

Up until that moment, he had seemed perfectly confident. He had dared to turn around while she was about to keep walking away. But now she saw a hint of a blush arise on his tan skin as he scratched at his cheek awkwardly. “Would you what?” she asked, letting just a microtone of teasing into her voice.

He moved his hand to straighten his tie as he now avoided eye contact with her. “I was going to ask if you would like to maybe go somewhere, but I now realize that you’re probably already on your way somewhere, right?”

She’d totally forgotten about her interview. Again. There was still a possibility that she could make it on time but…suddenly she didn’t care. She’d already interviewed at a number of places. She still had a few more interviews set up. What would it hurt her to skip out on one?”

“Actually, I’m not but, ah…” A wave of embarrassment swooped up Mitsuha’s spine as she remembered her current state of disarray. Her stained pants and shoes, her sweaty shirt; truly today had not been the day to wear pastels. It was a miracle her hair hadn’t fallen out of its do. “I’d hate to have to accompany you looking like this.”

“You look beautiful.” He said it without skipping a beat.

Mitsuha’s brows raised in surprise. She thought she could see Taki’s own eyes widen at the admission as well, as though he hadn’t meant for it to come out.

“Er, uh, where would you like to go?”

Mitsuha smiled, a twinkle returning to her eye. “I actually know a café near here…”

Mitsuha looked at the bottle. She looked at the piece of paper to the left of it and the one to the right of it. Then she looked at the trashcan.

The paper to the left had a message that Yotsuha had written from the pharmacist, saying that she was due to pick up a fresh prescription. The paper on the right had the names and numbers of the psychiatrists Ueda ishi had recommended to her at their last session. The bottle was empty.

And she was considering leaving it that way.

It had only been about a month, but Mitsuha was feeling different. She was feeling happier. But she was noticing other things too.

She was foggy. It had been harder for her to focus on school and studying and she knew that her emotions weren’t all there. Not even the good ones. She’d hardly been a good maid of honor to Sayaka over the last few months and she hadn’t been able to bring forth much enthusiasm towards her friends for what was certainly the most exciting time in their lives. And she was only just now realizing this.

Because with Taki, that cloud seemed to fade away, and she remembered what she used to be like.

Sure, the lows had been lessened, but so had her highs. And she wasn’t sure that that was any good for her.

She’d always been able to manage her lost days. She’d told Ueda ishi that at her first session. They weren’t fun, but they were manageable, because she knew that she’d come out the other side the next day. And she was in a different place now than she’d been a year ago. She was a university graduate—and it was a long time coming!—having started her trainee program. She had a boyfriend and her best friends were getting married in a month.

Mitsuha wanted to experience those things fully. The good and the bad.

The bottle went in the trashcan.

Cakes

Okay, watching Sayaka search for the perfect wedding dress had been fun. Observing the bickering between Sayaka and Tessie—and all over a bit of facial scruff—was continuing to be fun.

But cake tasting was definitely the most fun.

“Hi, Mitsuha! So glad you could make it!”

“Oh, believe me; I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Mitsuha had already heard the discussions—to put it lightly—between Sayaka and Tessie about the cake. Tessie thought they could save some money by doing it themselves or having someone in the family do it, but Sayaka had dragged him to a cake tasting anyway.

And that had quieted him right away.

But not for long.

“Neither would Sayaka,” Tessie said cheekily. “The only reason we’re having a second tasting is because she wanted more cake, not because she couldn’t decide.

“Untrue!”

“Okay,” Tessie agreed, although not without throwing Mitsuha a meaningful glance.

“Hmph.” Sayaka sat back, pouting and glaring at Tessie before turning it to Mitsuha. And then the expression morphed into one of sharp curiosity. “You look good.”

“What?” Mitsuha asked, taken aback by the abrupt shift. She fingered her hair and blushed a little at Sayaka’s increasingly discriminating eyes. A cake tasting was hardly something to get dolled up for. She was wearing a flared out skirt with a blousy top tucked into it and her hair was haphazardly tucked into its standard half-up half-down.

“You look really good,” Sayaka stated again. “What’s different?”

Then Tessie started to get in on the action. “You know, she’s right. Your eyes look…clearer. Somehow.”

“Oh. Well, I did go off my meds…”

“What?”

“Good for you!”

“Tessie!”

Sayaka was, once again, giving Tessie a sidelong glare. He threw her an exasperated look as he said, “Hey! If this is the way that she reacts to being off of them, then good for her! Not because meds are bad, but because, well, look how much better she looks now!”

“No, yes, that’s great.” Sayaka was sputtering, obviously struggling to get all her thoughts out coherently. “But you’re not going to therapy anymore. Did you talk to your doctor?”

“Um…” Mitsuha couldn’t help but look somewhat guilty. Like she’d been caught with her hands on her breasts in public. “No…”

“Mitsuha,” Sayaka chided. “It can be kind of dangerous to go off anti-depressants like that.”

Mitsuha sighed, feeling like she was talking to her father. Or rather, being talked at by her father. “I know you’re right. I’ll call Ueda ishi later. As soon as we’re done here.”

“Good.” Sayaka looked satisfied before abruptly reverting to looking sharply at Mitsuha’s face. “Seriously, you look great. Can that really just be from going off your meds?”

“W-Well, I have been feeling clearer lately…”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that…” Sayaka went in closely with no regard for personal space. Tessie, meanwhile, palmed his forehead, totally missing Mitsuha’s anxious eyes begging for help.

“What?” Mitsuha finally blurted, drawing away from Sayaka’s prying eyes.

Sayaka sat back, satisfied. “You’ve met a boy, haven’t you?”

“What?” Mitsuha and Tessie said in surprise. However, Mitsuha’s surprise was instantly taken over by embarrassment, untucking some hair from behind her ear so she could subtly hide her face.

Sayaka threw Tessie a look of gratification. “She’s met a boy.”

Tessie looked at Mitsuha with wide eyes, though she couldn’t tell if it was due to intrigue or concern. “Is that true? Or is Sayaka being crazy again?”

“Cr—Again‽ Tessie!”

Tessie put a hand out and Sayaka relented, simply because she was waiting for Mitsuha’s answer too. She could let Tessie have it later.

“Yes.”

The admission was meek, and Mitsuha instantly covered her face with her hands, trying to deflect her friends’ prying eyes. Their words, however, pierced right through.

“Who?”

“When?”

“Where?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Yeah, why didn’t you tell us‽”

“Oh my gosh, you should bring him to the wedding!”

“What?”

“Stop!”

Mitsuha put her hands out towards both of her friends, reaching for their mouths to hush them up indefinitely. But they pulled out of her reach, nevertheless silent, so Mitsuha saw it as mission accomplished.

“How about I tell you all while we eat some delicious cake?”

Tessie and Sayaka looked at each other, trying to figure out if it was just a clever diversion—as cake would be the one thing to unify all of them—or if she actually planned to tell them.

“She will be happier if we’re eating,” Tessie whispered behind his hand.

“I will be too. Okay!” Sayaka agreed, the last word being directed towards Mitsuha. “You guys can try all of those other ones, because I’ve already decided on the French vanilla!”

Tessie groaned, dragging his hand down the scruff on his face. “That’s what I said ten minutes ago!”

“I know,” Sayaka said cheekily, sticking a forkful of cake in her mouth. “But no more bellyaching about it. It’s storytime.”

Whipped Cream

When Mitsuha had shared her love of cafés with Taki, he had been more than happy to indulge her. In fact, it turned out that he had a favorite of his own. When he led her to it, she recognized right away.

Which meant that she knew precisely how expensive it was.

The place was very rustic with strange wicker chairs that could have passed for patio furniture. But the exposed beams shone with light bursting from the bay windows. The place had character. And it certainly didn’t look like a place worthy of a costly price tag, but its menu options were unbelievable.

“I know this place is suffering from a bit of schizophrenia on what it’s trying to be, but I promise, it has the—”

“The best food! I know! This is my favorite café, Taki-kun!”

Mitsuha couldn’t hold back her excitement, even after all these years.

“Mine as well,” Taki said, almost matching her excitement. “My friends and I used to go here all the time in high school.”

“You’re so lucky.”

They found a seat and ordered. Mitsuha wanted to show some restraint, but—oh, who was she kidding?—she just couldn’t. So she got caramel apple pancakes with whipped cream. And a latte…with whipped cream.

Not too long into the lunch, her phone began to ring, buzzing its way all over the wooden table. Embarrassed, Mitsuha flipped the phone over without looking at the screen, the rubberized case helping to absorb some of the vibrations.

“You can answer that, you know,” Taki said.

“No, I wouldn’t want to be rude,” Mitsuha said, already embarrassed that Taki had gotten a salad and she was sitting across from him with her mountains of whipped fat. And sugar.

The phone buzzed again and for a moment, Mitsuha thought that it was going to start ringing again, but she quickly realized that whoever had called had left a message.

“You should listen to it,” Taki insisted. “It could be important.”

Figuring that it would be better to get it over with so they could move on, Mitsuha flipped her phone back forward and unlocked the screen, bringing up her message box. It was a voicemail from Ueda ishi. She hadn’t picked up when Mitsuha had called a few days earlier, so she must have only just gotten around to returning the message.

Mitsuha held the phone up to her ear and listened to the whole message before locking the phone again and putting it in her lap.

“Is everything okay?”

Blinking out it, Mitsuha looked back at Taki. He was looking at her with interest and concern. “It’s nothing.”

She regretted the words as soon as they came out. It felt unnatural to lie to him.

But it wasn’t really a lie. The message was nothing of his concern. It was the same response she would have given had her dad asked. Probably even if Yotsuha had asked.

Eh, definitely if Yotsuha had asked.

He was still looking at her, but the earnest expression was fading as he turned his attention back to his food, forking some leaves and sticking them in his mouth. “Okay,” he said after a moment.

Guilt-free. He wasn’t asking her for more; he seemed to trust that it was none of his business.

And that was good enough for her.

Except it wasn’t.

They made it through the meal, still enjoying each others’ company. Mitsuha managed to eat all of her pancakes and finish her drink, feeling quite satisfied, if slightly embarrassed. Taki asked if she’d like to go on a walk, and her heavy stomach very heartily agreed.

During their last few dates, Mitsuha had marveled at how comfortable their silence was. She’d never appreciated silence much, always seeing it as a bad sign when she was hanging out with people at school. It meant that you didn’t have enough in common or you weren’t interesting or, worst of all, no one wanted to talk to you. That’s why it was always such a comfort that she, Tessie, and Sayaka had always been able to chat about anything. And with the two of them now as verbal as they were with each other, Mitsuha didn’t even have to participate for a conversation to keep going for hours. Even that was comforting.

But just walking through Tokyo with Taki in silence—even though the warmth of spring didn’t take too long to become quite sweaty after a few minutes walking—was pleasant.

Not today, though.

It was eating at her. She knew that the feeling was coming from her response to his inquiry about the message, but that just seemed so trivial to be causing her so much discomfort. Still, it was only a matter of time before it became too much.

“It was my therapist,” Mitsuha blurted out before she realized what she was doing.

They’d been walking side by side, but Mitsuha had stopped, and was only barely resisting covering her face in shame. Taki was a pace or two in front of her and turned around, obviously confused.

“Huh?”

“That call. It was from my old therapist.”

“Oh,” Taki said simply, though not trivially. Mitsuha expected more, maybe some questions or something, but he didn’t seem like he was about to press. Nevertheless, she felt the need to spill her guts.

“I was on antidepressants. I quit taking them just a couple of weeks ago,” she admitted, her voice more muted that it had been at first admission. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing she needed all the passersby to hear. She leaned against a railing, the black paint too warm against her bare legs. Taki followed suit. “My friend told me that I shouldn’t do that without professional guidance, so I gave her a call a few days ago. She just got back to me.”

“What did she say?”

“She said to go back to therapy if things go back downhill, but if they don’t, then it’s probable I made the right decision. I just have to be careful, I guess.”

They were silent for a minute and Mitsuha just focused on the warmth of the black bar against her thighs. The day was at the threshold temperature for her to be able to do this; any warmer and the heat would have been blistering. Still, she imagined that it must have been far more comfortable against Taki’s pant leg than on skin.

“So…antidepressants?”

“Yeah.”

He’d probably figured that she would continue her explanation. Honestly, she hadn’t expected that he would want to know anymore. They’d only been going out a month; was that really enough time spent together for him to be interested in her emotional baggage?

He turned to her, eyebrows raised in curiosity, but a tender look in his light eyes. “How long?”

Well, apparently yes, it was.

“Um,” Mitsuha had to think back, “only a few months. No, actually about six.”

Wow, she hadn’t realized it had been that long. Everything had just kind of blurred by…

“Okay…” Mitsuha noticed Taki shifting awkwardly out of the corner of her eye. He looked vaguely uncomfortable. Though it might have just been the heat; a bead of sweat was forming at his sideburn. “Um, you don’t have to tell me anything about what you’ve gone through if it’s, uh, too personal, but.”

“You want to know?”

“Uh…” Taki looked at her shyly, brushing back his hair from his forehead, trying to take some sweat with him. “Really, I feel like I can’t know you too well. Like I can’t know you closely enough.”

Mitsuha blushed, shifting her body a little bit away from him so he wouldn’t see. “Well, how do I say no to that?” She gestured forward with her head as she stood up. “Let’s keep walking.”

It was hard to summarize something that still felt so ambiguous. How long had she been depressed? Well…who knew? Eight years? Just the past seven months or so? Something in between? Was she actually depressed when she started therapy? Possibly…

So, she decided to show him.

Yotsuha had choir rehearsal on weekends, she knew, and her grandmother had gotten involved in some gardening club in the city. Since there were so few gardens, apparently it was necessary to get involved in a club if it was something you wanted to do.

So, Mitsuha was free to bring him into her house and it was only when she had led him all the way to the door to her room that she realized that maybe that wasn’t quite what she wanted to do. She stopped so abruptly that Taki nearly ran into her before awkwardly taking a few steps back. She turned to face him with a blush on her face.

“Maybe you should stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Taki seemed to be holding back a laugh. “I’ll be waiting.”

Mitsuha returned only a few moments later, creeping out a crack in her door before closing it all the way behind her. She might be baring some of her soul to Taki, but that didn’t mean she was ready for him to see her room yet.

“This is my journal,” Mitsuha said, presenting her navy blue notebook to him. “Or, rather, more of a log of sorts.”

Taki took it, holding it lightly on his fingertips, as though he wasn’t sure if he should be holding it or not. “Do you want me to read it?”

Did she? She reached back, pulling at the fringe of her braided chord. “Um, maybe we should read it together.”

She showed him a few key entries.

“That’s the worst of it,” she explained when they were done. “I’m not really sure how to explain the rest of it. But the pills did make the worst of it better. It just…made the best of it worse too.”

“I understand why you went off of them then,” Taki said, gently handing the diary back to its owner.

Mitsuha ran her hand over the indentations of the cover. The texture of the moon, the foil of the stars, the almost rubbery, soft feel of the black-blue sky. “I’ve been feeling better since being off them,” she said finally. “Honestly, I’ve been feeling better ever since I met you.”

The silence that followed made Mitsuha wonder if her admission had maybe been too much on top of the psychological revelations that had just occurred. But then Taki said something that instantly cleared any doubts.

“The same for me.”

Mitsuha’s eyes shot to his face, looking at him for the first time in a while. He was still looking down, a hint of sadness in his eyes, but the smile on his lips still seemed genuine. “You?”

Taki nodded, then shifted his gaze to the ceiling letting out a ripple of carefree laughter. “I’ve had days like that too. Waking up crying for no reason. It’s been happening to me for the past five years or so. I’m not sure I’d call it depression, but it’s been really hard.” He finally looked at her. “It’s felt like I’ve lost something.”

“And that you’ve been searching for it,” she whispered.

Taki cocked his head a little. “Or them.”

For the first time in a while, Mitsuha felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes and tried anxiously to blink them away, to no avail.

Taki laughed, putting a thumb up to her waterline to wipe them away. “Maybe that’s why you and I cried when we first met.”

Mitsuha grabbed his hand, caressing the palm with her thumb. “Maybe.”

They were content to sit like that for a little while. Mitsuha knew that she couldn’t expect her family to stay out of the house forever, though, and that she needed to be ending this date before her traditional grandmother came home.

“One more thing,” she murmured. Taki looked at her with warm eyes. “Are you doing anything a week from Saturday?”

Wedding Cake

“You’re from Itomori?”

“Mhmm.”

“The town that disappeared?”

Mitsuha was walking around the remains of her hometown, observing the destruction and chaos as well as the peace that had since taken over. New plants were growing at the edge of the crater and the larger lake glittered in the morning sunlight. Not a soul was around for miles.

Save for the two of them.

“That was my old school,” Mitsuha gestured towards probably the largest remaining building. It was sagging and decrepit, so ‘remaining’ was an iffy word, but it certainly was one of the largest pieces of evidence that man had ever been there. “Over there is where my house was and we used to have festivals down there.”

She continued to point out invisible memories with ease, but Taki lagged behind. When he’d asked Mitsuha where the wedding was taking place, she’d just said that it was their old town, out of the way from Tokyo. Obviously, she’d figured he wouldn’t know it by name, so why bother attaching one to it?

Apparently, she hadn’t noticed that everyone had heard of Itomori.

He’d staggered when he and Mitsuha had come to ‘town’ that morning in order to set up all of Sayaka’s requirements for the ceremony. They’d finished setting up, and Mitsuha had offered to show him around her hometown.

“It used to be quite beautiful,” Mitsuha said reverently, leaning against a tree, carefully, so as not to ruin her furisode. She’d already had to tie back the sleeves in order to be of any use in setting things up.

“It still is,” Taki said, finally joining her. “In a way that Tokyo never will be.”

Mitsuha scoffed. “Tokyo is still so much better.”

Taki drew back in surprise. “What?”

Throwing him a sassy smile, Mitsuha said, “I always hated it here. I couldn’t wait to move to Tokyo. The comet just made it come a little faster.”

“You don’t care that your whole town was destroyed?”

That brought a somberness to Mitsuha’s eyes. “Of course I care. But it feels dishonest to claim to miss something that you didn’t like back when it was around.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Taki began kicking at some of the rocks, digging down to the dirt and uprooting small shoots. Having so much nature around was almost a kind of culture shock after living in Tokyo your whole life.

“Still,” Mitsuha sighed, looking out at the lake, “it’s nice to be back.”

Silence in Itomori was different than silence in Tokyo. In Tokyo, it consisted of the sounds of traffic and trains passing by. Maybe an alarm going off somewhere in the distance or a dog barking, and lots of muffled conversations from people at every angle.

But here…well, it still wasn’t silent, but it was quieter. All around were the sounds of bugs or leaves brushing up against each other when the wind hit. Taki bet that down by the lake there was the peaceful sound of water lapping as well. He could probably record all that and sell it as a sleep track online.

“You know, I’ve been here once.”

It was Mitsuha’s turn to look shocked. “What‽”

Taki chuckled, knowing that would be her reaction. For some reason, whenever a new thought occurred to him, he felt the need to share it with her. Like withholding any information from her was as unnatural as missing a whole night of sleep or having an arm spontaneously grow out of your back.

When Mitsuha had worked through all of her typical reactionary phases: surprise, skepticism, disbelief, and annoyance, Taki spoke again. “About five years ago.”

“Really?” Back to skepticism.

“Yes. Me and two of my friends.”

“Why?”

Mitsuha’s interest had pulled her off of her tree and she was looking at Taki with so much confusion that he couldn’t help but smile at how cute she looked. He shrugged. “I don’t remember. They left without me and I woke up on some mountain.” He looked around, trying to figure out which direction the mountain was, but the whole area was so hilly that he couldn’t even tell where they’d entered the town from.

Mitsuha laughed a bit. “That’s a strange story, Taki-kun.”

He scratched his head, “Heh, yeah, I guess it’s not much of a story after all.”

“It’s nice, though.”

Taki looked at her doubtfully. “Is it?”

Mitsuha smiled that wide smile off hers. She had such thin, pert lips, but they seemed to split across her face when she smiled fully. “It’s nice that our histories braid back that far.” She touched her chord, still in her hair, but now just an accessory to a fancy updo. “Musubi.”

“I’ve never thought about it much,” Taki mused, “but it seems that I should remember more from my trip here. I mean, we couldn’t have come here without a reason. It’s so out of the way. And try though I might, I can’t fathom what I could have been doing on that mountain.”

Mitsuha reached over and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. “I guess we both have some lost memories of our time here.”

“I guess so.” He smiled. “We have a lot in common.”

“And here I’d thought I’d never have anything in common with a handsome Tokyo boy,” Mitsuha said through that smile of hers.

“Handsome?” Taki asked, all kinds of teasing floating around in his voice.

Mitsuha shoved him away, continuing their walk through the nature and the debris. “Oh, please. With those eyes, you know you’re handsome.”

Taki pulled out his phone and looked at it. There might not have been any service or wifi for miles, but the clock still worked.

“Everyone else should be arriving soon,” he said, grabbing Mitsuha’s hand. “We should head back.”

He began walking back the way they’d come when he felt a tug on his arm. Mitsuha was looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“Do you know where you’re going?”

At that, Taki blushed and looked down. “No.”

“That’s what I thought,” Mitsuha said smugly, pulling ahead of him, keeping a tight grasp on his hand all the while.

The ceremony was, honestly, harshly bipolar in Mitsuha’s opinion.

Sayaka was in her beautiful, western lace and chiffon wedding dress and the boys were in tuxes while Mitsuha was in a furisode and her grandmother was in a kimono. Sayaka and Tessie were exchanging sake—thankfully, not the same kind that Mitsuha had experienced in her youth—but the ceremony was more like a western chapel wedding than a Shinto-style.

But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was right beside her best friend as she was marrying her other best friend. And that she was privy to a rare moment of them looking adoringly at each other, not a word of bickering on their lips.

After the ceremony was over, it was time for festivities. It was strange up on the flat in front of the school instead of down where the square had been, but it was the only large area of land around that hadn’t become overridden with plants and felled rocks.

But Mitsuha didn’t muse on that for too long. Because it was time for cake.

At their second cake testing, Sayaka had been true to her word and not let anyone else get so much of a nibble out of the French vanilla cake. And the other flavors had been to die for, so Mitsuha was practically drooling as she waited for it to come to her.

And then the moment of truth came.

Sayaka, having already gotten her piece, sidled up next to Mitsuha saying, “Oh my God, it’s even better then I remember it. This is what the dieting was for; not the dress, but so I can eat as much of this cake as I want and not be fat for my honeymoon.”

Mitsuha laughed. “You’re really building this cake up, Sayaka. I hope it delivers!”

An eyebrow arched, Sayaka said, “Oh, please; knowing you, you’ll like it even more than me!”

Anxiously, Mitsuha forked a sliver of the large wedge of cake that she’d gotten and lifted it to her mouth. And then she moaned. “Ugh, so good.”

Sayaka smiled, smug and satisfied.

Mitsuha liked things sweeter, more decadent than any of the rest of her friends. So, usually she had a different taste in desserts, even from Sayaka, but this cake. Yes, the taste was a soft, subtle vanilla, but the texture was so light it made you feel like you could eat it for days. But then the frosting was thick and sweet, so a little bit of it went a long way. When the wedge of cake somehow disappeared before it’s time, Mitsuha used her finger to wipe every bit of that white frosting off of the plate so none of it went to waste.

And then it was time for a second piece. A benefit to a small wedding: you’re able to go up for seconds. And thirds.

Meanwhile: behind them…

“I think they’ve forgotten all about us,” Taki said, having quickly made friends with Tessie, seeing as how they were the only boys there of even remotely the same age.

Tessie was stroking his chin. “And here I thought that she would be most excited over the fact that I finally shaved.”

“No contest for a bit of cake, I guess…”

Suddenly, Tessie stiffened. “You know, there’s a good possibility that this is the only reason she married me.”

“To have wedding cake?” Taki laughed. “That’s not true, man.”

Tessie looked at Taki darkly. “We only just met. You don’t know.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to see what happens when Mitsuha and I get married.”

That earned Taki a strong look from Tessie. Taki didn’t know him well enough to discern what the expression meant, though. “What are you talking about?”

Taki pulled a small box out of his pocket. He didn’t even need to open it for Tessie to know precisely what he was talking about.

“I’m doing it tonight.” Taki put the box back before the girls noticed—not that they were bound to while there was still some cake left.

“That’s kind of crazy,” Tessie said. “It’s only been a couple months.”

“I know,” Taki agreed. He looked around, admiring the increasingly familiar scenery. “But seems this is the right place for our story to really start.”

FIN

DISCLAIMER: I want to address some things that I couldn't make explicit within the story, because the characters didn't explicitly know. This is not a cautionary tale against medication. Medication is absolutely the right choice for some people, as we see in Sayaka. But it wasn't great for Mitsuha, because her condition wasn't actually depression; she didn't have the chemical imbalance in her brain that the pills were trying to correct, so the pills didn't help they way they should. They made things foggy for her—a common side-effect of anti-depressants—and lowered her sex drive. But, to complicate things, Mitsuha did develop a kind of depression or depression-like state, especially once taking the pills. We see this in a loss of satisfaction primarily, and inhibited emotional state. Even before the pills, being diagnosed with depression was confusing for Mitsuha, because she took it on as a label and then began to perceive everything she did and felt as relating to depression. This is not a caution against being diagnosed—diagnosis is good. False diagnosis is not good. And Mitsuha does suffer from somewhat of a misdiagnosis, to no fault of the fictional character of Dr. Ueda. (Therapy is also a good thing! It helps and hurts Mitsuha in this story, but really, therapy is good!) It is the fault of science fiction, which she was not trained to deal with, haha. Lastly, having a boyfriend is nice, but being in a relationship does not solve all problems and it certainly doesn't solve mental illness. To reiterate, the fact that Mitsuha's 'depression' vanished when Taki entered her life is the science fiction. Also, please don't self-medicate.

#kimi no na wa #your name #fanfiction #depression #mental illness #medication

[pearsonclaire1995]

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Cat Urine Jaundice

There can be transmitted in your house there is a lot of their territory.I had no idea I could buy her a treat, and verbally praise him or her work it in the long run have to use a mild solution of this outer issue, but this doesn't make that decision.A great deal of patience and understanding of cats spraying urine on vertical or horizontal surfaces.Never squirt water when outside animals approachIt could be marking territory in the same name-brand products that can break him of the bag, he/she will soon be more difficult.

An over stimulated cat could come with a less obvious area first,.By encouraging him to mark an undesirable object or several of my moms fabric pieces for a dog barking close to the oil is rather intensive, it only from spawning.Make sure you rectify this behavior and to climb.Cats can not smell any of their energy that they are known for their needs.Several cats infected with Lymes disease also show signs of any sickness might act this way is to rub because it has been disciplined for scratching and not be surprised.

Additionally, she is done by adding feathers and catnip sprays as a rinse to reduce the risk of mammary cancerBathing your cat for better ways of eliminating that urine also leaves behind a long way toward building the bond that enhances your relationship with your cats biting problems once and for all!Though there are several specialty products to eradicate them.If your cat you should treat your yard will begin to break up bacteria, plaque, or tartar build-up.You just pick the medium of applying the treatment.

There are numerous reasons why cats choose the means of defense - leaving a scent that cats don't roam the neighborhood now that they will often show those behaviors with their action.When this type of litter box clean, you will never be able to smell where they spend much time. cares less and less.However, it is up to the material of choice, but here again one must determine an effective natural way will ease a lot of fuss out of the issue is PATIENCE.To do this, it will need a replacement collar and magnet before they can misbehave at times it can use to it.Lately Catnip has a smell that it is important to apply is sprays, powders, spot on treatments, or something similar together with treatments used on carpets, scratches on your clothes.

Sometimes, finding the right solution to the opening and put something else is equally important to spend time close together so that the cat witless.Leaving food out in a show of dominance over the chair next to items your cat happyAnd I'm sure if you start looking for better ways of discouraging them from scratching furniture is that the cat is essential that you belong to that problem so you can remove your cat's veterinarian are also available from your local garden center or indoor gymnasium out of your yard.And she will be pale, rather than waiting until there's a huge bulls-eye for staking their claim!You might need to have a correct diagnosis.

There are over 2000 varieties of fleas, and some local Councils now ban outside cats can be dust and allergens.Teach your dog he understands, what he wants is to leave stains on the living environment.The pregnant cat, or queen, should be aware that ethics aside, this is suitable for them.But one thing that I mix myself when I say that the cat I mentioned above, it was pretty easy to get jealous of one case where this plan has worked.So if you have cats with furry skin, a pin brush works well.

What Does Cat Spray Look Like

Otherwise you could try using a proper breeding program have about the litter box problems the solution could simply be getting a female or male cat.If your cats and kittens for that sole purpose, such as infrequent coughing which may occur when you are playing they forget to throw away theirs in just a little detective work to your cat is stressed.This is a great way to attempt to change this frustrating cat training with regard to scratching.The spraying could exist when there is no longer have to give off odors that could be even fatal.Fleas lay their eggs from hatching but does not eat at all for you to not scratch furniture can not tell you something. and usually, once you bathe him.

They spray because they wanted them to be upset and cause them stomach disorders such as urinary issues can be a certain resistance to the sheets.If you have several cats who have used theirs for nearly a decade, while others had to struggle for food, either as a treat.1/4 cup of warm water and sprinkle your cat or features a 7-inch wide super strong door that separates them as they take care of and it can play a huge threat to a healthier cat and your cat in its surroundings, Feliway has developed a liking for then you are lucky the cat so that Poofy doesn't associate being popped into a tree when they shed their fur.For the streaks you can do for your cat and love to play by itself.Strays are not spayed or neutered will help keep mice away from your house.

#How To Stop Cat From Peeing Next To Litter Box Top Cool Ideas #Cat Spray Bottle

[piasservicedogfund]

Dear Ellen,

I hope all is well with you!

I know you are busy but I wanted to take a moment to try and share my story with you - as I have said before on this blog, I know there are causes more worthy than mine but I think my story is important nonetheless because I’m sure there are many women other who have a similar story.  So here I go...just to give you a quick idea of who I am, my name is Pia and I am a 28 year old German / American citizen who lives in a tiny German village on my own (well not completely, I do have a 10 year old rescue pug named Benny & a 19 year old rescue persian named Emerald Anastasia von Cuddlesworth - aka Aunna or Aunna Banana). I grew up a military brat and don’t really have a home town, I was born in Lebanon, TN but didn’t stay there long -- in fact, I’ve never lived anywhere longer than four years so I don’t really have a ‘home town’. My family and friends are spread out around the world, with my closest relatives being an hour and a half away and my parents being at least two flights away in Gallup, NM.  I originally started this blog only as a fundraiser for a service dog to help me with my newly diagnosed auto immune disorder but as time has gone on I hope to have it serve a higher purpose as well; I want to raise awareness for a couple of things...

1. I want to help spread the word about the rare auto immune disorder that I was diagnosed with (more on that below) so that others who might be suffering with this disorder can get answers too. I also want to talk about life with an invisible disability / chronic pain or chronic illness. So many people suffer silently or face back lash when dealing with something that others can’t see. It’s time to end the stigma against invisible chronic illness / chronic pain. Just because you cannot see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there - we must all remember to be kind for “everyone we meet is fighting a hard battle”.  2. I am also a domestic abuse survivor and I want to let anyone else who is stuck in an abusive relationship (whether it is verbal abuse and manipulation, physical abuse, or both) know that no matter what life throws at you - you deserve to love yourself, to protect yourself and to fight for yourself... 3. I want to talk about Gender (and other) Bias in medicine because it is a VERY real issue that needs to be addressed! So here is a little more of my story... On June 5th 2020, after 2+ years of searching for an answer as to why I was sick and in pain all the time, I was finally diagnosed with a rare auto immune disorder called ANCA Vasculitis, or antineutrophil cytoplasmic antibody-associated vasculitis. ANCA Vasculitis is the name of a group of autoimmune conditions characterized by the inflammation of the blood vessels caused by the immune system mistakenly attacking them. There are several types of ANCA vasculitis and the exact cause (genetic / environmental / etc) is unknown, so patients diagnosed with ANCA vasculitis may display varied symptoms. The disease affects about 1 in 50,000 people. Due to the generic symptoms many of us have (chronic pain, sore throat, cough, cold and flu like symptoms, headaches, etc.) this disorder is often over looked. Many people don’t receive a diagnosis until something major has happened (organ failure for example). This disorder can be deadly if left untreated and too many women (and men) have symptoms like the above brushed off...especially if they have a history of mental illness or are dealing with a lot of stress as I was; 

I first started searching for answers to my growing health concerns in 2018. I had just moved from Germany to Scotland to start my life over - I was finally leaving my abusive spouse with the help of my amazing parents - I had my first “grown up” job with Hilton Corporate and was going to work and get my Masters Degree (I have a BA in Anthropology and was hoping to get my MSc in Animal Welfare Science, Ethics & Law at the University of Glasgow or at the University of Edinburgh). I was so excited to start over! So excited that I may have pushed the trauma and emotional scarring of my abusive marriage down for the first few months I was there and everything was peachy. Of course, those moments of bliss could not last forever. Still, I was settled in a new country (which BTW I had never even been to Glasgow prior to moving there) and I felt relatively safe for the first time in over a year - here my spouse could not find me or hurt me. I began seeing a therapist to help me unpack the trauma of my past. Of course, I was worried what people would think - as I’m sure you can imagine my spouse’s version of why we were getting a divorce was very different from mine so I tried to keep everything as quiet as possible. I didn’t want to deal with any backlash because, in his eyes, as always, everything was my fault. It wasn’t the fact that he had wanted to kill me at one point - nooo that certainly wasn’t why I was leaving (sarcasm) - In his eyes it was because I wanted an older man or because I just wasn’t willing to try to fix things...(even though I was the one who had suggested marriage counseling in the first place). It wasn’t the fact that he’d isolated me or cut me off from our finances. No, nothing was ever his fault... Even now, when I no longer have contact with him or his family I am afraid... This is the first time I have openly spoken about our marriage and divorce and as I have begun to tell my story I’m terrified that he’ll try to contact me or that I will receive backlash from him or his family (I am sure many of them would take his side and call me a liar...). I am speaking out now for two reasons - the first was because I only think it is fair and right to be completely honest about who I am and how I ended up where I am now if I’m going to be asking  my family and friends for financial assistance and two because I want to help others who are or were victims of abuse. When I finally came out with my story a friend contacted me and told me she had been through the same type of situation with her spouse and it was a really lovely moment - we’d both been suffering in silence for fear of back lash but had now found each other.  Anyway, back to the matter at hand... The first symptom I had was pain, chronic pain all over my body. My back, legs, arms, knees, ankles, feet, wrists, you name it - it hurt - and it kept getting worse and worse. I was having to take pain killers every day just to get to work and come home. I was extremely tired, no matter how many hours of sleep I got (6, 8, 10...) I was always tired. Then I started having headaches that would last for hours, then for days, then for weeks. I started to feel like I had a cold (on good days) or the flu (on bad days). My throat was sore, my voice was hoarse, I was congested and then I started having night sweats or trouble controlling my temperature (freezing even though the heat was on and the electric fire place was going). When I spoke to my doctors about my concerns it was written off as stress, depression, or anxiety. Whenever someone in the office I worked in got sick (you know how it goes around in an office environment) I would get sick too... my co workers would feel unwell for a few days, I would feel unwell for weeks. I then got strep throat but the doctors said I’d be fine with a few days rest. A few days went by and it turned into bacterial tonsillitis. I had to have multiple rounds of antibiotics. Then I had a stomach infection that lasted for over a month, a cough that lasted for months (November 2018 - March 2019). At one point I was coughing so hard I thought I would pass out. I coughed till I puked. I coughed till I pulled a muscle. My blood work kept showing elevated levels of inflammation / signs of an infection but since doctors didn’t know why they told me it was probably just fibromyalgia (something which shouldnt’ be diagnosed until all other possible causes have been ruled out). The rheumatologist in Scotland said there was no cure but I could do yoga, meditate, and maybe take an anti depressant... I felt like I was dying - I didn’t understand how I could feel so sick and no one seemed to take me seriously or care. A year and a half later (June 2019) I decided to move back to Germany - Brexit was looming and I just wasn’t happy in Glasgow anymore. Everyday was a struggle, my bus commute to and from work often took an hour and would leave me in so much pain I could barely get up off the couch at the end of the day. Plus work was not happy with all of the sick days I’d had to take. Keeping in mind that I felt sick everyday and I only took sick days when I had a high fever or wasn’t able to talk or walk.  My parents lived in Germany at the time so I found a job where I could work at home in Germany and moved back in hopes of finding answers.  A few months after moving back to Germany my parents sadly had to go to the US so I was once again alone in a new area. In November 2019 my cough returned and I was sick again with an unexplained “upper respiratory infection”. Once again I was put on multiple rounds of antibiotics which didn’t help - To make things worse I am allergic to almost all cough syrup and since I was working in a call center I was off work sick. The cough lasted till mid January this time and I lost my job. Work “understood” that I was going through a tough time and “felt horrible” for letting me go - they said I could reapply when I was “healthy”... and to top things off, my emotional support animal of 8 years, my baby girl Biene (a 11 year old Australian Cattle dog), my rock and constant companion, was then diagnosed with cancer and passed in December of 2019.  I have to admit that these have been some of the hardest moments of my life... I have felt like such a failure and disappointment. I was an adult, I was supposed to be married and adopting kids (I’ve never wanted biological children due to my health issues), I was supposed to be getting my masters degree and leading a successful career, I wanted to travel and I wanted to be a source of positivity and happiness in the world... but instead I was broke, alone, grieving, depressed, anxious, and continuously sick... I have had to rely on my parents financially and have felt like a burden...I wanted to give up...but I kept fighting. Life gives us new reasons to keep living. I had a few great moments, I was blessed with a few opportunities for travel and have enjoyed those moments. I have great friends and family who continued to support me and who told me I was not a burden on their lives, so I kept fighting. I felt like my new German doctor wasn’t taking me seriously and once again was chalking everything up to stress and then later to grief (over losing my dog). So I found a new doctor a little further away and she listened to me - for the first time in a long time I felt like I had seen a doctor who actually cared. She helped me get in with a rheumatologist and she advocated for me. She agreed that my blood work constantly showing elevated levels of inflammation / infection - for over a 2 year period - along with me constantly feeling unwell wasn’t something to just be ignored but was an important symptom. While she had no idea what was wrong with me she was determined to help me find answers.  In May I finally went and saw the rheumatologist - at first I thought all hope was lost, in our very first meeting she said to me “ I don’t think there is anything wrong with you”. She had barely looked at my paperwork and had barely listened to my symptoms. They sounded too generic for her...she didn’t think ti could be anything “rheumatic”... I was so young... It was probably stress... I’d heard it all before; but still she did her job, she ran the tests and a month later I was suddenly called back in for another appointment. My blood work showed what I had known all along - that I was sick - that I needed help and she admitted that she’d been wrong.  It’s only been 12 days since I was finally diagnosed but its been a roller coaster of emotions for me - relief and validation - fear and anger and sadness... my life has so not gone to plan. I have struggled with depression and anxiety since I was 12 and the added stresses of the instances above, and the near constant pain (both emotional and physical) have not helped, but I refuse to give up. I’ll be completely honest with you, some days I don’t even know why - some days I only fight because I love my dog and cat and friends and family and cannot leave them. Other days I fight because I have dreams not yet realized.  So, yeah, I started this blog because I hope to raise enough money to get a service dog (and this is still a major goal of mine) but I hope it will become something more. My friends and family have been so generous during this difficult time for all of us and have donated what they can. So far we have around 700.00 raised of the 10,000.00 euro goal. Reaching the 10,000 euro goal seems nearly impossible ... at least it seems impossible without help...but I have faith.   If you have taken the time to read all of this I want to say THANK YOU. I know your time is precious (as is everyones and I appreciate it). I was wondering if you could share my story? Help me raise awareness about ANCA Vasculitis and other Chronic Illness? Help me raise awareness about domestic / emotional abuse and how it may seem impossible to overcome, but it is not and help me raise awareness about Gender (and other) bias in Medicine? I have a few posts here on my blog that talk about bias in medicine and I could provide you with a 100 different stories from men and women who are constantly battling against this bias to try and get help... and maybe , just maybe you could help me save up enough money to get a service dog? Within my blog everyone can find information on how a service dog could help me, how to donate, and more information about ANCA Vasculitis / Gender Bias in Medicine & I will soon be posting information for victims domestic abuse. Thank you so much for your time. I know that was a lot.  Lots of love from Germany,  Pia

P.S. I promise to pay it forward someday when I am in a better place. In case you’d like to know what some of my dreams and goals for my life are:  To adopt / foster / rescue / help animals in need. To adopt or foster children one day (If I can).  To help further civil rights movements like BLM and to help LGBTQ+ youth. To help further clean living and reduce waste.  To be a light for others who are suffering.  To perhaps one day own a bed & breakfast or cat cafe. 

#ellen #ellendegeneres #pleaseread #getthistoellen #chronic fatigue #chronicillness #chronicpain #thisisme #mystory #domesticabuse #survivor #fundraiser #ellenshow #this is my life

[yangkao]

“...my therapist practically broke up with me on our first session.”

Back in September, I mustard up what courage I had left to drive myself to a medical clinic. Which is the one that my family and I go to regularly. I don’t remember much of that day. But It was all a blur to me. To be honest, I had just woke up 20 minutes before my appointment. Actually, I have been sleeping for days on out. So, on this particular day you can just imagine how hot of a mess I was. My hair tangled with frizzes. I was wearing a heavy forest green winter jacket, checkered pajama pants, boots, unmatched socks and I remember underneath my coat was just a camouflage shirt. Also, I haven’t had brush my teeth in days. I mean can you just imagine, the look on my doctor’s face when she came in to her examination room and saw me sitting in the corner chair. Let me just say, her face said it all. She was seriously concerned for my lack of hygiene.

Her and I both.

What I remember most was that there was a lot of crying. I mean, tears and boogers. I wasn’t going to hold back. I thought I was going crazy. Something seriously was wrong with me. I had convinced myself that this had to be true. I had explained to her how miserable I was, though I didn’t know why. I’m sure she couldn’t comprehend half of what I was saying, because I couldn’t. I’m one of those criers that slur words together, excessively hyperventilating, all while trying to talk at the same time. Not my best moments that’s for sure.  

After calming myself down, we continued to talking and concluded that I was in fact diagnosed to have Anxiety/depression. Oddly, after hearing that I found myself with so much peace. I was calmer then I have ever been in weeks. Maybe it’s because deep down in my soul, I always knew that I have had depression. I just never had courage to get myself to meet a professional that will give me the proper diagnoses.

For a long time, I just kept telling myself, “it’s no biggie. It will eventually go away on it’s own.” Five years later and three kids along the way, it still hasn’t pass. Instead, It grew and festered creating a pitch dark hole in the center of my soul. There was no ounce of me that cared to live another day. I wanted to end my life so badly. Sadly, I’d convinced myself that my family was better off with out me. I was no good for them, I was a stumbling block to my husband’s ministry. I saw no value in myself, and when hearing my diagnosis that day, something that I needed to hear badly ended up giving me hope.

Why did it give me hope? Because, I wasn’t going crazy. I wasn’t madly insane. This was just not all in my head. I wasn’t just thinking I was overly dramatic. I was battling through ANXIETY and DEPRESSION. This is Something that can be fixed and Something that can be treated. I can now learn to set aside my insecurities of how I think of myself and focus on the heart issue. YIKES, that means I have to talk about my past, this is One thing that I don’t do often. But hey I was willing to go through it only by the guidance of a therapist. And so I made an appointment and got myself a therapist. (Yay, me!) Met with her and 2 minutes into our session, I dreaded it. It was the worst mistake of my life. Why oh, why did I listen to myself? I came home pouting, mad, and I went on a full on rant about it with my husband. For a WHOLE week I didn’t realize then but I was consuming all of my focus on that one mistake of getting a therapist. Oh, but don’t get me wrong. I believe my therapist and I had a mutual understanding that we weren’t good for each other. Because, after our first session she told me, “I’m going to refer you to a much better therapist. One that you and I will agree will better suit your needs.” Yeah, my therapist practically broke up with me on our first session. ANNND, I was ok with that.

I’m sure that at this point you’re wondering, “ what in the world happened in that first session?” Oh, don’t you want to know? Well, sadly that’s for another blog post. Yes, it is worth having its own blog post. Trust me, you don’t want to miss it either.

Furthermore, in the weeks that followed I found myself still angry, raging with uncontrollable spiraling  emotions that I can’t find a better word for, but oddly still at peace. My anxiety gave me courage. Something that I don’t have much of. I was finding myself more impatient, more insensitive to my surrounding but yet more sensitive to my way of thinking and feeling. I might not be making sense here but hey your still reading this aren’t ya?” Any how, this new profound me had gone rouge. I mean, I was doing things that I haven’t done in years.They were things that I made a name for myself back in my days. The first time in a long time, when my hand touched all that goodness, I knew nothing was going to stop me now. My mind was racing with thousands of ideas. I mean, I was seriously having munchies if you know what I mean? I was burning through it like back in the days when I used to stay up all night typing away. I was writing again. Though I was never good at it, I was doing something I loved. Blogging. And when I blog, I always have to have a snack and a drink near by. Just incase I needed to refuel. I used to upload my thoughts online here at, kaozong.blogspot.com. If you ever came upon my page and had read the only two posts I had ever wrote on there then you know...I write ( insert smirk and rising of the eye brows).

Completely, went rouge right?

Things were moving along, I was facing my anxiety and depression head on. My husband and I talked about how to go about it. The steps and precautions that we will have to make for the next season to come. Now, not all days were so optimistic. That would just be wishful thinking.  I had many days that I was drenched in sweat from waking up panicking due to stress about the “season to come.” I was stressing about our big move in July. I was stressing over about how our life is going to change dramatically when we leave to Southern California. I still have plenty of those bad hygiene days, where I would lock myself up for days just because I was feeling alone or when things from my past starts creeping back into my head once more. To all those sinful thoughts that I lost myself in. You see, I have had many bad days, that put me out like a cigarette being put out. And during those days I feel like what remains of the smoldering tobacco which is nothing but ashes being swept by the wind.

On the 28th of November, this past Tuesday to be exact. I had a standing appointment to go to. That day I was going there to receive consultation about what medication I would need to maintain a good healthy balance of my own emotions. My husband and I along with my doctor have talked long prior to this standing appt. We wanted to be open minded to all the possibilities of improving my state of mind. And this was one of them. Waking up that morning a 7:30am on the dot was not easy. I felt like a prune, shriveled and dried out. My husband and the kids came out to the clinic, waited in the waiting room to support me while I was in the examination room. I remember feeling miserable, mostly emotionally exhausted. And I looked the part too. Trust me on that. I was already having such a hard couple of days. When my doctor came in I can see the look of concern on her face the same concerning look she had for my hygiene. She sat down and slowly explained my condition to me and it seemed like a life time. Slowly, the word, “BIPOLAR” came out of her mouth and I immediately felt my heart dropped. It was so painful to hear. There was no hope in the word. Everything she had said following after that word was soundless to me. I saw her mouth moving but no sound was coming out. She then brought a psychiatrist into the room along with my new likable therapist to consult with me about my new diagnosis. I’m sure that they were explaining to me what bipolar means and how to go about living my life with bipolar. I guess we will never really know. I had already tuned them out.

These last couple of days, has been rough as you may have already predicted. The good thing is that the pills prescribed to me helps subtle my maniacal episodes. The biggest side effect that I’ve notice after taking the pill is that I get exceedingly tired. But, hey enough on that. The days that followed up after my discovery of this new diagnosed has been filled with more support than I can ever imagine. Yes, the first two days were tense for me. I was still apprehensive towards the idea of being bipolar. Still, one thing was for sure to be true is my God wanted me here in the present. I needed to know that he was in me, and not just with me. He showed himself through many of you folks that are reading this. He showed himself through family members and friends with their mighty prayers, heart felt words that made me feel wholeness once more. Lastly, my God blessed me with my wonderful, selfless, thoughtful husband who since day one has been beside me through this season that I am facing. It is a bit of everything  everyone says that keeps me breathing. A word that surface in my heart over and over through all of this is the word, “embrace.” And that is exactly what I am going to “try” to do.

[Mania] : excitement manifested by mental and physical hyperactivity, disorganization of behavior, and elevation of mood; specifically: the manic phase of bipolar disorder

I have trembled and trampled through the the last couple of months being frightened, lost, withdrawn, and I was taken over by the lies that I have created in my head. The mind can become such a scary place if you let it, and I did. It starts with letting the flesh to take over. Instead of saying no, I started to say, “ Just this one time.” If you don’t play your cards right then in a flash, it’s game. You lose. Soon enough, my mind plays game with my heart. My heart tries to fight back but ends up confuse.

I don’t know how it came to this point, but I knew I wasn’t going to let it consume me no more. I was going to acknowledge my new mental illness instead by “EMBRACED” all of it. Just like when Jesus embraced the cross by accepting the cup.

“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.”

Matthew: 26:39

Adam Clarke put it in this way,

“The word cup is frequently used in the Sacred Writings to point out sorrow. anguish, terror, death. It seems to be an allusion to a very ancient method of punishing criminals. A cup of poison was put into their hands, an they were obliged to drink it. Socrates was killed thus, being obliged by the magistrates of Athens to drink a cup of juice of hemlock. To death, by the poisoned cup, there seems  an allusion in Hebrews 2:9, Jesus Christ, by the grace of God, tasted death for every man. The whole world are here represented as standing guilty and condemned before the tribunal of God.; into every man’s hand the deadly cup is put, and he is required to drink off the poison-Jesus enters, takes every man’s cup out of his hands, and drinks off the poison, and thus tastes or suffers the death with every man otherwise must undergone.”

I think sometimes in our trouble days, we tend to want to take the short cut. The easy way out. I know I do. I Find myself in those places more often then I think. This world gives us so much access to the things that we believe can benefit us.  My medication is one thing that I have to be very careful of. I don’t want to be completely dependent on a substance that only gives me temporary fixing. It’s not going to fix me, but simply it’s more of a bandaid. It covers my cut, so that no bacteria can do more damage to it. what I need is the rubbing alcohol. yeah, it stings. Only for a little bit, though. Instead, it kills off all the bacteria that is already there, and fights off any germs germs that will try to weaken your immune system. We wouldn’t want your immune system shutting down your body. In fact, rubbing alcohol allows a cut to heal properly. Jesus can more often come off like that rubbing alcohol. We just have to believe that the works of the rubbing alcohol is for our own good, our own protection from bacterium that wants to do more harm than good. Jesus, does all things for our good. Believe that.

I trembled once more after reading the quote above. Not because I was frighten or lost. No, instead I trembled in the victorious display He put upon this world. Let’s be honest, “satan you have no days here!”

                     “…the spirit indeed is willing(vs.39)…”

The Son of God set his mind, readied his heart and displayed courage when he bore all trials. He took upon himself to carry all sins of men and wash us all with his blood. My Jesus, EMBRACED it all. Even through distress, grief- the weight of carrying all our sins he still manages to stretch out his entire body on that cross and died. AND in that death there is VICTORY. His love lavished on us and called us children of God. I can cry out, “ABBA, I belong to you.” Because, though I am scared to my bones of this diagnosis I know you are my all, you are inside of me. And yes, my flesh may fail you a thousand times, I will doubt my faith in trouble days to come before me, but my heart is set on you. My weakness will not make it’s name in my heart, not this time. The lies that speaks in my mind can play tricks to my soul, But, your desire for human companionship speaks louder, the fullness of your human nature, is no less in value than your divine nature. The willingness to walk through the shadows of the valley to get to you, is a thousand “HALLELUJAH’S” in my heart.

Tonight, as I am finishing this up. I am in awe of how powerful our God truly is. In this short time coming, He has and still is working through me in this season. I’m far from being completely healed, but in the process of learning how to be healed. I have to remind myself that even if we all have the same problem, everyone handles it differently from one another. If I need more time to get better then I will have to learn to be still. Yes, it’s going to be hard. I’m sure of it. I pray that this may ring TRUTH in your ears, as well. Through any trials that you may be facing in this season or these couple of seasons. You are heard. Your voice is being lifted to the Most High, and He is threading all his goodness to weave in you the BEST you. Be still and listen. Embrace and get ready to embark the path that he has ingrained before you, my dearest friends.

Thank you, Jesus. that you extended that Grace to me. That you took my place so that I may be set free from the bondage that tries to hold me down.

#embrace #bipolar #setfreefrommybondage

[philsdrill]

Chapter 23: Doughnuts

Fic Summary: “Everyone had a link with their soulmates, some could hear some of their partners thoughts, some had a tattoo that would appear with their partners name; for me, I knew when they got sick.” For a while Phil has thought that his soulmate might have an eating disorder and doesn’t expect to meet him in the restaurant where he works.

Genre: a lot of fluff, recovery, really fucking domestic, waiter!Phil

Warnings: eating disorders, anorexia, bulimia, hospitals, panic attacks, references to past abuse, mentions of suicide, mentions of self-harm, a lot of awkwardness, small amounts of smut. This is potentially triggering so for your own sake, please think twice about reading if anything this might affect you.

Disclaimer: I don’t have personal experience with eating disorders, but have done some research. If I have anything about them wrong, feel free to send me an ask and I’ll sort it out.

Word Count (for this part): 6.5k

[Uploads will be approximately every couple of weeks! (hopefully)]

A/N: This chapter has been almost ready for a few days but I kept forgetting to proofread it, so finally here it is. A little disclaimer: there’s a few mentions of medications in this chapter, and despite a bit of research I’m not an expert on them, so Dan’s medications and the way he takes them may not be quite accurate. I’ve tried my best but I’m an about-to-be design student, not a doctor.

MASTERPOST

<= Previous Chapter

Dan’s POV:

It had been the best part of a week since Adam left us and headed home, and we’d kept in touch with both him and Ethan. They both seemed to be doing okay, which was more than could be said for me.

I’d been able to get a lot of rest over the last few days, really just sleeping away the time while Phil was out at work, but still I felt like I hadn’t slept properly in weeks. I’d been sleeping fine up until a few days ago, but of recent, I’d been plagued by confusing dreams and nightmares.

Waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, having a panic attack, was not ideal, but the last few nights seemed to have featured these disturbances. Phil was clearly worried about me; he did his best to help me through it at the time, but I couldn’t hide how it was making me feel.

As I sat, eating my lunch, I thought back to last nights dream. It hadn’t really been a nightmare, more a mess of confusing and disorientating thoughts. Images of falling into the middles of giant doughnuts, being consumed into a nothingness, drowning in a pool of my own tears. A tall brown-haired lady with no face shouting at me, pushing me down, trying to drown me. I’d awoken struggling to breathe, Phil shaking me and trying to pull me out of it. It took a couple of minutes before I realised the dream had been a dream, and I felt confused for a while afterwards.

“Dan,” Phil said, reaching his hand across and clamping it on my shoulder, “Dan, you in there?”

“Sorry,” I said, shuddering in realisation that I’d completely spaced out, “I was thinking about the dream again.”

“You need to talk about that at your appointment,” Phil reminded me gently, “See if they can tell you what’s happening or at least give you some advice to make it stop.”

“Yeah I will,” I nodded, my anxiety about my therapist appointment this afternoon increasing even more.

“Are you going to be okay by yourself?” Phil asked, clearly sensing that this wasn't going to be the easiest appointment for me.

“Yeah I’ll be fine,” I insisted, knowing that I would be once I got there.

My therapist was lovely, and although talking about my problems was a little scary, I could manage without Phil. It was someone to talk to independant from Phil, and the professional help really did help. Even just telling her things came as a bit of a relief, because she knew all about the problems I was facing.

I said goodbye to Phil at the door, him pulling me into a hug and giving me a goodbye kiss. I felt he maybe drew it out slightly longer than usual, but I wasn’t complaining. I took a bus to the therapist’s place. Despite being able to take Phil’s car if I wanted, there wasn’t really much parking around the place and the buses worked well.

I arrived with about ten minutes to spare before my appointment, giving me time to sit in the waiting room and relax. It turned out my therapist was free, as five minutes before the appointment was due to start, she popped her head out of her room.

“Oh, Dan; you can just come through if you want,” she said, smiling.

I got up from my seat in the waiting room, making my way to her office and settling in my usual seat. The consultation corner of her office was quite informal, a couple of comfy seats around a low coffee table. She had her desk and laptop at the other side of the room, separating that side of things from the relaxed consultations she wanted to have with her patients.

She disappeared briefly, probably to get my file from the storage room, then sat next to me around the little table.

“How’re you doing, Dan?” she asked me, getting the conversation started before we got onto anything serious.

“Alright,” I told her, “Like I could be better; I’ve got a few things that are bothering me, but I’m okay.”

“Okay,” she nodded, “We’ll get to those, we’ll start with the usual questions. Are you still getting on well with your eating?”

“Yup,” I said, nodding,, “I think I’m doing okay. Phil’s happy enough. He still thinks I could do to eat a bit more, but I’m a healthy weight and everything.”

“And are you happy enough about it?” she asked, curiously.

“Yeah, I think so,” I told her, “Like I still have moments where I feel less good, but I feel better in general.”

“How is your relationship with Phil doing? Do you still find he’s a bit overbearing with how he keeps an eye on you?” she asked.

“It’s good,” I told her, “I’m fine with it now. I think I’ve gained more of his trust now that I’m doing better, so he doesn’t need to watch over me so much. Also now… I’ve had to take on the role of being the stronger one in the relationship a couple of times recently. Phil’s been diagnosed as lactose intolerant and I’ve had to look after him when he’s been sick, encourage him to eat when he’s not really feeling like it. I think I’ve gained more of an understanding.”

“Yeah, so you’ve kind of found yourself in his shoes recently,” she nodded, “I know the situation’s not ideal, but I can see the understanding you’d get from that.”

She paused, picking up my file from the table and making a couple of notes, “Okay, now… your anxiety. We have you on antidepressants and you have beta-blockers to take during the panic or anxiety attacks; how are you getting on with them?”

“Good… I think,” I said, taking my time while I thought about how to explain what I’d been going through. “The antidepressants have me feeling less anxious throughout the day in general, and the beta-blockers have been absolute life savers, like I don’t know how I would get through an attack without them.”

“How frequently would you say you’re having panic attacks now?” she asked.

“Maybe about once or twice a week?” I said, hesitantly, after thinking about it for a minute, “But they’ve been a bit different recently.”

“Can you explain what you mean by different?” she asked, her tone somewhere between curious and concerned.

“Well my… uhh…,” I hesitated, deciding on what to call my relationship to Martyn, ”... my brother-in-law accidentally brushed my stomach and that seemed to start off a panic attack. I took my medication and calmed down a bit but then when I tried to talk about it and explain to him and his soulmate why I had panic attacks, I started having some kind of flashback of my ex where all I could see was her face and all I could hear was her voice and I didn’t really come out of it until one of them got Phil.”

She nodded, making some notes in my file, “Any other examples you feel you can tell me about?”

“Last week Phil and I were looking at our finances and trying to sort a couple of things out and let’s just say our financial situation isn’t the best because I’m an unemployed uni dropout and he works part time,” I explained, “And it stresses me out that we’re eating into savings and I’m doing nothing about it. We started arguing about me wanting to get a job and I hadn’t really noticed, until Phil asked me where my anxiety tablets were, that I was having an anxiety attack. I took them, but everything was really weird and fuzzy for a while and I didn’t really feel like I was there.”

“Okay, so flashbacks and dissociation,” she nodded, making a couple more notes, “Do you experience any trouble sleeping, or nightmares for example?”

“Actually, yeah, these last few days I’ve been having confusing dreams - nightmares I guess - about my ex,” I told her, feeling a little nervous recalling them, “I’ve woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, having a panic attack.”

Nodding, she scribbled something else down in her notes, “Can you tell me what happened in the dream? Don’t worry about it if you can’t.”

I started to recall it for a second or two and felt sick at the thought.

I shook my head, “Sorry, I’d rather not at the moment.”

“Okay, Dan,” she nodded, laying the file and her pen down, “I’m not going to formally diagnose this yet, but it sounds like you could have post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“Could you explain?” I asked, a little scared as it wasn’t something I knew much about.

The psychiatrist started to explain the symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder (or PTSD to give it it’s acronym) and how these linked to how I’d been feeling recently. She informed me that it was a type of anxiety disorder, so it had probably been grouped together with my other anxiety under the term of ‘general anxiety’ until now.

I forced myself to take a couple of deep breaths and not get worked up about it. Nothing had changed, apart from maybe knowing another detail about my problems.

“I’m going to ask you to come and see me a bit more often,” she said, pulling me away from my thoughts, “I’m going to suggest you book an appointment in for next week and then the week after, but it's up to you.”

“Okay,” I nodded, knowing it would be best to do what she suggested, “I’ll do that.”

She continued to tell me a little more about the disorder, making her way across the office to her desk to grab an information leaflet about it. As she moved things aside to find the leaflets, a flash of dark green caught my attention. She lifted a folder from on top of this green box, but my attention seemed glued to the box.

Doughnuts. It was a box of doughnuts.

The alarm bells started ringing my head and my heart started to beat a little faster. It made me feel stupid, but doughnuts had to be my biggest trigger. In a way, they’d led to everything. I tried to keep myself together, but my mind was already racing to that fateful box of doughnuts I’d eaten almost a year ago.

I was handed the leaflet that my therapist had at last found, “I’d like you to read through this with Phil and make sure he knows what’s going on.”

I agreed and  mumbled a thanks, but I couldn’t really focus.

Not here. This couldn’t happen here.

I knew I needed out of here. I wanted to be with Phil at home, back in our cosy flat and the safety of his arms.

“I need to go home,” I told my therapist, pulling my phone out my pocket and texting Phil.

Can u come and get me - like asap

I kept it brief, knowing Phil wouldn’t question it. He’d be here soon and then everything would be better.

“Dan what’s wrong?” she asked, getting on my level by returning to her earlier seat.

I shook my head. She was a psychiatrist. She could figure out what was wrong if she needed to know.

“Dan, do you need to take your beta-blockers?” she prompted, clearly recognising I was having a panic attack.

I nodded. I was getting there slowly, but hadn’t quite got round to getting them out yet. I lifted my jacket onto my lap and opened up my pockets to find which one I’d put them in. I thought I’d checked all of my pockets, but I must’ve missed one as I didn’t find them the first time. I searched through my pockets again and that was when the realisation hit me.

I didn’t have them. What did I do?

I felt the tears welling in my eyes and ignored the concerned queries of my therapist, only mumbling to her that I’d left them at home. Knowing he was at home too, I texted Phil again.

cnu bring anxiety pills i fprgot

I knew my typing skills had failed me, but I decided it was a pretty decent attempt for the amount I was shaking. After my previous message, I could see that Phil had texted me back to ask if I was okay, but I didn’t need to reply. I’m sure the jumbled message about my anxiety meds would answer that.

Knowing Phil would be ten to fifteen minutes away, I tried to keep myself together while I waited. I focused myself on my breathing and answered a couple of my therapist's questions, telling her that Phil was on his way and that I really didn’t feel good.

“Dan, did I do something that triggered you?” she asked, her voice remaining calm and collected.

“No,” I should my head, my chest tightening as I tried to get the words out, “The doughnuts.”

In my blurry haze of consciousness, I couldn’t really remember whether I’d told her about nora’s doughnuts. I must’ve done!? Surely, but I couldn’t be sure.

The room before me seemed to vanish into a sugary haze, the memories of Nora’s harsh words drowning out those of my therapist trying to help me.

What the fuck, you fat imbecile. You ate my entire box of doughnuts - you were fat enough already, you worthless piece of flab! Do you not understand the meaning of my doughnuts? Get the fuck out of my life, that’s it, I never want to see you again!

As a once off, it could’ve been put down to a mood swing, but with a slap across the face and a couple of punches, that was really the final straw. She’d broken me so much already and I was too weak to even think about repairing things. I quickly fell to my worst after that; if I wasn’t good enough for her, surely I wasn’t good enough for anyone.

When Phil picked me up off the floor the night of my nameless date in his restaurant, that was the first light I’d seen in months. I tried to focus on the thought of Phil to try and bring me out of this flashback, the one fleck of brightness amongst all my dark thoughts. I gave up all hope on focusing on the present; I could vaguely see people moving around me, but there was too much going on in my head to take it in.

--

Phil’s POV:

When I got Dan’s text, asking me to come and get him asap, I hurried to get myself out as quickly as possible. I didn’t know what was happening, but I could tell from his message he needed me. I pulled on a pair of shoes, which happened to be Dan’s, but we were close enough in size that it wouldn’t matter too much.

I was grabbing my keys, about to head out the door, when I got his second text.

cnu bring anxiety pills i fprgot

I wasn’t one to swear, but at that moment I did, muttering a profanity under my breath. This wasn’t good; if he was looking for his tablets, then he was having a panic attack and if he didn’t have them, well then that was going to be a bad one.

It took me a couple of minutes to find them; they ended up being on Dan’s bedside table, as a result of the nightmare come panic attacks he’d been having recently. I zipped them into my coat pocket to make sure I didn’t lose them, then rushed out of the house and down to the car.

It was about a ten minute drive to the physciatrist practice; I’d taken Dan there once when there was a bus strike, so thankfully I knew where it was. What I didn’t know was my way around inside. I explained the situation to the receptionist, who was very helpful and took me to the room Dan would be in.

I knocked on the door first, but there were probably too many voices talking in there to hear. I pushed the door open and walked in, taking in the scene before me of three people huddled around Dan, who was sat on a chair in the corner, shaking profusely and seeming to ignore the three people who were trying to speak to him.

“I’m Phil, his soulmate,” I explained, making my way across the room and pushing into the little circle they had formed.

At that, they parted a little to let me closer to him. They were no formal introductions, but the lady closest to Dan, I presumed was his therapist, as she seemed to know what was going on.

“Empty doughnut box on my desk seemed to trigger him,” she explained to me, quietly, “Have you got his medication?”

I nodded, “Yeah, I’m going to try and talk to him, could one of you maybe get a glass of water and give us a little more space?”

Once the others had moved away, I was able to focus more on what was happening to Dan. He was seeing, but not really watching. His eyes were on me; he seemed to have noticed I was here but his thoughts must be elsewhere.

“Dan,” I said firmly, looking him in the eye, “Can you talk to me? Tell me, what did you have for breakfast this morning?”

I knew perfectly well that Dan had had a bowl of crunchy nut cornflakes and some tea, but I was trying to get a reaction out of him.

“Phil, help, N-Nora…” Dan stuttered.

“She’s not here,” I told him calmly, “I’m here and no one here is going to hurt you.”

I slowly reached out a hand towards Dan, but didn’t place it on him. I didn’t know exactly what was going on in his head, but if he was anywhere near the memory of Nora hitting him, I didn’t want to make things worse.

“Dan, can you take my hand?” I asked him, “I’ve got your medication and I’ll give you it in a minute; just need you to relax a little bit first.”

Dan slowly reached out his hand to meet mine, then suddenly he was shuffling over right next to me and trying to nuzzle his body into my arms. It was a sudden change in his demeanour, but it was a sign of things getting better. I loosely brought my arms around him and let him lean on me, feeling his shaking resounding through my body too.

It was at this moment that the lady I presumed to be Dan’s therapist, handed over a cup of water. I took it from her and retrieved Dan’s pills from my jacket pocket. I took out his dose and held out the pills and water to him.

“Dan, you need to take these,” I said softly, trying to stay as calm as I could for him.

Dan nodded, trying to calm his breathing for a couple of seconds to reply, “Don’t wanna… feel sick…”

“Only when you’re ready. Let’s take some deep breaths first, yeah,” I said, moving my hand onto his chest and working with him to try and slow his breathing a little.

A couple of minutes later, I offered Dan the tablets again. This time he took them, albeit a little hesitantly, and held them in his own hand. I passed him the cup of water, then moved around so I was supporting him a little more. He got them down okay, which was a relief. His gag reflex could be sensitive at times and he sometimes struggled with swallowing them. It was really now a case of waiting for them to take effect and doing my best to help in the meantime.

“You’re going to be okay,” I told him, continuing to hold him.

I kept an open posture, allowing Dan to climb onto my lap if that was what he wanted. I didn’t mind; I just wanted him to feel better. As I predicted, Dan did end up sitting between my legs, curled up tightly with his face buried in my chest.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked him, rubbing my hand up and down his back.

“Safer now. Still really shaky but…” Dan paused to take some deep breaths, “N breathing’s hard.”

Nodding, I took into account what Dan was saying and tried to help him with his breathing. I encouraged him to exhume his his face from the folds of my coat and sit up straight. Dan was no stranger to breathing exercises so all he needed was a little support and encouragement.

The extra people in the room had now disappeared and it was down to just the lady I presumed to be Dan’s therapist. She was watching me as I helped Dan, but made no effort to intervene. Hopefully that meant I was doing the right thing.

Eventually, Dan had his breathing more or less under control and he was no longer shaking quite so much.

“How d’you feel about heading home now?” I asked him, wanting to make sure he was ready first.

“Please,” he mumbled, “I just want my bed.”

“Okay,” I nodded, looking up to speak to his therapist to let her know we were about to go.

“I think he’s okay for us to head home now,” I said to her, “Is there anything he needs to do before he goes?”

“Yes, just let me explain to you first what I was talking to Dan about,” she said quickly, “Dan’s spoken to me about his recent panic attacks and nightmares or trouble sleeping, which I understand you know about?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“From what he told me, I was suspecting that post-traumatic stress disorder was forming a big part of his anxiety. From witnessing this episode, I think I can confirm that,” she explained, “I’m not going to spend ages telling you about it because Dan should get home, but he has a leaflet there about it and you can read up about it on the NHS website.”

“Okay, we’ll look into that,” I said, “Does he need to book another appointment?”

“Yes, I was telling him I’d like to see him weekly for a bit, but I think we’ll make the first appointment in a couple of days if he can make that?” she said, “I’m going to speak to his doctor about possibly increasing his dose of antidepressants.”

“Okay,” I nodded, taking a mental note of what she’d said to think about later, “And do we just do that at the reception?”

“Yes,” she said, cheerily, “Right, I’ll let you be on your way and Dan, apologies, I hope you feel better soon.”

Keeping my arm around Dan, we made our way out of the building, stopping at the reception desk to book his appointment on the way. I took the lead and did most of the talking for him, knowing that his emotional state was a bit too fragile for him to want to face it alone.

We made it home in ten minutes, Dan silently staring into space in the passenger seat next to me. It was only once we were home in our own space that he actually opened up a bit and spoke about how he was feeling. I followed him into our room and lay down with him on the bed, while he told me all what had happened, from his therapist telling him about PTSD to her looking for the folder of information leaflets and uncovering a doughnut box. His recollection of his panic attack come flashback was a bit less clear, but I could tell he’d lost almost all focus on what was going on in the room.

I was meant to be working the late shift at the restaurant that evening, but I didn’t feel like I could leave Dan after that. I called my manager and explained the situation, being very apologetic and asking whether someone would be able to take my shift.

Fortunately, he was in a good mood and he knew of someone who was looking for some extra shifts this week. Clearly, he had to call and see if this person was free, but he texted me back ten minutes later to let me know that all was good, they could take my shift.

I let Dan have some alone time whilst I made the two of us dinner. It was important that he had the peace to sort out his thoughts by himself. Yes, there were a lot of things I could help him through, but everyone needed some alone time, even from their soulmate.

After couscous stuffed red peppers with a light sauce, we spent some time together again. Dan wasn’t up to doing much, so we put on some anime and relaxed together. In a way I felt a bit lazy, as I should’ve been working but here I was sprawled on my sofa instead. However, Dan was more important to me than the restaurant I worked in. I could get a new job; I couldn’t get a new Dan.

About ten o’clock, when I could see tiredness starting to take a toll on Dan, I suggested we go for a bath together before heading to bed. Dan jumped at this offer, willingly untangling himself from me so I could get up to run the bath.

I asked Dan to bring fresh towels from the cupboard with him when he came, but also to take his time in coming through because it would take me ten minutes to get the bath filled. As the water ran in, I plopped in a bath bomb, watching as it slowly dissolved in front of me.

The bath bomb was still dissolving when Dan appeared with the towels. I took them from him to put on the radiator and let him watch the fizzing colours disperse into the water. Watching it dissolve was part of the fun and I didn’t want to deprive him of that.

When the bath bomb had fizzled out and the water was both the right temperature and depth, we stripped out of our clothes and hopped into the bath. I got in first, making space for Dan between my legs, where I could cuddle him to my heart’s content. We stayed in there until our toes started to shrivel up, me pressing kisses to Dan’s various body parts the whole time and generally trying to make him feel good.

Wrapped in fluffy towels, I invited Dan to come to the kitchen with me to make hot chocolate. It wasn’t really a necessity in our bedtime routine, but I had to admit it was nice to have a hot drink that was free from caffeine before going to bed.

We took our hot chocolates back to our bedroom and still wrapped in our fluffy towels, we sat down on the bed to drink them. Ten minutes later, we were pretty much dry, and now filled with warmth on the inside. We each found some pyjamas, as the night was to be a cold one, then went to brush our teeth together.

Once we were in bed, cosy amongst our duvets, I didn’t hesitate to find Dan and hold him close. Usually I would wait until he rolled over into my arms, but today I knew he needed it. The weight in my arms was something I was used to falling asleep with now, Dan’s warmth keeping my heart happy, and mine hopefully doing the same in return.

--

A couple of days later, Dan returned to see his therapist. For the first time ever, I accompanied him to the appointment, mainly as moral support. We both knew that this was a follow up about what happened the last time and may possibly result in a change to his medication. He was a little anxious about seeing his therapist again after the episode he had in her office just two days ago. When he expressed how he was feeling about going, I offered to come with him. I always offered, but until now, he hadn’t taken me up on it.

The appointment wasn’t very long; Dan’s therapist talked to him a little more about his anxiety and PTSD and agreed with him that he would start taking an increased dose of antidepressants to help him through it. She gave him a prescription for the new tablets, with the only difference being the increased strength. She had discussed with his doctor that this was the most sensible course of action for him. The antidepressants were already working for him; he just needed a stronger dose. It would be less of a shock to his body than trying him on something else entirely, and although there may be side effects, it was thought that these wouldn’t last much more than a week.

We left with the prescription and picked them up on the way home. The next day, Dan started on his double dose. At first, he seemed fairly normal, but by lunchtime on the second day, the side effects were starting to hit him.

It started as a headache, but by mid-afternoon he had his head in his hands and a bucket in his lap, complaining of feeling sick. There was nothing I could do other than make him tea and keep him company. I couldn’t get out of work that evening, but I got Dan to bed before I left and he was still sound asleep when I got home.

I took the next couple of nights off and stayed home with him, but his symptoms didn’t seem to change much. He complained of headaches and nausea and in general he was a bit spaced out, but it never seemed to escalate further than that. After seeing his symptoms weren’t getting worse I had faith that he would be okay by himself and decided to work another night, but this time I asked Louise over to keep an eye on him while I was gone as he wasn’t going to be asleep this time.

I must’ve been tempting fate with thinking he would be okay, because about an hour before the end of my shift, I got that all-too-familiar feeling of worry and I knew that Dan was throwing up. With it being about eleven o’clock on a weekday, I was down to only a couple of tables, so I rushed to see my manager to see if I could be excused. He was able to speak to a couple of my colleagues and agreed that they took on an extra table each. I thanked them, then grabbed my stuff and headed on my way.

I texted both Louise and Dan to say I was on my way home. They might very well have been too busy to pick it up, but it was worth a shot.

I unlocked our front door and was immediately saw Louise standing in the bathroom doorway. That must be where Dan was. I shut the door behind me, took off my jacket and called out a 'hello’.

Louise let me past without a word, allowing me to crouch down next to Dan as he hunched over the toilet.

“I'm here now,” I said softly, gently putting my arm around him.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbled, “For umm… making you need to come home.”

“It's fine,” I told him, “I was down to two tables so it was no problems for the others to take them on. You're more important.”

“You've been sick once, yeah?” I confirmed, “How're you feeling?”

“Shit,” Dan said, “Like I know there's more but I don't know if it's gonna come up or not. I feel like it might, but then I've been feeling sick for the past few days and it's never actually happened until now.”

“Okay,” I nodded, running my fingers through the damp hair on his forehead.

“Louise, what have you given him?” I asked, turning my head around to speak to her.

“Just water,” she said, “I didn't know what else he should take because it's the medication that's making him feel this way.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I explained, “I've been going with water and tea the last few days and I don't know if it really helps much.”

I turned back to Dan, “How about I go and make you some tea? D’you think that’ll help?”

“Don’t leave me,” he replied, looking up at me miserably.

“Okay,” I said, settling back on the floor next to him, “I wont.”

“I can make tea if you want?” Louise piped up from behind us.

“Dan?” I said, looking to him to see what he wanted, “D’you want some tea?”

Dan looked a bit unsure, but nodded anyway, “Okay.”

“Chamomile, yeah?” I confirmed with him.

Dan nodded again and I passed his decision onto Louise, “Okay, chamomile tea. The box of teabags is probably on the counter next to the kettle. If not, it's in the cupboard above the kettle. No milk or sugar or anything.”

Louise headed off to make the tea and I turned my full attention back to Dan, “How sick are you feeling? D’you want to take the bucket and head back to the living room? Or wander around for a bit?”

“Maybe go to the living room with it, yeah,” Dan replied, slowly lifting his head up from where it rest on the toilet seat.

“Okay, take your time,” I said, getting up myself, then offering him a hand up.

Once he was back on his feet, Dan clutched the bucket to his chest and we slowly walked through to the living room. He settled on the closest sofa and gently tugged the hem of my shirt for me to sit down next to him. I sat down next to him and put my arm around him, comfortingly.

“Louise’ll only be a minute with the tea,” I told him, as looking up, I could see into our kitchen where Louise was slowly stirring the teabag around with a spoon.

Sure enough, it couldn’t have been much more than thirty seconds later, when Louise came through with the steaming cup in her hand and passed it over to Dan. He held it for a couple of minutes, to let it cool down enough for him to drink, then slowly started sipping on the hot drink.

It didn’t seem to be making him feel any worse, but then he wasn’t always very vocal about it, “Let me know if you feel any worse, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dan nodded, then made a hesitant sound, “Actually, my head’s pretty sore again. Can I have more paracetamol yet?”

“Good point, yeah you can,” I said, getting up from the sofa to go and grab them from kitchen where he’d put them after dinner.

With the dregs of his tea, Dan swallowed his dose of the painkillers, then sank back into the sofa. He shut his eyes, which at first I presumed to be out of tiredness, but when he scrunched them up and brought a hand to his forehead, I realised it was out of pain.

“I think you need to get to bed,” I suggested, “You really don’t look too good.”

“Mmm,” Dan mumbled, sounding like he was agreeing with me.

“Right, how about you go and brush your teeth while I see Louise off?” I suggested.

Dan agreed, and with a little encouragement, I ushered him along to our room and into our en-suite. I left him alone to brush his teeth, while I showed Louise out. It took a couple of minutes, with her getting her stuff together and putting her coat on, a goodbye hug and then a few more things she’d forgotten to say, before she went out the door.

I was just opening the front door when Dan walked out of our room, only wearing his pyjama bottoms. He turned bright red as he realised Louise was still here and he was shirtless. Before he could run away, I put my arm out and pulled him into a hug, holding him close to my side so he could use me to cover himself up a little if he wanted.

I said my last goodbye to Louise with Dan glued to my side. It was only once I had shut the door that he stopped hiding himself behind me.

“I thought Louise would've gone already otherwise I wouldn't have come out shirtless,” Dan explained, “I took my other one off because I'd sicked on it a little and I couldn't be bothered finding a clean one.”

“It's alright,” I said, “I know you felt a bit self-conscious but you didn't need to be.”

“I know,” Dan nodded, “It's just instinct.”

Noticing Dan seemed a bit unsteady on his feet, almost like he was going to pass out, I put my arm back around him and guided him back into our room.

“Bed time for you,” I said, light-heartedly, “You look like you're going to pass out.”

“I feel a bit that way too,” Dan commented, letting me help him up into the bed.

Once Dan was laying down, settled with the duvet over him, I brought the bucket over next to the bed and put a glass of water on the bedside table.

“Right, water and a bucket there if you need either of them,” I told him, “But please wake me up if you're feeling bad. I'll join you in a couple of minutes.”

I left Dan to sleep and went and got myself ready for bed. When I returned he was already asleep, snoring softly with his face half-buried in the pillow. I got in next to him, and doing my best not to disturb him too much, I cuddled up next to him. I knew he would be cold with only being in pyjama bottoms and I knew he would appreciate it anyway.

--

Over the next few days, the side effects slowly died down and Dan started to feel a bit better. The antidepressants seemed to be doing their job better now, leaving him more or less anxiety free. He was sleeping better and having less random panic attacks. Emotionally, he still seemed a little spaced out, but I think that was preferable to the anxiety he’d been experiencing previously.

I was starting to see that he might be doing well enough to think about getting a job, but I would leave it until he mentioned it himself. I didn’t want to push things; he was the best he’d been in a while and that was progress.

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