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sadsoftserve · 5 months

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"Thats what Siblings are for" -an EE mini-fic

(Made to explore more on Sabrina, and to practice writing panic attacks (constructive criticism appreciated!)) 3363 words

CW? panic attack, vomiting, suicidal thoughs

A lot of my childhood was spent clinging to my father. No matter where we were, or what he was doing. He gave me a sense of comfort my mother couldn't bring. When I was younger the Nightmares scared me more than they do now. Now that I'm used to them, I've grown out of my habit of going to him. But that didn't mean it didn't happen. On the rare nights, I was able to fall asleep, even for a short while, but no matter what it would end up with me waking up in a cold sweat and shaking. Tonight was one of those nights. It was around 2 a.m., and the house was dead silent, only the air conditioner was heard. The sweat clung to me, causing me to shiver. I never remembered the nightmares once I woke up, but the feeling was always the same. It was like a pit of dread, the feeling you get when you know something bad is about to happen.

I sat on my bed, sweat dripping from my body. I swallowed hard, trying to overcome the feeling of dread that was looming above me. My hands were shaking vigorously. The a.c. sent a bitter chill throughout the room, only adding to the shaking. It was cold. It was always cold in Sweet Jazz, but I was a hot sleeper. I crossed my arms trying to conserve at least some of my body heat. I stood up, my feet touching the cold hardwood of the house. I slowly stepped to my door, quietly opening it. Stepping out into the hallway I saw light. The light was coming from my father's office. He had a knack for staying up late to work. I knew that. I stood in the hallway for a moment, trying to decide what to do. I had three options. Go back to bed, and forget this happened, go to the bathroom, or go to my father, who could be doing anything right now. I stood there for a good moment, before walking to the bathroom.

I figured this was the best course of action. I didn't have to go to the bathroom, but I could solve this on my own. I'm fifteen, not some helpless child in need of constant comfort. I walked into the bathroom, slowly and quietly shutting the door behind me. The room smelt like soap, it smelt clean. I stood for a moment, before resting my elbows against the counter and holding my head in my hands. I rubbed my face, notably rubbing my eyes more than anything. The mirror showed my reflection, my every move, my insecurities, everything. I hated looking at myself, it reminded me of my impurities and imperfections. I looked away for a moment, before looking back. I didn't feel like me, I felt like someone else, something else. Maybe I was just tired? No, I'm always tired. I was still in a cold sweat. I was pale, paler than normal. I'm fine. Did I take my meds? Everything was blurring together. This was new. I felt terrible, sick even. I don't like being sick, the thought of being sick makes me sick. I swallowed hard, trying to keep myself from gagging. Were these side effects? I didn't know. Everything was spinning, I was dizzy, I couldn't see straight. I gripped the counter harder, my breathing turning into soft pants as I tried to not panic. My legs felt like collapsing under me.

I slowly lowered myself to the ground, leaning my back against the counter, and trying to figure out what was happening. Moments blurred together as I tried regulating myself. I felt clammy, my hands were jittery and sweaty, and I could barely make fists. I gagged. I moved my hand up to my mouth and shifted my position to be in front of the toilet. Soon, what was merely my dry heaving turned into me throwing up whatever was in me. I felt terrible. Sick. I should've expected this, it happened often, mostly on days worse than this. I sat there, breathing heavily as tears threatened to spill from my eyes. My mouth felt dry, my face felt clammy, and my body was trembling. I sat there, just in pain. This was worse than usual. I felt worse and looked worse. In my state of panic and sickness, I didn't hear the door open or my brother come in. His voice came as a surprise when I heard it.

“Sabrina?” His voice was a mixture of rare worry and slight disgust. He looked down at me from where he was standing, still fumbling to get his glasses on right. I sat there silent, shocked he was checking on me. He must've heard my retching and soft sobbing from his room, most times I forgot it was right next to the bathroom. “Sabrina? Hey..” He cautiously waved a hand in front of my face, as I looked up to him in the pitiful state I was in.

I couldn’t form words. My mouth was so dry, and my body ached to the point I froze in place. Everything was still spinning, the tingling sensation in my hands grew, and everything was growing more blurry. Sylvie seemed to have noticed this. He crouched down to my level and placed the back of his hand on my forehead, before quickly yanking his hand away. “Jeez… why are you so warm?” He put his hand back on my forehead, before looking at my eyes. He moved my face side to side quickly, forgetting I could easily get sick. This was the first time in what seemed like forever that he was caring about me. “Did this just happen? How long have you been in here?” He asked with a surprising state of concern.

I opened my mouth to speak, slowly the words came out. “Half an hour…?” He continued to speak to me and ask questions, but I couldnt retain anything he was saying. His mouth was moving but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. “...What…?” I asked, growing more confused as I tried to focus on my brother in front of me. He was blurry in my vision and a double. This confused me more. I was having difficulty staying awake, which was weird for me. I felt so dizzy and dazed. I blinked, and the next thing I knew, I was out cold.

Sylvie caught me. He gently placed me on the ground, before dashing out of the bathroom and bolting it to our father's office. He opened the door and grabbed Dad’s hands confusing him as he wasn't expecting Sylvie to grab him so suddenly. “Sylvie, what the hell’s going on!” He shouted as he stumbled out of his office and down the hallway.

“I don’t know!” His voice was high-pitched, and freaking out. He led our father to the bathroom, opening the door and letting our father see my unconscious body for himself. “She- She passed out! I- I don't know what happened!” My father stood there in horror for a moment, before picking me up and placing me in his arms. Something was wrong, deeply wrong, both my brother and our father knew that. He could feel the warmth emitting from my body, he felt my discomfort.

My father was always a stoic, monotonous man, I can only imagine his face of pure horror when he saw me lying unconscious on the bathroom tile.

I was in and out of consciousness the whole ride to the hospital. Sylvie was trying his best to keep me awake, trying to make conversation, or just make sure I was okay. But no matter how hard I tried, I stayed in the state of passing in and out. Time seemed to be going by slower and slower. I felt the same as I did earlier, still nauseous, still dizzy, still unwell.

Hours blurred together as I was rushed in, and out of the emergency room, in, and out of various rooms of the hospital. The hospital was a familiar place. I was there a lot when I was younger, and tonight was no exception. They knew me by heart, the new nurses and the old ones. It was like my second home, a place I knew, and one I wasn’t scared of. But that didn't change my position. It was early in the morning before they left me alone, and told me to at least try to rest, or regulate myself accordingly. The clock on the wall said:

6:18

Four hours. I didn't know what was wrong. Was it the fact I fell asleep? Maybe I was so in shock from the nightmare that my body couldnt handle it. Maybe I was dying? Death. Did I want to die? Was that what I was hoping for? Was I clinging on to some fictitious fantasy that I wanted to be alive? Maybe. Maybe I wouldn't mind dying. It never scared me, so why was I so focused on it? The feeling was back, the dizziness, the panic, the-

“Sabrina.” My panic was interrupted by my father who walked in, holding a clipboard. He was reading the contents. No. The clipboard was only used if the doctors needed to run tests, or suspected you needed a diagnosis for something. He sighed as he walked over to the side of the hospital bed and sat down, the clipboard in his right hand. He looked at me and swept one of my bangs out of my face. “What happened?” He asked his eyes holding a level of concern from him that I hadn't seen in a while.

I stayed silent and shrugged. “I’m not sure. One minute I'm asleep, the other I wake up in the hospital.”

He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Asleep?” I nodded. He thought for a moment. I could see the gears turning in his head, he was putting the pieces together. “How bad was it?”

“Bad,” I said.

“Scale of one to ten.” He requested.

I looked around, before looking at him. “Nine?”

He let out a ‘hmm’ sound as he looked down and pushed up his glasses. He sighed again. “Sabrina, that scared the shit out of me, I hope you know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, as he looked at me. I nodded in response. “How long did you manage?”

“Hour and a half,” I said, my head looking down. I could hear the smile on my father's face as he spoke.

“That’s better than last time.” He smiled softly as he pat me on the shoulder, his signature sign of affection. His smile quickly faltered as he looked at the clipboard in his hands. He slapped it in his palm a couple of times, before looking at me. He had a look of understanding on his face as he handed it to me. “Read this.” He said as I took it from him.

I began to read through the contents of the clipboard, taking in most of what it was saying. The corporate font and paragraphs of words seemed to bounce off of me, and back onto the page. I was slightly shocked by the contents, but I should've expected what it said. “A panic disorder?” I asked as I placed the clipboard down next to me. He nodded and sighed.

“Thats what they're suspecting. They want to run a few more tests and ask you more questions.” He placed his hand on his knee and pat it a couple of times, a movement he did when he was thinking. “This is the third time it's happened, so I guess it was time to get some form of diagnosis.” My dad ran a shaky hand through his messy hair and exhaled deeply. He looked at me, his eyes full of deep concern. “You knew you were on the verge of a panic attack, why didn't you come get me or your mother?”

I shrugged. “I wasn't expecting it. It was sudden. I thought it was just another nightmare.” My voice was soft and tired. He placed a caring hand on my arm as he looked me in the eye.

“You know to expect the unexpected.” He said knowing that he’d told me that many times before. “I'm not mad, just concerned.”

“Thats all you are,” I responded.

“Concerned? Yeah, I'm aware Sabs.” He exhaled again, this time one of worry. “I’m your father. I've been concerned my whole life.” He placed his head in his hands as he spoke. “So much for a lawyer, huh?” He made a self-deprecating joke, supposedly to try and get my mind off the fact I was in the hospital. He looked at his watch and smiled a bit. “Good news though, you don't have to go to school. Bad news, your mother.” He visibly cringed at the thought of telling Mom I was in the hospital. She would go crazy.

I gave a breathy chuckle to humor him, he was trying. “Might as well go make that call then.” He chuckled back.

“Might as well.” He walked out of the room, pulling out his phone on the way out. There I was alone. Again. I sat there for a moment. Then it dawned on me, where was the shithead I called my brother? He was in the car on the ride here, thats one of the only things I remember in my state of in and out. It was strange. Maybe he went home? In my period of thinking, I wasn't aware he walked into the room. I was snapped out of my trance when a popsicle was thrown onto my lap. Orange flavor, my favorite.

“You’re an idiot.” Was the first thing Sylvie said to me as he took a bite of his own popsicle. “Seriously, it surprises me.”

“Wow. Thanks for the warm welcome.” I said sarcastically as I opened the clear package around the popsicle. “Where’d you even get these?” He made a noise, one that conveyed he didn't want to talk about it.

“I don't wanna talk about it… ” He said as he looked away for a moment. “Anyways, that was a real stupid move, Sabrina.” His embarrassment quickly faded as he spoke to me with his snarky attitude. “You knew what was gonna happen, and yet you tried to handle it yourself?” He sighed as he hung his head and pinched his nose bridge. “You're gonna get yourself killed one of these days.”

“Okay? And? Not like I'm scared of it or anything.” I openly admitted as I took a bite of my popsicle. “Hell, maybe then I’ll be able to sleep.” Sylvie looked at me for a moment, a mixture of concern, frustration, and sympathy on his face. My face remained the same, it was in a constant state of ‘resting bitch mode’ and he was trying to gauge my thoughts.

“What are you insinuating?”

“What does it sound like I’m insinuating?” I responded with popsicle in my mouth. “Look, take it as you will, but just know I'm used to it at this point.”

“You’re used to wanting to die?” His concern was evident through the way he spoke. “Thats not healthy…”

“No shit, Captain Obvious.” At this point, I had finished my popsicle and was chewing on the stick. “Look, I may want to die, but I'm not suicidal,” I added. “I’m not stupid.”

“Well, you sure do act like it.” Sylvie sighed. “Is that why you didn't get anyone in the midst of the attack? Were you hoping you’d die?” He looked at me with his sympathetic eyes filled with some sort of pity for me. I didn't want his pity or anyone else's.

“Why does it matter? At least it would’ve been natural.” I mumbled in response to his question. Sylvie's eyes seemed to have been burning into my skin after I answered his question.

“‘Why does it matter’? Do you know how stupid you sound right now?” Sylvie's voice raised slightly as he realized just how I thought. “I'll give you a list of reasons. One, us, your family, you are the one who holds us together, and the reason Mom and Dad are still together. Two, your friends? Need I remind you of Bonnie, Parker, Dalia, and the rest of the color guard? And lastly, Me!” Sylvie went down the list of reasons why I shouldn't want to die, but that didn't stop the pain, although it did make me feel bad. I wasn't trying to die, I didn't even know the panic attack was happening until it became obvious. I tensed up my shoulders as I played with the hem of the thin hospital blanket.

“I didn't say I wanted to die, I don't, but I'm so used to the pain my Epithet brings, that I thought I was dying because this pain was different,” I spoke softly. “Sorry…” When I thought about the effect it would have on people who depended on me, and people who loved me, it scared me. Bonnies already lost so much, Dalia would blame herself, Parker would long for closure, and Dad would never sleep again. And Sylvie… he would be broken. Sure we acted like we hated

each other, but it was all in good fashion. He was a Psychologist, he would've noticed the signs sooner if I were to… go that far. He sighed as he walked closer to the bed, sitting down and reaching over to hug me.

“I’m always available, you can talk to me y’know?” He said his voice full of care, as his arms wrapped around me. “I know im more used to Epithet-related problems, but Im available for different means too.” He pulled away from the hug and gave me a soft smile.

“I know, but you’re my brother. I don't want to dump my insecurities and problems on you.” I told him with honesty.

“Thats what siblings are for, we help each other.” He reasoned back, as he pulled out his business card from his pants pocket. His sweatpants, now mind you, we were in the hospital in our pajamas. And he had his business card, in his pajama pocket. And handed it to me.

“For one, I don't need this, I know all the information. For two, you carry these around?” I held the card in between my index and middle fingers.

“You never know when I may need to give it to someone.” He said with a shrug.

“You carry it in your pajamas?”

“Yeah… and?” He responded. I said no more, I simply put it on the table next to the bed. The sound of the door opening, and our father stepping into the room was heard. We both in unison moved to look at him. Dad looked exhausted, mentally. He just got off the phone with our mom, the woman who he couldnt stand at this point, and now he was dealing with my whole problem of being in the hospital.

As he was walking in, he was rubbing his hands together, I could visibly see his hairs graying and his eyebags forming. He probably hadn't slept in the last 20-ish hours and was visibly trying to not fall asleep. “I explained the situation, and your mother will not speak to me. She thinks it's my fault.” This was common with them. After something happened to one child, one of them would blame the other, and then they wouldn't talk for days. My father took off his glasses and cleaned them. “Sylvester, come help me out and put me to sleep.” This was also common when

Dad wasn't able to fall asleep but he needed to, he would ask my brother to put him to sleep, because his Epithet didn't work on himself. Sylvie, reluctantly, yet wanting to help out, sent out a cloud of his weird dandruff while Dad passed out almost instantly. He was out-cold in the uncomfy hospital chair next to the door.

Me and Sylvie gave each other a glance as we watched Dad pass out. “So much for a Lawyer.” He said.

#epithet erased #ee #art #artists on tumblr #oc #constructive critism welcome #Be nice tho #Sabrina Ashling (oc)#sylvie ashling #sylvester ashling #mini fic #fanfiction #posted on my Ao3 #Asks welcome!

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inkskinned · 10 months

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so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.

first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.

it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.

and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.

you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.

and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.

your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.

in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.

in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.

so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.

you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.

once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.

and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"

you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?

hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!

you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.

we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

#where's the word woman in this u might wonder if u suck #good news i am nonbinary and have a uterus so that is something that can happen #im also gender fluid tho which means im immune to certain psychic damage bc if u call me a woman i'll be like <3 okay <3 #writeblr #the tightrope of ''ppl need access to this''#and like also #''what the fuck is going on over there'' is like. so difficult as an activist #i was <3 punctured <3 during mine #and almost bled out on the table :) they didn't have anyone standing by bc it's ''just a little insertion''#so i started crashing and i vaguely remember apologizing for the fuss as i heard my heart rate monitor start going <3 tachycardic <3 #she wasn't even a bad doctor tbh #ps btw the reason i even HAD a heart monitor is that i have a genuine heart condition and they knew GOING IN that there was a chance #i'd crash on the table #like my heart just likes to do fun little tricks and <3 stop working <3 (i do not want to discuss the specifics ty i am okay im ontop of it #and they were like 'oh u will be fine' and then she did do a puncture thru my uterus . pop!#and im sitting there dizzy and feeling my heartrate start to drop bc it feels almost. beautiful. like. the whole ground just #woosh! out from under you. and shit is like grey's anatomy. i'm looking up at her grey eyes #she's old she wears this nice shawl she's like got Cool Lesbian vibes and people are sprinting into the room #from other parts of the clinic unrelated to me. while the monitor is like a little aria singing #and shes like hey youre okay stay awake stay with me something went wrong we have to keep trying #and i remember thinking - i was trying to think of nice things. i have so many beautiful places that now overlap #with this terrible memory #i became dimly aware that there was too much on her wrists and hands. like #that was too many liters #and then when they had finished all this. i packed up and drove myself home #i have had (bad thing) happen to me. and the same feeling happened after #that numb almost lamblike bleating. you cry without noise. like. ur body is so shocked and ur mind so empty #you just stare at the road and everything everything is happening behind glass and static and you are standing so far away from it #while you hold ur hands at 10 and 2. and something in ur brain is SCREAMING at you - IT WAS BAD AND IT SHOULDNT HAVE HAPPENED #and ur just watching the alarms in your body going off and youre thinking. a little pinch! ha. i think i just lost something important.

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