#he literally needs MEDICAL TREATMENT and he's being denied it! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1d1195 · 1 year

Text

Neighbors IV

What's this?! A timely update?!

Read the other parts here: Part I Part II and Part III

I could be persuaded into one more part if needed. I'll make a series post for this tomorrow probably as well so it's easier to find.

🐱 I hope you enjoy once more.

Disclaimer: EVERYTHING I know about being a doctor comes from WebMD and TV. I'm fully aware this is outlandish. But it's for the plot ya know?

She looked like she was going to collapse. Harry took that moment to stand closer to her. The back of his hand touched hers. She leaned towards him almost instinctively. He took this as his signal to press her against his body. He wasn’t going to let her down. He would never let her collapse.

There was no other way to explain it and Harry had searched his brain over and over to get to the bottom of his emotions. He wanted it to be anything but what he was feeling. But there was no other word. Harry was mad. He wanted to see her. He missed her dearly. Missed Rory just as much, too. But he knew it wasn’t his business or duty to be part of the decision. He had no say in the matter. He could only love her as much as she’d let him.

And he did love her. He never thought he didn’t or couldn’t. She was an incredible mother and her gentleness, kindness, and sweetness on top of her beauty was so much for Harry. He was lucky to get to know her over these two years. While he was mournfully upset over not being around her, he did understand why she pushed away like this.

Of course, he understood.

He still hated it.

So Harry went about his day as if she and Rory weren’t part of his life any longer and it killed him but he would do anything to make her happy. Even if it meant he couldn’t see her anymore.

She was about to lose her mind.

Rory hadn’t seemed like himself in days. Based on the spots on the back of his throat she assumed it was strep. But she took him to the doctor, got the antibiotic and moved on. When he didn’t get better after the five-day course of antibiotics, they sent him home again with another five days’ worth of treatment.

But it was now day seven pushing on day eight. Rory wasn’t getting any better. Rory was tired all the time. He was quiet. So quiet it scared her enough that she was watching him sleep rather than sleeping herself. He was clearly in pain, and she couldn’t take it anymore.

Topped with not being around her best friend that was literally and figuratively a stone’s throw away. Her brain was all but fried.

After the first bout of non-working medication, she began researching. It was a horrible idea, but it was the only thing she could do. She wasn’t a medical professional. All she knew was from TV shows and she knew that they only did rare diseases to make the show fun and exciting.

This was not fun nor exciting.

Her heart was aching for Rory. It was one of the only times she ever wished she had someone to lean on when she felt so broken. She knew if she called Harry he would come running over and he would help with whatever she asked. It seemed so unfair to ask him for help. She had done it all on her own until Harry arrived in the neighborhood.

But would it be so bad to ask Harry for help? He was perfect in every way and obviously adored Rory. She had no doubt Rory would be a priority in Harry’s life too. If he wanted it, who was she to deny him of it?

“Mumma, I don’t feel good,” Rory mumbled. It broke her thoughts of Harry. She wished they didn’t because she was about to plan an apology that Harry deserved and she prayed he would accept. If he didn’t, she would understand. Only an idiot would let someone like Harry slip out of their life and she was the front runner for the village idiot.

But when she looked at Rory her heart broke again. He coughed once more shaking his little body, and she had enough. “Okay, baby we’re going to go to the doctor’s again,” she murmured scooping him into her arms. He was getting bigger and that also broke her heart. It wasn’t the time, but it was all she could think about. But he was sick and still so little. Stuffing her feet into the sneakers that were at the door not letting Rory out of her arms for a moment, she then wrapped his coat and a blanket around him because it was naturally raining and raining hard. Scurrying to her car she settled him into the back on his car seat. He coughed again, right in her neck, and groaned. “I know, baby, I know,” she sighed.

Getting into the front seat she turned the key.

Click.

Surely this was a dream. “No, no, no,” she said smacking the steering wheel. “Please, please, please,” she begged.

Click.

“Goddammit!” She hissed under her breath smacking the wheel.

“Mumma?” Rory whined.

“Yes, baby?”

“My tummy hurts,” he said.

“I know, Rory, I’m sorry. I’m...” she felt tears of frustration start behind her eyes and she thought about just running with Rory in her arms all the way to the hospital. But she did have one other option. Before she could process her own idea, her phone was pressed to her ear, she called Harry. Her heart was racing. He didn’t answer.

“Fuck,” she croaked again. It was late of course he wouldn’t hear it. Normally, Rory would giggle out that was a bad word, but he just stayed silent, turning red, hot, and more sick by the second. “C’mon,” she said quickly and retrieved him from the backseat. She hurried across the street and started banging on the door.

Harry startled awake to the sound of his phone vibrating incessantly; nearly falling off on his nightstand paired with an incessant banging that he couldn’t fully understand where it was coming from because his brain was still sleeping. He couldn’t even make out the name on his screen because his brain was still fuzzy, and his heart was slowly working up to regular speed. He felt shocked as he answered tiredly. His brain only worked at the quarter of his normal speed. He cleared his throat, eyes still closed. “’Lo?”

“Harry, please come open the door. Please, please, please,” he had never heard anyone sound so desperate and terrified in his whole life. His eyes opened as if they were spring loaded. He was sure he looked like a horror film. But now his heart was racing further.

“Yeah, yeah, love. Hold on,” trying to shake the sleep from his brain. The distress in her voice made him want to fly down the stairs and he nearly yanked the door off the hinges. He only had seconds to make sense of what was happening but all he could think about was someone hurting her or Rory and how he would do anything to make sure they were both safe. The last few weeks meant nothing. There wasn’t time to qualm about it.

She was clutching Rory to her body; her face was in absolute anguish and Harry was in awe that she could even stand with the weight of whatever she was carrying mentally in addition to Rory. Harry was flicking his eyes back from her to Rory. His chest ached almost as much as hers at the sight of Rory: pale, cheeks pink, and covered in spots. “Something’s wrong with Rory, my car won’t start. Can you drive us to the hospital?” She rushed out her eyes so pleading Harry could have cried.

“Shit. Yeah, yeah, of course.”

Harry grabbed a pair of shoes and coat by the door. Didn’t even put them on and ushered the pair of them to his car in the soaking rain. She slid into the back with Rory cradled in her arms. Harry was terrified. “Mumma, it hurts,” Rory mumbled. His quiet voice, nearly devoid of emotion, made Harry weak, and he pressed his foot further onto the gas pedal wishing it wasn’t raining so he could speed the way he wanted to all the way to the hospital.

“I know baby, I know,” she whispered soothingly.

Harry struggled to put his shoes and coat on as they ran inside to the emergency room. He knew they must have looked insane. She felt insane as she told them he was sick and all the things she had done since the onset of him feeling unwell. They eyed her suspiciously and then her son but of course took the boy and ushered her and Harry to the waiting room.

They ran more tests and while they did, she began pacing, staring at her phone, tapping on the screen as she searched and scoured the internet for something that could help. “Love, I know you want to help, but googling won’t do anything but make you worry.”

“Harry, something is wrong with him,” she said as if he didn’t know why they were there. She could feel the anger projecting onto Harry and she hated it—it wasn’t Harry’s fault she was mad and scared.

But of course, Harry was perfect and didn’t mind her anger was geared toward him in the moment. “I know, love, I know,” he said almost defensively. Harry was also scraping his mind for ideas of what could have happened to the poor boy. His leg bouncing rapidly in anxiousness. “I jus’ don’t want you t’worry unless there is something t’worry about,” he promised.

She sighed out an apologetic breath in his direction and kept her nose glued to her phone continuing her search.

Fortunately, the medical professionals returned shortly thereafter; her phone slid into her pocket and she stood up anxiously but hopeful. She looked at them expectantly awaiting a cure-all for her poor little boy. Somehow she missed it; probably the lack of sleep making her less aware than normal...but Harry could see it in their eyes. They were going to break her heart. “It’s just strep, ma’am.”

She shook her head, her face crumpling in pain that existed in someone else’s body. “No,” Harry could see the torment coursing in her own body. She looked like she was going to collapse. Harry took that moment to stand closer to her. The back of his hand touched hers. She leaned towards him almost instinctively. He took this as his signal to press her against his body. He wasn’t going to let her down. He would never let her collapse. His own heart was racing in fear that the poor little kid was sick as hell. Harry had never seen a child so run down. He felt bad for his mum in that moment—all those times he didn’t feel well, and she had to go through feeling like this. Rory was obviously not his own, but he was prepared to donate every last drop of his blood to the sweet kid if it meant he would feel better and be cured.

“I know when your baby is sick—” The doctor began.

She pressed her fingers to her temples shaking her head, rapidly.

“No, no, no... you don’t know. You don’t understand. This is not me being a crazy mom. I know I sound like a crazy mom. This isn’t that. I know my baby. Something is wrong with him. There is something wrong with him and I’m not leaving until something is done!” She was all but shouting and Harry put a hand on her back. She started to march over to the waiting area again, she began pacing once more. Harry felt helpless looking at her from where the healthcare stood back to her. They discreetly called for a psychologist while continued Googling her little heart out. Harry felt his head snap defensively at their words as a woman picked up a phone at the desk. Harry would not let them talk about her when she was merely feet away.

“Excuse me,” he murmured at the counter blocking their view of her, but more importantly, her view of them.

“Sir,” the nurse behind the desk started; phone to hear ear.

Harry shook his head, not moving his gaze from her eyes. “I know you’re calling for a psychologist,” he said quietly avoiding raising the tone of his voice at all so she couldn’t hear. They faltered for a moment. He could see their surprised look; how could Harry possibly know that? He narrowed his eyes at the woman on the phone as the voice at the other end began to speak. He pulled his ID that resided in his coat pocket for home visits; he was lucky he didn’t take it out. They looked over his credentials and then back to Harry. “She doesn’t need that,” he shook his head stating it firmly.

She glanced over at Harry at the counter curious what they could be talking about. “Harry?”

“Just a moment, love,” he said to her not moving his gaze from the woman waiting to speak into the receiver.

“Mr. Styles, surely you understand that from lack of sleep and—” The doctor began.

Harry shook his head. “She is fine,” he repeated. “You need to fix her son.”

Harry knew they still didn’t believe him. She was soaking wet and wearing two different sneakers from leaving in such a hurry. They looked at Harry pleadingly, as if he would suddenly change his mind because they were both medical professionals. He denied their silent pleas. He refused to aid them in ignoring her maternal instinct. He knew she wasn’t crazy. Crazy people didn’t wake up their neighbors they were no longer speaking to in the middle of the night. Harry knew she wished it was strep. Strep would be getting better and she would be calmer.

“Harry?” She asked again coming over to the counter. The doctor took his chance once more as the nurse hung up the phone.

“Ma’am...it’s—”

“I swear to God, if you say it’s strep, one more time, I will respectfully throw your tablet,” that wasn’t helping Harry’s sanity case, but it wasn’t uncalled for in his eyes. “If it was strep, I would have it by now! That kid threw up, coughed on, and drooled all over me. It’s not strep! He’s not responding to the antibiotic.”

There was a second doctor that overheard her rising tone and joined in the little circle of trying to maintain calmness. “Ma’am, we’ve run every test.”

“Run them again. It’s not strep!”

“Ma’am, we can’t just—"

“Love,” Harry whispered under his breath trying to keep her level. He believed her of course, but he didn’t want her to get tossed aside because she was scared. The arguing was reaching near hysterics. It was getting past midnight and she was not crazy, but she was close to losing her mind. Harry couldn’t keep her calmer much longer even if he wanted to—he wanted Rory to be tested again just as much as she did. She started pacing again as she scans her phone.

They list through the symptoms and options of what is wrong with him. She kept repeating ‘no’ like a mantra as she read on her phone. Yes, all of the symptoms sounded like strep. Maybe it was tonsilitis, they could send her home with yet another antibiotic. They looked at Harry again pleadingly, but his eyes didn’t stray from her. He was getting increasingly worried about her; he wanted her to be okay just as much as he wanted Rory to be alright.

“Kawasaki disease,” she said suddenly. Holding her phone out to them as proof.

“He doesn’t have the strawberry tongue or any other earmarks—”

Phone back to her face and she slid the screen further. Her eyes were desperate, tears forming in the corners. The doctors clearly wanted to throw away her phone as much as she wanted to throw away their tablet.

“Rocky mountain spotted fever. We went for a beach walk in the dunes over a week ago,” she said and looked at them pleadingly. It was one of the illnesses listed it was nearly impossible. But this was impossible, and she was exhausted. And she had to try.

The doctor shook his head moving her phone screen up a bit as he read. “They’re not in these parts and he would have blackened crusted skin around a bite.”

Desperate once more, she marched into his little cubicle around the corner. The nurse standing by moved out of the way quickly as she yanked the sticker monitors off his skin, pulled the finger monitor off, untied the little gown off his body. Alarms beeped behind her as her eyes started scanning his body. How could she have missed a bite? How could she not have checked for tick bites? This was all her fault. Every second of it.

“Fuck,” she whimpered as she continued scanning, she didn’t see anything on him, and with each scan of his skin she felt more and more hopeless. Surely, she would be sedated in a matter of moments if she didn’t find something—she was certain that was the protocol, and she couldn’t help but start to think they were right through all her exhaustion. Tears were clouding her eyes and she could hardly see his skin through her blurred vision. “Harry, help me,” she begged, her voice cracking violently.

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed Rory beneath his arms, holding his sick little body up while she examined more of his skin. Harry let her. He would do anything to help her. He saw the panic on her face. He knew she didn’t want to be right, but she knew it was the only thing that was going to keep Rory from being sent home without treatment and without her being admitted to a psych ward.

“Ma’am,” they started. “We already looked over his whole body and we didn’t find anything...we can prescribe a different antibiotic if the treatment continues to be ineff—”

She was still scanning, ignoring the words that were coming from the medical professionals. Harry felt helpless. Totally helpless as he held his limp, tired little body. She maneuvered his limbs every which way. Please find something. He silently begged.

Finally, she lifted his hair up and started searching along his scalp. She gasped, covered her mouth, as tears dropped down her cheeks. “Like this?” She croaked. The doctor stepped over, and examined the black, scaly spot silently.

There was a moment of nothing but hospital beeps and quiet breathing. She waited expectantly, her eyes moving from Rory’s scalp, then to the doctor, to Harry holding Rory’s tired little body.

“We need more scans,” and then suddenly, finally, there was a call of a series of actions, and once more they whisked the little boy away on a gurney and moved swiftly down the hall.

“We’ll be right back,” the older female nurse promised. She was the one standing by when they entered Rory’s cubicle. Harry noted, now that the excitement is over, that she was the only person who wasn’t staring at the sweet girl as if she was insane. “You did great, Mom,” she praised, squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Good catch. He’ll be fine,” her smile was so kind it melted the anxious girl.

She paced the floor a few times as she started to cry harder again, hand over her heart and her breathing was so uneven, Harry actually worried she was having a cardiac episode. “Harry,” she croaked eventually. Harry pulled her to his body. His chin on top of her head. She shook with cries and Harry gently rocked her. Kissed the top of her head.

“S’okay. S’okay,” he promised rubbing her back. “You did it, love. You figured it out.”

“M’sorry. M’so sorry I cut you out and that was so stupid and you didn’t have to be so nice and take us here and watch me be insane—"

“No, beautiful. S’okay. Don’t worry about that, you’re forgiven, of course. Completely. S’okay,” he promised squeezing her as close as he could trying to keep her together when she was falling apart.

They were silent. Harry held her close to his chest, combed her hair down not moving except for a gentle sway of their bodies in the middle of the hospital hallway. Harry let her cry and he held her as tightly as he could. He hated why he was holding her, the idea of something happening to Rory made him want to kill someone, himself. But he was so grateful to hold her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Styles?”

“Oh, um...no—” Harry started feeling his face warm as he turned to the doctors to correct them. His hand stayed protectively on her lower back, and she leaned against him once more as if she would fall without Harry behind her. With one hand she wiped her eyes and then with the other grabbed Harry’s free hand as tightly as possible. Anchoring herself.

“How is Rory?” she asked, didn’t even bother to correct them at all. The moment wasn’t lost on Harry, but it did move to the back of his mind because Rory was of course more pressing.

“He’s going to be fine. He’s already responding to treatment.”

Harry felt the air fall from her body as if she released the weight of the world off her back. “Can we see him?”

We. Harry melted more.

“Of course,” he gestured to the room.

She hurried from Harry’s side, pulling his hand with her. “Hey Rory, love bug,” she cooed, cupping his face, and rubbing her thumb over his round little cheek.

“Mommy?” He asked wearily.

“Hi baby, how are you feeling now?”

“Hungry,” he sounded sleepy.

She giggled with a teary smile. “Yeah? Let’s get you some food...did you see Harry is here?”

“Hi, Rory,” Harry waved with a grin. “Feeling better?” Rory blearily looked at Harry for a few moments. He didn’t say anything to Harry and for a second, Harry selfishly worried it was too late. That time apart from him, despite all his best efforts to assure Rory he would always be there, was too much for his little heart. Harry betrayed his trust, and it wouldn’t be the same.

“Mommy?” He finally turned his gaze from Harry. It made his stomach churn fearing the rejection of a five- year-old—the only one that mattered. If there was no Rory, there would be no her.

“Yes, my love?” Her eyebrows pinched together because she had never seen Rory act so weird toward Harry. Even when she was doing everything in her power to keep him away. It made her stomach flutter with nervousness as well...unaware that Harry felt the same way.

“Can we be friends with Harry again?” He asked looking back at Harry nervously.

The smile nearly broke Harry’s face in half. He chuckled quietly while she also sighed with relieved giggles. Nodding, she squeezed Rory’s hand. “Yes, baby. We’re going to be best friends. Would you like that?”

He nodded then looked at Harry and smiled his sweet little grin. “Can we have s’mores when we get home?”

“S’more what, lad?”

Rory giggled the sweetest little giggle. “Don’t be silly, Harry.”

She held him in the back seat because they still didn’t have a car seat and it was still dark as ever outside as it neared four-thirty in the morning. Harry parked in her driveway, hurried to the door to open it, and pulled Rory into his arms. “I got him, love. You’ve carried him enough tonight,” he murmured. The tiredness was finally catching up to her and she let Harry pull him from her arms. Unlocking the door, she let the three of them in the house and Harry carried the sleeping boy to his room. She pulled his covers down so Harry could settle him in. Once all snuggled up, she kissed his forehead and sighed with relief as he slept soundly. Harry ruffled his hair gently. They left his room, and she closed the door quietly.

They walked wordlessly to the living room, and she sat on the couch leaning back against the cushions and staring at the ceiling blinking rapidly against more tears that were threatening to form. Harry sat beside her, so close he could feel the heat of her leg next to his. He wanted to reach out and touch her face, wipe that tear away that slid down her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For driving...for staying...for...” she shook her head. “Everything, Harry. Thank you,” it was so much undeserved gratitude. As if Harry wouldn’t reach into his chest at any moment and yank his heart out for her if she asked for it.

“Kitten...’course. Y’did all the heavy lifting,” he said and reached out to squeeze her knee. Her lower lip trembled violently, a sob threatening to bubble out of her chest which seemed so ridiculous now that all the danger was gone. The night must have been catching up to her all at once because at that moment she was crying soundlessly. Her chest aching and she started sniffling, she pressed a finger to her lips. “That was really scary,” she heaved.

“It was,” he nodded in agreement, his heart aching for her sadness, and nervousness. He watched her swallow around the pain that she was finally feeling of not knowing what would happen.

“I wouldn’t...if you weren’t...if you...if Rory—”

“Hey,” he said grabbing her hand from her mouth and bringing it to his own. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles so gently, it hurt her nearly broken heart all over again. He enjoyed the feel of her skin touching his lips and he pulled her up to a sitting position. He cupped her face with his other hand and rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone. “M’here,” he promised. “Always. For both of you.” She looked so nervous; her lip still wobbled. “What, beautiful? What’s wrong, love?” His eyebrows pinched together worried that she was going to have a breakdown that she couldn’t have before in the hospital.

She was still wearing two different sneakers and Harry was still in his coat. If she had time to worry about her appearance, she would have thought about how stringy her hair looked from the soaking rain and how her eyes had to be red from a lack of sleep and all the crying.

“M’so in love with you,” she croaked. Harry felt his heart warm every crevice of his body. He imagined hearing those words from the moment he met her and missed the idea of them when she wasn’t speaking to him. He thought he would melt into a puddle. “I can’t be,” she admitted and Harry felt ice brick over his veins. “I have a son and he is going to be first for the rest of my life and I want to put you first and you don’t deserve that. You deserve someone who will love you and put you—”

The relief Harry felt in her explanation melted the ice threatening his veins all over again. An exhausted smile played at the corner of his lips. He shook his head as she spoke, not even listening to the rest of her sentence. “Kitten,” he said taking both sides of her face and bringing it closer to his. The tip of his nose bumped hers. “I love Rory. And I love you. ‘Course, we’re going t’put Rory first. S’why you’re the best mum in the world. But jus’ because he’s first doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a love of your own,” he told her.

Harry was worried she was so tired she didn’t actually hear him. “...We?” She whispered eventually. The tears were still falling. She felt broken. Felt entirely too vulnerable with someone she’s known for too long. With someone she shouldn’t feel vulnerable around. But the last time she was this vulnerable with someone she loved so much, it was thrown in her face, and she was left alone on a couch just like this.

Harry tilted his head at her looking at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. “Always, beautiful.”

“You love me?” She whispered. Harry nodded silently.

“So much,” he said.

“Really?”

“Truly.”

She wasn’t proud of the way she contorted herself in that moment, throwing herself at him like a teenager and not a twenty-seven-year-old mother of a kindergartner and kissing him like she had been dreaming about kissing him.

But Harry was too long gone to care and enjoyed the moment of utter bliss in kissing the sweet woman he adored for the last few years while her son slept healthily and happily in his bed upstairs.

@claimingharrystigertattoo @mopeymousey @vmpellie @reveriehs

#harry #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #neighbor!harry #harry styles sad #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #one direction #one direction writing #neighbors

389 notes · View notes

mygoo · 1 year

Text

I'm going to outlive my son. It's the saddest realization for any parent, but it's one I can't deny anymore. See, my son is fat. No really, faaaaaat. Take whatever you're thinking in your head and double it, heck triple it even and you're probably still thinking too small.

His mother and I tried for years to get him active, to get him interested in the outdoors, sports, heck any physical activity, but the only physical activity he cared about were ones that ended in food.

We tried at first to guide him into making better decisions. Surely as he matured he'd realize that all the food and all the weight wasn't worth it, but the gentle treatment didn't work. We never wanted to be strict parents, but we decided that drastic measures had to be taken when he reached his teens with his weight still climbing. We rid the house of anything unhealthy and kept an eye on his eating like a hawk and he finally started dropping weight to our slight comfort.

Looking back now I see how short-sighted we were. It's one thing to control your kid, but he won't be a kid forever. At some point he's going to need independence, a job, a car, all the facets of a normal adult life and hopefully someone to share it with. Out on his own he could eat as much as he wanted, when he wanted, especially once we found out his first job was not what he originally told us, but a job at one of the local fast food joints.

Slowly at first, but surely his weight started creeping up again. He'd bounce around between jobs depending on what cuisine he was especially feeling and how long they'd keep him on before realizing how much he was literally eating into their profits. We'd failed. Just like his youth anything he did was motivated by food. We were all out of ideas. Time passed by in this stalemate, the only needle moving faster being the one on our bathroom scale.

We had thought about kicking him out, but at this point I don't think he could even live on his own. He had every weight-related medical condition in the book, every one a missed wake up call to turn back. Things that people in their 50s would start worrying about, not someone less than half their age.

Getting on disability took away the last reason for him to ever get off his copious ass, so it's no surprise that his mobility vaporized shortly thereafter. Some days I wonder if he'll see 30. It'll surely be a miracle of medical science if he does.

I couldn't tell if it was a blessing or a curse the day I found his online persona, through the further I looked, the more I gravitated towards the latter. It finally made everything make quasi-sense, a reason for the way he lived his life, if you can even call it that, but it did so in such a disgusting, heartbreaking way. He catalogues his gains to a sadistic audience hungry to watch him blow up. He talks about how much he loves his weight, shockingly especially its side-effects, reveling in being out of breath simply from rolling over in bed. The post where he declared himself immobile is proudly pinned to the top of his page, racking up comments of support and congratulations from the people feeding into his addiction, both figuratively and literally with constant food deliveries I had long-assumed he had ordered for himself. It's all so fucking disgusting, and it's something I will never tell my wife, something I will take to my grave long after his.

As far as I'm concerned, he's already gone. He was lost 100s of pounds ago. There's no son in that void of a room, just a mound of flesh, endlessly growing until the day it doesn't. Goodbye, son. I hope you really love all your flab like you say you do, because it's all you got, and there's a ton of it.

#wg #wg stories #wg story #dark #Immobile #father/son

608 notes · View notes

clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 year

Note

How's about follower kallamar with a squid reader that is the head doctor and a former follower of his

On the day of your indoctrination...an ugly plague was currently infesting he entire cult. It definitely wasn't the best first impression.

You saw so many sick followers shuffling around, trying not to throw up (although some failed miserably) as they went about their daily tasks.

Lamb excuses themselves to go yell at the healthy followers who didn't bother cleaning all the puke lying around, before sending the sick to their beds and shoving thermometers in their mouths.

And of course, an elder decides to die right next to the goddamn shrine...resulting in those still hanging around to vomit at the sight.

Once everything's slightly under control, Lamb rushes back to officially welcome you into the cult, but you're not impressed at all.

"You promised me sanctuary, Lamb. But all I see is illness and death here...was I right to trust you?"

"....you can blame your "bishop" for all of this......I promise this is a safe haven."

You give them the benefit of the doubt, considering they did save you from being sacrificed to Kallamar.

But when asked why his followers chose you, you explained that you're actually a doctor who treated a lot of sicknesses back in Anchordeep. Sore throats, stomach bugs, flu, pox, etc. You were seen as sort of a miracle worker.

Unfortunately Kallamar saw your skills as a threat to his power, insisting only he can perform "miracles" and decide who's worthy of healing...and his fanatics were inclined to agree.

Luckily, your new leader allowed you to take on that role once again without fear of persecution, and you got the plague under control practically overnight.

You've implemented a system where every follower got a regular checkup. Even if they looked or felt fine, it's better to be safe than sorry.

When Lamb started bartering with ???, they gifted you a gold immortality necklace to ensure you didn't die of old age (seriously, they needed your medical expertise).

You already had a skull necklace, but were grateful nevertheless.

Ironically, Kallamar became the most troubling patient when he arrived into the cult, getting sick right off the bat just from his spiraling anxiety.

He hid behind a tree upon seeing you.....and Lamb found him, literally having to drag him over to your medbay (now a small building instead of a single shrub hut) and order you to treat him.

Great Ones forbid he caused a plague as both bishop and follower. They weren't going to tolerate that.

Ofc, he was hesitant to say anything to you, but after quietly treating his stomach ache and changing his bandages...he breaks down sobbing on the cot, begging for forgiveness.

"I-I was wrong. You do..s-so much good work. You were thriving, performing all these miracles, and....a-and I tried to take that all away....why heal me?"

"Kallamar, I'm not holding that against you anymore." You reassure him. "You're free of the Blue Crown's influence. I know you didn't really want me dead, did you?"

"..n-no, my...followers suggested it. Cult morale was low a-after what happened to Leshy and Heket so...I had to do something!"

Whether that revelation made you feel better or worse, you find it in your heart to forgive him, never denying him treatment even if others in the cult disagree.

You wanted to help him. One squid healing another.

To this day, he still feels bad visiting your medbay, but with time he becomes more comfortable approaching you whenever he gets sick.

Soon enough you find out one of the primary causes of his stomach pains.

It's cauliflower stew (while there's a 5% chance of sickness for everyone else who consumes it, his is always at 100% for some reason).

As it turns out he, ironically, has a severe cauliflower intolerance.

Poor guy never knew that was a thing.

#clanask #anonymous #cotl x reader #cult of the lamb x reader #follower kallamar #kallamar x reader #cotl kallamar x reader #headcanons #tw vomit #hurt/comfort #platonic

145 notes · View notes

the-therapist-is-ace · 7 months

Text

Alright, just a Danganronpa hot take, and a venting post as well. (It contains spoilers of the whole game up to Chapter 5, you've been warned!) Also, psychology rant but I think you're used to that by now x)

...

Ready? Here I go.

...

WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE CAST?!

I am talking about a very simple thing: Kokichi's treatment by the others.

Maybe it's just my empathic psychology student self, but I find them extremely cruel towards him for... No reason? Even his "friends" (Miu and Gonta) don't help him. NOT. ONCE.

Can somebody explained to me why no one at least tried to help him stop getting choked by Maki? Alright the state of shock exist, but not for so long! Someone should have snapped out of it and go help him out at some point!

Liking someone or not shouldn't be a criteria WHEN THEIR LIVES ARE APPARENTLY IN DANGER.

And the second time, alright I get it, him pretending to be the mastermind, so the enemy, they're angry. Fine. But it's still a dick move to just... let someone get choked in front of you.

The Insect Meets and Greet, can we talk about that? Alright, Kokichi planned the whole thing and lied to Gonta for it, but he had a purpose. It wasn't plain cruelty, it was to make everyone watch the motives videos which was TO STOP A MURDER FROM HAPPENING MAY I ADD.

But he can just be left in there with swarms of insects by the others students just... Because? Fuck him basically, it's "payback"? Yikes. And they still pretend to be all friends after that?

Maybe I'm taking that way too seriously, but the others only have a bad memory of the thing. In the game Oma looked traumatized by it, but everyone ignores it.

And the others times are not any better.

The least problematic behavior is Kaito punching him in front of everyone. Again, it might be just me being a way too empathetic person, but in my opinion words never justify physical assault, never. (It happens twice by the way -well Kaito only managed to hit him once but he intended to do it another time.) No, being "a hothead" is not a fucking excuse either. When you know you're a hothead, you try to NOT engage, it's the responsible thing to do.

But the worst is -in my opinion- in Chapter 3.

I don't exactly expect Maki to help him after what happen -obviously- but... Shuichi?

...The protagonist? The one that promised to Kaede to carry on her wish, her wish which is LITERALLY "PROTECT EVERYONE"?

...I got a bit carried away I think.

My point is: no one helped Oma who is in clear, dire need of medical help. I don't know if he crossed paths with anyone else, and frankly I hope not. Considering how nobody gives a fuck about him, not even Gonta apparently.

Again I'm going to repeat it, but liking someone shouldn't be a criteria to help them if their lives are on the line.

And let's not talk about Chapter 5 when he literally got tortured (that's not an exageration, strychnine (Strike-9 lol, gottem) is sometimes called "the torture poison". But at that point he's considered the mastermind and act like the villain so...

But before Gonta's trial it's not an excuse. Alright, he's a liar. Alright he can be annoying -and he is at some points, I don't deny it. Alright, he pretends that he likes the killing game -not even from the begining, he only start after the second trial I believe?- because he doesn't trust anyone.

But still. I may be too soft -because therapist- but I still don't think it's okay to just assault someone, ESPECIALLY in a stressing situation like a killing game when the adrenaline and stress can get to you and you might kill the person by accident.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

#danganronpa v3 #danganronpa killing harmony #drv3 #kokichi oma #kokichi ouma #drv3 cast #Angry rant

66 notes · View notes

coldresolve · 1 month

Text

rambling again but now its about trans healthcare and mental health. and the danish nhs' take on both those things which is, yknow, shit

its less rambling and more of a rant bc im tired lol

i read a statistic today that suicidal ideation for trans people who sought medical transition but were denied treatment rose by 67%. which was affirming in the sense it made me realize that maybe im not a pussy for being pretty badly affected by my last 2 denials, but also its depressing in the sense of like, good god, please just allow me to access the healthcare i need. what the fuck

i was at my GP a week ago and asked for another referral, and he was like "well its only been 5 months since they refused you last time". and i told him they wouldn't even agree to the 6 month full team psych eval that preceeds any actual prescriptions of hrt, they just called me "unstable" after a 1 hour conversation in which i specifically directly told them that i know myself, i was in a stable place in my life, im settled in my decision, i know the risks, i'm well aware of the scope of treatment, this trans thing isn't some recent thing for me, etc etc. they called me "unstable" and denied even evaluating me for treatment, because i was only 3 months in remission from a major depressive episode. which isn't a good prognosis for a trans guy who's had to deal with chronic depression for the last decade and a half. when will i ever be "stable" then? it's not like they gave me a clear timeline. (also - as if being denied treatment ever helped any trans person with depression lol. again, that statistic huh). i told my GP i want to put pressure on them, because that's literally the only option i have right now for recieving healthcare. and even after telling him all this it took a good 10 minutes of conversation before he agreed to give me a referral

and im not an unreasonable person but if they refuse treatment again im gonna file a complaint with the patient rights thingy, even though i have never filed a complaint about anything before in my life. im willing to go to the media, idgaf. i just want to be treated for dysphoria instead of being left to deal with it on my own, in the way i have been since the first time they denied me. i'm not "unstable". its been a year. i want medical care. that's it.

and the most infuriating thing is, this whole process is kinda showing me exactly why i'm not alone in this? a THIRD of transgender danes get prescriptions and surgery referrals outside the nhs, either gendergp or the black market or whatever. i don't understand how more people aren't appalled by that statistic, in a fucking supposed welfare state. like what do you want us to do? "they're self medicating" say the danish critics of gendergp, and yep, that's how it works. a person with chronic pain who gets denied treatment will probably also look for alternatives. what else do you expect them to do? are they supposed to just... be miserable?

moreover, what do you expect low income trans people like me to do, who can't afford gendergp because the cost of living crisis + insufferable rent leaves us with basically no disposable income? yo, quick question, bøgens fædreland,

what the fuck do you want me to do

#other #sorry to rant about it on main #theres even more layers to it than this. i just needed to get the brunt of it out of my system

12 notes · View notes

random-xpressions · 2 months

Text

Career life is something one needs to take very seriously, as much as they would for other aspects, like their love life or their spiritual life etc. Perhaps in the earlier years one may actually not kick off with a promising note. But those are essential too. Call it coincidence or signs that universe is so clearly sending, in just this week I came across three stories which actually was very intellectually pleasing and also quite soul awakening. Here they are:

Story no 1: I happened to stumble upon an interview that was taken with the famous soccer star, Messi, in which he was asked - "what would you be doing if you were not playing football?" Sensing that the interviewer was perhaps under the impression that there was hell a lot of money that was being made in all his club contracts and advertisements etc, the legend simply answered: "I will still be playing football even if i made no money!"

Story no 2: Two great individuals who have hit the success in their industry almost with no match, a movie director - Yash Chopra - and King of Bollywood - Shah Rukh Khan. Now the kind of movies this amazing pair has gifted to the world is unforgettable. So just last night I came across an interview in which the Director was saying that in his entire career span of 50 years of which 20 years he had worked with the actor, not for once did Shah Rukh Khan ever speak about his RENUMERATION! All that Yash Chopra did was to call him and say a movie is being planned and Shah Rukh was there. What happens is that once everything is completed and a day or two before the movie release date, a cheque will be sent to the actor and everytime upon receiving it Shah Rukh would say: "this time its really such a huge pay!"

Story no 3: Dr Mohammed Hisham Naji, an anaesthesiologist, leading rather a comfortable life in Washington (Syrian-American), after recently seeing the plight of Palestinians and the heavy casualty especially when it came to that point where there were no qualified doctors to do anaesthesia and treatments were being made without giving anaesthesia, his conscience got so badly shaken that despite his old age and despite that Gaza is literally a battleground with zero security he volunteered to go all the way down to the epicenter of war to make his contribution!

Now all of these individuals in their own circle of profession - be that sports or theatricals or medical - one thing is common in all of them. They did what they did not because of money but something within them was giving them a greater call to answer it. Their craftsmanship was in their DNA, inseparable. They would do it even if they're not paid. They would do it because they really enjoyed it. They would do it even if it cost their lives.

Money is just a result and a natural consequence that follows the zeal, the enthusiasm, the passion. Now comes the big question which each one of you must ask yourself:

"Is what you're doing right now to earn your bread something which you would do even if your bread is denied?"

If the answer is NO, then that's not what you're made for. Your calling is elsewhere - go find it!!!

Random Xpressions

#career #beyond money

8 notes · View notes

justanotherthrowaway1950 · 2 years

Text

Why Iroh is not a Good Judge of Azula's Redeemability

One of the fiercest debates in Avatar fandom is whether or not to take Iroh’s words and actions towards Azula as proof of Azula irredeemability.

For those who think that Azula is irredeemable point to stuff like, “She’s crazy and needs to go down,” or the fact that there was never any indication that he ever tried to reason with her, even when he tried reasoning with war criminals (the Rough Rhinos), someone who was literally going destroy a fundamental aspect of reality (Zhao), and someone who was attempting to rob him at knifepoint (Tycho), as proof that he knew that Azula was fundamentally broken, or that, after he returned from his wandering to the palace, he realized that Azula was too firmly indoctrinated for him, or anyone other than Azula herself, to save.

Meanwhile, those who think that Azula is redeemable point out that Iroh said, She’s crazy and needs to go down,” only after she had repeatedly tried to hunt him and Zuko down so she could bring them back to the Fire Nation for their treason, had attempted to kill Zuko with lightning, and had almost killed him with blue fire. Not to mention, Iroh had to dissuade Zuko from trying to show Azula compassion because, as long as she and Ozai where in power, there was no way they could convince her to change her path, and so to show her compassion, or attempt to reason with her, would end with him, Zuko, or the both of them dead or in chains.

And in regards to the comics, where he never visits her in the asylum to try and steer her down a better path now that she lost everything, including her power, and thus would be receptive to his teachings? Well, if Iroh was willing to retire to Ba Sing Se and leave the arduous task of reforming the Fire Nation after a hundred years of war and propaganda to his unprepared nephew, who he sees as a surrogate son, why would Iroh be inclined to try and help steer Azula down a better path?

Especially when, as far as he knows, Azula is getting top-notch medical treatment for her mental illness(es)?

Not to mention, when Zuko was facing push back to take Azula on the search for Ursa, Iroh voiced his support for taking her, pointing out that it might help Azula find inner peace.

And besides, regardless of the above points, those who think Azula is redeemable point out that it would be highly hypocritical for Iroh deny the possibility of Azula reforming when it took Iroh suffering one of the harsh losses imaginable, the lost of a child, in combination with the White Lotus, who are made up of people victimized by Iroh’s actions, or inaction, as Crown Prince and as a general of the Fire Nation, for him to reform and redeem himself well into middle age.

Well, in my opinion, this debate is a moot one because the foundational assumption for both sides, that Iroh actually cared for Azula, at least at some point, is not actually true.

For the Legacy of the Fire Nation, which in-universe is a scrapbook Iroh wrote to share memories and mementos with Zuko, reveals that Iroh never gave up on Azula because he never gave her a chance in the first place, first, due to seeing her as an obstacle to Zuko getting Ozai's favor, and then, after his own redemption arc, an obstacle to Zuko becoming the savior of the Fire Nation that Iroh knew he could become.

In fact, he shows more sympathy and regret in regards to Ozai despite Ozai having decades to change his path as well as being Zuko, Ursa, and Azula's primary abuser.

And Iroh continues to have such negative views about Azula despite the fact that he begrudgingly admits that it took him decades to change his ways, that he only changed after his own son died despite killing countless Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom sons through his warmongering, and that he engaged in imperialism for the same reasons that Azula did: to make his father proud and because he thought it was his destiny.

And to make things worse, the TTRPG, which was created in collaboration with Avatar Studios, reveals that Iroh learned lightning redirection before Lu Ten’s death. So even if Azula was under Ozai's thrall, he could have stopped her abuse, as well as Zuko's in addition to ending the war sooner, by challenging Ozai to Agni Kai after returning from his wandering and killing him by baiting Ozai into shooting lightning and then redirecting it.

“But what about Iroh voicing support for Azula to go on the search for Ursa? That at least proves that Iroh has some care for Azula, right?”

Iroh’s support for Azula going on the search for Ursa could easily be explained by Iroh not wanting to go against the wishes of his beloved nephew, especially since he knows that Azula is the only one with relevant information in regards to Ursa’s location due to Azula burning all the letters in Ozai’s secret trunk save for the “Zuko is a bastard” letter, as well as him knowing that him vocalizing his true thoughts on Azula would make him look unwise and/or cause friction to arise between him and Zuko.

And besides, it is not like Iroh has ever lied to Zuko or others about his true opinions and allegiances before, especially when he, rightfully or wrongfully, thinks it is in everyone’s best interests for him to hide them, right?

“Why do you think that Iroh had a responsibility to challenge Ozai to an Agni Kai and kill him? For don’t you remember that Iroh said, in regards to Zuko asking him to fight Ozai during Sozin’s Comet, that he would not fight Ozai for the throne since history would just see it as two brothers trying to kill each other for power, and so it had to be the Avatar who defeated Ozai?"

My response to that argument is the famous phrase, “The Only Thing Necessary for the Triumph of Evil is that Good Men Do Nothing.”

If Iroh already had his heel-face turn and realized that the war was immoral, wouldn’t the morally righteous thing for him to do is end the war as soon as possible? Especially since he was the person best equipped to stop it considering, unlike the audience, no one in-universe knows when, if ever, the Avatar would return?

Besides, why should we care for Iroh’s opinion in regards to the ramifications of him fighting Ozai for the throne when he, after telling Zuko that he could not fight his own brother to death since history would view it negatively, in the same breath told Zuko to essentially fight his own sister to death for the throne?

So to conclude, why should people care about Iroh's opinion about Azula's (ir)redeemability? Especially when, if people applied his standards to him and Zuko, neither of them would have been able to redeem themselves?

#azula #iroh #zuko #ozai #atla #atla comics #the search #legacy of the fire nation #avatar legends rpg #iroh meta #iroh critical #iroh is not a flawless saint #justanotherthrowaway1950meta

97 notes · View notes

mortuaest · 9 months

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2 notes · View notes

thedivinecalamity · 4 months

Text

God I need to bitch so badly right now, I'll put it under a readmore since I don't know how long it will be

I fucking hate finding a new psychiatrist. My """current""" one used to be good but they partnered with a big practice and now I have no way of getting ahold of him, and the people he's asked me to speak to instead never respond to my emails, and one day I literally called them 5 times throughout the day and left a message, and they still never contacted me back. Oh but they'll gladly pester me about getting a new card in their system since the old one expired :) Except they still make me enter my card details every fucking time before an appointment, and one time it was declining my card despite knowing I had the money (it just said a general error) so I couldn't join the meeting, and had no way of contacting them so I ended up missing it :))

I found a new psychiatrist now, but I really dislike her. I'm sorry but I'm going to go on a misogynistic rant now, I do not care, I am a woman, I am allowed to criticize other women for being ableist towards me. I've noticed female psychiatrist are so much worse than male ones. All the female psychiatrists I've had have been the worst ones I've ever had, sure I won't deny that I have had bad experiences with men, but I feel like the men tend to listen to me at least? (I know that sounds insane, I do not think that for other medical fields absolutely not) I'm sure I have a sample bias, I won't deny that, but god I am tired.

Like I feel like female psychiatrists see someone mentally ill and feel the need to baby them?? Or treat them like idiots that know they have no clue what they could be talking about cause they're just that retarded. I've gotten this treatment way more from women, I just genuinely don't know why. And yes, I know I mentioned my current psychiatrist as 'he', and believe me I am pissed at him, but before he partnered with a larger company he would actually listen to me and believed in what I was saying.

I had an appointment with my new psychiatrist (who I hope at least improves or I can find someone new), it lasted only half an hour, but holy shit. I mention my symptoms and mental illnesses, including ocd which is especially hard to mention to people irl. After I'm done describing some of my symptoms, which I did not describe all because I am not very good at explaining things on the spot, she just goes "I don't think you have ocd, those symptoms sound like xyz and you do not have these very specific symptoms (despite how varied ocd can be)." Fuck You. You've known me for 15 minutes. I literally have an official ocd diagnosis. Yes she wouldn't know that since she hasn't gotten that paperwork yet, but in that case why don't you just shut the fuck up until it arrives. I absolutely know people like to self diagnose themselves with ocd all the time, partially as a joke. She probably has heard that a lot and maybe (hopefully) is "trying" to say I don't have it to not have it be such a misconception. But it goes both fucking ways. The amount of "well meaning" people I've had tell me that I do not have ocd because so many jackasses have self diagnosed themselves is staggering. You are not being helpful to people with ocd. I just have to hide it even more. Tbh, even if I was faking having ocd, what good even is that comment? I'm sure there's some people that would self reflect, but I think most would likely get defensive and double down.

I have another medication that helps with my concentration, and she believes in my other mental illnesses, but for some reason doesn't see how that medication helps me?? Despite describing how much of a life changer it is? I don't want to get into the details about this point really, but she's kinda threatening to take it away from me. This is another problem I've had with female psychiatrists. They seem so judgemental of medications and always try to get me off of mine. They make me feel like they're judging me as some sort of druggie. Maybe it has something to do with those women who believe medications are the devils work and use fucking home remedies like radiated mud or fucking crystals. They always seem to want to give me therapy instead of helping with my meds, despite the fact that I already have a therapist I can contact that actually fucking listens to me and helps me and believes that I have ocd. I swear to god these people want the pay of a psychiatrist but just want to practice therapy. I don't want therapy from you shithead! You don't believe in so many things I've said and seem to ignore anything else.

I can't fucking stand this shit anymore. I'm sure people would think I'm a total baby for getting upset at these things. I wouldn't be this upset if this was a one off. But I'm sick of hearing these types of comments and attitudes. I'm so sick of the jokes about ocd that people will make and then turn around and try to be "allies" by "correcting" me. I am sick of people acting like needing certain meds means your a druggie or a sign that you're a failure. This psychiatrist, and many others will say this shit to me, and then at 5:30 turn in for the day and completely forget this shit they've said, because it's not something they care or need to think about. It doesn't affect them. But I have to constantly deal with these fucking comments. I hate mentioning my ocd irl, but you kind of have to with psychiatrists. So I do. And this is what I fucking get? I have to involuntarily expose part of myself that normally I would only do after long trusting someone, and you take that and just fucking crush it, and you don't even realize it.

#despite how angrily I typed all of this tbh I am just way more sad/upset #I don't want to do this anymore #tdc rambles

0 notes

tallmantall · 1 year

Text

#JamesDonaldson On #MentalHealth – We Must Stop Using A #Female Model To Treat #Men’s #MentalHealth

By John Mac Ghlionn #Men comprise some 80% of all #suicides with #depression being a component of the majority of them. #Depression among #men is rising, fast, yet current psychotherapy treatments typically fail to differentiate between what works best for each sex. This must change if we want to keep #men mentally fit -- and alive! The masculinity crisis is real. #Men make up 49% of the population but nearly 80% of all #suicides. Every 13.7 minutes a #man takes his life somewhere in the U.S. #Depression is present in at least 50% of these #suicides, according to Canada’s Centre for #SuicidePrevention. Along with medication, psychological therapy can help alleviate depressive symptoms. For #women, that is. But less so for #men. That’s because we appear to have #depression all wrong. #Men and #women view the world very differently; their brains are literally wired differently. And this means #men and #women also suffer from #depression in different ways. There was a time when the #AmericanPsychologicalAssociation (#APA), the organization responsible for accrediting #psychologists in the U.S., appeared open to the idea of “#male-based #depression.” Back in 2005, the APA noted that those in the #psychological community were “coming to think that the traditional signs of #depression (sadness, worthlessness, excessive guilt) may not represent many men’s experience of a depressive period.” Unfortunately, not long after, the “sex is a construct” narrative started gaining traction, and the APA began denying that differences between the sexes actually exist. Soon after, the APA decided to label qualities associated with traditional masculinity as “psychologically harmful.” Having effectively turned its back on #men, is it any wonder that the current system is so ill-equipped to help the #men of #America? For most of its history, the esteemed #AmericanPsychologicalAssociation treated #male and #female #mentalhealthconditions with distinction; that all changed once pressure mounted to end the focus gender differentiations. Which brings us back to the idea of “#male-based #depression.” Adam Lane Smith, a licensed psychotherapist who specializes in treating both #men and #women, says that #male #depression tends to revolve around feelings of helplessness and powerlessness. “#Men need the ability to change their environment, create an impact that lasts (a legacy), and to either stop their pain or make it have purpose,” he explained. They are less interested in having their feelings validated, and more interested in finding a solution. They want answers, and they want them now. #Female #depression, on the other hand, “tends to center around feeling unloved or feeling useless to the people they love,” Smith noted. “#Women need to feel cared for, appreciated, and helpful.” #Veteran #therapist Adam Lane Smith says #men are seeking the ability to change the world around them from therapy; they want solutions — and they want them fast. For #men, feeling unable to positively affect their environment appears to be the prelude to deep #depression. “First,” said Smith, “they start feeling helpless in these areas, that they can never get out of these negative feelings.” Then, after some time, he added, the “suicidal feelings set in.” Smith words are particularly troubling because the rate of #male #depression is now rising so dramatically. For #men seeking therapy, their key concerns are feelings of uselessness and being a burden to loved ones; they’re not necessarily looking to simply feel better. If given the choice, #men tend to prefer speaking to a #male #therapist. This has nothing to do with sexism. Data confirms that #men just respond better to #male #therapists than they do to #female #therapists. Sadly, there just aren’t enough #male #therapists to choose from. Almost two-thirds of #psychologists in the #UnitedStates are #female. Eighty percent of clinical #psychologists are #female. Some 75% of psychology graduate #students are #female. This is one reason why therapy is failing #men. #Women, on the other hand, want therapy to help them feel more loved and connected with the world around them; this dichotomy helps explain why so many #men are being failed by conventional therapy. Another reason is that most therapy sessions center around making #men feel better, “more loved and more connected,” Smith notes. However, the vast majority of the time, he said, #men feel powerless, “so making them feel loved while still powerless makes them feel like more of a burden, not less of one.” In other words, we are trying to treat #male-based #depression using #female-oriented approaches. And this is likely making #male therapy #patients feel even worse. Which begs the question: What, if anything, can be done? #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space. #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleOrder your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife:From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com One of the biggest challenges in properly treating #male #depression is the paucity of #male #therapists; some 75% of psychology graduate #students today are #women. First and foremost, the time has come for the broader psychology community to reverse course and recognize that biological differences exist – both for the physical body and the immaterial mind. “ A one-size-fits-all approach is… going to turn the tide against the #suicide epidemic, the drug epidemic, or any other #mentalhealth-based issue currently growing worse,” Smith explains. To get #men out of their rut, they must not only be made to feel better, but actually achieve impactful and meaningful results. This should be the end game of any #mentalhealthtreatment. What do you think? Post a comment. Because to truly address #male suffering, we must first accept the idea that a #man’s pain often looks nothing like its #female counterpart. If you are struggling with #suicidalthoughts or are experiencing a #mentalhealthcrisis and live in New York City, you can call 1-888-NYC-WELL for free and confidential crisis counseling. If you live outside the five boroughs, you can dial the 24/7 #NationalSuicidePreventionhotline at #988 or go to #SuicidePreventionLifeline.org. Read the full article

0 notes