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inkskinned · 2 years

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i both firmly believe that self-diagnosing saved my life and i think that the way tiktok and instagram have recently been spreading misinformation about mental illness/neurodivergence is incredibly harmful.

people who are looking for answers are already people who are in a vulnerable situation.

much of the misinformation appears logically sound; and is presented as definitive fact (prefaced with claims such as "research shows"). it's imperative we remember correlation does not prove causation. it is incredibly dangerous to make definitive statements like "if X happened in your childhood, you now Z as an adult." real scientists will almost always use may or other less-definitive terms. similarly, equating one behavior/experience with any single condition is also unsafe. many conditions have overlapping symptoms; and many people "mask" their key symptoms, even to themselves.

we cannot discern from a singular data point any conclusion. in official diagnosis, for a behavior/experience to be considered a symptom, it must significantly influence your life. many people enjoy an organized space. that is a preference. disrupting your daily life even at personal cost in order to prioritize organization is more likely a symptom.

again, a single data point is not an effective diagnostic tool. it is necessary and important work to catalogue and consider all unwanted/distressing behaviors in order to understand a complete picture of the person.

i will see creators in paid partnerships make generalized behavioral/emotional claims that apply to a large portion of a community, and then they will suggest that the "solution" to that behavior is through their paid partner/through their personal support. "follow for more psych tips/facts" is an incredibly evil marketing tactic. i very rarely see unpartnered/unbranded content on how to aid/comfort those behaviors and feelings.

much of the misinformation employs a subtle technique (called confirmation bias) of setting up a conclusion before "proving" the conclusion. "you know you have X when you experience A,B, and C." no person's experience of their conditions/behaviors will look exactly the same as another's. while knowing certain things might be a sign/symptom of a condition, it is irresponsible to consider it definitive.

confirmation bias is unfortunately extremely effective on tiktok specifically. the algorithm will notice that you interacted longer with the video that "proves" (through a singular video) that you "have" a condition. it will continue to feed you related videos that further confirm what you believe.

this is dangerous because we are, unfortunately, not good at knowing ourselves. i did not know it was unusual to vividly nightmare every night; i didn't consider it a symptom. i was similarly dismissive also of any other signs of my PTSD - i incorrectly assigned them to anxiety/adhd. on the small scale, this can mean a longer journey to healing. on the larger scale, it can mean people with extremely difficult situations are unable to get the help they need.

please, if you can, and you're looking to self-diagnose: be careful about what you assume about yourself. try to keep an honest journal of what you're thinking/feeling/doing for a few days.

do not go in with an assumption. try to keep an open mind. i think we all "suspect" we have something - but like i said, i completely missed my own PTSD symptoms, because i suspected the ADHD the most, and only "saw" those symptoms.

do your own research. if the tiktok says "research shows", google that research. figure out who paid for that research. do further research related to that study - has it ever been repeated? is it peer reviewed? do other researchers seem to accept it as conclusive?

if you feel you really resonate with the materials of one person's experience with a condition, find other examples. see if you relate to other creators who identify similarly.

and please - please do not stop once you come to a conclusion. i fully believe that the diagnostic process should be seen as a first step, not a destination. by knowing what you might be struggling with, you gain an incredibly powerful tool on how to gain peace with that condition.

if you feel yourself emotionally respond to a tiktok/etc that suggests something that might be true about yourself, i'm glad you had that experience. but it's also important to not relax into the "easy" answer. interrogate it. start googling what else that could mean; what ways you could work on healing that wound.

healing does not "belong" to any one condition. i want you to begin to look into healing no matter if you have "proven" you have a condition or not. it is never selfish to practice responsible self-care. even if you don't relate to having adhd, you are not harming me by using adhd-inspired study tips. it is not making my condition worse for you to seek peace by asking for more time on tests. even if it was - the fault would be with the system, not in your need of something the system makes inaccessible.

remind yourself that everything you experience is real. and because it is real, it is complicated. while things might be related - even sometimes clearly related - a stranger on the internet cannot make that discernment for you. you as a person deserve the work, attention, and care that goes into the process of unravelling the harm that has been done to you.

it makes me very, very upset to see how popular these videos have become, because they're so irresponsible. and they clearly are targeting a vulnerable group. for example, making generalized claims about children of unloving caretakers is targeting those who have experienced neglect. there is no way to use 30 second videos to correctly analyze what that neglect might have caused in your adult life. i'm sorry, but it's snake oil.

i know it is so powerful soothing to recognize that you aren't broken. that others exist like you out there. i want every person looking for answers to find their answer. i want you to feel seen and heard and understood. i want you to find your community.

i just want it to happen safely.

#every time i write this im like #i just want to say a short thing about this #and every time it ends up being 12 pages long #but since it keeps happening #and i keep seeing shit like this...#this isn't even everything i feel about this #i hope this is clear like #what im saying is #NOT ''you don't have it if u selfdiagnose''#it's instead....#you might!!! just don't let 1 or 2 videos confirm it!!#also!!! don't assume that symptom A belongs to condition X!!#even as someone who did eventually get diagnosed like #i still find myself being like - oh that's my adhd #only to figure out 12 hours later. nope that was a panic attack #also none of those videos are about how to HELP the behavior #also this doesn't talk about getting a therapist eventually but please get professional help if you can #it took me fucking forever tho #what im saying is that in the meantime #u can heal now #this is too long im posting it on a sunday so nobody reads it

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faeriekit · 1 month

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Health and Hybrids (XXI)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Wonder Woman! Robin! Impulse! Danny! Dick drawings! Who says that occupational therapy and learning a second language can't be fun?

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

EXTRA TW for: vomiting, panic attacks (this chapter only)

Danny can hold a spoon now. He is unstoppable.

So, when the lady isn’t there to feed him dinner (more mush), one of the not-the-lady nurses gives Danny a tray, and lays a mat over his lap so that he can eat without completely messing up his bedsheets.

Eat he does. Slowly. Maybe a little messily, and it’s kind of embarrassing to have to admit to himself that food definitely spills out of his mouth and onto his lap. The doctor/nurse/medical person, whoever they are, turns on the television, and Danny doesn’t try to ask for the remote. The television only gets something like ten channels, and none of them are cartoons at lunch hour.

So. News it is.

Most of the news follows the same cycle; the weather, sports teams Danny can now recognize the colors of, traffic cameras, and events with long, scrolling text to detail the happenings onscreen. There’s something about dogs? That’s fun. The scientist/nurse/tech, whoever they are, says something in the tone of Aaw, aren’t they cute? as puppies run about and wrestle on screen.

Danny kind of misses Cujo. He picks at his bedsheet, and doesn’t say anything.

The dog program transitions away— there’s a bright banner in its place. Danny’s seen it before: it’s something to the equivalent of Breaking News. It’s usually weather, or crime, or something.

Um. But it’s not that. Danny’s spoon drops, because a ROBOT LADY lights up the screen with a glistening silver suit, not unlike the Ecto-Skeleton his parents used to keep in the basement. Or, well…this one might be more streamlined?

Danny shifts. He can’t help. He’s here, in the hospital. Or. Uh. The space…hospital. His body is very broken.

But there’s a robot lady wrecking a town on Earth.

And Danny can fly.

…Could fly. Could have flown. If he was. Well.

Danny’s not well, and his body aches and his hands don’t work and his legs work even less, but there’s people out there who need help. People who are getting shot at with rays and Danny can fight them, and humans can’t. Danny can help. He—

His core throbs. Danny chokes. He pulls at his chest, trying to find some kind of purchase on his medical gown to tug himself—up?? Out?? He can’t fly right now, but maybe—?

“Whoah, whoah, whoah, abide, abide.”

Danny grits his teeth. “Look!” he snaps, and jams a finger at the television. “There’s—look! There’s a giant robot out there punching buildings!”

“Wacie,” the human protests, but at least turns up the volume so that Danny can see better. “Wacie, þær eart firas þær nou.”

What does that mean?!

Danny hasn’t lifted himself in forever. His legs don’t work, but his arms…might.

He presses his palms down to the mattress. He pushes.

There is a liberated fraction of a second where Danny’s whole weight is on his arms.

—And then he comes crashing back to reality, his elbows snapping back into place. His butt slams back onto the bed and the whole frame jitters.

Danny pants. His arms quake.

The medic completely barrels through Danny’s usually meticulously-kept personal bubble, trying to make sure Danny didn’t dislodge his IV or rip his ligaments and tendons or tear his muscles or. Something. Danny barely notices, barely cares, because someone else blasts onto the television screen in a red bathing suit and gold boots.

And suddenly, both the people on screen are fighting. It’s brilliant. It’s bloody—it’s physical, in the way that flesh and bone and metal must be. Danny’s never seen serious fighting like that before.

And the new woman flies.

Danny stares.

She flies. She fights. She wins—narrowly dodging or displacing lasers with something shiny on her arms, and getting long hair singed in the process. In the end, the robot is tethered down with some kind of shiny metal rope, screaming and kicking all the way.

…Danny barely remembers to choke in air. That's so cool.

The medical person says something reassuring, but Danny’s too tired to listen. He watches this new woman take her applause, floating down on nothing but air to meet the reporter and answer questions. She looks poised. Confident. People clap. People shout things out. People smile. People cheer.

…No one is screaming. No one is running.

There are no ghost hunters in the crowd.

Danny’s exhale is manual. So is his inhale. His heart monitors are making all sorts of funky pictures most likely, but that’s not his business—he watches a woman in armor who flies take off into the sky, free to come and go as she pleases.

It…it hurts. It’s so beautiful and so peaceful and gentle and it hurts so much.

His eyes well up with tears. Why did she get this? This…niceness? Everyone had hated him when he'd tried to help—the teachers, Vlad, the town, his parents. They’d hated him! All he ever wanted to do was help like she did!

What made him so different?! Why was it Danny who got hunted down and shot at? Why was it Danny who got kidnapped and taken hostage?!

Tears burn his eyes like fire. It’s got to be the salt. Danny’s strangled whine turns into a choked off sob before he can catch it. His hand goes to his mouth, but he can’t stifle the noise.

He doesn’t want to. He wants to cry. He thinks he deserves it.

The tears come until he is sobbing, crying, wailing—because WHY WHY WHY was it so easy to hurt him?! WHY DID THEY HURT HIM, WHY DID MOM HURT HIM, HE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG!

A towel appears in his hand. They’re so nice to him here. So much nicer than when Mom and Dad had—

Danny’s cries are as much screams as they are anything else.

There are hands on his shoulder. On his back. Rubbing. Danny wants to shove them off but the lady isn’t here, which means that it’s one of the staff-members who isn’t supposed to touch him. They’re not supposed to touch him in case Danny hurts them but one of them gave Danny a clean towel to scream into and is rubbing his back because he’s crying.

They’re trying to be so nice and gentle but EVERYONE JUST WANTS TO HURT HIM.

They’re smart, though. They notice before Danny does, and have a bucket ready by the time heaving sobs turn into outright vomiting.

At least the mush mostly makes it into the bucket.

…So.

Having a breakdown…sucks.

Danny has to carefully brush his teeth with an extra-soft bristle brush and rinse out his mouth before he gets more water.

Someone is being very nice. There’s artificial fruit punch flavoring in his drink. He wants to feel grateful but he mostly feels dead.

…His eyes slide listlessly across the room. Ha. Dead.

Danny is horizontal and wrung dry and too tired to do anything but pant by the time the lady comes back to his room. She’s in quicker than usual—her gown is sort of sloppy, hair sticking out of her hair net, and she’s still looping her mask around her ear.

She gets down on her knees beside his bed. She asks him if he’s alright.

Danny’s not alright. He isn’t sure he’s been alright in…ages. Ages and ages. Before he was trapped and tied down. Before he was hated. Reviled.

…Before he was Phantom, maybe; before Danny Fenton had died a shocking, senseless death.

Tears try to wring themselves out of his aching eyeballs, but he’s too dry-eyed to cry; the lady make sad, wet eyes for him, and that’s probably enough between the two of them. Danny’s misery is a vast, gaping void, and all he has to show for it is the shovel he’s been digging through all this shit with for the last few years.

The lady brings her hands closer to his hairline, curled fingers hovering in the air. Her word’s don’t mean anything to him, but the gesture is clear: May I?

“…Mm,” Danny agrees. His eyes fall closed when she gently scratches at his scalp with her fingers.

No one’s touched him gently, on purpose, in…ages. When he was little, Dad used to pop him between him and Mom in bed. Mom would brush out Danny’s bangs with her fingers and Dad would hum. It was always something ill-fitting and silly. Guns N’ Roses. Led Zepplin. Santana. Sometimes Jazz would sit with them, crushing him until Dad had to pull him up and out of harm’s way.

In the quarantine lab, hurting him had just been part of the scientific process. What if there was some new discovery under his fat layer? On the other side of his ribs? Nestled between his alveoli?

Danny sniffles. He’s too dry to cry. He blinks invisible dust off of his eyelashes, and focuses on the weird lady who’s with him now.

Up close, when his eyes work, she looks nice. She has blue eyes, like him. Like Dad. They’re kinda…glowy, maybe? Sparkly? They remind him of ice in the Far Frozen—inhumanly brisk, and impossibly clean. She has eye crinkles where she smiles, tan skin making them more defined than their actual depth. Between her hair net and her medical mask, little wisps of black baby hairs shine through.

She pets him. She smiles. Danny isn’t sure why, but. Whatever. Jazz used to insist that human skin-to-skin contact was an essential need, so this is probably, like, also medical care.

Yeah. Danny squints. …Sure.

Whatever. It’s nice.

So Danny gets petted and it’s fine. He almost doesn’t notice the giant gauntlet under the paper sleeve of her gown, but then it’s right in his field of vision, and. Hey. Didn’t he see that on TV, like, an hour ago?

Danny stares.

He can’t actually tell if they’re gold under the pale blue color of the gown, but. The color is certainly some sort of unusually colored metal, cold to the touch even through the paper-like material of the gown.

…He doesn’t want to touch her, or let her know that he’s touching her. But. He brushes the back of his wrist against the bracelet, and it hums against the paper gown between it and his bare skin.

The lady blinks. She looks down at where they made contact, and asks him if he’s alright.

Danny looks away.

She knows she saw him reach out to her, though, so she takes her hand off of his hair (…hey…) and pulls back the sleeve on her gown. “Sest,” she offers. See?

It is the same kind of bracer he saw on TV. Up close he can see the designed etched into it—geometric lines stretching down from her fingers to her elbow, terminating in something structural. Not quite diamonds. Just…strong.

There’s a couple of very, very tiny letters down towards the bottom. His eyes strain when they try to make any sense out of them; they’re too small for him to actually focus on, which sucks.

She steps back, and pushes her sleeves down to show off her gold bracers. She lifts up the hem of her gown, revealing red boots that go waaaay up her thigh. They have the same gold metalwork as she does on the bracers.

Danny just saw those on the television. His eyes widen.

“You—“ he starts, and then remembers their difference in language. He points his hand at the television. “You fought? You were on TV?”

“Hwæt?”

“The TV?” Danny repeats. She doesn’t understand. Danny doesn’t know how to tell her what he means. “The…you were there?”

She looks at him to expand. Danny looks back at her.

…So they just stare at each other silently.

The door cracks open; the person who’d mediated Danny’s breakdown pokes their head in and says something. “Eower feoht wæs an þe box todæge.”

The lady blinks. Danny blinks. Wait. Did they just call the television the box?

“…Box?” Danny clarifies, and lifts a hand to shakily point at the television again.

The lady blinks, and grins. “Yea!” she returns, pumped up. She stands, to the powerful height she’d had on the television—excuse him, the box—and flexes her now-exposed arms to show off massive biceps.

Holy moly. Danny hasn’t seen any bigger biceps on his Dad.

She flexes one arm, the other, both—in front, and behind. If Danny had that much definition, he’d be showing off too! She leaps back impossibly far—and holy crap she can fly— to show off some mock punches at invisible enemies at speeds that Danny would be hard pressed to follow even with supernatural abilities.

He goggles.

She laughs at him, but she doesn’t sound mean—she sounds show-boating and silly, and teasing and playful, but not mean.

She’s like him. She’s not a ghost but she flies and she’s not human. She’s not human just like Danny. Just like that one green guy. Like the fast kid who visits him.

It’s such a relief. It’s so scary. Who are these people? Why are they healing him? Why are they keeping him?? Why do they have access to so many non-human people? What do they want him for? Is Danny supposed to fight like that?

He would fight. If he had to. He’s done it before.

If they make him fight, Danny’s pretty sure he’s going to fall apart like cheap glass.

The lady comes back when Danny goes quiet, her gloved fingers brushing up against his knuckles. The sensation is enough to bring Danny out of his…fog. Sometimes everything is so cloudy and vague. The pain medicine makes it go away, and the pain medicine brings it back.

Danny curls his hand into a shaking fist. He bumps her knuckles against his.

She makes a surprised noise. Danny feels her gently move his fingers, rearranging, moving where his thumb goes—

He huffs out a laugh. His fist wasn’t good enough to her standards. Her fist bump meets his in the middle with a smirk and a laugh, victory written all over her face.

#Whoever told you healing was linear was LYING TO YOU #my boy has PROBLEMS #'he's healing' Physically? Yes!#ngl I got through the whole chapter and wrapped up and started updating this post and THEN went. Wait. Is this a panic attack?#turns out! It is!#health and hybrids #dp x dc #danny phantom #dcu crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #tw medical #tw gore #tw body horror

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theidlespoon · 6 months

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you think you're over it and then out of the blue you're curled up on your bathroom floor listing five things you can see four things you can touch three things you can hear.

#text post #textpost #shitpost #tumblr #humour #relatable #humor #lmao #funny #random thought #social anxiety memes #anxiety memes #panic attack #mental illness #mentally unstable #healing #healing is not linear #healing is a process

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imfinereallyy · 1 year

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Is this okay?

tw: discussions of panic attacks, discussions sa (nothing graphic or very far, and no assualt happens with steddie), and implied sexual coercion.

Steve knew there was never a good time to have a panic attack.

But this most definitely felt like the absolute worst time.

He was having sex with a girl. He had to clarify that to Robin when he told her he was going on a date; he hadn't gotten the nerve to do the “sex with a guy” thing yet. So he went with what he knew. Besides, there was only one guy Steve really wanted.

But he was having sex with a girl, a girl named Linda, who had given him her number at a diner across town where she worked. Steve had thought she was nice, pretty. Very all-American with her blonde hair, blue eyes and perfectly straight teeth. No matter how pretty she was though, Steve didn’t really feel much for her.

He felt terrible about that. Steve felt like he had wasted her time. He didn’t want Linda to feel that way, so he wanted to ensure she got something out of the date. So when they had finished milkshakes at a different diner than the one she worked at (yea he hadn’t put much thought into the date), he agreed to go back to her place.

He really shouldn’t have agreed to go back to her place.

In retrospect, Steve knew it was wrong to have sex with Linda. Not because having sex on the first date was bad, but because he shouldn't have sex with someone just because he felt bad. Steve imagines if one of the kids did that, or if Robin did that, he would lose his mind. He would be so upset, not with them, but with whomever they felt pressure to do it with. It’s just hard for him to apply to himself.

Guess that’s what valuing yourself for only sex at a young would do to you. King Steve, he could hear them say.

He had ignored his instincts, though, and went back to her place anyway.

It had started fine; it really had. Steve went down on her, wanting to make her feel good. That was the whole point. Steve was excited about that part. But then it came to sealing the deal. Linda wanted him naked, of course. But Steve couldn’t bring himself to take off his shirt. Even months later, he was insecure about the new scars on his body. Steve told Linda he wanted to keep it on.

She had been okay with it at first.

It’s when they were in the middle of it, sweaty bodies colliding with each other, that it happens.

Linda's hands snuck up his shirt, and Steve completely freezes. Steve just full stops in the middle of sex.

“Why did you stop?” Linda asked, exasperated like Steve was annoying her.

“I—just. Your hands.” Steve choked out.

“You’re upset? With my hands under your shirt? Seriously?”

“I—“ Steve felt the pressure begin to build up in his chest. Something was definitely wrong, right on the edge of overflowing.

“Sorry, I guess. Probably better off anyway. I don’t know what happened under there, but it didn’t feel good. Can’t imagine it’s pretty. Can we just get back into it?” Linda tried to pull Steve down for a kiss, but he yanked his head away from her.

Steve was suddenly hyper-aware of everything on his skin. Every stretch, every pull, every lump. Steve swallowed the dry lump in his throat as he tried to calm his breath.

Linda didn’t seem to notice. “C’mon, Steve. I thought I was getting the King out of this. I’ve heard the rumors. I may have graduated the year before you, but even I know how good you make girls feel in bed.” Steve felt dirty. Used. This wasn’t what sex was supposed to be like. Not unless he wanted it like that, and today he had most definitely not wanted that. His breath was coming out in short pants. His hands were sweating. Linda continued, “You’re acting like a freak right now. God. This was such a waste of time.”

Steve was up in an instant, scrambling to get all of his clothes on. He wanted out. Out of this bed. Out of this apartment. Out of his head.

Steve thought that maybe Linda had said something to him on his way out, something that his subconscious must have picked up because he could feel the tears down his face in reaction to her voice. Steve ran out the door, ignoring her.

The rest was kind of a blur.

One second, Steve was throwing himself inside his car, trying to choke himself on his own breath. The next, he was flying down Main Street, with only the flashes of street lights as a reminder to his brain that he was moving.

Then, suddenly, Steve was banging on the metal door of a trailer.

When did he get here? Who’s door is this? What time was it? God, where were his shoes?

Steve leaned his head against the cool metal, as he tried to ground himself. It wasn’t working. He could feel reality slipping from him. He just wanted to fucking breathe.

The trailer door opened just when Steve was contemplating banging his head against it. Steve fell forward, his weight had been entirely against the door, he stumbled slightly before catching himself on the frame.

“Steve?” He heard a confused familiar voice.

Oh thank god, it was Eddie. Eddie would help him. Eddie would know what to do.

“Eddie I—I”

“Stevie, what? What’a wrong?” Steve could see Eddie’s sleepy fast morph into concern. Steve felt bad, probably woke him up. He knew Eddie didn’t get much sleep nowadays. Steve needed to tell him he was sorry.

All that came out, though, was, “I—I can’t breathe.”

Steve hunched over, slamming himself into one side of the frame. Eddie moved to catch him, but hovers his hands instead. Steve saw panic flash across his face.

Steve really needed to say sorry.

He didn’t get to, though, because suddenly Eddie asked, “Can I touch you?”

It shouldn’t have broken him, something as simple as that. It was a simple question. A courtesy, a common fucking decency. Some people didn’t like to be touched during panic attacks, and Steve now understood what was happening, and Eddie was just being kind. It shouldn’t have broken him.

But it did. Steve couldn’t remember the last time someone asked what he had wanted. Especially tonight.

Suddenly Steve was sobbing, throwing himself into Eddie’s awaiting arms. Eddie shushed him softly and brought him inside. “It’ll be okay. Don’t worry. It may be scary now, but it’ll be okay.”

Eddie walked them to the couch, shutting the fire gently behind them. Eddie laid Steve’s head on his shoulder and gently rocked them back and forth for awhile. Eddie whispered sweet nothing in his ears as Steve loudly wept.

Steve wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time his cries quieted. He pulled back to look at Eddie and rubbed furiously at his eyes. Steve felt the panic still stewing in his chest, but most of it had spilled out.

Eddie brushed a hair behind his ear, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve hesitated. He was scared of how Eddie would react. Would he call him dramatic? Would he say that both Linda and he were using each other? That he should be glad that he was getting laid? That someone liked him enough to look past the scars? Steve knew in his heart, though, that Eddie was safe. No matter what Steve said, Eddie would at least try to understand.

“Promise not to be mad?”

“I can promise to not be mad at you. Whatever that made you upset could be a different story. But I promise you sweetheart, I’ll never be mad at you for having feelings.” Eddie grabbed his hand and squeezed it in encouragement.

Steve took a deep breath before speaking. “I was on a date—“ Eddie had a flash of some emotion that Steve couldn’t process entirely at the moment, and it was gone before he could say something. “—And the girl I was with, she was nice. She was pretty. She should be what I want.”

Eddie nodded in encouragement. Steve pushed on. “But the date wasn’t good. It wasn’t bad, not really, just nothing special. It was on me, I didn’t even try. Not really. And I felt so bad that she wasn’t getting much out of it.”

“So you panicked because of a bad—sorry mediocre date? Steve, it’s okay. You don’t owe her anything.” Eddie didn’t sound angry or judgmental. He sounded concerned, if anything. His tone was gentle and warm; Steve didn’t want that to change.

“Please don’t be mad.”

“Steve, I promised you I wouldn’t be.” Again, Eddie’s tone was gentle.

“I felt bad, ya know? I should make the date better. Give her something. So when she asked me to her place, I didn’t say no, and I know I should have said no. But she was nice initially, and I didn’t want to upset her. So I went upstairs—“ Steve started to rush out his words, the panic building up again “—and it was fun at first. I gave oral; I liked that part; I always like making my partners feel good. But then she wanted to have sex, and I—I wanted to keep my shirt on. My scars they—they still feel like they're fresh some days. And I didn’t want to deal with them. And she was good about it at first, I swear! But then she put her hands up my shirt, and I just couldn’t do it. I just, god, Eddie, I just froze. And she was so upset with me. Talked about how she expected better from me. How this wasn’t King Steve. How she was happy, the shirt was on because what was underneath didn’t feel good and…” Steve trailed off.

Eddie looked furious. There was a quiet rage that seeped through his breaths. His shoulders were rigid. Even so, his grip never turned harsh. It never caused Steve pain.

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered.

“Don’t. Don’t be sorry Steve. It’s okay. Continue if you like.” Eddie choked out but sounded sincere.

Steve looked directly into his eyes for a moment before deciding to continue. “I was panicking. I couldn’t breathe, Eddie. And she still…she still wanted to continue. Like, pretend I wasn’t about to have a psychotic break. And I just felt like this thing. Like I was an object to be used and discarded, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t stay there. I just left. And I probably freaked her out and gave her the worst night of her life, and I—“

Eddie cut him off by bring his hands to Steve’s face and gently brushed his tears away. “Ssshh, you didn’t—you didn’t do anything wrong. Okay?”

Steve nodded furiously unable to speak.

Eddie held eye contact as he spoke. “I want you to listen to me alright? I got a couple of things to say but I need you to tell me if it’s too much? This is not about me. You won’t hurt my feelings. Okay?

Steve nodded again.

“Honey, I need you to say it.”

“Okay.”

Eddie let out a shaky breath. He didn’t let go of Steve’s face, gently cradled it as he began again. “First off, I am not mad at you. You did nothing wrong. Nothing Steve. I’m mad at her. She—She doesn’t get to touch you like that. Not if you don’t want her to. Even if you didn’t say it, you were clearly not enjoying yourself. And she didn’t care. She disregarded your feelings multiple times and even made fun of you, and guilted you into doing more than you’re comfortable with. I know it’s difficult to hear, but what she did was assault.”

Steve tried to protest, “I consented. I did that because I wanted to—”

Eddie cut him off but wasn't unkind in doing so. “Steve. If you felt guilty for not wanting to do anything with her, so you did something anyway to make her feel better, that isn’t consent. But I can’t label it for you. If you feel otherwise, it’s not my place to tell you. I’m here for you either way. But I’m going to tell you something. Not the whole thing, not right now. Maybe another day. This isn’t about me, though. I just think you might need to hear it.”

Steve nodded again.

Eddie slid his hands down to Steve’s hips like it was his turn to ground himself. Steve didn’t mind. “A couple of years ago, I was in my first relationship. I’m gay, as you know, so being open wasn’t really an option. No one could tell me right from wrong because no one knew. I lost my virginity to this guy; he was a couple of years older. I definitely knew what he was doing even though I didn’t. We had sex all the time. But one day, I wasn’t in the mood. It happens. But…but he made me feel so guilty about it. Like I had hurt him, told him he was the problem. Like there was a problem at all, like I didn’t simply want to have sex, he has made it about me having internalized homophobia, about how I didn’t really love him, how I was selfish. So I caved. I had sex with him anyway. And then I went home that night. Went back to the trailer, only to find Wayne had the rare night off that night. When I saw him, I burst into tears and told him what had happened. He hadn’t even known I was gay. He didn’t care, though, about any of it. But he had to explain to me that it didn’t matter what gender it was; if I didn’t want to have sex, that was up to me that I didn’t need to prove anything. And that anyone who said otherwise didn’t actually care about me.”

Steve was no longer in a panic, but his tears didn’t stop. He was so, so sad. Sad for Eddie. For himself.

“How do you feel now? About it all?” Steve spoke for the first time in ten minutes.

Eddie shrugged. He squeezed Steve’s hips. “Good some days. Bad others. Better overall. I’ll never be completely over it. I know that, but I—I have good things now to help me through it.” Eddie pointedly looked at Steve, a soft smile on his face.

Steve thought about saying sorry to him. That he was sorry that ever happened, but he knew that, like himself, Eddie wouldn’t want that. So Steve settled on the truth. “I don’t know what to call it. I think—I know I didn’t like it. And I know it hurt even if it wasn’t physical. I still feel like I did something wrong. Even if I know I didn’t. I’m worried I’ll change my mind and that I’ll be wrong.”

Eddie leaned his forehead against Steve’s. “You can always change your mind about this, but you’ll never be wrong. You will not be wrong about your feelings.”

“Okay.”

“I think we should talk more about this, but you’ve had a long night. Do you want to stay tonight? I can stay on the couch; you can have my bed. I don’t really want you too far. You scared me a bit today—which again isn’t your fault. But if you’re okay with it, I want to be here to help.”

Steve swallowed another dry lump. The emotion this time was good. Overwhelmed with the care Eddie was giving him, he responded “You don’t have to stay on the couch. We can share.”

Eddie tensed, “Steve, don’t offer just cause I might be uncomfortable.”

Steve soothed a hand down Eddie’s arm. “I didn’t mean it like that. I would like it, if, ya know, you stayed with me. Just lay next to me. If that’s alright with you.”

Eddie smiled softly, “Only if you’re sure it’s okay.”

They get ready for bed after that. Eddie, already in pj’s, handed Steve an old Metallica shirt with holes in it and plaid pants. He changed in the bathroom despite having undressed in front of Eddie before. Steve wasn’t sure he was ready to be naked in front of another person yet.

After a few minutes, Eddie and Steve got comfortable in bed. Hair splayed out in the pillows and cozy under the covers, both boys just stared at the ceiling. “Would you…would you touch me, Eddie? Just…just need to know you’re there.” Steve felt silly saying it; he could see Eddie right there. He wasn’t making much sense.

Eddie seemed to get it, though. “Of course, baby.” He shifted to his side and moved Steve along with him until they were spooning. Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and pulled him flush against his chest.

Steve could feel Eddie’s hot breath against his neck. In any other scenario with him, it might have been a charged moment. Now it was different. Better even. It was solace.

“Is this okay?” Eddie whispered into the dark room.

Steve thought about his night. How awful it was, how it probably would get worse before it got better. That he had a lot to work on, but there in the bed where Eddie held him tightly, safely, Steve couldn’t help but feel relief. He knew this was the place he needed to be. No matter how bad the day went, Eddie would support him. Love him.

“Yea, it’s okay.”

———

this was heavy and very personal. It honestly did start off as a panic attack fic but as usual I spiraled. This one though like spiraled in a different way then usual. It felt like something I needed to get out. I know probably three people will read it and no one will probably enjoy it, but it felt good to write it. I think I might write an extended version part on ao3, there were parts in it that felt rush or could have been more.

this again felt more personal (even though my fics are always at least a little personal) so be kind.

If you, a friend or family member may have experienced something like the content of this story please feel free to reach out. Whether that be to me, a friend, or a helpline. My inbox is always open. Be kind to yourself and others 🧡

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girl-that-writes · 3 months

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Maybe you're on the floor, maybe you're gazing at your shaking hands, maybe you're wondering how everything could have gotten this way, and maybe you're ruthlessly attacking yourself for every "mistake" you made.

But maybe it's 3 a.m., maybe the past couple of years haven't been the best, maybe on top of that some awful things have recently taken place in quick succession in a short period of time, maybe your mental health has been a little worse than usual lately, maybe you've had an exceptionally unlucky week, maybe you haven't eaten all day and maybe you haven't drunk enough water and maybe, just maybe, no one has shown you the kindness that you actually do deserve in a while.

#breakdown #mental breakdown #mental health #panic attack #anxiety attack #healing #recovery #self worth #mental wellbeing #mental wellness

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loveyourlovelysoul · 2 months

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As you heal from feeling unsafe, especially if that's how you've been feeling for long in your life (even unconsciously), many events and fearful thoughts (that are very likely not true but caused by your scared mind) will come up to suddenly trigger you. At times you'll find it hard to recognize unsafety (and the fear of not being able to control and save yourself) behind the causes of some of those specifc triggers; and other times, the toughest ones, you may even experience panic attacks of different intensity. For as hard as it seems, always try to remind yourself that this fear is not necessarily a real and actual threat. Try to focus on your breathing and find ways to distract yourself with anything that can make you feel more at ease for the time being. You can come back later to it, if and when you'll feel more at ease to navigate the trigger and its reasons. And ofc, ask for help/support to someone you trust thorugh the whole process (and also to help you ground again) if you need.

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lennox0arts · 2 months

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The most me thing I've ever done-

Trying to calm my panic attack on my bed while blasting sea-shanties, rereading On The Brink of Scientific Discovery, all while wrapped in my hamilton blanket.

Oh, silly meee

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harvest-of-the-present · 7 months

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me, writing a journal entry for Dionysus: I know I seriously researched about taking something natural for my anxiety, but now I'm a bit doubtful about it because it isn't that cheap and I think my symptoms have gotten better either way

also me, just an hour later, having a sudden panic attack: okay I get the message

#this was. an experience #i can imagine Dionysus seeing it coming and tenderly looking at me while I journaled like #“oh dear. healing isn't that easy. the path can be tricky. be careful with your words”#my experience #dionysus deity #dionysus worship #i also prayed to apollo in an impulse. i was panicking a bit about myself and my health and he came to my mind #dedicated my breakfast today for him #he feels distant but im willing to do things for him #paganism #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #helpol #hellenic polythiest #paganblr #cw panic attack #tw panic attack

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moonlit-positivity · 1 month

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Preparing for a Crisis Situation

[Disclaimer: I am not a therapist. I am just some rando on the internet with way too much time on her hands (😭). Contrary to what I've written, the advice in this post is not a substitute for real crisis support. If you are feeling actively suicidal and unsafe, please contact your local crisis unit and take your health & safety seriously.]

This is going to be a long post. Heads up for that.

So you're having a real bad panic attack & contemplating suicide. Your body is activated, your head is spinning, you're gonna reach for the knife. What can you do to make it better? Let's talk options outside of crisis support.

But first, let's talk about why there is a need to address options outside of crisis support in the first place, and why I feel the need to write something like this to begin with. Because yeah, ultimately, this is such a tricky topic to talk about and it's not something to be fooled around with. But for some of us who are actively fighting these types of thoughts on a daily basis, I hope this post can give you a sense of how to imitate a safety zone for when it goes from bad to worse and you feel like there's no one to call.

Suicide awareness is the issue of how to cope with stress. How to cope with the panic and anxiety and hopelessness of when it gets too big to handle by yourself.

The issue with crisis support, is that there is such a huge problem around institutionalization that forces people into a situation with unsafe mental health professionals and abusive staff. And it's incredibly dehumanizing to be forced into the equivalent of an adult time out in a facility that may or may not treat you like you're an actual human being in a safe, clean, and humane facility.

Lets not pretend that people arent still being forced into hospitalization as a form of control and punishment and abuse and subjected to abuse and unsanitary conditions. It still happens. Yes. Even in 2024, this is still an every day occurrence.

So when the panic hits, let's talk about what you can do to plan & prepare for a real crisis situation.

Preparing for Crisis: Safety Plan

Ah yes, the grippy sock vacation ole' reliable. The safety plan.

It may feel dumb & stupid to fill this out, but the purpose is to become aware of what triggers your panic and anxiety, and also what helps vs what makes it worse. That way you can counteract it with your favorite soothing methods. This helps so you can also gauge it on a scale of "yeah I can coast this out by myself" vs "nah fam I need help".

Here is an example of mine:

I feel unsafe when: My alters are too loud, I'm being talked over, not being listened to, the neighbor is outside yelling, I'm having flashbacks, anxiety, triggered, being looked at by others, breathing too hard, breathing too fast, body feels heavy, body feels frozen, can't move, can't breathe, crying a lot, body convulsing, racing thoughts, paranoid thoughts, fearful, heart beating too fast, etc

My triggers are: talking too loud, talking too soft, talking at all (I am nonverbal sometimes), flashbacks, anxiety, yelling, emotional abuse, personal space, privacy, being told what to do, loud noises, can't control my environment, being looked at

What would help: space to be alone, throwing a tantrum, coloring, ripping up a cardboard box, puzzles, activities, video games, teddy bears, comfort items, talking w my therapist, looking out a window, daydreaming, singing, humming, music, warm blanket, juice box, snacks

What would not help: looking at me, direct eye contact, yelling, screaming, accusatory language, demeaning me, being mean to me, hurting me, physical touch, comfort

Who can I call: my therapist, my cat, my teddy bear, my case manager, my neighbors, warm line, etc. Talk to your favorite fictional characters. They are there for you.

Where can I go: outside, the park, local burger joint, my kitchen, the bathroom, the spare bedroom, etc.

Preparing for Crisis: Remove The Weapons

Quarantine any and all unsafe items. Knives, guns, medicines, needles, extension cords, etc. Throw them out, lock them up, or give them to someone safe to hold onto. Remove them from the house entirely.

We can go deeper with this. Kitchen knives got you feeling stabby? Replace them with plastic kitchenware. Razor blades & meds? Disposable razors & medisets.

Spend some time considering what changes you can make around the house. Make your home feel safe.

Warning Signs: Change Your Environment

The quickest way to ground and self soothe is to make an immediate change in your environment. If the room is dark, turn on the lights. Open the windows. Open the doors. Step outside. Step into a different room. If there's no sound, turn on the TV. Put on a podcast. YouTube white noise and soundscapes.

This can work in other ways too. Grab the headphones. Grab a peppermint or a lemon drop or something spicy/sour. Grab something to drink. Grab a stim. Slime, play doh, something with texture, something you can fidget.

Take some time to think about what you'd like to use. You can put together a lil box full of trinkets and odds and ends for quick access. Control your environment to simulate what you'd imagine your ideal safe space to look like.

Warning Signs: Reconnect with Reality

Stand outside. Seriously, just do it. It helps. Open a window. Get some fresh air. Just do it. 5 minutes. Just 5 minutes.

Take deep breaths and ground yourself. Focus on something around you. Anything. What is it? What color is it? How big or small is it? Can you touch it? Is it cold? Is it warm? Can you squeeze it?

Warning Signs: Disconnect From The Stress

Put the phone down and get into an activity. Play a video game. Make some art. Draw your feelings. Color. Crochet. Anything hands on. Step away from the situation and do something relaxing or fun or otherwise stimulating for ur hands and brain to focus on.

This sucks. Yeah. But you're gonna make it worse by continually interacting and engaging with whatever it is that's stressing you out so big and hard that you're spiraling.

Even just 5 minutes will help. But it's a good idea to try for longer. Do you ever really consider how much stress you take in from other people's bullshit on the internet? Think about it.

Crisis Mode: Shut Down & Nest

One way to coast through a massive panic attack is to bunker down somewhere safe and sweat it out. So make a nesting space for you to crawl to while your body cries it out.

This can look like crawling in bed with the lights ON so you can still see and ground yourself through it, or laying on the couch with the lights ON and other comforts around.

Nesting is also good for recovery as a whole. Nesting can give us that sense of safety, that sense of comfort we're missing out on. It's a good idea to consider what areas of your home feel safest for you, and how you can make a lil nesting hole for you to run to. Make it safe, make it private, make it all your own.

Crisis Mode: Human Interaction

It's important to know when you can't coast it out on your own. Seek a human interaction. Any human will do. Neighbors, friends, family, warm lines, support groups, etc. Call someone. Inbox someone. Talk it out. Take a walk. Look at humans. Be human and be around humans.

If none of those apply, here's a really niche thing to try: Podcasts, let's plays, and YouTube videos are seriously goated for the friendly and warm atmosphere of having a conversation with someone.

But please remember if that is not enough then you should really consider reaching out to someone who knows you exist.

Crisis Mode: Where To Find Support

National suicide hotline: call or text 988

Reddit: r/adultsurvivors, r/C-PTSD, r/traumatoolbox

Discord: Trauma Survivors

NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness)

Aftermath: Self Care

Look, nobody likes this okay and that's fine. Shower, or take a sink wash up. Baby wipes. No clean clothes? Go naked. There are no rules. You deserve to feel human again.

Do one good soul cleansing thing for yourself. This can be anything. Even just saying it out loud, "damn that was rough. I'm glad I made it." Self care is a mindset. It doesn't have to be big. Take some care for your self, however you need it.

Aftermath: Emotional Regulation

Take a deep breath. Soothe your nervous system. Roll your shoulders, wiggle your body, and breathe. Yes, there is actual science behind this shit. I have a longer & more in depth post about it here.

Final thoughts

Please remember that none of this is actually acredited or liscenced or anything at all. These are just things I've personally gone through that have helped me coast out massive panic attacks that had me spiraling into unsafe territory.

Hope this helps 🌸

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lover-boy-vs-humanity · 1 year

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post-panic affirmations

i am safe.

i deserve kindness.

i will give myself grace and patience for my mistakes.

i'm still a child, learning and growing more every day.

my healing journey began the minute i wanted it to.

my past does not define me, but rather what i choose to do about it today.

i have a bright future ahead of me.

everything happens for a reason, and until i understand it, i have faith in the universe that i'm on the right path.

i'm strong enough to get through any challenge that life throws at me.

#affirmations #healing from trauma #self help #gratitude #panic attacks #self soothing #mental health #anxiety relief

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aftgficrec · 7 months

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Hey! I love your page and getting fic recs! Do you have any fics where Neil goes or agrees to go to therapy? I’m good with Bee or someone else as the therapist too. It can be canon or an au. Thanks so much! :))

I was pleasantly surprised by how much we found for you! -A

previous recs:

‘another life to live’ here

‘Oakland’ here (completed)

‘you’ve been locked in here forever (and you just can’t say goodbye)’ here (updated)

‘If it means protecting you (I’ll pay my dues)’ here (updated)

‘Interlaced’ here (updated)

‘Regrowth,’ ‘To Be Close With You Is To Be Close With Myself,’ ‘I took a breath and took the knife,’ and ‘flashes of intimacy’ ch 4 here

‘call me in the afternoon’ here

‘The Wild Fox Den’ and ‘Roses Grow Between Bone’ here

‘(My Heart) Pierced By a Pin’ here (completed)

‘The Sun Still Rises’ here (updated)

‘day by day’ here

‘the shuffling of cards’ here

‘Ain’t it fun’ here

‘Breathe, idiot’ here

‘Healing’ series part 1 here, part 3 here (completed)

‘The Fear of Being Known’ here

‘That one party’ series and ‘keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)’ here

‘Affection can be shown in so many ways’ here

‘Ghost of You’ here

‘Make This Leap (Geronimo)’ here

‘Tenuous’ here

‘There is Nothing You Can Say’ here (completed)

‘of ice blue eyes & twisted veins’ here

‘don't break the glass’ (completed) here

‘Bad Apple’ here

‘Phantom Pains’ here

‘Therapy’ here

‘Birds of a Feather’ here (updated)

‘In which Neil had Aspergers and Andrew finds out.’ here

‘For You I'd Bleed Myself Dry’ here (updated)

‘I Wanna Get Better’ here

‘on the tip of my tongue (say something)’ parts 6 & 8 here

and more:

‘Ember’ here (completed)

‘leave the room (with a little dignity)’ here

‘Art Hoe’ here

‘Blame It On My Youth’ here (updated)

‘Black as is the Raven, He’ll Get a Partner’ (here)

‘Our body’ series, part 1 here, part 3 here, part 5 here

‘and all the roads will disappear’ here

‘crossed out’ here

‘Double Trouble’ series here

‘i had a dream (where you couldn't hear me screaming)’ and ‘hold me close, in fact bury me’ here

‘Just closed eyes with nothing behind’ here

‘doubt thou the stars be fire’ here

‘SCAR TISSUE’ here

‘Lighter Fluid’ here