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#idk just like. if you see that a mentally ill person isn’t on therapy or on meds by choice

despazito · 1 year

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like i have such conflicting feelings about the pathologizing of mental illness nowadays and the culture it creates. i think the need to have ones dx, at least in my case, was driven by a fundamental urge for validation that what i’m feeling isn't just a phase or something that will sort itself out. i think women especially have had our pain and struggles so minimized, i had lows wishing i just had a broken leg so others could at least see my pain. i clung to my dx and feet like waving it to the world shouting its not just in my head!! i’m not just lazy!!

in some ways getting the dx is like getting a pedigree for your fucked up brain. like this isnt some backyard bred tiktok adhd, this is PUREBRED adhd with the papers to prove it!!! all these women like myself who were looking for a voice and affirmation through dx to prove they “aren’t just one of those girls who’s too sensitive and googled their symptoms”, but now that’s also created its own trope of “overdiagnosed girl in her 20s” and there’s a whole new stereotype to mock and invalidate. there’s just no winning, it really feels like our pain will never get taken seriously by society to matter which route we take to get heard we are dismissed.

but of course these slips of paper become vital if you need any assistance or accommodations, so they are incredibly beneficial to have.

my issue is the more i reflect, the more i do feel like many emotional disturbances or brain funkiness ESPECIALLY depression and anxiety are the result of, or at least become more aggravated, by unluckiness in your childhood relationships and the narrative we created about it. turns out you don’t need to be textbook abused to have adverse experiences, and a failure to have a healthy secure relationship to your primary caregiver fucks with you for life but nobody wants to talk about that. i do think we live in a society here in canada where parental rights to parent how their want is overstepping on the child’s right to have the healthiest possible environment to be raised in. i had spent years reading about the lifelong effects of parental deprivation or bad socialization in dogs and parrots before reading about it in humans, and i think we forget how much humans are also animals.

but the thing is you can work on relationships, you can begin to process trauma. when i tell myself “i’m a person with anxiety” it feels really loaded with a sense of finality that i will always live this way.. the more i use that language the more futile it feels about ever improving, when so often depression and anxiety are the result of deeper unresolved issues. I see so many people with phobias or fears resign to living painful lives than trying to work on any exposure or processing their fears. i’d still be miserable if i never worked through my intense fears of intimacy, i was perfectly resigned to a life of being alone and thought i was content with that.

turns out growing up with trauma can cause the same unfocused and disorganized presentation as clinical adhd.i’ll admit i didn’t like learning that one, as adhd already has so many deniers my kneejerk response was anger at my adhd being invalidated. but i think a lot of adhd people fall somewhere in between that venn diagram, and rejecting a traumagenic theory for some people’s symptoms means they will be prescribed the wrong treatment plan. and this is why all treatment plans put emphasis on talk therapy just as much as pharmacological intervention.

obviously some things aren’t the result of your childhood! your mom yelling at you doesn’t cause autism, but chances are if you’re autistic and had cruddy support you’ll face more adversities and mental health struggles than a good supportive environment. similarly, you could’ve grown up with all the love and support to thrive but one day your thyroid decides it’s time to make you feel like roadkill.

idk, what i’m trying to say is don’t corner yourself or resign from living life because of your mental health dx or think that you’ll never get better because you “have” this, chances are there’s always room to feel better. the most hurtful thing is our inner voice if it’s internalized negative language, and there’s exercises you can practice to drill more positive or at least neutral nonjudgemental language into your inner critic. because even if you have something that will never be cured, the way we talk to ourselves about it is a variable we have some power over.

the narrative part experiencing trauma is uniquely human. some people will experience horrible things and internalize the negativity or self blame, but resilient people have better prognosis because they have ability to frame things in a narrative that don’t assign self blame, and critiques the behaviour instead of the self. because so many complications and struggles arise out of kicking ourselves when we’re down. but the thing is this usually can’t happen on its own, we need to see this modeled by the people around us. but thankfully if we missed the boat, we CAN retrain that voice

anyway that’s my musings from my perspective. for anyone curious here’s a lecture that really resonated with me, its got some hard hitting truths i didn’t want to hear but sometimes you gotta hear things that make you uncomfortable

#mental health #maybe you feel like none of this applies to you and thats ok!#im speaking for my own experiences

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s-4pphics · 4 months

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omg omg just screamed in happiness seeing in frame 2. poor poor oc, like the fact that her traumatic experience was weaponized against her makes me want to fucking personally hunt them down omg.

ellie and ocs reunion??? like woah the kind of innocence of it all and i stay forgetting it’s been a 4 year time jump and they have both grown so much and yet haven’t when they see each other again. ellie with the cartier watch like OKKK!!! she got MONEYYYY. also joel being a big papa bear is so sweet, i wanted to ask if sarah is like still his daughter or if she passed away or ellie is just his only child in this one?

also ocs growth of realizing she’s shutting down and going out of her way to reassure ellie and say we need to talk before continuing shows how much growth she’s gone through in therapy bc 4 years ago click oc would have NOTTTT done that i fear.

also “You’re babbling nonsense in her ear as you work her, telling her how she’s stuck with you, how you’re never leaving her side again, demanding that she says you're the best she’s ever had.”

“You want to drain her, live inside her for the rest of your days on Earth. You’re forcing space for you inside her.” my thighs involuntarily clenched and i whimpered out loud #idk. maybe i’m kinda #insane but that love where it feels like you want to crack open their chest and live in there forever is something i lowkey crave … i understand why ellie went kinda crazy over oc bc i also need click!oc BAD #idk

i loveeeee this story and i love seeing the way all of the little details connect even throughout the chapters and seeing ellie and oc kind of the same page THE WHOLE CROWD CHEERED!!! also the details of the reader putting the locs behind her hair means soooo much to me bc seeing urself in the reader is so important to me. i’ll be reading some and it’ll be like “ellie pulled on ur silky, long, luscious, bone straight blonde hair” like ????? HELLOOOO baby this is a sew in. but also oc being mentally ill and not ~flawless~ is really important to me because we are allowed to fuck up and not be perfect too!!!! thank you again love sorry this is long again 😞😞 i just literally have a massive crush on you OK ???!!! and of course be sat for the next chapters too yasss have a great day bae

- ok so i WAS 💋 anon but i realized that was actually taken a while back so if 🫀 isn’t taken can i have that 🥺

I LOVE YOU BAD HONEY PIEEEEEE

omg living inside the person you love is actually my end goal in life like idc i wanna be in love sooooo bad like i just wanna be in love

CLICK!OC IS SO FUCKING SEXY LIKE HOLLLLLOOON🫵🏽🫵🏽🫵🏽 AND WE ALLOWED TO FUCK UP PERIOD DAMN WE TRYING🤷🏽🤷🏽🤷🏽

#🫀nonnie #in frame ✎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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refundtheticket · 7 months

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i’ve been deep in tbe trenches of the replies to that “which mental illness warning sign were you” poll and i don’t feel any sort of way towards the person who made it or anyone who relates to it but like. man. sentiments like that are actively rotting the brains of people on this site LOL it’s just the same sign repeated four times and it’s not even a sign of mental illness it’s just a sign of like. idk. nothing? someone who’s like that might be hiding mental illness. but they could also be normal. it’s almost like the “symptom” isn’t a symptom of anything and is just an attribute that happens to coincide with multiple lived experiences.

it really gets me also this like totally incorrect idea that people who repressed their Illness don’t receive help while people who were obviously mentally ill did and it’s like. buddy you probably saw tons of kids in school who were showing signs of mental illness and didn’t think twice about them. “bad” kids, kids who did drugs, who slacked off, skipped class, got bad grades, never did their work, mouthed off and got into fights. how many of those kids did you see making some kind of miraculous improvement through adult intervention vs just dropping out or some other issue like that ?? how many did you regard with sympathy vs just assuming they’re lazy or an asshole? (and i’m not trying to say any person who lashes out at people necessarily deserves sympathy, i’m more saying like. if you didn’t feel sympathy what do you think a teacher or a principal felt… yknow) it’s wild to me because these people that are being referred to as being the ones who “got help” are Right There, completely visible, and people completely forget about them and instead come up with this imaginary person who Got Help when they, who hid their illness, didn’t. like kids who couldn’t mask their symptoms somehow ended up better off or something. idk. shakes head

the truth is the entire system is completely fucked unfortunately and while it would be nice to split people up into people who Don’t Get Help vs an imaginary person who did (who you’ve never met before or seen but SURELY they’re out there somewhere) uhhh it’s just not that simple.

this isn’t even getting into people comparing themselves getting therapy as an adult to people seeing a psychiatrist or therapist as a child. it’s almost like it’s a completely different power dynamic and scenario and is basically incomparable! you can’t assume that even if a kid does get sent off to see a therapist or psychiatrist that it did any good, that the kid was even respected, felt any kind of relief from it etc. kids have so little agency and they lack a lot of the self awareness and just. ability to remove themself from a bad situation that adults have. it’s just not the same

ok that’s it bye

#personal on main #no one asked lmao but i just gotta Ramble #god typing on a phone is hellish

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areyouokman · 2 years

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Just rambling tbh

—————

In my heart, John Lennon was heavily sexually dominated by Yoko; strap-on, gag, blindfold, bondage, cock cage, Mommy (tbh or Daddy, can see him calling Yoko both) kink, etc. He was a very aggressively submissive person in some instances.

‘Reality’, John jack-rabbited in Yoko for a maximum of 3 minutes and cursed himself for not getting with his hot bandmates afterwards. He’s too much of a Chad to take it up the ass, so he just thinks about railing the others instead.

Actual reality, John somewhat knew what he was doing, was mainly focused on himself but could make some women cum. Realistically, I doubt he would have partaken in an actual sexual relationship with any guy. Not that he was disgusted by it (although he wasn’t homophobic during that time, a lot has changed regarding what is considered homophobia and what isn’t) but that he would be uncomfortable due to it being something he isn’t familiar with. He’s used to dominating woman and I imagine that he’d be afraid of the man attempting to take control of him in the same way he took control of a women during sex. There’s a quote somewhere saying that he would get with a man, it just needs to be someone that he regards as ‘worthy’ ig (that’s not the actual quote, I’m basing off memory). I believe he believes that everyone is just a little bit bisexual (even if you don’t want to have sex with the same gender, you can still find someone like that attractive which is ok) although, and this is just my view on it, he never would have truly done it, even if he found someone he liked enough.

Mclennon is a whole other thing, imo. Some people believe that Paul was the one John was looking for in terms of sexual preference and disregarded those feelings due to him knowing Paul was ‘the immovable heterosexual.’ Others believe that John was jealous of how much attention Paul was getting, musically and woman wise. Even MORE other people believe that they were just best friends and their relationship was twisted due to those types of friendships (with how strong it was and it being two men) not being as common back then, giving people currently a not solid foundation of what two men with such a strong relationship looked or acted like; as well as those back in the 60s, 70s, 80s, and 90s.

I personally just like the smut (cause honestly it’s not bad at all) I don’t ship people as I used to. But everyone has their own opinion, analysis, and understanding of what exactly Mclennon was. If everyone regarded Mclennon as this strong, almost unreal bound between two Liverpoolian men who went through family hardships and helped eachother through the explosion of Beatlemania, a just platonically or brotherly bound, that yes, I would support it. But then again, I don’t not support it either.

Either way, maybe the Lennon-McCartney Duo could have worked better if John went to the right places for mental help. He had unresolved trauma, mental illnesses and disabilities (he had dyslexia and some speculate he had a form of BPD) either way, primal therapy did nothing for him, realistically speaking. He should have seen a therapist and gotten his issues sorted. If this happened in present day, before the Beatles and in his Highschool years, the Beatles could have had a better past to them.

Btw idk where tf this is coming from, but I’ve seen things were Paul was actually diagnosed with ADHD? Was he truly, or was this someone projecting onto him? Or, is this like the BPD with John, where many people speculate it but was never actually proven?

#mclennon #john lennon #the beatles #paul mcartney #paul mccartney #somewhat of a character analysis #bpd #adhd #Beatles #buttsbuttsbutts #ramblings

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menalez · 2 years

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i know a lot of people disagree with on this because some make having the diagnosis of bpd their whole entire personality and guard any valid criticism of personality disorders in general but i don’t think bpd exists as in you are born with a predisposition to develop a permanent disorder in your own personality, i view it as cptsd i think every personality disorder is just cpstd presenting in different ways and clusters of symptoms (if you fit the criteria for one pd you most likely will fit another at the same time). i know that when comparing the criteria of cptsd and bpd it has a few differing symptoms but that doesn’t make bpd a distinct or real diagnosis to me. i see you talk about bpd having stigma well yeah of course i mean the stigma is getting a diagnosis of bpd to begin with me, we are literally diagnosed with having a disordered personality like that’s a huge fucking stigma naturally. i don’t think that cutting yourself, mental breakdowns, and extreme fear of abandonment are exempt from being considered normal things because they are normal things for suffering and traumatized people. fear of abandonment is actually a biological function that we all experience i know people can experience that in dysfunctional and harmful ways though which could be corrected through therapy and the develop of healthy coping mechanisms. sorry to rant it just that as some who was diagnosed with bpd at 20 and then no longer fit the criteria after i left an abusive relationship i have a very hard time seeing bpd as a valid diagnosis, the suffering is real but i don’t think we need to labeled as having a disordered personality for it. i actually really love to see people in the psych field want to get rid of that diagnosis entirely i really hope they do because it doesn’t help us it hurts us. anyway have a good day mena also sorry if i don’t make much sense english is not my first language.

i get your point and i completely agree with you here. there are a few points you made that i want to comment on tho— in terms of predisposition, it’s definitely something some people can debate if they’re being nitpicky. trauma is inheritable epigenetically, and this is also the case for BPD (x), we become more prone to trauma when we have a parent that is traumatised iirc. this also was found in research which highlighted that BPD is somewhat inheritable although the exact level of heritability has yet to be clearly pinpointed (different studies show different percentages) (x). it is, regardless, arguable that this is due to the environment with this knowledge as epigenetics are impacted by the environment too. however, we can argue a huge, perhaps overwhelming, proportion of mental illnesses are caused by the environment too. this is why the diagnosis-stress model is often used to explain mental illnesses and how they come about.

when you argue that the aforementioned symptoms are normal because they are normal reactions to being traumatised, you are redefining normal to fit a specific group of individuals. of course being traumatised and suffering as a result is completely normal, in the sense that being traumatised isn’t easy and thus dealing with issues as a result of it is to be expected. but being traumatised isn’t a normal thing to be— we were seriously psychologically harmed by something and that is not normal, in the same way it’s not normal to idk be asthmatic but it’s normal to have breathing problems because you have asthma. the symptoms we have as women with PTSD or CPTSD or BPD or all three are normal to have in the sense that there is nothing out of the ordinary for a traumatised or mentally ill person to face such symptoms, but it is not normal in the sense that people in general (or even women in general) do not have to deal with the same difficulties we deal with.

lastly, almost all symptoms of nearly all mental illnesses are to some degree actually normal human functions and feelings and behaviours. being anxious in social situations, for example, is normal and something most people if not all will experience. but having debilitating anxiety of social situations to the point where you can’t go out or socialise with others without having panic attacks isnt. being depressed when ur dog died or for another specific reason is normal, but being depressed for months on end and being unable to function in your daily life because you feel depressed and being suicidal on top of it isnt. being negatively impacted by trauma you faced is normal, but having flashbacks and nightmares constantly and being constantly alert in fear of being hurt again isnt. and it’s ok for those things to not be normal— it doesn’t reflect badly on us.

#also just wanna note i have also been diagnosed with PTSD. like not just BPD but also PTSD and several other things #i don’t think it would’ve been right for any doctor to fail to recognise my obvious trauma symptoms in favour of diagnosing me w BPD #i will also note here that many of us were diagnosed w BPD while in terrible environments yet continue to have most symptoms even when our #environment is significantly better. in my case my symptoms are nowhere near as bad but they do still exist #but that’s moreso the case for my PTSD

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mental-health-advice · 1 year

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uh, hi! i guess i’ll just be blunt about it: i definitely have some sort of undiagnosed mental illness. my prime suspect has changed many times over the years, but i know it’s there and i can’t be making it up- my friends all know it, my family knows it, it’s obvious there’s something. hell i’ve got like 4 different predispositions just in my immediate family. but every time i try to see a professional to figure it out and maybe get me a diagnosis (i’m too nervous to self-dx and risk being wrong), they all say i seem “fine.” maybe because i’m self-aware and can describe my symptoms clearly? idk. but it worries me- my mom didn’t get diagnosed for pretty severe GAD until after she had me (30s), and my dad never even sought a diagnosis for his depression. i’m scared that’ll happen to me, that i won’t be able to know what it is for so long, or maybe ever. to be fair, i’ve yet to see a psychiatrist- this is because they are hard to find and my parents don’t wanna try looking for one without confirmation from an easier-to-access professional. i’m just. i’m scared, i guess, that i’ll never figure it out, and that the people who could help me will all just think i’m a hypochondriac for my whole life? it’s especially scary when i see how much my mom’s meds have helped her- what if there’s something like that that could help me but i’ll be deprived of it for years or decades to come? it’s horrifying, and it makes me mad to hear licensed professionals insist that they know me better than i do. they’re obviously well meaning but it’s just… i guess frustrating is the word? i just wanna know what the hell is up so i can learn how to accommodate for it, y’know? i uh, anyways. do you have any advice or suggestions for getting a diagnosis, or even just coping with being undiagnosed? thanks in advance.

Hey there,

Normally the first place/ person to go to, to get a diagnosis would be seeing your local doctor or GP and if they are unable or unwilling to help diagnose you then you are always in your right to ask for a referral to someone else, whether it be a specialist doctor or a counsellor or therapist. Although most counsellors cannot diagnose, they will have a bit of an idea or what is going on for you after getting to know you over a few weeks and if needed, they may have some contacts to refer you on to a psychiatrist if for example medication is recommended for to help treat your diagnosis/ symptoms.

Of course though, a diagnosis isn’t everything, but it can definitely help being able to give what your feeling/ experiencing a name.

Depending on your diagnosis there may be particular therapies that would be best suited to helping you recovery wise. So for example, dialectical behavioural therapy (DBT) is more commonly used to treat borderline personality disorder (BPD), amongst other things. Of course though I am not a professional but I would encourage you to get a second or a third opinion in regards to your symptoms until a professional listens and takes you seriously. It is so good that you are being proactive about your mental health though and especially since you do have family with a history with mental health concerns/ diagnosis’.

I am not sure how you usually ask for help or for a diagnosis but sometimes as well as well as listing your symptoms, it can also be really helpful to give specific examples of how those symptoms greatly affect your life, and tell them that there is also a family history with metal health concerns/ diagnosis’. I suggest this as sometimes if we point out exactly what we feel we may have or suggest what may be going on for us diagnosis wise, then they can feel as though we are trying to do ‘their’ job or are making things up even though patients and clients should always be taken seriously with what they say and concerns they may have.

This is why it’s quite normal to get more than one professional’s opinion and especially if the first one or two people do not listen to us or takes us seriously. I should also point out that some doctors and GP’s may not be well educated when it comes to mental health so they may brush you off as they simply may not know what to do or suggest to you in regards for help and support.

Another option may be to contact a counsellor from either a helpline or on web counselling as sometimes they will be able to direct you to certain services that may be able to help you. Just something to think about! We also have a page on getting help for more ideas on how you can get/ ask for help although I feel as though you are already doing the majority of what is also suggested!

I really hope that this has helped a bit and please do let us know if we can help to support you in any other way!

I’m thinking of you and hope that you are going well!

Take care,

Lauren

#mha-lauren #advice #advice blog #mental health advice #anonymous #getting a diagnosis #asking for help #family history of mental health

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corpsegold · 1 year

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ok so I started this therapy thing. And she got me to fill out one of those questionnaires like depression and anxiety. And she was like ok so what are your main problems then. And I thought to myself, idk, I was expecting you to tell me that? I went with social anxiety, because I’m coming out of a heavy drinking phase and drinking is the most obvious problem with my mental right now, and because afaict drinking is bc of social anxiety. She looked at the results and pointed out that actually I’m not that anxious at all and I wasn't drunk talking to her. I haven't been drinking much at all recently. Part of it is because my mood has shifted, but also I’ve run out of money. I left thinking about how actually its not social anxiety and that drinking probably started that way and then became about low mood, because its much worse in the winter. But I know that depression isn't the root of my problem. I have a strong hunch that there's something deeper that's wrong with me. I have this feeling that I actually WANT to be mentally ill. I don't think I'm actively trying to be, I think most of my mentally ill behaviour like drinking and being depressed are legit, but I don't think they stand on their own compared to other people with those problems. I can see from some of my reactions to things that have happened and been said to me that I’m eager to get labels, whatever they may be (some very much more than others I have realized) and given how I’m quick to take up and abandon various “ill behaviours” whilst voraciously researching them and the people who have them, probably none of it is genuinely legit as its own standalone problem. Recently whilst sobering up from drinking I had another realization which thankfully I can’t remember most of but it really got me down. Its something I’ve realized a few times before over the years but I kind of block it out? I’m not 100% sure, but I have this hunch.

I basically realized how my problem isn't social anxiety, its being rejected. Its the reflection of failure. Its having to experience my failure and shortcomings and not have a buffer or a shield or an excuse. I’m starting to think that the reason I cant engage with hobbies, the reason I cant stand being around people, the reason I push friends away, the reason I have never gotten into a romantic relationship isn't because of strictly being paranoid (I’m not really that paranoid 99% of the time), or anxiety, or drinking. Its just all about being completely terrified of failure and unable to cope with it.

I avoid interacting bc its usually negative and I hate myself for it. I avoid relationships because I don't think I have the personality or skillset for it and it would blow up in my face and I’d have to actually face my shortcomings and I don't know if I would actually survive that long term.

I avoid my interests that are skill based because I will probably cry and panic when I’m not immediately good at it. I avoid making things because I can’t cope with not being as good at it as I imagine I am (or was). I collect disordered behaviours of all kinds and constantly make a hobby of thinking of myself as suffering from various mental illnesses because I want an excuse. I want to not be to blame for how I’ve destroyed my life and caused destruction to others. I want to be able to feel like life just dealt me a shit hand and its everyone else’s fault that this has happened.

Like don’t get me wrong I know I suck at lots of things. I know I can be a huge cunt. I don't want to be, but only because I want people to like me. I only have empathy for a handful of people, and its because I fear not being worthy of them or that they might hate me when I neglect or am insensitive to them. I’m very bitter about things my parents have done when they have actually sacrificed a great deal for me. I find it hard to feel grateful to them because I feel like I deserved that and more. Many of the things I’ve done that have upset or hurt other people make me feel guilty and ashamed but to be honest? I think its mostly because it reflects badly on me as a person, not because they're in pain. A lot of the time, anyway. There are times where I’ve definitely had some empathy, for a set group of people (that I’ve known a long time).

but for all I can admit that I suck at things, I struggle to actually accept that its entirely my fault or the result of my decisions. I want that responsibility to be taken off my shoulders. I want to be told that I’m not actually at fault or that I can help it.

I think in the end I guess I want to be told I’m allowed to act this way?

I think about how my mood can flip flop- but really its not in the style of bipolar. I don't fit the criteria. Its just about self esteem. I go from feeling like I’m hot shit, fucking brilliant, “get out of my way before I run you over I’m the best at this and you can’t see it yet” because of some minor success or recognition, and then next thing I know I have some perceived (real or actual) small or large failure and I get completely distraught over it and start thinking I don't deserve to live.

What I actually should say to this woman in this therapy, is that my goal is to be extremely successful, and to be liked and respected by everyone I meet. I’d take just being wildly successful (fat fucking chance), but really I want both. I’d say I want to be loved and happy, but that actually I’m not sure I know what that feels like or if I’m capable of feeling it. I’d say that honestly, I think I’d rather be worshipped, if I could stand it without hating myself. I think the fact that I’m too scared to risk seeing that those things don't come naturally to me, or that I don't know how to secure them, is what makes me depressed and causes me to drink, or find ways to numb or distract myself, like using mental illness as a hobby. It’s what drove me to shagging over a hundred men in a few years (seeing how many I could fit in solo sessions in a week - the answer is 10 a few times over), its why I failed my degree (by not turning up), its why I feel shame when people bring up my treating them unfairly- but when they don't, and I think about it, I don't actually care, or I readily come up with a barrage of excuses. Because I want to think its not actually my fault and that I deserve it, or that its fine because one day I’ll be wildly successful and I’ll pay everyone back so I wont ever have to think about it or them again.

I learnt my lesson about self diagnosing. Its not about what I want to be told is wrong with me. I don't really understand the diagnostic language and I’m not qualified so its actively harmful to read deeper into it other than having a basic awareness at least at this stage. I do however have a strong hunch about what might be the root of my problems. Its why I doubt that I’m actually mentally ill, even though I might act like it. Its why I think I’m actually just a shit person.

I want to be better and I don’t know how. I want to be nice to people. I want people to like me and I want to have successful relationships. I don't want to feel like a failure.

But yeah. I have a hunch. Its just a hunch. Its embarrassing and I don't know how I’ll handle it when they figure it out. I can’t hide it by throwing behaviours or symptoms in their face of other things. I can tell that they see through it and that something’s fishy with me. And I know I do genuinely experience these problems- like depression and drinking, but they're symptomatic of something deeper. I hope that the fact that I can recognize this sometimes means that there’s hope or that I’m wrong about this too.

I dont know how to meaningfully apologize to people for being like this.

My gut reaction when I start to think about how I’ll feel when I find out is anger towards my parents for taking my future away from me. That kind of confirms it in my book.

#i have small idea that the root of my issues is #having the thing where deep deep down you really hate yourself #and do everything you can to not face or feel it head on #I think my behaviours are because I'm not very good at coping with that #i think i have that self esteem disorder #I think I'm sorry to friends about it #I imagine if this is the case that they probably can already tell I'm really like this #they probably figured it out ages ago #but then again who knows right! I regularly convince myself I have all sorts of problems and then my SyMpTomS change #maybe I'm like. Muchhausens or whatever its called and just making it up #if i really had the self esteem disorder I wouldnt be able to tell right?#whatever I'm gonna take some sleepers and knock myself out #vent

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poppyseed799 · 2 years

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People are so ridiculous about people “faking mental illness” nowadays

Like I get it, there is a sudden influx of people faking disorders and such, and we should be wary of that, BUT YOU CAN’T ACCUSE EVERY PERSON WHO SAYS THEY HAVE TOURETTE’S OF LYING! It’s unrealistic that nobody on Earth has Tourette’s!!

I see people list the like 4 mental illnesses that they have and people say “ugh another person faking mental illness for attention” FOUR??? THATS NOT A LOT!!! ITS NOT UNREALISTIC!!! Especially when there’s like depression, anxiety, ptsd, etc. Those things are fairly common in this day and age, PTSD could happen to literally anyone as there are many traumatic events a person could potentially get into.

And then ADHD and autism “oh that must be fake” THOSE TWO COMMONLY GO TOGETHER A LOT. IT’S REALISTIC. If someone told me they had autism, adhd, depression, anxiety, and ptsd, I would believe it because there’s no reason those things wouldn’t possibly go together. Not saying they have to, I have autism and no depression after all, but it’s not unrealistic that they would.

And things don’t even have to go together! My mom has autism and bipolar disorder. Those things aren’t connected (as far as I know?), they’re just two things a person could have, and she has them. Yet if some random NT on the internet heard me say my mom was autistic and bipolar they’d say I was lying. HOW IS THAT UNREALISTIC. Unless they think autistic bipolar ppl can’t have kids, which is another issue entirely 🤔

Another thing is when someone says they think they have something, and people instantly jump to tell them they’re faking. WHY??? “You can’t just say you have it” THEY DIDN’T?? THEY SAID THEY MIGHT??? “You can’t SUSPECT you have something, you need a diagnosis” HOW TF DO YOU THINK PEOPLE GET A DIAGNOSIS. THEY SUSPECT THEY HAVE IT FIRST. I was never tested for schizophrenia cuz there was never any reason to think I had it! The only reason people get tested for it is when they think they might have it! How is this so hard to understand?

I currently think I might have OCD, can’t wait to be told “quit faking for attention” when I’m not even claiming to have it. You don’t know why I think I might have OCD. You might assume it’s for dumb reasons and I’m just stupid, which is possible, but YOU DON’T KNOW FOR SURE. In truth my therapist (and psychiatrist) wanted to get me a diagnosis but didn’t notice any compulsive behaviors, since mine aren’t that noticeable/can look like stimming (and everyone knows I have autism). Even without a diagnosis he tried to give me therapy strategies meant for OCD ppl and described my anxieties as “OCD-like thinking”. I only googled OCD AFTER all of that and while you can say “googling disorders and deciding you have it isn’t good” FIRST OF ALL I’m not diagnosing myself and SECOND OF ALL the fact that all of the lists of OCD symptoms made me go “oh shoot” probably means SOMETHING lol. I only did it after what my therapist said anyways.

And then my mom said “oh yeah your grandfather was OCD” and I said GOD DAMN IT because I seem to have literally everything he has for some reason (idk if he was diagnosed or if my mom just said that tho)

Anyways my point is it’s REALLY annoying when people claim someone is faking a disorder with NO EVIDENCE. Like if you’ve been around them a lot or it’s one of those tiktok things so you can see a lot of what they’re doing, then maybe you could think “this seems fake”. BUT IF SOMEONE JUST SAYS “I have ADHD” THERE IS NO REASON FOR YOU TO DENY IT.

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mishafletcher · 3 years

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#if anyone is unaware #when you go to a mental health appointment they give you a worksheet in the waiting room #that is like how often in the past 2 weeks have you had trouble sleeping #have you wanted to hurt yourself or others #etc #and it’s like yeah I get that this data is probably helpful in the larger sense #but motherfucker you cannot boil people’s issues down like that #before the appointment even STARTS #it just feels like the most dehumanizing thing idk

these were the tags on a mutual's post, and i'm not tagging them (or reblogging the post) because it was a personal post and i'm not sure they'd appreciate it, but i did want to comment on this. this post is only about the form's use in the u.s.; i have no idea if it's used (or what it's used for) elsewhere.

but so i actually asked my therapist about this recently. i got the form (which is terrible and i hate) and i was like, katie, do i really have to fill this out? i've been here every week for like two years, you fucking well know what my deal is.

and she said what i should have guessed in the first place but absolutely had not: those forms are just for insurance. your clinician probably won't even look at them. the insurance companies require them to keep documentation 'proving' that you need therapy/psych care, because god forbid that someone just want to talk to a therapist about their problems and not be Mentally Ill Enough to deserve it.

it's super dehumanizing and demoralizing, and it's probably designed to be because insurance companies are literally the worst. but from what my therapist said, anyhow, the thing that matters isn't that you're totally honest, it's that you tick enough of the boxes that you're clearly Suffering Mentally so that if insurance is like 'uh, this bitch has been in therapy for three years, wtf' there's something to point at and go 'yeah, they're still having a rough time, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, gotta keep at it'.

on the standard nine-question test, where you can pick 'not at all', 'several days', 'more than half the days', and 'nearly every day', you get between 0 points (not at all) and 3 points (nearly every day). a score of more than ten is considered to be indicative of depression-the-medical-condition (as opposed to depression-the-emotion-most-people-feel occasionally-for-emotion-reasons).

so if you love answering questions and feel chill about being honest about all your symptoms, have at it, and if you don't, just answer in a way that adds up to more than ten points or so, and you should be fine. you can tell your clinician that you're not comfortable disclosing all your mental health stuff to your insurance company because you worry (justifiably) that it may be used to deny care or coverage in the future, but you're actually feeling x, y, and z, and a good therapist or psychiatrist will be fine with that.

anyhow, those forms suck and i'm sorry to literally everyone who has to fill them out, but i find that i hate them a lot less when i think of them less as a diagnostic tool for the person i'm about to see and more as an unfun game where i have to get enough points so my insurance company will continue to cover my healthcare.

#insurance #healthcare #mental health #mental illness #us insurance #seriously the insurance system is a nightmare #and it's a lot of fucking bullshit #and these forms are flat-out insulting #us healthcare

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yangrdn · 3 years

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A missing feeling

pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

a/n: i'm so in love w this man idk why i didn't write for him sooner. This is also me trying to find comfort lmfoa. It's rather a personal experience. This is for everybody feeling this way, i know i'm not the only one and it's ok to feel like this, stay safe and know that you are valid and deserve help. and if you need somebody to talk to about this or anything that's been bothering you, my messages are open💙💙

And thank you to the loving @emmastarz for teaching me how to make dividers 💙🤧

summary: A missing feeling can't always be replaced by something good. Bucky is willing to help you find the good to replace the bad with.

w/c: 2.6k

warnings: mental health issues, insecurities/fears, eating disorder, mention(s) of calories, hints of self-harm, talks of therapy

my m.list

This isn’t foreign. It isn’t a new feeling, or emotion. More like, missing. It feels like you had a sense of control. There aren’t a lot of things you can control, things in your own hand. But this is one of those you had the chance to control. It isn’t really a good thing, but it brought you happiness, a sense of calm, knowing you reached the limit and didn’t feel empty.

You also don’t do it because you wanted to, willingly. It feels like you just got dragged back into this negative habit. Some may say it’s an addiction to count and count and want to see the numbers everyday. Some others tell you at least you’re trying. “As long as you don’t lose your goal,” they tell you. As if you didn’t lose it a long time ago.

You stare down at your phone in hand, its light the only thing illuminating your dark room. You’re laying in your bed, covers long shoved away and only sitting there in your big sweater and shorts. The sweater swallows you whole, not really letting you see your body.

Another negative trait.

Your therapist had told you about this. “A part of recovery is accepting your body,” she said to you. It’s carved its way into your brain, you remember her words everytime you walk past a mirror. Which is, again, why you avoid doing so. The baggy clothes help you hide, hide the fact that you’re changing again. And although that is a good thing, your mind won’t let you think so. Or more like, the disorder won’t. Your mind was already past the first step of recovery: accepting your disorder, knowing and wanting to get help. It wasn’t an easy step and took you a long time to go through, but with the help of your amazing and loving friends, it passed quickly.

Accepting your body when you’re fighting against a mental illness that takes over your whole life, mind and body, such as an eating disorder, isn’t the easiest thing to do. The disorder revolves around doing the exact opposite, so how is this supposed to be easy? How are you supposed to tell your mind to do a full 180 and forget what it learned in the past three years and listen to what your therapist and friends tell you?

And then there are the numbers and food. At first, this doesn’t make sense. Numbers and food aren’t supposed to come and be together. They are two completely different things. Food, to fuel you and for you to enjoy. And the numbers. There for you to fall down a deep, deep dark and hate filled hole. Which takes you back to the screen of your phone staring back at you.

Three numbers aligned next to each other, black on white. Different pictures of food below the different numbers, some marked with the word “free”, some showing you a lock on the picture, meaning you’d have to unlock the content and pay for it. This also isn’t new. The app, the numbers, the joy and euphoria filling your brain when you went another day hiding it.

Bucky told you to delete this app off your phone weeks ago. You had promised him to do so after he warned you and told you he’d do it, but you just needed some time. And he trusted you and gave you a kiss on the cheeks, reminding you of how beautiful you are and that he’s always there to remind you of it and to let you vent. For you to turn to him instead of the numbers when you needed a sense of control and just to talk. He had even asked if you were interested in finding a mutual interest, which you had turned down with a wave of your hand and a convincing enough smile. And now here you are, still on that same damn app and trying to hide your body from yourself.

This isn’t what they call recovery. This isn’t what your therapist encouraged you to do.

Your phone blinked with a message after it locked again, snapping you out your lost mind and drawing your eyes back to it. You unlock it and read the message.

Nat 🕸

We ordered your favorite.

u coming down?

A shaky breath leaves your lips and you turn the phone around. How are you supposed to hide the fact that you lied to your friends in front of your friends? You knew this would be coming, but you hoped they’d at least wait a little longer until they invited you to eat together. Although Bruce suggested eating together, talking about it being “therapeutic, helpful and making you forget about the numbers for the moment.” And he is right. It does make you forget about them when eating with the people you love, but it’s the pain and anger that hits you after leaving your friends that makes you doubt everything you take in. And it hurts. So, so much.

There’s a knock on the door, silent. You almost don’t hear it, too lost in your thoughts and fears. You get up slowly and lift yourself off your bed, this motion alone almost taking up all energy in you. You step to the door and grab the door handle, breathing in and getting ready to answer whatever question would be thrown at you. But to your luck, only Bucky is standing in front of it, beaming and two small bottles of orange juice in his hand.

“Hey,” he whispers. You reply with a tired smile. He pulls you into a soft hug, holding himself back from wincing when he sees the state your room is in. You had definitely been laying in bed all weekend. And he doesn’t blame you. If he only had been through half the things you have been going through for years, he’d be laying in bed and trying to relax too. You invite him in as you pull back and step to the side, closing the door behind him and turning on the lights in your room. He makes a mental note to help you clean the next day and walks to your bed, throwing himself in and patting the empty space next to him. You go and sit next to him. He pulls you in and draps an arm over your shoulder, bringing you closer to his strong form and letting you rest your head on his shoulder. You relax and let out a sigh, closing your eyes.

All you want to do right now is just sleep. Close your eyes and sleep, sleep, sleep.

Everything is happening so fast. Questions, hours of listening to and meeting professionals, hours of needing to be checked by doctors and weeks of your friends not leaving your side. They are all worried about you and you know it, you just wish they’d give you a minute to relax and breathe. And it seems like Bucky is the only one to know how to react. Hell, he literally escaped and hid for years because everything was too much and he didn’t want to be recognized. He makes you calm down, relax and just lets you breathe and think, even though he’s in the same room as you.

“What are you thinking about?” he whispers into the comfortable silence. You stir, moving your head a little only enough to look straight ahead of you and at the door. “Not much, I guess,” you mutter. He nods.

“Have you- have you done it?” He looks down at your face, noticing the frown. “Deleting the app,” he quickly adds. You start chewing on your bottom lip and lift your head off his shoulder, now directly looking at him.

“No,” You shake your head and clench your jaw. He notices your distress and takes your hand in his, softly drawing circles with his thumb on it. He wants to know why.

“I’m just,” you sigh, “it’s happening so fast, you know? I just need time, Bucky. Everyone expects me to instantly go all happy and accepting but it takes so much of me to even get up, knowing you all think I’m doing great.” you explain. Mentally, everything is so draining. Even talking about it with him makes you tired.

“Is there something that happened?” he asks. You shake your head, no.

“It’s like something is missing, you know?” You lean your head back on his shoulder. “I miss this feeling of being able to control what I take. I know it’s bad, but it’s not foreign. It isn’t new. I’m scared of trying new things. What if I fail? What if I turn something good into something bad?”

“What- what if this is the only thing I got control over? It makes me feel comfortable for some reason. All I’m asking for is time and a new thing I can trade this for, but I’m scared.” you explain. Bucky turns his head, lowering it and planting a kiss on your head.

“Look, I know I don’t entirely understand what you’re going through. I’ve never counted…” “calories?” He nods. “Yeah, that. I never did that. But I know what it feels like to think you have no control over your own life. I know why you turn to this instead of searching for something better. It feels easy and brings you joy,” he stops and glances at you, eyes full of worry. You nod, your eyes still fixed ahead of you and not him.

“See? It’s all about it feeling easy. and it brings you joy. We can find something else. When I used to-” he stops himself. Maybe right now, this is a little too much for you. “Uh, when I also did things, Steve asked me to go to this library and start reading. They had a cat and it always came up to me when I entered the library.” He smiles at the thought.

“And so I found joy going there and it distracted me from the bad thoughts. I now have two bookshelves filled with books in my room.” he completes.

“Is that also why you got Alpine?” you ask jokingly. He chuckles, his vibrating chest making you bite your bottom lip and smirk.

“Yes, that’s also why I got the cat.” You nod and hide back in your thoughts. This is going to be difficult, you know that. Hiding longer won’t bring you closer to your goal either. You have friends who support you, and the chance to get a therapist.

So why not do it? You already started getting better. It’s your mind that pulls you back and doesn’t let you go. It’s like this disorder got hands, grabbing after you when you’re about to slip from its fingers and pulling you back to its bad goal, because it knows you’d come back.

But you don’t want this anymore.

It’s exhausting. Grabbing your phone, logging in whatever drink or food entered past your lips and waiting to see the app calculate and see what number it is today. Because you know it’s going to be disappointing anyways, even if that euphoria and excitement is there for a second, it’s going to leave you again and let you worry on your own. It’s comforting, but not forever. It shouldn’t be comforting anyways, and you know that.

“Are you listening?” You flinch and lift your head. “I asked you if you want to go to the library with me tomorrow?” You hum, still not entirely listening to your boyfriend. And he notices.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? I know that face,” he notes. You groan and turn to him. He raises his hand, placing his thumb under your chin and making you look up at him. He’s got a soft and worried look in his eyes.

“I don't know what, really.” You shake your head and free your body from his hold. A sigh leaves your lips and you drop your head down again.

“I already told you everything’s going so fast and I- I don’t understand what’s happening half of the time. I get these really energetic bursts of energy where I feel like running through Tony’s yard and still feel happy. And then suddenly I feel like the whole world’s watching and judging me,” you explain.

“And then again, some days I get really motivated and want to recover. I really do, Bucky. I really-,” your voice cracks at the end of your sentence as your eyes fill with tears. Talking about it feels good, but it’s hard. “I’m trying so hard and then there’s days where I download the app, count, and I just want to isolate myself and be anyone but me,��

“And today’s one of those days?” he asks softly. You nod.

“Not only today. It’s been like this for weeks now, but these past three days have been so difficult going through.” Another silence fills your room, only Bucky’s breathing could be heard and your own heartbeat in your ears. You’re happy and thankful for Bucky for not judging you or being disappointed in you for lying to him these past days. Your mind was already taking the role of doing so and it was tiring.

“Do you want me to tell Bruce? He can tell your therapist and the-” You cut him off with a shake of your head and shuffle closer to him, wrapping your own arm around him and finding comfort on his broad chest. He relaxes into your touch and wraps his arms around you, lowering his head, chin resting on your head after placing a kiss on it.

“I just want to stay here, with you. We can talk about this later.”

Bucky knows better than to push you and make you uncomfortable to the point where you feel forced to talk about this longer. So he chooses to nod and hold you closer to him, savouring the moment. He loves moments like these with you, just hanging around together.

“Ok, but you promise me one thing,” he starts. You hum, encouraging him to go on. “You’ll come to me the next time you feel like this.” You’re about to argue when he warns you.

“And no, you’ll not argue. I want the best for you. Please, I want to help as much as I can,” he lets you know.

“You’re already helping me by being with me. This right now? Having you with me is better than therapy,” you joke, but his face stays stern and demanding as you raise your head to glance at him. You groan and roll your eyes. “Ok, I promise. But I promise I’ll try. I can’t guarantee it, but I’ll try my best,” you say. He frowns and thinks for a second. He’d get the truth out of you anyways. Bucky knows lying to him wasn’t easy for you.

“Okay, but now,” He raises your head again, eyes darting down to your lips and wetting his own. “Now I want to spend time with my love,” he whispers as he dips his head down, capturing your lips in a slow and intimate kiss. You smile into the kiss and feel him smirk. A breathy chuckle leaves his mouth as you seperate your lips from his, leaning your head against his chest.

“Can we watch a movie?”

“What? Not again!” You smile and nod eagerly. “Of course again! It makes me happy,” you reason and get ready to lift yourself from the bed. He takes your hand and pulls you back into his lap. “Let me get everything ready. You stay here and wait,” he tells you as he gets up. You smile and peck his lips before he gets up, a grin plastered on his face.

“You’re like a big baby when I kiss you,” you tease him.

“What? Am I not allowed to be happy when the person I love loves me too?” he protests, earning another eye roll from you.

“Yeah, yeah. Go get the movie, I want to cuddle!” He laughs and leaves the room, not before sending you an air kiss.

taglists

permament

@bi-lmg @fandomxreaders @aayaissaa

bucky barnes

@samscaptain

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rotationalsymmetry · 2 years

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Re: the c-punk discourse going around

Ok but also: when I say “healthy people don’t experience the same intensity of fatigue as chronically ill people do” that is a factual statement and it is based on my experience as a chronically ill spoonie who used to not be chronically ill.

When a person with physical disabilities and mental illness talks about a higher level of stigma and dismissal around mental illness — and people with both have talked about this, even if there’s also people with only mental illness who talk about it as well — that’s also coming from a place of personal experience and is also true.

I kind of feel like that’s being tossed aside here. That — this is not a statement of who overall has it worse — that this specific thing is actually different and not a thing people with all forms of disability experience to the same degree.

I kinda suspect what’s going on, because I’ve seen this in other contexts (specifically lesbians losing their shit over a study that shows bisexuals have it worse off in certain specific, measurable ways), is that some physically disabled people consciously or not have a mental oppression hierarchy where they have it strictly worse, or at least never less bad, in all respects compared to mentally ill people, and do not like that already existing hierarchy challenged. So they conflate “that hierarchy doesn’t exist” with “the exact opposite hierarchy also exists.” You also see that with people talking about gay or trans “ideologies” (as though heterosexuality and the gender binary aren’t indoctrinated into kids) and monogamous people flipping out at the possibility of polyamory completely replacing monogamy just because polyamorous people exist. As though both coexisting is impossible.

But maybe that’s uncharitable and what I’m seeing as “mentally ill people experience a higher level of dismissal and positive-thinking-ism from abled people” (a true and reasonable statement) gets read by some as “physically disabled people never experience this at all,” which is a reasonable thing to object to, I just think it’s not the most natural interpretation of the post in question. Given the absolutely overwhelming and pervasive degree to which mental illness is dismissed and minimized and treated as a choice or a character flaw by almost everyone, including many people who are themselves mentally ill. (Possibly more so for relatively common mental illnesses like depression, anxiety, and bipolar than idk schizophrenia or whatever, I’ve been trying to learn more but I’m still pretty ignorant about many of the more heavily stigmatized mental illnesses.) (goodness knows the personality disorders and addictions are treated primarily as character flaws.)

When I was seeking diagnosis for what I now understand to be CFS, I got a referral to a therapist for “depression” and when I said I was too tired to keep a weekly therapy appointment I got flat out ignored. Like “I’m your doctor, I found the solution, what are you complaining about?” Now granted the way doctors deal with my CFS post diagnosis isn’t optimal either, but CFS is kind of notorious for that, because it’s sort of double invisible: there generally aren’t signs the doctors (and the general public) can see with their own eyes, and there aren’t abnormal test results either. And to a large degree, when CFS patients get treated badly it’s precisely because doctors mistake our condition for being psychological in nature. And assume “psychological in nature” and “the only barrier is how you’re thinking about it, so you could do all those things you’re currently not doing if you just decided you could” are 100% the same thing.

I’m inclined to assume a lot of physically disabled people are just as prone to being dismissive of mental illness as the general population, because why wouldn’t they be? So are a lot of people who are themselves mentally ill. People kind of suck at believing in things we can’t see.

fundamentally this argument should be about “is mental illness stigmatized and minimized and indeed marginalized within the disability community as a whole and what do we do about it” and not, essentially, “are mentally ill people really disabled though?” which is what “does c-punk include mentally ill people?” is functionally code for.

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cake-writes · 4 years

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making the beast beautiful (one)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (cheating); Steve x Reader (married)

Story Warnings: Mental Illness, Borderline Personality Disorder, Splitting, Clinical Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Anxiety, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Low Self-Esteem, Cheating, Angst, Drug Addiction / Abuse (Cigarettes, later Alcohol & Pills), Recovery, idk it’s gonna get depressing but we’ll have a happy ending!!!, Eventual Smut, 18+

Summary: Bucky knows the struggle, the pain, the emptiness. He understands. He can relate, because he knows. And some days, he still struggles – even told you once how low he’s been. But Steve? Your sweet, loving husband of a year and a half? No, Steve doesn’t understand. He can’t, no matter how hard he tries. So one day, you finally give up and give in to your most self-destructive temptation of all: your preoccupation with his best friend.

A/N: i know this is another wip SORRY but it’s literal word vomit because ya girl just really needed to yeet these sad bitch feels into outer space lmao 🤷

Your addiction to him starts slow, like the creep of nicotine through your veins from the cigarettes that he offers you on the rooftop.

Not often enough to do any damage, you try to tell yourself about your smoking habit – or maybe what you actually mean is the amount of time you spend with him. Bucky Barnes. Your husband’s best friend. Your former teammate. Not that it matters, because from one night to the next it’s all you can do to cling to the one good thing you have left, the one ray of light– or maybe he’s the one last shred of hope you’re willing to bind yourself to like a lifeline.

And if it snaps, you’ll fall.

Too bad the threads are already starting to fray.

And lucky, lucky you that you fall even sooner, because your reality has shifted to one shade off from normal, and you can hardly tell what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. You want to prioritize yourself because you know you should – maybe be a little selfish for once, to combat the awful feelings of self-hate that plague your mind, but you don’t know if that particular affirmation is driven by self-esteem or self-destruction.

You can’t tell anymore. You don’t know who you are.

You’re a mystery, a chameleon, borderline, and the only thing you do know is that Bucky makes you feel again – too much. He makes you feel things you shouldn’t, makes you obsess and overthink and daydream and wonder about what life could be like with him instead of Steve.

Because that’s what you do when you fall in love. You turn into that. A monster. A beast. A siren hell-bent on the destruction of yourself.

So, you fall. You fall deep. You fall hard. You fall fast, but it’s the savouring of the moment that always brings out the worst in you. It brings back the worst part of you that you’ve buried under layers and layers of trauma and depression – the clinginess and neediness and desperation at the center of it all, and every layer covering up the euphoria makes you cry because you have to hide it for fear of losing yourself all over again. Losing that feeling. Losing what makes you you.

You’re happy, now. Right? So why do things you shouldn’t do?

But you just can’t help yourself.

You shouldn’t have accepted that first cigarette.

You shouldn’t have texted him asking for another.

You shouldn’t have talked to him about personal things meant for your husband.

You shouldn’t have talked to him about the most personal of things: your husband. Your relationship. Your insecurities because of your illness.

You shouldn’t have – because Bucky knows. He understands. He’s been there.

He knows the struggle, the pain, the emptiness. He understands. He can relate, because he knows. He’s been there. He’s done that. And some days, he still struggles – even told you, once, how low he’s been.

He might have a different slew of acronyms to define his own mental state, but they all spell out the same thing: FUBAR. And so do yours.

But Steve? Your sweet, loving husband of a year and a half? The man of your dreams, the one you’d married in the gown of your dreams, in the venue of your dreams? He’s resilient. And let’s not forget your wedding, with Bucky standing right there as his best man – the same Bucky who accidentally caught the bouquet you threw in his direction, because your aim was purposefully off to make him feel like he belonged for once.

Even before you got to know him, you always had a soft spot for him.

And now? You’re fucked. Completely and utterly smitten.

No, Steve doesn’t understand. He absolutely, fundamentally cannot, through and through. Not for a lack of trying, though, or that’s what you keep trying to convince yourself. He supports you physically: makes dinner when you’re ‘tired’, runs errands when you’re ‘busy’, gives you love and affection just like he always has. You’re his wife; it’s his obligation. He has to.

That’s how you feel, anyway.

He treats you that way out of duty, not love, because Steve always has to put the greater good before himself. He puts your happiness before his own, you think. And he tries so hard – he does. And whenever he tells you he’s happy, you just can’t believe him because you think so poorly of yourself.

Why would anyone willingly want to be around you?

And emotionally? He tries so hard with that, too, but he just doesn’t know. He doesn’t get it. He never says the right things, only well-meaning insensitive ones because he hasn’t been there, he hasn’t done that, and he thinks it’s all in your head – that you’re just not trying hard enough, that you just don’t want to get better badly enough, because if you did then you’d be up and at ‘em already. Then you’d be healed. Then you’d be out of this funk and back in the field with him.

You’re not.

You won’t be for a long time.

You’re not the same girl he fell in love with. Not that he’s ever said that directly to you, but sometimes you think it’s how he feels. He signed up for a wife, not a child. He signed up for the you from a few years ago, now, not the shell of a person you’ve become because of your illness.

Ironic, considering what he was like as a kid, Bucky likes to remind you when you start to hate on yourself because of how you’ve changed – because you’re not normal anymore. He used to be so sick all the time. Then the serum made him right as rain. Don’t take it to heart.

Steve got better because of a miracle. Hard work and determination can only get a person so far, but it was pure luck that got him to the serum. You know that. Bucky knows that. Steve probably knows that deep down, too, but he doesn’t see it that way. All he sees is his hard work.

He lies to himself. He always has.

He probably lies to himself about his love for you, too.

So it’s hard to believe he’s happy. How can he be? You don’t bring anything to your relationship but self-pity and unhappiness. And how can you not take it to heart that Steve doesn’t understand? Your husband, the one who should be supporting you and validating you and making you feel like you’re seen, thinks you’re always throwing a pity party for yourself, thinks you’re just too lazy to get up and actually do the things you want to do, thinks you’re just not trying hard enough.

Come on, doll, he says. Let’s go for a walk.

To you it just sounds like, Walk it off.

Because he’s said that before, too. A hundred times. In the field, and out.

You’re not an agent anymore. You can’t handle it anymore. You can’t handle anything anymore.

Deep down, you’re convinced that Steve thinks because it’s not physical – that because there are no scrapes or bruises or broken bones to prove that you’re in pain – that your depression isn’t real. Not really. It’s an illness, same as any other, and he just doesn’t understand it because he can’t see any physical evidence of it.

Never mind the weight you’ve lost.

Never mind the bags under your eyes.

Never mind the crying spells, the dissociation – but then, you hide those from him the best you can these days. You don’t want him to see how bad you are anymore, because he just doesn’t get it. Because it hurts so much every time for him to look at you with those soft, confused baby blues and act like it’s not a big deal, like a little bit of sunshine’s a cure-all for your woes.

Ironic is right. The boy’s been to war and he hasn’t even processed his own trauma. Hasn’t even been to a shrink despite having two best friends poking and prodding for him to go. He’s in denial.

He refuses to believe that you just couldn’t get to the laundry today because you’re too exhausted from lying in bed all day. He refuses to believe that you couldn’t eat a bite because you didn’t even think to, too busy caught up in your own pain to remember, let alone care. He refuses to believe that you don’t even feel like you deserve to do anything good for yourself, so why even get up? Why bother? Why try to do anything anymore?

Just let the darkness take you away. Bit by bit. Piece by piece. And then, maybe one day you won’t have to feel anything anymore. Maybe you’ll just disappear.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

He refuses to get it, and some part of you feels like it’s because he doesn’t want to. Because he’s afraid to acknowledge that it’s true. That if he starts therapy like you did, then this could just as easily happen to him, too.

But hey, that’s his problem, not yours. You’re still learning to prioritize yourself – to break away from co-dependency and focus on your own needs for once. You’re barely keeping your head above water; why should you have to work on him, too, when he doesn’t offer you the same consideration? You’ve done what you can, and he just turns a blind eye because he doesn’t want to understand your issues. Or his.

So, you’ve given up.

You plaster on a happy face when he’s home – a painful, never-ending reminder that you’re not okay, and you keep your troubles to yourself. You’ve stopped sharing your struggles with the man you married because he doesn’t understand, and it hurts. You try so hard to act like nothing’s wrong that sometimes you dissociate, and you don’t come back to yourself until you have a cigarette hanging between your lips, lit by a Zippo engraved with a clever, If you want to make love, smile when you hand this lighter back.

Seeing the joke on Bucky’s lighter always brings you back, because it’s ridiculous. It’s a throwback to his army days; Steve found it awhile back with Bucky’s old personal effects. Makes you wonder what he must have been like back then.

Cigarette smoke and leather and sandalwood in the dead of night – and you always make a point to smile when you hand it back to him.

Temptation incarnate, now. What a dream he would have been back then.

Sometimes you text him when you and Steve have had another fight.

Sometimes he texts you when he needs you to ground him.

Sometimes the two of you just text each other for the hell of it. It’s usually related to someone’s mental health, usually yours, but occasionally not; after all, over the last few months he’s become your partner in misery and crime. The two of you have shared things to each other that you’ve never told another person, not even Steve; and in some ways, you feel like you’ve bared your soul to him.

It’s intimate.

In other ways, you’ve kept your guard up because you know you’re playing with fire.

It’s wrong.

You know you should really tell Steve about your midnight conversations – that you probably know his best friend almost as well as he does, now, but Bucky’s become a guilty sort of pleasure that you keep near and dear to your heart. He makes you feel things that you haven’t felt in a long time, but you’re not ready to acknowledge what that means. Not yet.

And neither is Bucky, evidently, because Steve’s still none the wiser.

Eight months of this and you still want more.

Your husband trusts you. He never asks who you’re texting or what you’re up to. You’ve given him no reason to believe otherwise. He feels safe and secure in your relationship, but maybe he’s turning a blind eye to that, too.

He shouldn’t.

You wish he didn’t.

Some small part of you wants him to catch you, and that’s what you resent the most. You’re self-destructive – ready to destroy the one good, stable thing in your life in favour of an impossibility, but you can’t deny that Bucky gives your brain the dopamine it needs, it craves, it lacks.

He’s been gone on a mission the last week and a half, but you saw the Quinjet fly in the hangar earlier in the evening, around six, and you’ve been keen to text him since. You’ve held back for a little while, not wanting to appear to eager to message him – so you’re certainly not too proud of how quickly your resolve cracks.

You, 10:33pm Please don’t tell me you came home with Lucky Strikes again.

Bucky, 10:41pm Sorry, princess. Didn’t realize I was seeing royalty tonight.

And then he sends through a photo of a slightly crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes in his hand – an invitation to come to the rooftop. Judging by the setting, he’s already there.

Despite his choice in a particularly harsh smoke, you’re more focused on the pet name that has your face burning hot. It’s something he’s started to tack on recently – ‘princess’ being most common, particularly when he’s teasing you about being spoiled in some way, but when he slips it in during a real conversation is what really makes your heart pound.

You know you should tell him to stop. You know you should, but, you don’t.

You like how it feels to feel for once.

You’re married. It’s wrong. You need to stop, but you just can’t help yourself. You’re lonely.

Steve’s still away on a mission, which doesn’t bother you nearly as much as it used to – you hope he returns safely, of course you do, but you don’t really miss him. Not like you should. That’s happened more often than not as of late, and you can feel your attention shifting the longer you keep up this dangerous game with his best friend.

If it even is a game, that is. It’s probably not. How could he possibly be attracted to you? You’re depressed. You’re boring. And, to top it all off, you’re his best friend’s wife.

Of course you’re the only participant. Bucky’s just humouring you. That’s all.

And now, as you swipe on some deodorant and attempt to make something out of the rat’s nest that is your hair, you feel a particularly awful level of disdain for yourself. The self-loathing pairs nicely with your poor appearance; you haven’t slept well in days, and you’ve barely eaten in just as long.

It’s only when Steve is here keeping you on a regular schedule that you do. Otherwise it’s a free for all anymore.

Bucky never seems to mind – just encourages you to go do what needs to be done when the conversation’s over. And somehow, you listen.

Sometimes he texts to ask if you’re doing okay while he’s away on a mission, too – and you always lie, because he can’t prove otherwise. He sends you a couple reminders anyway, because he just knows. He understands that you’d rather not burden him with the truth.

And then, when he comes back, he calls you out on your lie. He calls you out and reminds you how valuable you are – to Steve, mostly, and to the team. You’re irreplaceable. You’re needed.

He never says how important you are to him, but you always wish he would.

It’s stupid. It’s wrong.

You’re married.

Tonight will be no different. Despite your negative beliefs about yourself, he’ll tell you otherwise, but you won’t believe him. You never do, even though you desperately want to.

You’re a mess, so a beanie it is. You pull it over your tangled hair and somehow get your bangs looking presentable, at least; then you give your clothes the sniff test, spritz a little body spray just in case, and head out the door. You had a shower yesterday because even you couldn’t stand it anymore.

That’ll do.

Fingers tap anxiously at your feed in the quiet elevator. There’s some mild jazz playing, just like usual, but your heart pounds inside your chest – only brings more attention to your nerves.

Bucky hasn’t been gone long, but you’ve missed him.

It’s stupid. It’s wrong.

You’re married.

After exiting the elevator, a short flight of stairs takes you to the roof. Once you start to push, the fire exit door blows open of its own accord; it’s windy up here due to the change of seasons, not that you’ve even noticed it considering you haven’t been outside in over a week. The fresh air shoots straight through your hoodie and sweatpants, and you briskly rub your arms to warm up, immediately wishing you’d checked the temperature before you came outside, maybe grabbed a jacket. You hadn’t even thought of it. Your mind’s a mess.

Hadn’t thought of dinner, either. Or lunch.

That’s when a heavy leather jacket is deposited ungracefully on your shoulders, and you glance up behind you to find Bucky standing there, giving you the look. It’s the one that pre-empts the lecture. “That help?”

You nod, basking in the smell of him – sandalwood and spice. Ah. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He knows.

He can tell with just one look that you’ve been lying to him – that you haven’t been taking care of yourself like you said you were. But he doesn’t reprimand you this time, or offer you platitudes; the disapproving look is enough.

Slippers on your feet, you pad over to the two lawn chairs he set up awhile back near the edge of the eastern wing; it’s got a nice view of the landing pad, but beyond that is the lake, and the two of you have come up here long enough to catch the sunrise once or twice. It’s nice.

“Good mission?” you ask, shoving your hands into your pockets as you collapse into your chair. It’s made of a terrible green fabric, seated low enough to the ground to let you curl your knees to your chest and cry when you want to. And you do. A lot.

This time, however, you’ve got your legs extended far ahead of you. You don’t want to talk about yourself tonight. You want to focus on him.

A distraction. That’s all. That’s what you try to tell yourself.

The other chair, woven blue and white, is where Bucky comes to rest just like always. You suspect that it was the cheapest one in the store, because it creaks and groans and you always think it’s going to break when he sits in it, but it never does. It’s also taller than yours, so you call him old man every now and then for it because that’s just hilarious.

It’s not flirting. It’s not.

Not even when you’ve nearly fallen into his lap on more than one occasion thanks to drinking beforehand.

“Well,” he starts hesitantly, pausing to consider his answer, “I made it back.”

His tone is soft – distant. Not a good mission, then.

“I’m glad you made it back,” you offer, giving him what you hope is a hopeful smile. It feels fake, but the intention behind it is real.

He studies your face for a moment or two, before he averts his eyes. “You’re probably the only one. I had to do some things on the mission that I—” He cuts himself off, then, and pulls the pack of Lucky Strikes out of his pocket to fiddle with. A crutch. “I don’t like to use my strength when I don’t have to. Makes people nervous.”

He’s told you about it before. By ‘people’ he means ‘agents’. Other agents. The ones he was working with, no doubt. As if his arm isn’t reminder enough, sometimes if he doesn’t hold back – well, they start to treat him a little differently after that. It’s a reminder that he’s not fully human.

You can empathize. “It’s a little shocking at first,” you remind him gently, “but you do get used to it. I did. It just takes some time.”

Of course, you also married a super soldier, so there’s that. You can’t really gauge what’s ‘normal’ anymore.

That’s when he cracks open the pack of cigarettes – half full, which means he must have been smoking on the mission, too, something he doesn’t usually do – and when he meets your eyes, the dark, anxious look there turns your stomach to knots.

“Are you?” he asks, voice low and laced with an emotion you just can’t place – or maybe you’re too afraid to acknowledge that you can, and very easily feel the same way. “I could break you in thirty ways before you could even tell me to stop.”

Your brain halts like a record scratch when the clear implication of his words sends a jolt straight to your core. Not just because it’s true, the threat, but because of the dangerous way he’s staring at you, coupled with the casual authority in his voice.

He could hurt you so easily, but you know he wouldn’t. Not you.

He could do other things, too – something a lot less violent and a lot more pleasurable – but you don’t let yourself consider that. You can’t. Even if it’s what he’s implying.

Is it what he’s implying?

You’re married. He knows that.

There’s a long pause while you try to gather your thoughts, until you finally manage as evenly as you can, “Are you trying to scare me?”

Your voice is still a little hoarse despite how much you willed it not to be. He did scare you a little – not that you’d ever admit it, because he excited you a hell of a lot more, and you hate that, too. But you love it even more.

Your question makes his shoulders slump, just slightly, just enough to let you know that that’s exactly what it was – that Bucky was lashing out, in his own way. That he’s the one who’s scared. That he’s trying to push you away.

Why?

“I’m not afraid of you, Bucky,” you reassure him, because you aren’t. You could never be. Not like that. What you’re afraid of is so much worse than that – because it involves him and you, and you can’t make yourself stop wanting more of this. More of him. More of what he threatened to do to you – the underlying meaning you hope to god you’re not imagining, but you should never, ever want.

It’s wrong.

“You should be,” he responds, quiet, rolling the cigarette he’s half pulled out of the pack in between his fingers like he’s debating whether to light it, but he’s trying his hardest not to this time. “You shouldn’t be up here with me.”

The ball drops.

The truth that the two of you have been dancing around for months finally comes out, and you laugh – you laugh, because otherwise you’ll cry. “What are you talking about?”

“Darlin’, you’re—” he starts, and then lets out a frustrated sigh and shoves the cigarette right back in, shoves the pack shut too for good measure. Blue eyes burn into yours. “You know why.”

“We’re friends, Bucky,” you emphasize, lightly, but deep within your chest you can feel the anger, the anxiety start to burn and meld together into something entirely unrecognizable. It’s the tiniest ember now, but it won’t be if this keeps up. You know you’re married. You know that. You don’t need the reminder. “We’re just talking. What’s the problem?”

“Come on, sweetheart.” He’s calm, too calm, and it bothers you. “Don’t play dumb. You’re too smart for that.”

It’s just pretend. It’s not real. You’re happily married with Steve. You’re happy.

Right?

“That’s all it is,” you argue. “I’m married. You said so yourself. Steve and I are happily married.”

Saying it out loud is just another cold, brutal reminder that you aren’t. Just like the façade you’re forced to wear.

“Yeah? You’re happy?” Bucky asks, pulling himself to his feet – and you suddenly realize how tall he is when he’s towering over you like this. You’re not scared, no, you love it. And that makes it worse, the way he makes your heart race like this. “Then there’s gotta be a reason why you haven’t told him about our little talks.”

Because they’re more than that. That’s the reason.

“Well, why haven’t you?” you shoot back, finally getting to your feet, too, feeling your face flush with anger. “You haven’t told him either. Why’s that, huh?”

Tense silence falls over the two of you as you glare at each other, the only light illuminating your features coming from the full moon. It’s a beautiful night, clear and chilly and bright, and you originally had hopes of maybe stargazing with him like you’ve done so many times before.

Not tonight.

He’s pushing you away. He wants to push you away. You know he is, it’s obvious – he tried one approach, and when that didn’t work, he went for the thing he knew would invoke a reaction. The thing that would hurt the most.

Steve. Your marriage. Your happiness, or lack thereof.

No matter how many times you try to tell that to the rational side of your brain, you just can’t handle it. It’s another rejection from someone you cared about – someone you felt yourself growing a potentially unhealthy attachment to – and he just had to hurt you like all the rest. He wanted to hurt you. He wanted to see you suffer.

You can’t stand him.

So you shrug off his jacket and shove it at him. “Take your fucking jacket,” you bite out. “You want me gone? Well, I’m going. Hope you’re happy.”

The way he takes it from you catches you off guard, blue eyes wide with hurt and surprise – but you don’t give him another second of your time. Instead you spin around on your heel and stomp your way back to the access door.

You’re not well enough for this. You’re depressed. You’re broken. You’re lonely.

And now, the only person who understands has thrown you away – discarded you like you’re nothing. Maybe because you are. You’re worthless.

Your fingertips just brush against the handle when you’re tugged back by the wrist, and then his arms are around you, his chest pressing into your back.

He’s warm.

It’s wrong.

But it feels right, and you hate how easily you melt into his touch, into the feeling of his lips at your ear.

“I don’t want you to go,” he whispers, and you’re done for.

The heat from your anger warps into something else – something that burns you up in a different way, and you swallow thickly at the feeling of his arms so snug around your waist. “What do you want, then?”

It’s barely audible, your question -- but he hears it just fine. Soft lips drag from your ear to your pulse, and you shiver, lulling your head back onto his shoulder.

“You tell me,” Bucky breathes against your skin. “I need to know what you want.”

The two of you are playing a dangerous game, and the stakes are only getting higher. You both have a lot to lose, but you’re the one taking the higher risk. Not him.

“I want—” His teeth gently nip at your neck and you can’t help yourself. “I want you—”

And then your back is pressed into the closed door, cold metal biting through your sweats but you don’t even notice, too focused on the feeling of his lips on yours. They’re soft and ever-so-slightly chapped, and his stubble scratches just a little, pleasantly, just enough to hurt in the best way.

It’s hot, too hot, god, you can’t handle the heat of his body against yours—

“Bucky,” you gasp against his lips, sliding your arms around his neck, fingers carding through his hair to pull him closer. You can taste with the barest bite of mint from his gum, along with the slightest hint of cigarette smoke, and you realize—

He must have been up here for awhile.

Overthinking. Wondering what to do. Lost in thoughts of you, perhaps.

The idea of it sends a rush of delirium through you, and you open your mouth just enough to let his tongue explore – or dominate, which you soon find you like very much when Bucky does it to you. His flesh hand cups the side of your face as he kisses the breath out of you, and his vibranium one snugly presses into your lower back – purposely, you soon find, because suddenly your knees go weak and your arms tighten around his neck to catch yourself from falling.

A breathy laugh escapes you. “Oh, wow. That’s never happened before.”

“First time for everything,” he teases, kissing your forehead as he steadies you back on both feet – and it’s then that the realness of the situation seems to sink in.

You’ve just cheated on your husband.

He’s just kissed his best friend’s wife.

There’s a prolonged silence as the two of you look at each other, watching, wondering, waiting, and then—

“We have to tell him,” you say, a little uneasily. “Just… not yet. Figure this out first.”

You can feel the desperation to see where this leads, no matter what a bad idea it is.

Bucky swallows. It’s clear that the prospect of lying to Steve bothers Bucky just as much as it bothers you, but you know he feels that same desperation when he suggests, “And if it turns out to be nothing, then…”

“Yeah. No harm, no foul.”

You won’t tell him. Because if it’s nothing, then it’s not worth worrying about.

Even if it’s wrong.

Right?

two

and a moodboard I made because why not

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes

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give-her-hell-from-us-pevees · 4 years

Note

Headcannons about what Alex, Luke, & Reggie were like back in 1995? Please??

Okay so decided to divide this up by boy and then do some group ones

Reggie Headcanons

* Okay but if Reggie’s house was on a BEACH in L.A then he has got to come from money.

* I feel like his mom and dad were definitely rich but Reggie never wanted any part of it. I also feel this could be one of the reason why his parents were always fighting and on the verge of divorce.

* His parents would try to give him stuff to make him act more proper and classical but he would refuse. He didn’t want what his parents got him, he wanted to do things on his own and be his own person.

* Younger Reggie told his parents that he wanted to start playing an instrument. So his parents thought maybe piano or something that reflects the upper class. So when they went to music store and 10 year old Reggie picked out a bass that was larger than he was, his parents were very disappointed.

* Nevertheless they still bought him the bass in hopes as he got older and more mature maybe he would want to learn Piano and realize how silly a bass is.

* I think is family went to his one and only one of his gigs. At first he would always if his parents wanted to go the show he was performing at but they wouldn't be caught dead in dingy bar. At some point they went to one show just to shut Reggie up. After the show they would say that the band was not good and that he needs to focus on school.

* He was so disappointed,

* I think they would also use work as an excuse as to why they wouldn’t come.

Alex Headcanons

* I don’t think Alex was as rich as Reggie and his family, but I think they were comfortable if you get what I mean.

* I could definitely see Alex having anxiety.

* Like his parents thinking he was being over dramatic a lot. But maybe something happens at school one day and Alex has to go to a guidance counselor. They end up having a meeting with his parents and they suggest Alex should go to therapy.

*Naturally his parents disagreed, mainly because they didn’t want to be known as the parents with a “mentally ill” son.

* I’m not even going to get into him coming out cause his parents piss me off

* But they took him anyway. His therapist notices how he always has to fidget. weather it’s something in his hands, or bouncing his foot. His main thing however was tapping his figures on his leg on whatever surface was in front him.

* His therapist is the one who suggest he should get into music, specifically drums.

* Alex told his parents and of course didn’t want to get him drums. They were too loud and obnoxious.

* Until his parents bought him a cheap drum set, he would go into the band room before and after school and use the drum set there. He walked in one day and saw a boy with shaggy brown hair and a beanie in the practice room strumming his guitar.

* part of me thinks Alex got job and saved up for his drum set while another part of me thinks his parents got them for him. I’m not too sure.

Luke Headcanons

* I think his parents were supportive of him and his music as a hobby, not as a career.

* His parents bought his guitar when he was middle school. Like the rest of the boys, he is self taught.

* Luke met Alex one day before class. He was in a practice room when he heard Alex playing.

* He popped his head out and saw him playing rather hard. Like he was pissed about something. When Alex stopped playing and noticed Luke watching he apologized for being so loud/ He tried to grab his stuff and leave but Luke stopped him.

* “Dude, I don’t know if that was just you letting out your anger of what but all I know is that you sounded tight.”

* After school they would meet up and play together.

* Slowly and surely Reggie would join them and eventually Bobby.

* Nobody’s parents approved of Luke.

* But Luke’s parents loved the boys in the band. They thought that were good people and at first welcomed them. It was when the band started to take over Luke’s life and he stopped caring about school that his parents no longer approved.

* They just wanted Luke be smart about his future but Luke knew what he wanted to do with his life.

Band Headcanons

* Luke is the main songwriter but I think Reggie and Alex also secretly write songs.

* We know Reggie wrote some country songs but I feel like he wrote more than just that.

* Luke wrote a lot of songs about the future and chasing after your dreams. Reggie wrote some silly country songs but he also wrote some that were based off of his homelife. Mainly his parents fighting and about how lonely he felt when he was home. He often worried about how he wasn't good enough for them or the band. Maybe he wrote a love song here and there, after all he is a major flirt. Alex at first would write songs about how he wanted to be “normal” not gay, maybe some on unrequited love after he came out.

* Alex is clearly the band mom. He was the first to get his license and would drive the band around to gigs.

* Luke is constantly working on promoting the band and trying to gigs.

* They would play at beach and pier near Reggie’s house, much to his parents disapproval. Their beightboors would come up them and ask “Isn’t that your son begging for money on the beach?”

*Reggie is most definitely a flirt, but when he meets the right girl he a absolute mess. He tried to act confident and a little cocky but deep down she makes him crazy.

* Idk why but Reggie loose girls to Luke. Maybe it’s the whole oh he’s the lead singer thing but most girls go after Luke before and after shows.

* Luke sometimes thought girls were a distraction and wanted to focus on the band.

* I’m not opposed to Luke and Alex dating in the 90′s, but part of me feels like touch is just Luke’s love language cause I’m the same way. I know the cast has said that they did but i’m just going to wait on the writters or kenny to say so. However, if Luke did date Alex, he doesn't identify as being Bi. Infact, I don’t think he labels himself. Alex needs a label cause he is constantly stressing and he just needs to be sure about one thing. But I think Luke doesn’t care, to him he loves who loves.

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kazo0-boy · 3 years

Text

WARNING: Talk of mental illness, trauma, suicide, PTSD, solitary confinement, torture, generally dark topics, talking about c!dream in a somewhat sympathetic light

honestly idk what this is. it had a point somewhere but it just devolved into my thoughts on c!Dream. i also wrote half of it while dissociating oops

gonna put a disclaimer first: I am in no way trying to excuse any of c!Dream’s actions. he’s done tons or horrible things. this is just an analysis post from the perspective of him being mentally ill and flawed and the effect the prison would have on him, and what i think should have been done instead. Also, this is a fictional character.

This is something i’ve been wanting to put into words for awhile but haven’t really gotten to until now, but honestly as someone who has struggled with mental illness for most of their life and been in toxic mindsets I can’t help but sympathize with c!Dream in that it’s very clear to me that he isn’t just evil for the sake of being evil, but he is also a character that has gone with untreated mental illness and no proper support system that has resulted in him spiraling into the toxic mindset and abusive behaviors that we see him with now.

Nobody just goes into a spiral of cutting everyone and everything important to them off in order for them to have no chance to hurt or be used against him out of nowhere, developing unhealthy obsessions with power and control, attributing having attachments to displaying weakness, ect.. He’d have to have been struggling for a while to get to that point. There’s no way in heck that happened without a lot of internal struggle. Tbh i think what we saw with him snapping at Tommy for using Spirit’s leather against him was only the tip of the iceberg. We didn’t see any of his internal thoughts or descent but we did see the breaking point that led to his downfall. And he just kept getting worse from there.

do i think his actions are justified? no. he’s done a lot of unforgivable things that cannot be excused with any explanation and that’s not what i’m trying to do. can i see what state of mind would lead him into the place he’s at now? yes. just like every other character on the server, he is someone with complex actions and motivations that go beyond just being evil for the sake of being evil.

do i think he should be in the prison? no. now before you write me off let me explain why. NOBODY should be in the prison because it is inhumane and designed to break the prisoner’s spirit rather than contain and rehabilitate them for the safety of the server. It’s more of a torture chamber than a prison honestly. And being in it is clearly not helping c!Dream at all and traumatizing him more than anything. He’s mentioned that he doesn’t get full meals (during Bad’s visit, he asked if he gets 3 full meals a day and Dream brushes off the question) and what he does get is barely anything. Essentially starvation. The original prison plans were for the prisoner to also be able to leave the cell and go into a courtyard and such for ‘enrichment’ but neither Sam nor Dream has mentioned that. So as far as we know he’s been stuck in his cell the entire time with almost nothing to do. So essentially solitary confinement with a touch of starvation and isolation (people rarely visiting him, visitation being taken away as a punishment, ect) plus more for an extended period of time is a recipe for disaster (this is the only time i’m gonna mention specifics but i can see this resulting in specifically C-PTSD among who knows what else, as unlike simple PTSD it is caused by multiple traumatic events for an extended period of time. things like childhood abuse or being held captive for an extended period of time, and there have been cases where solitary confinement has caused it so he could easily end up suffering from it). I’ve seen people make the point that ‘oh well he was gonna put Tommy in there so he deserves it.’ that’s not the point. the point is that NOBODY should be in the prison. It should have never been built in the first place. any character that would go in would come out with serious trauma therefore it’s inhumane. Plus, how is Dream going to ever become a better person in that kind of environment? Isn’t that what a prison should be aiming to do?

Even if he hasn’t entirely broken yet, as he still shows hope of getting out or fighting back it’s inevitable that he is going to. We’re already seeing the beginnings of it in the form of self-destructive behavior like burning his clock and killing himself in lava (basically suicide). As time goes on its only going to get worse and worse. and even in the off-chance that he’s doing those as some kind of attempt at manipulation, the fact that he’s willing to go as far as to do serious harm to himself is seriously seriously concerning

So what do i think should have been done instead? first off, get this man some therapy. get EVERYONE some therapy. he’s no less deserving of getting help than anyone else. Second, put him in an actual prison that isnt a literal torture chamber, that will give him consequences for his actions properly without dehumanizing him and taking away any chance at recovery?

so uh, yeah. theres my 2am dissociative trigger-enduced rant on c!Dream over. i cant believe i wrote an entire essay on a minecraft roleplay

#dream smp #dreamwastaken #torture mention #mental illness mention #abuse mention #suicide mention #trauma mention #character analysis #ask to tag #long post #self harm mention #self destructive behavior mention

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autismvampyre · 3 years

Text

ok but yk what i wanna see?

a superhero with bad anxiety issues that gets easily overwhelmed by large gatherings and that makes their powers go haywire.

tony stark was great, but im talking about like a mutant. someone who was born with powers and also can't control them due to mental illness. i live for that shit cause bitch if that isn't me as a "superhero".

like imagine they're on a mission, and then things get really loud and the person gets overwhelmed and starts blowing shit up cause they cant control their powers. a mutant who gets panic attacks- i mean holy shit i need to see that in a movie.

then they could like go to therapy and develop techniques and smth idk i just want a storyline about not controlling your powers, and yeah you could argue the hulk has this thing but like he barely gets any screen time or a fleshed out storyline

#xmen movies #xmen #mutant powers #anxiety attack #tony stark #the hulk #tw: panic attack #panic attacks #superheroes #super powers #xmen apocalypse #xmen universe #xmen the last stand #xmen first class #xmen dofp #xmen days of future past #xmen dark phoenix

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