I've had non-epileptic seizures for most of my life, I didn't know they were called this until I read the dsm-5 description for the dissociative identity disorder, and they're mentioned in there. The seizures usually mean that I will start shaking, gasping uncontrollably, collapse to the ground, lose control of my limbs and breathing, and start twitching and thrashing on the ground. I'm conscious during this and aware of everything that's going on. It usually happens when I'm alone and trying to relax, I won't have them in front of other people. I can usually feel them coming 10-20 seconds before they happen, it just feels like something is off and I can't breathe properly or feel immense pressure inside and tremors in my body.
They can last from 20 seconds to five minutes, I've sometimes had longer but rarely, and once it's over I will dissociate and go do something else, forgetting I've even had a seizure until later I find I'm not able to breathe properly and remember what happened.
I didn't know why I was getting these, and then I was doing an exercise to try and process a traumatic experience, using the process I found in the 'Overcoming Mind Control and Ritual Abuse' book. The part of the exercise was to take every emotion you felt during the trauma, and put it in a box. I was easily going through emotions of fear, panic, grief and terror and putting them into a box, until I got to anger, and the second I thought of it I got a seizure. Which clarified to me, that the seizures were the product of unprocessed anger.
Learning this information inspired me to try and be more angry, but I haven't had any actual progress, I have trouble getting angry if there's nothing to set me off, and if I am angry, I feel so frustrated and out of control, I just want to calm down. My symptoms of unprocessed anger got worse; my shoulders and neck are so tense and rigid now they're in constant pain, my jaw is painful from the constant stress and I am gritting my teeth during sleep, causing them to hurt as well. I can't physically hit or kick anything because at this point it hurts my neck.
If you've ever deal with such an issue, did you manage to resolve it? Also, does anyone else have seizures like this, and if you do, do you also have the dissociative identity disorder, or osdd, or cptsd? I would love to know more and if there are any treatment options for this. I can tell my body will continue to deteriorate if I don't do anything.
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thinkin about billy....bein soft.
about him not being able to relax most of the time. constantly being on edge, muscles tense, whether he's flexing intentionally or not. there's always this undercurrent of anxiety thrumming through him like a live wire, despite his best efforts to appear unaffected, he's always taut as a bowstring. planting his feet. bracing himself for a hit. and it got worse after the mind flayer, when he realized nowhere was safe, not even his own head.
the first time steve gives him a friendly pat—because that's a thing they do now apparently, they're friendly with each other—he pauses, resting his palm on billy's shoulder for a moment too long, warmth bleeding through thin cotton.
"you really are built like a brick wall, huh."
billy preens but there's a furrow between steve's eyebrows.
the first time they kiss it's a whirlwind of a thing, push and pull and gripping each other so tightly their knuckles ache. when steve slows the slide of his lips and gentles his hands, billy shudders, groans, freezes in his tracks for a split-second before throwing himself back into it with a press of his mouth that's as much a shove as a kiss.
there's a silent tug-of-war between them after that.
the first time they make each other come steve ends up pinned to a wall, billy caging him in, all teeth and heat and heavy breaths. they rut against each other, til billy's legs start to shake. steve is putty in his hands, loose-limbed and biting his lip harder with every drag of billy's hand against the damp spot on the front of his jeans. billy lets out a breath when he comes, but never relaxes.
steve kisses his shoulder, his arms wrapped around billy's waist. it's an invitation. a request. he'll hold billy up if he needs to.
but billy drops to his knees instead.
then he starts to notice steve inviting him over more often. he pokes fun at steve for being a priss. too good to fuck in alleys, public bathrooms, bent over the hood of a car, wherever the goddamn mood strikes. no, he needs his high thread-count sheets and real lube and fucking mood music.
it's not entirely true, he knows it, steve's always willing, no matter where they are, but still. his obsession with being in his own bed while they fuck is weird.
billy finds out exactly what that's about after four months of whatever it is they're doing.
when steve asks "do you trust me?" billy says yes before he even has time to think about it, and steve's grin in response is blindingly beautiful. "okay, tell me if you want me to stop. just. whenever, alright."
he doesn't tell steve to stop.
not when he sucks marks into billy's neck, teeth grazing his collarbone, soft lips dragging across his skin, slick fingers circling billy's hole while he works.
not when he sinks his cock in slowly, too slowly, muffling billy's groan with a kiss.
not when he refuses to let billy touch himself, threading their fingers together and kissing every scarred knuckle, pulling billy's searching hands away from his neglected cock with a sly smile.
not after the first orgasm that rips through him and shoots up his stomach in thick streams of white, that rocks him to his core and leaves him trembling under steve, oversensitive and biting back gasps with every spark that races up his spine as steve continues to fuck into him.
or the second, coaxed out with murmured praise, accompanied by a sharp cry and tears clinging to his eyelashes.
his limbs feel like jello. he's sweating in places he didn't know he could sweat. and steve's running his fingers through the mess on his stomach with a tiny, exhausted smile pressed into the crook of his neck.
"love seeing you like this," steve says, almost shyly. the smile in his voice is bigger than the one on his face.
"hm?"
"relaxed. y'know...comfy."
billy scoffs quietly.
"you know i've literally never seen you not flexing before now right. i had no idea your tummy could be soft." neither did he. his abdominal muscles twitch under steve's hand, but steve gives him a light tap. "don't you dare, i worked hard for this."
and billy...doesn't know how to feel about that. he shifts a little, discomfort tickling at him, buzzing under his skin. now that he's aware of how mellow he was feeling, it's hard to just sit in it and let it happen.
it takes practice. with steve petting his hair and talking about nothing, nails gently scritching his scalp, letting his mind drift. or steve wrapping silk around his wrists to keep him still while he tires him out, has his way with every inch of him. eventually he figures it out. lets himself be soft. comfortable.
he lets himself relax.
~~tag list @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle 💕💕
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