#tw psychiatric abuse mention

[ava-does-dumbassery]

What are your thoughts on the new Renfield x Dracula rendition 2023? I for one was so enthralled that I want to start reading the book. I have Dracula on my shelf, is that all there is to it?

I have not seen Renfield 2023 so I don’t think I’m really qualified to give an opinion on it. From what I have seen/heard of it though, it seems like their Renfield is a lot more based on Renfield from the 1931 movie, where he was played by Dwight Frye than he is on original book Renfield. The most obvious and superficial difference would probably be that 2023 Renfield is a pretty young man, like Dwight Frye Renfield, while OG book Renfield is 59 year old man. Renfield having a lot more of an obvious relationship with Dracula and acting directly as an assistant to him is also something that I think comes more from the 1931 movie. Renfield is the best character in the original book (fight me /light-hearted) but doesn’t show up a lot of in it, so if you’re reading it just for the relationship between him and Dracula you’ll probably get pretty bored. Renfield in the original book is also a character who has a lot of things that are hinted at or implied about him, but most of them are never really explained. That does make him a very fun character to speculate on or make headcanons about, but since the book has several parts where the characters will just take a moment to sit down and straight up explain what all the vampire lore that’s been implied so far is, it does feel like a cop out that none of the things that were hinted about Renfield are ever addressed afterwards.

Also, since Renfield 2023 is a horror comedy about a guy overcoming his abuser, I should probably bring this up about the original book if you want to read it, but it’s kind of a hard thing for me to know how to explain, so sorry if anything I say is unclear: Uh, basically, by writing a mentally ill character who he did not see any need to treat with respect and viewed as subhuman, deeply bigoted author Bram Stoker managed to stumble ass backwards into writing the most realistic and honest portrayal of psychiatric abuse that I’ll probably ever be able to find in any piece of media ever?

In the original book, Renfield basically has psychosis (delusions/hallucinations) and is being held in an asylum and abused by a doctor who is one of the most central main characters characters of the novel. Bram Stoker didn’t feel any obligation to make Renfield appealing or relatable to the contemporary ableist Victorian audience, and in most of his scenes it feels like we’re intended to him find his mental illness either creepy or funny. Sometimes it also feels like we’re supposed to find him pitiable, but it’s mainly either creepy or funny. However, Bram Stoker, seemingly by complete accident, managed to make Renfield behave in ways that are very realistic to how someone going through that abuse would actually act. It’s hard to really explain, it feels like Stoker was envisioning Renfield as this ableist caricature of mental illness, but then didn’t think through the implications of a lot of the stuff he wrote, and unintentionally made him complex and incredibly realistic. Reading about OG book Renfield switching between doing things that are really gross or embarrassing because he’s in a state where he has very little grasp on reality or control over himself, to trying to maintain his dignity in his more lucid states only for his abuser to force him back into humiliating himself, to doing gross, humiliating, or bad things intentionally because it’s the only way to feel like he has any power in or any way to potentially escape a situation where someone who sees him as subhuman has complete control over him, and the way his story ends is… the most raw and painfully honest depiction of what it feels like to be in that situation that I will probably ever be able to find anywhere. And it was made by an author who was definitely not aware that he was doing that, in a story that doesn’t even really acknowledge it.

Also, in my opinion, Renfield has a lot of moments that are actually funny and not just in a “mocking someone for displaying mental illness” way. 95% of the characters in Dracula are restrained, polite Victorians who never complain about anything ever and refuse to communicate properly because of it. But Renfield is just so blunt, and rude, and openly sarcastic whenever he has the chance to be, and the people he is talking to always deserve it, which is amazing.

So, yeah, OG book Renfield is one of my favourite characters of all time, he’s the best character in the original book , he manages to be both very fun and iconic while also being deeply tragic at the same time, which is great, but if what I’ve incoherently rambled about in this post doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, the 1931 movie is probably a better bet for you.

#Renfield #rm renfield #dracula #dracula novel #ava has thoughts #tw psychiatric abuse mention #My favourite dracula scene is and will always be the one where Mina goes with Seward to talk to Renfield #And because he has a delicate lady™ with him‚ Seward can’t do anything that bad to Renfield at that moment because it might upset her #And Renfield is so nice and respectful to Mina and then the moment Seward speaks Renfield is like ‘shut up you idiot’ #‘Mrs Harker did you know that the beloved doctor is a dumbass and everything he says is terrible?’

[65binary]

goddddd yall talk about nbc hannibal like it's so good and like. when I tried to watch it, it was amazing, but also as someone who's gone through repeated psychiatric abuse it triggered the shit out of me so I stopped after season 1. And like yea being responsible with media consumption! but it's not a fun situation to find yourself in yk?

#tw psychiatric abuse mention #i guess? #whatever im never going to be public and open TM abt that time in my life lmao

[yardsards]

tired of everyone on here reducing icepick joe down to haha funny stabby man

like i DO like the jokes and memes, don't get me wrong, but like

there's SO MUCH to his character and he really does tie into goncharov's main themes

like. we're told early on the he was put into a mental institution as a young man due to his breakdown and inconsolable grief at losing his older brother giorno (who was his only living family and basically a father figure to him!)

wherein he was mistreated and was HEAVILY IMPLIED to be scheduled for a lobotomy before he escaped. (in fact, some interpretations say he actually received and survived the lobotomy, citing his manner of speaking and his lack of impulse control. but that's a whole separate discussion because i can honestly see both sides)

and then he turns to a life of crime because that's basically the only option he had left, after being deprived of so many opportunities in his youth (and the fear of being caught and involuntarily institutionalized again)

and him eventually leaning into the role of "violent madman" that the world thrust onto him for showing signs of mental illness in a way that was nonviolent, but was loud and inconvenient and impossible for those around him to simply push away.

and him taking his rage out at the same world that not only killed his brother but forced him to undergo years of psychiatric abuse and basically dehumanization

(like seriously, how do SO MANY people miss the connection between him using an icepick as a weapon and the concept of an ICEPICK lobotomy)

which. yknow. ties heavily into the film's theme of people being pushed to society's margins and forced into a life of crime, instead of given the help they desperately needed

and then like.

his fucking death scene. he tries to put a stop to the cycle of senseless violence, taking the fall for andrey, telling michailov that *he* was the one who killed luciana

him kneeling down and allowing michailov to bash him through the skull with his very own icepick. it's more lobotomy symbolism; dying from the very thing he spent his whole life running from. further driving home the film's themes of repeating cycles and futility

and then, to drive it all home, that sacrifice didn't even end up stopping the cycle of violence! because andrey viewed joe as basically an older brother (mirroring joe and giorno) and tried to get revenge on michailov for killing joe.

like. come on.

#eliot posts #goncharov #ice pick joe #valery michailov #andrey daddano #goncharov meta #psychiatric abuse mention #unreality #death mention #violence mention #ableism mention #involuntary institutionalization tw #lobotomy

[iphigeniacomplex]

My name is Camille. I am a born transgendered woman. When I was a child I said that I was a girl but the world called me a "faggot." Under the sky of pain called psychiatry I was locked away for many years and had the requisite tortures: the terror of electroshock, my bones broken, my body drugged and raped. I was not raised as a gender but as a bug of a child to be smashed. I am nobody's victim. My body belongs to me & so does my holy brain. I am the ghost of the untapped conscience of shrinks, a lurking justice, a part of the gathering truth that is rising with a common voice out of the wake of their evil blue fire. Transsexuals are born into the book of labels. We may be genetic but we are not genetically defective sub-human creatures. By the very nature of our difference, the independence of our alien spirituality, and the passion of the power of our will, we are a threat to the ruling delusions of the mental death profession. No one has our permission to debate the validity of our existence, to define our reality, to dismiss our pain, and to name us. We name ourselves. If you could look into the collective genetic memory of your humanity you would find us in the rivers of your dreams, for we were always here, we were here when Earth was a green spirit. We were a natural occurrence in a singing world. In times of absolute horror and destruction I wish for you all the transformational creativity of an utterly beautiful madness, and I offer you the blessing of a holy human freak.

"Why A Transgendered Woman Calls for Psychiatry's Destruction" by Camille Moran, published in the Fall 1993 issue of Dendron.

#it speaks! #linked it in the previous post but i wanted to have the full text on my blog. screenshots of it have been posted on tumblr before -> #<- but i just wanted the text #paths outside this garden #hysterical studies #okay getting into the maintag & trigger shit now: #trans history #camille moran #antipsych #psychiatric survivors movement #mad pride #for triggers im not doing 'tw' im just doing the words lmk if that is not effective & lmk if i ought to trigger tag anything else. -> #transmisogyny #rape mention #child abuse #ableism #psychiatric abuse

[shattered-yet-whole]

WIP - I was gonna write an AU psych ward fanfic but then i just started writing my psych ward trauma. Antipsych. This happened a while ago, I'm okay now (and I'm not grateful it happened).

tw - suicidal ideation, descriptions of suicide rehearsal, psychiatric abuse, trauma

--------

“Why are you here?”

I look at the psychiatrist’s tie blankly. He’s dressed in a suit, a clipboard and pen in hand. I haven’t even gotten my clothes back, I have to wear a hospital gown and pants four sizes too large, and am not allowed footwear other than grippy socks. The only thing I have left that's mine is my chipped glittery nail polish. I've picked it halfway off over the past day despite desperately trying not to. But this guy is walking around in shiny Oxfords and a suit.

I don’t look at his face. I know he’s looking at me, expecting an answer. Something I’m learning here is that they wait for you to speak. Even if you take a long time. They don’t try to speak for you. Sometimes I wish they would. It would be easier to say what they wanted to hear if they did. Instead I have to guess. I suppose I’m used to doing that, but it’s a lot scarier. “Don’t you know?” I say.

“Yes. But I want to hear it from you.”

Great. I have to tell him in my own words. It’s like a school assignment, but the grade is how long I’m going to be locked up.

I had been in the ER for 13 hours before I came in, and then I stayed up 2 more hours getting here. I wasn’t allowed my phone until I’d been there for 6 hours. No calling my friends. No telling anyone where I was. No one to talk to. Just me and the book I brought, the book I couldn’t focus on because I’d just gone to the counselor’s office because I was having a hard time and now I was at the ER for a psych eval. The counselor who sent me to the ER had said he thought I would just get connected to resources in the community. He said he didn’t think I would be sent to a psych ward.

I’d done a lot of staring at the ceiling to just get through to the eval part, 4 hours in. 2 hours after, when I finally learned I was recommended inpatient, the social worker told me even if I hate it now, I will be grateful later. Once I feel better, I will approve of the decision to involuntarily commit me. My current wishes tossed aside for a theoretical future me who is glad I never a choice. If they’re right, I should kill myself now so I never become such a monster. All alone, with a life shattering brick dropped on my head, I finally cried.

After the eval, I’d begged the nurse for my phone so I could tell my friends where I was. So I could tell my roommate why I still hadn’t come back at 9pm when we usually saw each other by five. My phone was nearly dead when I got it. I called my friends. I called my parents. My friends stayed with me the rest of the 7 hours I was there. They hugged me and cried with me until I got taken away in an ambulance at 3am. I wondered how much a 45 minute ambulance ride cost. I wondered if it mattered.

What a fuck-up I must have seemed. I’d heard of some college kids going to psych wards before. I knew someone who had called a suicide hotline at 4am and got the cops called to take them in. I hadn’t thought it would happen to me.

It’s nice, in a way. To know how bad I’m doing. I’m bad enough that I need to be locked up. For my own safety. I’m so crazy that I can’t be trusted to make my own decisions. I hadn’t known I was that bad until now. I still don’t believe it. It’s a mistake. But it’s nice they think I’m struggling.

He’s looking at me again. I don’t remember what he asked. “Can you repeat the question?” I ask.

“Sure. Why are you here?” he says again.

Right, that was what it was. I smile. I smile when I’m nervous. “Well, I… I…” Why is he making me say this. He knows what I did. I didn’t even try to kill myself. It’s not that bad. “Well, I was… I was… Sometimes I get into these moods. A lot of times I’m normal and fine. But sometimes I just… sometimes I just want to die. I used to try not to think about how I could do that or anything.” I sigh. I had tried so hard to not think about methods. I must have known I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from doing shit like this eventually. “Because I know this sort of thing would happen. But this time… this time I did. I looked up bridges I could theoretically jump from. But that seems like it would suck.”

I laugh. It’s a nervous laugh. It’s a ‘isn’t it funny that jumping from a bridge to kill yourself would suck?’ joke. One of the classics. He’s not laughing.

“Anyway, I was just feeling… I don’t know. I felt useless. I just keep thinking about dying and killing myself. It’s stupid. And I—I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I don’t know if people think I was trying to kill myself and that’s why I’m here. But I wanted to do something. To—I don’t know. To see what’s even possible. So I—so I—so I—”

This is the part I always get stuck on describing. I don’t know how to put what I was feeling into words. I don’t know how to describe what I was doing. I don’t know why I was doing it. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But then again, it had seemed like a good idea to go to the counselor’s office at the time.

“I took—I took a belt. Right? And I hooked the metal buckle part over the door knob—it’s one of those long ones. And I kind of—I kind of—I don’t know. I kind of wrapped it around my neck once and held it with my other hand. So that if I passed out I would be fine. And then I sort of… pulled down. To see if that would… do anything. I did that a few times, and then I was scared that I did it. And I told the counselor the next day.”

It hadn’t been empty blackness like I’d hoped for. It had been a pulsing pressure in my head. I did it a couple times, to see if I could get the empty blackness. Then I stopped. Because it had seemed like such a good fucking idea before I did it, but then I realized I’d done something very worrying and should probably be in therapy. Even if the voice that had started the whole thing was telling me to do it again. It wasn’t real before I’d done it, but once I’d done it, it was too real to ignore.

He’s writing on the clipboard. I have a sinking feeling I’m not getting a good grade. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” I repeat.

“I know,” he says. He’s still writing. I wish I knew what it was.

It’s just me and him in my room. He woke me up when he came in. I went to sleep after breakfast. When I was admitted at 5am last night, one of the techs told me I should try to be awake during the day and asleep at night. Go to groups. Talk to people. It would help me get out sooner. But I’d already been up for 20 hours and it was 5am. So I was going to sleep and they were just going to have to live with that. Apparently you can’t skip the psychiatrist appointments, though.

“What’s got you so suicidal?” he asks.

The world. Everything. And yet, nothing. My life is great. “What do you mean?” I say.

“What do you think about that makes you want to kill yourself?” he elaborates.

“I… I don’t know,” I say. “The… the environment, I guess. Global warming. Kinda sucks to feel like the future is ruined. And the species and the ice sheets. Rising fascism.” I remember a tumblr post where a therapist talked about her patients talking more about those sorts of things making them depressed. That made it seem like an okay enough reason to give to a psychiatrist. And it’s not like that isn’t a big fucking bummer making me not want to be alive.

He makes more notes. “Anything else?” We both seem know that’s not enough on its own to make me constantly thinking about suicide.

I shrug. I’m just so stupid and worthless doesn’t feel like a cogent enough explanation. And I can’t phrase it like that. That would be stupid. “Feelings of… worthlessness, and um.” I search for something in my head. It’s fuzzy. There’s nothing there. I always remember everything so well when I’m crying in bed thinking about how much I want to kill myself. I could write essays on the subject in those moments. Instead I just rehash them to myself, over and over. But I can’t remember any of it now. “I dunno. I can’t remember unless I’m spiraling. A lot of anxiety. Around… people. Social anxiety.” I nod.

Sometimes I get attacked by my social anxiety, memories from years ago—three years, five years, a decade—sending jolts through me as I remember them. I remember what I should never do again. What I’ve learned. Lessons I can never forget, even when I can’t remember what taught them. I usually throw myself onto my bed and writhe in the agony of memories, clinging to ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I want to die’ like I'm falling in an abyss and they're the only rope up. I can never remember what the memories are until they’ve started their assault. I don’t know how to describe that, though.

I’m not being as amicable to him as I usually would be. I haven’t been amicable since they recommended me for inpatient at the ER. Something broke in me then. I’d felt it snap, a crack of terror, and then—nothing. I’m more stone-faced now. Quiet.

I can be friendly when I need to be. I can be talkative and responsive and say all the right words and have the appropriate “mmhmm”s and “oh no”s and “yeah”s. I can laugh in the right places, when it’s polite to laugh at a joke I don’t think is funny. I can make eye contact and break eye contact at what I assume are appropriate moments. I never know if I’m doing it right, though. I poured over a book about body language in high school, trying to learn how the fuck to do it. It said that the exact percentage varied, but around 40% eye contact 60% not eye contact. I tried to get the proportions right for years. Every conversation. Look at their eyes a few seconds, look away a few more seconds. Look eyes, look away. I used to look between their eyebrows, because the eyes were too much. But I read somewhere that some people can tell and they think it’s weird. So eyes it was.

I’m dead now, though. I’m already in a psych ward. They know I’m crazy. What’s the point in trying to appear like I can converse like a human. I don’t want to have to do it. So I don’t. I stare soullessly past people when they talk to me. I examine their clothes. I look at their hair. I don’t smile when they talk to me. I don’t laugh at their jokes. They ask me how I am and I don’t ask them back.

He seems to conclude I’ve finished explaining. “Well—okay, are you voluntary?” He leafs through his papers. “Yes, voluntary. Let’s see…” He leafs through them again.

Voluntary patient. What a laugh. When I came in, I was involuntary. During intake, they gave me some forms and said if I sign them I’d be a voluntary patient. I asked if anything would change. No, they said, it was a distinction with no difference. A voluntary patient still can’t leave until the psychiatrist says they can. But I would be seen as complying with the recommended treatment. It would be beneficial to be seen as complying with the recommended treatment. So I signed. But I never mistook that little black-and-white print Voluntary for consent, even if everyone else did.

#antipsychiatry #anti psych #creative nonfiction #personal narrative #psychiatric hospital #psychiatric abuse #suicidal ideation #suicide tw #trauma #complex ptsd #work in progress #dissociation #depression #anxiety #climate change mention #psych survivor #psych wards #institutionalization

[tacticalhimbo]

" Lord help me. Somebody please help me. This is too much for me. I'm so afraid; please let me escape this place. I just want to go home! I'll do whatever you want, just take me away from here—I swear it! "

Had the worst thought as I was transcribing this audio so I'm sharing it to torture y'all with it:

I'll save the explanation of the "reality versus perception" concept for another post but like. Hinging off of that, if the things John sees aren't entirely real (again, I have my own perception of why this is so definitely feel free to ask)... and given that it's very much implied that John was institutionalized a second time (re: the level when the floating face transports him to a psych ward)...

Imagine that this isn't being said to God, but like. Just in general. John feeling so trapped by his conscience that he's just begging to get out. Whether that's out of Yale Psychiatric or the isolation brought on by his conscience... It goes either way.

#txt #audio files #faith the unholy trinity #faith airdorf #faith chapter 3 #john ward #meta analysis #tw psychiatric abuse #<- brief mentions but just to be safe! #i have so many thoughts on the whole thing and i know it's absolutely not the true intended effect but the subtle notes... #they have me thinking!!!

[craycraybluejay]

"Here are some resources that can help!"

*is shown a direct line to an abusive institution*

*another direct line to an abusive institution*

*whooop another one!*

*financial help that is highly conditional and has an infinite waitlist*

*thing that might actually be kind of helpful but has not been active for over a decade*

*another abusive institution*

*really complicated court-related shit that Will Not Work*

*traumaville electric boogaloo*

*some site that tells you to "just be positive"*

*a free psychologist who will refer you to an institution at the first chance they get*

*a "spiritual medium" that has really toxic and messed up beliefs plastered all over their walls*

Sorry. Unhelpful. Bye.

P.s: kys for even suggesting some of those

#resources #tw: sui mention #ignorance #institutional abuse #psychiatric abuse #toxic positivity #court system #escaping abuse #waitlist #red tape #personal #vent

[bfpnola]

Just finished this 37-page paper titled Separate and Unequal: The Legacy of Racially Segregated Psychiatric Hospitals by Vanessa Jackson, LCSW. Not only was the language fairly plain so it was easy to read through, but it was extremely well-thought-out and detailed, even with a section at the end for recommendations for next steps towards healing. Really glad to have read this!

#reaux speaks #resources #history #bipoc #black lives matter #mad liberation #sanism #ableism #disability justice #segregation #civil rights #tw abuse #tw psychiatric abuse #tw death mention #tw medical abuse

[xxlovelynovaxx]

When you say that me accepting and even feeding my delusions that cause me no distress or dysfunction is "unhealthy" and "self-harm" (despite it not harming me and acceptance of them actually helping me heal from a lot of internalized hatred), and that I need to be (often forcibly) medicated and put in therapy*, what you're really saying is:

"I am uncomfortable with people being visibly and happily delusional. I think that gives me the right to remove people's autonomy and medically abuse them in order to make them more 'normal' and force a homogenous nondelusional experience on everyone. I think that not only are delusions an inherently disordered experience but that medical suppression is the only valid treatment even for distressing ones. I think that eradicating delusional people is okay."

And yes, this is eradication, full stop. It is not directly killing us (though for many of us, both the forced medical "treatment" and the rhetoric that it's not okay to be happy about being delusional DOES indirectly kill us), but it is eradication in the same way that saying "I don't want trans people to be killed, I just want them to not to transition" is. "Just be happy as a 'normal' (cis/nondelusional) person".

While there are happy non-transitioning trans people - just as there are delusional people happy to seek traditional medical treatment - it should be each individual's CHOICE and neither choice should be talked about as lesser or wrong. Though one is active (transition) and the other is passive (non-medicating/going to therapy), forcing medical treatment on someone is just as much a violation of autonomy as denying it.

It is also functionally no different from ABA being applied to autistic people, particularly ones who can't or don't mask/pass for neurotypical.

And in all cases, the people that say these things claim it's "for your own good" and that we are "incapable of making these decisions". That's massively condescending, and more importantly, infantilization. Y'know, the classic tool of bigots?

Note: I am saying the above AS AN AUTISTIC TRANS PERSON.

It is forced compliance to a standard of neurotypicality - in this case, nonpsychosis/nondelusionality. It is also an example of healthism - the conflation of health with morality and, in many cases, subsequent labeling of things that are neutral or positive health-wise as unhealthy to discourage them. (Even unhealthy things/choices are morally neutral, but the mislabeling of things is still an extension of healthism.)

This hurts ALL delusional people. It hurts those who don't want medication/therapy because they like their delusions. It hurts those who don't want medication/therapy because they are victims of medical abuse - which, by the way, the rates are extremely high for delusional people. It hurts those that don't want or can't take medication because of allergies/side effects/other health conditions. It hurts those that don't want to or can't do either for financial reasons. It hurts those who don't want to or can't do either due to other forms of bigotry.

And it hurts even those who want one or both because it contributes to the demonization of delusional people by giving them only conditional and partial acceptance on the basis of them managing to maintain a state (or veneer) of conformity to a standard of nondelusion.

Demanding delusional people pass as or be nondelusional for you to accept them means you don't accept them. Period. It means you accept people you believe to be or view as NONdelusional.

I am not anti-medication or therapy, for those who want it. See above: denial of care is just as much a violation of autonomy as forced medical "treatment". I strongly support the right of people to access treatment, and to have many of the access barriers in our current system (one of which is the demonization of certain disorders) torn down. I fight for the right to medicate and go to therapy just as ardently as the right to refuse it.

*Note: Throughout this post I speak of medication and therapy together as treatment to suppress delusions. This is not because I believe therapy will do so or even that medication is fully effective at such. This is because the people that say these things believe that medication is a magic normalization pill; and don't believe that only a BAD therapist would try and SUPPRESS delusions rather than giving you coping skills to RESPOND to them with.

There's more I could say about this topic, like:

that a lot of the idea of not "recovering" being harmful has to do with symptomology that can prevent someone from being as "productive" in capitalist society and therefore diminishes their worth as a capital-generator for companies/rich people

that there is a often component of colonialist white supremacy to this too - both in the deification of western medicine as the most advanced understanding of what constitutes a "disorder" and as a solution for those conditions - and in the focus on white western psychotic experiences to the exclusion of other culture's

in regard to the above point: like how in many other cultures, schizophrenic delusions and hallucinations in particular are often nondistressing and even comforting, and may also be integrated into the beliefs systems of those cultures

also in regards to that: how US racism (and possibly elsewhere as well) both strengthens and is strengthened by this - as black civil rights activists were frequently diagnosed with schizophrenia specifically in order to both turn the public against them and forcibly institutionalize them, especially when they refused treatment for their nonexistent delusions

subsequently, how racism was used to change in view of schizophrenia from primarily a hysteric (white) women's disorder to a "violent/dangerous" one for this reason, and how people of color and especially black people are far more likely to be labeled noncompliant and aggressive if they refuse treatment

the idea that consensual encouragement of delusions is not just harmful but abusive to the delusional person and the inherent removal of the delusional person's autonomy in stripping them of the ability to consent and how this is an extremely prevalent form of ableism that is used to deny everything from the sexuality of disabled people to recognition of their gender identity to their ability to refuse other medical care

in that same vein, the infantilization that leads to denial of physical medical care on the basis that their very real symptoms of another illness/condition are "all in their head", or mental healthcare on the basis that they can't differentiate between a delusion and other symptoms, especially in regards to delusion people with dissociative disorders, autism, and ADHD

just generally how this is just one of many ways delusional people of all kinds are demonized, some of which are subtle and some of which are obvious, but many of which are rooted in multiple forms of bigotry, many of which feed other forms of bigotry, and all of which are harmful and dangerous

As an added note, while I largely use psychosis and delusions interchangeably, delusions exist outside of psychosis (and psychosis exists outside of schizo-spec experiences). This is also because bigots often conflate the two.

#psychosis #delusions #schizophrenia #ableism #sanism #infantilization #demonization #transphobia #autismisia #(idk the specific word for anti-autism ableism or if there is one but that works) #healthism #medical abuse #psychiatric abuse #racism #pluralmisia #white supremacy #colonialism #ABA mention #ask to tag #ask to tw

[got-a-problem-in-my-head]

the r slur isn’t a slur just because it’s derogatory.

the r slur is a slur because being “diagnosed” with it was a fucking death sentence.

#🌡.txt #our posts #tw death #tw eugenics #r slur mention #disability #physical disability #mental illness #psychiatric abuse #medical abuse #idk how to tag this i just want some sort of reach #because nobody fucking realizes this

[jaxistramatized]

just because i didn’t get the psych treatment i deserved and tossed around and even manipulated 

doesn't mean someone else got the help they needed

some people need medication but it shouldn’t feel forced more of self care and reasons why they want to help and you need it

some people need hospitals but we can’t get rid of the fact it can be  traumatizing and make things worse 

some people are listened too and I'm happy for you 

im happy some people can feel safe in therapy 

we have too see both sides 

i can’t stigmatize the whole system but i can’t deny iv meet people including me who 

are manipulated by doctors and nursing 

not listened too 

over medicated 

told they aren't actually experiencing symptoms of something 

gaslight 

told over exaggerating symptoms 

told experiencing relapse after the repression of the symptoms come back  because of being just not listened too and they knew better

“ i got better “ 

no i repressed it unconsciously because of words and actions you said and eventually it came back because i wasn’t faking

i was suffering

my mind learned to repress and not remember because of  professionals who didn’t wanna listen to their patient rather what they have seen in school or from another patient

i don’t know if u have had a therapist ask another patent under the radar of if they experienced something i did because they are diagnosed with that disorder. and well since they didn’t experience it it wasn’t what i was experiencing. or even possible. 

i just wanted to be listened too

i hope i get to meet more open therapists and doctors and nurses

not ones who don’t wanna meet me at my needs rather than theirs

( there’s more but it was a lot for that to come out )

#tw psychiatric abuse #tw psychiatry #tw anti psychiatry #tw trauma mention #tw medical trauma #tw meds mention #tw ptsd #complex ptsd #childhood ptsd #Childhood Trauma #tw child harm

[queenofdenest]

Title: in the mouth of trauma (is silence not an act of violence too?) Fandom: Hetalia Warnings: creator chooses not to use archive warnings Relationships: Est & Liet & Lat Characters: HWS Est, HWS Liet, HWS Lat, HWS Rus, others mentioned Tags: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Non-Consensual Drug Use, Aftermath of Torture, Psychological Torture, Psychiatric Torture Aftermath, Victim Blaming, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Dissociation, Disordered thoughts, Unreliable Narrator, Mental Instability, Historical Hetalia, Soviet Union Era, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Mentioned Murder, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied Past Attempted Suicide

Summary: it's time to leave behind everything they have done to him, but how does one begin to heal when the wounds no longer cover his body, just his mind?

AO3: the link to read it on ao3

A/N: So I'm going to be honest, I never thought that the first fic (Isolation) would have a sequel but when I sat down, my brain really said that that story was not done yet. I don't know yet how far I'm going with this, so far there are two more fics set during this time period that are much less *gestures at everything involved in this fic* then this, but those will definitely not be done this month, maybe next month. Though I'm actually hoping to have some happier things to share soon.

I do warn to please look back at the tags as every single one of those are mentioned throughout the fic - unlike with Isolation, I can't give paragraph specific warnings as basically every paragraph has a triggering content in it. Like this fic is more than a tad bit darker than the previous fic, sorry. That being said, I have listed every single tag I believe needs to be there, if there is one missing please nicely let me know. If you need to take a break while reading this, may I lead you to video of mine.craft yt Go.odTimes.WithSc.ar being hilarious?

All mistakes are my own, my beta is asleep so they haven't read this over for me. Information is at the bottom as it always is for my historical works.

Lastly, title is from Blythe Baird – “Pocket-Sized Feminism”, no real reason besides I really like it. Prompt is from Fict.ober 2021, "You have no proof". dedicated to my beta, who's asleep right now, who talked with me about this fic, and to my mother who read the ending to tell me it didn't suck.

Last warning, this fic is dark and to please read the tags.

____

The sun is setting when he’s dragged out of the room – fear in his stomach as they grip his arms roughly, leading him down the hall to the shower rooms.

He hates the shower rooms.

He never used to mind the shower rooms or what they represented – group showers – but ever since he was dragged to one after that tortuously long car ride, thrown to the grimy floor in a building he assumed was abandoned, and all but tortured by the soldiers who seemingly took great pleasure in what they were doing, he has had trouble with them. It’s like they no longer represent the idea of being equal with the other people in there*, instead they are the place where bad things happen.

He hopes that’s not what’s going to happen now.

Not again.

He knows he wouldn’t survive it; his body is weak and tired. The doctors have been raising the dosage of the medication* they were giving him; they wanted him far too docile. And while his nation physiology did wonders to get rid of most medications quickly, even at doses that would incapacitate or kill a human, he was being given doses every few hours. He knows it’s been absolutely annoying the head doctor – the man had threatened to force a bottle of poison down his throat, as if somehow he controlled how his body worked.

Higher and higher dosages and more pills forced down his throat by a maniac and those who appeased him.

He forces himself back to the present, to the soldiers, and tries to even his breath out as rough words are tossed from one and another, their meaning lost on him in his terror. They must be chatting about what they plan to do to him, of what is going on – and if he focuses, he knows that he could understand the words, but there’s a part of him doesn’t want to.

It’s sometimes easier to live in the world where he can feign ignorance; any question they might ask him is in vain if he lets his mind wander away from him to times where things were much easier. To times where the terror is no longer lurking.

He takes a deep breath as the door swings open, the sound of another patient – victim – screams from somewhere in the building as he is thrown into the room, the memory from the first time this happened echoing in his movements.

Get in there!

He is, for once, thankful that they had taken his glasses when he was moved into this particular place; they had made a horrible sound as they had hit the grimy floor once before and he has no desire to hear that same clink, especially since he can hear in his head the sound of throaty laughter and footsteps moving closer to him -

Didn’t hear me, did you traitor? I said get up!

Rough hands grab him once more, “Up, up,” they say, the Russian words falling quicker, “We have no time for this, get up.”

They aren’t shouting. Their words are harsh and demanding, but they’re not shouting and so he manages to bring himself back to the present, to help himself to his feet. More hands touch him and he lets himself be directed to the first open shower, staring at it in fear. He knows how this goes.

“We are right out the door – don’t try anything, we will know,” one of the men says, dark eyes piercing as he points to the entrance. “Shower quickly, shower thoroughly.”

Let’s get this evidence off you, not that anyone would believe a fucking traitorous bastard such as yourself.

(he didn’t believe himself either)

He feels himself nod and watch as they leave the room, doors swinging behind them. Part of it feels that his mind goes with them, sliding out the flesh he’s been placed in and following them across gleaning white tiles, past a set of weak doors, to stand and wait until he’s done with the directive given to him.

It still leaves the body behind though, and he knows that if he doesn’t do as he’s told, he’ll be forced to by one of them: the last thing he wants is more hands touching him.

Even if the hands that hurt the most has long since been gone, he can still feel haunted by them; still feel the burn of bruises forming against skin that has grown weak since his first capture – the time when he was young, not the one done by the brutes manning the Soviet army.

His shaking hands drop to his clothing, sea green eyes darting towards the door for a brief second before he starts with the buttons on the shirt. He doesn’t look at his body after the shirt is gone, instead his eyes go distant as he stares at the tiled walls, hands dropping to his pants.

He had been a fighter once*, he thinks as fearful hands shed the last protection he has on him.

Most saw him as a homebody and he is – he’d never argue that he was most at home among his people; farming, learning, living, breathing in the fresh air, but when war had brought itself to his doorstep, he never backed down. He met challenges with a straight back and a fierce strength that had won him many battles and many scars. He had been set against bigger nations, more powerful then he’d been and been told to give up, submit, things would be easier if he did, and he had told them that he was never going to bend, never going to break, and he had never done so.

And yet – right as the water turns on, the sound of the pipes creaking from all around him; the water, lukewarm at best, spraying against his bruised flesh, he feels like breaking now.

He knows he can’t, whatever is going on will need him to carry that same strength that he had carried as a child, but the fragility of his mind after these long months – years, possibly – keeps him flitting between the nation he once was and the man who learned to keep his head down to avoid anymore trouble than his existence already brought him.

He grabs for the soap in front of him, the filthy looking bar slimy between his fingers, slimy against his bare skin. Not that he needs it to feel slimy, but it does it’s job as best as it could. Dirty water sits for a second at the drain before being sucked away, disappearing forever.

Come here, I swear it’s like you live to disappoint – get in the bath already, can’t have the doctors asking questions if you show up looking like a cheap whore.

(the doctors don’t care, don’t care, don’t care, don’t care)

His nails bite into the soap as he grips it hard, two deep breaths in, two deep breaths out.

I don’t want to share my traitorous bitch.

(lieslieslieslieslieslieslieslieslies)

The shower shuts off, there’s a towel sitting on the broken sink and he reaches for it, forcing himself to focus on the story of the broken sink and not that monster’s words. He doesn’t remember who told it – either Dmitri, who was there for expressing disappointment in the current regime, or Linas, who was there because his father had spoken out against the Soviets but who lied to protect the old man – but it was one of them who told him in whispers late at night through the gaps in the solitary wing’s broken walls the story of the broken sink.

It wasn’t particularly interesting, he thinks as he swipes away the moisture on his skin. Mostly he had listened because he had been down there for over two weeks and his voice had all but disappeared from singing and screaming for far too long. It was, though, a sign of what kind of behavior was tolerated there.

A nurse enters a clandestine relationship with a patient. She uses the shower room as it’s the easiest place to clean up and she knows the schedule of her fellow nurses so can tell when will be safe to take her patient lover there to interact. A doctor, one who had been trying to court her, found out one day and decides to do something about it. He decides he will kill the patient and to do so, lures the poor addled man to the space on a night she’s not supposed to be working. While waiting for the other, he rips the pipe from the sink and hides near the door, ready to kill the other when he walks in.

And walks in the other man does but with the nurse. The doctor was shocked and drops the pipe, but in his rage at seeing them together, he kills the patient anyway, bashing his head against the sink, over and over and over again, until the porcelain breaks and bleeds.

While this is happening, the nurse has run off to get help, fear overriding all sense she has as she worries for the man she loves. She returns with help but it’s too late for the patient and the doctor, who is covered in blood, coldly turns to the guard she had brought and tells the man, “The nurse here has been colluding with this patient to kill me – I overheard their plan and decided to act before either could get me.”

He is believed. The nurse is sent away, left to die in whatever painful way they want her to in a gulag somewhere. The doctor continues to work there. No one cares; not about the nurse wrongfully convicted, not about a patient sent there for mental problems being murdered by a man meant to help him, and definitely not for a doctor with blood on his hands and not a shred of guilt in his soul.

He has internalized that lesson here – no one cares about any of them – and it’s been proven far too often as every day passes.

A soldier walks in right as he’s putting his underwear back on and it takes all he has to hold back the urge to cover his body with the towel, to shy away from this man who looks more a child than an adult. But hold it back he does, instead staring at the man as fabric is thrust towards him. Russian is spoken, his brain still far away in another world.

The soldier looks back towards the door before licking his lips and saying, “Clothing, for you,” in a language* he’s not heard from anyone not him in far too long.

Estonian.

His language.

He reaches for them, the sight of his glasses calling to him and the fabric familiar as his hands clenches around them. “Thank you,” he says carefully in that same language.

He’s not scared of what will happen if a nurse or doctor hears him. He’s spoken it far too often for someone who’s been punished for doing so. It – along with the dozen or so other languages he knows – have been the one thing that has comforted him through everything, and while he’s not thankful for having to learn them how he did, he is thankful he did learn them.

The solider – a boy no older than 20 – gives him a smile, as if he’s done something good, and nods again, motioning to his hands. “Please, hurry,” he says, in Russian this time, before turning and leaving.

Despite the thankfulness that comes from hearing his own language from another's mouth after being removed from the two other nations who spoke enough of it to keep him from going crazy, he’s still uneasy; he’d be stupid not to be. He still has no idea what is going on. This was nothing like how they moved him from the first facility to this one – that had been done through drugging him and him waking up in a moving vehicle, his eyes blinded and his hands tied again.

The soldiers, the same from when he was first taken from Mister Russia’s manor, had laughed at his panic.

“Look at the traitor – scared of what might happen.”

Still, he does what he’s told, dressing in the clothing given to him, his glasses first. They look familiar, like something he owns back at Mister Russia’s home, but he can’t see how they could’ve gotten them. To go there and ask for some, or even to go there and grab any clothing, would be tantamount to admitting that he was taken somewhere where his other clothing was either damaged or gone – it’d be admitting something.

Which, he knows for certain, they did not – would not – want to do.

He had yelled it over and over again at the first facility. They had no right to do what they were doing – there were laws* that they had to listen to when it came to people like him, they would be in trouble. Of course, as time puttered by, he had come to the realization that no, they wouldn’t. For that to happen, he’d have to be willing to bring everything to the other nations.

Something that he did not – would not – want to do.

Looking at himself in the cracked dirty mirror, he presses his hand against the starchy feel of the button up shirt sleeves; to the softness of the sweater vest, the stiffness of the pants. He’s even got a belt – for a flash of a second he wants to wrap it around his throat and one of the pipes that line the ceiling – and it’s surprisingly easy how he falls right back into comfort as he coils it around his waist and buckles it.

He looks normal.

It feels weird.

The boy soldier comes back, smiling as he does so. “Ah, Mister Russia said you would like those – your brown haired brother wanted to give you a different outfit but what Mister Russia wants, Mister Russia gets.” His Russian is not as rough as the others are. In fact, he can, for the briefest moment in all of history, pretend not to hate the language, but for him to pretend that it still doesn’t grate at his skin like a serrated blade being drawn down his skin on it’s side, would be a lie that even he can’t speak.

“Mister Russia?” His – Eduard’s – Russian is perfect as always: he’s always been gifted orally.

You’ve got such a talented mouth – makes sense for a traitorous little bitch.

Linguistically talented.

For the most part, it’s been a blessing as no matter how much he argues that he will refuse to learn a new language, the nations who have held his land have followed the same script when it comes to forcing him: refusing to speak to him in any language not their own, refusing him books that aren’t in their language, refusing him time spent on his own land or among his own people, ignoring him should he speak any language that is not the one they were trying to force upon him. He knows that, for most of them, it was never done maliciously, but he still resents them for it*.

He’s always hated that his language was considered lesser by some; hated that he was expected to learn while they were not.

But that’s bygones – thoughts he uses to distract himself from the terror that he’s been living in. Sometimes late at night he would pretend to argue with nations from his past about it, going over words out loud in the slurred state that he was often left in until he felt like he had properly argued his point.

“Yes, Mister Russia is demanding you home,” the boy solider says, who motions to the door behind him, “We have been sent to do so.”

It takes the air out of his lungs for a moment to hear that. He knows that going home does not mean going back to his country but instead back to Russia’s manor home, and yet he feels the slightest bit of happiness. He hates the idea of going back there – the representation of Russia was not a sane man; history had taken it’s toll on him and he took it out on others* – but it was better than waiting every night to see what torture befell him.

Tell me, are all nations weak like you?

“Why?” It falls out of his mouth before he has the ability to tamp down on it; kill it before it kills him. Especially when he knows the answer – what Mister Russia wants, Mister Russia gets – that will come.

There’s a shrug before, “I don’t know. We were told to get you, bring you to Moscow where you will wait for Mister Russia to pick you up. That’s it,” is said. And like good soldiers who do not question what their orders are, here they are.

“I’m ready then.”

____

If he expects that they’re going to walk him out like he was brought it – dragged by his underarms, blindfolded, clothes a mess, thrown to the ground like a piece of trash they wanted nothing more than to get rid of – then he’s mistaken. Instead, the boy soldier calls for his fellow soldiers, men who look older and as if this job is beneath them. One stands in front of him, one stands in back, and then one on each side.

It’s like he’s being protected but he knows the truth: it’s so that he has no thought of running, no way to try if he even wanted to.

Eduard flinches as the doors to the building swing open, the bright light of the sky burning his eyes a bit. There are two small cars sitting in front of the stairs, the head doctor whispering to another soldier near the passengers’ side of one of them.

He wants nothing to do with whatever conversation is happening, the head doctor is as cruel as the soldiers from before, but as a thick manila folder is passed between the two men, he wishes he could hear what is being said – perhaps it is about him and his mental state.

Perhaps it’s about the drugs given to him that have started to wear off and what they did.

Perhaps it is about the harm that has befallen him while in their care – a soldier who took too much liberties whenever he had the chance, the male nurses who slammed him up against walls and forced his mouth open to push pills past his lips, a female nurse who pinched him whenever he would doze off during the day as she didn’t want him to ruin his sleeping pattern.

Perhaps it is about the other things that even in his thoughts Eduard will not mention.

Whatever it is, the soldier has it packed away in a locked briefcase before Eduard has even approached them, the quartet of solemn faced men marching him slowly.

“Ready?” The man asks and, by the way the others nod their head, it’s obvious that he is the one in charge of it all. “Good, get in the car.”

The door is opened for him, the boy soldier slides in first and Eduard takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he follows. His body wants to shake, the last time he was in a car like this was -

I bet you like being surrounded like this – all helpless and needy.

“Are you okay?”

He wants to scream – wants to laugh – wants to take the knife from the belt nearby and stab until he feels better – but instead he nods and lies like he’s been taught to do since his country was taken from him and his people, “Yes, thank you.”

He’s polite even when he doesn’t want to be.

“Good, soon you will be home.”

It’s not his home, sits snugly on his lips. He had said that once to the Russian nation and received a backhanded slap for it, along with a long, long lecture about not being respectful enough. Eduard had felt he was being respectful, especially given that that time around, he hadn’t added any poison to the taller nation’s drinks.

Instead he says nothing, holding back the flinch that threatens his body once one of the other soldiers slides in to sit next to him. He can’t reach any of the doors, he can’t escape, he can just stare off in the distance and disappear from this world as he learned to do while locked up in solitary.

The driver in front – the soldier that was talking to the doctor – starts the car in silence, a quick bark of orders done too quick for Eduard to focus on translating to the other soldiers, before they’re off; the psychiatric facility nothing more then a minor stage piece in his personal history.

He should feel something, he thinks as they leave what had housed him behind and he’s able to see where he was being held. He should feel anything but all he can think is about how nice the little wooded areas look as they bypass them; how even if he hadn’t been blindfolded on the drive up, he still wouldn’t have been able to see anything with how late he had arrived.

So, in that case, for what other reason then but to make him feel helpless, did the original soldiers have him blindfolded and tied up, knelt on the floor between their clothed legs like a common whore?

But even with that thought, he can’t force himself to feel anything else but a solemn ache in his bones.

He’s just tired.

He wants home – his real home – and to hear his language as he goes about his everyday. He wants to hide away somewhere no one would ever look and pretend he doesn’t exist anymore. He wants to set himself upon the international stage and scream about what they have just let happen, and at the same time, he wants nothing more than to sew his mouth shut and never speak a word to anyone about the crimes committed against his person; against the other patients in the places he was sent to, against his fellow nations left behind in that manor.

He can’t do that though. To sew his mouth shut would be to prove to the psychiatrist who said he had gone crazy right, and they weren’t correct. He was fine – he would be fine, he would be fine and he was going to be fine. He had to be fine.

The definition of fine is different for them all though and Eduard – Estonia – is unsure what it means for him.

He knows how he’s been expected to act by those who’s owned his land, as every single other nation had different expectations of him, and he’s knew what it meant when he had his own bosses recently, and he just barely remembers what it meant the years before his country got taken, but none of those times has moments that come even close to now.

To the fear and loathing he feels.

To the memories that come and go as they please, as if they had etched themselves sharply against his skin and nary a touch would inflame them, jolting him back to the when.

To the sickness that settles in his gut at the idea of not rebelling while at the same time screaming at the idea of rebelling.

He feels hands on him at all times, hears the senseless roar of static in his ears when he loses focus. If he stops to listen for a second, he can hear the footsteps that echo as they walk down hallways, back and forth, back and forth. He feels desperate for something to distract him while at the same time fearful of being distracted by what may come.

If what they had wanted had been to permanently unsettle him, then they have succeeded, because for the life of him – and what a long life that is – he cannot seem to believe that there will come a day when he is not haunted by this; not hopelessly followed from home to home, room to room, city to city, space to space, by the violence that has damaged him so completely.

Damage that, for many reasons, he will have to carry by himself, because who could he even tell?

(He’s not telling, he promises, he would never!)

Who would even believe him?

(No one, he’s heard it all throughout this ordeal. No one would believe him – no one would listen to him – no one would care.)

The thought of telling Mister Russia barely flits in his brain before he’s batting it away. The other nation would not care, in fact, Eduard – Estonia – is sure he can actually hear what the other nation would say if he spoke of the abuse he has suffered at the hands of the other’s men. “You deserved it. You should not have been trying to betray the family. Now you have learned your lesson, are you going to be good now?”

You’ve brought this on yourself.

(pleasestoppleasestoppleasestop)

He internally shudders at that thought.

No.

Out of the question.

(Not that there even was a question – because he’s not going to tell, he swears, he would never.)

Eduard – Estonia – would never tell Latvia, it would traumatize the younger-looking nation and after spending most of his whole (imprisoned, captured) life with the other, the last thing he wants to do is put more of a heavy burden on the poor boy. Latvia has enough trouble, Eduard cannot add more.

No one cares where you are.

No one cares that you aren’t at Mister Russia’s house – it’s like nothing has even changed. It’s because you are not important. You are nothing but a traitor – no one misses a traitor.

And that goes for Lithuania too.

His relationship with the other is still slightly rocky after their fight from a few years ago, when Lithuania had first found out that Eduard – Estonia – was hoarding illegal books and pamphlets. He had been worried about what might happen to him should he be found out; what Mister Russia would do, what the Soviet government might do. Eduard had just told the other that he’d be fine, the worse that could happen was he got on Mister Russia’s bad side for a bit and had to spend time apologizing a lot; things that he basically did whenever he was caught speaking his own language.

“The government can’t touch us and it’s not like they’re going to be nicer to our people if we don’t join in on these protests,” Eduard had said while Lithuania had shaken his head, worried nonetheless.

He has no doubt that the Lithuanian would be horrified by what has happened to him, if he were to speak about it, but he also knows that Lithuania has his own troubles in the form of his abhorrent admirer that is their captor.

(And in that same vein, perhaps the other would, silently, blame Estonia for what befell him. The other had warned him, had expressed worry after worry after worry, and in his utter arrogance, Eduard – Estonia – had just waved him off. Perhaps if the other learned, he’d say You deserved it, I told you so, it’s your own fault, what did you expect them to do? And Eduard would have to live with those words coming from the mouth of his own friend (brother) for the rest of time.)

Even if he didn’t, what kind of person would he be if he forced his own problems onto someone already so troubled?

Not a good person, he hears in his head, the voice of his main tormentor echoing words he had spoken during late night torture sessions and early morning sessions. You’re not a good person at all. A weak nation, a bad friend, a terrible person. You get what you deserved.

Bile rises. His stomach clenches.

Deep breath in.

One.

Two.

Three.

Shaky breath out.

In.

One.

Two.

Three.

Out.

The soldiers in the car don’t notice – or don’t care – which is nice after the incessant watch he had been placed on while in the facilities. He supposes it makes sense to watch him so severely. They had him marked upon arrival, as someone who could, without a moment’s notice, seek to harm himself, even when that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Before they had placed him in the protective care of the doctors and nurses of the Soviet Psychiatric field, he had never once thought about harming himself.

Now it’s a fight to ignore those thoughts.

There was no one, he returns to his previous thoughts, no one in that house he feels comfortable telling. Whatever lie that has been used to excuse away his absence is the lie he will give when asked, as soon as he finds out what it is.

“Look.” The boy solider grabs his arm to get his attention, one gloved hands pointing out the window.

Estonia-

–Eduard, a name passed to him by a brother that betrayed him and held onto after said brother had disappeared out of sentimentality; a name that had been spoken by destruction in the forms of humans trying to get him to break, hoping that he would crack as their own nation had done; a name that he doesn’t really connect to but refuses to leave behind because has he not left behind enough nations to the tide of time—he mourns for the representations of nations that had once existed but who’s existence was not long enough for them to be properly recorded in time—that he wishes to hold onto something from a nation that had once been kind to him?*-

–looks up briefly and sees a city rising from the dusty horizon.

How long has he been in his own thoughts?

Long enough that the drive has passed him by and the city of Moscow looms into view. Long enough that the fear that had been abated by his senseless thoughts comes back in it’s fullest to sit like lead in his stomach, bile displaced and rising to his throat.

He forces a smile. “Moscow?” He asks even though he knows the answer.

“Yes, we are almost there,” says the driver, his accent rougher then the boy soldier – and how long will he stay a boy soldier, he wonders. Maybe he becomes a soldier, no longer a boy, after he has used force to detain a person, following the lies gifted to him by whoever is in charge. The first time he drags a person through the streets, leaving them bloodied? Will he stop being one after his first, but not last, murder? Perhaps he will commit a rape beforehand, signaling to his fellow soldiers that he is a man who can force himself onto anyone he wishes as long as he wears the colors of his army.

Estonia doesn’t have any fairy tale ideas of what war looks like; he sat in the woods with his men trying to fight off an army of stronger opponents, watching them die and suffer, trying his hardest to help where he could, but that doesn’t mean he condones the acts that he knows are committed. Once, war had been ugly, nasty, dirty and drawn out but eventually over – now it’s the aftermaths that people struggle to move on from.

Still, he banishes the thought and instead decides to focus on getting his thoughts together. He can’t keep disappearing into his own thoughts – if he is going back to Russia’s house then he’ll not have the same amount of time to do so anymore, and if he wasn’t truly going back there, then it would probably look better if he was able to pretend he’s still at his best.

He closes his eyes for a second, takes a deep breath in, and like all his people had said back when he was a child nation and the looming threat of the crusades sat like an ugly shadow on his doorstep, locked everything that was not helpful away until he could unpack it at a later day.

____

When they arrive at a building, they speak quickly and roughly to each other, their words sliding from their lips faster than his slightly addled brain can keep up.

When they arrive at the building, the driver – commander? - says that they will be waiting in front of Mister Russia’s office there. He says that he expects Estonia to be on his best behavior because they have no clue how long it will take for the other nation to show up.

When they arrive at the building that decides his fate, Estonia is done packing away all the mental anguish, the trauma, the horror, the terror, and he notices that they are treating him as if he is a child who might wander off if not properly retained.

It’s demeaning.

“I’ve sat through more boring things than you can think of, I’ll be fine,” he says as nonchalantly as he can manage, as they exit the vehicle. The words are much nicer than any of the biting (tearing, searing) words he wants to say. “If I do get too bored, I’m sure I’ll be able to find some way to entertain myself.”

The commander does not find him charming.

They make sure to walk in the same group formation as before; only this time, they follow like little rats the driver with his slow gait and commanding eyes. The walk to the building is slow, tension in his body rising sightly as he waits for something to change – for them to grow angry like the first set of soldiers that brought him somewhere or for them to rush him into a room and begin beating him – but nothing does and they enter the building.

There’s barely anybody, he notices as they walk through corridors and up a flight of stairs, nobody but them. It’s unnerving to think of being in a building with just these men, but it gets more unnerving as they come to a stop in the middle of a corridor two flights up, where a small retinue of others are standing in the way. It’s a small group, four men versus their six, but the way those men stand is just wrong. It’s as if there is nothing weighing down their shoulders: they stand proud and smug.

The head soldier – the driver, the commander, the rough and angry and too tired to still be here man – sighs to himself, mutters “What the fuck are they doing here,” under his breath, and squares his shoulders as one of the men in the other group comes to stand in front of them.

“We are here to take the representative of the Estonian Soviet Socialist Republic* to speak with our boss,” This man says, as he approaches. His voice is honeyed, hoarse, and full of warning as he comes to a stop in front of the commander, his arms held behind him. He gives a little nod to the other soldiers before his gray eyes zero in on Estonia. “We will be holding onto him until he is picked up by the USSR.”

His hands form fist, the threat under those words are there, he knows it, and he can see the commander frown. Hopefully the commander won’t let him be taken by these people, but Eduard doubts there is much he could do if they do decide to leave him with them. Logically, a dark part of his brain goes, it’d be easier for them – not having to deal with two nutcase nations.

“No.”

Estonia blinks. His brain is quiet for once as he takes in the sight of the soldiers steeling themselves for a fight while the other group looks at each other in confusion. He understands their thoughts, they are the type of men that one does not say no to, no matter who you are, but the commander does not seem to care about their place in the pecking order and stands plainly in place. But it cannot be that simple, Eduard thinks as the room falls into silence. You can’t just say no.

“What?” The man asks, frowning himself. “We have orders -”

The commander gives a bark of laughter, harsh like the wind against the skin in the middle of winter in poorly dressed clothing and all of the thoughts of how this man seemed weary fades as his true form comes out. His shoulders shrug as he grins slightly, “We were given orders by Mister Russia himself, to keep our eyes on this representation until he, himself, arrived to pick up the ESSR.”

He wishes they would stop referring to him as ESSR - it’s not his name, it’ll never be his name, he wants nothing to do with the farce of a name – but still, he holds himself stationary as those around him decide his fate, as he has been taught to do.

“Our boss-”

“I do not care about your boss,” the commander says, eliciting murmurs from the other men. Their boss must be very important that the words the commander says are met with such disbelief “I only care what my nation has asked of me – he has asked me to stay nearby the ESSR, to deliver the ESSR directly to him upon his arrival, and to then accompany them both back to the manor in which they reside.”

The other man frowns. It feels antagonistic, the way he does so – as if he’s weighing his options on just shooting the commander in order to get rid of him.

Estonia, for a second, feels his heart stop. He doesn’t care for anybody in the hallway, but the idea that he might become at mercy to these sharp angry men, with no one to stop them from whatever they want with him: he feels sick.

Again.

A door opens, bringing the rising tension to a standstill as a secretary exits the room right behind the men, her shoes clacking on the tiled floor. She takes one look at the soldiers and the unnamed men and frowns. Blue-gray eyes narrow as they meet his own, either she’s surprised that there are more people than she expected or she thinks he looks bad. Nevertheless, she shakes her head before she speaks, “He’s ready to see you,” right to him, ignoring the others around.

He’s been spoken at for the past however long he’s been held, but barely spoken to – a few times he’d have a human prisoner to interact with, but those times, were far and few in-between – so for a moment, he can just stare at her before the boy soldier pushes on his shoulder, alerting him back. He gives a nod to her and looks to the commander. “Hopefully I’ll only be a few minutes so you don’t get in trouble with Mister Russia,” he says with a slight smile he doesn’t feel.

The commander gives a short nod before directing his men to stand with their backs against the opposite wall, and Estonia follows the secretary into the room.

His stomach drops upon entry. He’s been here before and he knows it – the memories from that first night echoes in his brain as his feet force him to continue forwards, to the chair sat right in front of him. Estonia doesn’t know the name of the human in front of him, doesn’t know what position in Russia’s government he holds, but he knows that this is the man from that night all that time ago. This is the man that condemned him to two different mental facilities and a long period of torture*.

He lowers himself into the chair, eyes immediately drifting to the ground as he remembered the last time – how he had looked this man straight in the face and been violently assaulted for it. He wants to look up, to let him know that the nation of Estonia has not broken, but even the thought of it brings a shiver to his spine. Still, he takes several steadying breathes before he does let his eyes drift upwards, hiding his fear the best he can as he waits for anything.

“It has been a year and six months since you darkened my office door, do you understand what that means?” He asks, his nasally voice echoing through the room. Estonia doesn’t even get a chance to answer before the man continues, “It means that there will be questions about where you’ve been – do you know what you say?”

Of course he doesn’t, but he knows that whatever the answer is will be the furthest from the truth that they can get.

“You have been helping us with secretarial work; updating paperwork, helping with computers, things of that nature,” The man continues on, hands clasped on his desk, smarmy smile planted on his face. For a second, the man pauses before leaning close and speaking, “We have been very good to you while you’ve been with us; no harm has come to you.”

His breath leaves his body as his eyes widen slightly, staring at this man in disbelief. That lie would work if everyone he interacts with for the next hundred years are idiots, of which his neighbors are not. Some of them are self-centered, but none of them are so self-centered as to be able to believe no harm has come to him when he looks as he does. “No one will believe that.” It comes out without meaning to, just as his slip up did (kill it before it kills you) and the official’s face falls, ever so slightly.

“You have no proof,” He snarls, slamming his hands on the desk and standing, his chair hitting something hard behind him. Estonia flinches as he reels back, eyes closing as he waits for a physical attack. It takes the official a second to calm down before he’s forcing his fake smile back on his face and sitting back down. He clears his throat before he continues, “You must realize that you do not have any proof whatsoever of where you have been, whereas we, if questioned, can produce much evidence of you being in the locations we have given.”

Falsified evidence is not evidence.

“Of course, I worry for your mental state if you truly believe whatever it is you are imagining you have been through. Surely you do not need a stay in a psychiatric facility to help you remember the past year?” Eduard’s heart constricts in it’s cage made of his ribs. It’s not even a hidden threat. The man leans in conspiratorially, his smile dropping. “Because, between just us, I have not heard the best things about those facilities. My colleagues have spoken how they are trying to fix the rampant abuse that seems to breed in those locations but I am sure we can find you somewhere safe if you were to stay in one, yes?”

It’s a verbal slap in the face; an openly cruel one.

It takes him a second to gather his thoughts. Or well, the one thought that he keeps repeating in his head. “I won’t say anything,” he says after a moment. The man seems to wait for a second and Estonia knows what he wants, but all he can manage to say is, “Not that there is anything to say.”

This seems to ease the room a bit but still the official sits still.

“Because, I’ve been-” He can’t lie like this. He can’t say the lie given to him. It sits on his tongue, heavy as the feel of sopping wet clothes, weighing you down in the water. “I’ve been well.” He manages after a second.

The man smiles, nodding slightly as he grabs some papers off his desk. “Good, remember that if someone asks.” The pages are shuffled in his hands before one makes it way to the empty desk space in front of Estonia. “Now, can you tell me about this?”

Estonia stares at it for a second, his emotions haywire. It’s nothing more than a typed page of words, but it’s the words – inflammatory, anti-soviet words – that scream at him. They’re the reason he was sent away, they’re the reason he suffered.

“No, I’m afraid I can’t.” It’s his voice, he knows it is, but it doesn’t feel like it. “I’m sorry.”

This is a lie, much bigger than the one this man wants him to tell to others, but it’s a lie he’ll die with. The man who wrote that has two kids and a wife and takes care of his mother as his father was killed during the war and Estonia will never speak his name.

The man hums and places down another page of words – this time written by a man who left his teaching position in a university when the communists came to power and who survives life on bad humor and copious amounts of liquors – and asks, “How about this one?”

“No.”

The man’s face sours as he nods his head, placing down another one, and another one, and another one. “And these?”

“I’m sorry sir, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Is his palms sweating and his heart rapidly beating in his chest? Yes. But that doesn’t change that fact that he will not sell out his fellow dissidents.

Narrowed eyes meet his and for a second, he wants to speak out of fear, but instead, Estonia pulls in on himself, allowing a moment of weakness in hopes of that being the thing that forces this man away from him. It doesn’t though and he slams his hands on the desk again, moving to stand.

The door opens.

“Now what do we have here?”

Once upon a time, Ivan’s voice was the one that haunted his nightmares – the abuses that he suffered at the Russian nation’s hands plagued him still – but now other voices take that place and all he feels is a sense of bitter relief at the sight of the other nation. Better the devil you know, his brain supplies for him as he watches the government official straighten up and force a smile onto his face.

“Ivan!” The man greets, walking around his desk to stand right next to Estonia’s shoulder. A hand finds its way to rest on him, squeezing lightly. “You were supposed to check in with my secretary.”

Russia’s smile grows, eyes narrowing as he moves one step forward into the room. The man moves back a step, his hand falling from Estonia’s shoulder before Russia moves forwards again. “I didn’t want to,” he replies, head tilting and shoulders shrugging, “I will be taking this one now.”

The man stops smiling, swallowing a gulp of air before he says, “I’m afraid, sir, that we still have a bit more to discuss.”

“I don’t care.” Russia lays a hand on his shoulder and Estonia takes a moment to deep breath instead of flinching. Reactions make the other nation interested and Estonia has not survived his house with the least amount of trauma – which is not saying much – by showing his interesting reactions the other. “Stand up.”

Stand up or I’ll break your legs!

A hand yanking on his hair. Curses are shouted. Get on your knees bitch.

“Up, up, Estonia, we have places to go.” Russia’s childish voice cuts through the thoughts in his head, the ones trying to slink their way out of the box.

He pushes down on them, closing his eyes before he moves to stand up. Once standing, he straightens his shoulders ever so slightly and tries to force himself back into his normal around Russia. “Yes, Mister Russia, sir,” he says after a second.

There’s a dangerous look upon the other nation’s face and even though it is not directed towards him, Estonia can recognize this for what it is: a power play. It’s not the first time the Russian has fought with his government in this passive aggressive way, but it is the first time that another nation has fallen into harm because of it. Well, that and his own arrogant stupidity.

“We are leaving now,” Russia is saying, his voice sickly sweet. “I’m sure I will see you in a few weeks, Yuri.”

The man – Yuri, a name that rings some kind of bell in Estonia’s head – nods and moves to sit right back down. “Of course,” is said in fake cheer, “I look forward to our conversations.”

Russia turns without saying anything else, Estonia takes one last look at the man – he has a name now, his brain tries, but forever he will only remember him as ‘the man’ – and the stern look that has fallen across his face speaks more words than their previous conversations did.

He will be watching, waiting for Estonia to take one step out of line to drag him back here. Estonia didn’t break how he wanted him to and this man will try for a second time at some point in the future.

It chills him to the bones.

____

The drive back to the manor is shorter than he remembers. It seems that as soon as they get in the car, they are halfway there.

Logically, Estonia knows that’s not true, but he barely remembers any of the drive until Russia is telling him how much Lithuania and Latvia has missed him. A warmth blooms in his chest as Russia says, “Poor little Latvia has worried nonstop even after I told him of your employment as a secretary – you left so suddenly,” that he can even ignore the dig at the lie he’s replied with multiple times already.

It seems the Russian knows that he’s lying but is waiting for him to say it instead of confronting him on it.

Estonia is thankful for that. He knows that eventually it will come to a head, but he has much more practice at hiding his troubles than Russia has with patience, and so he believes that he will be safe for a while longer. Which is good, because with the fear he holds tight in his body, being confronted about everything is not a thing that he really wants to deal with at the moment.

“You will have the rest of today to settle yourself,” Russia was saying, his voice far more relax than Estonia figured he’d be knowing he was being lied to. “I expect you to help around the house though tomorrow.”

“Of course.” He’d need something to keep his mind off his thoughts. “Thank you, Mister Russia.”

A hum, but otherwise, the conversation is dead.

Which is fine for the Estonian. There are no more words that need to be said between them – theirs is not a relationships marked by the tentativeness of scraping past injuries yet a willing eye towards their future, instead it is a sinking ship upon which the captain has chained his men to the mast to await their watery grave. There is no comforting words to be given between the two of them; no apologies for governments overstepping, or trying to incite mass protests, or the past deeds they have done against each other. No sense in looking for forgiveness or anything more than surface level interactions.

The car pulls into the driveway by time Estonia thinks to open his mouth to ask about the others – is Miss Ukraine doing well? What about Miss Belarus? Has Prussia driven Lithuania to murder yet? - and all his questions disappear as he spots Lithuania and Latvia standing next to the open door.

There are bags beneath their eyes but the relief in them outshine anything else.

Estonia waits until Russia opens the door for him, letting the other nation walk ahead like he knows to do. It takes everything he has – and the slimy feeling in his gut – to resist the urge to wrap his arms around both of them and never let go. He’s not one for hugging usually, but he wants the comfort that comes from such a hug.

“Welcome back, Mister Russia,” they greet, a smile on their faces. For once they don’t look as forced. “Welcome back, Estonia.”

“Lithuania, Latvia.” He nods his head in greeting. His eyes meet Lithuania, the all knowing older brother figure, and he knows that Lithuania knows that he is not alright and if Lithuania knows than it’s only a matter of time before Latvia knows.

Russia is speaking though, giving them directions, and Estonia barely listens to a single word he’s saying. Instead he’s cataloging the other two in his mind. It’s been so long and the only mention of the two while he was gone was vague threats towards them and his tormentors telling him how little they missed him.

Lithuania looks as if death has visited him every night; the fatigue in his body is so noticeable that Estonia is worried immediately. The other never lets anyone see him this tired – not unless he can’t help it. The way his body seems to sag even as it’s standing straight makes him wonder what sort of harm has befallen Lithuania while he was gone.

Latvia is, at least, only trembling, but there is something beneath the surface of his eyes that that worries the Estonian. It’s anger, directed straight at Russia. Whatever has gone on while he was gone has brought an emotion to the Latvian that Estonia did not know the other could feel. Of course, he knew that Latvia could feel anger – everyone could, but he truly believed that Latvia’s other emotions were too weigh over by fear and trauma.

“Anyway, go, go,” Russia says, cutting into his thoughts as he pushes on Estonia’s back. The Estonian holds back a hiss as the other nation continues, “Remember, I expect you all to be ready to do your duties early in the morning.”

“Of course,” they all manage to say at the same time as the Russian leaves to go elsewhere in the manor.

The first words out of Lithuania’s mouth as soon as they are alone, Latvia attaching himself to Estonia’s midsection, are, “What did they do to you?” and for a second, Estonia pauses in his movement to welcome the hug, unsure of what to say.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say something, either the truth (he promises he won’t tell, he’ll never tell) or the lie, when Lithuania shakes his head, “No, it’s okay, we’ll deal with that later, let’s just get you safe.”

Not comfortable, safe.

Estonia nods. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever feel that again, but he knows that as long as they are living in Russia’s home, he definitely won’t. There is no safety in a place you cannot speak about – no safety in a place you were forced to come to. There is no safety in a place where you will be watched until you mess up – and Estonia knows himself, he will mess up at some point. He will begin piecing himself back together tomorrow and sometime in the future he will misstep and he will be dragged right back in front of that man to answer for it.

The only way to not be is to let this silence him; let this be the only warning he needs to keep himself in line.

But he can’t, he thinks as he’s lead through the house and towards their shared bedroom. In silence, there is some quiet acceptance that this is what it is now and Estonia, bruises fading, body aching, soul shattered, cannot accept this.

He refuses.

____

Additional Notes: Anyway, sorry for the dark fic yet again, seriously hoping the next thing I have for you guys is a lot more happy. I've got like 80% of a happy fic finished but like the last bit is kicking my ass.

Historical notes && information:

*Takes place literally right after Isolation *Being naked in literally so many other places are not as sexualized as it is in America, and like group showers/saunas/nude beaches are all fine because it's like the great equalizers - which like I get but at the same time I don't really want to see anyone nude ever so *shrug* *There's far too many medications for me to list but like just pick a benzo that was in production during that time and you'll have what I was thinking of. *Ten thousand percent little baby Estonia fought against the Nordics during their viking era (bby!Est as a little sea faring child who just wants the vikings to piss off is a thing thank you for coming to my ted talk) and everything and one day I'll write a fic for that, but like look through their history, Estonians really fought a lot - their resilience in the face of occupation is truly admirable. *This kid's the product of an Estonian mother and a Ukrainian father and honestly only exists for this one series fic. *I have talked about this before and I'll talk about it again, there's got to be some kind of agreement between governments, otherwise any goodwill is immediately shattered. I mean, I'm not politician (I have morals) but I am a person and if I found out that the gov of another nation tortured my nation, I'd have no desire to see any sort of friendship grow. *What is is with occupying governments deciding the native languages are icky and like banning their usage?? Especially since the Estonian language is so pretty??? It's literally like lilting and pretty and !!!! But anyway, historically, Estonian was not considered pretty by all those occupying nations and was either outright banned or just not considered important over said occupying nation's own language. As stated, I don't think the nations who owned Est was doing it maliciously - unlike their govs - but more so in a practical, lets not rock the boat, sorta thing. *There is enough evidence in the manga/webcomics, anime, and other supplemental material that states that Russia was volatile towards the Baltics while they lived with him, ergo Trauma. *This entire paragraph is a headcanon. First bit, 'a brother that betrayed him,' according to an Estonian history book I have, prior to Livonia joining the whole religious thing, ancient Estonians saw them as a (kinda) brother nation, afterwards not so much. (Really sold out a family relationship for a place to live (for legal purposes, this is a joke)). Secondly, "left behind enough nations to the tide of time", there were quite a bit of nations in that area that have come and go: Courland, Semgallia, Ingeria, etc, and I know they most likely don't show up because Hima-papa hasn't done research on them/gone that deep, but I like to think that they probably just faded after a while. Lastly, I don't think some nations got to choose their own name. Like I'm not going to get into it here, but the name Alfred was only really popular in America from the late 19th century to the 1930s, so why would America have that name if it wasn't given to him by the reigning country - Britain? Anyway, I, especially, believe in the way of Est & Lat that they were named by Prussia & Livonia and since human names aren't that important, they just went a long with it. I got more thoughts, but this is already long enough. *Name given to Estonia during the Soviet period. We don't like -∞/100. *This man is/based after Yuri Andropov, the real life chairman of the KGB during the time this fic is taking place. He was really really a bitch who "sought the destruction of dissent" and was lead the way in committing people to psychiatric hospitals for dissidence. I don't know if I have to put allegedly here to avoid any troubles but like it was written about and everyone knows so fuck this guy.

#hws estonia #historical hetalia #torture tw #suicide mention tw #rape tw #psychiatric abuse tw #drug use tw #ii. character;; aph estonia #ii. character;; aph russia #ii. character;; aph lithuania #ii. character;; aph latvia #iii. story;; mine #iii. story;; one shot #iii. story;; complete #iii. story;; hetalia #iii. warning;; rape mention #iii. warning;; injuries #iii. warning;; torture #iii. warning;; implied/referenced torture #iii. warning;; non consensual drug use #iii. warning;; suicide mention #iii. warning;; physical abuse #iii. warning;; victim blaming #iii. genre;; historical #i. au;; historical hetalia #i. era;; soviet union

[musical-chick-13]

Once again, I am asking why Eroticized Cannibalism and Psychiatric Abuse is fine as a storytelling device, but any other pRoBLeMaTiC trope isn't.

#yes this is what you think it's about #FOR THE RECORD. I don't have a problem with people liking the eroticized cannibalism and psychiatric abuse show. #it's not real do whatever you want #it just baffles me why THIS is apparently acceptable and entertainingly dark in an Artistique™ way but like. nothing else is apparently? #I'm not allowed to get what people get out of this show from OTHER pieces of media that tackle DIFFERENT dark topics? #(this is not me vague-ing anyone who will actually see this post by the way. genuinely all my followers are lovely. I am simply expressing #my confusion over a phenomenon that KEEPS HAPPENING for some reason because there seems to be a weird double standard at play) #tw: cannibalism mention #tw: abuse mention

[brokenfoxproductions]

So apparently Pennsylvania psychiatric institute in Harrisburg Pennsylvania has a policy where if you complain about a provider and you say something that could be construed as insulting, like me saying that the new person I saw was rude and condescending and that her saying something transphobic to me on Wednesday made me feel like there were no good psychiatrists left in this area, can be grounds for them to refuse to allow you to come back for treatment.

So I'm no longer allowed to see a psychiatrist where I was going, despite the fact that they know that I don't have enough refills of my medication to last until I'm able to see someone after I move, because I insulted a transphobic nurse practitioner by calling her transphobic and condescending and not a good provider.

This is fucking bullshit.

#pennsylvania #transphobia tw #psychiatrist #mentalhealth #ableism #transphobia #retaliation #mental health services #Pennsylvania psychiatric institute #upmc #specifically she didn't let me talk until halfway through the appointment when she blurted out #“oh EW you have PRONOUNS?!?!? OHHHHH ewwwww” #then she accused me of asking for help with my anxiety so I could abuse xanax #because I have 12 years clean from opiates and heroin #despite me not asking for Xanax or anything else in particular other than mentioning my allergies #i also said that I don't want to go back on a beta blocker bcs it made my heart weaker #and she said that my ptsd will get worse if I move because she thinks I cause people to hurt me #specifically “whatever you did to make people hate you enough to want to abuse you or rape you isn't going to stop” #this was again my first visit with her ever like I meet her for the first time and she basically victim blamed me #and she literally said ew repeatedly like I was gross because I'm queer #but I'm not allowed to go to a different psychiatrist there now because I was rightfully upset by this shit #I told them this is why their reviews from patients on Google are so low #I also literally told them that they're part of the problem because they handle things like this #all of their good doctors quit after a few years and the ones that stay are just shit #trauma #childhood trauma #ptsd #victim blaming #gaslighting #stigma

[darkskywishes]

Levi and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

TW: mentions of rape and childhood sexual abuse

Throughout the course of Attack on Titan, and even before the canon timeline, Levi experiences innumerable traumas, not the least of which are repeatedly experiencing the deaths of his closest friends and comrades. By the end of the series, Levi has lost every single person he had been close to, being the last of the Survey Corps' veterans. Given the truly immense amount of traumatic events Levi suffers, it'd be difficult to believe that he wouldn't have post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and indeed, he does display several key features of the disorder.

Paraphrased, the DSM-5-TR PTSD criteria are as follows (American Psychiatric Association, 2022, p. 301):

Criterion A: stressor (one required)

The person was exposed to: death, threatened death, actual or threatened serious injury, or actual or threatened sexual violence, in the following way(s):

Direct exposure

Witnessing the trauma

Learning that a relative or close friend was exposed to a trauma

Indirect exposure to aversive details of the trauma, usually in the course of professional duties (e.g., first responders, medics)

Criterion B: intrusion symptoms (one required)

The traumatic event is persistently re-experienced in the following way(s):

Unwanted upsetting memories

Nightmares

Flashbacks

Emotional distress after exposure to traumatic reminders

Physical reactivity after exposure to traumatic reminders

Criterion C: avoidance (one required)

Avoidance of trauma-related stimuli after the trauma, in the following way(s):

Trauma-related thoughts or feelings

Trauma-related external reminders

Criterion D: negative alterations in cognitions and mood (two required)

Negative thoughts or feelings that began or worsened after the trauma, in the following way(s):

Inability to recall key features of the trauma

Overly negative thoughts and assumptions about oneself or the world

Exaggerated blame of self or others for causing the trauma

Negative affect

Decreased interest in activities

Feeling isolated

Difficulty experiencing positive affect

Criterion E: alterations in arousal and reactivity (two required)

Trauma-related arousal and reactivity that began or worsened after the trauma, in the following way(s):

Irritability or aggression

Risky or self-destructive behavior

Hypervigilance

Heightened startle reaction

Difficulty concentrating

Difficulty sleeping

Criterion F: duration (required)

Symptoms last for more than 1 month.

Criterion G: functional significance (required)

Symptoms create distress or functional impairment (e.g., social, occupational).

Criterion H: exclusion (required)

Symptoms are not due to medication, substance use, or other illness.

--

I've indicated the symptoms that apply to Levi, or that I believe likely apply, based on canon content in purple. Let's go one by one.

Criterion A: stressor

During the canon timeline, Levi was exposed to both large amounts of death and threatened death, primarily due to titan casualties, but also due to the circumstances of poverty and deprivation in the Underground. Notable examples include witnessing his mother die and decay while he starved as a young child; Furlan and Isabel's deaths; the deaths of Petra, Oluo, Gunther, and Eld during the Female Titan arc; the loss of Kenny; Erwin and the new recruits' suicide charge against the Beast Titan; and Hange's sacrifice.

Levi experienced multiple instances of serious injury, with the most significant being his injuries resulting from the thunderspear explosion and the Battle of Heaven and Earth. Given the nature of blast injuries, it is likely Levi suffered from internal damage—in particular, rupture of the respiratory and hollow organs, such as the lungs and bowels. We're also shown he suffered complete separation of the index and middle fingers of his right hand, as well as ocular damage to his right eye. A concussion and perhaps a traumatic brain injury following the blast is also likely, as well as hearing damage. Following the Battle of Heaven and Earth, he also experienced significant injuries to one of his legs, necessitating the use of a wheelchair three years post-Rumbling.

In regard to actual or threatened sexual violence, Levi was born and lived in a brothel, in which his mom was a prostitute. It's not an exaggeration to say Levi was likely the result of rape. Given the circumstances of his upbringing, it's also likely he witnessed the sexual encounters between his mother and the brothel's patrons and was perhaps sexually abused himself when his mother was unable or unavailable to protect him. Given the Bad Boy panel previews, we also know he was directly threatened with sex trafficking on at least one occasion.

Only one stressor is required to meet this criterion, and Levi meets all of them. He very much fits the profile of someone with complex trauma or C-PTSD, although that diagnosis has not yet been added to the DSM.

Criterion B: intrusion symptoms

Canon evidence of intrusion symptoms is a bit harder to find, given the heavy plot focus of Attack on Titan; however, I do believe there is enough to make some inferences.

During the Uprising arc, Levi takes note of a starving woman with her baby on multiple occasions, who appears to remind him of his mother. This indicates to me that he thinks of his mother and the circumstances in which he grew up with her with some regularity.

When he later confronts Kenny in the same arc, he specifically questions Kenny regarding the relationship he had with his mother, again indicating that Levi's mother took up significant space in his thoughts.

While we know Kuchel chose to keep Levi (rather than abort him), thus indicating Levi was a desired baby, it's evident that Levi's upbringing overall was damaging and distressing due to the severe poverty, food insecurity, and violence he endured as a young child. Accordingly, it's safe to assume that these memories related to his mother were likely to be both unwanted and upsetting.

We also have this panel during the War for Paradis arc, during which Levi ruminates on the deaths of his comrades and the purpose behind having saved Eren's life so many times. His facial expressions are truly crushing and filled with deep despair.

In terms of nightmares, we know that Levi experiences some truly disturbing dreams from the "Smartpass Good Night, Dear and Sweet Dreams Vol. 02" short story, in which he envisions his closest comrades all morphing into a sea of blood on a red carpet. Clearly, the affect of his dream has been influenced by the specter of death constantly looming over him.

Criterion C: avoidance

The full phrasing of this symptom (trauma-related external reminders) is, "Avoidance of or efforts to avoid external reminders (people, places, conversations, activities, objects, situations) that arouse distressing memories, thoughts, or feelings about or closely associated with the traumatic event(s)." Similar to the unwanted upsetting memories symptom under Criterion B, there is not direct canon evidence, but I do believe there is enough to make some inferences.

Primarily, what sticks out to me about Levi is the fact that no one near him seems to have knowledge of his past, which indicates he does not talk about it. When his past is brought up, it's always people who have some direct knowledge about it speaking on it (e.g., Kenny or Erwin). This is shown both directly in canon, such as when Petra speaks to Eren regarding the rumors of Levi's recruitment into the Survey Corps, and in supplemental Smartpass content, like the Close Up interview with Erwin and Levi.

This comes across to me as an effort to avoid conversations, and thus, reminders and memories about the topic.

Criterion D: negative alterations in cognitions and mood

There's quite a lot of evidence for these in canon.

In terms of overly negative thoughts and assumptions about oneself or the world, Levi has plenty. He appears to have the persistent belief that he only exists to be of service and use to others; he views himself as a tool, one which has no value if he is not directly contributing to something. This is exemplified by the following panels:

When Erwin asks Levi if he would be willing to be in charge of keeping the titan serum and determining whom to use it on, Levi answers with, "Why would you bother asking me?" This shows that Levi has no regard for his own personal feelings.

When Erwin and Levi are discussing the plan to take down the Beast Titan during the Reclamation of Wall Maria, Levi expresses his agreement with the plan by remarking that taking down the Beast Titan will act as him "[making] amends for failing to kill that armored brat earlier." This shows that Levi viewed it as his responsibility, and thus, his failure to take down Reiner. He placed an undue burden on himself here, casting blame for outcomes that should not be solely attributed to him.

And then there's this panel in the lead-up to the final battle, in which a severely wounded Levi is being reprimanded by Armin for being reckless and not resting, in light of his injuries. Levi responds, "... You want me asleep in bed? You're going to forget I even exist if I rest any longer." Levi suffered truly disabling injuries, and yet, he shows complete disregard for himself—concerned that no one will remember him if he is not actively fighting. This shows a projection of his own lack of self-worth onto how he believes others view him: if he is not useful, then he does not matter. Levi also shows disdain at the concept of resting and having been asleep, as if that's somehow a sign of laziness on his part, which is of course, untrue. No one would have faulted him for resting—he truly needed and deserved to rest.

We also know that Levi blamed himself for Kenny leaving him, which can be surmised from interviews with Isayama and the expression on Levi's face when Kenny abandoned him. Levi also asks Kenny why Kenny left him, which shows a certain preoccupation on Levi's part, wherein he worried there must have been something inherently wrong with him to make Kenny leave.

On the topic of Kenny and Levi, Isayama is quoted as saying:

"Levi still had the experience of being separated from Kenny during his childhood. He was constantly troubled by the thought of "Kenny left because I couldn't fulfill his expectations." When the Uprising occurred within the walls, and he confronted Kenny again as an enemy, Levi sought to meet what couldn't be satisfied previously." (x)

Regarding both negative affect and difficulty experiencing positive affect, Levi's expression and mood is frequently shown as depressed. There's a great post by @cosmicjoke on the topic. In terms of the latter, Levi laughs and smiles so infrequently that it's a significant moment at the conclusion of the Uprising arc when he smiles after Historia playfully punches him.

For decreased interest in activities, the full phrasing is, "Markedly diminished interest or participation in significant activities." Levi's character is contrasted with all the other characters in the series in the sense that he has no dreams of his own. Both Armin and Hange have that greater curiosity about the unknowns of the world, represented by the sea and titans; Erwin is similar in that he desired to validate his dad's theories about the outside world and the existence of other humans; Eren craved freedom above all else; etc. Levi, on the other hand, is never shown as having those same dreams and ambitions. Hence, I would say he demonstrates a markedly diminished participation in significant activities, as even though his complete lack of self-interest is immensely admirable, it is also deeply tragic—particularly as dreams and ambitions are often crucial for one's psychological well-being.

And then we also have feeling isolated, for which the full phrasing is, "Feelings of detachment or estrangement from others." On the topic of Levi and relationships, Isayama is quoted as saying, "It’s likely because he is afraid of forming close relationships. Because he exists in a world where one can be eaten by a Titan at any time, he consistently avoids building 'family'-like connections with others." (x)

This manga panel is a good example of how Levi views himself as detached from others. Pay attention to the phrasing: "And I doubt normal people think about these things on a daily basis... So that means I'm abnormal... Probably because I've seen far too many abnormal things."

Criterion E: alterations in arousal and reactivity

With all of the above laid out, Criterion E becomes very easy to meet.

For irritability or aggression, this is one of Levi's known character flaws, borne as a result of his upbringing.

For risky or self-destructive behavior, we have clear instances of Levi engaging in battle to the detriment of his physical well-being.

For hypervigilance, the last manga panel I attached provides a good example of that.

For difficulty sleeping, Levi is famously an insomniac, often quoted as getting 2-4 hours of sleep a night.

Criterions F, G, and H: duration, functional significance, and exclusion

Have the duration of Levi's symptoms been greater than one month? Yes.

Do the symptoms result in distress or functional impairment? Yes.

Are the symptoms more attributable to the physiological effects of a substance or another medical condition? No.

Thus, Criterions F, G, and H are met.

Citations

American Psychiatric Association. (2022). Trauma- and stressor-related disorders. In Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (5th ed., text rev.).

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #medium: anime/manga #anime: snk #c: levi ackerman #my thoughts #snk meta #I wrote this instead of doing my grad school work #goodness poor Levi #He suffers so much

[archivalofsins]

The Re-traumatization of Amane Momose

Today, I'll be discussing Amane Momose's case with @apatchworkstar. (Hi, it's Star! I hope you enjoy this post; or at the very least, find it informative!)

Specifically we'll be discussing the ties it has to trauma and retraumatization. This is a two-part post that covers the entirety of Amane's case. Part two will be added when it is completed.

Over the course of these posts, I set out to prove that Amane Momose’s previous verdict has caused long-term mental distress, anguish, and mixed with the actions of other prisoners has served to retraumatize her. Then highlight how due to these upsetting events and environmental triggers Amane Momose has fallen back on the teachings of her mother for a sense of security, safety, and allusion of control.

Leading to the tangible regression we see throughout Purge March. Along the way we'll be highlighting how the audience's previous choices were responsible for eliciting this trauma response and the danger each prisoner within Milgram poses to others there including Amane Momose herself.

1. Re-traumatization

Firstly, let’s talk about retraumatization,

What is it?

“Retraumatization is reliving stress reactions experienced as a result of a traumatic event when faced with a new, similar incident. However, as the result of the passing of time many people do not realize the stress they are experiencing is related to an earlier trauma in their lives. A current experience is subconsciously associated with the original trauma, reawakening memories and reactions, which can be distressing. This type of reaction is common and survivors should realize there are steps that can be taken to manage or relieve symptoms.”

“Survivors typically cope with retraumatization by employing avoidant coping strategies originally developed during childhood to cope with the original abuse. The experience of retraumatization appears to lower survivors’ threshold for future retraumatization by confirming survivors’ view of healthcare as a threatening experience. Without intervention, retraumatization can result in unhealthy outcomes due to the negative effects of stress on survivors’ mental and physical health along with interruptions in healthcare caused by avoidant coping.” - “A number of reports suggest that mental health patients may experience exacerbation of post-traumatic symptoms due to encounters in the mental health system, such as violence by other clients or forcible restraint by male attendants (Center for Mental Health Services & Human Resource Association of the Northeast, 1995; Geanellos, 2003; Jennings & Ralph, 1997; Smith, 1995). A Massachusetts task force investigating the effect of restraints on abused populations reported that research indicates at least half of all women treated in psychiatric settings have a history of physical or sexual abuse. The task force found that the use of restraints on people who have been previously abused often results in the reactivation of trauma symptoms and can cause setbacks in treatment (Carmen et al., 1996). The task force developed a specific set of guidelines for assessing clients’ trauma history and recommended altering restraint and seclusion policies to reduce risk of retraumatization.”

X- (TW: For mentions of childhood SA. Because it's a study on the retraumatization process in survivors of that.)

(Star, here! A clear example of Amane employing one such avoidant coping mechanism is shown through this image.

The umbrella is represented as both her shield and her weapon. A perfect visualization of how Amane views her faith. Not only as a shield from persecutions or a justification of her behaviors as we see in her first voice drama,

"The standards that judge my sins are somewhere else – in my heart, my blood, my entire body, they are firmly rooted in all those places!" And within those standards, your murder was not a sin? "Exactly!" "I see." "Ah, I am looking forward to it! Seeing whether your judgement will align with that of these higher standards! If that is the case, maybe Milgram would be the right world for us to live in, rather than the outside world! Milgram relies on your judgement, isn’t that right? In that case, you could become the mediator for a far more righteous world!!" And if my judgement is not in your favor, what will you do? "I will refuse your judgement."

This shows that Amane falls back on the teachings of her cult to regain a sense of autonomy during stressful or traumatic situations. Possibly a coping mechanism she developed during her time under her family's care. It was a mentality that likely shielded her from some of the rougher emotional impact that kind of abuse can have on someone simultaneously giving her a sense of control and possibly hope that things may improve. It did not remain just a shield though.

Over time, this became an offensive weapon to fight back against injustice or the incorrectness in the world that was befalling her. Something displayed by the umbrella being represented as a scepter within her mental space.

All of this comes together to display how Amane uses her religious teachings as a coping mechanism to hold onto some form of autonomy and as something to use to fight against perceived threats.

This is not only displayed through these visuals but these lines from her song as well,

Magic

``Even I can say "I'm sorry". Even I have hope. I swear! I'm going to be a good girl now! That's it!" - "Not meaning to brag, but I’m pretty happy; I’ve made up my mind so they don’t make that face at me again. But it’s not scary at all, because it’s love! I can really think it’s great. See, isn’t it a great thing?"- "I won’t say “I’ve had enough”; Will you laugh with me and forgive me?"

Purge March

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! It’s the beginning of a most wonderful day! However, there are blasphemers and silent bystanders, who would have it otherwise. We must not give into them; they are the ones that should be judged! With pure, unsullied body and soul, let us preach all that is true and right." - "I disavow you, eyes corrupted must be crushed."

Amane uses her faith how one actively chooses to use an umbrella as a shield against rain. Relying on it to help see her way through bad weather. Using it as support during difficult or distressing times.

Rain is something that can be thought of by some as "good" in small doses, but eventually you need to get out something to stop yourself from getting drenched and falling ill.

In Purge March, rain is heavily associated with the abuse that Amane faced growing up in her household. It is also consistently present within her mindscape; specifically, as confetti when she isn't being directly punished. This shows that Amane is aware of her abuse's omnipresence and is hypervigilant to what may trigger a flare up in punishment.

The fact that it is usually confetti alludes to her softening what it is until it gets so bad, she can't ignore it anymore. Something that we briefly see her attempt to do before the confetti turns colorful and her eyes change,

Before breaking into colorful confetti, we see Amane look up to the sky through her umbrella as it begins to rain. As though searching for a reason, a silver lining or any justification of what has just occurred. A way that she can think of this as a great thing before realizing she can't. Not just because it simply isn't a great thing, but because someone (more than likely her mother) has broken a promise to her somehow (more than likely by killing the cat because it's very common for abusive parents to go of if you just do one thing or take this punishment nothing else will happen I'll never bring it up again actually just to not do that.). Something illustrated through these lyrics in Purge March,

"I don’t need it any more, if you’re going to break your vow."

The color in the confetti illustrates the change from being the punished to the punisher. As they march forward from beneath that endless white.)

Things that may cause retraumatization and the signs of it.

Negative thoughts. Feeling on edge very anxious tense or easily startled. Intense feelings of guilt, anger, fear, anxiety, horror, sadness, shame, or despair.

22/04/19 (Futa’s Birthday)

Futa: Ahh...... I'm not wrong...... I wasn't doing anything wrong...... Shut up, why are you going on and on about something so minor...... It has nothing to do with you...... Aaahhh......

Amane: Oh, were you talking to yourself, Futa-san? Or maybe there’s something there you’re able to see?

Futa: ……! O-oh, it’s just you. It’s nothing. ……but well, on that note. Hey- Don’t you have anything  happening too? Since being in here, just suddenly getting anxious. Feeling as though loads of people are all there condemning you, telling you- You were wrong.

Amane: ……I’m fine. I don’t know what you’ve done or what it is you’re worried about- But I think if there’s something you believe in, you should stay true to it. It’s not something that should waver just because other people said something. I personally don’t plan on changing my own beliefs even if I’m told I’m wrong either…… …today is your birthday, correct? I’ll pray for God to keep you under his care.

"It’s so hot, so hard to breath, there’s no solace for my heart."

"Or maybe there's something there you're able to see?"

Backdraft

"Don’t get cocky, you in that cypher." - "The fight’s up here! Come up to the ring and face me!"- "You and you, throwing around rules for fun, hoisting up morality and feeling good. Should I succumb, make your wish come true? Full of yourselves, are you?"

Dissociation. Experiencing strong reactions to triggers. Social withdrawal and isolation. Avoidance of people, places, or situations related to the traumatic event.

22/10/24 (Shidou’s Birthday)

Amane: ……Kirisaki Shidou. How long do you plan on continuing this foolish behaviour?

Shidou: I wonder what you might be referring to there. I’m just doing what I need to do. If anything, I’d be happy if you would lend me a hand.

Amane: I warned you. I can no longer turn a blind eye to this wickedness taking place right in front of us. You’re bringing ruin unto yourself. Do you understand?

Shidou: No, I don’t understand. It’s my job as an adult to teach you that throwing a temper tantrum isn’t going to make everything go your way. If it’s a test of endurance you want, I’m happy to oblige, Amane.

"No, I don't understand."- "And furthermore- This may be outside of profession, but her mental health is deteriorating as well."

It is outside of his profession and that is perfectly illustrated by the fact that he only highlights Mahiru's deteriorating mental health and says nothing about the others.

23/01/17 (Mahiru’s Birthday)

Amane: Happy birthday. Mahiru-san. How is your body feeling?

Mahiru: ……ah, Amane-chan. Thank you. Yeah, I’m fine. Now I can move around if I use a wheelchair…… It’s all thanks to Shidou-san looking after me……

Amane: I’ll give you one warning. The two of you are dabbling in something tabooed. If you continue to go against the way of nature like this, you’ll just bring an early death upon yourself. Think hard about this.

Mahiru: Amane-chan……? Are you really Amane-chan……?

"You’ll just bring an early death upon yourself."

Q.10 Which of the other prisoners do you get along with?

Kazui: Shidou-kun, Mikoto and me all smoke together, so I think we get along well.

Amane: If I had to pick someone, then Yuno-san and Mahiru-san.

Amane's Second Voice Drama

Amane. Don’t think you’ll be able to lead the conversation with that total change in attitude. Is it the result of the judgment that you’ve ended up like this?

"“Like this”?"

The dazed look in your eyes. The atmosphere around you. The way you speak. In comparison to the first trial, it’s like you’re a different person.

"Hm."

Everyone who was unforgiven told me they heard voices judging their sins. They’re experiencing a lot of emotional stress as a result. Were your changes influenced by that as well?

"Hah? Those stupid voices, huh? Yeah. I have heard them as well. However, such things do not pose a major problem."

What?

"We have firm teachings. We have a clear and noble faith. No matter what kinds of things other people might say, these things cannot be shaken."

21/10/06 (Mikoto’s Birthday)

Mikoto: ……ah, Futa? What’s up? Did you come to celebrate my birthday?

Futa: Hah!? Like I care about your birthday. ……what’s up with you, though, you’re usually a lot more excited. I thought you were the sort of idiot who’d make a big deal over your birthday.

Mikoto: Yeah, usually that’d be the case. ……I think I must be getting tired. It’s like I’m anxious over something but I can’t really explain what it is…… Like, the feeling that I’ve been totally wrong about something. Haha, but it’s not like talking to you about it is gonna do anything.

Futa: Yeah, yeah, just like you say. Talking to me about it isn’t gonna help. ……but, it’s not like I don’t get what you’re saying. Or rather, I understand exactly what you mean. And if it’s the same thing as I’ve been feeling, then it will just get stronger as time goes on…..probably.

22/10/06 (Mikoto’s Birthday)

Haruka: Mikoto-san. Um, are you ok……?

Mikoto: Ah, Haru-kun. It’s been a while since we last talked, huh. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you doing ok……?

Haruka: Ah, I’m fine. I’ve been enjoying myself, a lot. Um, I’m sorry, for avoiding you. I was a bit scared. Of you, honestly……

Mikoto: Ahhh, yeah. I’ve been lashing out whenever I go to sleep, right? ……it’s fine. Even I think you’re right to be scared. You know, I kinda just hate that I don’t even know what’s going on myself…… haha. Ah, but despite all that you still came and talked to me because it’s my birthday, right? Thank you, you’ve grown into a good man.

Q.07 Are there any prisoners you get along with?

Shidou: Kayano-kun has become like that, and I can’t spend my time smoking at the moment, so the smoking trio has disbanded, which is a bit lonely.

Mahiru: I talk to Shidou-san a lot now, since he’s looking at my injuries. Also, Yuno-chan.

"I should have saved you, but why are you crying? Rely on me, praise with your song, I am your savior."

Practice your spiritual beliefs or reach out to a Faith Leader for support,

"Hm. Is that so? Are the prisoners who weren’t forgiven feeling lost right now? Maybe they need our faith as well."

23/04/19 (Futa’s Birthday)

Futa: ……! Oi, is it just you. Don’t scare me like that. You shouldn’t just stand there saying nothing. Hah, what? Did you just come to laugh at me for being weak? Dumb brat.

Amane: No. I just came to observe. To see what people are thinking. To see who is being corrupted. What about you, Kajiyama Futa?

Futa: I understand even less of what you're saying than I did before. Brat, you're on the side who weren't forgiven too, right? ......So, why can you still stand? Don't- you can hear it too? The voices blaming us. ......I don't have the energy to do anything like this.

Amane: It goes without saying. Because there’s something far more important than the voices of people we can’t even see. People are able to get back up again. As long as there’s something to guide them. Kajiyama Futa, by coincidence today happens to be your birthday, correct? Don’t you think it’s a good opportunity to be reborn? If, right now, you could shake off those around you trying to drag you down to depravity, and could change––

23/06/27 (Amane’s Birthday)

Amane: What is it…… Kashiki Yuno. Don’t sit so close to me. Go away.

Yuno: Sorry for barging in when you’re getting into your worldview thing. But Mahiru-san’s finally managed to get to sleep. Humour me with some small talk while I take a break. By the way, Amane. Have you ever wished you were never born? I’ve thankfully lived a pretty fun life so far, so haven’t really. But you seem to be struggling with something. So I kinda wondered if you thought like that.

Amane: ……I don’t think that. Being born into this world is the first miracle any person experiences and is something to celebrate. Even if after birth I was put through trial after trial, the value of that will never disappear.

Yuno: Hmm. Ok. ……happy birthday, then. It’s good that you were brought into the world, I guess.

23/07/05 (Mu’s Birthday)

Futa: Oi, you. Is he ok? He’s not even left his room lately.

Mu: You mean Haruka-kun? Hmm. Yeah, probably. I’ve been bringing all his meals to him so he should be fine. Isn’t that great of me?

Futa: Hah? Who the hell says that sort of thing about themself. ……ah, no, well, right now I understand a bit. When you’re feeling down, it’s nice to have someone who relies on you and accepts you. The rest of us can’t really understand you from where we’re standing. But well, if you’re Haruka’s “salvation” then I guess it really is great.

Mu: Salvation……? I don’t know what you mean. Futa-kun, you don’t sound like yourself. Did you hit your head or something? Oh, wait, you actually did, didn’t you. Ahaha. Ah, putting that aside though, did you know it’s my birthday today?

"Then I guess it really is great."

Magic

"I can actually think of it as a good thing, see isn’t it a great thing?"- "I can really think it’s great. See isn’t it a great thing?"

Backdraft

"Is it all ok if I offer penance? No helping it, out of the question."

"Pressure, pressure! Falling head down- Pressure, pressure! Whatever you do, you’re still last in line- Pressure, pressure! Applause receding far away- Me, the result of blame-shifting, no, can’t find that funny- With just one mistake and I’m out of chances Bless me, please, with one more chance- It’s not even my fault, not even slightly."

"Pick up your mouth-piece Grind your teeth and strike a pose Just like O2, burn yourselves into oblivion."

"Oblivion and the River Lethe Oblivion asks forgetfulness of us in both its meaning and etymology. The word’s Latin source, oblīvīscī, means “to forget; to put out of mind,” and since its 14th century adoption into English, oblivion has hewed close to meanings having to do with forgetting. The word has also long had an association with the River Lethe, which according to Greek myth flowed through the Underworld and caused anyone who drank its water to forget their past; 17th century poet John Milton wrote about “Lethe the River of Oblivion” in Paradise Lost. The adjective oblivious (“lacking remembrance, memory, or mindful attention”) followed oblivion a century later, but not into oblivion—both words have proved obdurate against the erosive currents of time."

Synonyms: Forgetfulness, Nirvana, Obliviousness.

"Burn yourselves into oblivion- Burn, burn! Open this door and check if you want to I’ll deign to hear your last words if you want, a vanishing FIRE."

Eternal Oblivion- A philosophical, scientific, religious concept stating that's one consciousness ceases forever upon death. This concept is commonly tied to religious skepticism, secular humanism, nihilism, and atheism.

"'Tis ordained, thou shall follow thine destiny. 'Tis ordained, thou shall discard vulgarity. 'Tis ordained, thou shall deliver unto those thou believest in. 'Tis ordained, thou shall stay thine course, then perish."

Q.12 What is the meaning of life?

Kazui: Who knows. If you ever find out, let me know.

Amane: I think it’s something you first understand when you reach the end of your life and look back on it. I’m doing my best to live in a way that I won’t regret when that time comes.

"Being born into this world is the first miracle any person experiences and is something to celebrate. Even if after birth I was put through trial after trial, the value of that will never disappear."

@doctorbunny Also reminded me that Futa's second voice drama is literally called, "Baptism by Fire" as well. Yeah, trial two is shaping up to be the cult-gram prelude whether Amane is Innocent or not. So, have fun with that everybody. Oh, and it'd be super nice if people stop deluding themselves into believing the outcome of this trial is going to stop something that has already occurred/has been occurring thanks.

Now back to the topic at hand-

All of these are signs of retraumatization not just in Amane but two other prisoners as well. Yet, if that's not enough- What else shows us that Amane has been retraumatized?

Well, Purge March visualizes perfectly that these circumstances have retraumatized Amane. Especially if one were to take the visuals from Magic and her most recent mv and compare them. Something many people outside of myself have done.

People have pointed out that in Magic we see Amane riding on top of a cloud. However, the entire set that Amane is standing on is a Heaven on Earth of sorts where she takes center stage.

The white cloud-like structures around the rainbow stepped pedestal with the old symbol of the cult firmly behind it as Amane turns away from it at the start of the song.

Before the clouds cover up her face and fade us into this,

Amane bursting up from beneath the cloud, appearing to sit on top of it in confusion and shock. She holds this confused and shocked expression until all the others float around and then she's by herself again at which point she smiles.

It's only when they are shown not to visibly be around (it's implied they're still around just not directly near her) does she smile- After this the mascots circle beside her again. In a familiar way at this point- Well in a way I feel should be familiar considering how much Purga March has been viewed over the past few days-

The cloud displaying the title of Amane's first song resembling the symbol on the flag that we see in Purge March. The mascots circling the symbol with Amane around her song's title. A song and title that like with the other prisoners is something uniquely hers. So, I find it curious that instead of using the symbol associated with the cult the double clouds- Something again she displays prominently at the beginning she instead puts her song title on a singular cloud and has these mascots circling it.

Creating a vague visual illustration of the symbol on the flag they carry at the end. Something unique to them that she created all on her own.

The cycle of punishment displayed throughout the song also only begins after Amane and the mascots have fallen from on top of the clouds as well. Going under them. Purge March follows up on this by visually illustrating again that punishment is represented not only by being submerged in water but overshadowed or smothered by any sort of force. Be it the clouds or her mother's shadow or hand.

Something is always above Amane when she is getting punished.

"After you cry, repent, and kneel, it’s now your turn to say that hopeless “I’m sorry”." - "I'm sorry! Sorry! I'm sorry for breaking the rules..."

"Remember MY cries, MY repents, MY words of “I’m sorry” that I said to you?"

This is something that is further displayed through the imagery used to end off Purge March and the way it mirrors how Magic ends,

No longer is Amane beneath these clouds but in front of them once again as Magic started. Amane is now able to act on her own beliefs at her own discretion. It's even more telling that she goes from standing with Yuri and Riyone to by herself and pointing her wand at someone.

What we can tell from the use of clouds, and shadows over the course of Magic and Purge March- Is that when Amane is beneath them it is a sign of her not having control of the situation and being subject to the whims or beliefs of others. This is why we believe the fact that Amane remains beneath clouds throughout most of Purge March is indicative of her declining mental health and a sign that this experience has retraumatized her.

2. Reactive Abuse

Star here. I would also like to touch upon the concept of "reactive abuse" and how it may play a factor in both the prisoners and Milgram as a whole.

Reactive Abuse, is a term used to describe when a victim reacts in a volatile manner (that could be perceived as abusive to those uninvolved or uninformed about the situation) in response to their abuse. This term is not meant to be used in a way to blame the victim or shift any of the responsibility for the abuse onto them but describe in further depth the multitude of responses individuals can have while undergoing abuse.

How a victim responds to their abuse/abuser does not immediately turn them into an abuser themselves. The lack of knowledge around this phenomenon and the various ways people can respond to abuse has created a situation where the victim's response to the abuse can be viewed as abusive. Especially when the way the victim responds is viewed as socially unacceptable or abusive itself.

This makes it appear as though the actions of a victim trying to defend themselves are on the same level as an abuser harming their victim. Sometimes causing it to appear that there are two abusers in the relationship when there is only one. This is made even worse by the fact that sometimes abusive individuals count on their victim responding in this way or goad them into responding in that way to make themselves appear better or their behavior seem more justified in the eyes of outsiders.

A prime example of this would be intentionally acting in a way that the abusive party knows will elicit this sort of response from the victim- So the abuser can record the victim’s behaviour and claim that how the victim behaved was worse.

A side note, but it's a fair possibility that this happened to Mikoto, hence his hypervigilance regarding being filmed without knowledge.

20/05/25

Mikoto: ……I’ve really got caught up in some trouble, huh. What even is this place? It’s probably a TV reality show or something. ……but to think someone in this day and age would try to do a project that could land them in so much trouble. Uh…… Mahiru: Ah…… I’m Shina Mahiru! You can just call me Mahiru. And you are……? Mikoto: Kayano Mikoto. I’m fine with just Mikoto too. Ahh, I’m glad there’s someone here who’s easy to talk to…… It’s nice to meet you, Mappy. Mahiru: ………………Mappy???

20/05/31

Mu: Hey, Mikoto-kun, aren’t you scared of this place……? You can’t think of any reason you ended up here, right……? Mikoto: Ahh, yeah. Of course, it’s not like I’m not scared at all. But just between you and me…… I still haven’t dropped the thought that this could all just be a TV show. I mean, I really haven’t ever murdered anyone.……and if that is the case, we’re definitely being monitored. For like a prank setup or something. Wouldn’t it be super uncool and embarrassing to get angry or lash out and have it shown on prime time? Mu: Is that what you think……? A prank, huh…… I hope that’s all it is…… Mikoto: Ah! If that is the case, then you’ll probably be super popular since you’re so cute, Mucchan! There’s a lot of girls out there who make their big break coming off reality shows like that!

20/06/15

Mikoto: Hey, it’s kinda a bother having you be so angry and tense all the time. You should stop trying to get everyone to pay attention to you. You’re a uni student, right? You can’t act like that once you start working properly. Futa: Huh!? Shut up. Not like I care what you say. Even though we’re in this shitty situation, you’re just chatting away, it’s stupid. Aren’t you the one who’s acting out of place here?……also the fact you give everyone nicknames is just gross. Mikoto: *sigh* It’s more stupid to be taking this all so seriously. I mean, it’s definitely just a reality TV program. There’s no way a real prison exists that’s this lax. Also, I don’t give nicknames to everyone. I don’t give them to young kids like Amane, or to the hard-to-approach types like Shidou-san. I mean, I’m not giving you one, right? Futa: ……oi, which group are you trying to say I am?

First trial website voice line

“Ah, I got it! This must be some sort of reality show. There’s no way it’s broadcasted, so maybe an online program?”

John Doe

Your name and age? "Uh… Mikoto Kayano, 23. Wait, no! I've been wanting to talk to you this whole time, guard-kun!" What is it? Make it short. "Alright… when is this whole thing going to end?" Huh? "No, it's obvious, isn't it?! Suddenly being dragged to a place like this, being told all this weird stuff about killers and all that– is this some kind of comedy? A reality TV show? One of those monitoring things? I've been holding on to that thought this whole time, and that was also the reason I tried to get along with the others! Y'know – because that'll look better on a TV show, right?! But look, this is stretching out for way too long…! What's up with this?" ......You really still believe that? That MILGRAM is some kind of joke? "I do! Of course I do! I mean… I really don't remember. Even if you talk about sins or murderers– I don't know about any of that! I'm just a normal worker at a company…"

This is a concept shown very well in Purge March. The way Purge March ends is with Amane proclaiming that she’ll punish her abuser in the same way they abused her.

“Here and now, it’s my turn to tear you apart. So there is no second time, I’ll give back the judgment that you gave to me.”

You will see that is exactly what she did. She waterboards her abuser, likely tases them and then beats them- to death in this case. Though given the size of the bruise on Amane, it seems as though she just gave as good as she got.

One could argue that this is happening within Milgram too. Es intentionally pushes Amane, Fuuta and Mikoto to their mental limit within Milgram, provoking a (rightfully upset) reaction.

For Amane, in both Apostle and Death and Of Blessedness and Punishment, Es goads her into reacting in a volatile manner by repeatedly throwing her wish to not be treated like a child in her face, dismissive of her ideals and belief system at best, though mocking would be a better descriptor. When she does reach her limit and react, they make fun of her. The only exception to this is in Of Blessedness and Punishment, where Amane pushes Es’ sore spot. That being a fragmented identity. She then proceeds to mock them right back, asking them if they are alright before saying to get better by themselves as this is a trial from god.

With Fuuta, Es takes overt advantage of how quickly Fuuta is to react to others’ input and how he takes people at face value. This happens in both trials in different ways. In Braze You, it was Es making the active decision to tease Fuuta since he acted the most stereotypical to being put in this situation. In Baptism of Fire, they give Fuuta a small glimpse of hope about being voted innocent before turning around and saying that they’ll judge no matter how much their “comrades” cry. When Fuuta lashes out at this, saying that he'll kill Es if they don’t vote him innocent, they dismiss him. They state that if they truly are the same, then they’ll get whats coming to them at some point anyways.

As for Mikoto, in John Doe, Es repeatedly pushes on the idea that Mikoto killed someone but forgot. This is despite the fact that Mikoto is in clear distress about the concept. They also mimic how he speaks when doing so, using speech mannerisms such as “it’s only natural to think that, right?” and “That’s the only logical conclusion”. This pushes Mikoto to switch, his other personality doing his best to shut Es up and prevent more mental harm. This is the only reaction to throw Es off, but even then, they continue to egg on the other personality. This results in the other personality laying into Es harder until Kotoko intervenes.

Es also attempts this with Haruka, though to varying degrees of success. In The Writhing of the Weak, Es attempts to get a volatile reaction from Haruka, by acting as a stereotypical “bad cop”. They are instead blindsided by how subservient he comes across, and how easily he accepts any form of attention. It doesn’t matter if it’s framed in a negative or positive light, Haruka’s just happy to have someone look at him. In Metamorphosis of the Weak, however, Es manages to draw out a response by stating the fact that Haruka isn’t out of the woods yet. Haruka reacts in three different ways here.

One, stating that Es is weird and mean for taking back their acceptance after voting him innocent (likely due to Muu’s influence, as that’s a complaint that she’d have).

Two, stating that he can kill anything smaller than him (presumably a train of logic that lead to his murder).

Three, saying that Es wasn’t his mother and only Muu was, before threatening violence against Es if Muu wasn’t voted innocent. When they remind him that the prisoners can’t attack the guard, he switches tacks and says he’ll die if she isn’t voted innocent, before bragging that he can learn. When Es calls him a dumb ass for this, he replies that he was born one.

Es is also aided by the fact that they are within a position of power compared to the prisoners with their status as “warden”. It doesn’t seem to occur to Es that this nebulous position could be ripped away from them at any time by Jackalope.

Es is put in a position where the audience would want to sympathize with them, due to factors such as age, lack of memories and being pushed into a position of heavy judgements without prior preparation. There’s also the fact that they are a stand in for us. This means the audience are more likely to excuse or defend their behaviour. Adding all this together, if the prisoner reacts in a way that’s considered “unsuitable” the audience is predisposed to be on Es’ side. Saying things such as “the prisoners are being unreasonable” and that “if they were truly sorry, they wouldn’t be reacting like that”.

3. Why was Amane retraumatized by her verdict and Milgram?

So, with all that out of the way... We've explained a few things.

Firstly we've explained what retraumatization is and how it may be impacting multiple prisoners. Secondly, we explained the reasoning behind our belief that Amane has been retraumatized by her previous verdict. Then thirdly we explained reactive abuse and how that may play a factor in some of the prisoners' mannerisms.

However, we haven't touched on why exactly Amane was retraumatized by her verdict. She states that she doesn't really mind the voices because something like that can't shake her beliefs.

Plus, she even takes it a step further stating she's already been told these sorts of things before,

Amane Second Voice Drama

"Aren’t we the same? Me and Warden-san. You know, I’m aware that I’m out of the ordinary. That my environment was peculiar, and that everyone [else] is normal."

Amane…

"In fact, there have been people who said that to me. I’ve been told things like, “You’re being deceived.” “You can still make it right now.” “You’re crazy.”."

…

"You are treating me as a child after all. Because I’m a child, you believe that I must have been brainwashed. It’s not like that. I, too— children, too, understand everything! Please don’t just decide that people must be unhappy."

…

"I’m happy that I was born to my parents! It was a bit difficult, and it could feel restrictive sometimes, but I’m really happy that I could grow up on such beautiful teachings! I want to live this way!"

However, she states this in terms of her religious beliefs. Something she's only fallen back on after her retraumatization. The core request within Magic was never please say my cult is good but Amane asking if it was alright for her to act in her own self-interest,

"Dear wise one, Am I worthy? Is it ok to spoil myself?" - "Is it ok to be weak sometimes?"

So, what was denied by the audience was Amane's right to make decisions for herself, not the cult's doctrines. Making it no surprise in retrospect that she would fall back on these teachings to reinforce her worldview. Add onto that the punishment Milgram gave is literally one of the forms of abuse she underwent constantly hearing voices berating you-

Amane Trial 1 Voice Drama

I've kept you waiting, Amane.

"Yes, you did. You're late."

Alright, let us start the interrogation.

"I don't want to."

Hah?

"I won't acknowledge it."

What do you mean?

"It is your duty to apologize to me first."

Uh-huh...

"Nh...Do you understand?!"

...?

"It is vital to always be on time for things. When you do something wrong, you need to apologize. These are both my personal rules and the rules of society."

Are you done? I would like to start the interrogation.

"No, I am not done talking. I need to make sure you are aware of your mistake."

Sigh...

"Why are you making a face like that? Is there something you want to say?"

I'm not in the mood to play around with you... Listen, Amane.

"What is it?"

Don't get the wrong idea. You are an inmate, and I am the warden. That's our dynamic. I have no intention of letting you order me around.

"Hm... But if you're the warden, as you say you are- Shouldn't you take the prisoners' opinions into consideration?"

Don't make me laugh. I'm not your teacher at school; it isn't my goal to teach you things or guide you on the right path. Milgram's goal isn't to turn you back into decent human beings and get you back into normal society. What's needed here are firm honest judgements and decisions.

"Judgements and decisions..."

All that is needed is a decision on whether your crimes are forgivable or not. I don't have any responsibility beyond that. And I have no intention of letting myself be fooled by the impression you are just a little kid.

"I see. Is that so..."

It is. Now let's get to the interroga-

"Then, please apologize to me not as the warden but as yourself."

...As myself?

"Yes. It is only natural for a person to apologize to another for breaking a promise."

...

"Why are you looking so doubtful? Are you not human?"

No, I'm sure you're right. ... I apologize.

"Okay! I'm kind, so I shall forgive you. That's nice, isn't it? If my parents were in my place you would have been lectured for another hour."

I'm glad I wasn't born into your family.

"...Is that so? Alright, we're running late. So, let's start the interrogation!"

(I think it's important to note that Amane has parents here meaning both of them would have lectured here for another hour. Not just her mom.)

And what is hearing these voices but constant lecturing and berating with no end? Not even the freedom of thought she used to have in order to cope with these things. It's a new sort of sound torture where someone isn't even safe in their own mind.

Also, I thought it'd be fun to point out this other similarity in thinking between Futa and Amane,

Q.01 What do friends mean to you?

Futa: People who get excited about the same things as you.

Bring It On

"You apologize if you do something wrong, you learn that even before words, don’t you?" - "When you do something wrong, you need to apologize. These are both my personal rules and the rules of society."/ "Yes. It is only natural for a person to apologize to another for breaking a promise."

This part of her first interrogation may also be why they say this in their second,

"But we are generous. For now, let us make some time for a conversation with you. After all, our history is one that is built on dialogue."

Next time in part two- (Also known as next time on my declining mental health and Star's increasing sleep deprivation!)

#milgram #amane momose #tw cults #tw child abuse #tw abuse