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#tw; ghost mentality
shiroi---kumo · 6 months
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@lunaferrous || [[ X ]]
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⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ What words do ghosts have to say in the face of men? Dead men tell no tales and he would be no different. It was an off the cuff comment but with the way the night had been progressing, it simply came to mind and slips from his lips before he had a moment to pull it back into the cage that stored his secrets deep within his lungs.
Was he speaking for himself or for someone else and it's funny that she puts it that way because he almost doesn't know. The boy in the back of his mind was too naive to understand what was being done to him and the beasts that crawled from his corpse were only left to survive in his wake. A child would know when to run, she says.
A child would know when to run from pain, she claims but then he wonders if it is she this time that does not understand exactly what is being said. A child cannot know they are drinking poison if it is the most familiar taste on their tongue. It could become the same as the taste of sugar if one were taught to consume it enough.
There was a difference between experiencing pain and being taught it. What of the child that is raised believing that it is their very destiny to die? What of the child that is told that the reason they were born is to die for the sake others? What then?
They know no other path. The only path they know is pain. So how can one run if it is the sensation prickling the most often on their skin? To believe that one would know when to run even when they are unable to do is both naive and foolish. To base the truth of the world in only one's own experiences and not think of the others around them shows the height of the selfishness a life could reach but really who wouldn't want to be able to live in that kind of ignorance?
So he finds himself musing on her words in the prickling cold. The wind like a kiss against skin that is hardly phased by such a poor showing of the truth of winter's force. Misterican winters were many many degrees colder than this world could ever seem to reach.
The icy bite of the wind is no worse than the feeling of lashes against his back and the memory fills his mind for a moment as he lingers next to this woman like a ghost blending into the dark of the setting sun. How fitting that tonight would be a moonless one where the light has been laid to rest, the horizon in that moment turning into nothing more than a temporary grave.
He knew all about them. Temporary graves. Just like he knew what it felt like to drag his body up from within them in order to resume his existence even post-mortem. That's all he was now. Was there a single part of him that still lived? Sometimes he thinks that even the sound of his own heart beating is a cruel trick that is just a result of his ever slipping sanity.
So his head tips to the side as he lets her words roll around in his mind, jade eyes looking just to his side as lightless as the night's sky above their heads.
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"I think you are giving the child too much credit. It is not the child's job to run. It's the adult's job to have never harmed them in the first place. If the first thing one tastes is poison they will never know the infection has taken root from the start."
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imdefyingmavity · 3 months
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The whole thing about Robin "going mad" several times over his long and mostly lonely afterlife really adds a whole extra layer of horror to the ghosts existence.
Like sure you can't physically feel much pain, you can kick and beat each other up and not break any bones or bleed and it doesn't seem to hurt all that much.
But you can still get seriously mentally ill if you're left in isolation or with the lack of emotional support. Even Thomas we see lose it a bit as he goes through his withdrawal and hallucinates.
Kinda adds more to Alison’s whole comment about how the ghosts are "crazy" at the start of the series, because they have all been cloistered together for so long without much entertainment from Heather or knowing about the world. And one of the reasons she comes to feel compelled to help keep them talking and interacting becomes less about keeping her own sanity and more about saving theirs.
Something something this show and all the important themes it has but honestly how it emphasises the importance of having a community and enjoying new things no matter how limited your options might be because of disability or chronic illness or neurodivergence etc. It's why I love it so.
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ghouljams · 7 months
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does ghost ever tap love anymore this far into the relationship
Oh yeah he does! Mostly when she asks him to, but sometimes he gets an itch and taps her.
You blink at the city around you. Did you take a wrong turn somewhere? You look back at the road behind you. You thought this was a straight road, there shouldn't be a wrong turn to take. Yet you couldn't recognize a single thing around you. The world is hazy, you can't focus on anything around you long enough to get a read on where you are. Familiar surroundings completely unrecognizable. You've lived in this city for years, yet you have no earthly idea where you are.
You take a stumbling step forward, eyes darting around at the buildings on either side of you. Your head is spinning. Other people pass by, but they hardly seem to notice you. Either too preoccupied with their own lives, or too uncaring about yours. The trees that dot the brick street in their little square gardens tip their branches precariously towards you as you walk by. You flinch away from one of them and knock into someone. Their hands grip your shoulders hard.
You elbow them hard in the gut on instinct and feel them double over as quickly as they release you. You take a step away from them, breath coming quick. How did you get here? You don't remember how you got here. Wherever here is. What you do remember is you're not supposed to hurt people.
You do your best to quickly and calmly flee the scene. It's no problem if you don't know where you are or where you're going, it just makes it harder to follow you. After all you're not really going anywhere. The streets twist and turn in on themselves, the buildings expanding and contracting with your breath. If you don't look at anything too hard nothing spins, but the haze is still clouding your ability to actually pick out details.
You stop to try and read a street sign, squinting at the shifting letters. P- no B? Maybe an O? You make a frustrated noise, try to concentrate harder on reading it. You know you should be able to, so why is it so- You huff and give up, not willing to waste energy on something that probably won't help you anyway. You press your hand against the brick, try to ground yourself in a tactile feeling. The rough brick scratches your hand in a dull, distant, way. It's not helpful in the least.
Something is... missing. Missing from you. Missing in a way that feels- you can't describe it. Like millions of time holes, like air passing over your skin too close, not a missing limb but a missing soul. A puppet with its strings cut.
You turn the corner and bump into a solid mass. This time the hands that grab you are bigger, gentler with you, they tip your head back to meet black ringed eyes, somehow fearsome and affectionate. What a contradiction this one, you think. Or, hm, is that you thinking? He nods your head, yes it is, just a different you.
"You are slippery, Love," He almost sounds impressed, leaning down to kiss you and oh. That's something you know. Soft and a little wet, the slow drag of his lips against yours pulling you a little further out to see, a little more of a little less. He parts from you with a sigh, smoke trailing from his lips, drawn from you, you think. He hums, "That's my girl," and turns you around, "go on, Love, start running. Wouldn't want me to catch you."
And you think you do. You think catching you is the point of this game, but you can't remember. So you take his advice, and run.
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noodle-shenaniganery · 3 months
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I think one of the big issues with autism representation is largely that we don’t get that many autistic characters in media. It’s impossible to represent the entire spectrum in one character. And oftentimes, even when we do get representation, it’s the same types of characters over and over again. The spectrum is broad! It’s chaotic! Almost any representation could hypothetically reflect someone’s experiences, so why keep using the same few archetypes repeatedly? There are so many ways an autistic character could be written. Look, here’s some:
- A nonverbal autistic character with the power to manipulate plants who often uses plants to communicate (e.g. grows cacti when upset, dandelions when happy, roses when they like someone/something, orchids when confused, etc.). They also use plants to move around, grab things, point, etc. due to significantly impaired motor control.
- A nonspeaking, physically disabled autistic character with strabismus who is the ‘tech genius’ of the group. They often can’t go on missions themself because of their disability, but are completely fine with providing the rest with the gadgets, advice, and the occasional Dad Joke™️.
- The ghost of an autistic person who keeps trying to make friends with the new residents of their home, but doesn’t understand social rules at all and keeps accidentally scaring people by appearing/saying things without notice. They also stim by yelling, singing, and moving (things) around, which understandably freaks people out.
- A blind, semispeaking autistic teenager whose special interest is music, and their life mostly revolves around music. They mostly speak in song quotes, and are trying to learn how to play as many instruments as possible. They switch between different mobility aids that help them get around (they are dynamically disabled from their Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome), from crutches to wheechairs. They could also try to be in their school’s music club and/or orchestra, while also dealing with high school shenanigans.
- An autistic adult who, after decades of going undiagnosed, is now adjusting to life knowing that they’re not broken, just different. They also have comorbid mental illnesses, partially as a result of their late diagnosis.
There you go. There’s some ideas.
(If anyone uses these, please tag me or let me know, I’d love to read some stories with these.)
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deetz-ghuleh · 5 months
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You Will Never Walk Alone
─ Papa Emeritus IV Copia x F! Reader ─
rating: 18+ Mature | MDNI
word count: 1.4k
warnings/tags: SUICIDE ATTEMPT! , self-harm, angst, mental illness, depression, anxiety, pills/medication, comfort, some fluff.
PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS FIC IF YOU THINK IT MIGHT TRIGGER YOU IN ANY WAY. YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN A WORK OF FICTION. 
a/n: At first I wasn't sure about writing this, but then felt compelled to complete it. This is a very sensitive topic for some, but I feel it’s something important to discuss.
This is my way of dealing with a dark period in my life where I almost lost myself, as well as a heartfelt appreciative thank you to this band. Ghost has brought a lot of us back to the light and for that, I am eternally grateful. 
Please take care of yourself. If you are struggling, please reach out to someone. If someone you love is struggling, please let them know you're there for them. Sometimes all we need is a caring gesture. You are never alone. You are important and worthy of love. You are a survivor. I love you. 
♡ If You Have Ghost, You Have Family ♡
AO3 link
tag list: @ghu-leh @baelzbu @sodoswitchimage @ghuleh-recs @bupia @onlyhereforghost
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It happened gradually. It always did.
A pain that slowly, but surely, begins to consume you. 
It feels like some sort of curse that has followed you your whole life. It was a vague memory when you were a child, but as you got older, the feeling settled in a dark corner of your mind, steadily traveling toward your heart.
It manifests in different ways - not eating regularly or getting enough rest; isolating yourself, indulging in unhealthy habits, pushing people away, and losing interest in anything that brings you joy.
And you are so good at masking, at acting like nothing is wrong. If they only knew. If only you let them in. 
Not all days are lousy. Sometimes you feel a spark of happiness for a few minutes, days, a week maybe…
And then it vanishes - like a small withering flower, petals fading away into nothingness.
You had mentioned it to Copia a few times. He had confessed similar thoughts and feelings. He was a sensitive soul, it didn't surprise you. When he joked one day about being lonely, you began spending more time together. You didn't want him to ever feel the same anguish. You wanted to give him the same comfort and support he had graced you with. His thoughtful words, and his presence had kept the storm at bay, at least temporarily. 
But tonight is different.
All of the built-up sadness rushes through your body like an untamed river, threatening to drown you in emotions so dark and monstrous they seem impossible to escape from. Years worth of agony come crashing down on you all at once. How long can someone take before they break? 
You are so tired. Exhausted. Overwhelmed.
Your hands tremble with the pill bottle as tears cascade down your cheeks - your mind cruelly reminding you that no matter how hard you try, it will never get better. You will always feel empty. You will always be a burden.
It'd be better if you just disappeared, the voice says. 
𓆩♡𓆪
Copia couldn't sleep. Something was wrong, he felt it in his gut. 
He knocks on your door.
He had noticed a change in you lately - your distance, the polite smiles you forced yourself to give, a growing sorrow in your beautiful, expressive eyes. But he stayed silent for fear of pushing you away or making you uncomfortable. How could he have been so careless? You were close friends - he should have known, should have asked you. The guilt is so heavy it physically hurts him.
No answer.
His jaw clenches, his anxiety worsening. He hesitates for a moment before slowly turning the handle. Open. 
The room is dark, the curtains drawn tightly shut, leaving very little light to illuminate the emptiness within. Copia walks towards the bed and sees you lying there… unmoving, almost lifeless. As he gets closer, he could make out a bottle of sleeping pills discarded on the bedside counter, and a trail of clothes on the ground. His heart sinks but he refuses to give in to the fear that is gripping him.
"C'mon, dolcezza. Open your eyes for me," he whispers.
When you don't reply, he sits down next to you and takes one of your cold hands into his warm one. Your fingers are icy and your pulse is weak. Tears sting his eyes as he realizes the gravity of the situation. It makes him sick to his stomach. It can't be. Not his sweet, kind sorella.
Feeling an odd presence, you move slightly. "Copia… " you finally speak, your voice barely above a whisper. You could only open your eyes halfway. Everything felt numb, the slow pace of death blanketing you in its embrace.
"I'm here, I'm here." He reassures you with a firm squeeze of your hand. Panic rips through his body. Swiftly, he stands, picking up the phone and calling for one of the doctors in the infirmary. "P-please get here as quick as possible! È un'emergenza (It's an emergency)!" His voice wavers. Saying it aloud made it even more real. But thank Lucifer below, you are alive. Shallowing breathing, but alive.
Burying his face in your chest, tears fall onto your nightgown. "Stay with me, bella. Stay with me. Ti scongiuro (I beg you)."
𓆩♡𓆪
The infirmary lights burn his eyes as he paces in the waiting area. It felt like his heart had moved to his throat. He had been waiting for what seemed like hours. If only this had been a bad dream, a nightmare he could easily wake up from.
He could hear the distant sound of footsteps. Dr. Benedetti, one of the Ministry's physicians, emerges from the room you were being treated in. Copia rushes towards him, his eyes filled with desperation.
"Dottore (Doctor), how is she?" he asks, his voice shaking.
"She's stable, Your Eminence. She will need lots of rest, and I recommend that she begin therapy sessions as soon as possible. We can also discuss medications that might help ease her symptoms. I gave her something to help her sleep." He replies, a look of sympathy on his grizzled face.
"Can I see her?"
"Yes, of course. She's sleeping."
With a nod of gratitude, Copia enters the room. Even though you're alive, he can't shake the thought of what could have happened if he hadn't found you.
His heart bleeds in his chest as he looks at you, remembering the fear he felt when he found you half unconscious. He pulls up a chair next to the bed and takes your hand, stroking it gently with his thumb. He removes his leather gloves, the need to feel your skin is almost unbearable as if you might disappear if he doesn't touch you. You stir mildly but don't wake up. He finds some relief in seeing your chest rise and fall with your breathing. 
"Perdonami (Forgive me), mia cara. If only I had noticed sooner," he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Can you feel me longing for you? Come back to me."
His voice is far away, but you hear it.
He sees a single tear fall down the side of your face. You heard him.
"Mio cuore (My heart), you hear me, si?" You don't move, still frozen in your medicated sleep. He looks at you longingly before pressing a light kiss on your forehead.
Your body feels sore and tired, but you're aware of your surroundings. His kiss breaks through the fog clouding your mind. You open your eyes lightly and see his face, worry quickly turning into glee at seeing you awake.
"Bella!" He smiles, lunging forward to wrap you in a tight hug.
The warmth of his skin makes your heart swell with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Copia," you sob on his shoulder. "I hurt you. I shouldn't have. I-"
"Shh, dolcezza, please don't cry," he asks, wiping tears from your face. You didn't hurt me. I blame myself for not realizing how much pain you were in. Oh Satanas, I am just glad I was there to help you." 
"You can't blame yourself. I-I am just weak." You turn your face to look at the window, feeling remorseful for breaking his heart in such a way. "I am-" 
"Weak, tesoro? No, look at me," he grabs your cheek to meet his duochromatic gaze. "Why do you say this? No, amore mio, you are the strongest person I have ever met."
"Strong?" You stare at him puzzled. No one had called you strong before. 
"Si, strong. The way I see it, tesoro, you have struggled for a long time, but you kept going. And guarda (look), you are still here."
That soothing voice once again consoles you, washing away any guilt you feel.
You let your eyes linger on him for a minute. He always had been beautiful to you, but now he looks positively radiant. He was a lifeline; a light in the darkness.
Copia leans in and brushes his lips against yours. It's a tentative kiss - he stops himself. You're so vulnerable, he shouldn't kiss you, he thinks. But it feels like he will burst if he doesn't. 
You move towards him. "Kiss me, Papa. Please." His hand comes up to cradle your face, and he plants a delicate kiss. A warm emotion spills inside you, feeling his love enveloping you from within. "You will never walk alone, tesoro," he promises, looking deeply into your eyes.
As you indulge in his touch, the caress of his lips turns more fervent. And for the first time, you are brimming with a sense of joy, of peace, of hope.  
✦ 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 and want to support me, please consider leaving comments, kudos, or reblogging my posts. :) ✦
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bnmvesprm · 4 months
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WARNING: suicide and psychological abuse topic
Little continuation of the story.
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hmshermitcraft · 6 months
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sure, maybe EX hadn’t died. he was still alive! never even VISITED the afterlife!
…and yet.
Cleo can smell it on him. the stink of death, rot of the afterlife. Grief follows him around like a lost puppy. It’s an unmistakable mark, trailing him, impossible to efface. One that follows her just the same.
she thinks he’s hiding something from her.
in truth? he isn’t.
he never died. he is no ‘true’ ghost. that much is fact.
it’s just…when you have such a horrible life, you do truly feel like one. being in so much pain from the very beginning - there’s no way you couldn’t die, even if the body didn’t.
so even when he is just as human as ever, he’s a ‘ghost’ all the same.
interesting.
It's absolutely fascinating and Cleo loves it. Every opportunity she can find to follow him, she takes. It's rare to find people like her (that aren't completely mindless) and she wants to figure out what's up with EX.
EX does not love the fact Cleo loves it. Mostly because she's gorgeous, and he's finding it very hard to pretend she isn't. He's not interesting enough for her. It's only a matter of time until she realises it. He isn't even touched by death like she thinks he is, it's a recipe for disaster.
But, the more time Cleo spends with EX, the more she just thinks he's pretty cool. Kind of dorky, in the same way as Xisuma, but it's cute how he pretends not to be. And she can get along with the plans for destruction and world domination, great fun!
And... EX is gradually finding himself having fun, too. Cleo is fun. He likes hanging out with her, wakes up looking forward to whenever she finds him. And, maybe, things are starting to change.
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all falls down - soapghost
Simon is spiralling. Spiralling down, down, down. Knows it will hurt when he hits the bottom. Knows he might not be the same afterwards. Knows he might not get up again.
He feels too angry at himself to even bother to try and take his antidepressants. So he hides. Hides from Captain Price behind his flat tone and balaclava. Doesn't even snap at Gaz when he pisses him off. And Johnny? Doesn't look at him, doesn't talk to him, doesn't acknowledge him. If he did, he might be found out.
He always knows. Knows when Simon is there mentally, and if he's not, you could bet Johnny knew where he was. Knows when Simon is struggling. He's gotten too good at reading Simon's eyes, at reading his tone. It's a terrifying feeling, to be known. Simon hates it.
So when Johnny corners him in the barracks, Simon wants to run. Wants to make up an excuse, wants to bolt. But Johnny, as always, knows. He blocks the door. He could push him out of the way, could knock him down. But that would confirm everything he wanted to know.
"Alright, LT?" He asks, his voice soft, coaxing, Scottish accent in full tilt. That's when Simon knows he's been caught.
"Alright, Sergeant." He hates it. Hates the way his voice shakes. He needs to leave.
Johnny approached him, sitting on his cot next to him. He radiates warmth, radiates safety. "Want to talk about it, then?" Simon doesn't want it. Doesn't want anything to do with it. He doesn't want to be seen, doesn't want to he heard.
"No. I don't." Simon bites out. He never will. But he crumbles when a warm arm winds around his shoulders.
"You don't have to talk about it. But I want you to know that I wasn't born yesterday. I know when something's wrong." His hand rubs up and down Simon's arm, and he wants to yell. Wants to tell him to step off, that they were just colleagues and he ought to mind his own.
Instead he leans onto his Sergeant's shoulder, his eyes refusing to meet the gentle blue ones so close to him. Lets himself be held. "You're a nosy wanker." His voice is too quiet to be threatening.
"Sure am, LT. If being nosy gets you to talk to me, I won't mind it." Simon feels a familiar sting in his nose and eyes. He panics, pushing away from the warm body. He wants to hide. Instead he covers his face. This can't be him. He is stronger than this, than the grown man who starts crying like a baby because another man gives him a little hug.
Warm hands take his, pull them away. They reach for his balaclava and gently, so gently, pull it off and let his weakness be shown to the world. It's all he can do to growl a warning, angrily wiping at his red, teary eyes. "Johnny."
"Simon." Warm hands touch his face, then. Wipe away his tears with none of the ferocity he had. He'd rather have been punched in the gut. At least then he would know what to do. This is new. Too new. Makes his skin crawl. Makes his heart skip a beat. He's convinced he's going to die.
"Look at me. You haven't looked at me once since I got here." It's more of an order than a request. Simon raises his eyes to meet his.
"You're scaring me, LT. Tell me what's going on so I can help you. I won't let you tell me you're fine. You'll say you're fine until the day I lose you to your own mind." He takes a breath, runs a hand through his hair.
"Give up on me." The silence after he says it is deafening. Simon is falling apart. Even as he sits in silence, he is falling apart. It startles him when he's brought into strong arms. Startles him more when he feels wet on his neck. His Sergeant is crying. Why? Why is he crying?
"Don't you dare tell me to give up on you. We're a team." His voice is soft, shaky.
"I don't want to be a team." He mumbles. "I never did. I work the best alone."
"Listen to me, LT. I don't care what things were like before I met you. But they're not going to go back to the way they were. You try to run away from me, I'll chase you down and drag you back. You're not too bright if you think this is a choice." He entwines their hands, pressing a kiss to Simon's knuckles. Simon feels like perhaps he's dreaming.
"Why? Why are you acting like this?"
"Because you and I are better together." He looked him in the eyes. "I want you to take your antidepressants. Stop skipping out on them. If I need to watch you take them, I will."
Simon wonders vaguely how he knows. But he always knows. So he gives up on that line of thinking.
"Fine."
"Thank you. Let's get you one, yeah?" He pats Simon's shoulder. "I need you in top condition."
So Simon took it.
"Thanks, LT." And with that, he's gone. If later Simon finds his way into Johnny's bed because the voices in his head got too loud, that's his business.
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notalizard · 2 months
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Hey just need some help
so I’m making a playlist for when my mental Illinois acts up and I need to stop thinking
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pupsconfetti · 9 months
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hello tumbleinas. i have been made aware we are in an abusive relationship. enjoy this because i still love all of you. xoxo ur mom
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follow @hi-there-cake​ for more banger ghost eyes content
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schizopositivity · 8 months
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hi how do i tell my spiritual mom that i might be schizophrenic or something related to it and i’m not “just seeing/hearing ghosts” bc i keep having episodes and they only get worse every time but she just thinks it’s ghosts and that i need to just cleanse my room 👍
My mom is similar so I understand where you're coming from. I'm sorry that she's dismissed symptoms before. I'm glad you're able to talk about it I just hope that it can be more well received.
If you think she will respond well to statistics, you could show her articles and studies about how people with schizophrenia do show improvement in their symptoms after taking antipsychotic medication. There are no studies to show that cleansing or anything spiritual helps.
If you think she'll respond more to personal stories, you can use me as an example. I went through years of seeing/hearing/feeling demons. My mom would often cleanse my room, take me to spiritual centers for chanting and ceremonies, and it only got worse. But as soon as I got steady on antipsychotics, they went away and my life improved tremendously, I also happen to no longer be spiritual.
Psychosis is a brain thing, and while many things can cause it, all of it comes from the brain. It can often be treated by prescription medication. And I think the overwhelming proof of that, and my own experience, shows that it is indeed a brain thing that needs to be treated in the brain medically. You deserve treatment that is proven to help people in similar situations.
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shiroi---kumo · 6 months
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A Prince's Thoughts || Accepting
@dont-call-me-a-lyre asked:
for the lamb: 💭 + the consequences your behavior has on those who care about you
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⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ "I don't know what you're meaning to imply but I can tell you this. My actions have saved their lives on multiple counts. If not for my quick thinking, my associates would have died or fallen to Chaos long ago. His Excellency would have mercilessly slaughtered both Miss Lisa and the Black Wind without hesitation if I hadn't acted first. The kids would have been lost as the heart of Omega was.
The Comodeen brought themselves into a fight that they were warned to stay out of multiple times. They should have ran when they were told the first time. This situation is entirely above their station and it would serve them well if they learned the proper way of keeping their heads down so they attracted themselves less unwanted attention. Chaos spares no one. Not even the innocent or the weak.
They need to leave this to the ones equipped to handle it and that would be the Black Wind and myself. None else should be crossing paths with that beast. So if my behavior pushes people away from me, so be it. The road ahead is too hard for those with thin skin and it would be best for all of us if they learned to mind their places. There would be less casualties this way.
They need to understand that this is war and war has no place for those with thin skin and weak stomachs. Blood will be spilt, it matters not if it is my own. I am a cursed man, I will only revive. You cannot kill the undead. The consequences of my behavior? Through my sacrifices they've all survived, so honestly - they'll be better for it."
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4/4, i'm so girly pop
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thicctails · 8 days
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If Energon is the blood of Primus, and Sam is now the vessel of Primus' spark, would it be considered cannibalism if someone drank the Energon he bleeds?
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hi-there-cake · 9 months
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follow @cuntunism
(≧∇≦)ノ ☆*: .。. o(≧▽≦)o .。.:*☆ mental breakdowns!!!  ☆*: .。. o(≧▽≦)o .。.:*☆ q(≧▽≦q)
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i did the lineart and @cuntunism​ colored 
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lupismaris · 3 months
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