The night I realised I needed therapy

It was 2 in the night, and I was watching

a reaction video on my phone. It was 2

in the night, so I let my mind go and let

it roam freely wherever it wanted to. It

had been on the leash the entire morning.

It was 2 in the night and I didn’t anticipate

what might happen.

I remember distinctly that I was breathing

fine. I was breathing fine, a moment and

the other I was racing along with my

thoughts. It wasn’t too late, and my body

started racing around my room too. It was

2 in the night, so I decided to not wake

people up. People, what people? I’m alone.

Sometimes I wish to sleep this feeling away,

but if I sleep now, I’ll be caged in my mind

where my sleep demon awaits my arrival,

and I am not ready for that rendezvous.

Hence, I’m awake. Trying to breathe, trying

to sleep, failing at both.

I clearly remember, meeting him, them,

when I briefly closed my eyes. It happens,

not a lot but in the night, when it’s 2, that’s

the only thing that my brain does. When I see

them, I don’t see colors, I don’t hear their

voice, I see them and I see myself through

them.

When I look at myself, through them, I see a

sack of blood and flesh, lying on the bed,

Immobile and frozen. I see a pathetic body

not even trying to fight it, using the 21

seconds rule as an escape to not move. It’s

almost as if she wants to stay in this state

forever.

When I see myself looking at me, I feel

frantic. I hate myself at that moment, but I

can’t, I just can’t move. I know if I stood up

right now, I’ll fight it. I’ll fight with everything,

I’ll run away, and I’ll be gone and if I lay there

all night, without moving, my judgement

would stare me down and leave me in my

misery.

They are getting closer with each thought

that chokes me. I want to break the barrier

and just hide in the bathroom. Why am I

resisting this? They are here, reaching out

to me and there’s nothing more for me to do

than join them and live in this vulnerability.

For@whumpawoman Angstpril; prompts are Whumper-Run-In,Panic Attack, and maybe even Revenge.

This arc is a collaboration with @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump​ , Damiel is hers and in this universe, they’re married to Ira. Also - this is a piece of writing I’m very proud of, and I hope that you like it.

Cw panic attack, referenced captivity, referenced lady whump, referenced death of a loved one. Not much whump, yet big on the angst.

Emma is pulling at Isaac’s hand, and he almost has to jog to keep up with her short legs. “Your uncle is an old man, Emmy,” he says, half joking. He’s not old, but he can’t walk fast. Not since he’s had a bullet lodged in his hip, in the night that cost him everything. 

“But I can see the playground already! Can I go? Please?" 

He can see it, too. A big wooden pirate ship, some swings, a handful of other adults and kids wrapped into warm clothes on this sunny day in late fall. It’s just some meters, he tells himself. It’s safe. Still, it takes him some seconds to force his fingers to open and let his niece’s gloved hand slip out of his, as she races off. There’s something to the way she runs. Despite the childish joy to her movements, the somewhat clumsy way she sets her feet, he still thinks of Sophie. Sophie, who can’t be here, who has never met her niece, and whose laugh he misses every single day. The last thing he’s seen her do was run. Run by his side, to safety, to freedom. It had been so close. They could’ve been together. They should be.

They aren’t. He’s alone.

On the playground, Emma has reached the pirate ship and is already climbing up, gloves dropped on the ground, hands and booted feet steady on the small climbing grips. Sophie and him have always wanted kids. They’d talked about it often enough, before they went to bed. Two, at least, one boy and one girl, maybe. He wonders, if they’d ended up with the light brown curls Emma shares with him, or maybe more of the straight black hair from Sophie’s side. 

He’ll never know.

There’s another kid going up the wooden wall next to Emma now, a black girl her age with a cloud of curls around her and purple earmuffs. He’s still out of earshot, but he sees them talking, racing each other to the captain’s stand on top. The other girl’s parent is standing close, arms folded, attentive. They’re tall, at least six feet, lean and muscular, and something about them makes Isaac’s stomach clench. They look like them. Like the figure from his nightmares, the one he sees in every crowd, the reason why he can’t ride the subway or go to crowded pubs, or do anything outside. Like the tall, lean monster, the one who took Sophie away from him, when he’d ran away with her, when she’d finally seen him, and believed him, and she’d looked at him and told him she loved him. The monster has hunted them down without remorse, they’ve grabbed her and hurt her and dragged her away. Isaac still remembers her screams, her panic, her fear, and the cold, brutal efficiency of the hunter.

His steps have slowed involuntarily. Usually, he’d just turn around and leave. The park is big, he can go somewhere else, somewhere he doesn’t have to be around his memories, but his with Emmy, and the tall figure is right next to her. 

It’s not them, he thinks. It’s not them, they are far away, they are somewhere in the woods hunting their next victim, they aren’t the folk to hang around on playgrounds, they wouldn’t care about Emma. 

His shirt is soaked with cold sweat, as he forces himself to step closer. "Emmy,” he calls. His voice is trembling, broken almost. “Emmy, baby, come here, we’re leaving.”

She doesn’t hear him, or pretends not to, as she jumps onto the slide down.

The tall one has heard him, though, head snapped back, taking in the whole situation, the playground, the other parents, and Isaac, frozen in place. Long braids are falling from underneath their woolen hat, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together into a thin line. 

It’s them. It’s not their shadow, not a memory from the past, it’s them, the hunter, it’s the one who shattered everything Isaac had ever dreamt of to pieces in a single night.

“No,” Isaac whispers tonelessly. “No, no, no.” He wants to step back, but his legs are rubber, there’s the edge of the sandbox behind him, and he falls, to his knees, shivering, panting. His hands claw into the sand, like they did into the forest ground six years ago, but he can’t feel, there’s nothing, only emptiness. 

“Sir,” they call, and he thinks he remembers their voice. They’ve called someone else Sir that night, too, in a voice rougher than today, but he recognizes it anyway. “Are you okay?”

He’s not. He’s not, he will never be, he can’t ever be okay, and it’s because of them, and they don’t even seem to know. He stares at them blankly from where he’s kneeling on the ground, at them and the white-haired young woman suddenly by their side. He wants to warn her, to warn Emmy, anyone, but his voice has left him, and he’s helpless to watch. The woman is holding a toddler, and she hands him off, to them, and Isaac’s vision narrows, gets black around the edges. He can’t breathe. He hears them talk, French, he thinks, and that it’s odd that he can still find a coherent thought, and then a soft hand is laying on his arm and the woman is talking to him. “Breathe, Sir, breathe with me, alright?” Her voice is quiet and smooth, and he wonders if he’s actually breathing, maybe he’s not, maybe he’s just dying, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. 

“In through the nose,” the woman says, and he feels her hand gently pressing his to give him a rhythm. “Out through the mouth.”

Shakily, he nods, follows her lead. He doesn’t look up, just stares at their hands, hers over his, in the dirty sand of the sandbox. In through the nose. Her hand is small, a little red because of the cold, and there are some scars, crisscrossing lines in her tan skin. Out through the mouth. Her nails are clipped short, a little dirt underneath them, and her fingers are calloused, as if she works a lot with her hands. In through the nose. There’s a broad black band tattooed around her wrist, and he sees some colorful patterns emerge over it, vanishing under her sleeve. Out through-

“Cherie,” the hunter says.

His breath hitches. His eyes are glued to the wedding band. 

“Pas maintenant,” she mumbles. 

Isaac sees their feet show up in his vision, clad in bright yellow winter boots. They were wearing boots back then, too, but those were black. Do they know who he is? Do they know, what they did to him? He doesn’t dare looking up.

“Tu lui fais peur,” she says. “J'arrive. Cinq minutes, Dami?”

Dami.

Dami. Damiel.

Isaac gags. He remembers the name. He always will. It’s them. The person who just steps back. The person with the purple woolen hat and the bright winter jacket, a happy parent on a playground, a protective spouse. 

A beautiful wife. Two kids. A boy and a girl.

They retreat, while their wife goes on counting, and Isaac nods. In and out. Yes. He’s breathing. His heart rate is slowing down, his vision is starting to clear. 

Damiel.

Damiel, the monster, who took the world from Isaac, gained everything Isaac himself lost forever.

“Are you better?”, the woman asks. 

Isaac looks up, into her dark eyes, clouded with worry. She’s not as pretty as Sophie was, but there’s something to her. Something that made Damiel love her. To choose her, as mother to their kids, to build a family with.

There have been moments, many of them, in sleepless nights, when Isaac thought about revenge. About what he’d do, should he ever encounter the monster again. Death couldn’t be enough. Torture couldn’t be enough. Hollow and empty, nothing compared to what they did to him.

He knows, now.

“Yeah,” he whispers, and allows her to help him back to his feet. “Yes, thank you. I will be.”

just neurodivergent things: apologizing repeatedly during a panic attack.

Summary:Tom and Y/N attend the Golden Globes, but you don’t expect to be so overwhelmed. 

Warnings:panic attack, mental illness, etc. 

Word count: 16,000

A/N: It has been so long. I am finally kind of feeling inspired to create again. Depression is a bitch. I love many things. Shawn is just one of them. Please be kind. I love you. I believe in us. 

Tell me how to be in this world

Tell me how to breathe in and feel no hurt

Tell me how because I believe in something.

I believe in us. - Us by James Bay

You look at yourself in the mirror, turning slowly, shifting from one foot to the other. The woman in the mirror is someone you barely recognize. You knew you’d need to dress up. Your boyfriend was nominated for a Golden Globe after all, but this.. This was a little excessive. Your Y/H/C hair was made at least a foot longer with extensions, loose curls cascading down your back, framing your face. On your eyes, heavy false eyelashes weigh down your lids, which are dusted with beautiful pigments to match the tight-fitting navy chiffon dress that draped over your body. You’ve never felt less like yourself in your life.

“You about ready, Y/N/N?” Tom asks adjusting the sleeves of his coat as he comes around the corner. You meet his eyes in the mirror in front of you. The smirk that spreads across his face is enough to tell you that he likes the dress. Tom walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he whispered into your hair. You looked up at him, hoping your discomfort didn’t shine in your eyes. You glance back at yourself in the mirror. Noticing Tom watching you in the mirror, you fake a small smile.

“You about ready? The car is outside,” Tom whispers, his eyes still on yours in the mirror. You nod, though you were nowhere near ready for this night. “You look beautiful, my love,” he says quietly before giving your waist a squeeze and letting go. You let out a sigh as Tom lets go. You walk over to the bed to grab your clutch, then turn back to him. He holds out his elbow, and you grasp onto it tightly.

The drive to the venue passed in comfortable silence, neither of you needing to say anything. You rested your head on Tom’s shoulder. He quietly kissed the top of your head, before pulling out his phone, which was ringing quietly.

“Hello?” he asked softly. Tom responded to questions with “mhmm,” and “yes,” before hanging up. You glanced up at Tom through your eyelashes, but all he responded with was a reassuring smile. You sighed, before closing your eyes softly. You had almost let yourself think you’d get through the evening unscathed when you pulled up to the Beverly Hills Hotel. You looked out the window at what seemed to be millions of flashing lights and people.

“It’ll be okay, Y/N,” Tom says quietly, kissing your head again. You take a deep breath, but you’re sure it won’t be okay. Tom gets out of the car and walks around to the other side, opening your door. He grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly. You pull yourself out of the car, taking a deep breath. “You look ravishing, Y/N. I love you.” You look up at Tom, eyes wide, and his smile does a little to calm your nerves. He places your hand in the crook of his elbow. You smile at him, but make the very dire mistake of looking out at the people waiting for you. Every step you take makes the pit in your stomach get bigger and bigger. It gets harder to breathe around it and you aren’t sure you’re going to be able to breathe by the time you get to the door.

“Tom! Y/N!” is seemingly shouted from every direction, lights flashing in your eyes. Tom is a natural, of course, waving every so often with a cordial smile on his face. You try to keep your eyes trained on him, on his arm, on his face, on his calm. But, just as you hit the door, you feel a tear slip down your face. You wipe it away quickly, but before you can even get through the door, tears are silently sliding down your face. You squeak out that you need to use the restroom, before letting go on Tom’s arm, disappearing in the sea of faces.

You try to fumble through the people until you find an employee and ask for a restroom. You are directed to a hallway, which was blissfully empty. You slide down the wall, onto the floor, knowing you needed to keep your makeup together, but not really caring in that moment. Tears stream from your eyes, your breathing labored. You aren’t sure how long you sat there, hyperventilating, before Tom was seated beside you, wrapping you in his arms.

“Shhh,” he whispers calmingly. “You’re okay. Just breathe.” You sob into his arms for what seems like forever before the pit in your stomach decides to recede. You finally get yourself pulled together before looking up at Tom, sure you looked like a mess.

“How did you know where I was?”

“Mary told me where to find you,” Tom said quietly. Who Mary was, you weren’t sure, but you didn’t have the energy to ask. You looked at Tom, trying to find the anger. You had ruined his night, the night that should have been something magical.

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” you said quietly, your voice hoarse from crying.

“Shh, it’s okay, Y/N. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting there, in the hallway, but a young man dressed in all black rushed up the hallway. You and Tom both looked up at him.

“Uhm, Mr. Hiddleston. You and Ms. Y/L/N need to get to your seats, please.” Tom looked at you.

“Are you ready? We can leave if you need to.” You looked into his eyes, taking a deep breath. You nod softly, blinking. Tom stands up, sticking his hands out for you to grab. You place your hands in his softly, letting him help pull you up.

“Can you give us one minute?” Tom asks the boy quietly, glancing over his shoulder at him. He nodded, saying something into his headphones before scurrying around the corner. “Tell me what’s wrong, Y/N,” Tom said, looking deeply into your eyes. You sigh.

“Tell me how to live in this world,” you say, quietly, “Tell me how to breathe in and not hurt. Tell me how because I believe in us.” You look up at Tom, your eyes full of tears, “Please don’t leave me.” Tom’s eyes filled with tears. He wrapped you in a hug, kissing the top of your head softly.

“Don’t ever worry about that, love. I love you. I believe in us.” You look up at Tom, who leans down to press a chaste kiss on your lips. You smile into the kiss, before pulling away. You sigh, and smooth out your dress.

“How do I look?” you say, twirling slowly. Tom smiles at you, then reaches for your hand.

“You look ravishing, my love. Now, come on. We will stop on the way home for triple chocolate ice cream,” Tom said, lifting his hand into the scouts honor symbol. You giggled, grabbing onto his arm, walking back toward the auditorium. You talked quietly to each other in between Tom getting stopped. He talked to each person as if they were the only person in the room, though he never let go of our hand, squeezing it gently to ensure you knew he still knew you were there. Finally, you made it to your seats, just before the lights dimmed.

The show went off without a hitch, and, finally, it was time to announce the winner of the Best Actor – Miniseries or Television Film category. Tom smiled at the camera that was zooming in on his face, holding your hand tight. The nominees were announced, one by one, the tension in your chest building.

“And the winner of the Best Actor - Miniseries or Television Film is…” the announcer said, stalling for dramatic effect, “Tom Hiddleston!” You screamed, standing up with Tom, who gave you a huge kiss just as the camera zoomed in on you. He wrapped you in a hug, whispering something in your ear that you couldn’t hear over the applause, before making his way up to the stage. He hugged the announcers, before stepping up to the microphone.

“Thank you all, so much,” Tom said into the microphone, glancing around the room, before resting his eyes on you. “Thank you all, but thank you most of all, Y/N. Your love, your support, your kindness. And most importantly, for believing in us. I love you.” Tom paused before saying, “Thank you all!’ and walking back down the stairs off the stage.

After all the press got through with Tom, the show was over. You had decided it best to stay in your chair and wait for Tom, but you had started regretting that decision when the room was emptying with still no Tom. You looked down at your phone to make sure Tom hadn’t texted up, but you were startled by footsteps. You looked up to see Tom, a huge smile on his face. He leaned down, kissing you on the forehead. You smiled at him, grabbing his outstretched hand to stand up. He pulled you into him, wrapping you in a hug. You buried your face in his chest, reveling in this private moment amidst all the chaos of the night.

“I believe in us,” he said quietly, pulling away from you slightly, just far enough to pull you in for a kiss.

Tag List: @atlas-of-a-human-soul​

peanut-monster:

Are you okay?

My mind screams no without thinking. Screams and shouts and yet, I push the loud thought back down, back where it belongs, in the depths of my brain where no one has to know about it. I nod, so people think I am just fine, just fine. I add a warm smile if I feel like it, just to make sure they believe me I am feeling alright.

Are you sure?

No, screams my brain again as I fight it, successfully so. No, screams my brain but my mouth just curls up again into a smile while I answer I am just fine. I feel my own words making it worse, the doubt of my acting, the fear of the questions that might follow, the panic I feel escaping gets worse.

Okay, but if you need to talk, I am here.

Are you? Are you sure you are not going to run at the first sight of what a dark twisted soul I posses? Are you sure, my demons do not frighten you? Because I am not. I would run if someone told me their mind is like a battlefield every second of their day on the good days, and worse than a true war zone, with explosions, shootings, bodies and blood on the bad ones. Are you sure, you will not run when you realise, the bubbly person you know is not even around most of the time? Are you sure it does not scare you that the girl that smiles so much, asks herself why even bother being happy. Are you sure you are here for me, here to listen to hours and hours of anxious thoughts of being broken and breaking down, of being torn apart by the force stronger than anything you had ever knew, of tears of fear when there is nothing to be afraid about, of pain, the worst kind of pain, the one that you have no idea what is causing it. Are you sure you are here for all of this?

I promise, I am here for you, always.

Even when I cannot hear you over the noise that my head creates out of boredom? The noise of people screaming, of cars speeding by, of loud alarms, of clicks of pens, of boiling kettles, of my own heart beating and every other little noise around me, and I am hearing it all at once. How can you promise to be here for me, when most of the time, the real me stays hidden from your eyes because God knows, hearing voices makes me crazy. Are you here for the girl who feels like her entire life is falling apart most of the time, the girl who feels in life threatening situations multiple times a day, even if she is just sitting in the safety of her room. Are you here for the girl who cries herself to sleep almost every night. Are you here for the girl that feels like her entire mind is slowly killing her, the girl who feels like there are knifes slowly being pushed through her bran, the girl who feels like her head is going to explode if all of it does not stop? Are you here for the girl who fights her demons all the time, even when she feels like giving up, letting go, going crazy, she still fights and fears one day she will lose the battle?

Or are you here for the girl that tells you she is just fine, the girl who smiles brighter than the sun and lets you think her life is pretty much close to perfect. Are you here for the girl who makes you laugh all the time, makes you believe she is the happiest girl in the entire world? Yes, that girl is still me, I can be that girl, but at the same time, I am her polar opposite and if you truly want to be here for me, you have to be here for both parts of me. The happy one is tired and letting go a little bit, I will try not to overwhelm you. I will still say I am fine, I just might skip the smile today.

I love you.

I know you do. I know even when the dark part of me says you will run away the second you experience the darkness. I know even when my entire brain makes me believe I trust you too much. I know even when every cell in my body says I will get hurt in the end because there is no one in this world that could love the darkest parts of me. I know, and I love you too.

I hate when i can’t stop thinking of what might happen.

Me: there is no reason for me to be anxious right now!!!

My brain:………..debatable

goals

gotta do whatcha gotta do for da dope

Get Comfy

Amira doesn’t like curtains or enclosed spaces.

Words: 438
Genre: I dunno
Rating: teen/mature?
Warnings: broken bones, claustrophobia, panic attack

It wasn’t the small space Amira minded, it was the damned curtains everywhere.

“They’re for privacy” the workers had explained when she first arrived, clutching her shattered arm to her chest. But didn’t everyone already know that privacy was a lost cause here? The smells of shit and vomit didn’t care about a few strips of fabric, and nor did the screams of the soon-to-be-dead.

And those workers, had placed her in the middle of the compound - no sightlines, no exits. The cot was too low to stand on and try to see over the curtains.

“It’s safe here.” the workers had explained. But she had seen the tension between the less-broken patients. The way they held the tension in their bodies, had tracked each others movements - hers too - and how they angled themselves into easy reaching distance of heavier objects.

Amira knew full well that anyone could barrel through the curtains separating off her “room” at any time. From any direction. And while there was a little she could do with the woven food tray, she’d still be fucked.

She’d walk out if it wasn’t against direct orders and doing so would involve her not unlikely aggressive arrest. On the bright side, it meant that no one was going to attack her. Probably a lie.

She’d named all of the round objects in the space, then the white ones, then the ones that had come from natural means. She’d counted backward from 200 by sevens. She’d completed forty rounds of her inhale-pause-exhale-pause pattern.

She was out of ways to ignore the tension growing in her arms and legs, the pain in her chest, the way her breath was coming in shallower.

The doors somewhere at the front of the compound swung open loudly - Amira started.

Pain screeched up her arm, and she hissed.

It wouldn’t be a problem if she could just see the damned exits for fuck’s sake. But no. This is how it was going to be.

She let out a short, cynical laugh - the kind of angry amusement that only rose up when things were screwed and utterly out of her control.

Amira was like this a lot she realized. Not that it made a kind of difference. If it could keep her alive, she’d take it.

Now she just had to wait it out, the pain in her arm, the racing heart, the brain the kept fucking her over and keeping her not dead yet in that vicious cycle.

Amira shook her head. This wasn’t going to go away for at least the next few hours, so she might as well get comfy.

i hope i go to sleep tonight and don’t wake up

totally having a quarter life crisis