anonymous asked:

how long have you had an eating disorder? you've been my fav blog for so long but I never knew you had one! I have one too and it's so nice to see someone who is able to get past the voices and do well for themself!

Since I was fifteen but i haven’t been struggling with it until the last few months. But I tell myself I will be alright because I know I will be. If fifteen year old me (frankly, an idiot) can beat this, then I can do it with ease. I didn’t come to this planet to get killed off early by an insidious disease that insists I must take up less space, I came to live a full and beautiful life, and when I do go it’ll probably be from getting hit by a truck or a scrap in a rest home

insidiousmisandry asked:

i'm all caught up on miss fisher and i am WRECKED. i have been completely decimated by these hets. i cant fucking believe this i can't believe prudence is cockblocking them so hard. i can't believe ANYTHING that's happened in s3 so far. i just. is this show a figment of our collective imagination????? how is this a real show?????????

man if it’s a mass hallucination I’m at least glad that other people are here with me, in complete confusion over how any of this really was made into a television show that we could watch. see u next week when our brains are fucked with again


My first prompt response - it is a little different, a little experimental, not my usual style. It can take many different forms, depending on how you look at it.

Prompt at the end.

Hope you like it




She remembers the gunfire… The same sound that still wakes her, cold and shivering at night.

The sound like a jackhammer tearing into the road. Bullets tearing into concrete, into flesh.


She can still feel the acrid smoke burning her nose; an insidious spectre permeating her lungs, screaming nothing but warning.

‘Multiple shots fired! Possible bomb on-‘

She remembers the sound. Loud and low and terrifying. As if the very air was being ripped apart.


She remembers the static. The insistent words struggling to break through it… shouting, fighting.

‘The building – we’re losing the building!’

She can’t remember the face of the person who saw her first…. But she remembers the pressure of their hand… tight.. tight on her forearm.

‘Doctor Isles, I’m not sure now is the-‘

She remembers the sound of her own voice, the way it snapped through the air like a rattlesnake, striking out.

‘I am a doctor.

The way it faltered at the agonising truth.

‘I need to be here-‘

She remembers the dust, as it settled in the air in seemingly suspended animation, before suddenly and silently it was blanketing everything… the vehicles and the people and the rubble…

….She remembers the rubble. The fear that gripped her when she saw it…



…The tangled mess of the ground floor. The feel of the stones giving way under her feet as she scrambled, lurched across the ruins of what once was the central bank before-

‘Dr Isles! Wait!’

-It suddenly wasn’t.


She remembers the screams, the shouts of people desperate, desolate. Her own mingled with them. But where theirs was a cacophony of orders, updates, calls for help. Hers was only one name…

The way her gut twisted the moment she knew…

-And the moment she saw-

‘Here! We got something here!’

…She remembers the moment she saw her.

The way the beams criss-crossed her broken body, trapping her against the only remnant intact concrete slab… the greatest insult construction could ever provide.

The way the name tumbled one more time from her lips- clumsy, slipping painfully past the boulder of grief lodged in her chest.

 ‘Oh God.. Jane.’

She remembers the way her name sounded, so soft, so distant… so foreign..


She remembers…. She remembers… the blood.

And God.. God… the way her name sounded, coughed out around the crimson that stained the concrete.

‘Don’t, Maur-‘

The way it spilled from her lips, trickling into the dust.

‘It’s okay-‘

The way her medical training, having served her for more than a decade – the same training that had framed her career, her entire life… suddenly became an oppressive enemy; one which she did everything in her power not to listen to. One she begged her inner self to ignore.


She remembers the feeling of her heart breaking, as a dirty, bloody hand reached for her, amidst the chaos of emergency service personnel crawling all around, whispering words of hope-

‘I’m glad you’re here…’

-where there was none.

‘…think I’m in trouble..’

The way her cheeks burned with stubborn tears.


She remembers the sound of her breath, short and wheezing and all too shallow.

‘Don’t… look at me like that…’

She remembers… she remembers…

…the way she said no.


How she shook her head, closed her eyes, and how the word charged from her mouth like the greatest challenge she had ever set.


The way she opened them again, for the very first time unguarded, unreserved… unapologetic…



 ‘I won’t.’

Meaning                                                              ‘You need to see.’


                                                                                ‘You need to know.’

A hand squeezes hers tightly. She can feel the dirt and grit between her fingers. The blood smeared over her palm.

“What’re you thinking?”

The way the voice, so close and so calm near her ear makes her breathe differently.  Makes her… almost forget…

‘I can’t, Jane.’

She shakes her head, closes her eyes, turns away.


The feeling of a tiny sliver of metal against the back of her hand… It presses into her skin, reminding her, grounding her.



 “I can’t, Jane…” She whispers

“I won’t, Jane.”

She remembers the life flickering, barely present in the same eyes that study her now.  Tears burn her cheeks as hotly as they did when-

“Don’t look at me like that…”

Her breath catches.

But this time, it is spoken with an easy smile. This time, it is a warm hand that brushes her cheek.

“I’m here, Maur.” Comes the voice, strong and sure and present. “I’m right here.”

It would be the thousandth time she has heard it. The thousandth time it has been spoken.

But as the music starts-


She nods ever-slightly, feeling the promise of forever, in the gold now wrapped around her own finger.

She allows herself to be pulled forward, allows strong, familiar arms to encase her body, allows the gentle breath to wash past her ear, allows the aroma of apple and spice calm her… ground her.

As the music starts-

She smiles.

“Don’t look at me like that”

“Dance with me-“


Prompt: hownowwit1 - A quote prompt: “Don’t look at me like that”

Wit, hope it was okay :)

anonymous asked:

I'm just learning that a lot of the followers may have DID. All of my Head apartment sharers are mostly male besides the one that aligns to no gender. Idk I have a lot of questions about why they exist. Anyone who can help?

Emery says:

If you suspect you may have DID it’s important to see a qualified therapist to help you. With a therapist, you can get diagnosed, work through the trauma that triggered your splitting, and possibly work on integration, if that’s something you’re interested in.

Edit: Someone pointed out that not everyone has the resources to see a therapist and that therapists are not perfect, and I want to acknowledge both of those things. It’s absolutely okay to look up more information about DID on your own, but I just want to caution you against any hasty thoughts, since DID is a serious mental illness and also quite an insidious one (meaning it can go unnoticed for years, and it usually does). Someone else in the notes said that DID is no longer a diagnosis, which is incorrect. DID, or Dissociative Identity Disorder, has taken the place of MPD (Multiple Personality Disorder) in the DSM.

there’s also something about treating the suburban life like a default way of being that doesn’t demand any further critical examination or classification as a “culture” that’s pretty insidious. 

Mad Max doesn’t start for another 45 minutes, so I’m sitting in the lobby tumblring on my phone.

Ads for Poltergeist seen: 3

Ads for Insidious 3 seen: 6

Ads for crappy summer horror movies: 2

Ads for heartfelt family/sentimental films: 1 (no one cares about the American nuclear family in summer; save that shit for Christmas)

Ads for crappy summer horror movies that start like heartfelt family/sentimental movies: 3

Ads for Jurassic Park: innumerable. At least once between each other commercial, and I say “at least” because one time I saw it play three times in a row. Mountains may dissolve into the sea, but Jurassic Park will be there like “did you know there’s a new dinosaur movie coming soon?!”

The pollution of her–it was insidious. I tried sponging her breath from my lungs but it just kept ballooning me with anger & would make me convulse with a fume of smoked tar. I was suffocating!
Oh! The terror of a bad womb in the seed of a life!
—  Grey Adams