Headcanon where Simm!Master has BPD.

thedeafavenger‌:

Let’s talk about hypervigilance!

So after I wrote my post about writing characters with PTSD who experience flashbacks, I kept thinking about portrayals of PTSD and things I often find lacking or underdeveloped, and on the list is hypervigilance. This is based on my own experiences, the experiences of people with PTSD I’ve talked to, and things my therapists (and their many many flyers) have told me.

Hypervigilance is a state of being some people with PTSD experience which is primarily based around the need to stay aware of your surroundings in an attempt to notice threats and prevent your trauma from reoccurring.

If you’re experiencing hypervigilance, you might:

Have a very noticeable startle response, which may make people intentionally try to startle you because they think it’s funny to watch you flinch and/or panic. (tip: if someone startles easily or flinches when you touch them, maybe try not doing that)

Need to orient yourself with your back to a wall so you can see the entire room. People with hypervigilance often need to know what’s going on around them, and will pick the best vantage point they can.

Be near an exit/have multiple exit strategies. The hallmark of a traumatic event is being stuck in an extremely painful or life threatening situation and not being able to leave. Therefore, people who are hypervigilant especially, who are actively trying to avoid repeating traumatic situations, will often make sure they have at least one escape plan. Often, contingency plans have contingencies.

Frequently physically be in fight-flight-freeze mode, people with hypervigilance often exist in a state of arousal, with elevated heartbeats, sweat, and anxiety. This is especially noticeable when put in a new environment and can make it hard to focus on anything but trying to stay safe.

Have trouble sleeping, hypervigilant folk often have trouble shutting down their minds enough to sleep, especially if they have nightmares because that makes sleep feel threatening too.

Have shifting eyes/split concentration, when you’re hypervigilant, you are constantly looking for danger. As such, I’ve found at least that my concentration is always split between what’s going on and the hunt for threats. I have trouble looking at people sometimes because I need to be looking for the danger. People therefore have told me I look like I’m lying because we associate “shifty” eyes with lying in popular culture. It also can make it harder for you to stay on task or participate in conversations.

But there’s good news! Hypervigilance can be improved by treating PTSD, but specifically through mediation and yoga! Now, I know we have that “telling me to exercise is bullshit, this will never help” mentality sometimes, but it actually has been shown to help, even though it’s very hard especially at first. In fact, heart math, which is sort of a type of mediation, is the very first thing my therapist had me try for PTSD. So for characters, especially with hypervigilance, who are in therapy, mentioning that would be a good little sidenote to add realism instead of just going with talk therapy as the only kind of therapy they receive!

I have several more of these that I’m going to write, because a couple people messaged that they found the first one helpful, and I see a lot of characters with PTSD. However, if you have questions, I’m always here to talk about it! I love seeing portrayals of PTSD, but I worry a lot about potential consequences of under-researched PTSD written by people who don’t have PTSD.

Nine x Rose, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

megabadbunny:

*****

“Don’t touch me.”

“Doctor—”

“I said don’t fucking touch me,” he snarls, and Rose
rapidly backpedals, eyes wide.

“S-sorry,” she stammers, hands held up. “I just thought—”

The Doctor laughs, and he’s surprised by just how nasty the sound
is, how horrible he can make it when he really wants to. “Well, isn’t that a
nice change of pace?” he asks. “You, thinking.”

Tears pearl in the corners of Rose’s eyes, but she blinks them back
before they can fall. “Something’s got into you,” she says, but she doesn’t
sound sure.

Perfect,
he thinks miserably.

“Make it easier, would it?” he asks, bridging the distance between
them in long, lazy strides. His steps ring heavy over the grating, echoing
ominously throughout the console room. “If you could tell yourself this wasn’t
really me. If you could convince yourself I’m not like this, this isn’t who I
am. But there’s just one little problem with that, sweetheart—”

(But there’s that look on her face, with the round shining eyes and
pursed mouth and quivering lower lip, just the same way she looked after her
father died, only he’s the one putting that expression on her face now, he’s
the one doing this to her, and it burns him, and he can’t really go through
with this, can he?)

His feet stop just inches from hers, and he leans down until their faces are uncomfortably close, until her eyelashes flutter at his
proximity and he can feel the heat radiating off her cheeks.

(He can. He has to.)

“—you’ve never had the most discerning taste in blokes, have
you?” he asks.

Rose steps back, her cheeks flushing an impossible red. “I don’t—it’s
not—I wouldn’t—”

“Oh, but you do,” the Doctor says, painfully aware of the
condescension dripping from every syllable. “It is. You would.”

His face splits in a wide grin. “Don’t worry. It’s sort of adorable,
actually. Or at least, it would be if it wasn’t so repulsive. Maybe once I
muscle my way past the gag reflex.”

“God, why are you saying all of this? You know I would never do
anything—”

“—that I didn’t want you to?”

“I was gonna say ‘inappropriate,’” Rose replies, hugging her arms
close.

Her words pierce him somewhere deep inside (somewhere between his
lungs, if he thinks about it), and he doesn’t allow himself to wonder why.

“Inappropriate,” he says, his voice gone soft and thoughtful. “Careful,
now. That’s a five-syllable word. Wouldn’t want to tax your delicate little
brain too much, now would we?”

Rose’s gaze turns hard. “Stop it.”

“Stop what? Being honest? Telling the truth? You’re always harping
on about the truth, though, aren’t you? Maybe you shouldn’t ask for something
you can’t handle.”

“Please, stop.”

“Poor little Rose Tyler, sitting on the concrete in front of the
Powell Estate, no dad, no money, no future, hoping there was something better
for her out in the universe,” the Doctor sneers, pushing forward until Rose is
trapped between him and the control desk. “Well, this is it, love. And that’s
the truth.”

“Doctor, please, something’s been wrong with you ever since—”

“This is as good as it gets!” the Doctor shouts before she can finish her thought. He
slams his hands down on either side of her, caging her in, and she shrinks back
in fear. “Do you hear me? Do you understand? Is that idea small enough for you
to wrap your little grey matter around? It doesn’t get any better for you. This,
right here, right now—back off to your beans on toast, your job in a shop, your
too-blonde hair and your too-short skirt and your shrew of a mum and boyfriends
who piss away your money or spend all their time down the pub—this is as good
as you deserve. Anything else would be…”

He pauses, perversely savoring the savage deliciousness of the
moment. The next word tastes exquisite in its vindictiveness and he holds it in
his mouth, running his tongue over its jagged edges.

“…inappropriate,” he breathes.

Rose slaps him before he even has a chance to blink.

Blinding-white light pops in his vision and a resounding CRACK echoes around the room,
interrupted only by the sounds of Rose’s heavy, ragged breathing. Staggering
back, the Doctor’s mouth falls open and his hand flies up to his jaw out of reflex, covering
the Rose-shaped handprint that’s surely blossoming there. It’s all the Doctor
can do to keep himself from reeling in shock, both from the force of the blow
and the anger flashing in Rose’s eyes. But he can’t let that happen, can’t let
anything get through, can’t give in to her pleading face or the dull ache
suffusing his entire body.

He pushes out another laugh, stretching his jaw. “Fantastic,” he
says, chuckling darkly. “You have no idea how good that feels.”

Choking down on a sob, Rose looks at him one last time, and he knows
she’s searching his face, desperately hunting for anything, any tiny little
hint, that this isn’t him. Temptation wells up in him, and he almost gives in—maybe
he could—? But no, that would be too obvious—but he can turn to stone when he
wants, or as good as, anyway, and soon Rose’s face goes dark.

She scrapes the heel of her palm across her cheek, leaving a watery smear
of mascara in its wake. She doesn’t say anything. She turns and runs away, the
TARDIS doors banging shut behind her.

The Doctor closes his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping him. Hands back on
the console, he slumps forward, his body suddenly too heavy to stand up under
its own weight. The ache he felt earlier is gone, leaving a sickly hollow
feeling in its stead.

“So,” he says, his head bowing. “That’s it. She’s gone. For good.
And you didn’t even have to raise a finger.”

His fingertips dig painfully into the coral, arms trembling with the
force of his grip. “Satisfied?” he asks through gritted teeth.

From his hiding-place in the shadows, the Master smiles.

*****