dreamy machiney

Sonic, undercover in Shadow's underground crime operation, happens upon The Boss sitting alone in the dark smoking, and they get to talking about her history

“Some people know who they are from the moment they know anything at all. They come into the world with a certainty that the rest of us just have to wish we had. Others learn early enough, in childhood or adolescence. For some… it takes a much longer time.” She took a drag from her cigarette, and Sonic had to tear his eyes away from the shape of her lips as the smoke billowed out.  “I’m… I’m not sure I follow.” His head was spinning, was it because he was half asleep?  “I went through most of my life thinking that I was exactly what I was created to be, never questioning it or wondering if I could be anything different. Then… I happened to meet the boss’s granddaughter. Maria.” To Sonic’s surprise, Shadow’s expression turned soft and nostalgic. “She came to us because her parents wouldn’t accept her as she was meant to be. They thought that just because she’d been born a boy, she had to stay that way, even though it was killing her. Robotnik took her in, helped her get what she needed to be her true self. She was so young then, so skittish, I couldn’t help but feel protective of her. The boss took advantage of that, and put me in charge of looking out for her. It was even more dangerous for girls like her back then than it is now.”  Despite the late hour, despite the strange, dizzying feelings going through Sonic’s head, the pieces clicked into place. “... And then you realized you were a girl like her, too?”  With a subtle, approving smile, she tapped a slender finger to her nose in an unspoken you got it. “Even though she was just a kid and I was already grown, we went through those awkward early days of self-discovery together. She was… she was really like a little sister to me, in a lot of ways. I wouldn’t be the woman I am now if not for her.” 

not so very long later, Sonic gets shot during a mission, but his mind is elsewhere while Shadow patches him up

“Can I ask you something, boss?” Sonic asked after a moment.  “If you can promise me it isn’t stupid.”  “How did you, uh… Figure it out? I know you mentioned your friend, but how did you know?” Sonic asked quietly, hoping she’d understand what it he meant.  A long moment passed in silence as she finished bandaging his shoulder, before she finally took a step back and walked to the sink to wash the blood off her hands and start cleaning everything up. “It wasn’t one great big revelation, really. A lot of little things all stacked up. I never liked how men’s clothes looked on me, what was expected of me in relationships never felt quite right. I would feel a little… Twinge, in my gut, when someone called me a man. I can’t quite explain it, it just felt wrong.”  Sonic swallowed hard. “And now?”  “Now, things make sense in a way they didn’t before. My body feels more like home than it used to.” She paused, and Sonic earned another one of those incredible little smiles. “When idiots in my employ who get themselves shot at call me ma’am, it feels right. No more twinge.”  “Huh.” He said thoughtfully, mulling this over as he forced himself to look at the sterile white wall instead of at her. “I’ve never really known anyone like that before, so it’s all kinda new to me.”  When he glanced back towards Shadow, she was giving him an entirely different look than before—sizing him up, not unlike she had when they first met but… a little more intently, like there was something specific in his bearing that she was looking for. When at last she looked away, he wasn’t sure if she’d found it or not, but his heart was pounding again. 

convincing Shadow to take a night off goes awry for Sonic, as she suggests the recreational activity of putting makeup on him, you know just for fun. No ulterior motives or anything.

 Every new tool she brought out came with some instruction or other, delivered in that cool soft-spoken command of hers. Look up. Blink. Tilt your head this way. Eyes closed again. The actual application varied wildly in sensation, with the mascara being the worst by a long shot. “You think that’s bad? I didn’t even try to tight-line your eyes.” “That… sounds like a form of torture.”  “Oh, you get used to it.”  “Which could also be said about torture.”  Shadow laughed, pulling her hand back so she didn’t smudge something-or-other all over him. Sonic wouldn’t have cared if she did, grinning like an idiot at the sound of that laugh.  “You took getting shot like a champ, don’t be a baby about eyeliner.” Her voice shifted to something quiet, stretched thin as her focus returned to this little project of hers. His eyes were closed for this, as something cold traced a steady line from one corner of his eye to the other. He wondered what sort of face accompanied that voice, found himself wishing he could see.

then, with the makeup look complete...

on one hand: after 18y of chronic pain (beginning when I was 12 and I'm 31 in a month) I finally have an answer, which is so much of a relief that it's almost not a relief anymore, like finally getting to use the bathroom when you've been waiting way too long and the relief itself kind of hurts

on the other hand: it's been 18 fucking years. I was in seventh grade when this shit all started. What if the doctor who first saw me for my headaches hadn't written me off as needing to lose weight? What if one singular doctor in the long, long parade of doctors I saw had taken a more curious approach to this miserable kid’s symptoms?

What if one person had looked for a zebra instead of deciding that if it’s not horses, the hoof beats must be made up for attention?

I used to sing in the school choir. I could never understand why everyone else sang with vibrato naturally and I could not get my voice to do that, no matter how much I relaxed or how much breath support I had. I learned a few weeks ago that some people with hEDS have this issue. I learned that it wasn’t my fault.

I was called lazy, I was called a wuss, too sensitive. “I can do this and I’m old, what’s your excuse?” “That didn’t hurt, don’t be such a baby.” “You can, you just don’t want to.”

No one ever believed “I can’t” from me. To them, I was just so averse to even the tiniest discomforts that I would put my foot down and refuse to try.

I didn’t have a better answer, I didn’t know other people didn’t feel like this, so I believed them. For 30 years, I abided by the words other people gave me. I was lazy, cowardly, and useless. The only way to overcome those character flaws was to push through the pain until I could keep up with everyone else.

Suck it up, suck it up, suck it up.

Now there are different words: ADHD, Autism, Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. So many “character flaws” suddenly turned into symptoms. But here’s the rub: those people have seen that I can meet the benchmarks they’ve set by pushing through the pain. I can make my body keep going, I can pretend to be okay when I feel awful. I am physically capable of doing those things, of meeting their criteria of “functional adult.”

And I’ve been doing it this long, right? So if I stop now that I have a better understanding, I’m just “using it as an excuse.”

“You were doing just fine before, you’re just trying to be lazy.”

It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t fine. It doesn’t matter how much I’ve neglected myself to maintain that level of “functioning.” It doesn’t matter that I had to shamble crying to the bathroom because my hips were in so much pain that any movement at all, even 5 steps to the bathroom, felt like an insurmountable task. They don’t have to see those parts, so it doesn’t matter.

Ultimately, that’s what my diagnosis means for me. There’s no cure, there’s only so much I can do to mitigate symptoms, and I will be expected to push through the pain to mimic “being a functional adult” for the rest of my life.