- uses kids products to help motivate showers, brushing teeth and brushing hair

- cocoons themself in plushies and blankets, staying in bed all day and barely sleeping at night

- uses kids dishes and nastolgic meals when struggling with low appetite

- uses a sticker chart and reward system to try and feel excited and productive about chores

- cling to fictional cgs from comfort shows

- use diaps when they are too tired to get up to potty

- whine for a cg they don't have

- struggle to remember to eat, shower, change clothes, brush their hair or teeth or take medicine

- struggle to get excited about their interests

- lack the energy and/or time to regress

- struggle with nightmares and use their stuffies to comfort then

- only have the energy to be a completely dependent baby and nothing more

- who are both too scared to ask to be cared for, but also too uncomfortable to regress alone

- who feel a ton of shame, anxiety or guilt during and/or after regressing

- who can only age dream due to intrusive thoughts or anxiety

- who rely on regression completely for getting out of bed in the morning and falling asleep at night

been so depressed recently so I thought I'd share this. I truly could go on and on about how my regression is integral to my depression. I hope some of you can feel seen from this !

I let a bunch of 8-year-old schoolchildren decide for me whether I was "weird" or "normal." And I believed them FOR DECADES. Children I would not trust to order a fucking pizza!

It was a mentally ill 14-year-old me that decided I was fundamentally unlovable and would always have to scramble desperately to provide enough value to make people like me. I didn't even have a learner's license! I knew absolutely fuck-all about psychology! But somehow I was qualified enough to lay down a core belief that has haunted me ever since.

You didn’t mind, you knew that sometimes things got like this, and that it was best you didn’t push him. pushing him would only result in this depressive episode lasting longer, if not for anything but sheer defiance. It got all the way till late Sunday night, and you had started to worry that this episode was going to last for more than this week. That is… Until Robert slowly pulled the blanket back from over his head and peered up at you with empty eyes.

“I want you,” he says, barely above a whisper, voice from having not talked all week. You open your mouth to question exactly what he means but he doesn’t give you the chance to answer. He almost flinches like the sound of your voice might hurt him. When he’s sure you won’t speak, he grabs onto your wrist, tight and bruising, guiding your hand down under the blankets to his soft cock. “You make me feel good, I wanna feel good,”

The desperate pleading in his voice is what makes you wrap your fingers around his cock. You would do anything to make your boy feel better and if this is what he wants, you would do it, even with his pushing his face into your neck, where you both lay on the bed, smelling faintly of dried piss and body odor.

Imagine: your loved ones, your family, suddenly died. Everything is over, no one is left. And you are so shocked that your brain blocks this memory and all emotions — it shuts down so as not to explode.

Nothing makes sense anymore; meaning died with them. Everything around you becomes empty; you feel neither good nor bad emotions. The world stopped at that moment. The only thing that exists is distraction, in which you have to run, fight, roleplay and complete tasks.

And you dive into it very actively: your brain thinks only about what is happening at this second. It helps.

When this distraction breaks down or becomes monotonous, you get tired, sad and angry. Without distraction all you feel is pain in your chest and deadly fatigue.

At some point during the distraction, you run with someone on the team. They are fun, interesting, and you work well together. They are so similar to your family that you feel at home and safe again. Calm.

And then you take first place together and this person hugs you.

The contact brings you back to your senses and all the memories come flooding back. You are still emotionally numb, but you realize that positive feelings are associated with fear, horror, unbearability and pain on a subconscious level.

The closeness is comparable to a forest fire, to the end of the world all over again. There is emptiness and deadly silence before your eyes.

You involuntarily break free, pushing the person away from you. Muffled feelings, like a crack in the ice, begin to surface, and you are terrified.

The person tries to make contact again, but you are no longer there, it is not you. It has not been you for a long time.

You try to escape from a danger that cannot be escaped, which is not even a danger. You scream, you shout insults, just to drive these feelings away.

You sit down in a secluded place. The pain does not go away, it drips and drips onto your inflamed brain, stinging more and more each time.

...

You can no longer keep it inside: you rush into the bathroom and turn on the water to calm your mind. This day has affected you, keeping up appearances is now not only difficult, it has ceased to matter.

Of course, you still try to squeeze something out of yourself, but everyone, even those detached, is beginning to notice that something is wrong.

This hole is bigger than you, heavier. You completely distance yourself, existing by inertia.

This tether to the departed refashions grief into a strange, enduring intimacy.

You are as if in a delirium: death beckons, it seems comfortable and soothing. You realize that it has long been more attractive than reality.

You have no strength left. You give up.

...

@laissezferre thank you for this post

It inspired me to paint James Clark Ross in his later years. It feels ironic how everyone remembers the heroic polar explorer, yet forget the man broken by unimaginable tragedy.

I tried inking as it felt like a good medium to convey the chaos and grief.

PS: There is some Easter egg hidden in the dark and messy room

I think Shane would like the repetition and reward that comes from following a recipe and cooking a reliable meal.

Ilya likes it because it’s a way to try and recreate some of the soft, bittersweet memories from his childhood.

BUT I think both of them bitterly hated it when they were together but not permanently. Both of them hated the fact that they were cooking to eat alone.

Ilya could barely get the motivation to get up, let alone make a meal instead of order something delivered. He mostly just ate to sustain his physical ability in the rink, and to keep up appearances for Shane.

Masterlist 📂

Summary: How is it to date Flame Reaver! Phainon in a modern au setting (o゜▽゜)o☆

Content: GN!Reader, SFW

Note: If anyone wants a smut/NSFW version of these headcanons, I am more than willing to do that (￣y▽￣)╭ Ohohoho….. but after my exams… Also, I'm writing this during lecture, so if something is a bit incoherent, that's why 😅

Edit: Due to internet issues, I posted this before it was ready, so if anyone seen this, no u didn't 🔫

Warning(s): hints of depression, light angst, and tooth-rotting fluff (✿◡‿◡)