#perseveration

[whump-tr0pes]

Beneath Gunmetal Skies - Chapter 68

Marcus knows his role on his team: he’s the one who carries the gun, makes the hard calls - and takes the hits. He has no time or patience for anyone or anything else. But when Jake - a brand-new recruit Marcus has been tasked with training - messes up on his first mission and gets them both captured, nothing could prepare Marcus for the way his world quickly spirals out of control.

AO3

Masterlist

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

Levy: (historical) the act of enlisting someone for military service

Contents: hypervigilance, lashing out at caretaker, reunion, trauma reveal, discussion on noncon, PTSD, dissociation, perseveration, head injury, STD testing, medical exam, bruises, guilt, gonna tag nsfwhump

~

Stashing the transport had gone off without a hitch – and Marcus was trying not to let paranoia creep into his mind about that. It was in the next town over, burning on the edge of a cornfield.

Marcus did feel a little guilty about the cornfield. But ditching it anywhere in the town risked being caught on camera, and he simply could not risk that. Maybe the farmer would get a good settlement from the trillionaire asshole who slapped his name on the stupid fucking transports with their stupid fucking timebomb batteries. A quiet settlement would probably be a better outcome than having it plastered over the news that yet another one caught fire and couldn’t be put out for days.

Again.

The train ride back had gone off without a hitch, too. Marcus had jogged from the train station to Lars’s house – a route he knew intimately now, after spending weeks wandering this town with nothing better to do than waste time waiting for his shoulder to heal. The jog took about thirty minutes, and the train ride had taken an hour. This whole thing had taken only three hours, all told.

Plenty of time for AMTEC to find Lars’s house, find Jake, and shoot him to death where he lay.

Plenty of time for Jake to die of his injuries, if Lars had missed something – or if Marcus had simply been too late in getting him to them.

His shirt was entirely soaked through as he rounded the corner onto Lars’s street. He began to sprint as he saw Lars’s house. Nothing seemed amiss; the door was still in its frame, the lights on, no strange vehicles on the street. The place looked as normal as it had yesterday.

Things had looked mostly normal at the train station, too.

Marcus ran up Lars’s driveway and tried to open the front door. Frustration and relief both crashed through him as the handle refused to turn. He banged on the door.

“It’s me,” he called.

After a few seconds, the lock scraped, and the door opened. Lars stood in the doorway, looking like they’d seen a ghost.

Marcus paled. “No.” The word left him like air after someone’s been punched. He stepped over the threshold. Lars moved in front of him.

“Marcus, wait,” they said urgently. “He’s okay, he’s alive, but—”

“Let me see him,” Marcus said. His hands shook. His flesh-and-blood arm ached – and he knew it was because he needed to be holding Jake.

“You can, I just think we should talk first,” Lars said. They stepped in front of him again.

Desperation, clean and strong, surged through Marcus’s body. He shoved Lars out of his way, pinning them against the wall so hard they grunted. Their head cracked against the plaster. He brushed past them and went to Jake’s room. Dread churned in his stomach. He prepared himself for blood.

He prepared himself for a missing limb.

The Jake he found still had all his limbs, and had no more blood on him than when Marcus left. He looked so small in the bed, all gangly six-foot-two of him. He raised his gaze to Marcus when he came in, but his eyes didn’t focus. Marcus went to his knees beside the bed and cradled Jake’s head. The swelling around his eye had gone down a little bit, but the bruising on his face was even worse.

“Hey, Jake,” he said softly. “I’m back. You’re okay.”

Jake stared at Marcus, lips forming silent words for an uncomfortably long time.

“M-Marcus,” he finally croaked.

“Yeah, Jake,” Marcus said, lifting Jake’s fingers to his lips and kissing them. “Told you I’d come back, right?” He felt the air change as Lars came into the room behind him. His hackles rose, but he didn’t tear his gaze from Jake.

“P-please don’t leave,” Jake said, his voice raw, like he’d been crying for hours.

“Not planning on it,” Marcus said. “I’m all yours. Except for bathroom breaks, I don’t have to leave you again, okay?”

“It hurts,” Jake sobbed. Tears ran from his eyes and down his temples, pooling in his ears.

Marcus lifted his head, still not looking away from Jake. “Hey, do you think he could get more of that—”

“Th-they raped me,” were the next words out of Jake’s mouth.

Agony blazed through Marcus from skull to spine. His fingers locked hard on Jake’s hand. He was frozen in place; he couldn’t have moved if he tried. But he shouldn’t be touching Jake, he… he tried to kill Jake, after Jake touched him when he was like this. After Jake knew.

He couldn’t make himself let go. He couldn’t force his fingers to release. “They…” he croaked.

Jake began to sob. “B-Brady and Surles,” he said. “They raped me, it… it hurt.”

Marcus was shaking. He could feel the room spinning around him, could feel the air freezing in his lungs, but he couldn’t do a thing to make it all stop. He swallowed. The air got caught halfway down.

“I-I… I begged them to stop,” Jake whimpered in a broken voice. “I couldn’t make them stop.”

There was a knife in his chest, and every word was twisting it harder. “Jake…”

Jake wailed softly, rolling closer to Marcus as he shook apart. Marcus froze for a moment; he shouldn’t touch Jake. The knowledge felt base-level, as simple as his own name.

Like an even deeper reflex, Marcus’s arms moved on their own. He gathered Jake close and held him against his chest. Jake’s tears wet his shirt. Marcus felt the echo of disgust, as if he was borrowing something he thought Jake should have. Jake only pulled him closer.

“I… I wanted to warn you,” Lars said timidly from the doorway.

Marcus was beyond words. He felt their absence, practically heard the crackling, vicious snap of words that he would have thrown back at them if he was able. He couldn’t even form them in his mind. All he heard and felt was screaming horror. He held Jake tight and rocked him – more instinct, motions he didn’t care to question or stop – eyes wide with grief and guilt as he stared at the wall.

“M-Marcus,” Jake whimpered as his fingers gripped Marcus’s shirt. “Marcus.”

Marcus swallowed hard. “Hmm,” he croaked out, just to show Jake he was there.

Slowly, Jake’s sobs eased. Marcus laid him back down on the bed and stroked his fingers through Jake’s sweaty, tangled hair. Jake raised fogged eyes to Marcus’s once more. He felt his heart crack in his chest.

“Marcus,” Jake murmured.

“Here,” Marcus said flatly.

“Please don’t leave,” Jake whispered.

Marcus shook his head. “Already said.” His fingers gently traced Jake’s brow, his nose, his chin. “Not going anywhere.”

“It hurts,” Jake said softly.

Marcus’s nostrils flared. “I know,” he said, turning to Lars. “Can he please get—”

Lars was staring at them both in horror.

“They raped me,” Jake said, in that same broken voice as before.

Marcus turned back to Jake and watched him devolve into sobs once again. His heart thundered in his chest. “Wh-why is he doing that?” he breathed.

Lars stepped fully into the room, hands tucked into their armpits. “He’s perseverating,” they said, mouth drawn. “Asking repetitive questions, saying repetitive things. It’s a sign of head injury. He’s got… a pretty bad concussion.”

Marcus stared at Jake with dread tingling in his chest. “How long… has he been like this?”

“Since a few minutes after you left.” Lars’s voice sounded dry and dead.

Tears pricked at Marcus’s eyes. “And how long…?”

“Hard to say,” Lars said weakly. “Maybe a few hours. Maybe a few days. There isn’t much to do but monitor him. He can sleep; not letting them sleep is a myth. Sleeping might be good for him, actually.”

Jake was already beginning to settle again. “Wh-what else did he tell you?” Marcus said. The tears in his eyes fell down his cheeks.

“Pretty much just that,” Lars said. “‘Who are you?’ ‘Where is Marcus?’ ‘It hurts.’ ‘They raped me.’ And then talked about the rape a bit, sometimes. Just that, over and over again for three hours. So.” They shrugged and rubbed the back of their head.

Marcus’s brows twitched together. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “For… for hurting you.”

“It’s fine, dude,” Lars said. “I shouldn’t have stopped you. Now we should, um…” They stared at the floor, arms crossing across their chest. “We really should… test him for… well. Everything. I already pulled some blood and sent that to the clinic under a false name. But the other stuff…” They chewed their lip. “It’s… a swab, around and just slightly in his, um… his anus. But I didn’t want to… to do that, until you got back.”

More static in Marcus’s brain. It was hard to think.

Lars spread their hands. “It’s important, Marcus,” they said heavily.

Marcus blinked. “Yeah.” His mouth was so dry. He stood, only for long enough to kick off his boots.

“M-Marcus?” Jake breathed.

Marcus was shaking as he climbed into bed beside Jake and smoothed his fingers through Jake’s hair. “Hey, Jake. We… just need to get a quick swab, okay? Just a quick swab, to see if you caught anything. It’ll be fast.” His eyes flicked to Lars. “Right?”

They were already putting on gloves. “It’ll be fast,” they said, unwrapping what looked like a long q-tip. They knelt beside the bed, on Jake’s other side. “Jake, could we – could Marcus – pull your pants down for just a second? Just for long enough for me to swab you? Just a little pressure around your anus, and then I’ll be done.”

Jake looked at Marcus, his eyes huge and trusting. Marcus’s throat swelled as Jake nodded weakly. Marcus drew the blanket back and, with one hand, carefully eased Jake’s sweatpants down off his hips.

He didn’t mean to look. He didn’t. But his eyes landed on the bruises that marked Jake’s hipbones. He saw the clear shape of each finger that had gripped Jake, the deep blue color that meant the bruises were only a few days old.

Marcus gasped softly and pressed his face into Jake’s temple. Jake turned his head, whimpering softly, and ground his forehead against Marcus’s.

“Just bend your knees up for me?” Lars murmured.

“I gotcha,” Marcus said. He cradled Jake tightly. “It’s okay.”

Jake’s breath caught. His fingers tightened in Marcus’s shirt.

“I gotcha.” It was a promise, and a plea. “I gotcha.”

“And we’re done,” Lars said, snapping the swab off into a specimen tube.

Marcus tugged Jake’s pants back up and covered them both with the blanket. Jake rolled onto his side, burying his face in Marcus’s neck.

Lars finished prepping the swap and stripped off their gloves. “I can… leave you two alone, if you want,” they said. They headed for the door.

“Marcus?” Jake whimpered in Marcus’s arms.

“Lars,” Marcus said roughly. They paused. “I… I really am sorry. And grateful. He’d be dead… we’d both be dead, if not for you. And…” He dashed tears from his eyes. “He’s… he’s my…” His throat threatened to close.

“Yeah,” Lars said. “He’s yours. I get it. And for the record… he cares about you, too. Head injuries can make people act weird, but… this isn’t that. He loves you. More than life. Hope you know that.” They turned without another word and stalked out of the room.

Marcus’s chest ached as Jake trembled in his arms. “Marcus,” he whispered. “Please don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” he said, trailing his metal fingers across Jake’s forehead. His sweaty shirt clung to his skin, but he didn’t care. “I’m not going anywhere, Jake.”

“It hurts.”

“I know. I know it does, Jake. But I’m here. I gotcha.”

A sob. “They r-raped me.”

“I know.” A kiss into Jake’s hair. “I know, Jake.” A kiss against his forehead. “I’m so… fuck, I’m sorry.”

“They raped me, Marcus, th-they cuffed me and… I s-screamed…”

Marcus shuddered as a sob of his own broke through him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have come for you sooner. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Jake.”

“I wanted you to come for me. Even when I thought you w-were… dead.” Jake’s grip was so weak on his shirt.

Marcus thought he might break apart from shame. “I’m here now,” he offered pathetically.

Jake sobbed against his chest. “Marcus,” he whimpered. “Marcus, Marcus, Marcus.”

“I’m here,” Marcus said. “I’m here.”

“Marcus,” Jake sobbed. “Please don’t leave.”

Marcus gritted his teeth against the pain and prepared himself for another onslaught. “I won’t, Jake. I promise. I swear, Jake, you have me. Feel me, yeah? Not going anywhere.”

“It hurts,” Jake whimpered.

“Yeah, Jake.” More tears burned in Marcus’s eyes. “I know.”

Continued here

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[defectivegembrain]

Oh so when I persevere I'm doing something admirable, but as soon as the word puts on the little -ate suffix hat and I perseverate, suddenly it's a "symptom" of my "autism"

[autisticdreamdrop]

autistic things 23

dealing with perseveration and cognitive rigidity

[helenwhiteart-blog]

The fascinating cross-over of ADHD and chronic illness (and other unsolvables)

The fascinating cross-over of ADHD and chronic illness (and other unsolvables)

The Scream – Edvard Munch 1893 Yesterday, I was at an outdoor concert in an idyllic setting listening to some of my favourite music and something fascinating occurred to me. I was less than 5 minutes into the music and I realised I was bored. Some part of me was screaming an existential scream, knowing I was going to be sat there like this for the next couple of hours. It was an admission to…

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[truefreedombelieversofficial]

Wheezie-Brain: What Dragon Tales Taught Me About Perseveration

In about my first or so year of living in the Tampa Bay Area, I would watch Dragon Tales almost after school.

Nothing beats a nice afternoon tuning into WEDU (Channel 3, the Tampa Bay PBS Member station upon which I’d also operate my SEGA Genesis and N64 consoles) after completing homework my special ed class gave me (which was BLISSFULLY MINIMAL, even for 10-year-old me) to learn of what adventures Max and Emmy would pursue with Cassie, Ord, and conjoined twins Zak and Wheezie.

And that - indeed - leads me to Zak and Wheezie.

The green half represents both my left brain, which is the saner half. My favorite character is the purple half, and she not only represents my right brain, but also my tendency to perseverate.

Temple Grandin - one of my influential autistic icons and co-author of Developing Talents: Careers for Individuals with Asperger Syndrome and High-functioning Autism - explained my several brushes with perseveration in childhood at best, “Often the person on the spectrum hyper-focuses on favorite subjects, talking non-stop about them and missing social cues from others to stop."

In other words, perseveration is when stressors like sensory overload and difficulties transitioning to another activity fuels an autistic individual's Wheezie-brain, enabling them to unleash their banter about special interests to mostly the annoyance of others. My Zak-brain - the saner left hemisphere - would want me to stay on task or be in the present.

But my Wheezie-brain would want me to release the tension built up via ennui, tedious tasks, or sensory overload by busting into discussion about my special interests. For others, talking about special interests at excessive lengths can be annoying. But for my Wheezie-brain, she "LLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVVVVVVVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEESSSSS IT!"

Perseveration had been my issue years before learning somewhat about it via relating myself to Dragon Tales. Days after disembarking the former cruise ship, Fun Ship Carnival Tropicale in September 1995, I talked to myself about Tropicana Lounge, though I wasn't aware of how audible me doing so was, before lunch in kindergarten.

My teacher caught me doing it, restrained me. She repeatedly said sternly, "NO TROPICANA LOUNGE. NO TROPICANA LOUNGE."

I fortunately didn't cry, and I would typically do once my teacher would restrain me. But I felt bad about it, wondering why before lunch wasn't the time to talk about the best part of my cruise. I didn't cry after the cruise either (I usually would after almost each vacation!), so the perseveration that rooted the "No Tropicana Lounge Incident" kept me sane, though it drove her NUTS.

1.5 years later, I was waiting at the bus stop. With me having PHYSICALLY returned to my former state of NJ from a kinda latent spring break in Florida, visiting my cousins in Thonotosassa with my late DGM and celebrating Walt Disney World's silver jubilee with my parents, my Wheezie-brain was still at Epcot.

I put it out there via talking to myself about Ellen's Energy Adventure, a revamp of Universe of Energy featuring Ellen DeGeneres and Bill Nye. (He was the reason why TV sets in the classrooms excite the peas out of me.) Again, I wasn't even aware of how loud I was.

My DGM stopped me, telling me to "Forget About Ellen." Once I boarded the small school bus, I spoke more further about neither Ellen's Energy Adventure, the rest of what I did at Walt Disney World, nor the rest of my spring break as I rode it.

Neither did I bring any of them up later that day at school to avoid another "No Tropicana Lounge Incident." On the flip-side, it broke my crying-after-a-vacation phase that would plague me as a kid.

Back to my first years in Tampa. Upon entering 5th grade as a mainstreamed autistic, I happened upon Classic Arts Showcase as well as Ovation TV. (Thank you, Time Warner Cable.)

Ovation TV pre-2010 or whereabouts was my fertilizer for my Wheezie-brain. Its contents include the 1997 performances of select Johann Sebastian Bach cantatas with the Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra under Ton Koopman; the late Sir George Martin's documentary series The Rhythm of Life; the South Bank Show episode on countertenors (which explains why Michael Chance is my favorite singer of this male singing range); and Beat Route, hosted by Squeeze's Jools Holland.

But the most potent contents that Ovation TV harbored were Howard Goodall docus. HOWARD. GOODALL. DOCUS. His Organ Works deepened my appreciation for organ music, and his singing voice was a treat to hear for this late-elementary-to-early-middle-schooler.

Goodall was one of my celebrity crushes in my tweens. At school, I would not only speak a bit like him, but also write a bit like him. (Hello, media-induced scripting!)

At Books-A-Million, I bought Phil Goulding's Classical Music: The 50 Greatest Composers and Their 1,000 Greatest Works at the tender age of 11. (Fortunately, my elementary school made Accelerated Reader and Star Assessment COMPLETELY optional at the time, so I had the freedom to read it as I pleased.)

Goulding's book - as well as the documentaries and concerts on TV - lead me to one phone call I made to one of my DUs about George Frederic Handel. My Wheezie-brain took on the reins once again. Towards the end, I lent the phone to DM, with her briefly ending the call.

She and my late DF discussed with me on how and why it was inappropriate for me to talk to him about classical music and how not everyone is interested in me talking at great length about it. They gently reprimanded me again talking to my cousins about classical music before a fishing trip.

It took me until my 20s to figure out why school wasn't the appropriate time to discuss my cruise vacation. Why talking about Ellen's Energy Adventure while waiting for the bus was a faux pas in front of my house. Why I felt bad for neither being allowed to talk to my DUs, DAs, nor my cousins about Francois Couperin.

Though I look back laughing at those moments in life and forgive my elders for annoying them with Tropicana Lounge or Handel, I learned that I was a victim of the Wheezie-brain-gone-wild, and that became what perseveration means to me and later fully comprehending it enough to get over that victim mentality.

Though I have my Wheezie-brain mostly under control, I wished my aides or coaches would've created perseverations lists as I grew up. It was an idea I conjured one day while listening to The Perfectionism Project episode, "3 Procrastination Tips That Don’t Work For Perfectionists," as I exercised via walking and circuit training.

The podcast was hosted by Sam Laura Brown, Aussie business coach, and she suggests creating a distractions list to help perfectionists curb their procrastination. She said, "This is where you create a list with all of the things you want to be distracted with as it happens. Every time I wanted to do something that wasn't what I planned to do, I would write down what it was."

Had I been a grade-schooler still living in NJ having been old (and tall) enough to experience that successor to Ellen's Energy Adventure at Epcot during a summer Walt Disney World vacay and STILL was in the perseveration phrase, I would’ve driven my teachers nuts. They would’ve said repeatedly to me, “NO GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY: COSMIC REWIND!” (Taken by yours truly, on my b-day, 6/12/2022)

Similarly, I wished my parents would've hired a life coach or a therapist who would've became one and had the coach observe and write notes on me self-talking about Tropicana Lounge or talking about Ellen's Energy Adventure while waiting for the bus. Or have the coach horn in on my conversation with cousins about Bach.

The coach would've discussed the notes she took about me perseverating with my parents, and he or she would've used it to prewrite social stories that would've explained more in depth about why I couldn't discuss with my DAs about the clarinet's role in an orchestra at times. They would include which times would've been appropriate to do that.

Or the coach would have me use the first-then system - with me doing the most tedious tasks first, then talking with them (within a time limit) about composers.

Again, the Wheezie-brain ended my tradition of post-vacation tears at 7. It also had me spend a WHOLE month in Europe (the cradle of classical music) on October 2015. For some of my autistic adult brethren, it became the basis of careers, as well as a few print-on-demand side hustles for me. 

But I feel for many of my verbally autistic folks who still have Wheezie-brains running wild. Sharing my personal experiences having one myself can lead to workplace faculties and people who work with neurodiverse individuals collaborating on how to tame their Wheezie-brains and help them successfully obtain and retain their employment.

[cyber-dragon-123]

Autistic obsession / special interest / hyperfixation / preoccupation with fantasy should be called “creative perseveration” to distinguish it from OCD and maladaptive daydreaming.

[abcsofadhd]

hi, so i think i might have adhd and recently i’ve been super obsessed with jatp, like can’t think of literally anything else for a whole week, and a couple nights ago i got so overwhelmed with emotions for this show i felt physical pain and then gave myself a panic attack, could this be an ADHD thing?

It’s that motherfucking hyperfocus (perseveration).

ADHD is not about a deficiency of attention, but rather about difficulty modulating attention.

We can struggle ‘starting’ our focus but we can also stop ‘stopping’ it. 

That obsessive, inability to stop is what we ADHDers call hyperfocus.

Some ADHDers like it, but I really don’t. Exactly for the reasons you mentioned. It’s too out of control.