im becoming a mentalcel

[donsa]

after my myocarditis every single weird sensetion or pain i think is cancer.
fuckass brain

 

[Deleted Member 70398]

wow

 

[The cat from The Matrix]

after my myocarditis every single weird sensetion or pain i think is cancer.
fuckass brain

Get that checked out son

 

[TonyDr]

after my myocarditis every single weird sensetion or pain i think is cancer.
fuckass brain

I've had 2 pericarditis + i'll prob have the same fate than my mom

Dw about it too much or you'll become paranoid. Just get checked once a year or if the pain is crazy

 

[donsa]

I've had 2 pericarditis

2 pericarditis ? at what age ?

 

[Becky4L]

after my myocarditis every single weird sensetion or pain i think is cancer.
fuckass brain

First off, I just want to say: what you’re experiencing is incredibly human. That hyper-awareness, the catastrophizing, the mental tailspin—it's something many people go through, especially after a serious health scare like myocarditis. When your body betrays you once, especially in a dramatic or unexpected way, it’s like your mind throws up this constant alarm system that’s impossible to shut off. You're not broken. You’re reacting to trauma.


Let’s unpack this.


Myocarditis is terrifying. It’s not like a cold where you know what to expect. It affects your heart. That alone is enough to completely recalibrate your relationship with your own body. One day, you're going about your life; the next, you're being told your heart—the engine of everything—has inflammation. That kind of experience sticks. It breaks the illusion of invincibility, or even just normalcy, that we all unconsciously count on to get through our day.


And after something like that, it's not just physical recovery you're dealing with—it's psychological fallout. Your brain is doing what it thinks it needs to do to keep you safe: scanning for threats, trying to predict the next hit. But because it’s working overtime, every ache, every twinge, every unfamiliar sensation gets flagged as the worst possible thing. Cancer, aneurysm, heart attack, you name it. That’s not stupidity. That’s your nervous system still living in the shadow of crisis.


This is a textbook example of health anxiety, or what some call somatic symptom disorder. It's not that you're imagining symptoms—they're often very real—but your interpretation of them gets hijacked by fear. You’re stuck in fight-or-flight mode, and every time something feels "off," your brain jumps straight to the worst-case scenario. It's exhausting. It makes you feel like you're going crazy. But again: this is a survival mechanism, even if it’s malfunctioning right now.


And I want to validate this clearly: you are not weak or overreacting. Your brain is trying to make sense of a loss of safety. It’s trying to control something that felt uncontrollable. That’s a totally valid, if painful, response to trauma. But—and here's the hard part—it’s also not sustainable. Your nervous system is screaming when it doesn’t need to, and that's where healing work begins.


What can help? That depends on what you're ready for, but here are some paths:

1. Therapy: Specifically, cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT) or something like somatic experiencing or EMDR, which work well with trauma responses and health anxiety. A therapist can help you learn to challenge those automatic catastrophic thoughts and reduce the power they have over you.
2. Medical reassurance—but with boundaries: Sometimes, after myocarditis, people swing into obsessive doctor visits or internet searches to calm themselves. It helps in the moment, but long-term, it feeds the anxiety loop. It’s worth working with a doctor you trust and sticking to a schedule, even if it’s hard. Learn when to listen and when to breathe through the panic.
3. Mind-body practices: Meditation, grounding techniques, breathwork, gentle movement like yoga or walking—all these help re-train your nervous system to find safety again in your own body. They won’t erase fear overnight, but they can give you space between a symptom and your reaction to it.
4. Talking about it (like you’re doing now): You swore at your brain, and honestly, that’s perfect. Venting is valid. Naming the anxiety instead of trying to repress it gives you power. You're not bottling it up—you’re looking it in the eye. Keep doing that.

Last thing: You're not alone in this. A lot of people—especially those who’ve had brushes with serious illness—walk around with this same invisible weight. Some of them never talk about it. You are, and that’s brave as hell.


You're not broken. You're healing. And healing is messy, nonlinear, and often full of fear. But the fact that you’re noticing this pattern? That’s the first step toward changing it. Keep noticing. Keep talking. And please, be gentle with yourself—you’ve already been through enough.

 

[TonyDr]

2 pericarditis ? at what age ?

16 and 19yo

 

[Becky4L]

First off, I just want to say: what you’re experiencing is incredibly human. That hyper-awareness, the catastrophizing, the mental tailspin—it's something many people go through, especially after a serious health scare like myocarditis. When your body betrays you once, especially in a dramatic or unexpected way, it’s like your mind throws up this constant alarm system that’s impossible to shut off. You're not broken. You’re reacting to trauma.


Let’s unpack this.


Myocarditis is terrifying. It’s not like a cold where you know what to expect. It affects your heart. That alone is enough to completely recalibrate your relationship with your own body. One day, you're going about your life; the next, you're being told your heart—the engine of everything—has inflammation. That kind of experience sticks. It breaks the illusion of invincibility, or even just normalcy, that we all unconsciously count on to get through our day.


And after something like that, it's not just physical recovery you're dealing with—it's psychological fallout. Your brain is doing what it thinks it needs to do to keep you safe: scanning for threats, trying to predict the next hit. But because it’s working overtime, every ache, every twinge, every unfamiliar sensation gets flagged as the worst possible thing. Cancer, aneurysm, heart attack, you name it. That’s not stupidity. That’s your nervous system still living in the shadow of crisis.


This is a textbook example of health anxiety, or what some call somatic symptom disorder. It's not that you're imagining symptoms—they're often very real—but your interpretation of them gets hijacked by fear. You’re stuck in fight-or-flight mode, and every time something feels "off," your brain jumps straight to the worst-case scenario. It's exhausting. It makes you feel like you're going crazy. But again: this is a survival mechanism, even if it’s malfunctioning right now.


And I want to validate this clearly: you are not weak or overreacting. Your brain is trying to make sense of a loss of safety. It’s trying to control something that felt uncontrollable. That’s a totally valid, if painful, response to trauma. But—and here's the hard part—it’s also not sustainable. Your nervous system is screaming when it doesn’t need to, and that's where healing work begins.


What can help? That depends on what you're ready for, but here are some paths:

1. Therapy: Specifically, cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT) or something like somatic experiencing or EMDR, which work well with trauma responses and health anxiety. A therapist can help you learn to challenge those automatic catastrophic thoughts and reduce the power they have over you.
2. Medical reassurance—but with boundaries: Sometimes, after myocarditis, people swing into obsessive doctor visits or internet searches to calm themselves. It helps in the moment, but long-term, it feeds the anxiety loop. It’s worth working with a doctor you trust and sticking to a schedule, even if it’s hard. Learn when to listen and when to breathe through the panic.
3. Mind-body practices: Meditation, grounding techniques, breathwork, gentle movement like yoga or walking—all these help re-train your nervous system to find safety again in your own body. They won’t erase fear overnight, but they can give you space between a symptom and your reaction to it.
4. Talking about it (like you’re doing now): You swore at your brain, and honestly, that’s perfect. Venting is valid. Naming the anxiety instead of trying to repress it gives you power. You're not bottling it up—you’re looking it in the eye. Keep doing that.

Last thing: You're not alone in this. A lot of people—especially those who’ve had brushes with serious illness—walk around with this same invisible weight. Some of them never talk about it. You are, and that’s brave as hell.


You're not broken. You're healing. And healing is messy, nonlinear, and often full of fear. But the fact that you’re noticing this pattern? That’s the first step toward changing it. Keep noticing. Keep talking. And please, be gentle with yourself—you’ve already been through enough.

@DelonUmbrae i weote this all myself btw i want gold rep now f*g

 

[Deleted Member 71653]

@DelonUmbrae i weote this all myself btw i want gold rep now f*g

Here’s a reply that keeps things calm but assertive, while calling out the behavior without stooping to the same level:

Congrats on writing it yourself, but maybe aim for gold and basic respect next time. No need for slurs.

Would you like it to be more sarcastic, more serious, or just a joke in return?

 

[Becky4L]

Here’s a reply that keeps things calm but assertive, while calling out the behavior without stooping to the same level:


Would you like it to be more sarcastic, more serious, or just a joke in return?

Yeah, I said it. Not here to sugarcoat how I feel. If it hit a nerve, maybe think about why—but I’m not apologizing for calling out what I saw. You don’t have to like my delivery, but don’t ignore the point just because the tone made you uncomfortable.

 

[Deleted Member 71653]

Yeah, I said it. Not here to sugarcoat how I feel. If it hit a nerve, maybe think about why—but I’m not apologizing for calling out what I saw. You don’t have to like my delivery, but don’t ignore the point just because the tone made you uncomfortable.

Fair enough—you’ve got your way of saying things, and I’ve got mine. Just saying, calling something out doesn’t need to come with a slur to make a point. You might not be here to sugarcoat, but respect doesn’t weaken your message—it strengthens it.

 

[donsa]

16 and 19yo

was it from infection, virus ?

 

[Becky4L]

Fair enough—you’ve got your way of saying things, and I’ve got mine. Just saying, calling something out doesn’t need to come with a slur to make a point. You might not be here to sugarcoat, but respect doesn’t weaken your message—it strengthens it.

Sure, respect can strengthen a message—but so can calling things exactly what they are. If the word bothers you more than what I was calling out, maybe you’re focused on the wrong part. I’m not here to lace it up pretty—I’m here to be real.

 

[TonyDr]

was it from infection, virus ?

Yeah

 

[Deleted Member 71653]

Sure, respect can strengthen a message—but so can calling things exactly what they are. If the word bothers you more than what I was calling out, maybe you’re focused on the wrong part. I’m not here to lace it up pretty—I’m here to be real.

shut up

 

[Becky4L]

shut up

Page 1: Let’s Not Pretend This Is About Respect


So, “respect strengthens your message”—that’s what you’re going with. Cute. But let’s not pretend your comment is coming from some deep moral high ground about the ethics of language. If we’re being real, your whole response reads less like someone genuinely advocating for mutual understanding and more like someone trying to tone-police because the way I said something made you uncomfortable. And I get it—discomfort is easy to focus on. But don’t confuse discomfort with being right.


You’re not asking for a more respectful conversation; you’re asking for a more palatable one. You’re asking me to package my reaction in a way that’s easier for you to sit with, so you don’t have to engage with the full weight of what I’m saying. You want sharp truths served with sugar so they go down easier. But not everything needs to be nice. Not everything should be.


When something is frustrating, harmful, or straight-up ridiculous, I'm going to call it like I see it. Not with a bow. Not with a soft voice. And definitely not with an ounce of pretense. Respect isn’t just about words—it’s about context, about energy, about honesty. If you can’t handle the tone I used, maybe it says more about how used to being coddled you are than it does about what I said.

---

Page 2: The Problem with “Respectability Politics”


Let’s dig deeper into the idea that “respect” strengthens the message. Historically, that kind of thinking is called respectability politics—this belief that only the well-mannered, well-dressed, articulate, soft-spoken version of someone is valid enough to be heard. And that if someone’s angry, raw, or uses harsh language, their point becomes invalid. That’s nonsense.


You know who gets to be angry? People who are tired of explaining the same thing a hundred times. People who’ve been dismissed, talked over, or told to say it “nicer” until the passion was drained out of their voice. And if someone uses a word you don’t like, maybe don’t be so quick to write off their entire message. Maybe ask what pushed them there.


Because here’s the reality: the world doesn’t always give you the privilege of polite language. People fight to be heard. Sometimes it’s loud. Sometimes it’s messy. And sometimes—yes—there’s a slur, or profanity, or something unfiltered. You know what you can do in those moments? Listen anyway. Get to the core. Don’t retreat behind your fragile standard of respectability and pretend that makes you superior.


If your first reaction to someone’s anger is to criticize their delivery instead of ask why they’re angry, you’re not promoting respect—you’re promoting silence.

---

Page 3: You Don’t Have to Like It—But Don’t Pretend It’s Less Valid


I’m not here to be liked. I’m not here to be safe or digestible or soothing to your sensibilities. I’m here to call things out, to name things as I see them, and if that includes language that hits harder than you’d prefer, that’s part of the deal. You’re allowed to have your own way of speaking—go ahead, be diplomatic, be clean-cut, be gentle if that’s your lane. But don’t confuse your communication style with the moral high ground.


Because I see right through it: the need to clean up other people’s speech isn’t about virtue, it’s about control. You don’t like how I said it, so you’re trying to make the conversation about me instead of the actual issue I raised. Classic deflection. You’re not checking me—you’re dodging.


And let’s not twist this into some “can’t we all be civil” conversation. Civil discourse only works when everyone gets the same level of respect to begin with. When that’s not the case—when there’s inequality, when there’s bias, when there’s double standards—sometimes civility is the first casualty. And that’s okay. Because progress doesn’t always speak in perfect grammar. Sometimes it yells. Sometimes it cusses. Sometimes it makes you flinch.


So go ahead and clutch your pearls. Take issue with how I speak. But don’t sit there pretending you’re above it all because you chose a calmer font for your opinion. I’ll take raw truth over polished denial any day.


You don’t have to like how I said it. You just have to admit I meant it. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.

 

[Deleted Member 71653]

Page 1: Let’s Not Pretend This Is About Respect


So, “respect strengthens your message”—that’s what you’re going with. Cute. But let’s not pretend your comment is coming from some deep moral high ground about the ethics of language. If we’re being real, your whole response reads less like someone genuinely advocating for mutual understanding and more like someone trying to tone-police because the way I said something made you uncomfortable. And I get it—discomfort is easy to focus on. But don’t confuse discomfort with being right.


You’re not asking for a more respectful conversation; you’re asking for a more palatable one. You’re asking me to package my reaction in a way that’s easier for you to sit with, so you don’t have to engage with the full weight of what I’m saying. You want sharp truths served with sugar so they go down easier. But not everything needs to be nice. Not everything should be.


When something is frustrating, harmful, or straight-up ridiculous, I'm going to call it like I see it. Not with a bow. Not with a soft voice. And definitely not with an ounce of pretense. Respect isn’t just about words—it’s about context, about energy, about honesty. If you can’t handle the tone I used, maybe it says more about how used to being coddled you are than it does about what I said.

---

Page 2: The Problem with “Respectability Politics”


Let’s dig deeper into the idea that “respect” strengthens the message. Historically, that kind of thinking is called respectability politics—this belief that only the well-mannered, well-dressed, articulate, soft-spoken version of someone is valid enough to be heard. And that if someone’s angry, raw, or uses harsh language, their point becomes invalid. That’s nonsense.


You know who gets to be angry? People who are tired of explaining the same thing a hundred times. People who’ve been dismissed, talked over, or told to say it “nicer” until the passion was drained out of their voice. And if someone uses a word you don’t like, maybe don’t be so quick to write off their entire message. Maybe ask what pushed them there.


Because here’s the reality: the world doesn’t always give you the privilege of polite language. People fight to be heard. Sometimes it’s loud. Sometimes it’s messy. And sometimes—yes—there’s a slur, or profanity, or something unfiltered. You know what you can do in those moments? Listen anyway. Get to the core. Don’t retreat behind your fragile standard of respectability and pretend that makes you superior.


If your first reaction to someone’s anger is to criticize their delivery instead of ask why they’re angry, you’re not promoting respect—you’re promoting silence.

---

Page 3: You Don’t Have to Like It—But Don’t Pretend It’s Less Valid


I’m not here to be liked. I’m not here to be safe or digestible or soothing to your sensibilities. I’m here to call things out, to name things as I see them, and if that includes language that hits harder than you’d prefer, that’s part of the deal. You’re allowed to have your own way of speaking—go ahead, be diplomatic, be clean-cut, be gentle if that’s your lane. But don’t confuse your communication style with the moral high ground.


Because I see right through it: the need to clean up other people’s speech isn’t about virtue, it’s about control. You don’t like how I said it, so you’re trying to make the conversation about me instead of the actual issue I raised. Classic deflection. You’re not checking me—you’re dodging.


And let’s not twist this into some “can’t we all be civil” conversation. Civil discourse only works when everyone gets the same level of respect to begin with. When that’s not the case—when there’s inequality, when there’s bias, when there’s double standards—sometimes civility is the first casualty. And that’s okay. Because progress doesn’t always speak in perfect grammar. Sometimes it yells. Sometimes it cusses. Sometimes it makes you flinch.


So go ahead and clutch your pearls. Take issue with how I speak. But don’t sit there pretending you’re above it all because you chose a calmer font for your opinion. I’ll take raw truth over polished denial any day.


You don’t have to like how I said it. You just have to admit I meant it. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.

wdym page 1 holy cage dnr