#10 years clean and now i relapse

[izopoz]

*retired criminal voice* fine, one last fanart...but then I'm out forever

[scarletcomet]

i am so normal and not mentally ill at all

[getmecakeordeath]

For those who self h@rm by cvtting, here’s some tips for taking care of yourself from someone whos being doing it for 10+ years

•It’s okay, don’t think any less of yourself for relapsing. It happens and its okay. No one ever tells you that its okay.

•Invest in a person first aid kit, I’m a first responder so I’ve always been stocked up. You should make sure your kit has the following:

• sterile cleansing wipes (you can never have enough of these)

•Conforming bandages (you’ll need this for bigger cuts to help keep the gauze secure

•Microporous Tape

•Different size wound dressings

•Plasters of all different sizes (fabric ones work best I find)

•Kitchen roll (I know that sounds strange but it helps to stop the bleeding, where as tissue just falls to bits)

•Some wound closure stitches (butterfly stitches)

•Wash your hands properly before you cvt, it will help keep you safe okay

•Whatever your going to cvt with make sure you give it a good clean with a sterile wipe, I got some nasty infections from not doing this when I was young.

•After you have had your ‘session’ (at least that’s what I call mine) make sure that you treat your wound properly:

•Hold the kitchen roll to your wound until it stops bleeding.

•Clean the area with the sterile wipes thoroughly

•If it is small enough for a plaster then out that on there

•If not use the wound dressings, measure up to the wound ensuring that there is a good finger width between the edge of the cut and the end of the dressing

•Use the tape to secure it into place

•Hold one end of the bandage away from the wound before you start wrapping it (so you have something to tie it off with)

•Don’t wrap it too tight or it will be uncomfortable and you’ll want to take it off

•Change the bandage or plaster every day at least once (I know that it’s hard but if you don’t it might cause an infection)

•If you cvt too deep, it happens it’s okay I’ve been there, push firmly against the wound with a tea towel or any fabric you can get. If the blud is pouring out I’m going to need you to hold it against you wound as hard as you can and then a little harder. Call you Emergencey service number (999, 911 etc) they will talk you though what you have to do and get you help.

•Dispose of any blades you use, don’t use them twice it WILL cause an infection that can get into your blood. I bought pencil sharpeners on Amazon for very cheap. One use only okay? You don’t want to get sick over it.

•If you want to help your scars become less visible use Bio Oil I think that it works the best and really helped me with the ones on my arms.

•There are things that can help you with your urges or relapses.

•Some helpful apps that I would recommend are:

•StayAlive (I have had this on my phone for many years now and it has saved my life

It has saved my life on many occasions and if you find that you are in need of die help, you can show it to the emergency services and they will help you okay. We are trained in this.

•Harm less (It gives you motivational things whenever you open it, it’s 100% customisable and it can help you keep track of your relapses)

•Its okay to relapse, I’ve been though it many times, I recently just relapsed acted a 250+ day gap. Its okay and no one says it enough. You haven’t let anyone down, no one is disappointed in you, your okay.

Just some tips I’ve learnt over time, it’s going to be okay

[llxferim]

a/n: first post! i have a lot of ideas rn so i’ll prolly post ton of fics and then make a small masterlist! please excuse my english, its not my first language😭. (this is not proofread) (this fic is actual shit😃)

pairing: Klaus Hargreeves x reader

Summary: after a long day with Diego, you go back to the Hargreeves mansion, only to find Klaus passed out drunk. you help him get cleaned up, as always.

Genre: fluff/comfort (maybe angst?)

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, Klaus is drunk or high or both, idk, gender neutral reader, no y/n used, he/they Klaus.

Word Count: 1.2k

You and Diego had been out looking for the Two people who kidnapped Klaus and murdered Patch to no avail. you gave up and returned to the mansion since it was getting dark. Diego dropped you off at the house, but he said he would keep looking for a little while and drove off.

you were worried about Klaus, getting kidnapped and tortured isn’t easy to deal with, even for him. everyone thinks since he is so unserious all the time, these things don’t bother him, but you were the closest thing to him growing up, and he is as emotional as a little kid.

you didn’t even have a chance to talk to him when he escaped the kidnappers, since Diego dragged you away right when he got back.

you open the front door to the Hargreeves mansion. it was dark and quiet, as always. so you thought everybody else was out doing god knows what.

you take off your coat, leaving the warmth behind with it and started walking to the bathroom to wash up and finally get some rest.

you were just about to open the door when your foot hit something- no someone, you look down to check, and there he was, with his smudged eyeliner and wet hair. “Klaus!?”

you crouched to his eye level, getting the hair out of his face “heyy it’s my favorite personn!” he slurred, you could hear how drunk he was. “How long have you been here? are you okay? where are the-“ you start panicking before a hand comes up to your mouth, silencing you. “too loud” he whispers.

“you reek of alcohol, Klaus. how much did you drink?” you say getting their hand off your mouth but forgetting to let go. “about.. 4” he blurts out “Four what, Klaus?” “bottles..” he says.

“fucking hell… come on” you say as you pinch the bridge of your nose. you put their left arm over your shoulders for support and pull him to his feet. “where are we going?” he groaned, the last thing he wanted right now was to walk. “we..” you let out a breath, he definitely wasn't lightweight. “..are going to clean you up”

“call out when you’re done” you say as you close the bathroom door behind you and sit down in the same spot Klaus was sitting minutes ago.

taking care of him after they relapsed or got too drunk wasn’t new to you. the others eventually got tired of him coming back to the house barely alive every night, that they stopped caring.

you never did though, you always took care of him, no matter how many times he came back high. you supported him when he was trying to stay clean, and comforted him when he relapsed. it was tiring, yes, but you cared about him, a lot.

you remember the day Reggie brought you from your parents, you were just 10 years old and scared shitless, your parents had just sold you to a strange man.

when you first arrived at the Umbrella Academy, everyone ignored you, they all had jobs to do.

but Klaus, with his big stupid smile, came up to you, and put his arm over your shoulder. “wanna see my room?”. it wasn’t really a question since he immediately started dragging you upstairs, supposedly to their room.

when Reggie forced you to practice your powers every night instead of sleeping, Klaus was the one that helped you. he slipped a sleeping pill in Reggie’s Coffee, giving you time to escape with him. after that, where there was Klaus, so were you.

after you all grew up, you and Klaus still stayed in touch but not as much as you did when you were kids, but, Reginald’s death brought you all back together.

“can you walk?” you asked Klaus, who was now dressed and clean, but still a little wobbly. “i think so” he replied but almost fell after taking the very first step. “okay, no i can’t walk” he groaned as he leaned onto you for support. “yeah, thought so. you’re like a toddler taking his first steps.” you chuckled. then, you feel a little pinch on your shoulder “hey! what was that for?” you protest “my misery is not funny!” they teased, trying his best to look angry. “oh, shut up” you muttered and pushed them a little with your hip.

You helped Klaus to his room, the door creaking open as you both stepped inside. The room, dimly lit by a bedside lamp, was a mess of discarded clothes and scattered posters that were supposed to be hanging on the wall.

Klaus staggered slightly, but you guided him to his bed, where he collapsed with a groan of relief. “oh, my sweet bed, how i have missed you” You sat down next to him, the weight of the day settling on your shoulders.

“are the others here?” you asked, your worry not quite fading. “no idea” Klaus replied, his voice muffled. “you didn’t even check if they were here? they could have helped you, you know” you said, frustration seeping into your voice. You still couldn’t shake the worry that something terrible might have happened.

“i’m fine aren’t i? you got here on time.” he sat up to face you. “Well, what if I hadn’t?” you countered. “You’re not immortal, Klaus! What would I have done if something happened to you?” hiding your face with your hands out of frustration.

Klaus’s eyes softened, and he reached out, gently pulling your hands away. “Hey, hey, I’m fine, okay? I’m sorry, I should have at least called someone. But I swear, I’m fine.” they tried to calm you down, if anyone, he was the one that could.

You felt your eyes tearing up. “Shit—” you tried to laugh it off and wipe away the tears, when suddenly you felt a pair of lips against yours. The kiss was soft and tentative at first, as if Klaus was unsure whether it was the right thing to do. But the warmth of his touch and the sincerity behind it made your heart race.

You hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the suddenness, but soon you melted into the kiss, your lips responding to his with equal tenderness. The world outside seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you.

then you pulled away, Klaus looked at your puzzled face “i’m, uh i’m sorry-“

But you cut him off with a reassuring smile. “No—no, don’t apologize.” You chuckled softly, your eyes sparkling with affection. “As much as I want to enjoy this moment, Klaus, you’re still drunk.”

Before you could say more, he suddenly pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you with warmth. The faint smell of alcohol lingered, but you didn’t mind.

“You still reek of alcohol, you know,” you teased, a playful grin on your face.

“Shut up,” Klaus murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “We’re having a moment here.”

[stoutguts]

headcanon rambling/my personal hc for Johnny's backstory bc I think it'd be interesting also I like the idea of Ghoap where the both of them had a shitty childhood bc of an abusive parent and the both of of them hv trauma/I love angst 💕

CW: drug add\ction, s*lf-h*rm/s*icide, parental/child abvse

Soap was born into a big family in the Scottish countryside, being the youngest with 6 older sisters. His father was a deadbeat, and walked out on him at a young age, being effectively raised by his mom and big sisters. Having strong female influences on his life benefited him greatly in the long run, he grew up to be a very well-adjusted, kind, and respectful man (particularly towards women, as he is a staunch feminist (you go Johnny).

However, on the other hand the only true parental figure in his life, his mother, was a horrible person. She was mentally and emotionally abusive, as well as unstable. She would even get physical with her children at times, including Soap. Johnny was also raised Roman Catholic, though today he considers himself agnostic or a flat out atheist. His mother was incredibly homophobic and transphobic and would use religion to justify her bigotry towards him, leading Soap to hating himself and struggling with self-harm and suicidal ideation for years. Particularly, by cutting himself (he has s/h scars all over his thighs, arms, and shoulders). Has attempted at least 10+ times in the past. Not to mention, he did a lot of hard drugs during his middle and high school years to cope with his mother's abuse. (Particularly coke and heroin). He's come incredibly close to ODing on a few occasions. An addict and a total mess, until his sisters intervened and forced him against his will into rehab.

After 2 or so years he was clean and eligible for the military.

He still relapses from time to time (whether it's self-harm or drugs), and when he does its bad. He even still regularly smokes weed to this day, though it's not nearly as bad as some other substances. It's a wonder he hasn't been discharged, (because he doesn’t try to hide it too much), but probably because he's too much of an asset.

Ghost is the one to bring him out of his slumps now. Not minding one bit, as all Simon cares about is Johnny's safety and well-being.

Needless to say, he could never see religion in the same light after that. He’s even quite apprehensive and wary of people whom are religious and religion in general.

He and his mother were never close and soon would never get along with each other, as he’s proud and not the type to even tolerate shit from anyone. It was an almost daily occurrence that he and his mom would fight, particularly when he finally reached his pre-teen/teen years, sometimes evolving into full-blown screaming matches.

Being the protective type of person that he is, most of the time he’d get into fights because of his sisters coming to him about how mom had hit them or made them cry (despite the fact he feels nothing but pure hatred for his mum, he has a very deep bond/connection to each and everyone of his sisters and loves them all dearly).

That was what pissed him off more than anything.

His mom could do whatever she wanted with him, frankly he stopped caring and her cutting words no longer held any weight or meaning to him at some point, and being hit was soon the equivalent to getting bit by a mosquito, he became numb. He didn't know when he stopped feeling, but he did. (He of course wasn't entirely immune, she'd eventually break him). But he was determined to stay strong for his siblings.

Bringing harm upon his sisters? No way in hell that was ever gonna fly, and he didn't care if she was his mother or not.

Johnny naturally grew to resent his mother, and to this day he still calls her a “witch” or a "cunt" instead of his mum. Eventually he’d had enough and couldn’t take his mother’s abuse any longer, (she is half of the reason he went into the military as soon as he possibly could, besides it being a lifelong and childhood dream of his).

He kept in touch with his sisters (and still does), of course, calls them everyday or whenever he gets the chance to let them know he’s alive and well and to see how their doing. Visits when he can or when he’s off duty. Though he completely cut ties with his mother after joining the military,—a couple of his sisters would keep him posted on what was going on with her.

Later on, his mother went to go on to be diagnosed with terminal cancer, and passed shortly thereafter.

He attended the funeral up in Scotland, but mainly for his sisters’ sakes. He actually ended up staying in Scotland for a while after that to provide support for his sisters, (emotional or otherwise), and to try to ease the grieving process. Even though she wasn’t the greatest mom or person in general, it was still a tough loss. Though Soap still didn’t regret cutting her out of his life,—it was fucked up but he was glad that she died in a way, and even visited her grave just once after the funeral, by himself, just so he could spit on it. Maybe even say some things he never was able to say to her, half as retribution and half to just get it off his chest.

Ghost is the only one who knows of Johnny's past and his abusive mother, and is incredibly understanding and gentle about it (as naturally it's a particularly touchy subject). On all official stuff regarding his background, the most it ever details is where he was born or that he was raised Roman Catholic. Not to mention, although Soap is a yapper and almost never shuts up, he’s a very private person and just simply doesn’t like others knowing his business (with the exception of Ghost of course).

Even though Johnny didn’t let his mother’s death bother him regarding the funeral and his prolonged visit to Scotland, when he got back he broke down completely.

He stayed strong for his sisters as he felt like he had to and just as he's always done, but the facade came crashing down once he was in Simon's arms again.

He hated his mum, she didn't really deserve his tears, yet she was still his mum. That fact still reigned true even after everything.

And Ghost was there by his side the whole time. Hell, if anyone knows what it's like to lose a family member, it's Simon "Ghost" Riley. Whether they be toxic or not. Simon's heart positively ached for Soap, and they couldn't help but get all misty eyed at Johnny's pure, unbridled grief.

Ghost had never felt so sorry for anyone in his life, and Soap was eternally grateful for Simon's patience, empathy, and it consoling him to the best of their ability. 💖

DADDY ISSUES GHOST AND MOMMY ISSUES SOAP MY BELOVED(S)

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: The past is revealed to Eren, who can only do his best to prove that it doesn’t change his feelings.

— Content warnings: past child abuse/neglect, drug use, unstable family life, grooming, SA, slightly nsfw, mention of unprotected sex.

— Notes: Sorry for the cliffhanger last week lol but you should be used to it haha. Chapter 10 is now here! <3 There’s a lot going on in this chapter so please pay attention to the content warnings before reading. Don’t be shy to stop by my ask box <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

then and now

It wasn’t always so bad.

My earliest memory is that of my mom giving me a warm cup of tea and honey when I fell incredibly ill at three years old. I'd eaten something unclean and I was stuck in my parent's bed for a week, feverish, with little appetite and even less strength. If I concentrate enough, I can still hear echoes of my parents sitting at the kitchen table, crunching the numbers from their pooled savings so they could afford a doctor's visit. My mom remained by my side the entire time to make sure the IV drip didn't spontaneously clog, or that I didn't move the hand that was connected to it and started bleeding out into the tube. The doctor said a little bleeding was normal, but she was scared of it happening at all. 

I developed a hatred for cabbage, which is what the doctor recommended to help regain strength without hurting my stomach. My father went out to buy it and my mom fed it to me in soup. She'd make a game out of it, and she promised to take me to the park to play as soon as I got better. I remember my childhood fondly if I focus on that first memory. So, I'm pretty sure anything before that was just as good. 

I didn't know until I was way older that my mother did drugs before she had me. She struggled with addiction at sixteen, which was well into her relationship with my father. The only difference was, he remained clean after my mom told him she was pregnant during their senior year of high school. 

I couldn't understand that I was witnessing her relapse after I started kindergarten. Apparently, being four and a half years old is the cutoff for being worthy of staying sober for. 

That's when everything started spiraling. My mom failed to pick me up from school several times, leaving me to spend hours tucked away in the library, keeping Mrs. Zacharias company while she pretended to rearrange already organized books. My father worked long hours at a factory, some of which had to be punctured like swiss cheese so he could take me home because my mom was nowhere to be found.

By the time she stumbled through the door, she was being brought in by strange men. I never met them, I just knew they were there because the noise would wake me up in the middle of the night and I'd hear my father arguing with my intoxicated mom after thanking them for bringing her home. 

My mom looked sick. As her number one fan, I was worried. She was getting skinnier, she barely ate and she seemed tired all the time yet never got enough sleep to heal the dark circles under her sunken eyes.

The first time I attempted to cook something, I was six. I could easily get by during school days. I had breakfast and lunch there, and sometimes Mrs. Zacharias would give me pretzel sticks if I read a book out loud to her while we waited for my father to come get me. But on weekends, I was on my own. My father was working even on weekends to make ends meet and even when my mom happened to be home, she wasn't truly there.

So, while she was locked inside the bathroom for hours, I went into the kitchen and tried to boil an egg. I couldn't find the small pot we always used, but my pink plastic bowl was on the drying rack from last night after my father fed me dinner. 

I didn't know you weren't supposed to put plates onto a hot stove. The plate cracked and stuck to the burner. I tried to pry it off but I burned my hand. It would take years for the scar to fade. 

When my mom saw what I'd done, she slapped me straight across the face. I was dragged by my hair and locked in the minuscule storage closet as punishment. That was just the first of many times. 

My father would always be the one to let me out when he got back from work late at night, and I'd quietly call him from the inside, scared because I'd urinated myself and he'd probably be just as mad as my mom. But he wasn't. He'd clean me up, scrape the plastic from my now useless pink bowl from the burner, and feed me.

My father grew tired of it. All the money that was meant for food and supplies went directly to dealers, meaning he had to spread himself even thinner. When he found out my mom had ransacked the secret place he kept his savings for the sixth time, he snapped. 

I was twelve by then, so I understood everything that was going on.

They had a huge fight and he stormed into the bedroom to pack his clothes into a bag. But my mom was ballistic. She took a pair of scissors and started cutting anything she could get her hands on into pieces.

I heard a series of slapping and punching before my father passed me by in the living room — no money or clothes on him — and slammed the door shut behind him.

Things got even worse.

My mom would constantly yell that if it hadn't been for me, my father never would've left. She'd tell me I ruined her life and that I was a burden. Had she not gotten pregnant at eighteen, her life would be a whole lot simpler.

But now we didn't have any money, I didn't have a father, and my mom's addiction pushed her into getting a job. Even back then, at twelve years old, I felt guilty because she had to work because of me. 

She started off at a laundromat. Mrs. Zacharias visited our apartment because I hadn't gone to school for a few days and she wanted to check in. Despite my mom's foul language toward the kind librarian, she helped her get the job. 

My mom was very happy to work at the laundromat, though it had less to do with having a purpose than it did with the crumpled bills she'd find in people's clothes that would later serve as pocket change for her dealer. 

After a year, she was fired after being caught stealing from the register. It was surprising she even lasted that long in that place. 

But now she was even more desperate. 

And that's when the men started coming.

I spent my elementary and middle school years hearing my mom having sex with strangers inside the room she used to share with my father while I did homework on the kitchen table. 

Some of them were nice. Some of them weren't. 

Sometimes my mom's dealer would be the one to come around. 

One day, when I was thirteen, I'd just gotten back from the school library from working on a group project and I was making myself a sandwich when he came out of the bedroom, still buckling his pants.

“Hey there, princess,” he said.

“Hi, Steve.”

I didn't think it was strange to be on a first name basis with the guy. He was around a lot and that in itself meant it was okay to be close with him, in my mind.

Besides, he wasn't that much older than me. I think about eighteen or nineteen. It just made sense to be friends.

“How's school?” he asked as he leaned back into one of the chairs at the table.

I knew he didn't really care — that's why he dropped out, he'd say — but I still answered him honestly.

“Math's getting a bit hard but I'm doing okay.”

“That's ‘cause you're smart,” he praised as he lit up a cigarette and took the first drag. “You're gonna make it outta here real quick with that brain of yours.”

He held my gaze as he blew out the smoke away from my face. It didn't matter because it drifted back to me anyway. 

“You're pretty, too,” he murmured before taking another long drag.

I shook my head, an unamused scoff leaving my lips.

“I'm serious,” he laughed.

I turned back to look at him again, suddenly feeling shy. 

He had very nice eyes. Sometimes bloodshot but always very blue. 

I always liked how blue his eyes were.

I also liked that he complimented me. Outside of school I was barely praised for anything. 

“You think I'm pretty?”

His smile slowly faded as he squashed his cigarette butt on the floor and leaned closer to me.

“Yeah, you're fuckin’ pretty, darlin’,” he murmured, his eyes flitting to my lips. “Wish I could taste you.”

I could feel my face grow hot at his words. At the time I thought he meant he wanted to kiss me, and perhaps that was all there was to what he said, but I found myself leaning closer to him, too.

I had my first kiss with a nineteen year old drug dealer. I didn't know what I was doing, of course, so I just tried to mimic his movements. He tasted awful but I felt my stomach fluttering at the thought that someone thought of me as pretty and not a disgusting nuisance.

The kiss was cut short when my mom caught sight of the scene and angrily kicked him out.

She was fuming when she got back to me, and I could feel my stomach trying to climb up my throat in anxiety.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she yelled.

I tried to explain that he asked to kiss me first, that he made the first move. But she overpowered me.

“You think I don't notice the way you look at all my men?” she sneered. “It wouldn't kill you to stop wearing that skimpy little skirt around, you filthy slut.”

I was next to be thrown out of the house. 

Living on the first floor of our apartment building included some perks, one of them being we didn’t have to climb the metal stairs attached to the side of the building to get to our apartment. There were no stairs connecting the apartment floors on the inside, either, which meant there was plenty of privacy. 

But it also meant I had no way of getting back inside that night.

It was December. It was snowing. And I slept outside.  

From then on, I was nothing but a whore, a vicious slut who was interfering with my mom's business. I had to leave the house each time she had someone over, or be locked in the closet until they finished. My mom said that as long as I was in view, men would be more interested in me, the pretty young thing, instead of her. And that wasn't fair.

Over the next couple of years, we coexisted with each other. I stayed out of her way as much as I could, a habit that ultimately translated to other aspects of my life. And she spared me just enough attention when I needed to be punished for taking money for school supplies and food. 

It got to a point when I started hanging around my high school more than I should. I'd get there extremely early and leave as late as I could without getting in anyone's way. 

And I actually really liked school. Steve wasn't lying when he said I was smart. I really did have a knack for picking up on things easily, and good grades came to me like a birthright. 

I was top of the list for everything.

Minus social skills.

I kept to myself. I was smart but I barely raised my hand in class so as to not rob anyone else of the opportunity to participate. I ate lunch alone in front of my locker to not take up any space at a table in the cafeteria. But I was fine with it.

Everything was fine.

Zeke Fritz was the youngest teacher at my school. He was well-mannered and charming, and he was very popular among all his students — but especially the girls.

He just had a dignified presence that drew everyone in. A lot of the female teachers would shamelessly flirt with him but he always remained very composed.

As the only male born to politicians with connections just about everywhere, Zeke Fritz could've lived a cushy life with a breezy job that would keep him comfortable for life.

But he wanted to be a high school teacher. So, fresh out of a masters program in math, he quickly snagged the open position at the high school I enrolled in years later. Not that an open position was a sign of good luck. For Zeke Fritz, spaces were manufactured for him wherever he chose to go.

He was well qualified for the job, though. He'd also taken a liking to me during my first and only semester of my first year. I was the first to pick up on every formula he taught and he found that endearing. 

“I think I want to be a teacher someday,” I confessed one late afternoon when he asked me to help grade my classmates’ recent pop quiz. 

I'd accepted out of a sense of duty, and because if I had rejected him, it surely would've caused him trouble of some sort.

Right?

“You'd make a fantastic teacher,” he smiled.

So, there we were. Looking back, that must've been the day I dug my own grave because Mr. Fritz seemed awfully delighted that I didn't reply to his request for help with an excuse, and that I basically confessed to looking up to him. My compliant attitude must've looked a lot different for him than it did for me.

He drove me home an hour later and watched me open the door to the apartment before leaving, like a perfect gentleman. I waved him goodbye and he smiled at me from inside his car, waving back as he sped off.

That was one of the last few times I saw him. Because just two weeks later, I dropped out of school. 

Little by little, my mom had built up a large debt with Steve, and seeing that she'd taken loans from different people, whatever she earned from selling sex just didn't cut it. Our water, gas, and electricity bills were more than we could pay for, so I had no choice.

I started mowing lawns, raking leaves, cleaning pools and houses, and walking dogs for extra cash. I wasn't rich by any means, but I'd split most of the money to appease debt collectors and whatever was left to save for a rainy day. 

When my mom noticed I was bearing most of the weight, she began slipping away from her own, leaving it for me to pick up. She continued abusing, and even developed more expensive tastes. There wasn't much I could do at that point. I could beg her to stop and flush her pills down the toilet but we'd just go in circles for hours and I'd end up huddled in the corner with tears, hugging myself in an attempt to feel some warmth. 

I landed a waitressing job at a diner. I'd go three days a week and on my off-days I'd keep working odd jobs to stay afloat. 

On one occasion, Mr. Fritz walked in.

He pronounced my name with surprise. I was even more surprised he remembered me. An entire year had gone by since I'd seen him, and I was sure he had plenty of fresh faces to occupy himself with to remember his student of roughly four months.

I politely nodded at him in greeting and showed him to a table. That night, after he insisted on driving me home, I finally caved at his fourth try. 

However, as we neared my neighborhood, I burst into tears. He pulled into a dead-end street and turned off the car. I cried for the longest time, explaining through sobs that I was tired and that I missed school but I felt forced to leave.

He held me in his arms, his hand brushing down my back in comforting strokes until I calmed down.

He began frequenting the diner after that. Every Friday, he'd invite me to sit with him during my break and he'd fill me in on what he was teaching that week. 

One night when he came in, I had a nasty bruise on my face. In one of my countless fights with my mom, she'd thrown a broken glass at my face and cut my jaw. It wasn't deep, but it was enough to leave a mark for a couple of months. 

I didn't go back home that night. I felt awful for intruding on Mr. Fritz’s space, but he was adamant I stay with him until I figured what to do. 

He provided me with food that night and clothes the following morning. I didn't want to burden him, but he'd already bought them, so I accepted the clothes with a polite nod. I remember my face warming up when I noticed his generosity went as far as new underwear and a plain white bra that fit me a bit awkwardly, but he seemed unfazed.

His place was closer to the diner I worked at, and odd jobs could be found just as well in his neighborhood. So, as long as I stayed there, I kept my routine and even helped tidy his apartment as a thank you. 

At sixteen and a half, I started studying for my GED. Mr. Fritz helped me cram for the math portion and did as much as he could for other subjects. I was incredibly grateful. 

The afternoon the results were posted on the testing portal, I was a nervous wreck. Mr. Fritz stood behind me, his hands resting comfortably on my shoulders as he assured me I'd done just fine. I scrolled down the web page in search of a passing score. When I saw it, I jumped out of my chair and screamed excitedly. Mr. Fritz picked me up and spun me around as he rejoiced in my success. 

Even when he put me down, he kept his arms around my waist as he smiled down at me.

“Congratulations,” he murmured.

And then he leaned in.

The kiss took me by surprise. His hold was strong so I merely stumbled as I tried to draw a distance.

“Mr. Fritz—” 

“What's wrong?” he gently asked me. “Don't you like me?” 

My face warmed at the question, and I barely stuttered out a response. 

“I do, but–”

I wanted to explain that my fondness was out of admiration, but he cut me off before I could.

“Then why can't we kiss? I like you, too. I always have. It's only natural. I'm a man and you're a woman. We live together; it was bound to happen.”

Confused, but trusting that his logic was a compelling argument, I nodded.

“I guess that's true.” 

“And besides, I've been helping you this entire time. I did it because I care. I'd be hurt if you didn't think I was worthy after all I've done for you. Think of it as a token of your appreciation.” 

“I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful,” I murmured. 

My voice was barely above a whisper, but my meek demeanor made him smile.

Lifting my chin, he leaned down to kiss me again. I didn't stop him that time, and he just kept going.

Before I knew it, I was routinely bent over his dinner table or pushed down to my knees so I could repay his kindness. 

This went on for months.

I felt a bit guilty. Because even though I could feel it in my gut that his logic had its flaws, I still let him have his way with me. But a few weeks in, I was convinced I was in love with him. 

It was only natural, as he once said.

People who love each other do everything together. People who love each other kiss in the shadows all the time. They sleep next to each other in the same bed and they wake up at three in the morning to have sex, which ends with the guy telling the girl he loves her because the girl asked what she means to him. People who love each other would rather stay home than go out on dates where people can see them because love is best kept private.

That's what Zeke told me.

And I trusted Zeke. I loved him.

After the diner I worked at closed down, I started making deliveries for a nearby restaurant owned by a family of the name Grice. They could only offer me weekend hours, which meant I had to move my other jobs around but I accepted their offer. Since I couldn't drive a car or a motorcycle, I had to bike everywhere. Thankfully, the Grice's eldest son, Colt, gave me his old bike to use.

Colt Grice was nice. He was only a year younger than me but we'd never met until I started working for his parents. He went to private school, so it made sense we'd never crossed paths. 

Colt Grice also had a thing for me. He asked me out a couple of times but I always politely declined. I couldn't tell him a name, but I let him know I was seeing someone. So he remained a distant admirer. 

One Saturday afternoon, as I was cycling to and from the restaurant to make deliveries, I got lost looking for the last address on my list. 

I took a wrong turn and ended up in a neighborhood I couldn't recognize. Frustrated, I hopped off Colt's bike and started walking, hopeful to find someone to ask for directions.

I passed by a dead-end and there I saw it. Zeke's car.

Confused as to what he was doing there, but relieved nonetheless, I started walking toward the car to surprise him. But I never made it.

Because as soon as I stepped forward, I caught a second figure inside the car. A girl around my age, or maybe even one or two years younger was sitting on his lap in the back seat, fervently kissing him — and he wasn't doing anything to stop her.

Stunned, I rushed out of there as fast as my feet allowed me. 

By the time I came through the door of the Grice restaurant, I'd succeeded in my last delivery but I was a mess. Colt's parents rushed to me, asking if I was okay but all I could do was apologize for the delay. 

Seeing as it was already dark out, Colt offered to walk me home. He remained quiet the entire way to Zeke's apartment building, which was perfect because I didn't have it in me to talk. As I stepped one foot in front of the other in a zombie-like daze, I thought about how crummy my life had been so far. I kept seeing flashes of Zeke and that girl in the backseat. I also thought about whether I should actually be with someone like Colt Grice.

If I was honest, had Zeke never entered my life, I would've said yes to Colt Grice ages ago. He was kind and tall, and he was nice to look at. Not to mention he was closer to my age than Zeke was. 

So when we reached the front steps of Zeke's apartment building and Colt bid me goodbye with a smile, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him.

He was taken aback, of course. But he kissed me back as soon as the shock subsided. 

Blushing, he asked if I'd like to get a smoothie with him after work tomorrow. 

I decided right then and there, on the eve of my eighteenth birthday, that I would cut ties with Mr. Fritz.

“I'd love to.”

Colt nervously laughed, amazed that I finally accepted his offer.

“I'll see you tomorrow, then,” he smiled, my name sweet on his tongue.

I didn't know Zeke had been watching us the entire time from his living room window.

My resolve to leave him was literally beaten out of me as soon as I walked through the door of his apartment.

I never brought up the girl from the dead-end street. 

I never showed up for work the next day, I never showed up for my date with Colt, and I never saw the Grice family again even after I left Zeke for good six months later.

I went back to living with my mom. As expected, she was still a mess but by then all the crap in her system had worn her out so much that I had to do everything for her. 

She couldn't fight with me like she used to just a year and a half ago, but it was still hell. She'd throw plates at me and scream horrible things at the top of her lungs until I'd break down crying each time. And that just wound her up even more. 

I couldn't just leave her. She was all I had and I was all she had.

But even the most patient hearts are worn out, and so even though I held out as much as I could for six years — and I was probably just waiting to keep her company on her deathbed — I left. She was too out of it to realize who she was talking to, but angry enough to throw a picture frame at the door when I walked out.

I moved to a new city and got a job. I used my savings to furnish the small apartment I found for myself, filling it with soft pastel colors that made the place my safe haven. 

I started wearing neutral colors, not wanting to draw attention to myself, and eventually found comfort in treating myself to the nice things I never had. 

I only went back to my hometown to fill out paperwork when I got a call that my mom had died. That same week I spent there, I heard through the grapevine that Zeke got arrested after he failed to manipulate the young daughter of one of his family's friends, bringing shame to the Fritz name. I never saw him, or Mrs. Zacharias, or Colt Grice ever again.

You don’t seem to notice that your hands have been shaking for a while now, but Eren does. He's been holding them the entire time as they prune in the cold water. 

Tears are pricking at his eyes but he refuses to let himself cry no matter how heavy his heart feels. It just doesn't feel appropriate when he's not the one trembling at the retelling of their life's story. 

Words don't come easy to him, either. An apology seems out of place, and any string of comfort just doesn't seem to cut it. He wanted to know everything and now he does. Now he's just lost on what to say that could prove to you that you made the right call to trust him.

“I'm sorry,” you murmur, lacing your fingers with his, pulling his hand out of the water, and kissing his knuckles. 

The gesture makes him ache.

“I know it's a lot.”

Eren could never lie to you. Everything you just told him definitely took a toll on him, but he’s also grateful that you shared it with him. And you shouldn't be the one to comfort him. It's given him an entire new perspective on who he wants to be for you. 

It rips him apart from the inside to think that you grew up believing you weren't worthy of healthy parents or a proper home. To think that the only time you experienced love it wasn't even real, and that distorted your understanding of the word forever. To think you were present to help anybody you could without someone to do the same for you without any ulterior motives. To think you made yourself small when you deserved just as much as anybody to take up space in the world. 

What can he say to a person who refuses to believe she could be genuinely loved but whom he loves like it's breathing?

If he had met you sooner, he would've done everything to protect you. It kills him that he couldn't keep you from being manipulated and used. 

“Do you still like me?”

Your timid voice wavers in the air. 

It dawns on Eren that he has yet to speak a word, and that you have no clue of where his head has been for the past few minutes since you caught him up to your present life. 

You don't turn around to look at him, nor do you make any other move. You just remain with your back to him, looking down at your naked legs through the soapy water.

When Eren peers at you over your shoulder, lifting your chin with a wet pruned finger, you struggle to meet his gaze. 

“Why wouldn't I?” 

You crumble in his arms. 

Eren cradles you as you cry into his chest like an affection-starved baby. He presses your naked body against his chest, rhythmically shushing you as his hand soothes your bare back and he presses his lips to your temple. 

You cry out twenty-four years worth of pain with Eren as your anchor. Your eyes swell and your features contort in anguish as you sob so violently, the movement reflects on your shoulders and your cries are mute. You cry until there are no more tears to shed and all that's left are a few hiccups as your body comes down from its panic. 

Eren turns on the shower and scrubs your body down. His fingers massage your scalp as warm water pours down your fragile frame. He sweeps the suds from your face with a gentle hand, as he looks down at you, teary-eyed but smiling as warmly as ever when you blink up at him. 

A soft, fluffy towel is ruffled over your hair as he draws out the excess moisture before he wraps a second around your body and lifts you in his arms in one swift motion. You cling to him while he carries you to bed, where he carefully sets you down and he hugs you to his chest, coaxing you to sleep while the world outside your window slows down and darkens.

It's around three in the morning when Eren stirs awake. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he finds you looking at him.

“How long have you been awake?” he whispers.

You smile.

“A while,” you admit. “I didn't know watching someone sleep could be so fascinating.” 

“Well, now I'm embarrassed,” he laughs, his voice still groggy.

“Now you know how I feel,” you smirk, reminding him of when he's done the same. 

His hand comes up to cup your face.

“How are you feeling?” he tenderly asks, his bright emerald eyes shining in the dark.

“Better,” you murmur. Then you meekly add, “I didn't think I would cry so much. I'm a little embarrassed about that.”

Eren leans forward to plant a brief kiss on your lips. 

“Thank you,” he says, to which your eyebrows upturn in confusion.

“For trusting me,” he explains. “I know it couldn't have been easy to relive everything.”

He clears his throat as he strokes the apple of your cheek with his thumb.

“I didn't know what to say at the moment. If that freaked you out, I'm sorry. But I promise none of that changes the way I feel about you. Not that, not anything. I swear. I won't fail you.” 

You thought you were dried out, but Eren's words draw another series of tears to well in your eyes and cling to your lashes.

“So you still want me?”

He smiles.

“I told you. I'm in it for the long haul.”

As you melt in each other’s embrace, you realize this is what genuine love is. People who love each other want to know each other. They hold hands and play on swings in childlike glee. They wake up at three in the morning to watch the other person sleep, careful not to disturb them because the image of them dreaming is just too precious. And whether it be in light or shadows, people who love each other kiss slowly as words of praise and worship are poured into each other's mouths and warm hands caress each other’s scars.

The last two days leading to the New Year's Eve party at the Jaeger house are spent making last minute arrangements and check-ins with the catering service, florists, pyrotechnicians, and others. 

You and Carla spend the last day shopping. You brought one of your fancier dresses in your suitcase, but after witnessing all the crates of champagne being delivered and hauled into the house in preparation for the party, as well as a preview of the flower arrangements, you felt the need to seek something livelier than the original sleek black silk dress.

It takes several stores and countless fittings until Carla finds you the perfect dress. It's simple but pretty and you and Carla are over the moon with the way it fits you when you step out of the changing room.

The following night, the music from the main house's terrace can be heard all the way inside the pool house. You haven't met anyone yet, but the sound of car doors and alarms have been faintly echoing in the background for a while.

Eren’s fixing his bow tie in front of the bedroom mirror when you slowly wander into the bedroom, in your pretty pastel dress and strappy heels, fixing your earrings as you go. 

Eren's mouth falls open when he turns around and takes in the sight. 

“What do you think?” you shyly ask.

You're in a flowy midi knife-pleated dress, washed in pastel colors that blend seamlessly between lavender, pastel pink, blue and green, like a watercolor painting. The bustier-style bodice is connected to dainty straps in the same soft colors. 

His lips part and close as he struggles to find the right words. When you giggle, he finally grins and pulls you in by the waist.

“Are you even real?” he murmurs.

You laugh as he pushes you back against the wall, smiling and cradling your face with one hand as the other keeps you pressed against him by the small of your back.

Your hands drape around his neck as he catches a glimpse of the angel necklace resting below your collarbone.

“I think we should bail on the party and just celebrate here,” he grins as his nose brushes against yours. “You know, in some cultures, New Year's is more of a private holiday.”

You throw your head back in laughter as he peppers your neck with short, eager kisses.

“Seriously,” he says, leaning back just enough to admire your smiling face. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” you shyly reply. “You look really good, too.”

“Well, I remembered you liked me in a suit,” he smirks, eliciting a pleasant shiver to run down your spine. “So… what do you say?”

Giggling, you shake your head.

“I think your mom will notice if her only son doesn't show up to the party.”

Eren pouts.

“You're right. Then at least I'll get to brag about having the prettiest woman in the world with me.”

He enthusiastically pulls you into a kiss, drawing out an amused giggle from your lips as you melt into his touch. 

When he pulls back, you're both smiling, connecting in one enamored look.

“Eren, I love you.”

Your eyes twinkle as they blink up at him.

“I know I haven't said it in a while but… you know I do… right?”

Eren's heart frantically pounds against his ribs as he caresses your cheek with tender strokes of his thumb.

“Of course,” he murmurs. 

Your shoulders visibly relax, like you've been holding back on repeating those three words and this moment has finally granted you with relief.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you nod. 

“Okay,” you sigh happily. You peck the corner of his mouth. “Come on, Carla's probably wondering what's taking so long.”

Eren doesn't move, keeping you in place against the wall.

“Wait,” he says, his voice quivering slightly at the end.

He brings your hand to his chest, giving you a second to feel the fervent beats.

You look at him curiously as your name rolls off his tongue.

“I love you.”

His features soften before you as the words leave his lips, like pronouncing them has lightened an unknown weight on his shoulders.

“I didn't say it back then,” he adds. “But it wasn't because I didn't feel it. I was just surprised you said it first. But you know I've loved you this entire time… right?”

His shy confession lines your eyes with tears. 

“Of course,” you murmur. 

He sighs heavily in relief as he kisses you once more.

“I love you,” he repeats, the words falling from his lips like it's what he was put on this earth to pronounce. 

“I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.”

You cling to him, your fingers carding through his hair as he ruins your lipstick with his fervent kiss.

“I love you, Eren,” you repeat, as you fall back onto the bed, where his hand snakes up your thighs and his fingers tug your underwear to the side. 

“I love you,” you sigh as he buries himself inside you, the contact raw without a single thing to keep you apart. 

“I love you,” you whimper as your legs wrap around his middle and he finishes inside. 

You both rest on the bed, hands laced together as you regain control of your breathing. 

“I love you,” Eren smiles, your full name bouncing off his tongue and making you giggle.

“I love you, Eren Jaeger.”

The music from the string quartet on the terrace begins to play, reminding you of the night's agenda. 

“Let's go,” Eren says, helping you up with one hand.

“I'm gonna need a minute,” you tell him as you fetch a fresh pair of underwear from the dresser. “I'll be quick.”

He nods, a cocky grin taking over his lips when he notices the streak of your lipstick smeared on your chin. 

“I'll wait for you outside,” he smiles. “I gotta make a call.”

You nod and slip into the bathroom.

As you take in your reflection, an excited flutter stirs in your stomach. 

Being with Eren doesn't compare to anything else in your life. He's the warmth you've craved your entire life. He's deep in every cavity of your being, patching you up from the inside with his strength and affection.

You decide at this moment that you've never loved anyone until him.

As you trade your ruined lipstick for a tinted lip gloss and you clean the remnants from your spontaneous lovemaking, three little words shaped by Eren's warm voice echoes in your ears.

I love you. 

With one last look in the mirror, you walk out to meet him. 

As you shut the pool house door behind you, you pick up the last of Eren's call.

“I gotta go… Yeah… Good luck, buddy.”

Eren ends the call with a quick tap to his screen before turning to you.

He holds out his hand for you to take.

“Ready?”

The party is in full swing on the terrace. Champagne bottles have been popped and music and lively voices fill the air.

You feast on shrimp and cream puffs, bacon-wrapped asparagus and antipasto skewers. You clink your champagne flute with Carla and the ladies from her book club as you suggest titles for their next read and you look over at the pyrotechnicians as they finish setting up for the fireworks show with ten minutes to spare.

Eren never leaves your side. 

He laces your fingers with his as he tugs you away from the railing to dance. His hands fix your arms around his neck before settling on your waist.

He's not much of a dancer, but you follow his lead in swaying to the music. Your limbs tingle with the light buzz of brut.

“Are you happy?” he asks as he presses his forehead to yours.

You smile.

“I'm never not happy when I'm with you.”

He laughs.

“I guess I'm stuck with you, then.”

“You are,” you murmur as you draw closer to his lips.

He pulls back teasingly, chuckling when you inevitably pout at his evasion.

“Easy, you'll get your kiss in a couple of minutes.”

Resting your head on his chest, you continue to sway. It's not long before someone calls out that it's a minute to midnight. 

As fresh champagne flutes are handed out to every guest, you turn around in Eren arms so you can face the fireworks show. As everyone around you excitedly counts down the last ten seconds of the year, Eren hovers over your shoulder and lifts your chin between two fingers.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you,” you murmur back.

The two of you kiss as golden lights burst in the sky.

Later that night, buzzed from champagne and with a new bottle tucked under Eren's jacket, you stumble into the pool house, giggling like teenagers who just stole from their parent's liquor cabinet. As you clumsily undress each other and exhale sweet words in the air while reconnecting your bodies one more time, you think to yourself that Eren has managed the impossible — to heal every wound and make you happy. 

The following morning, you'll find a new series of text messages where Mikasa and Jean let their friends know they're engaged, and you'll be even happier.

Two days into the new year, you part from Paradis Island. 

At the airport, as you, Eren, and Carla have a quick lunch before you leave, Eren pulls out his phone and asks you and his mom to pose for a picture together, before asking a security guard to snap a photo of the three of you.

Carla hugs you tightly as she makes you promise you'll be back soon even for just a few days. You hold onto her just as tightly, thanking her for everything, even for the things she didn't know she gifted you, and you swear this isn't the last she'll see of you.

Roughly thirty minutes later, as you look out the window, waiting for the plane to take off, Eren's hand gently envelops yours. 

You turn to smile at him and he dips forward to kiss your temple. 

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

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[imabillyami]

Full disclosure on my absence and my pulling away from everyone.

Many of you know this already, but I’ll state it again in case you don’t.

I am a drug addict. I am an alcoholic.

I was clean and sober for 2 1/2 years and counting. Until I wasn’t.

I’m back to Day 2 today.

Those of you who have been following my journey for a while know that I’m struggling with a lot of other issues on top of my addiction. I’m not afraid to be honest about them. I’m not afraid to share my truth in hopes that it’ll help and inspire others.

Now.

I know people will be disappointed. I know some will be drawing away or judging. I respect that.

I also know some people - especially in my family - will see me as a failure *again*.

Only I didn’t fail.

I relapsed again, yes, but that is part of the sobriety journey for a lot of people. It’s something you have to be realistic about. Addiction is a lifelong illness.

So the possibility was sadly always there. And the possibility became a reality again this time around. Something happened and it pulled the rug from under my feet and I chose to cope the wrong way.

But. I have to treat myself with understanding and grace.

I am sick. I have an illness. I am not a failure. I didn’t fail.

Failing would mean giving up on myself for good. It’s what I did the last time I relapsed and it nearly killed me. Not in a metaphorical way, but in a very real one.

Failing would mean ending up in a plot next to my dad’s and my grandpa’s who both died of this very illness. It would mean ending up in the same graveyard on the same row as my great-grandpa and my aunt who succumbed to conditions caused by their lifelong addiction.

Failing would mean making the same mistakes as they did and never holding myself accountable. And I’m not going down that road again. Not this time around.

This time around I’m trying to learn from my past experiences. I’m trying my hardest not to enter the spiral of shame which eventually becomes the spiral of doom.

Instead I choose to own up to my mistakes and start over again. One day at a time.

So today is Day 2 again. I’ve had many of those over the past 10+ years. And it will be a long hard road with a lot of struggle and setbacks like this one ahead.

But I know there’s another Day 1000 in my future. And I’m fighting for it.

[exjunkiebaby]

Drug dreams

I miss drugs so fucking much. I have 10 months clean and everybody thinks I’m doing amazing. I am, but I’m not. I constantly miss drugs. I miss being high. I miss chasing the dragon. I miss doing hot rails. I miss fentanyl, heroin, meth, Xanax. It pains my heart that I will never feel high again. At least I can get high in my dreams.

Yesterday I dreamt that I had 3 fake pressed oxies (the ones cut with fent). In my head, I knew it was an awful decision to relapse, but I didn’t care. I thought, “Just this one time.” So I found some foil, broke a pen and made it into a tooter, and held a lighter. I was about to flick it but I woke up. I was relieved but also angry that I wasn’t able to get high. In the dream I also thought, “I have no tolerance. This shit could kill me. Oh well.”

The drug dreams plague me almost every night. Sometimes crystal calls to me, sometimes benzos, and often fent. I hate them but I love them because it allows me to be reacquainted with an old lover. I’m doing so good with my sobriety, but I can’t help but grieve.

I recently made amends to my parents and my sister. I told them I was sorry for being a junkie piece of shit liar manipulator evil little demon. As a “sorry” to them I promised I would stay sober. I can’t break this promise. They all believe in me. I’m so close to one year - I can fucking taste it.

So I will stay sober, despite my woes, because the people who love me deserve a sober me. I refuse to hurt my loved ones over and over again. I’ve put so much effort and work into my sobriety and I can’t fail now. I think in the future I might pick up weed again, or shrooms, but we shall see.

If you’ve read this and you’re in recovery, wow. You are fucking amazing. If you’re still using, you’re cool too and I understand why. Giving up drugs is like losing your best friend. The solution to your problems is gone. The comfort and aid your soulmate once provided you has vanished. I don’t know how to deal with that feeling, but I vow not to pick up.

[altbite]

Little Victories *Konig x Reader*

Summary: You have struggled with self h@rm before. You are almost a year clean and Konig surprises you.

Konig x GN!Reader

TW: A LITTLE BIT GRAPHIC AND DETAILED, BLADE AND BLOOD TW

_

It has been almost a year since you last took a blade to your skin. It almost feels unreal. It was hard at first, and although it got easier, you occasionally thought about it. You thought about doing it again, feeling the edge of the blade slice your skin, feel the blood drip down slowly. You wanted to relapse but you also didn’t need to anymore. Sometimes it was boredom that brought you back to it, sometimes a bad day. But the bad days began to wither away. You kept a little journal of dates of when you relapsed. You used to check it often but forgot about it after a while. You only really remembered when you thought about how long has it been since your last. Turns out, almost a year ago. It will be a year tomorrow.

You couldn’t help but feel but proud and sad at the same time. After struggling for so long, you finally made it. It wasn’t the longest you’ve gone but it was still a victory.

You had been sitting on your bed, door wide open as you had walked in a couple minutes ago to grab something, but ended up deep in thought. Konig had walked by, glanced into your room before stopping himself. He stood in front of the door way, and proceeded to knock on the door to get your attention. He could see you were entranced by something. You zoned by in and diverted your attention to him.

“All good, Socks?”, he gently asked, continuing to stay in his spot.

You had told him a few months ago about your struggles. He was the first and only person you told. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t scare you, not knowing how he would react to. But he was very sweet about it. Even gave you a hug to say how proud he is of you and how hard it can be. He never made you feel broken or fragile for it, never treated you differently. He didn’t pry either. He waited for you to tell him what you wanted.

“Yeah, sorry I just remembered something”, you smiled at him, signalling him to come in.

He walks towards you, “Care to share?”.

You briefly thought about how to tell him. You didn’t want to make it dramatic or too casual. “I’ll be a year clean tomorrow”.

“Hell yeah! That’s awesome”, he raised his hand for a high five, in which you complied to. “We should do something. We should celebrate!”, Konig spoke with excitement that you could see him shaking in his boots.

“Dude, that is kind of a morbid thing to celebrate”, you chuckled as you stood up and started to leave your room. You stood at the door, swinging your arm, gesturing for him to leave the room first.

“Well maybe but its a big achievement”, he walked out and you followed, shutting the door behind you.

“I know but I don’t know. How exactly do you celebrate something like this?”, you asked, hoping for a genuine answer.

Konig brain cogs were turning but he was speechless, and just shrugged. You two walked to the kitchen, and the topic was dropped once you saw the rest of the team.

_

The following morning was an easy one. It was a Saturday and one of the few days you get a lie in. To be fair, you only got out of bed after 10 but now you didn’t have to feel guilty for it. Weekends were quiet. Everyone did their own thing, gone out for the weekend: drinking, partying or fishing if you’re Price, and Gaz occasionally, although you weren’t sure Gaz actually liked fishing. You think Price just dragged him along for whatever reason.

You do a big stretch in bed before sitting up, and contemplating why you sat up. You’re body acted before your mind did, and in this case, you had dragged your fingers over your scars, feeling them one by one. You did it most mornings. It gave you comfort of sorts.

You hear a knock on your door, and groan because that meant you had to get out of bed. Finally you did make your way to your door, but not before sliding into a hoodie. You open the door to Konig standing with a diy cake in front of you. You take a couple seconds to comprehend what is happening.

The cake was, although greatly attempted, badly covered in frosting and sprinkles, and in the middle, one green candle like the ones you see on birthday cakes.

“Happy Birthday!!”, Konig practically yelled out, the biggest smile on his face. You looked at him in shock, amusement and confusion and fell into a fit of giggles.

“You said you didn’t know how to celebrate yesterday and I spent all day thinking about it. Its almost like a birthday so I baked you a cake. Its not perfect but i hope you like it”, he was very forward until the last sentence when he whispered, clearly getting shy about his baking skills.

“That- That is so fucking adorable oh my god”. Despite being in a fit of giggles, you were actually really touched.

“Well, make a wish”, he said as he held up the cake higher.

You stared into his eyes, appreciating him and this moment. You looked down, took the plate and blew out the candle. Once you did, Konig clapped for you.

“Well what did you wish for?”, curiously asking.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true!”

Maybe it was cheesy, but you wish that he would always be by your side.

[neuroticboyfriend]

When I was four weeks clean, back in 2014, I got some drugs, and spent a while trying not to take them, and then did. I was using again for five days, and kept drinking for another few weeks after that, and that's why I'll have 10 years in early June rather than mid April. But I will have ten years in June, unless something goes unimaginably wrong. Relapse is part of the process, yeah? You're doing just fine.

thank you for sharing this... it's a good thing i destroyed the rest of the pills because i had enough for, at worst, a week. at best, a couple weeks. i'm starting to wish i hadn't destroyed them which, is only proof i did the right thing. not every step i take can be the right one, i guess.

it helps to hear you have 10 years, though. it's hard for me to fathom even getting one. i'm disappointed i won't be getting my 1 month coin next week now, but, maybe i'll get it late March instead... now that i spent 3 weeks clean, a month doesn't feel as terribly long.

[witheringbeing]

story time

want to hear a funny story ? as my welcome back post, here's a little anecdote for you !

earlier today, my parents, my brother and i were talking. basically, my mom told my stepfather that i tidied around the house (we are hosting on saturday) and i then said that if they needed help, they can just ask me because i have plenty of time to do it since i don't go to uni most of the week. anyway.

stepfather is joking around saying "yeah clean the cellar and the attic, and once you are done, go on the roof and clean the moss too". ah ah real funny. the catch is that the windows of the attic are really itty-bitty tiny little windows, old house stuff you know, and you can barely fit a child through it. and jokingly, i said "yeah no way i'm going there because i don't fuck with heights and i'm not even going through the windows with a ass like mine" (honestly, i was kinda blessed with genetics on that side : tiny wait, wide hips, and the combo fat ass-thicc thighs. i'm a thiccer woman, this is the way it is, and sometimes, i like to joke about it because it's my body and i do whatever i want to do with it).

i promise that this is getting somewhere, hang on with me.

i got up and went pass my parents and then, my stepfather proceeded to add "yeah i never noticed because i'm not a pervert but it's true that you have a fat ass, even though you lost a lot of weight". i shit you not. i wish i was lying. because then BOTH of my parents started to talked about my ass. i was so uncomfortable, i wanted to fucking disappear.

and after that truly fascinating conversation about my ass and the fact that i will always have a fat ass no matter how much weight i loose, he added "that's not like your calves. when you were fatter, your calves were enormous, and your legs ressembled that of an elephant's. if you put on weight and gained 10-20 kg, you would look like an elephant. but now, it's okay, it looks like you have normal legs".

i was speechless.

this whole conversation was completely surreal and honnestly kinda inappropriate. also, what is baffling me the most is the fact that this is a well-known fact within my family that i struggle with body image issues and eating disorders, and that has been like that FOR YEARS. i don't know what came to him when he told me that, but anyway !

i was kinda relapsing since june, but i was hanging on the recovery for my sake. but this shit just triggered me so bad.

[phoenix-positivity]

10 April 2024

When I made this blog I was questioning it very much. I was very torn on whether it would be beneficial for me. In the past I have had many many blogs. Blogs that got terminated for good reason. Some blogs live on in eternity with their posts still being reblogged. I had blogs that one could consider pro-ed and pro-sh. Or rather 'not pro, just for me' which can be considered the same thing honestly.

I also had many a recovery blog in between relapse. I posted a lot of content on both depending on where I was in my journey. Yes, I have taken many pictures of my sh and shared it with strangers. If you ask me why I did that, well, in a way it was an art for me. In a way it was just the way I expressed my pain. In my eyes back then, as a sh addict who really needed sh to keep going in life, I felt like my sh was comparable to smoking a cigarette. I advocated a lot to get rid of the taboo around sh. I did a lot of research on it. The many different reasons why people turn to it. What about it makes people addicted to it. I really explored it in depth. Of course my ultimate goal as an sh addict was to be able to keep doing it without people trying to get me to stop. It wasn't much a noble goal. My sh addiction really ruled my life for quite a while. Until it didn't anymore. After many attempts to stay clean, I finally managed to go without it. I've recently passed the 8 year mark, and will hopefully continue on for the rest of my lifetime to stay clean.

Do I regret making those blogs? I do. The biggest reason for my regret is that my pictures were inspiration for others to keep their sh going. I hope I never inspired someone to start sh, but I know I have in at least two cases. That was never my intention. But the way sh works is that when you show visuals of it, or even talk about it to vulnerable people, they will get ideas to try doing it. It's logical. If someone is desperate for a sense of relief and you let them know others have achieved a form of relief by doing something bad. Those desperate people don't care if it's bad, they just want to try and achieve that relief. This is partly how I even ended up with my sh addiction in the first place. I already did forms of sh, but I wasn't aware of other ways existing until people told me not to start doing those too. This inspired me to try those ways as well. I would have likely never done that otherwise.

This is especially true for my eds. While I struggled with eating already, I would have never been able to think up the complex ed behaviors by myself. Those were all copied and inspired by other people's ed thoughts and behaviors. I watched documentaries just for more tips. This is why I believe this topic is also really vulnerable to be discussed and it's difficult to bring awareness to without potentially inspiring someone or fueling their early developing ed. I recovered and relapsed with my eds many times in different ways. It's still something I have to be mindful of because the road to relapse is a slippery slope you can easily fall down. One thing that really inspired and motivated me to recover was, ironically, some pretty dark places on the web where people share all details about their disordered behavior. Seeing especially the much older people struggling and still trapped and seeing how absolutely miserable they were. It made me realize just how absolutely miserable I was. I can't quite explain just how truly truly miserable. My body was dying because of me and I could feel it. I recovered with the help of mostly the book called 'Wanneer kap jij ermee? - Isabelle Plasmeijer'. But also help from others, creating a sort of psych ward like setting at home where I was being monitored. It took a lot of work to recover but I think I've done a pretty great job by myself (and those that helped me). Looking back at it now I think I haven't given myself nearly enough credit. I really just revived myself. Also great great shoutout to Ro Mitchell on youtube. I really recovered side by side as she went through her journey. I would put her videos on with every meal. (I don't watch her anymore now as I consider that to be triggering for me)

Anyway, what led me to type this is. I worried so much that my blog would be yet another festering pit of just pure destructive habits. Instead it actually turned out to be a really healthy coping mechanism. I believe venting feelings and pain is incredibly helpful. Doing so while creating a sense of community can feel so healing because you are not alone in your feelings. I do have a boundary for myself in place that I do not follow any blogs that post vents or traumacore. I only go through those type of blogs and tags when I need to express emotions I am already feeling. This means I get to protect my precious vulnerable mind from unexpected triggers and negative emotions. My dashboard on tumblr really is a collection of uplifting, motivating, validating, comforting, soothing, enjoyable content.

I think that expressing pain in an online space in a healthy way is possible. It's important that it's done safely, by not hurting oneself or others. Providing the right content warnings so people can be warned or filter it out. Not tagging it with things that are not related to it so that people don't suddenly see disturbing content in otherwise safe places. and taking care of yourself as a user to really use the features that allow you to blacklist words and themes. Blocking users that post upsetting content or that just trigger you for one reason or another. Turning off anon if you get a lot of upsetting messages. Knowing not to browse certain tags when you are already triggered. Knowing which tags to just never browse, period, not even when happy or stable. Taking note of your boundaries. Not triggering yourself on purpose as a way of sh. There's a lot that can be done to make it safe to vent.

I'm quite glad I made this blog. It has indirectly given me friendships that I'm very thankful for.

[ghostlyschizophrenic]

tw for under the “read more”: self harm relapse, drug use/abuse. no images just me talking really openly about them. open at your own risk.

i had my biggest self harm incident since i started 10 years ago. i realized a few months ago that i could buy a bunch of real blades and refills at the dollar store instead of breaking apart cheap razors from walmart and i kinda stored it away in my mind for future reference. to everyone else in my life i look like im the best i have been in years, which psychosis wise is true, but my impulsivity, my urge to harm myself, and my lack of self control are really taking over my life

i took 31 mg of ativan in 2 1/2 days. and just now i bought the blades and ive cut deeper than i ever had. my upper arms are totally wrapped in gauze and bandages after i cleaned them and put antibiotic cream on them. i honestly got a bit dizzy from the blood loss (nothing too bad, i just had to drink some water after). and i wish i felt guilty. i just wanna do it again and i can’t wait to move out in december because i can do it without sneaking around so much

i’m currently getting high on my indica vape stick bc i only have a certain amount of ativan before i can get a refill so im saving it for a few 8-12mg bits of numbness until october 23.

how do you tell people that a huge reason you’re excited to live on your own is that you can finally self destruct and your parents will be a 3hr drive away and can’t stop you

[planetary-gus]

You guys I really fucked up

April 30th I relapsed after 6 months and 5 days being clean, and struggled through May, but I was at 50 days clean today.

But then my mom's cat got scared while I was holding her and cut my arm open, and my mom made a joke about her "trying to help with my urges" but that, combined with blood running down my arm honestly just gave me urges when I hadn't been having any for over a week now.

I ended up relapsing on my thighs with scissors and a piece of broken glass when I went back to my room. This was about an hour and a half ago.

I drew a random drawing to calm down, and now I've been sitting in my room hating myself waiting for my meds to kick in and make me fall asleep since then.

I also went to the kitchen to get water and it smelled like alcohol in there. So now all I can hear is my dad screaming at me for no reason back when he used to drink even though he's been sober for 3 years

I'm also having a flare up and feel like absolute shit. My ribs and back are killing me, my head feels like it's being smacked repeatedly with a basketball, my hips, knees, wrists, and elbows are hurting and my hands are shaking. And I have PT at 10:45 in the goddam morning tomorrow

Whatever. I'll shut up now. Y'all don't need to deal with some random teenager on the internet with PTSD and health problems.

[my-journey-to-recovery]

Are you Ready?

Welcome to my blog! Here you will find scattered thoughts and feelings as I journal through my journey to detox from my addiction of cocaine and alcohol. I’m writing anonymously so that I can write as frankly and honest as I want to without fear of repercussions. Any names mentioned here will have been changed to protect their anonymity also. 

Right, with that said here goes … A bit about me: 

I’m a 37 year old female currently living in a hostel due to a relationship breakdown. I got here about 5-6 months ago and whilst I was already drinking heavily I wasn’t doing any other drugs before I got here. 

Now, I do have a history of cocaine abuse which I had struggled with for about 5 years during my 20’s but got clean with the help of drop in rehab sessions. It’s important to say here that I had only been tempted once in the last 10+ years that I’d been clean - which was about 4 years ago whilst on a night out with my friends - I was drunk and got talking to my friend's boyfriend who told me he had some in his pocket and did I want some? Well of course I fucking wanted some! I’m an addict! So I slyly took the bag off him, went to the toilet of the pub we were in without my friends seeing, sat on the seat and stared at my old nemesis in the face. I opened the bag, dipped my pinky finger in and dabbed the white powder on my gums. I was buzzing! Something however, stopped me from going any further that night. The dab was enough. I placed the bag back in my pocket, gave it back to him and went for a cigarette to seriously consider what I had just done. I ended up going home that night proud that I hadn’t snorted it and told my then girlfriend what had happened. 

Fast forward to the beginning of this year whilst in the hostel and one fateful night when I came across my old friend cocaine again. I was in my neighbour’s room drinking and someone there had a bag. I remember being offered some and thinking fuck it. I don’t know whether it’s because my life is already a train wreck I thought I might as well or what but this time nothing could’ve stopped me from snorting it. 

It was fucking glorious. 

Not that I want to hype it up here or anything but I have to be honest, I loved it and well, there’s the danger - I instantly wanted more and more! So here I am, a few months into the new year with a relapse in my drug taking and continued issues with alcohol. 

I’ve been seeing a woman from my local ‘Recovery Network’ for a while about my drinking and I was honest with her a few weeks back about the recent coke use and she’s suggested I go for a stint in a detox centre. 

I have agreed. We did the referral yesterday and now I’m just waiting for a telephone assessment and a date to go in. I won’t lie, I’m shitting it. ‘Are you ready?’ she asked me. Truthfully? - No. I don’t think I am, BUT I have to change my circumstances in order to change my life. I cannot live in this hostel forever, nor would I want to. I need to get my life back on track so I am willing to try anything. 

Are you guys ready to go on this journey with me? 

[queerspaceprince]

super long post

i saw the tv glow spoilers, me being depressing, tw's in tags

i went to see I Saw the TV Glow this afternoon. i got it. def cried a little (idk if hrt has stopped me from crying more bc i havent cried since i was in hs anyway) my sib got it, tho we havent talked ab it yet bc im still processing even now. my mom did not get any of it. at all. wasnt affected. thats fine, whatever.

and. jesus. i give the movie a 15/10, but it was. a whole lot. i have too many emotions.

Im def gonna mention a few spoilers so if you dont want to be spoiled, is your warning.

it made me feel too much. is the allegory really allegory if the hidden meaning is right at the surface?

when owen says that thing during their convo on the bleachers -i cant remember the exact words fuck- something about feeling hollow or missing something or whatever, how he thinks something is wrong with him and his parents do to-i feel that. so much. i felt it so much more before my egg cracked, but i still feel it in relation to my depression and anxiety. that hit me.

there was also that part about feeling like you're watching yourself from the outside, as if through a tv. oof.

then the whole thing maddie said about how time didnt feel right, how nothing changed when she left. i get it. I was 10 nd my parents got divorced, and suddenly im 11 and thinking i wanted to d1e for the first time, and then im 14 in a kind of manipulative relationship, with like 1 friend and super depressed, and then i was graduating and realizing im queer and exploring my gender and going through a breakup. then im 20, and getting my first job, and coming out to my family. and now im 26. and i still mostly feel the same way i always have. i have more good days, and im more confident now, but i still feel like im just going through the motions a lot of the time.

when did I stop being a kid? ive been an adult for 8 years and Im still only working part time (32 hrs), still living with my mother bc rent is $$$$, still barely functional enough that I havent cleaned my room since last year and ive only showered 3 times in the past week, and i have to force myself to go get coffee on my days off or else ill stay in bed all day. Im just stuck here. i shouldve taken driving lessons when I could. id be out. except i cant leave my sibling behind with my mother. shes not awful, but them being alone is an explosion waiting to happen. but they dont have a job and i doubt i could support both of us. and now i dont trust my eyes enough, like i read for 15 minutes and everything else goes blurry, like im seeing triple.

anyway. next is the scene in where she talks about k1lling herself to get back to the pink opaque world. I. have to admit i nearly threw up. the imagery, the way she spoke about it. she said she regretted it while she was stuck underground, then how she felt good about it, about getting out....ive been sitting in a low spot for a while, it was better while we were on our trip, but it just reverted when we came back. i keep thinking im going to relapse into sh again. i feel so close to the edge sometimes. and theres really no reason for it either. my life is fine. not great, not perfect. but adequate. anyway i had to close my eyes and take a minute after that.

i feel that even without wanting to go back to the other world, maddie was suicidal. she wouldve found some reasoning to k1ll herself. Now ive only ever been actively su1cidal once, when i was 15 -or 16- idk my teen years are all a blur of depression and anxiety. im good now. well. i say good. im more, self destructive then really wanting to d1e. just. i feel so bad on the inside for no reason, why can i have a reason to hurt on the outside?? anyway, im ok now, im 3.5 years clean, i dont want that to change. im working on my coping mechanisms.

there was another quote from that planetarium scene that i couldnt stop thinking about but has now vanished from my mind entirely. bc sometimes getting my thoughts in order is like. catching smoke.

anyway. then everything after that. him growing old. knowing something about him is different but not wanting to acknowledge it or it would drastically his life as he knows it. I understand that feeling. except for me, its not exactly acknowledgement of myself, its doing something about it. while I didnt exactly stay in the closet long, that feeling of not wanting anything to change is why the closet exists. i realized i was queer in 2014, trans 2015. came out as bi that summer, but i didnt come out as trans until 3 years later. when I had a job. access to money if i ended up getting kicked onto the street. i literally had a bag packed and ready to go. and yet. even when i did come out, i was too afraid to correct my family on my pronouns or name for another year. my sibling really helped with that. immediately used them. Tbh theyre my fave person and id do anything they asked.

the whole thing about there still being time.

i see a lot of tiktoks about this. people watning to do stuff now bc there is still time to change your life or whatever. im interpreting it differently.

there is time now, but your hourglass will run low eventually. live while you still can, while you can still do something about it. how that message showed up after maddie left- their time together had run out, but he might still be able to do something. make a change. idk. but owen was too scared to do anything.

im still scared to do anything.

i still dont correct people on my name or pronouns if they get them wrong. i still dont speak up if my family says anything not pc (they are learning tho). im too scared to talk about any big feeling i have bc ive always been brushed off in the past and i dont want to feel worse becasue of it.

i still havent done anything to get my name or gender marker changed bc im scared. idk why. ive been living as a man for 6 years, i got top surgery almost 3 years ago, and ive been on hrt for nearly 2.

it terrifies me for some reason. maybe ts the complexity of it. ive found 3 different versions of the paperwork, and nowhere does it tell me exactly how or who to submit it too. one of those said i could submit online but it had to be printed, notarized, and scaned back into the computer? none of the other versions said it had to be notarized???

and i have nobody who has any knowlege that could help. my aunt worked for a lawyer for years, and yet she just said all I have to do is go to the dmv. like babe. no. thats not how that works.

i think ill start on that again.

while i still have time.