#I CAN'T just convince myself to not be tired/fatigued at all times

[running-in-the-dark]

I don't want to be someone who always just complains (about my body, my brain, my marriage, my family, everything) but I just. can't change the things that bother me. it doesn't get better because I can't make it better no matter how much I tell myself to, I just can't

[bumblequinn]

hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

[salty-croissants]

if your still taking requests, can you do a Bullfrog and Rayman/ramon of their S/O is Pregnant? if you can't that's okay

Thank you for the request !

I apologize for taking longer than usual , I found myself in need of a break since I was feeling a bit too uninspired to write :,T

Anyway I’ve never really written anything for a pregnant reader before , so this was a pretty fun challenge :,) 

Hope it turned out okay ! 

Details : use of female reader ( thought I’d go for that given the prompt , hopefully that’s alright ! ) ;

established relationships ; 

no warnings needed 

Bullfrog 💚

Deep down , Bullfrog still can’t believe he is actually going to become a dad …

While he is definitely worried about how he is going to keep you and your future child ( or children :> ) safe , this frog is still really looking forward to start a family with you , and he will remind you of this a lot .

< y/n , my dear , I’m just so grateful to have you by my side , you know ?

I’m so happy about our child , je ne peux pas attendre … >

He is the absolute best at taking care of you , using all the spare time he gets when he isn’t out for missions to be there anytime you need something , no matter how small .

< I’m back mon amour ! 

Here , I brought you some more food in case you get hungry , and I also made some tea while I was at it . > 

< Thank you honey ! This is exactly what I needed , you’re amazing ~ > 

When you’re feeling a bit fatigued , Bullfrog loves to just rest by your side , with the two of you often falling asleep into each other’s arms .

And if you ever try to stay up anyway , well … your partner is very good at persuading you to do otherwise .

< Hmm … I’m not that tired , sweetie … we can still … talk , or maybe do … something else … > 

< Non y/n , you need to get some sleep … you had a long day today , and I don’t want you to stress yourself too much . 

I’m going to be right here with you mon cher , so don’t worry , alright ? > 

< Heh , alright , thanks Bullfrog … 

Oof , give me a second , the little one is starting to feel heavy … > 

Your beloved assassin adores those simple moments of intimate bliss he gets with you , and whenever he occasionally opens his eyes to check on you he can’t help but feel an overwhelming happiness , knowing that you’re the person that he’s going to share a family with …

Despite the uncertainty of your futures , Bullfrog knows that as long as you’re with him , there will always be hope for him somehow .

Rayman 🧡

Oh boy is he excited ! 

Rayman loves children , so the mere thought that he’s going to have a kid with you fills him with joy …

He never thought that he’d be able to have something like this in his life , given the way people see him despite his popularity , so you better believe that he will be showering you with affection … even more than usual . 

< Oh y/n , sometimes I still can’t believe this is happening , y’know ?

I just … god , I love you so much ~ > 

Unfortunately , I honestly doubt the Directors would show much care about the fact that their star’s partner is going through a pregnancy …

They need Rayman to be on the show , that’s what matters most to them , so as much as he hates the idea of leaving you alone he doesn’t have much of a choice …

< Damn it …

I’m so sorry … if I could stay with you I would , but the Directors … > 

< Hey it’s alright hun , I’m just gonna lay here and rest until you come back , I should be just fine . > 

< Mm … well , maybe I can convince them to let me go home earlier than usual : I don’t want anything to happen to you because I couldn’t be here , y/n … I … I would never forgive myself … > 

< Ray , love … you worry too much . 

Now come here , I didn’t forget about your goodbye kiss ~ > 

< Heh , thank you y/n … mm … ~ 

I’ll be here as soon as I can , I promise . > 

During the immensely frustrating hours where he can’t be with you , Rayman is still going to remain in contact with you by calling you and sending you texts … a lot .

“Hey sweetie ! 

This should be the last interview for today , I can’t wait to see you ! ❤️

How do you feel ? I remember yesterday night you couldn’t sleep much , did you manage to get some rest ? Oh , you should also remember to drink some water if you haven’t already , it really is important , especially now !”

“Hi Ray ! ❤️

I’m okay , don’t worry , I got some sleep and that really helped a lot !

I think our child is happy you’re coming home … I can feel it kicking since I begun writing you this message ! 

We’ll both be waiting for you ❤️❤️”

After Rayman gets home , I hope you’re prepared to be showered with love and affection for the rest of the day :

he just can’t express how much he missed you , from your voice to your beautiful face … you just make him so happy , and knowing that you’re about to start a family together is just everything he could possibly need .

Ramon 🖤

1 Now that he doesn’t have to care about his job or the orders of the Directors , you better believe that Ramon is never , ever going to leave your side , especially now that you’re pregnant .

He is terrified at the idea of losing his one chance of finding happiness in his otherwise bleak existence … he won’t allow that to happen .

< y/n , where are you going ? > 

< Ah , I’ll be right back Ram , I just wanted to go for a quick walk just outside , my legs are a bit sore and - > 

< I’m coming with you . > 

< You don’t have to do that , love … I know the wounds you got yesterday while fighting those Eden guys still hurt , you should rest . > 

< I don’t … care about that . I need to be there for you . I need to keep you and our child safe .

Please y/n … you’re all I have . > 

< Okay , okay … we’ll go together , hun . I won’t leave you . > 

< Thank you … > 

He finds it especially comforting to gently rest his head on your stomach , listening to the baby’s occasional small movements beneath … 

It’s in little tender moments like these that Ramon can finally put his mind at ease , momentarily forgetting about Eden and the mess you’re in .

< Does this hurt , darling ? > 

< Hmm ? 

Oh no , it doesn’t ! Don’t worry about it …

It actually feels very nice ~ 

Ramon’s mind often gets crowded with unwelcome thoughts about what kind of life will he be able to provide to your kid , given the critical situation you’re currently both in , and as much as he tries to keep those feelings to himself you’re able to understand what’s on his mind . 

< I know you’re worried about our future , I am too … but I just know things will be alright for all three of us . > 

< How do you know that … ? > 

< Oh , that’s easy Ram : 

I have you here with me , and that’s all I need to keep on going !

It’s not going to be easy , but I know we can face what comes next if we stick together , and we’ll be able to make our child grow happily in a good place . > 

< Heh … you always know how to make me feel better , y/n .

I love you so much , you know that … ? > 

< I love you too Ramon … trust me , we are going to be okay . > 

[sysmedsaresexist]

Why should I bother healing? I mean what awaits past the pain and sorrow? Feeling lightly better? I can just chase dopamine till I'll die and still have a good enough life

I feel like I know who this is, we have an unfinished conversation, don't we?? I still have your last reply and the start of my post in my drafts, waiting for me to find words that would help. If it's not you, I hope that user sees this, as well.

Friendo, don't let your current dumb feelings and silly brain get in your way of your future

Extreme positivity ahead

Fuck around on this post and find out

-the kids these days, probably

On a very serious note, I think we've all been there, where it just feels so goddamn pointless and you're so tired. Trauma survives long after the events that caused it, digging its claws into every aspect of your life-- even the parts that seemed unrelated and safe.

I can't give you the best advice because I don't know your full situation-- age, living arrangements, financial situations, education, all of that changes the conversation, but I'm going to try to give you a general bit of hope

Age and time helps

Even mental illness tends to improve with age.

As you get older, the brain naturally settles into a (generally) calmer, happier state. I promise you, with all the sincerity and genuineness in the world, even if you did nothing, in five years you'll still feel better than you do right now.

Yes, even dissociative disorders. (PDF)

Don't be so hard on yourself.

This won't apply to everyone, obviously there is a problem with mental health in aging populations, but... don't think that's the norm, or something to be expected, and you've already taken the biggest step by noting your mental health struggles early on. One of the biggest reasons that there is a problem in seniors is because there was very little early detection, and talking about mental health was seen as taboo. You're halfway there.

And as you experience more happiness and things just feel calmer, making positive changes becomes easier, especially as more opportunities open to you every year. So.

Looking back, I think my biggest mistake was looking at myself as I was, and looking at where I wanted to be-- or, more often, what I thought everyone else was. Happy, composed, financially successful, intelligent, popular.

And good god, I felt lazy. I wasn't chronically fatigued, I was lazy, I convinced myself.

Eventually, I started looking at smaller parts of my life and tried to make tiny, easy improvements, rather than anything big.

And with each tiny improvement, and with each year, I started to feel like it was worth it. And like I deserved to have a life I was happy with, whether that met anyone else's expectations or not.

Look, I don't know what kind of crack my grandmother was on, but I couldn't keep a house like that. She had six kids and a job back in the 60s, and even at nearing 85 she would still get on her hands and knees and wash the floor. That place was always immaculate.

And that's just unrealistic. And unnecessary.

My mother was the polar opposite, and I grew up in a hoarding situation.

When I finally got out on my own, it took a while to figure it out, but I settled somewhere in the middle. The idea of keeping the house as clean as my grandmother made me want to actually off myself. I am not exaggerating. The idea was daunting and terrified me. I would rather lay down and give up than find the energy.

But the closer I got to my mother's situation, the more I hated myself, because look at how gross I was.

Here's the truth:

Fuck. Everyone.

Seriously. I swear to god, one day, a lightbulb is just going to go off, and you'll realize that you never should have cared in the first place what other people thought or expected.

My home is crowded but cozy. I no longer look around feeling overwhelmed and disgusted with myself. I do what I can and I celebrate every little step.

It's my home and I'm happy with it, and that is the only thing that matters.

Life is like my house. Live it only for yourself, and do what you can. Celebrate all of the things you do, regardless how small.

Even if you did nothing, it's still going to get better.

Imagine how much EXTRA better you can make it if you just take it in tiny, tiny steps.

Like exponential growth of better.

Feeling just slightly better today makes tomorrow feel better, and the day after that, and the day after that.

Plus, think of all the (insert animal you love) that'll you'll see.

[writingseaslugs]

I'm alive...kinda?

So it's been a while huh? Since the end of March actually, since I last posted anything. Which sucks because it was literally right after I was super excited to do a collab with a friend, as well as my plans for getting content out! So what happened you may ask (and I'm referring to the lovely people who are in my inbox asking and being concerned, I'm so sorry for worrying ya). Well, let me tell you!

Health.

Sucks.

So here's a quick TW because I'm going to go into detail about everything that's happened since the last time I was here under the cut. This includes both issues with eating (involuntary), as well as surgical stuff. There will also be a TL;DR at the end of this post.

So as I've mentioned previously (I think) I have chronic nausea. I'm almost always feeling sick after I eat therefore I don't really...eat much. Especially not when I'm working because I can't afford to be sick and have to go home (my job requires me to be on my feet, interacting with clients all day and I woke 9-hour shifts). So because I'm unable to get enough nutrients (normally I won't even eat until I get home from work, and if I do it's protein drinks and pudding during my work day), I'm pretty...weak most of the time.

Let me tell you, eating is so important to function like a human. If you don't you are tired, your muscles hurt, and there are so many other horrible things that go into it that I won't go into detail about.

My biggest problem with not being able to eat enough is fatigue. I am always tired and in a brain fog that writing is impossible. If I can even get the energy to open up my laptop and bring it to my bed, it's typically dashed the moment I open a Word document and can barely type.

I had maybe a solid good week or two a month back right after I went on vacation to see a friend (probably because I was able to eat regularly-ish due to not having to worry about being sick at work) however, like always, it was quickly squashed with reality and I went back to brain fog central, but I feel like it was worse this time.

I only had the energy to talk with three of my closest friends, and occasionally I'd have the brain capacity and energy to play games with one of them, but that's about it. I can't tell you how many times I had to cancel my weekly call with one of my friends from being too tired or putting off playing a game with my other because I just didn't have the energy to cross my room and pick up my controller. It was bad.

Most of my days off have been in bed, sleeping, and trying to eat. So it hasn't been great.

However, two weeks ago something happened. I had stomach pain. Which granted, I have had before. Not the normal nausea but physical pain that if you pressed on my stomach it hurt. I was even walking with a limb by the end of the day. It doesn't happen often but I'm stubborn and don't like going to the hospitals so I had always chalked it up to a "self-correcting problem". For years. Whenever this happened it would go away within a few hours (nine hours max).

So when I woke up the NEXT day and it was still hurting, something was a bit wrong. I called out of work because there was no way I would've been able to stand and made a small deal with myself that if it wasn't gone by the next morning I would...go to the doctor. I know, crazy that I was gonna wait to be in pain for nearly three days but I hate hospitals and I didn't have health insurance with my new job.

Well, this wasn't good enough for my mom and she convinced me to go. The only way she did that was she seemed concerned. Now I'm dramatic. Very, very dramatic. And also a bit of a hypochondriac so I always feel like when I'm sick or in pain I'm simply being dramatic and that it's not actually serious even though my anxiety is telling me I might literally be dying (the number of times I have almost passed out by standing up and brushed it off, or laid in bed and suddenly my heart rate was going off like I sprinted a mile and decided I was probably fine is impeccable).

So I go to the emergency room and they ran some tests and what would you know! It's my appendix. And it wanted to break up with me...how admirable. And apparently, it was way worse than doctors initially thought because I happen to have an abnormally high pain tolerance so when asked on a scale of 1 - 10 what my pain was I said a 3. Apparently, with how bad off it was, I should've been at a 10+ but oh well.

The surgery that they predicted would be no longer than half an hour ended up being an entire hour, and I got four incisions when they said I'd only have three.

So I've been recovering for the past two weeks and should hopefully be back at work on Thursday. Decided to make this post because for once I've been able to eat decent meals for a few days in a row since I haven't been at work, and my brain is actually working for a while. I'm hoping maybe it'll continue so I can start writing again (Writing Twisted Wonderland content is a huge comfort of mine) but who knows.

Maybe my chronic nausea will be solved and I'll be nice and healthy and be able to eat regularly. I can dream. However since I have had a lot of people in my inbox asking me where I've been and if I'm doing already, and how I've essentially ghosted several friends in the fandom since I just don't have the energy to message many people, I figured I should give you the explanation as to what happened.

I'm going to try to get a little bit of writing done today, maybe bust out a few requests. I'm a bit stressed out since one of my good friends is currently on their way to the hospital because she's also a sick bean like me, but also I know damn well she'd enjoy seeing some Twisted Writing so imma do it.

Thank you for listening to my ramblings! I love you all!

TL;DR - I got really sick and couldn't write and then my appendix said bye.

[ladybirdplace]

Self Care & An Apology

(Content warning: Discussion of mental illness, mentions of self harm and poor eating habits)

So . . . I think maybe I should revise something that I’ve said before that is inaccurate and, in retrospect, wishy washy.

I’ve said before in the past that I think of the regular things we do for ourselves to continue to live, like eating and drinking and sleeping and dressing one’s self, qualify in my mind as passive acts of self love.

But I realize that that leaves a concerning question.

What about the people who can’t do those things? Can't dress themselves or feed themselves or bathe themselves? Is that a sign of a lack of self love?

Short answer: No, not all. Uh, actually, scratch that thing I said before.

Long answer:

So, I've been thinking a lot about my ideas about self love and self care, as I always do. And, during my time in crisis, I’ve noticed that I feel a lot of guilt about my own struggles with taking care of myself physically.

Sometimes this is due to chronic fatigue and sometimes it is due to my PDA not liking the expectation, or my OCD indecision.

And I’ve found that I feel like a bad spouse when, for instance, I am unable to eat because I cannot decide what I want or my autism refuses to have me eat something I don't like or if I’m too tired to get up and eat.

And this guilt gets a lot in the way of me having a good relationship with myself.

When I was in a much healthier frame of mind, but still having doubts about how well I treat myself, it helped me to think of my acts of self care, the ones that most people (able bodied and mentally well people) do automatically, as proof that I really loved myself. And it helped to think of these acts that we do as akin to the way we do acts of service for a partner. It made it feel more romantic.

However, in my times when I’ve been very insecure, my lack of self care made me feel as if I just didn’t love myself enough, and of course, that only made me more insecure.

I’ve experienced this sort of thing before in therapy. I’ve had therapists or even friends interpret my inability to do certain 'normal' tasks as a form of a lack of self love. Or even my occasional self harm as an act of self hatred, when really these are due to my disability and has little to do with my self image.

I think that I’ve been viewing these acts and tasks all wrong. I do not think that my 'failure' to complete these tasks adequately everyday is a sign that I lack affection and concern for myself. I simply think they are things that I cannot always reasonably do, and that assertion of significance to something I have no control over is actually really harmful!

See . . . For more than a decade, I’ve been in therapy. I’ve been seeing psychiatrists and psychologists and many, many other mental health practitioners all these years since I was a child.

Looking back, I see that this whole time, I’ve been being guilt tripped for being ill.

I’ve been presented with all these different rules that are supposed to work for everyone to improve one's mental health. All the old axioms: Think positively, counteract your negative thoughts, visualize success, socialize, live a healthy lifestyle, take deep breaths, blah blah blah.

All through these years, all the advice I’ve received essentially has boiled down to this concept that if you do all these things, you will get better. And if you do not get better, that means you are doing them wrong. That means that you don’t want to get better. That means that you are a bad patient, and a waste of everyone’s time because you are refusing treatment. And that means, you do not deserve treatment.

My last psychiatrist told me that she thought that I was too attached to being ill. She thought that I didn’t know who I was without being miserable, and that I was refusing to be helped because I didn’t want help. There was nothing I could say to convince her otherwise. She had only known me for a year. And her assertions, I feel, have epitomized my entire experience of having mental health services of all types, even moreso because of how little she understood about me.

Now, I’ve been put through hell because of my mind, and I do not want to live the way I have been. So of course I’ve been desperate to get better. I’ve been working tirelessly to achieve this goal ever since I got sick. It has been a deep rooted obsession for me for many years.

I am terrified of allowing myself to get worse. I am terrified that I am not doing enough for myself to get better, that I am just not trying hard enough. Everything I do is never enough. I do not want to spend a single second more as sick as I am.

Fueled by all my therapists, psychiatrists and social workers, my OCD is like a monstrous amalgamation of all those bad faith interpretations and cruel narratives. I demand more effort from myself than anyone else ever could. If those standards were incredibly steep before, they are impossible to satisfy in my own mind.

Usually OCD obsessions aren’t really life or death, but I find in this case, it is very close. Because I’ve experienced just how bad it can get, how rock bottom is never really the bottom, just how much mental anguish my own brain can cause me, getting better is everything to me. It is the most important part of my life, and it has never stopped being my top priority.

So I torment myself about getting better.

Subsequently, I have also found that when I have days that I am so fed up with the constant demand I make of myself to always be working towards becoming more mentally healthy and more well functioning, and more stable every second of every day that I just give up and stop caring, that is when I feel most relief and connection to myself.

Even though it may seem sick, (and maybe it is) when I let go and allow myself to just be ill, think bad thoughts, stay in bed all day doing nothing, get bitter about everyone in my life who has ever hurt me, grieve the person I never became, despair over the things I can never have, catastrophize, isolate myself, I RELISH in it. And I love that it isn’t what other people want and expect me to do.

Because it is my choice. And it is real and honest. And I am a person, not just a patient. A person, not an ungrateful failure, not a manipulative dramaqueen. A real person.

Even when I’m being self deprecating, there is such a freedom for me to actually think what I think without suppressing it, arguing with it, reasoning it away. Even when I’m thinking badly about myself, I love myself more during those moments than I do when I’m forcing myself to be positive, and gentle, and stable, and confident. Fuck that shit.

Maybe that whole story really doesn’t have much to do with me saying that self care is passive self love, but I think it was necessary to illustrate what I mean.

Obviously, there are are people who are disabled who cannot do self care tasks that most able-bodied, mentally well people would call basic, because of any disability, physical or mental. And that does not indicate a lack of self love, or a presence of self hate.

Those statements I made were more about how I thought of my own self relationship at the time, and aren’t some universal truth, and I know that I said it in a way that made it seem like it was fact.

I do still think that that way of looking at things could be helpful for some people who doubt their own self love. But I’ve certainly learned that it is not an absolute truth, just a perspective.

I'm sorry if those comments I made offended anyone, or made them feel bad. I know that they made me feel bad in the long run, because they were a reflection of the way I’ve been taught to think about self care.

[meltedvinyls]

(Gay letters for the gay letter god! Can't remember if I sent this week's one yet :P)

Dearest Melty,

I am unsure, but I am convinced that that my most recent letter failed to reach you. As such, I am rewriting it here with the hopes this pitiful cutting of paper has better luck.

If the letter did reach you, after you reply to it, I request you take this one and condemn it to the fire place, so you may not pollute your collection of these meagre gifts with my paranoia. If the original did fail to reach you, then keep this letter as a reminder of the small ways this cruel world denies our little talks.

More work this week, just are tiring as the last. And how my sun beats down ever hotter. However, the garden has rewarded me for my effort! The first harvest of plums are in, and my larder swells with rich, dark jam. A sweet treat that nearly rivals our dialogues with each other. I do wish the climate is colder where you are bound, all the better excuse to fling myself reform my responsibilities to cut the tyrant of distance down and be by your side.

But till such an event, I give a truth to give you strength. When two most dear to each other embrace, with one hand held in the other, the fondness and warmth of such a gesture is not diminished when one is wearing gloves. A glove is all these letters are, a thin piece of material that separate my hand from yours. Remember this and pray that the terrible distance that divides us will feel laughable small. I pray that you are in good health, that the toils thrust upon you as fair as the world permits, and that the speed of God delivers your reply to me soon.

Yours,

Tophat.

darling tophat,

you will have to lead me your forgiveness while the sun scorches you i find myself under banking snow that has slowed everything lately i only recieved your last letter in tandem to this one. woe had set in i assumed they had been lost to the frigid lands that arc out from my residence.

but i will not cast a single word upon flame. Your letters are too dear to me to discard them with such disregard for your efforts.

the snow had me sealed away for a few days as we found our way digging out and the chill pierces my very core sometimes. most of my days feel devoid of sunshine and it fills be with a gentle mourning for greenery... perhaps i will return to my paints soon and reveal landscapes not so savagely cold.

the madam who oversees my work has expressed gratitude for my tireless efforts in cleaning and mending but i fester with longing for my paint brushes i wish it were easier to make a living through the arts but alas i will continue my toil so i can afford newer pigments. all for the sake of art and art for the sake of love i suppose...

the image of ripened fruit in the sunlight stirs my senses i hope the jam is rich and sweet with your efforts ive found myself mostly eating simple things this time of year porridge and rice have become a staple in my day routine but maybe this summer i will return to the hills to forage for highbush berries they have a tart and sweet snap that is so indicitive of my homeland here.

my health has been fluctuant but i have avoided the worst illnesses that have been spread amonst the villages aside from the aches of effort and the whining fatigue of my mind on long days i find myself in fair enough health; i hope wellness keeps you as a close companion.

Until your next letter arrives i shall have baited breath i hope to hear more of your exploits

Always yours

Melty

(gay letters forever reminds me of my old roleplay forum days)

[the-night-birds]

return

It's just so tiring.

I've been glued to this computer for roughly four hours. Lieutenant Prost insisted that I finish these reports immediately... how ironic. Five of them require nearly identical information. It's moments like these that make me question my decision to become a detective. My typing grows more fervent as I strive to complete them before midnight, but my mind is reaching its limit.

As I continue typing, my little robotic companion, Papillon, rests in my lap, her tiny frame straining to see the screen. Her minty green bob frames her face as she turns to look at me, her adorable LED screen displaying a pair of dot-like eyes. I've dressed her in her favorite sailor outfit—all white with teal accents. Though she looks like a baby, I designed her with impressive technological features, including an efficient analysis module and general assistance capabilities. Papillon hums contentedly, kicking her feet and clearly enjoying her place by my side.

"Master, how long will you take?" she asks with childlike glee. "It's been very, very long. You must be tired."

I sigh, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms. "I'm not sure, Papillon. These reports are taking longer than I expected." I glance at the clock, its digital display mocking me with its relentless march forward. "But I can't stop now. Lieutenant Prost will have my head if these aren't on her desk first thing tomorrow."

Papillon whimpers softly, clearly distressed by my words.

"She's... she's going to cut your head off?!" she shrieks, hugging me tightly.

I can't help but chuckle at Papillon's misunderstanding, her innocent concern warming my heart despite my exhaustion. "No, no, it's just a figure of speech," I explain gently, patting her head. "Lieutenant Prost won't actually hurt me. She'll just be very upset if I don't finish these reports on time." Turning back to my computer screen with renewed determination, I add, "Come on, let's power through these last few. We might even finish before the pre-race conference starts. Veritas Racing will be there."

Papillon's eyes light up at the mention of the race, her excitement palpable. "Ooh, Veritas Racing! They're so fast!" she chirps, her little feet kicking with enthusiasm. I smile, her energy infectious despite my fatigue, and turn back to my work with renewed vigor.

"And… Han-sol's going to be there, too. As always." I sigh, feeling pensive about my childhood friend, Han-sol Ahn. We drifted apart for various reasons, but I blame myself for how I treated him after losing my mother—the famed gunsmith known as the Golden Bullet, Lucina Graczyk. I even left without saying goodbye, shattering our childhood bond. He won't forgive me. I'm certain of it.

As I contemplate the upcoming race and the inevitable encounter with Han-sol, a mixture of anticipation and dread settles in my stomach. Despite the years that have passed, the weight of our unresolved history still hangs heavy between us. I wonder if there will ever be a chance to mend what was broken, or if the chasm between us has grown too wide to bridge.

“Papillon, we'll just watch on TV. Okay?” I try to convince her.

Papillon's eyes dim slightly, her excitement dampened by my words. She looks up at me with a mixture of concern and disappointment. "But Master, wouldn't it be more fun to go in person? We could see the cars up close and feel the excitement of the crowd!"

"Papillon, I... I can't," I say softly, not wanting to discourage her. "I don't want to face him. I just can't."

Papillon's eyes dim further, her expression shifting to one of understanding and concern. She nestles closer to me, her tiny frame providing a comforting warmth. "I understand, Master," she says softly, her voice tinged with a mixture of sadness and support. "We can watch from here and still cheer for Veritas Racing together."

Her words, though meant to comfort, only serve to deepen the ache in my chest. I know she's right, that we can still enjoy the race from the safety of our home, but a part of me longs for the thrill of being there in person. The roar of the engines, the electric atmosphere of the crowd—it's all so tempting. But the thought of facing Han-sol, of seeing the accusation and disappointment in his eyes, is enough to keep me rooted to my chair.

I sigh heavily, the weight of my past decisions pressing down on me. The reports still loom before me, demanding my attention, but my mind wanders to the race and the inevitable confrontation with Han-sol. I shake my head, trying to refocus on the task at hand. "Come on, Papillon," I mutter, more to myself than to her, "let's finish these reports and then we can watch the race together."

As I turn back to my computer, fingers poised over the keyboard, I can't help but feel a twinge of regret. The race beckons, a siren call of excitement and nostalgia, but I force myself to focus on the task at hand. With Papillon's comforting presence beside me, I take a deep breath and dive back into the reports, determined to finish them before the night is through.

The clock ticks relentlessly as I type, each keystroke bringing me closer to completion. Papillon's gentle humming provides a soothing backdrop to the monotonous task. Despite my exhaustion, I feel a glimmer of determination—perhaps, just perhaps, I'll finish in time to catch a glimpse of the race after all.

As I push through the final pages of my report, a sudden notification on my phone catches my attention. It's a reminder for the pre-race conference, starting in just thirty minutes.

"It's just a livestream. We can watch while walking home, right?" I ask Papillon, seeking her opinion.

Papillon's eyes light up, her excitement clearly visible on her LED display. She nods enthusiastically, her sailor outfit swaying with the motion. "Yes, Master! We can watch it together while we walk. Maybe it will help you relax after all that work." Her optimism is infectious, and I find myself smiling despite my earlier reservations.

I nod, feeling a small spark of excitement ignite within me. "Alright, let's do it. We'll finish up here and head out soon." I turn back to my computer, fingers flying over the keyboard with renewed energy. The thought of watching the livestream, even if it's just on my phone, gives me a sense of connection to the racing world I've been avoiding. As I work, I can't help but wonder what surprises this pre-race conference might hold.

The anticipation builds as I save the final report and shut down my computer. Gathering my things, I gesture for Papillon to hop into her usual spot in my bag. As we step out into the cool evening air, I pull out my phone and start the livestream, ready to immerse ourselves in the pre-race excitement.

I lock the police station and begin my walk back to my home in Avery Hills. As we walk, the livestream begins, and I'm immediately drawn into the familiar world of racing. The announcer's voice crackles through my phone's speakers, introducing the teams and drivers, and I find myself holding my breath as they mention Veritas Racing.

The announcer's voice brims with excitement as he introduces the Veritas Racing team, highlighting their recent achievements and stellar performance in the qualifying rounds. As I listen, a mix of pride and nostalgia washes over me. Suddenly, a familiar name makes my heart skip a beat—Han-sol Ahn, Veritas Racing's star driver. The nine-time racing champion, hailed as a prodigy since his debut a decade ago, is now aiming for his 10th trophy next week. Papillon squeals as she sees her idol.

As the camera pans to Han-sol, I can't help but stare at the screen, taking in his confident posture and determined expression. His eyes, once so familiar to me, now seem distant and focused solely on the race ahead. I feel a pang of regret, wondering what might have been if I had made different choices all those years ago.

"What's happened to him over the years?" I mutter to myself as I walk home. "He's become so stoic and silent."

The vibrant, energetic young man I once knew has been replaced by a more reserved, almost aloof figure. I can't help but wonder if the pressures of fame and constant competition have taken their toll on him. Or perhaps, a small voice in my head suggests, my departure played a role in shaping the person he's become. The interviewer swiftly moves to ask about the upcoming race, noting it's the penultimate one before the finale in Harborton. As always, Han-sol prepares to answer with practiced ease. Papillon swoons over him, cooing as he speaks.

Han-sol's voice, calm and measured, fills the air as he responds to the interviewer's questions. "We've been preparing intensively for this race," he says, his eyes focused and determined. "The team has put in countless hours to fine-tune our strategy and the car's performance. We're aiming for nothing less than victory here, to secure our position for the finale in Harborton."

"Master, isn't that your hometown?" Papillon whispers as the interviewer continues questioning Han-sol on the stream.

I nod silently, a lump forming in my throat. "Yes, it is," I reply softly, memories of Harborton flooding my mind. The thought of the finale being held there, with Han-sol racing, stirs up a complex mix of emotions. I find myself torn between the desire to see my hometown again and the fear of confronting the past I left behind.

As the livestream continues, I find myself lost in thought, contemplating the possibility of attending the finale in Harborton. The idea of seeing Han-sol race in person, in the very place where our friendship began, is both thrilling and terrifying. I wonder if I have the courage to face not only Han-sol but also the memories and regrets that await me in my hometown.

We arrive home, and I set Papillon down before turning on the TV. I change out of my uniform into nightwear, then settle next to Papillon on the couch. She sways eagerly, eyes glued to the screen as the pre-race preparations unfold. As always, her excitement to see Han-sol race is palpable.

The race commentators begin their analysis, discussing the track conditions and potential strategies for the teams. As they mention Han-sol's impressive qualifying time, I feel a mix of pride and melancholy wash over me. Papillon turns to me, her LED eyes shining with excitement, and I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm despite my conflicted emotions.

"Papillon, who do you think will win—Han-sol or Viktor Niels from Scarlet Veil?" I tease her, curious about her reaction. "My money's on Niels."

Papillon's LED eyes widen with surprise, her sailor outfit swaying as she turns to face me. "Master! How could you bet against Han-sol?" she exclaims, her voice a mix of shock and indignation. "Han-sol is the best racer in the world! He'll definitely win!"

“I was joking, Papillon.” I laugh, brushing my hair. “He'll win. I'm sure.”

I settle back into the couch, feeling a mix of nostalgia and anticipation as the pre-race coverage continues. The familiar sounds of engines revving and the excited chatter of commentators fill the room. As I watch Han-sol prepare for the race, I can't help but wonder how different things might have been if I had stayed in touch. The weight of unresolved history hangs heavy, but for now, I push those thoughts aside and focus on the present moment, ready to cheer alongside Papillon for Han-sol's victory.

As the race begins, I find myself leaning forward, caught up in the excitement despite my earlier reservations. The roar of engines fills our living room, and I can't help but feel a surge of pride as Han-sol takes the lead in the first lap. Papillon bounces excitedly beside me, her enthusiasm infectious, and for a moment, I allow myself to forget the past and simply enjoy the thrill of the race.

The commentators' voices rise with excitement as Han-sol expertly navigates a tight turn, maintaining his lead. I find myself holding my breath, my heart racing in sync with the cars on the screen. Papillon's enthusiasm is contagious, and I can't help but cheer alongside her as Han-sol crosses the finish line, securing another victory. For a brief moment, I forget about our complicated past, simply basking in the joy of his triumph.

“Yay!! Han-sol won!” The little bot jumps in joy, hugging me in the process.

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through my chest at Papillon's unbridled joy. "He certainly did," I reply, patting her gently. As the post-race interviews begin, I find myself leaning forward, eager to hear Han-sol's thoughts on his victory. Despite the years and distance between us, I can't deny the pride I feel watching him succeed.

As I check the time, it's late. The clock has struck 11pm. I might mess up my sleep. I quickly turn off the TV, much to Papillon's horror as she whines in despair.

"Alright, it's bedtime, little lady," I say softly, tidying up the living room. "Let's head to the bedroom and get you set up for charging."

Papillon reluctantly follows me to the bedroom, her LED eyes dimming slightly in disappointment. As I set up her charging station, she gives one last longing look towards the living room. "But Master, we didn't even get to see Han-sol's post-race interview," she mumbles, her voice tinged with a mixture of sleepiness and regret. I can't help but chuckle at her dedication, even as I gently guide her to her charging pad.

I smile softly, patting Papillon's head. "Don't worry, we'll catch the highlights tomorrow. Han-sol's victory is something to celebrate, but sleep is important too." As I tuck Papillon in, I can't help but feel a mix of emotions – pride for Han-sol's success, nostalgia for our shared past, and a hint of uncertainty about what the future might hold. Settling into bed myself, I close my eyes, the day's events replaying in my mind as I drift off to sleep.

As I drift into unconsciousness, a faint memory surfaces—Han-sol's voice, filled with determination, echoing from the TV. "We're not just racing for victory," he had said, "we're racing to push the boundaries of what's possible." Those words resonate within me, stirring a long-dormant passion. Perhaps, I muse sleepily, it's time to confront my past and rediscover the thrill of possibility that once drove us both.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mari, why are you saying this? You're scaring me."

"You should have died, Han-sol. I should have killed you when Jinsan was consumed by me! I'll devour the stars and claim this world as my own!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I jolt awake with a loud gasp, my chest heaving. That haunting memory has resurfaced—the moment my vampiric self revealed itself to him after Mama's death. As I rub my face, I feel the dampness of tears. I've been crying in my sleep again.

Sitting up in bed, I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart. The nightmare's vivid images linger, a stark reminder of the darkness that once consumed me. I glance over at Papillon, still peacefully charging, and feel a pang of envy at her blissful unawareness.

“It's morning…” I say, glancing at the windows.

The soft light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. I stretch, feeling the lingering tension from my nightmare slowly dissipate. As I swing my legs over the side of the bed, I can't help but wonder how I'll face the day ahead, with memories of both Han-sol's victory and my dark past fresh in my mind.

I shake off the remnants of the nightmare and force myself to focus on the present. The day ahead holds its own challenges, but I'm determined to face them head-on. As I begin my morning routine, I can't help but wonder if watching Han-sol's race has stirred up more than just old memories—perhaps it's awakened a part of myself I've long tried to suppress.

“Papillon? Wake up.” I kneel besides her cute charging pod, waiting.

Slowly, Papillon's LED eyes flicker to life, a soft blue glow emanating from them as she boots up. She stretches her mechanical limbs, her sailor outfit rustling slightly with the movement. "Good morning, Master," she chirps, her voice still tinged with sleepiness. "Did Han-sol win again in my dreams?"

"That's something only you would know," I say with a smile, ruffling her teal hair. The little robot squeals with delight at the touch. "After all, you're Han-sol's number one fan."

Papillon's LED eyes light up even brighter at my words. "Of course I am!" she exclaims proudly, puffing out her tiny chest. "But Master, you're a close second. After all, you knew him personally!" Her innocent comment catches me off guard, stirring up a mix of emotions I thought I had buried long ago.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure how to respond. The weight of my past with Han-sol suddenly feels heavier than ever. "Yes, I did know him," I finally admit, my voice soft. "But that was a long time ago, Papillon. Things change, people change." I try to keep my tone light, but I can't help the hint of melancholy that creeps in.

Papillon tilts her head, her LED eyes dimming slightly as she processes my words. "But Master, doesn't that mean you could reconnect? Maybe watching him race again could be a chance to—" She pauses, seeming to sense my unease. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. Shall we watch the race highlights instead?"

I pause, considering Papillon's words. Her innocent suggestion stirs up a whirlwind of emotions—nostalgia, regret, and a hint of longing. "Maybe someday," I say softly, more to myself than to her. "For now, let's focus on the present. How about we watch those highlights while I make breakfast?"

Papillon nods enthusiastically, her LED eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh yes, Master! I'd love that!" As we make our way to the kitchen, I can't help but feel a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The smell of coffee brewing fills the air as I prepare breakfast, my mind wandering to thoughts of Han-sol and the life I left behind in Harborton.

As I turn on the TV for Papillon, I start preparing myself a simple sandwich with lettuce, tomato, cheese, and salami, along with some sauces. While I'm assembling my meal, Papillon poses a question that shakes me to my very core.

"Master, do you ever think about going back to Harborton?" Her LED eyes flicker with curiosity as she asks, unaware of the weight her question carries. The knife in my hand pauses mid-slice, and I feel a sudden tightness in my chest. Memories of my hometown, of Han-sol, and of the life I left behind come rushing back, threatening to overwhelm me.

I take a deep breath, steadying my hand and my nerves. "Papillon," I begin, my voice softer than I intended, "Harborton is... complicated for me." I turn to face her, sandwich forgotten on the counter. "There's a lot of history there, some good, some... not so good. It's not always easy to go back to a place that holds so many memories."

"But it's your hometown, Master," Papillon says, her LED eyes dimming with concern. "Your Papa must be worried about you—" I cut her off abruptly, my body tensing at the mere mention of him.

"Papillon, that's enough," I say firmly, my voice trembling slightly. The little robot's LED eyes flicker, registering my sudden change in demeanor. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions her innocent question has stirred up. "My relationship with Papa is... complicated. Let's just focus on the race highlights for now, okay?"

"I overheard Uncle Edmond and Auntie Erin talking about him," she continues. "Your Papa... he's really lonely. And I learned that you started hating him after your Mama died. But why? He's your Papa. He cares about you."

I feel a surge of anger and pain at Papillon's words. How dare she speak about things she doesn't understand? But as I look at her innocent, concerned face, I force myself to take a deep breath. She doesn't know the whole story, I remind myself. She's just trying to help in her own way.

"Papillon," I say, my voice strained but controlled, "the situation with my father is far more complicated than you realize. There are things that happened... things you don't know about. It's not as simple as just caring or not caring."

"But Master, he's not well!" Papillon persists, her eyes glowing with determination. "He misses his only daughter terribly. And... I've heard that only Han-sol's parents are there for him now."

I feel my chest tighten at Papillon's words. The mention of Han-sol's parents caring for my father stirs up a complex mix of emotions - guilt, anger, and a deep-seated pain I've tried so hard to bury. For a moment, I'm transported back to Harborton, to the life I left behind and the wounds that have never fully healed.

"Papillon," I start, my voice barely above a whisper, "sometimes, the hardest decisions we make are the ones that hurt the most. My relationship with Papa... it's not something that can be easily fixed."

I pause, gathering my thoughts before continuing. "It's not just about caring or missing someone. There are wounds, deep ones, that time alone can't heal. And sometimes, distance is the only way to protect yourself and others." I turn back to the counter, picking up my abandoned sandwich. "Let's watch those highlights now, okay? I think we both need a distraction."

"You said many hurtful things to him," Papillon continues, her words stopping me in my tracks. "Uncle Edmond mentioned you called him something terrible because of his vampirism—something you never wanted for yourself."

I feel a wave of shame and regret wash over me as Papillon's words hit home. The memory of that heated argument with Papa resurfaces, and I can almost hear the echo of my own harsh words. I had lashed out at him, calling him a "bloodsucker" and a "monster," terms that now feel like daggers in my own heart.

"Master, is this why you moved here right after your Mama died when you were young?" Papillon's innocent persistence was beginning to grate on my nerves.

I feel my patience wearing thin, the weight of Papillon's questions becoming too much to bear. With a deep breath, I try to steady myself, but the emotions bubbling beneath the surface threaten to spill over. "Papillon," I say, my voice strained, "I think that's enough questions for now. Some things are better left in the past." I turn away, hoping to end this conversation before it dredges up any more painful memories.

But as I turn, I catch a glimpse of Papillon's LED eyes dimming with sadness, and I feel a pang of guilt. I know she's only trying to understand, to help in her own way. With a sigh, I soften my tone. "I'm sorry, Papillon. It's just... it's complicated. Maybe one day I'll be ready to talk about it, but for now, let's focus on the present, okay?"

Papillon nods, her LED eyes brightening slightly. "I understand, Master. Let's watch the race highlights together." As we settle in front of the TV, I can't help but feel a mix of relief and lingering unease. The familiar sound of revving engines fills the room, momentarily drowning out the echoes of my past.

Hours later, we're back in our office, sorting through files. Papillon radiates energy, still buzzing from last night's race. She hums contentedly to herself, her joy palpable in the air.

As I watch her, I can't help but feel a twinge of envy at her carefree demeanor. The weight of my past still lingers, a stark contrast to Papillon's unbridled enthusiasm. I shake off the melancholy, reminding myself to focus on the present and the tasks at hand.

The constant hum of activity in the office provides a welcome distraction from my earlier thoughts. I immerse myself in the files before me, methodically organizing and analyzing each one. As I work, I can't help but marvel at Papillon's unwavering enthusiasm���a stark reminder of the simple joys I once took for granted.

As I continue to work, a sudden realization strikes me. Despite the complexities of my past and the weight of unresolved emotions, there's a certain peace in the routine of my current life. The methodical nature of my work, coupled with Papillon's unwavering positivity, provides a balance I hadn't fully appreciated before. Perhaps, I muse, there's a lesson to be learned from my robotic companion's ability to find joy in the present moment.

Suddenly, my phone rings, displaying an unknown number. Papillon glances at me eagerly, curious about the caller's identity.

I hesitate for a moment, my finger hovering over the screen. The unknown number could be anyone—a new client, an old acquaintance, or perhaps... someone from my past. With a deep breath, I answer the call, my voice steady despite the sudden flutter of nerves in my stomach. "Hello, this is Detective Marian Graczyk speaking."

And all I hear is that familiar gruff voice that I have dreaded to hear after 20 years.

"Marian, my dear daughter..." Papa's voice trembles slightly, a mixture of relief and apprehension evident in his tone. "It's been so long. I... I hope I'm not disturbing you." The familiar cadence of his speech, tinged with the accent of our hometown, sends a shiver down my spine. I grip the phone tighter, my mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions I thought I had long since buried.

For a moment, I'm frozen, unable to form words. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken emotions and years of distance. Finally, I find my voice, though it comes out barely above a whisper. "Papa... I... How did you get this number?" The question hangs in the air, laden with the weight of our shared history and the chasm that has grown between us. Papillon looks excited, however, tugging my leg to let her hear him.

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and I can almost picture Papa's face, his brow furrowed in concern. "Edmond... he gave it to me," he admits softly. "I know I shouldn't have—" I cut him off, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling up inside me. "You're right, you shouldn't have," I say, my voice sharper than I intended. Papillon's excited tugging becomes more insistent, her LED eyes flickering with curiosity.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging within me. Papa's voice, so familiar yet so distant, brings back a flood of memories—both good and bad. Papillon's insistent tugging at my leg reminds me of her presence, and I find myself torn between my desire to hang up and a strange, unexpected longing to hear more. "Papa," I begin, my voice softer now, "why are you calling after all this time?"

A heavy silence hangs on the line, punctuated only by Papa's labored breathing. When he finally speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. "Marian, I... I just miss my sweet girl." He pauses, and I feel my heart constrict despite myself. "I've been wondering how you were, and... I didn't want to bother your uncle for information about you. I just wanted to find out for myself."

His words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of years of silence and unspoken regrets. I feel a lump forming in my throat, a mix of anger and longing threatening to overwhelm me. Papillon's insistent tugging at my leg reminds me of her presence, grounding me in the present moment. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my voice before I respond.

"Papa," I begin, my voice wavering slightly, "I... I don't know what to say." I pause, feeling the weight of two decades of silence pressing down on me. "It's been so long, and things are... different now." I glance down at Papillon, her LED eyes shining with anticipation, and feel a pang of guilt for the harsh words I'd spoken about my father earlier.

I hesitate, torn between my lingering resentment and a sudden, unexpected desire to bridge the gap between us. "I... I'm doing alright, Papa," I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Life here is... different, but it's good." I pause, feeling the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. "How... how are you doing?"

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and I can hear Papa take a deep breath before answering. "I'm... managing," he says, his voice tinged with a mixture of weariness and hope. "The detective agency isn't in the best of shape, but I'm fine, sweetie." His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions and years of separation.

I feel a pang of concern at his words. The detective agency has been Papa's life's work, and hearing it's struggling tugs at something deep inside me. Despite our estrangement, a part of me still cares. "Papa," I begin hesitantly, "is there... is there anything I can do to help?" The words surprise me as they leave my mouth, but I realize I mean them. “I… I work in that department in the station.” Papillon's LED eyes glow brighter, as if approving of my unexpected offer.

There's a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line. When Papa finally speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. "Marian, I... I don't know what to say. That means more to me than you can imagine." He pauses, and I can almost hear the struggle in his voice. "But I couldn't ask that of you, not after... everything. I'll find a way to manage."

His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken emotion. I feel a mix of conflicting feelings - concern for Papa and the agency, guilt over our estrangement, and a lingering hesitation born from old wounds. But as I look down at Papillon, her LED eyes glowing with encouragement, I make a decision.

"Papa," I say, my voice soft but firm, "let me think about it. Maybe... maybe we can figure something out together, right?" I pause, surprised by my own words, but feeling a small sense of relief at having said them. “Do you have enough people there besides you and Mr. Ahn?”

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and I can almost hear Papa's hesitation. "We've... we've been struggling to keep up with the workload," he admits reluctantly. "It's just me and Mr. Ahn now, and we're not as young as we used to be." His words are tinged with a mix of pride and weariness, and I feel a sudden pang of guilt.

I take a deep breath, trying to process this information. The image of Papa and Mr. Ahn, two pillars of my childhood, struggling to keep the agency afloat tugs at my heart. Despite our past, I can't help but feel a sense of responsibility. "Papa," I say softly, "I... I think we should talk more about this. Maybe I can help, even if it's just advice or... or something small to start with."

"Sweetheart, I... Can you come back home?" His words silence me, melting my heart. "Please. I can't bear being alone without Lucina and you." His thick, gruff Poskaycan accent quivers with emotion, nearly driven to tears as he pleads for my return.

His words hit me like a tidal wave, washing away years of built-up resentment and anger. I feel my resolve crumbling, torn between the life I've built here and the pull of home, of family. "Papa," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion, "I... I need some time to think about this. It's a big decision." I pause, feeling the weight of the moment. "But I promise, I'll consider it seriously."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts. The prospect of returning home, of facing the past I've tried so hard to leave behind, is both terrifying and oddly tempting. "Papa," I say softly, "I'll call you back in a few days. I need some time to process all of this." As I end the call, I turn to Papillon, her LED eyes glowing with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

As I sit there, staring at my phone, a whirlwind of emotions swirls within me. The prospect of returning home, of facing the past I've tried so hard to leave behind, is both terrifying and oddly tempting. Papillon's gentle nudge against my leg brings me back to the present, her LED eyes seeming to ask, "What will you do now, Master?"

I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. The weight of this decision feels monumental, like it could reshape my entire future. Part of me longs for the familiarity of home, the chance to reconnect with Papa and help save the agency that was such a big part of my childhood. But another part hesitates, remembering the reasons I left in the first place.

I look down at Papillon, her unwavering support a constant in my life here. "What do you think, girl?" I ask softly, knowing she can't truly answer but finding comfort in her presence nonetheless. "Should we pack our bags and head back to Harborton?"

As I contemplate this life-altering decision, Papillon's LED eyes flicker with what seems like understanding. She gently nuzzles my hand, as if to say, "I'm with you, no matter what you choose." Her unwavering support fills me with a sense of calm, helping to quiet the storm of emotions raging within me.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come. The decision weighs heavily on my shoulders, but I know I can't avoid it forever. With a mixture of trepidation and resolve, I begin to consider my options, knowing that whatever choice I make will undoubtedly change the course of my life.

As I sit here, contemplating the weight of this decision, I can't help but feel a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The prospect of returning to Harborton, of facing my past and potentially rebuilding my relationship with Papa, is both exhilarating and terrifying. Yet, as I look at Papillon, her unwavering support evident in her glowing LED eyes, I realize that perhaps this is the opportunity I've been unknowingly waiting for – a chance to reconcile my past with my present and shape a future that honors both.

With a deep breath, I turn to Papillon and say, "Well, girl, it looks like we might be in for quite an adventure." Her LED eyes blink in response, seeming to mirror my own mix of excitement and apprehension. As I begin to mentally prepare for the potential journey ahead, I can't help but wonder what challenges and opportunities await us back in Harborton.

[hopelesspaperheart]

hmm

it's 6am and i can't sleep.

i have therapy in 6 hours and all i can think that i'll tell her is that i have been unwell. i'll have to tell her about my hair appointment, and the foster, and my ADLs, and it feels like she won't be as excited with my progress as she was last time. i'd almost rather sleep through it again than feel guilty for being sad for one more minute of the day.

it feels like i'm always feeling guilty for being sad. it feels like my entire life is just burdensome, a task to be managed, a challenge to overcome.

i wish it could be as easy for me as it is for other people. my entire existence up until this point has felt like being in a war. but there is no opposing force, it's just me against myself, every waking moment of the day. i wake up, and think "god, i really wish i didn't have to." it feels like maybe i wasn't meant to exist in any real sense of the word, like i was supposed to be a non-playable character in a videogame that you feel bad for because her life is so sad, so you bring her flowers and precious gems.

and it isn't even like my life is really all that bad! i have a steady job, i pay my bills on time, i have a partner who loves me, i have cats, i moved out of my parents' house, i have people who care about me, i don't starve out of financial need.

i just can't take care of myself, nor do i really want to. it's so exhausting being me. even the smallest tasks tire me for the rest of the day, sometimes multiple. even at my best i can still only get maybe 1 or 2 tasks done before i have to lie down.

i feel like a nightmare. i can't shower, or brush my teeth, or stop ripping the skin off my body, or stop gnawing on my fingers until they bleed. i hardly eat any foods, i'm too picky, have tastes that are akin to a toddler, can't stand any off textures. i'm constantly drained and it feels like i have nothing left to give.

but that's all i want to do. i want to give my boyfriend the partner that he deserves. i want to build a cat sanctuary. i want to become a psychiatrist and help people. i want to build a streaming community. i want to create meaningful, lasting friendships. i want to do everything.

and it kills me inside so much that i just can't. it's not feasible for me to even try. despite the encouragement i get from my support system, it's not enough to move past the everlasting fatigue that's tied to my ankles.

this is what leads to my line of thinking that life isn't worth living. it feels like it won't get better. i've tried and tried and done everything everyone has suggested and i just.....don't get better.

things may look up for a month or two, but i always end up back in this same pit of despair that i wallow in.

i often catch myself thinking of all of the things i'd do if i could. i'd finish my degree. i'd build a cat sanctuary that could integrate with my practice as a psychiatrist. i'd do something with my life. maybe i'd buy a house, have an elaborate flower garden, learn to cook. maybe i'd be stable enough to have children. would they call me mommy? would they think less of me for being so sad all of the time? would i feel guilty for bringing them into this world too? would i be guilty for raising them as my own, with all of the issues they'd inherit? would they make me feel guilty for it?

would i be able to be there for him better? shoulder more of the weight?

do normal people ever get like this? do they just shove past it until they can bear it again? does it come back for them? it feels like any time i make progress, i end up right back here with the same thoughts, crying in the middle of the night because i always convince myself that i'm done feeling this way, and then i refuse to acknowledge that my emotions are deprecating until i'm drowning again.

when i get like this all i can think of is "i want my mommy," or "i want to go home!" but what do i do if i can't go to mommy because she ruined me? or if i'm already home? how do i stop this ache inside my bones?

[guesswewillfindout]

So... I've taken a turn for the worse.

I've been trying to get my health under control all year because my inflammation markers are higher than they should be and I'm on a special diet and on medication. But I just keep getting worse. In late August, I got an MRI (MRIs really suck as an experience) and I got a lot worse. Like shooting nerve pain, burning nerve pain, dizziness, cannot drive, cannot lift things, can't sit or stand or walk for extended periods of time (60 minutes max), fatigue got worse, body aches got worse, couldn't sleep a lot due to pain, hard to focus on work, difficulty cooking and bathing and, in general, life.

I missed so many things. I had some fun things planned in September. I had to cancel all of them. I haven't been able to garden at all. I had to have my partner's sister and niece come over to clean the garage. I've gotten another MRI and been to a specialist and started a new medication and my rheumatologist is trying to convince insurance to let her increase my other medication.

Then, the tire on my car started getting low and I recognized a slow leak. We had to have the tire replaced. Then, a relay on the fridge went out and it was an entire drama because we couldn't figure out where the electrical burning smell was coming from at first. We finally figured it out through some deduction but the landlord couldn't get anyone to repair it quickly and we lost almost everything in the fridge and freezer. So money has been terrible.

I don't even want to get into all the family drama going on. I mostly go away and hide when anyone tries to bring me into it. I'm not getting into it. I can't right now and I don't think they'd be able to handle what I have to say if I did get into it.

Works not been fun. There's stuff going on there, too. And it's always nice when you feel terrible but are still working. And you have to be kind and respectful when more and more keeps getting piled on your plate and no one is listening to you.

Mostly, I just feel alone. I don't feel like I have anyone to talk to about what's going on. No one in my life gets this. I'm worried I won't get better. I'm doing all the right things: tests and medication and communication and physical therapy and talking to a counselor and trying to do self-care and eating healthy and not pushing too hard and keeping moving as much as I can. But I'm still worried. Because this is my life and my one body and my time. If there's anything I have a reasonable right to worry about, it's my health.

And I hate this. I hate being in my early 30s and not being able to spend time with people I care about or go kayaking or hike or get a dog or just pull weeds or scrub out the tub or carry laundry without feeling like I'm going to throw up and pass out. I hate that I've been missing out since my mid twenties. This isn't what I wanted or expected and "there's nothing for it". "It is what it is."

And I'm angry. I'm angry that a lot of other people don't have these problems. I have these problems. I don't want others to have them but I don't feel happy that I do have them. It doesn't feel balanced or fair. And I've been told my entire life that life is not fair. So don't bother reminding me. It feels like a punishment. But I didn't do anything to be punished. Or if I did...I apologize. I never meant whatever it was that got me here. I can do better. Just make it stop.

In the MRI today I was thinking about what I would give up to be healthy. What kind of magic deal with a sus character I'd make to not have these problems. I figured out there's a lot I'd give up. I wouldn't give up my cat or my partner. But I'd give up pretty much any food. I'd give up toes. Chop them off myself if that was part of the deal. I wouldn't hurt someone else because that's not right. It's not their fault and I wouldn't put it on anyone else. But I'd give up time. I'd give up years if only those years could be quality. And my partner hated hearing that because she wants me around for all the time she has. But that's how I feel. I get how people make those terrible, desperate deals in supernatural stories. Being chronically ill makes you feel desperate. Being in chronic pain makes you long for a time you can't even remember, a time without pain.

[11lights]

August 18th, 2023

0546L

Temp 87°

Saddlebunch Keys, FL

Another regular time start to writing this. I've been waking up at a normal time which means I've been going to work at a normal time which in turn means that I have to write this on my way to work when I'm driving. I don't really mind because it's only me in the car and my cousin doesn't have the potential of hearing me sound like a psychopath talking to myself. I woke up today thinking about the moon getting smaller and disappearing in the sky. Don't know why but that's what I thought of. I was also sore as shit in my neck and trap right trap area. I really have to replace the control arm on this truck, it is squeaking all over the place. I can definitely tell by my sporadic train of thought that I am still very tired. This is day three of the fast and I don't feel that superpower energy that people talk about. I just feel like a light focus in one direction, which I guess is good for me since I tend to overthink all of the time. Yesterday my lieutenant commander asked me if I could cancel my leave so I could start training on ground control. He was very upset with me and tried his best to explain the situation of the facility and my training and why would be better for me to cancel my leave and just work. I find it infuriating. Because now in his eyes I am the bad guy, I'm the sailor who isn't for the mission, I'm not willing to do what it takes. Which is bullshit! It is insane that someone who makes double what I do, has every weekend and holiday off, and can take leave whenever they desire. The one who sets the policy for our division, whose own policy states that no one can train if they have leave and will refuse to budge against that. But also put us on 6 days of work one day off a week. That guy is upset with me because I wanted to take a leave. I literally promised him in May that I would not take leave for June, July and August but I told him then that I am planning to take leave in September for my best friend's visit and my cousin's birthday. So stupid. Had me attend a meeting to try to convince me after I was relieved after work which made me late and flustered on my way to go fly.

Enough of that. Let's talk about the flying though. Earlier in the day yesterday I talked to Barbara about my uncomfortableness with my one instructor bragging about breaking or bending the rules and his blatant disregard for safety. I mean my man was literally skipping checklists that were made to keep us safe while I'm in the beginning of training. So I told her that I did not want to fly with him anymore. At least while I'm still learning the basics and she understood and I flew with kai instead. We practice some maneuvers. I told him about my situation and then we got into the pattern. I absolutely hate the fact that I can't land. It is infuriating because that's like the one thing a pilot should know. I understand that I'm brand new to flying and it's not expected, but also I wish you came naturally so I didn't feel discouraged like I do right now. It feels like I might never get it and I might not be cut out to land, which could potentially mean that I'm not cut out to be a pilot and I hate that thought. Whenever I turn final and I'm like in the last 500 feet of descending my brain just goes scattered and I can't think or speak and I just mess it up. It's funny how I can be carefree and positive about everything else in life, but the one thing that genuinely matters to me I'm just beating myself up about. And I know I shouldn't. I know I should zoom out and understand that I'm new and all of this is new and I am going there after work and in the middle of a fast and I'm still learning. I'm less than 5 hours in, but it does feel little disappointing to be so lost in the sauce on landing. All right. Well I'm just pulling into work so I got to get a little brief. He's the third day of the fast and I feel good, not feeling any major fatigue or difference. I haven't gotten the extreme hunger pangs. I know tomorrow is going to be the hardest day but so far so good. The hardest part is when there's nothing to do and I'm bored because that's when I want to eat. When I'm just sitting at home and I have no concrete plan to do anything that's when I think of how long it's been and how long it'll take to finish this. For some reason I'm not really motivated by the numbers on the scale, but more or less the mental challenge that I need to go through as if it's some sort of penance for letting myself devolve so far. Not just physically but productively and mentally and all that jazz. Okay well before I delve deeper into the negativity. I just parked at work. I have 26 minutes until muster and I have to go change since I started going into work in civilian clothes since that's with the chaplain recommended and it does feel fucking awesome for some reason. I hope I didn't forget anything.

[samwiselastname]

I think what food journalling really hammered home is that by nature of being broke and the ways I am disabled, I just do not have access to much in the way of high-calorie convenience food. the stuff that average americans are forced to eat for survival, which we endlessly handwring over in public health settings, is totally inaccessible to me. between dairy, gluten and GERD, I can't eat most shelf stable snacks. a sandwich on bread that's safe for me tops out at about 300 calories. soda makes me feel like shit. I can't get takeout. I can't eat at restaurants. I can't drink beer. gluten free alcohol still scours my GI tract. fried food I can eat is super fucking rare and it's usually not worth it to make myself, or it's $5-10/meal and from the freezer section (and makes me feel like shit). if I travel, I am forced to spend the majority of time time and energy while in a strange place focusing on where my next safe meal will come from, force-feeding myself bread and nuts as snacks for survival calories.

this, understandably, complicates my feelings on how we generally understand food accessibility and chronic illness.

celiacs are constantly hounded with, "watch out for gluten free alternatives, they're often much higher sugar with less fiber!" not only can I not imagine the lifestyle of someone wealthy enough to eat an average amercan diet composed entirely of gluten free processed alternatives (buns at $2.50 each, pasta at 3x markup, any given snack is halved in portion and doubled in price), but like. this is a myth! gluten free processed foods are not inherently less nutritious than wheat-based ones! you are not getting more wholesome, filling, lower sugar meals from most brands of whole wheat bread, semolina pasta and sunchips, vs whole grain gf bread, rice pasta and corn chips.

I'm getting away from the core point here that calories in / calories out is fucking bunk, and bodyweight alone is not causative to health outcomes outside of contexts of medical malpractice

but the way we eat, what we consider convenient, wholesome, etc, is so fucking culturally constructed, and it's so easy to slip into food habits that make you feel like shit, which saps your energy to cook, which means you have to buy that food again. it's so easy to look at something as absurd in its economics as a fucking banana and argue that the inconceivable violence that gets it into your pantry for pennies is a non-negotiable disability accomodation. that if you did not have restaurants, you would die rather than exploring alternatives. that you're a shit cook and that's immutable, so eating your own food would be to your emotional detriment. that your budget does not allow you to cook, regardless of your free time (?!?). that industrial, hyper-processed food, prepared in pressure-boiler commercial kitchens that cannot accommodate allergies due to hellish manufacturing and working conditions are like, good actually, this system benefits you and those who it does not benefit should feed themselves into that machine or stay home, I guess! that it is not worth building systems to distribute food to isolated people with mobility and fatigue issues, because the fucking food service industry churning out more and more dead & disabled line cooks & servers is easier, and you are tired!

and through all of this, we keep getting the message: eat less! eat less! do not, under any circumstances, look at what you are eating! do not observe where your stressors are. do not put on mass. if you eat more to fuel your activity, why exercise at all? you're shooting yourself in the foot! this is totally not a vicious cycle that serves to convince you EVEN HARDER that food colonialism and monocrop agriculture are necessary evils, cooking is expensive, and your meager subsistence is sinful

every time I start tracking my food intake I'm like, boggled at the whole suggestion of "eat less" for fat people because like. at my activity level, being just shy of 300 lbs, it is difficult to eat more calories that I'm burning, based on best-guess calculations. not sure if fitbit is overly generous in how it estimates calories out, but if I'm spending even 30-60 minutes active on my feet, and I'm cleaning the house on work breaks, and walking at the grocery store, I'm hitting 3-4k. and that's with a pretty sedentary desk job & hobbies.

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

hello. i don't know where to ask this so maybe you can give me ideas. i been feeling like i'm stuck in this black hole and i can't see myself out of it. i'm constantly tired from work, the minute im done i want to sleep. i dont have time for myself. i dont like myself right now. my mental and physical health are shit. i desperately want to change that but idk how? i feel like maybe working out would make me feel better but i dont have the energy... i barely have energy typing this out. these days im just extremely exhausted and it might be the depression im guessing. its getting worse. ppl keep hitting me up asking if im ok but im too exhausted to answer or care to. i dont feel like anyone understands me even if i did explain how i crave looking for something new to fixate over so i dont feel as empty as i do now 😞 i feel like im not even me.

honey, you just typed out "i have severe depression" but with more steps.

everything you just said is classic signs of depression. all of it. now, it's certainly possible that there's some other disorder going on here that's causing depression along with the fatigue, seeing as how "fatigue and depression" are symptoms of all sorts of illnesses - such as chronic fatigue syndrome and hypothyroidism. but if you're not having other noticeable physical symptoms, we're going to set aside that possibility for now.

depression absolutely causes serious exhaustion, it causes you to feel isolated and like people don't like or love you, even if you intellectually know they do, it makes you feel bored and restless as you're unable to focus or find enjoyment in the things you used to love doing, it makes you abandon all your old interests to just lie in bed every minute you possibly can, it makes you hate yourself because you don't want to live like this, why can't you just fucking get up you useless shit, and maybe you wouldn't actually kill yourself but wouldn't it just be such a relief if you didn't have to be alive anymore?

yeah, that's depression.

depression also does its damnedest to convince you that no one could ever possibly understand, no one wants to hear about your stupid problems, people would laugh at you if you told them because you don't have any good reason to be depressed, it would be a catastrophic disaster if you told people how you feel.

depression lies.

you have a real, serious problem caused by a real disorder in your brain chemistry, and it's not your fault that you feel like this. you are not exhausted and miserable because of anything you've done wrong, or anything you haven't done that you 'should' have. and, maybe the most important thing i can say to you: you can't fix this by just trying harder.

a person with a broken leg can't 'try harder' to walk normally, right? they need medical attention and outside support to heal back to a place where they can function normally. you have a metaphorical broken bone in your brain, and it is completely natural and okay that you need attention and support to recover.

since i don't know where you live or what level of medical care you have access to, i can't give you step-by-step instructions, but i genuinely believe that it's crucial for you to do everything you can to reach out to a mental health professional and ask for some help. i very strongly believe that you should consider trying antidepressants, even if you've tried them before and found that they didn't work, because it's quite common for someone to need to try different medications to find the right one.

there is no shame in taking medication. i take multiple medications, including an antidepressant. i would, quite frankly, take anything that pulls me out of the black hole and allows me to feel like me again, which is what the right antidepressant can do for you. it's not a miracle cure and it's not a sign of weakness, it's just a tool that helps you feel capable of living again.

i'm going to link you some of my tags here that will give you a lot more advice and guides on what to do next.

depression

therapy resources

going to therapy

mental illness resources

how to talk about it

i know this is a lot, but i hope it gives you a place to start, sweetie. this is really fucking difficult, but you can talk to someone and ask for help. there are people who care about you, no matter what your brain says, and they want you to have the help you need, they want you to not be miserable. even if they can't understand exactly what you feel, they care. don't listen to that lying bullshit in your brain, okay?

you are loved, and you deserve the help you need.

[flapperwitch]

Hey, hope youre doing good. Ive followed you for a bit and i know youve spoken before about living with endo and chronic pain. For the past 6 months ive been dealing with a shit ton of pain, cramping and i just had a cramp tonight that was super scary. Got super sweaty, shaking and such. Theyre still trying to diagnose me but my gyno doctor thinks its endo. Just wondering if youd feel comfortable sharing your story and such, 100% understand if you would rather not and i hope this isnt an invasive ask. Im just feeling very isolated and alienated with this pain. Thanks for taking the time to read this and i hope youre doing well!

Hi! This is not intrusive at all, and I'm sorry for not answering this sooner. Life is very weird.

I'm so sorry that you feel isolated but I completely understand why you do. You're in bed, in pain or asleep, so often. No one can see the agony your body is feeling. More than anything I want you to know that you're not overreacting. You're not crazy, you're not weak. I've passed out from pain before. It's no joke. The short version of my story is that like most others, it took years for me to get a diagnosis. And I wasn't hiding anything. Doctors thought my fatigue and pain was being exaggerated by my depression, but in reality I was depressed because I was so sore and tired and couldn't figure out why. Therapy and meds weren't doing anything. One time a nurse practioner told me that even though I tested negative for a UTI and even though I didn't have any of the symptoms, that had to be what my problem was. She gave me antibiotics and sent me home. Another time I was telling my then OBGYN that I was always tired and in so much pain and asked if there was anything else we could do and he smiled and said "Nope!" Mother fucker smiled at me and my pain. It wasn't until I sat for hours in an emergency room (because the hospital near me wouldn't let me admit myself or see a doctor right away) that my dad called me and convinced me to go home, told me he believed me, and that we'd figure it out together. I then went to see a colleague of my OBGYN and right away she knew that something was wrong. She did go on to say she thought I had endo, and we set up surgery. But the way she presented it, endometriosis was a blip, a pain that could be fixed with surgery, and then cured. It wasn't until after and I continued to do my own research that I learned it was a lifetime diagnosis.

Invisible illnesses suck. No one can see just how shitty you feel. And when you feel shitty and tired, you can't see people as much, so you end up spending so much of your time alone in bed with your heating pad and pain meds. Luckily se live in the age of the internet. Find online communities. I personally am in two endometriosis groups on Facebook, one is support, one is all jokes and memes. It's great when you can joke with people experiencing the exact same thing. Also make more plans virtual. I love doing virtual movie nights with friends, and you can screenshare through hyperbeam or discord. Also, treat yo self. Some days when I feel my internal organs being glued together by this dumb disease, I make myself toast with cookie butter and a banana and pour myself a cup of milk, and just that simple meal makes me feel better for a bit.

Always feel free to come ask me about endo and chronic pain. Chronic illness survivors gotta look out for each other 💜 You got this

[allthingsimagines]

Illicit Affairs

“And that's the thing about illicit affairs, and clandestine meetings and stolen stares. They show their truth one single time, but they lie, and they lie, and they lie a million little times” -Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Titan shifter! Reader

description: Atop the wall Jeans s/o must decide to follow through with the warriors mission or give up her life to save her new family.

warnings: none

word count:2,675 words

“You good?” Jean asked, concern lacing his voice.

You nodded as Jean reached out to press a kiss on your forehead, and you exhaled deeply. The reveal of Ymir as the jaw titan had shaken you to your core. She had been the one to kill Marcel when you were children. The tension was killing you, and the idea of more titan shifters was becoming the Scouts forefront problem which put you and the boys in imminent danger.

“Yeah, just scared for what's to come.” You said and Jean pulled you into a comforting embrace.

“I know, with all these damn titan shifters popping up god only knows who else is under our nose. I’ll kill them for what they’ve done to us when we find them.” Jean said, his jaw tightening with anger and you could only gulp.

His anger was palpable and you couldn’t even blame him. You were angry with yourself, the government who’d sent you here with promises of a island of devils when all you found was family. You had never had a choice in any of this. You only wished you had punched Reiner in the face years ago when he convinced you all to stay and finish your mission.

You looked up at him and caressed his cheek, him slightly leaning into your touch, “I love you more than anything, you know that right?”

Jean chuckled and pulled you in for a quick kiss, “You’ve got me through thick and thin babe.”

You smiled, an unsettling feeling in your stomach when you noticed Reiner and Bertholdt talking seriously with Eren. You looked back up at Jean and flashed a reassuring smile, “I’ll be back in a few babe, ‘m just gonna make sure everything’s okay.”

Jean scoffed and ruffled your hair, “Yeah, go make sure that suicidal maniac isn’t stirring shit up.”

You smiled and turned and walked over to the three. You felt extremely unsettled as you noticed how terrified Bertholdt looked as you overheard Reiner say, “Eren, if you want the walls to remain standing, it's simple. Just come with us. Do you understand?”

“Understand? What the hell is there to understand?” Eren spat at Reiner, his eyes narrowed dangerously at him.

You stepped up to the three and met Bertholdts frightened gaze. Reiner kept his eyes on Eren, his frame towering over you, “Listen to me. I need you to do exactly as I say. Look, I know this is sudden, but we have to go.”

“Right now? Where would you take me?” Eren sputtered, looking to you for help but you were just as lost as he was.

“I can't tell you. Not yet. Just think of it as our hometown. Okay? So what's it gonna be? Not a bad deal, right? The chance to avert a major crisis?” Reiner stressed to him as you began to panic, why was he doing this now?

“You guys! Get a move on, we're heading out!” Hange shouted, catching all of you off guard.

Eren laughed nervously and clapped Reiners shoulder, “You're just tired. That's it, right? Help me out here, guys. Your nerves are shot. You don't know what you're saying.”

“Uh. Yeah. It's the battle fatigue talking!” Bertholdt said his own nerves beginning to close in on him.

“It's okay. You're okay. If you really were the Armored Titan, what's the endgame here? We wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place. What'd you expect me to do? Say yes? Let myself be kidnaped just 'cause you asked politely?” Eren said, nearly growling out the end as Reiner seemed to almost have cold water thrown over him.

Reiner began to shake as his eyes widened, “Right. Not thinking straight, am I? Barely know what I'm saying here. Must've gone off the deep end. C'mon, let's go.”

Eren turned to head back to the group when Reiner said, “Actually that’s the problem.”

All of you whipped around to face Reiner, and you were caught in fear, “I've been here too long for my own good. Three years of this madness, surrounded by idiots. We were kids. What'd we know about anything? Why did there have to be people like this?”

“Why? Why did I let myself devolve into such a half-assed piece of shit? It's too late now. Damned if I know what's right anymore! Who cares? It is what it is. No choice but to face what I've done.” Reiner took off his sling and you couldn’t believe what you were seeing, this was it.

This was what you had dreaded for the last three years, the world you had built was going to come crashing down.

You looked at Reiner and Bertholdt and then back to Jean. This was a life-changing decision. Betray your homeland and three of the only friends you had before Paradis or choose the new family you’d created. Reiners grip on your arm was tight enough to almost break your arm as he exposed you all to Eren, but a broken arm was the least of your concerns. Eren met your eyes as you fearfully looked at him, this is never what you had wanted, “Y/N, tell me he’s lying. You wouldn’t betray us.”

You looked back at Reiner and met his sturdy gaze, he was desperately trying to steel your nerves. You took a shaky breath, not daring to look at Eren, “Reiner I-I can’t. I can’t do this to them.”

“We don’t have a choice. We never did.” Bertholdt said sternly placing his hands on your shoulders trying to convince you and himself that this was the right choice.

“Hey, Reiner! What do you think you’re doing holding my girlfriend like that? If you’ve got a problem take it up with me.”

Your head snapped around to look at Jean who was glaring at Reiner and beginning to walk your way as you felt nothing but heartbreak looking at him.

“As a warrior. No road left but the one that leads to the end!” Reiner screamed as he held his wounded arm up and began to heal it as steam billowed from him, fully revealing yourselves.

“Right now? Reiner- I can’t!” You screamed as you heard the scouts heading your way.

He squeezed your arm one last time and gave you a stern look before finally letting you go, “Yes. Right here, right now! Forget about them! We settle this once and for all!”

Reiner moved toward Eren when you heard a whirr of ODM gear, “Eren! Get out of here!”

You dodged out of the way and tackled Eren to the ground as Mikasa cut Reiner and slashed Bertholdts throat. You pinned Eren as you yelled, “Stop it Eren!”

Reiner groaned as he pushed himself off the ground and shoved Mikasa off the wall, “Bertholdt! Y/N!”

“Eren! Run away!” Armin screamed as Reiner and Bertholdt began to transform, lightning coming from their bodies.

You looked up only to meet Jean's heartbroken and confused eyes as he and all of your friends sprinted toward you. Tears filled your eyes as you mouthed at him, “I love you.”

You cut your hand on your blade as you began to transform yourself, caging your arms around Eren. You jumped from the wall as you fully transformed, holding Eren tightly in your large titan hand. Eren thrashed and cried as you made it to the ground and looked up to see Bertholdt was holding the scouts off. Reiner was sliding down the wall, as you looked between Eren and up at your friends.

You had a mission to finish and that meant kidnapping Eren and taking him back to Marley. You would be praised a hero and finally make your family proud.

Your family had the expectation that one child of each generation would become a warrior candidate. You had only wanted your parents love and you refused to fail, you swore to be the best warrior you could be. That all changed after Marcel died and you were forced to live among the devils you had hated your whole life.

Meeting the 104th had changed your view on everything. They had been the most welcoming people you’d ever met in your entire life. They provided a safe haven and an escape from the torment of the life you’d left in Marley.

Jean, Sasha, Marco, and Connie had been your first friends and remained that way even after Marco was killed. You hadn’t known till much later that Reiner, Annie, and Bertholdt had been responsible for Marcos death. You had been with Sasha during the battle of Trost at the time. His death was devastating and caused a rift between you and the others. As much as you considered them family, they had hurt someone you’d loved and you weren’t sure if you could follow through with the plan any further.

You and Jean started dating not too long after and things just spiraled from there. You hadn’t meant to fall in love with the enemy, but with Jeans persistence it was inevitable. He was an ass but his charm and kindness towards you had you hooked around his finger. You had been warned by Annie not to get close with the enemy before she’d been uncovered as the female titan. Reiner encouraged it, too deep into his role to tell the difference between who he was now and who used to be.

Once Reiner hit the ground with a large thud you looked to Eren only to find him thrashing around in your hand. You couldn’t give Eren to him, you would be a traitor to Paradis, Liberio, and Marley-fuck it. You squeezed Eren slightly and he looked up at you fearfully. You carefully set him on a tree next to you as you said, “Eren, run away.”

Eren looked at you in complete shock as he looked between you and Reiner and realized your intentions. You faced Reiner and shot him the most apologetic look you could in your titan form.

“I’m sorry friend.” You said as you squared yourself to fight Reiner.

Reiner sighed, completely understanding why this had happened. He was having a difficult time betraying his friends, but he couldn’t disappoint his mother and lose her. He knew Y/N’s true family was on Paradis and the family that had forced you to be a warrior was never going to compare. He nodded his head toward you, trying to show you that he wasn’t angry with you.

He charged towards you and the fight began as you tried to protect Eren for as long as you could. The two fought with great intensity but the 104th could tell that they were pulling their punches.

Jeans hands were sweating profusely as he hung off the side of the wall. He was perched next to Connie and Sasha as he watched you fight Reiner. He felt betrayed and angry, he had put his trust in you and you’d crushed him. Then why were you fighting Reiner? You were supposed to be on the same side and you had put down Eren to fight and protect him it seemed.

“What do we do about her?” Sasha said pulling Jean from his thoughts.

“What? What do you mean?” Jean said looking away from the fight to look at Sasha and Connie.

“She's protecting Eren! We can’t kill her!” Sasha cried out as Jean clenched his jaw.

“She betrayed us!” Jean yelled out, almost trying to convince himself to hate her.

“She probably had to! You think it was all a lie?” Sasha yelled out, clearly trying to reason why her best friend would have done this.

Jean wasnt sure, could she still be a traitor and still have loved him? Was it real?

The fight continued and Jean could tell that you weren’t fully going at Reiner, he knew you could throw a mean punch and you weren’t right now. He heard a snap of ODM gear as Eren swooped onto the wall between Jean and Armin and Mikasa.

“Eren!” Mikasa yelled out in relief.

Eren nodded towards her as Hange shouted at him, “What the hell happened!”

Eren sighed, he wasn’t completely sure himself, “She let me go! She told me to run!”

The scouts were all stunned at the confirmation at what they’d been thinking.

“Why would she do that? She was clearly working with them.” Mikasa said, anger evident in her voice as she had helped betray them.

“She always talked about hating her family! Maybe people made her do this! Maybe that’s why she’s defending Eren- 'cause she doesn’t want to hurt us!” Christa said from higher up the wall, trying to have them see reason.

Then a loud roar cried out and they all focused back on the pair as your titan form stumbled in front of them as Reiner barreled towards the scouts. You growled as you caught Reiners large fist, which surely would have killed all of them. You looked back toward the scouts and said, “Get off the wall!”

They were stunned as they had never heard a titan speak before and then they heard a loud crash from above. Jean looked up to see the half body of the colossal crashing towards the ground. You kicked Reiner causing him to stumble and quickly held your body over the scouts so they could move. They all swung their gear to a further part of the wall away as the colossals jaw crashed straight onto your nape.

“Y/N!” Armin, Christa, and even Eren yelled out as you crashed to the ground and the colossal bit your nape to expose your human body.

Eren screamed as he jumped off the wall and transformed into his titan and began to fight Reiner. The colossal crashed next to your titan form and Jean knew it would take a little bit for Bertholdt to come out of his own titan and get you, which he knew he inevitably would. What would happen to you if Reiner and Bertholdt took you? Would you be killed?

Jean didn’t know and didn’t care to find out as he yelled out and jumped off the wall, firing his ODM gear into your steaming titan form. He stumbled as he landed on it and quickly rushed over to you to find you were missing an arm from Bertholdts bite. Your eyes were closed and Jean could tell you’d been injured from your fight with Reiner.

He took his blade and slashed the remaining muscles connecting you to your titan form, “I’m gonna get you outta here babe, believe me.”

He quickly pulled you into his arms and shot back towards the wall. He tightened his grip around your waist as you hardly held onto him. His comrades looked at him in shock as he growled out, “God knows what they would have done with her, at least we’ll have another titan.”

“Jean…” Connie said quietly as Jean tuned out Eren and Reiners's fight to look down at his girlfriend.

“I couldn’t let them have her. At least she’ll be with us.” Jean said as he held you tightly in his arms so you wouldn’t fall.

Armin, Connie, Sasha, and Christa all moved closer to him as Armin said, “They might try to grab her from you, just worry about holding her and we’ll do our best to defend you.”

“I-I’m sorry. I never had a choice.”

They all looked to you who had your eyes squeezed shut as tears rolled down your cheeks. Jean clenched his jaw, he knew when you were honest, and this was one of those moments. Jean pulled you closer as he switched you carefully to hold your bridal style so you could rest against him. He leaned his head against yours and quietly said, “I want to believe you. Make me believe you.”

You shook with sobs as the fight raged on in front of them and Jean held you securely to him.

[scribblersvale]

Fever (Tisoquirrel)

Quirrel was definitely coming down with something.

He could tell from the moment he started waking up. The pressure in his head, the scratchy feeling in his throat, and feeling just a bit warmer than was comfortable. He shifted to sit up, the action causing the pressure in his head to worsen, and letting out a small groan at the beginning of a headache. Lifting a hand to his head, he turned to look around.

The little makeshift camp remained as it had been the night before. A small alcove in a wall, hidden by a curtain of vines and moss, just a short way off the beaten trails of Greenpath. Just big enough for two makeshift beds, made out various bits of foliage from the area. Though as he turned to look at the other bed, he was surprised to find it empty. His traveling partner far from an early riser usually. He moved to rub at his eyes, a fruitless attempt to clear away some of the pressure behind them, before turning and stepping out of the alcove.

"Finally!" A voice spat as he stepped out, the nasally tone cutting right through his aching head. "At long last, he has awoken!" Quirrel fought the urge to cringe at the tone and volume, glancing up towards the sorce of the voice.

Tiso sat a short distance away, at the edge of a small, dying campfire. A cloth in one hand, swiping small circles over the shield held in his other. A look of annoyance marring his features as he glared at Quirrel. "I was getting bored, wating for you to wake up. Thought we were gonna be heading out early today, but not only did you fail to wake me up, but you apparently decided to sleep the day away." He snarked, turning his attention back to his shield.

Quirrel smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Apologies, my friend." He rasped out, before pausing to clear his throat. "The journey here must have taken more of a toll on me than I realized." He stated in a round about way, not lying per say about his condition, but not wanting to worry the other over it.

Tiso froze in his shield-polishing, upon hearing the pillbugs voice, looking back up at the other. "Are you alright?" He asked, something hiding in his tone that Quirrel couldn't quite read. Though it sounded a bit like... concern, perhaps? He chuckled, stepping over to sit across from the ant at the dying campfire. "I'm alright, just tired is all." He muttered out. Again, not lying per say. He WAS alright, able to tell that it was nothing more than a cold, nothing serious. Some rest and medicine, maybe some time soaking in a hot spring, and he'd be back to normal within a few days. And he WAS tired. So, technically, not lying.

Tiso, however, didn't look too convinced. Though he didn't press the matter. "Went out and caught us something already, while I was waiting for you wake up." He stated, gesturing to what looked to be the remains of a Crawlid, skewered on a spit over the dimming fire. And it could've been the fatigue making him mishear, but Quirrel could've sworn that most of the annoyance had left the ants voice. He looked at the piece of cooked meat, considering it, before turning to offer his companion a soft smile. "While I appreciate the meal, I must say that I'm not all that hungry at the moment." Tiso huffed, raising a brow at the other. "Is my cooking really that bad?" He asked, causing Quirrel to wave a hand, as though shooing the idea away. "Not at all! I'm just-" He glanced at the Crawlid again, tempted to eat it if only to save the trouble. But the fever and sore throat were leaving his stomach in a sour state, which he doubted the greasy Crawlid would help with much. "-just... not very hungry right now, is all. Really."

Tiso set the cloth off to the side, attention focused solely on the pillbug now. "...Are you sure you're alright?" He asked. Voice almost earnest, with what was now obvious concern. Though he seemed to catch himself and his tone, trying to hide his concern, poorly, behind a mask of annoyance. "Something about you seems... off, in some way."

"I can't imagine what it could be that seems off." Quirrel fibbed, searching about his supplies for some water. "I'm fine, Tiso, really." He reassured the ant, offering him a smile as his fingers closed around the small bottle. "I just need a moment to wake up, then we can gather our things and continue on our journey. I believe that there is a hot spring not too far from here, perhaps we can stop by on our way back to Dirtmouth." The pillbug stated cheerfully raising the bottle to take a drink.

The water immediately hit his dry and scratchy throat in the just the wrong way, nearly choking on the drink as he was thrown into a coughing fit. Each inhale only fueling the irritation, and causing another bout of coughs. So caught up in the fit that he didn't hear the shuffling, or the rapidly approaching footsteps.

The next thing he knew, a pair of hands were on his cheeks, and something bumped almost roughly against his aching head. It took Quirrel a few moments to fully process that it was Tiso, the ant pressing his forehead against the pillbugs. His face so close that all Quirrel could see clearly was the others eyes, boring into him with worry.

They stayed like that for a few moments, neither saying anything, until Tiso let out a small hiss of annoyance. The ant pulling back, before tugging off both his and Quirrels hoods in an almost frantic manner. Once again grabbing the pillbugs face and bumping their foreheads together in a soft headbutt. Though now it was accompanied by a pair of slender antennae darting about Quirrels head, swaying and pattering about inspectingly.

Quirrel was... completely unsure of what to say. The others sudden brashness, accompanied by his own illness, causing his brain to short circuit. Feeling as though he'd been shocked by an uumuu, as he struggled to gather his thoughts, and get anything to come out of his mouth aside from the surprised wheezes currently spilling from it. Though before he could get his voice back, the ant let out a small 'tsk,' apparently finished with his inspection, as he pulled back finally.

"You have a fever." He stated simply, concern written all over his face, still poorly hidden behind a mask of annoyance.

The ant then stood up and, in one quick and fluid motion, scooped the other bug up into his arms.

Quirrel let out a yelp of surprise, arms shooting out to wrap around the ants neck. "T-Tiso!" He stammered out, shooting the other a look of flustered indignance. "I'm fine, really! And perfectly capable of walking by myself! It's just a cold."

"Cold shmold." Tiso growled, hurrying back over to the small alcove. "You're sick. Be it cold or something worse, you're not going anywhere while ill." "It's not anything worse." Quirrel quipped back. "And Dirtmouth isn't all that far off. I just need a bit of rest and I'll be feeling better in a few days." Tiso shouldered his way through the moss and vines, stepping over to the makeshift beds. "So we're in agreement then!" He said snarkily, before moving to sit in one of the beds, Quirrel still in his arms. "You need some rest. So shut up about journeying and get some rest."

Quirrel let out a small, irritated sigh. Accepting the fact that the two of them would probably remain in the small camp for a while longer.