#I am a recovering addict who has started drinking again! I am scared I am falling into the abyss again!!!

[tastyflowers]

anyway I just had the most frustrating appointment with a doctor I've maybe ever had

[inrecoveryhehe]

I love your blog, but i dont think i can ever get over this. How did you learn to recover, and let yourself do what your body needs?

I'm glad you feel that way about my blog, and I'm very sorry that you see it that way.

Recovery isn't something that suddenly happens one day, it takes time to break a habit and the path is full of relapses that are very hard to avoid. However, that doesn't mean that it's impossible or unachievable. It never is. You're still recovering even if you relapsed.

Anon, you're so strong for being here with us, for asking, for looking for help. I hope you know that, and that you realize that there's a lot of hope for you. The future is bright. <3

The first thing is to ask yourself why you may be doing this.

For example, if you're recovering from a restrictive eating disorder, you may ask yourself:

When did this start? (Have I always had this disorder or disordered thoughts?)

Why did it start? (What motivated me to start harming myself this way?)

Why do I continue to do it? (Has it become an addiction/a necessity to starve/purge/over-exercise/etc. or am I doing it with the same objective I had from the beginning? Or both?)

How can I stop it? (Can I get proffesional help? Can I replace it with a healthier habit? Has anyone else found a way to recover that may work for me?)

These questions require a lot of thought put into them. Sometimes you're so deep in your personal rabbit hole of misery that you forget that your reality isn't just this, that there's more to you and that just because it has become a part of your daily life, it doesn't mean that you won't be able to change.

You've changed before. You've changed a lot of things about your habits, you can do it again and you will do it again, I believe you're 100% capable of it.

You can also do a list of pros of recovery. Here's an example from someone who deals with a self-harm addiction:

I won't have to hide my scars.

I won't panic about people seeing my arms/legs/etc.

I will be able to swim in the summer.

I won't have to constantly take care of my wounds and worry that they're infected.

I won't be in constant pain.

I won't spend as much money in medical care.

I won't spend as much money in tools to sh.

I will be able to go on walks and practice the sports I like.

I won't have infected wounds that may smell bad.

I will be in a better mood.

I will have more time to focus on things I actually like.

I will feel healthier mentally.

I will feel more comfortable when taking baths.

I will be able to wear nice clothes without being scared of showing old scars.

Talking to a loved one is also of great help. I have very nice friends that understand that I have an addiction and never blame me or shame me for my relapses, this may apply to your friends, family, psychologist/therapist, etc.

Sometimes you may feel like no one will understand, or you may feel so drained that you can't talk to anyone about it and you start self-isolating.

When that happens, you can:

Reassure yourself: write it down or think about it, just vent to an imaginary someone. Go over your own thoughts and try to give advice to yourself, either as if you were someone else, yourself as a little child, or just yourself.

Distract yourself: sometimes you just need to think about something else. Go watch your favorite show, listen to your favorite music or podcast, read a book or a comic/manga, clean, go for a walk, bake something, etc.

Let it out: just cry, it will be alright. Crying can make you less stressed. Do something nice for someone or yourself, and move on. Cry while cuddling with your pet, or cry while hugging a pillow and then go have your favorite drink or (safe) food. Do something calm. Take your time.

I'm very sorry that you feel like recovery won't work for you. Just now that you're not alone, that other people have these thoughts too and that they understand. I understand. Sometimes I feel like I won't get better, and when I think of my future I see myself with the same addiction because "it's now a part of me".

Hey, don't worry, it's not a part of you. You can detach yourself from it no matter how much time it takes, and whatever time it takes I'll be here for you in every step. You can always count on me with that, and I'm sure there's someone in your life that will do the same, even if you don't know them yet.

Is there a particular reason why you feel like you won't ever recover? Can you solve it or learn to cope with it? Can talking help?

My inbox is open if you need anything, please take care.

Suicide + emergency hotlines worldwide (via call + text)

Suicide, anxiety, depression and other global textlines (via text)

Eating disorder hotlines worldwide (via call)

Mental health hotlines worldwide (via call)

Other helplines (via call)

[claudiasjeancregg]

38, CJ/Toby if you feel like it :)

38. “You fainted… straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” CJ Cregg/Toby Ziegler (1.6k words)

“You fainted… straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

CJ rolled her eyes at him, taking the water from his outstretched hand. 

“I did not faint,” she reminded him. “I fell asleep. And if I wanted your attention, I’d have it.” 

Toby quirked an eyebrow at her teasing, trying to maintain the playful tone in the room. But he couldn’t hide his expression- it was painfully obvious how he felt. He was worried about her. She hadn’t slept in days, and as much as she tried to hide it, it was obvious to see she wasn’t doing well. He watched her sip the water, pretending not to notice her hand shaking. 

“You need to sleep, CJ.” 

His voice was soft but firm- taking care of herself was the one thing she couldn’t push to the bottom of her priority list. Not under his watch. 

“I’m fine!” she insisted. She set her glass down with a thump, needing her hands to make her point. 

“I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.” 

“But you don't,” he pointed out. 

She picked up her things with a deep sigh, and started towards the door of his apartment. She hated when he treated her like this, like some inept little girl who needed help. She was fine. She was the Chief of Staff to the President, damn it. She had to be fine. 

“What, am I wrong?” he called after her. 

She paused, not turning around. 

“You fell asleep standing up! Then, you fell straight into me. What if you had been in the Sit Room, or a meeting, or-” 

“Jesus, Toby, I get it. I get that I’m not handling this job well, that I can’t do it all like you or Josh. But guess what? I’m still the Chief of Staff, whether you like it or not. It’s not your job to take care of me.” 

Toby’s eyes were wide and incomprehensive. How had this turned into an argument so quickly? How had she so clearly misunderstood the meaning of what he was saying? How could she believe that he thought those things? 

He watched CJ recover from her outburst. All the pent up frustration and all of the exhaustion had burst out of her at once, and he knew she needed a minute. Still, all he wanted to do was wrap her up in his arms and hold her until she fell asleep. But he knew that wasn’t what she needed- well, not right now. For now, she needed reassurance, though she would never admit it. She needed his support, something he had been embarrassingly bad at giving her recently. 

“Well, someone needs to.”

 She laughed bitterly- “Oh, so I’m a chore.” 

“You’re not-” 

Toby sighed. There was no reasoning with her when she was like this, especially not about something this sensitive. But he had to try, right? 

“I’m not saying you’re not handling the job well. That’s the exact opposite of what I’m saying, and you know that.” 

She opened her mouth to say something, but he kept going. 

“You’re working too hard, CJ. You’re doing a- a phenomenal job as Chief Of Staff, but that’s all you should be doing! You shouldn’t be dealing with the press, and going down to the Hill, or negotiating. What you have to do is a million times harder than what Leo had to do, and you’re doing it. But you need to delegate, okay? Hire some people, promote some people, I don't know. And, uh-” 

His voice was softer now, and surprisingly gentle. 

“If you need help, you should ask.” 

CJ rubbed her neck, which he knew meant she was stressed. And sore, he bet- he had seen her sleep on her couch too many times in the past week. 

He kept going, needing her to understand what he was saying. 

“It’s not my job to take care of you. But I do it because I-” he swallowed, looking at the floor. 

“Because Leo had a heart attack, and Josh got shot, and Donna got blown up, and the President has MS.” 

He wasn’t sure how to say it in a way that made sense. All he knew was that everyone had left, everyone had gotten hurt- except them. She couldn’t leave him too. He wouldn’t let her. 

When Toby looked back up, CJ was staring at him. 

“Leo had a heart attack because he was an addict-” 

“Leo had a heart attack because he didn't sleep for six years!” 

Her eyes glistened as he yelled, and for a minute he was worried he had scared her. Then CJ walked back over to him, placing her hand on his cheek. Her lips were pressed tightly together and her hand was cold. He let himself wonder for a moment if he should be worried about that, before remembering that they lived in DC and it was December. 

“Okay. I’ll sleep.” 

He knew she was saying more than that, that those words meant that she was listening to him. But he couldn’t resist.

“And you’ll drink more water? And not that crappy, calorie infested coffee you make Charlie get you. Actual water.” 

She huffed, moving her hand from his cheek. 

“Yes, Dad, I’ll eat my vegetables.” 

He tried to glare at her, but couldn’t manage it. CJ smiled at him, looking happier than he’d seen her in weeks. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” 

Her voice was soft, like she actually thought he was going to say no. 

“Just so, you know, you won’t have to install secret cameras in my apartment to make sure I’m sleeping.” 

He ignored the dig, knowing she was just nervous about asking him. They’d been doing this, whatever this was, with each other for so long, Toby would think it shouldn’t feel awkward anymore. But that wasn’t how it worked, and he knew it. And she wasn’t propositioning him, or asking him for anything- she was exhausted.

Toby nodded quickly- “Go get some clothes. You know where everything is, right?” 

She didn't bother to answer, already halfway to the bathroom. 

He changed quickly before grabbing a few pillows and sheets, and heading to the couch. A few minutes later, CJ waltzed out of the bathroom in a towel, not noticing- or caring- about his reaction. 

“Why are you making up the couch there, honey?” 

He ignored the nickname and responded, pointedly looking away from her body. 

“I’m going to sleep here. And didn't I say you could grab some clothes?” 

She smiled teasingly. “Can’t restrain yourself?” 

“Claudia Jean, we both know I’ve seen you in outfits less conducive to restraint,” he scoffed.

She swatted at him, walking away- presumably to steal some of his clothes. She came back in a Berkeley shirt and his boxer shorts, hair up in a knot. He felt himself staring, but couldn’t seem to look away. She raised her eyebrows at his reaction. 

“That’s not mine,” he noted. “You keep old college shirts in my closet?”

CJ nodded amusedly, like she was waiting for him to say something she didn’t already know. 

Toby wondered if she enjoyed driving him crazy. The answer was probably yes, but he didn’t dare ask- he was too worried he would grab her mid-sentence and kiss the life out of her. 

He cleared his throat. “Good night.” 

He walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, too intimate to be casual but too chaste to be anything like what he wanted to do. As he was turning to leave, she grabbed his arm. 

“Jeez, CJ, what?” 

“Where are you going?” she asked simply. 

“Release your death grip on my arm, then I’ll tell you!” 

She let go abruptly, a sheepish smile on her face. 

“Sorry. Old habits,” she trailed off. 

Toby shook his arm out. “I feel bad for your brothers,” he muttered. 

She cocked an eyebrow at him, reminding him wordlessly of the original question. 

He gestured lamely to the couch. “I told you, I’m sleeping on the couch.”

CJ sighed deeply, a “why do I put up with this man” kind of sigh that Toby knew well.

“You idiot, why would I sleep in your bed?” 

He blinked at her. “I mean, you’ve slept in it before. I figured you wouldn’t want the couch-” 

He was cut off as she grabbed his arm again, dragged him to the bedroom. She ignored his cries of pain- which, to be fair, were fake. For the most part.

Toby shifted awkwardly, pretending to think over the decision. 

“CJ, I don't know if I feel comfortable being in bed with my boss- hey!” 

Toby ducked to avoid the pillow hurtling towards him. 

“Come here,” CJ groaned. “I’m sleeping in a bed for the first time this week, don't ruin this for me.” 

“This week? CJ!” 

His protests were muffled by her lips on his, kissing him deeply. CJ knotted her fingers in his ratty t-shirt, pulling him closer. She savored the short kiss, the first one they’d shared in a while. God, she’d missed having him this close to her. She leaned back with a satisfied expression on her face. 

“Good night,” she said firmly. 

“Good night,” Toby replied, still dazed. 

He’d known this woman for as long as he could remember, but somehow she still managed to amaze him. He snuck a look at her- sprawled next to him, her legs intertwined with his. She would steal all the blankets and take up half the bed, just like always, but he didn’t care. Toby took a deep breath, trying to commit this moment to memory. He didn't get these moments of peace often- neither of them did. He’d make this one last as long as he could.

this was SO FUN!! sorry it took so long! it was supposed to be some short fluff and i ended up with this, lol. thank you so much for the prompt- i hope you like it! i love doing these, so send me more anytime- i reblog prompt lists WAY too much. these two are the best agh i love writing for them<33333

[ughgclden]

bee, love, don’t apologise, please, it’s okay, and first and foremost, are you alright?? i hope you’re taking care of yourself, love, but i understand, i don’t think there’s been a year since third grade that i haven’t gotten pneumonia in the winter. I hope you’re feeling alright!!

honestly, dead poets society is one of my only personality traits anymore, i find myself drawing parallels to it constantly, for no reason but i love thinking about it. i’ve watched it so many times at this point, it’s,,, concerning. those tests always take me way less time than they give me, and i used to feel really awkward, i remember i took a bio one once, four hours they gave me, 45 minutes in, i was finished, and the moderator didn’t believe me. i aced it too, like the silly little neil kinnie i am. i’ve gotten used to the ‘worse’ side of being a neil kinnie, and honestly, now that my mum isn’t as controlling about everything as she used to be, it’s easier to deal with. i remember once, i’d gotten an 89 in algebra, and she threatened to pull me out of the fall show. that was a neil perry moment if i ever had one lol. the biggest thing these days is just imposter syndrome, imposter syndrome like oh you’re not hispanic enough, but also, you’re not queer enough, nonbinary enough, things like that. It’s exacerbated some days, but i try.

i watched the it movies on my cousin’s hbo,,, i may or may not have used it without her permission since she forgot to log out of my computer, but that’s neither here nor there. i remember having such a hard time taking the first one seriously initially, because of all the new kids on the block jokes, having a mum who was obsessed with them made it hard, especially when i actually got them all- in truth, the only midnight premiere i’ve been able to make was the force awakens, and i had school the next day too. i’m definitely a richie kinnie, and i have the internalised homophobia (only towards myself though) to prove it /hj my waterbottle has both a sticker of neil on it and a sticker of the r + e carving on it. in case there was any doubt about me lmao. stan kin makes sense for you, honestly, i can see it, i can see it.

okay so listen- no really, i’d bought them with the intention of only drinking half of one that night and spreading them out like that, but then came 9:45pm, and i had a research paper (on womens’ pockets/lack thereof) due at 10am that i simply hadn’t even started, so i downed them all in an hour and got the paper turned in at 5:56 in the morning. but i scare you huh? /hj bee, you’re too sweet, in truth, i’m fairly inelegant, but i try, as for the comforting and cosy, i’ll take you at your word, since that is something only someone interacting with me could discern. i do try to be kind to others for the most part. mainly i think because i’m usually on the other end of mean people.

i’m just perceptive like that bee, i dunno what to tell you, something just tells me, you know? /j and thank you, i always feel a little silly talking about it, because most of the tattoos i want are dead poets society tattoos, i guess some part of me, within the part of me that feels so incredibly tied to it, feels as if if i were able to get a tattoo i’d owe it to the movie in some way, if that makes any sense. i’ve already begged a friend of mine to go with me to get my first once i get to new york, the question though, is what to get first. i’ve got time to make a decision (for once in my life) i just spend a lot of time thinking about it.

honestly, i have never known a school rule to make sense. banning ripped jeans? banning dyed hair? it’s almost as if if they don’t stifle everything natural about kids expressing themselves they dont feel like they’re doing anything. but i digress. the same-sex couple rules were. awful. 12 year old me had enough going on without having an administrator yell at my friend and i for hugging in the courtyard and not leaving until we were a foot apart, but hey.

okay, jumping over a fence to go to a mcdonalds? how coming of age indie movie manic pixie dream girl of you /hj

200k words, is that a challenge? also ahaha not at all like my italian uncle up there just opened a ‘pizzeria’ /hj but mob!star au? might be a project i should start… granted, i’m not as good a storyteller as you, but i can try.

when i was little, i wanted to revolutionise things, i guess. i even actually wrote out a campaign, i wonder if its still somewhere. thank you for believing in me, but these days, bee, i’m thinking less about changing the world, and more about making it the next few weeks, and then the ones after that. little star was aware of so much, but also so little. i wonder what they’d think of me now, honestly.

i did, in fact, teach archery, it was so fun but my arms got SO SORE, and the kid who challenged my archery skills seemed surprised when i actually,, hit the bullseyes. my inner susan was happy then. incidentally the experience is also why i made a playlist called “touchstarved and wanting to teach you to shoot a bow” which low-key slaps when i’m lonely. and bee omg i cannot believe you said im better than susan pevensie i will be thinking about this for the rest of my life thank you- and yes, yes it was named aslan, however did you guess? /j prince caspian<33333

i’ll let you know my results from the tournament, as soon as they come out, and i say this having just put on pjs after taking off my suit, and sitting in the room with my cat in my dear evan hansen hoodie, frantically refreshing the results page because i’m anxious and impatient.

i hope you have a good night, with fitful and restful sleep, i’m sorry this got to be so long, but you know me, i certainly can talk. i’m honestly shocked i even made it to finals, considering i was running off four hours of sleep, having gone to bed at three last night. whoops.

all my love, hugs, and a warm mug of tea,

yours,

star✨

p.s i said yes so that?? happened?? it honestly feels surreal but we’re not gonna be in the same place anymore come the end of this year, so that’ll be something to deal with

P.p.s might just start adding spanish or latin or russian phrases to these if i keep having to translate your cute french bee /lh /hj

star my love, i know you said don't apologise, but i think the word 'sorry' makes up about 60% of my vocabulary. i'm okay!! was just a bit icky, but luckily i've recovered now!!

that's so nice - and again, makes so much sense for you. i think you would work perfectly in welton, i know it. i love bringing the messages from that film into my own life, as silly as it may sound. i'm astonished, and so fucking jealous of you. i used to finish tests maybe half an hour early, but hours is so impressive??? fun fact i did finish my physics final in about 45 minutes and slept for the other hour <3 neil would b proud my love!!! oh my god - i'm so sorry that happened??? but that is also so neil kinnie??? it seems futile me saying this, but i assure you that you are hispanic enough, and queer enough, and non-binary enough. you are enough, period. more than enough even. imposter syndrome is the worst, and i'm so so sorry you're dealing with it.

she did that to herself, you just saw an opportunity /lh a midnight premiere of the force awakens sounds so cute though omg - i hope you had the absolute best time. the r + e carving actually broke me. as a die hard reddie shipper since 2017, seeing the movie make it basically canon?! had me a mess in the cinema.

you are ridiculously comforting and cosy, everything about you feels like a warm hug from a familiar face and i love it. and the way you write is so smooth, it makes me think of a quill smoothly gliding across parchment, the deep black ink unsmudged and pristine. that seems a little pretentious of me, but oh well.

i also want some dps tattoos!! i desperately want "and still we sleep" from todd's poem, and was also so so tempted to get an outline drawing of meeks + pitts dancing on the roof. i love that, and i can't wait until the day you get it, whichever one it may be. my one concern is becoming addicted to them and making my bank account suffer - at least my piercing obsession is a little easier to fund /hj

i've NEVER gotten that - they claim it's 'distracting' but how on earth would it be?? when i got to college, no one was distracted by my dyed hair, and i certainly wasn't distracted by other people's outfits or painted nails. you were yelled at. for hugging. a friend.. what the fuck is wrong with these people??

just call me ramona flowers star /j it was possibly the highlight of my school career, sans hiding in the back room of the music room to avoid a maths test

i bet you're an amazing storyteller, if these letters are anything to go by. it would be a new york times best seller, i know it

we all have to take things one step at a time, i think. that's the only way i really get through things if i'm honest. one day after another and the cycle repeats. i love wondering what young me would think of me now - i'd probably be intimidated of myself, but i like to think i'd be proud that i'm still here, pursuing something i love

that playlist. sounds nothing short of sheer perfection. i too am touch starved and want to teach someone to shoot a bow - even though i.. cannot shoot a bow... but i can wield a sword so, it's close enough.

i saw your message about the tournament results - im so fucking proud of you!!!! you deserve it so so much and i couldn't be happier for you. see, your words and ideas are changing the world, even if you don't realise it.

ps; that is so fun???? omg im so happy for you star, you deserve tis <33 i hope towards the end of this year whatever happens leaves you both happy, no matter how far the distance.

pps; omg no.. please don't do that.. aha that would be awful... definitely wouldn't make my heart race.. haha not at all

all of my love, star. pardon the pun, but you are out of this world ;) i'll leave you with one of my favourite quotes;

il n'y a qu'un bonheur dans la vie, c'est d'aimer et d'être aimé <3

[wickedmilo]

YOU CAN STAY MILO | MILO & HARSH

PLACE: A quiet White Crest street TIMING: 4:00 AM SUMMARY: Upon discovering Milo has only been a vampire for a month, Harsh decides to help him adjust to his new situation WRITING PARTNER: @notsoharsh CONTENT WARNINGS: Heavy talk of addiction, rehab, and drug abuse

Milo’s lack of self control, and inability to say no had always been something he was painfully aware of. It didn’t bother him, for the most part. If he shifted his perspective, or found the perfect high, then he could almost, almost convince himself he had a hand on the wheel, regardless of how true that actually was. It was easy to do, because he was only ever hurting himself. He was the one at risk, he was the one using the substances, venturing to questionable areas of town. Now though, his instability was putting other people in danger. If he gave in, he wasn’t the one getting hurt. It was a sense of responsibility he had never been forced to face before, and that left him terrified.  

Creeping on the outskirts of town, venturing into the forest for his more sinister appetites, he was struggling to find a balance. He needed to avoid people, he didn’t trust himself not to. But he was also very aware of his shaking hands, the cold sweat leaving a sheen on his skin that ironically made him look like the living dead. He was barely scraping by on the hits he had been able to talk out of strangers. The withdrawal was only made worse by the thought of the stash he had waiting for him in his friend’s apartment. He would return for it if he wasn’t so sure a chance encounter could end in bloodshed. He shouldn’t be in town, he knew he shouldn’t be in town. But a quick meeting with a dealer and he could hide again, melt into the shadows. How had his life deteriorated so quickly? It was pitiful. Cuffing his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie, he continued to drag his feet down the quiet high street. His head bowed as he made an effort to go unnoticed, he was entirely unaware of being watched.  

Harsh had started to get used to this whole ‘patrolling’ thing. It was rough at first, finding ways to steer clear of actual slayer and hunter routes, but it made the lies easier whenever there was a hint of truth buried underneath. Still, he tried to avoid killing other vampires when he could help it. A few needed to be dusted here and there to keep up appearances, but better they run into him than a slayer who actually wanted them gone. Hands in his pockets, he strolled casually, keeping to the shadows. Soft footsteps caught his ears… but no heartbeat. Interesting. He moved carefully, keeping his own steps nearly silent. There. Definitely a vampire, but not one he recognized. Harsh watched, eyes narrowed. There was something off. The guy looked young. Might be easier to stake him and go, but… something stopped Harsh going for the stake in his pocket. Something about the guy’s face--he looked rough.  

It wasn’t smart, but Harsh had never been one to plan ahead. He moved quick and quiet, before stepping out of the shadows, not far from the stranger. “Hey man,” he called, voice even, casual, holding up an unlit cigarette. “You got a light? Must’ve left mine at home.” Closer, he could see the vampire’s face better. Yeah, definitely rough. Harsh had seen that look before, too many times. Damn it. Way too late to walk away now. He kept his own expression friendly, smile fixed into place. “It’s nice out, isn’t it? I thought we would never be done with all that snow. Are you from around here?” 

Milo found with his heightened senses that it was far easier to maintain an awareness of his surroundings than it had been before his death. It should be a useful ability, he had certainly used it a few times to avoid crossing paths with humans. But his ability to get lost in his own head, especially when he was struggling, seemed to be entirely unparalleled. He knew he should be smarter, more focused, but it wasn’t quite that simple. Which was why, when a man emerged suddenly from the shadows, he had the rather undignified response of stumbling backwards, a yelp of surprise escaping him. Something wasn’t right, he registered that almost immediately. But tired, and aching, he had far more important things to worry about than why a stranger was potentially weird.  

“Shit- what are you doing?” He demanded. If he needed to breathe, he would have been catching his breath at this point. “Who does that?” It was an instinct to place a hand over his heart as he recovered from the shock, but it only took a few seconds before the lack of a heartbeat made him uncomfortable. He hurried to shake off the sensation. “You- you want a light?” He echoed, distracting himself by fumbling in his pockets. “Fine, whatever- just don’t fucking creep up on me again.” Holding out the lighter, he realised he was shaking, and hurried to force his balled fists back into his pockets. “It’s nice out?” He glanced up at the sky, wrinkling his nose as he struggled to understand the question. “I mean- it’s night? What do you want me to say?” Turning his attention back to his company, he shrugged, playing off his response as casual, despite still feeling shaken, and now just a little suspicious. “Uh… born and raised? Why do you care?”  

Oh a jumpy one. Yeah, this kid was definitely new to the vampire thing. He seemed like he might be scared of his own shadow. If Harsh could feel bad for people, he probably would have. Maybe he did. It was sort of hard to tell. Without much hesitation, he grabbed the lighter. Smoking was more of a pain now that he had to make himself go through the motions of breathing manually, but he had learned how to make it work after a hundred years of practice. He blew out a steady stream of smoke and laughed softly. “You could’ve fooled me. You seem new… scared. I wouldn’t recommend that. This place’ll eat you up and spit you back out if you let it know you’re afraid.” 

He dug through his pockets, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering it to the stranger. “Here, might help with your nerves. And you should try to look like you’re still breathing, helps you blend in.” Maybe he was playing too much of his hand, but there wasn’t much point in pretending. This kid seemed shaky. If he went around like that, he was going to get himself staked in no time at all. And that was… kind of sad. Harsh kept his expression even, though there was a knowing lilt to his voice. “I’m like you, man. Just listen for a second, really listen.” It wasn’t the kind of thing new vampires usually thought about, sitting still, actually listening for breath, for a heart beat, but if any of them would slow down for a minute, they could make things so much easier for themselves. “I’m Harsh, by the way. Real name, I swear, trust me, I’ve heard all the smart comments. What’s yours?” 

“What?” Milo demanded, struggling to keep up with the vague nature of the conversation. He was almost ready to turn and leave when the stranger mentioned being chewed up and spit back out again. “Yeah, no shit. I think this place has already done that so you’re wasting your time.” He muttered. The town looked different to him now, it felt different. He had grown up in a place that would eventually be the death of him. It was a sick, and twisted thing to realise. Distracted by the packet of cigarettes, he was halfway through sliding one out of the carton when he realised what the man had said. Freezing instantaneously, his entire body grew tense. But then the comment responsible for terrifying him was followed up by another comment, by a comment he had been desperate to hear for what felt like an eternity. He had been alone for a month. He hadn’t been able to ask anybody questions, or lean on anybody for support. The one friend he could always rely on had tried to kill him, and he was just… lost. He tried to dampen the spark of hope that had managed to ignite within his chest, but it proved to be impossible. He followed his instruction, cautious, and careful, his eyes widening suddenly when he realised he didn’t hear a heartbeat. 

He wasn’t sure what to say in response, his voice stolen by an overwhelming rush of emotion. He didn’t want to assume his struggle was over, was his struggle ever going to be over? But for the first time since waking up, he didn’t feel as though he was on his own. Here was somebody who potentially understood, who knew what he was going through. “You’re- you’re not going to hurt me, are you?” His voice was small, and uncertain. In contrast to the sarcastic edge usually lacing his tone. “I don’t even know how this happened, okay? I woke up like this, you’re the first person I’ve met who’s- who’s the same way.” Abandoning the cigarettes, he shifted uncomfortably on the spot, ready to run if he needed to, despite knowing he would never be able to best this person. They were obviously stronger than him, more capable in every conceivable way. “Your name is Harsh?” He echoed. “I- I’m Milo… Or I was- I mean, I think I still am.” 

Harsh bit back a laugh. Was he going to hurt him? It was a fair question. He hadn’t quite made up his mind. It would be good for the whole slayer reputation he was trying to build. But… if this guy was new, he probably hadn’t made much of a name for himself yet. And that wouldn’t exactly make for a good story, staking some poor, newly turned kid. Honestly, that seemed… pretty lame. Friendly smile still in place, he shook his head. “Wasn’t planning on it. If you want to pick a fight, I’ll punch back, but nope. I just thought you looked… lonely.” He frowned a little as Milo went on. The guy had just been turned and abandoned? Well, that was a whole world of suck right there. “You were turned. A vampire, someone else like us, they must have drained you and forced you to drink some of their blood.” He paused there. Probably not the nicest thing to just tell Milo he was dead. But he might have already known.  

“Good to meet you, Milo. You can still be if you want, or you can change things up. Some people do that. Once they turn… they want to be someone else. It can be sort of a fresh start, if you want it to be.” Harsh had never considered changing his name, though… other things, the rest of him… that hadn’t quite stayed the same. It had been so long, he wasn’t quite sure who he had been when he was human, but he was pretty sure that person was a far cry from whoever he was now. “So… you don’t know who turned you? Or anyone else like us? Seriously? That’s rough, man. How long has it been for you? Have you had any blood recently?” 

Milo frowned, unable to decide whether Harsh was laughing at him, or at the situation. Feeling his shoulders drop when he was assured he wasn’t in any danger, maybe it was stupid to believe a stranger so easily. But he was scared of pushing the man away, of being left alone again. Even if he wasn’t entirely comfortable. “Something tells me I wouldn’t stand a chance.” He admitted, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. His sharp tongue had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion. He knew he could take a punch, but he had never been able to successfully throw one. His smile faded as quickly as it had appeared at the mention of looking lonely. The observation was a little too accurate for his liking, it forced him to acknowledge the painful, empty feeling inside his chest. “Yeah…” He muttered, scuffing his shoes against the asphalt. He had never been the type of person to ask for help, or admit he needed it. Then again, he had never felt quite so lost. “I guess I kind of am. S’not like I can go home, y’know?” 

Keeping his head down as Harsh began to explain what he was, he chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. Had he really been made to drink someone’s blood? He couldn’t remember doing so, surely even high he would have questioned that. He had vague recollections of losing consciousness, feeling weak, and dizzy as he tried to push away the person responsible for attacking him. Would he have had any power to refuse? “So it- it wasn’t an accident?” He asked finally, looking back up to watch the expression on his company’s face. “Somebody did this on purpose? And then just… left me?” It was something that had been eating away at him, not knowing what had taken place. The sequence of events that had ended with him waking up in an abandoned building, missing 30 hours of his time. Was he an accident, or had somebody had planned the entire ordeal? He still wasn’t sure which was worse. He had been repressing the thoughts, struggling to focus on the present. But now his mind was racing. He was desperate for answers. 

“No- no.” He hurried to assure Harsh. “I want to be Milo- I don’t want to be anybody else.” The idea of losing his identity, his sense of self, alongside his life… his Humanity. That was as terrifying as anything he had faced over the course of the past month. He couldn’t do that, he would go insane. Averting his gaze, once again, when he was asked another question, he realised how strange it felt to be saying the words out loud. Drinking blood, dying, being turned… these were things only ever talked about in the context of fantasy. And now they had become a part of his life, a part of a serious discussion. For the first time, he was talking about it. “No, I don’t know. I was in a club, someone offered me something…” His voice was slow as he sifted through his memories, trying to pull the important information from the haze of the high. “We shot up… whatever it was. And then they attacked me, but I don’t know who they were, I don’t even think I would recognise them.” Letting out a huff of breath, a decidedly Human habit he had yet to shake, he pushed his hair back away from his face. It was damp with sweat. How was he supposed to explain to Harsh that it wasn’t just blood he was craving? “A month… maybe just over. But I- no, not today.” He was too embarrassed to admit he had been trying, and failing to hunt animals in the woods. His diet consisted entirely of animals he was, by some miracle, able to catch.  

“Aw, c’mon, I’m not as tough as I look. But you’re stronger than you think. One of the perks of the whole blood craving thing.” This kid was going to have to learn to fight whether he liked it or not. Slayers weren’t going to wait for him to figure out how to punch. Harsh had seen that for himself. He nodded. That much he could understand. When he had turned, he had never wanted to go home, he had a new one… until he didn’t. And it was only then that it really sunk in, how he could never put things back the way they were before. “Yeah that’s… one of the major downsides. People don’t really get it if they aren’t like us, they don’t understand. It sucks, losing that. I was never… all that welcome at home, but they were still a safety net… until they weren’t. I know it’s hard, man.”  

Grimacing, Harsh shook his head. “I really doubt it. Most vampires don’t just accidentally let someone drink some of their own blood. They usually stick around for the turn though. It’s this whole… sire thing. You feel sort of connected to people you turn or the one who turned you. Usually that means something to people.” Not that he was really one to talk. On occasion, during his two hundred year rampage, he had turned someone for the hell of it. But even then, at his worst, he had usually stuck around to see if they ate someone five minutes after they woke up. He couldn’t find it in him to be proud of that. It was the bare minimum. And Milo didn’t even have that much. Poor guy. Harsh let his mind drift for a moment, back to those confused, scared faces, his brood… he couldn’t make it up to any of them now. But maybe he could make up for a little of it here.  

He held up a calming hand. “Easy man, it’s okay. You can stay Milo if you want to. There’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t have to be a different person just cause you work a little differently now.” Harsh took a small, cautious step forward, hands still up, palms open, like he was approaching a frightened animal almost. Another little step. “So they might have drugged you first? Shit. That’s on them, not you, Milo.” He took another slight step forward, putting a hand lightly on Milo’s shoulder. “You want some? I work at the hospital, I swipe blood bags now and then. I’ve got some extra, if you need it. I know how hard it can be when you first start hunting. But you want to drink regularly. If you don’t… trust me, it’s not pretty.”  

Milo frowned. He didn’t want to be strong, his physical wellbeing had never been much of a concern. If this strength came with so many catches, he would much rather revert to his old self. His weak self. “There are perks?” He asked, skepticism clear in his tone. Even if he wanted to hide it, he wasn’t sure he would be able to. Everything had become so twisted. Even now that he had somebody to explain things to him, somebody to answer his questions, the sense of hopelessness he had grown so used to stubbornly refused to dissipate. “Hm,” He stifled a bitter laugh, scuffing at the asphalt with his battered Converse. “My parents have never been the understanding type.” How many arguments had he suffered through? How many times had he stormed out of the front door, or climbed out of his bedroom window, with the promise of never talking to them again? He had been in the process of cutting them off the night he was attacked. Dying had only made it easier to ignore the never ending phone calls. The texts from his mom demanding to know where he was. “They’ve been threatening me with rehab for years… hardly a safety net.”  

His frown deepening when Harsh confirmed his suspicion, he felt a surge of anger course through his veins. Somebody had done this to him intentionally. So he wasn’t a mistake, he wasn’t the result of a spontaneous accident. Sure, whoever was responsible had been high, but they would have known the consequences of their actions. They would have understood. Clearly they didn’t give a shit about him, so much for a ‘sire’ connection. “Yeah, well… apparently not.” He muttered, blinking away the tears stinging suddenly at his eyes. He didn’t want to cry, he couldn’t afford to look so pathetic. Brushing at them with the sleeve of his hoodie, he looked back up at the man so intent on helping him. Swallowing his emotion, he allowed himself to be comforted by the assurance. You can stay Milo if you want to. There’s nothing wrong with that. He was terrified of losing himself. It felt like all he had left was his identity.  

Tensing when Harsh took a step towards him, he had to fight every instinct telling him to run. Attempting to brush off his discomfort, he offered his company a hesitant shrug. Harsh wasn’t a threat, he was safe. Probably safer than he had been since first waking up. “I mean, s’not exactly like I said no.” He admitted. Maybe if he had, he would still be alive, his heart would still be beating inside his chest. His eyes widening at the unexpected offer of blood, it didn’t take long for him to realise he was being forced to choose, forced to prioritise his cravings. Did he meet his dealer, and then follow Harsh? Was it rude to ask him to wait? Then again, his mouth felt dry, he almost hurt with longing as he imagined the blood bags from the hospital. The hand on his shoulder didn’t ground him, but it allowed him to focus on his answer. “Yes.” He said, a little too quickly. “I mean- I was meeting someone- I need to-” If he stood up his dealer he would be written off, forced to find another. Given his new instability, the last thing he wanted was to be left in suspense, to not know where his next hit might be coming from. “Would you- would you maybe come with me? Make sure I don’t do anything stupid… it’ll take two minutes, I swear.”  

“Oh yeah, tons of them. Some take a little longer to work out, and I know the downsides are… pretty big, but trust me. It’s not all bad.” Though that might have been two hundred years of bias talking. Harsh could barely remember the things he missed about being human. Going out in the sun had been nice… probably. But he had spent far more time out of it than in it. “I’ll show you a couple tricks, if you want.” There were some things that would come in time, learning how to manage the strength, the new power. Maybe it wasn’t exactly a light at the end of a tunnel. Because the tunnel was all there was now. There wasn’t much choice except to learn to love it. He grimaced, nodding faintly. “That’s… shit, man. Rehab shouldn’t be a threat, no one gets to choose that except for you, and only if you even want it.” Though Harsh had dabbled with various substances over the years, he had never messed with anything that could get him hooked. Blood was already a life long addiction, he didn’t need another one. 

Harsh kept his hand gentle on Milo’s shoulder. Empathy wasn’t a thing he could do. The sucking void where his soul should be saw to that. At least, not automatically. But he could try to think back to what his first few months were like. The adjustment hadn’t been that bad, but… he hadn’t done it alone. He cocked an eyebrow. So Milo already had another appointment. Well, he looked… rough. Maybe there was something else he was after, the whole ‘rehab’ thing probably didn’t come out of nowhere. Harsh nodded, smile still easy. “Sure, lead the way. Is this, uh… something that might get a little hairy?” It was that part of town after all. Harsh didn’t come here much if he could help it, but he had heard plenty of rumors. “I’ve got your back, Milo, just need to know what I’ve gotta do to cover it.”  

Milo so desperately wanted to believe what he was hearing. Maybe it wasn’t all bad, maybe he would come to realise that over time. It was very clear Harsh had, which gave him a genuine sense of hope. He had been intentionally dismissing the idea of the future, of time passing and him staying the way that he was. But suddenly the future felt a little less scary, if only for a second. “You- you will?” He asked, surprised by the offer. Harsh was so ready to help him, it was a kindness he was no longer used to. After fending for himself, he had grown to assume nobody was going to notice him, nobody was going to make sure he was okay, or teach him how to deal with the complications of his new life. “Why are you helping me?” The question escaped him before he could contemplate how rude, or dismissive it might sound. “No- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...” He trailed off, pushing his hair away from his face where it was clinging to his damp skin. “I just mean… you don’t have to, you know? Nobody else has… but you are.” A grim smile tugging at his lips, it was comforting to hear somebody talk about rehab in the same way he talked about rehab. His parents refused to understand he didn’t want it, he didn’t need it. They continually tried to force it upon him. It only served to strengthen his trust in the man beside him. “They never fucking listen to me.” He admitted. “It’s a choice, it’s not like I have to. Rehab is for addicts...”  

He knew a lot could be said about the fact that he was insisting they visit his dealer before they left. And a lot could be said about the fact he was so panicked by potentially having no reliable source for his substances. But he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. Those were his mother’s words echoing inside his head. Her tone disapproving, almost, almost smug. Sometimes he wondered whether she actually enjoyed looking for loopholes in his logic. Maybe she did it just to spite him. His shoulders dropping with relief when Harsh agreed to follow him, he shook his head with a tired laugh. “No… no, not like that.” He admitted, beginning to walk in the direction he first had been. His hands were still balled in his pockets, nails digging into his palms as he considered the two hungers promised to be sated tonight. “I just- I don’t trust myself.” If he could blush, he knew his face would be glowing red. It was an embarrassing thing to admit. “I guess I’m also scared you might be some kind of hallucination, like if I turn away for a second you’ll just… be gone.” He felt a thousand times more vulnerable after being so honest, but he was smart enough to know it would be counterproductive to lie to somebody who might understand, who might be able to make him feel less ridiculous. “You are real, right? I’m not- I’m not going insane?” Jeez, how far had he fallen to need to ask that question?  

So this was gonna be a thing now. Great. Harsh had gone and volunteered himself to be a babysitter for who knew how fucking long. But that was… fine. This was the kinda shit that would’ve gotten him points for his stupid deal. A deal that was long gone now. But… hell, maybe he could get a new one. Maybe teaching Milo how not to get himself dusted would earn him some brownie points somewhere. And it wouldn’t hurt to have someone to talk to who wasn’t a fucking hunter. He gave Milo a little shrug. “If it was me, I’d want help. Like I said, I’ve been doing this for a while. I know how bad things can go if no one shows a new kid the ropes.” He nodded a little. So, this guy was definitely more than just a blood junkie. But hell, Harsh wasn’t in any spot to judge. Everyone had their vices. It didn’t sound like it was Milo’s fault that he got another one added on top of that. “Right? People get so judgey about that kind of stuff. I gamble a little too much a few times and people start handing me fliers for therapy and counseling. It’s such a drag. It’s my business, y’know? I know what I can handle.” 

This was probably one of the worse choices he had made in a while, following some new vamp he just met to probably go meet someone who was all kinds of shady. But whatever. Not like Harsh had anything better to do with his time. It was either this or pretend to patrol for another couple hours. “Ah, gotcha,” he said, nodding. “I’ll keep an eye on things. I’ll leave it to you, but if you start getting too antsy, I can bail you out.” Better to learn by doing. Harsh was going to help, he’d already agreed and he was a lot of things, but he kept his word. Mostly. When he felt like it. He cocked an eyebrow at the question. “Well, if I was a hallucination, I don’t think that saying I’m not one would help. But if I am one, I’m a pretty self aware hallucination. I can pinch you if you want.” He clapped Milo on the shoulder. Maybe the weight of his hand would at least be sort of reassuring. “Look, lets go talk to this guy, and if he can see me too, you’ll know you’re not imaging things, right?”  

Milo couldn’t argue with that. He had caught a glimpse of how bad things could become, had already taken one life in his struggle to understand what was happening. If he hadn’t been told by a passerby that he was a vampire now, he had no way of knowing how many other people could have gotten hurt. And that had been the bare minimum. Left to fend for himself, he had been longing for so many things. But scared, and confused, and Hell, lonely, somebody to help him had been at the very top of his list. A strange sense of relief washing over him, he could very nearly cry at Harsh’s words. Finally somebody who understood. What were the chances it would be another vampire? A person willing to walk him through this terrifying, disorientating change? “Exactly!” He agreed, maybe with a little too much enthusiasm. He couldn’t help himself. He felt so justified, so validated in his habits. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel judged, or alienated, or patronised. He was just Milo to this man, and that meant more than he could possibly put into words.  

Nodding quietly in thanks when his new friend promised to keep an eye on things, it wasn’t long before they began to near the meeting point his dealer had arranged. Offering Harsh a genuine smile when he tried to assure him he wasn’t a hallucination, the hand on his arm really did help to ground him, to remind him that this wasn’t some crazy, fucked up dream. “I’m pretty sure hallucinations can be self-aware, you know- if you hallucinate them that way.” He replied, if only to make conversation, and brush off how paranoid his previous concern had managed to make him sound. He wanted to apologise, to explain how much of a mess he was, but he had a feeling that might already be painfully clear. “Okay.” He said, figuring the suggestion was a pretty good way to make sure Harsh was definitely real. “Okay, that sounds good.”  

Rounding a corner to appear on a near empty street, he recognised the figure waiting at the end of the road almost immediately. His dealer of two years, Jay, was leaning casually against a lamppost, and he made a point of holding his breath before he could get near enough to catch his scent. No doubt his company would pick up on that, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care. He hurried up to the familiar face, watching Jay as he cautiously eyed Harsh from where he was standing. It had been long enough for Jay to know he could be trusted as a customer, which was probably the only reason he didn’t look annoyed by the unexpected presence of a witness. “He’s cool.” He murmured quietly, overwhelmed with an emotion he couldn’t quite place at the realisation that Harsh wasn’t a figment of his imagination. Slipping his cash into Jay’s hand, it wasn’t long until he was given a small baggie in return. Shoving it into his pocket, he shot him a smile in lieu of thanks before turning on his heel to make his way back over to where Harsh was waiting for him. Not for the first time he found himself grateful that buying drugs had never been considered a social event. You got in, and you got out. Why wasn’t everything that simple? Listening to Jay’s footsteps as they faded into the distance, he suddenly realised he didn’t know what was supposed to happen next. Once again, he was being thrown into the unknown. Or maybe he was choosing to jump… Hopefully, this time, somebody would be waiting to catch him.  

Harsh had been around the block a few times. Though he had kept his addictions to blood and shifty poker games, he knew how they could get their hooks in, even long after death. And it sure as shit wasn’t going to help Milo if some asshole he just met started lecturing him on his habits. Not that Harsh was really the lecture type. He never had been. If Milo wanted to work that shit out, that was on him. But the vampire thing… that was more pressing. Newly turned vamps were always a concern. The more attention they drew, the harder things got for everyone else. Unless he turned them, Harsh tended to keep his distance. Too late for that here. But hell… it didn’t hurt to have someone around to talk to who kept the same hours and wouldn’t be grossed out by blood bags in the fridge.  

So that was definitely Milo’s dealer. Harsh hung back, expression casual, though he made sure to get a good look at the guy. Just in case. Milo was still new at this, and there was a good chance people who he ran into on a bad day could end up face down in a ditch somewhere. Or, if the guy caught on, well… he might have to end up there anyway. Better to wait to make a call there, see how things went. Maybe Harsh would never have to think about this guy again. Ha, as if things were ever that easy here. He clapped Milo on the shoulder as he made his way back over. “Everything good?” 

A stupid thought crossed Harsh’s mind. Just a really, absolute shit idea. But it didn’t go away. He gave Milo a long glance. The guy looked rough, like maybe he had been sleeping on a lot of couches lately. Probably assuming too much, but… fuck it. “So, you got a place to go, man? Y’know, it’s funny running into you, I’ve been looking for a roommate for ages. Not saying that to pressure you or anything. But… if you need a place to crash, I’ve got a new place and a couple extra blood bags in the fridge. Just saying.” 

Milo exhaled the breath he had been holding, doing nothing to hide his sense of relief. It was so much easier when he was with Harsh, he realised. Not just because he felt as though somebody was finally here to support him. But because Harsh smelled differently to other people. There was no heartbeat, no urge to drain him of blood. It was like a weight being lifted from his shoulders. He nodded quietly in response to the question, grateful for the concern. “Yeah, I think so… thank you.” It wasn’t lost on him that this man had absolutely no obligation to help. And yet he had followed him to meet his dealer, had made an active effort to ensure his safety. Why? He wasn’t gaining anything in return. As if to make the whole thing even more perplexing, he was hit by an unexpected question. One that embarrassingly had tears blurring his vision. He hurried to blink them away, hoping his company wouldn’t notice.  

“I- no.” He admitted, staring in disbelief. “No… I don’t have anywhere.” Was he really being offered a place to stay? A safe place where he could live, and learn, and ask any questions he might have about his new condition? After so long of being alone, of struggling to find food, this couldn’t be happening. It didn’t make any sense. Even humans weren’t liable to help people like him, people with bad attitudes, and questionable habits. Surely vampires were no different. “I- only if-” He broke off, so overwhelmed that he found himself unable to form a coherent sentence. “Only if you have space- I don’t want you to feel like you have to…” He swallowed, lowering his gaze to the floor. “If you mean it, like really mean it… then that would be… I’d like that.”  

“No problem, man.” It was easy to offer Milo a smile. So far, he didn’t seem like an asshole, just like some confused kid. Harsh wasn’t the best when it came to guessing ages, but he seemed young. That plus scared and nowhere to go was a rough combination. So his guess was pretty dead on. It was probably an offer he should’ve thought about more, letting some random guy he literally found on the street come back to his new slightly less shitty apartment. But hell, he had made worse calls, some of them pretty recently. He slung an arm around Milo’s shoulders. “I mean it. I’ve got room, and… y’know, people like us, we’ve gotta stick together. The world isn’t going to hand you a bunch of blood on a silver platter. I’ve been doing this for a while, got a couple tricks I can teach you.” 

He turned the both of them, the stake in his pocket long forgotten. Harsh’s fake patrols could go on hold tonight. Not like anyone was watching to make sure he stuck to his whole slayer routine. Hell, maybe he could get Milo in on that too, might make things easier for the  both of them. Lightly pulling Milo along, he started back toward his… their apartment. “C’mon, kid, let’s go home.”

[soberfor2021]

Relapse, Recovery, and Bread Baking

I’ve been baking a lot of bread. I’ve also been doing a lot of thinking, as you do when you bake bread and spend lots of time alone. Here are some thoughts. (tw: food restriction, mentions of self harm and alcohol)

“Relapse is part of recovery.”

I’ve heard this said so many times and seen it posted countless times on various recovery and inspirational blogs and boards and what-have-you. And it’s true, it really is. Because to say it’s not alienates people, because everyone slips up. In anything in life, it doesn’t go perfectly. Humans have an penchant for fucking up.

And to be blunt, I have relapsed.

Thankfully it is not with drinking or more active forms of self harm. For me, those are easier to avoid, as I have to go out of my way to do them. For me, I have to make a conscious decision to do them and it’s harder for them to just slip into my daily life, since it’s not like my water bottle is suddenly going to fill with vodka or my sleeves turn into razor blades. There’s a clear line for me, and my brain loves line and rules and is hardwired to stay away from breaking said rules. (I had to have a long, hard think on if I could eat the bourbon balls my friend so lovingly made and brought to me for Christmas. I eventually concluded that I could, as they were food items, and it would take way more than I was given to even get tipsy, if possible at all.) I’m aware that I’m possibly an exception, and not a rule, when it comes to this behavior, especially with people who are more deep in addictions than I ever was. I know giving in isn’t always a choice for people, and I want to make it clear that I’m talking specifically about me and my experiences and how my brain works in its specific fucked up way. After all, I outlined in one of my first posts just how in control I always was in my self destruction. This is me talking about me. For me, anything outside of my average day is a choice I have to make, so it is easier for me to say away from.

Do you know what is part of my daily routine and can far too easily morph from normalcy to relapse? Eating.

This blog isn’t just for me talking about my thoughts on not drinking alcohol. Cutting out alcohol was always meant to be a symbol of cutting out everything I do that harms me and feeds into my self destructive nature. And that does include my food restriction compulsion from my OCD. And really, this is a recovery blog just in general. I’m just talking about my experiences as someone trying to be better.

And, well, this is my experience with trying to recover from OCD, or at least make it more manageable.

For the past several years, I’ve had a compulsion to restrict my food. It falls into magical thinking, and yes, rationally I know how much I eat has nothing to do with if my family and friends live or die or if bad things will or won’t happen. But that’s the thing about OCD, it doesn’t listen to rationality very easily. And so in times of stress, I tend to slip back into that habit, as I have now.

Thankfully, I have experienced what I like to call “spiraling upward” in my recovery, which does have to do with relapses. When you spiral down, you do things and get into horrible patterns and everything gets worse. When you start to recover, you have to retrace those steps. It’s like walking a spiral staircase. You’ll pass the same points again and be confronted with old habits and unhealthy coping mechanisms. But you are still moving up, your habits aren’t as bad or as damaging anymore. After all, relapse is part of recovery. I no longer panic at the idea of eating more than 500 calories in a day, which is what I did when I was at my absolute worst point with this compulsion. The compulsion still comes back at times, but it is often shorter in duration and how extreme it is. Lately, when this compulsion comes back up, it’s simply just the number of times I eat in a day, which allows for some workarounds. It is still upsetting and unfun and far too easy to slip back into. Sometimes I’m naturally less hungry than other times, sometimes I don’t have time to make food or eat. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem. It only becomes a problem when I’m stressing about something, eat less as a result, and then the thing I’m stressing about gets better (for example, fretting about a coworker’s pay promotion, not eating dinner that night because I took a nap, and then the next morning finding out corporate finally approved it). And that’s where I am now.

But what does this have to do with bread baking?

Well, like I’ve said, I’ve been baking a lot of bread lately. I’ve always enjoyed my analogy of spiraling up, but sometimes I want something more gentle, a bit more relatable. Like baking bread.

When you bake bread, you have to knead the dough. It’s long, exhausting, and can be frustrating at times. This is all in an effort to strengthen the gluten so it holds up during the baking process. Your goal is to make the dough stable enough where it can pass the “windowpane test” where you hold a piece up to the light, stretch it thin, and make sure you can get it thin enough without it tearing, thus signifying the dough is strong enough.

And the process can be incredibly frustrating! You think you’re almost there and ready to be done, because your arms hurt and you’re thirsty and your hands are caked in dough and flour and your fingernails look awful, but then you hold it up and it starts tearing horribly and you notice all the little tears in the dough as you knead it and how it’s not smooth at all.

And when that happens... you don’t give up. You sigh a little, put the dough back together, and you keep going. You keep kneading and working the dough, even though you’re tired, even though it hurts a little, and even though you’d love to just give up and buy store bought bread. But you know that it’ll be worth it. Your homemade bread will taste better and be better for you, and most importantly, it will be yours.

There’s a song by Regina Spektor that means so much to me. It’s called One More Time with Feeling, and it was originally sent to me about 8 years ago from a stranger on a sight where you could vent and strangers would send you songs to help you. There’s a lyric that I’ve always felt so deeply. “You thought by now you’d be so much better than you are. You thought by now they’d see that you had come so far. And the pride inside their eyes will synchronize into a love you’ve never known, so much more than you’ve been shown.” The refrain is about how you just need to keep on trying, keep on fighting.

And I think that’s where I am right now. I thought I’d be at a point where I could brag about how far I’ve come and how much better I am, that everyone around me would be so proud of me and celebrate me. But instead, I can’t even go 30 days without causing myself some kind of harm in some way. And it’s disappointing and frustrating, and I’m realizing that the recovery dough is going to need to be kneaded a lot more before I’m ready. My shoulders hurt, I feel like crying all the time, and I’m so scared and tired.

But I’ll sigh a little, put myself back together, and keep going. It’s just going to take more time, more effort, and possibly some more tears (either definition, really).

And eventually, I’ll be ready. I’ll be stronger and I’ll hold myself together more. I’ll never get to that point if I give up now.

So, I think I’m going to go make some lunch.

[clairvoyantsam]

13 Reasons Why S4E5 Thoughts

1)Oh man ... Clay going out jogging and ending up in front of Bryce’s house and the place where he was killed?? Not good ... And on top of that it seems he’s losing track of time ... How’s this all gonna go for him in the end ...

2)Is Clay taking drugs???????And trying to pin the positive test on JUSTIN????? OH HELL NAH, THAT’S ENOUGH!!!!!!! HE’S TRYING SO FUCKING HARD TO BE CLEAN AFTER REHAB, HE’S DOING WELL AT SCHOOL & SPORTS, HE WANTS TO GET IN COLLEGE AND YOU’RE JUST MESSING HIM UP, GODDAMIT!!!!!! I’m so damn GLAD that he at least has the coach to talk to, I can’t fucking believe this shit. When Justin said “I think no one believes in me”, I just started crying :’(

3)HOLD THE FUCK UP!!! Clay not only smokes weed at the party but when Justin shows up to tell him he’s there to look out for him and asks him why is he so pissed at him all the time, Clay tells him to fuck off. STOOOOOP. STOP!!! EVERYONE IS HURTING MY BABY AND I WON’T HAVE THAT SHIT!!! He’s done NOTHING wrong NOTHING and you’re all just pushing him so much that I am so fucking scared he’s gonna break. I feel HORRIBLE for what everyone is putting Justin though. He’s a recovering addict, doing the best he can to start his life over and stay clean and you’re treating him like garbage. ASSHOLES!!!!!!!!!

4)OH NO, HE DIDN’T. HE FUCKING DIDN’T. Clay, I fucking HATE you right now. HOW DARE YOU??????? Yes, they are your parents but telling Justin they aren’t his parents too???????? FUCK OFF, HONESTLY. How cruel was that????? He’s NEVER felt parental love in his entire life, living with a junkie mom who never gave a shit for him, going to school filthy and hungry, getting molested as a little kid by his mom’s boyfriend. YOU ARE FUCKING HORRIBLE. GET OUT OF HERE.

5)Charlie’s mom died when he was 13 ;_: Poor bby :(

6)Alex and all the boys this season xD Alex and Charlie ...? Now that’s one cute couple right there!!!

7)Jessica to Justin:”What are you gonna do?”                                                         Justin:”I’m gonna keep trying not to die.” OH GOD. PLS, BBY. KEEP GOING. IGNORE EVERYONE ELSE, YOU DESERVE IT ;_;

8)Clay picking another fight and beating up a jock. Srsly, this is getting old. Cut it out.

9)Zack and Clay drinking and driving. STUPID. SO FREAKIN STUPID.

10)Tyler buying guns again?!!??! WHAT

11)FUCK, CLAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HE DROVE THEM OFF THE ROAD. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

~IMMEDIATELY CLICKS ON EPISODE 6

[ellaintrigue]

Be so. So. Careful

Over the span of my early adult life I started to build a controversial reputation. Not that anyone knows who I am, but in general, across the local area, friends of my parents, and family know of me. My ex brought chaos throughout my life with his gradual decline from mental illness and my refusal to censor my body or feminist beliefs has led to harsh judgment. And you can't listen to the gossipers, but it's there.

I suppose some think that a "fat" "whore" in a bikini with a crazy past may have low self-esteem, but it is the opposite. I feel pretty good about myself and don't want to meet anyone that could ever hurt me again. I love my body and love my scars and when a woman with stretch marks or a big tummy poses in a bikini, I love her too. It's 2020, let's love one another instead of judging pasts and shaming women.

Now, while we should not be hung up on the past, I've had a long healing process. And although many of us try our best, skeletons in the closet sometimes come back to life. This post is going to offend some people but it's been brewing in my mind for over a month now.

What may seem like it is none of my business, is, when brought into my life. I've been a victim and that's on those that chose to hurt me, but all victims know this: we must do what we can to protect ourselves in the future.

I'm an alcoholic. I function but I drink. I pay for my habit and stay out of people's way. While drinking is obviously bad, I have never hurt anyone else with my habit. My ex, on top of having untreated mental illness, had a problem. He would go months without drinking then go on days long benders, causing property damage, getting into fights, and getting arrested, building up fines. In the end he stole $800 in silver coins that I had, my last asset left after I lost my life savings to medical bills. I was at work that night. He had broken in my house, grabbing the coins, and my truck keys. He stole my truck, took it to the gas station, and bought a bunch of Natty Daddys, giving the cashier 4 solid silver coins for each beer. $800 for tallboys that cost just over $1 each at the time. My ex told me he thought the large mint coins were "quarters."

A year after I left my ex, a cousin recommended a painter to my mother, for my house. I do not own my house. I have nothing, I lost everything to medical bills and my ex stole the rest. I own my car and truck, that's it. So thank God for mom who is kind enough to let me stay here and I pay the costs that I can. Thank her for painting the house and getting new siding.

But the first painter was a flop. You can't judge on people's pasts, and people's looks... but sometimes you can... I fought my ex for 2 years after leaving him, he became a violent stalker. So I requested for the painter to call me before stopping by my house because I was easily spooked. But unexpectedly, I looked out my window to see a pickup truck in my yard. So I went outside and saw a scraggly man in the yard, on the phone. "Excuse me! Who are you??" I asked. He glared at me, yelled he was the painter, then walked away. It was not a good first impression.

Finally he talked to me briefly, canning his attitude for a moment. He was thin and gaunt with a cigarette shaking in his hand. His face had a grey hue and his eyes were sunken. He rasped out some details then left. He was in his 50's but looked almost 70. And he never came back, he just walked away with mom's $3,000. Mom thought he was licensed and reliable since family had recommended him. I said over and over before that happened, though: I did not like the way the motherfucker looked.

Court ensued and mom won. But before the trial, the guy approached my mom trying to talk things over, which made me scared. He knew I was alone at my house at the time, what if he wanted revenge? What if he burned the fucking house down? We had looked at his record after he stole: drug charges, assault, DUIs, abuse of a minor, multiple domestic violence charges, malicious destruction of property, theft, and stealing from homeowners using his business aka being paid and not doing his work. The guy was a drug addict.

Now, I'm not saying all druggies and drunks are nasty pieces of shit... but, do I need them in my life? I am sorry, but no, it is not my preference. My childhood friend passed in 2017 from opiates after years of addiction and hurting people with it. A round faced smiling child had turned into a criminal that relied on drugs and didn't care how she got them. At any time I can close my eyes and bring up her last photo in my thoughts. Her once beautiful green eyes, dull and sunk into her face, mere weeks before she overdosed at home.

My last ex was boring in this aspect, his vices were cigs and soda. He did not drink or do drugs, not even pot. I liked that about him. I'm fine with weed but he had his shit together and worked, despite a criminal past.

Past... disregard it only when you can. And my ex worked multiple jobs and worked his way up. Often when a man gets out of jail or prison he ends up doing various manual labor jobs but I notice basic retail and fast food positions are common. Also things like yard work, dishwashing, etc. You have to get what you can get and report it to whomever concerned. It must be rough to start over like that. Clearly my wacko ex never made it but that's how the stats go.

While only close to mom, dad, and Erin, I love and respect extended family, who are kind to me, including cousins on my dad's side. Well, everyone thinks I'm a short little fatty, which, yeah, I am. But I'm cocky and talk to whoever so I'm guilty of going after men that could have been models. And it's fine to laugh at me over that, I laugh at myself. However I don't date much or talk about it anymore so I was surprised when my cousin mentioned this guy she went to high school with and kept pushing me to talk to him. At first I didn't view it as a dating thing since I'm not attracted to anyone over 40 and said he could add me if he needed a friend but he never did. A month later she was still bringing him up and asked me why I hadn't contacted him. And I just said, hey, I'm not desperate for a man, don't need the "help" but thank you.

But, it triggered me. While I’m rarely insecure, I went into defense mode when I saw the guy on FaceBook. He was 45 but looked 55, sunken eyes, no teeth, and just a miserable looking face. I don't go around calling people ugly. But it was the same gaunt druggie look as the painter that ripped off my mom. He posted weird rants and yelled at people in his comments over petty things. I showed his picture to my friends and the rest of my family and my soft mannered, intelligent Norwegian philosopher friend of many years even took one look at the guy and said, "he looks like a neo-Nazi child molester." Another friend, that had been in jail, said, "stay the fuck away from him, he's bad news."

So while wondering if it was my "slutty" bikini pictures or the fact I had dated my crazy ex that made me so qualified to take on this dude in my cousin's eyes, I did searches on him and it showed he had a criminal record. I wasn't going to pay to read into it but I now knew, between his profile and public records that he was a recovering addict, had a record, and worked as a grocery store stocker which is a perfectly fine job, but again, one of the low paying basic jobs someone fresh out of the pen might get.

Since I'm a passive-aggressive psycho I confronted my cousin with all this. And she just says she knew the guy in high school and that he drank sometimes. She knew nothing of drugs, a record, or him missing teeth. And I wish that dude would open his damn mouth wider because in the one pic where I can see, it's just a drooping black hole. He was trying to be sexy in that photo and in the comments under his shirtless body with cheesy tribal tattoos he does the shrugging man-emote and says "I'm going through my slut phase, mkay?" Now my ex had no teeth and that was fine by me but he wasn't drugged out either and had a nice pink face. But what if I didn't check into this guy? What if I didn't think? What if I decided he was cute and let him into my life and got abused and ripped off again? Sure, people can rebuild and bounce back but it's still extremely common to relapse and hurt people all over again.

...Be careful... be so careful...

Mid-way through 2017, a lawyer emailed me a picture of the unfortunate painter so I could identify him and I honestly couldn't say it was the man. A picture several years old featured a smiling man with bright eyes and a flesh colored face. The man in my yard that day looked like a frozen corpse.

Past is past and looks are looks but when you lay down with dogs you wake up with fleas.

Be careful who you associate with, and who you introduce to people.

[alexeiadrae]

I’ve seen some criticism of Hopper in season 3 of Stranger Things.Some of this criticism I agree with 100% such as

1. Hopper went off the deep end by beating the Mayor up.

2. Hopper was possessive of and insensitive to Joyce.

3. Hopper was controlling and toxic to Eleven and Mike.

I agree with all of that. 100%. What I don’t agree with is that it was out of character, though I can understand why people would see that, because in season 2 we saw Hopper at his best. But let’s go back to season 1 for a moment. Spoilers below.

In season 1 Hopper is avoiding the pain of his daughter’s death. I say avoiding because he can’t even admit that she is dead. When people ask about her, he says she is living with her mother. He even pretends that she won a spelling bee at one point. Hopper is a man who is avoiding the pain and hurt of grief.

In addition to being unable to admit that his daughter is dead. Hopper drinks, abuses pills, smokes, etc. We tend to think of substance use as a moral issue, but really substance use is about trauma. When you start exploring the history of people who are addicted to drugs and alcohol, you will invariably find trauma (they might not recognize it as trauma, if I had a penny for everything someone said “my dad would beat me black and blue but it wasn’t abuse” I would be rich, so they may not identify what happened to them as trauma and abuse, but it is). People drink/consume drugs to avoid feeling hurt and other unpleasant emotions that trauma unleashes. Hopper drinks to avoid the pain of his daughter’s death.

Further, men like Hopper tend to be raised to believe that it is okay for men to express two emotions, and two emotions only. While men feel all of the same emotions that women do, culturally, particularly in 1980s Indiana, they are only allowed to express two. Happiness and anger. Any emotion that isn’t happy gets channeled into anger. Hence why Hopper doesn’t express sadness or hurt. It either becomes anger or he numbs it with alcohol and pills. Hopper does not know how to express hurt and sadness in healthy ways. Or anger for that matter.

And we do see Hopper acting overly aggressive in season 1. He beats up a man outside of a bar to try to get him to confess about tampering with Will’s body. And he punches a security guard to get into the morgue to examine Will’s body. And, most importantly for what happens in season 3, he gets away with it in season 1.

In season 2, Hopper is doing better. He’s taking care of Eleven, and experiencing the rush of love that you feel when you are creating a parent bond with a child. He shows that he can be emotionally sensitive, which I’ve seen people point to to argue that his inability to be emotionally sensitive in season 3 was out of character. Thing is, in season 2, Hopper was happy and he was at his best. He wasn’t trying to push away and numb the pain he was feeling. People are not consistent in their abilities to relate to other people. While I am very empathetic, when I am very stressed or ill, I don’t relate to others as well because I am not in a good place emotionally. 

Further, people think of recovery from loss and trauma as linear. They tend to think that once you get to a certain point you are healed, forever. This simply isn’t true. Recovery is more like a dance, with steps forward and backwards and off to the side. And unfortunately, when people start to get better, this idea that they are healed forever can end up hurting them when things start to derail, because they weren’t expecting it and because they figure why bother trying if it’s just going to get bad again. Hopper got better in season 2, but he was not cured of the trauma of his daughter’s death. Having a new child after one has died does not make that first child come back. Eleven is not Sarah, and the pain of her loss will still be with Hopper forever. Losing your child is not something you ever recover from, it’s something you learn to live with. And Hopper’s ways of living with this are self destructive. He has not learned healthy ways to grieve. He did not learn to cope with the pain of her loss. And this came back to bite him in season 3. For awhile, his focus was on taking care of Eleven, which meant he also had to take care of himself.

But Eleven started to grow up, and as teenager do, grow away from their parents. This triggered the feelings of loss that he felt when his daughter died, as well as the hurt. But instead of being mindful of that, or the fact that Eleven has a right to grow up, he reacted with anger and control and threats. If he could control Eleven, if he could scare Mike, then he could keep Eleven with him and not lose her like he lost Sarah. And, unfortunately, this is the inevitable outcome when people run from unpleasant emotions and aren’t taught to reflect on what those emotions are trying to tell them. They lash out in hurt and anger and end up causing more hurt and anger.

Already under the grip of hurt and anger, he tries to control Joyce and damages his relationship with her in the process. And then he goes and beats up the Mayor, etc, etc, etc. Going back to season 1, he got away with beating up people then. Hopper has powerful allies now. Between his rage and the fact that he’s gotten away with beating up corrupt operatives before, it makes sense that he would beat up the Mayor. Hopper was power tripping. And given that Eleven was starting to move away from him, I also think he was back at a point of not caring what happens to him.

I’ve seen people criticize the male characters in Stranger Things for not being progressive. Yet, it doesn’t make sense for them to be progressive. It’s this rock and a hard place. While there were emotionally sensitive men in the 1980s (my dad is one of them), Hopper is more typical of the men who grew up during his time period. And, frankly, the type of men I have worked with who work in blue collar jobs (or are dealing with the loss of those jobs) in modern times. Jim Hoppers still exist in America. There are still a lot of men like Hopper, and to me they demonstrate how the patriarchy hurts men as well as women.

Basically I see Hopper as a well developed character and I see his behavior in season 3 in line with the previous two seasons. He’s not an idealistic character, he’s someone you could find at a bar in rural Indiana today, flaws and all. And, if he is alive in season 4, I hope they don’t use his death as a way to reset the harm he did to Eleven, Mike and Joyce (and whoever else) in season 3. I would like to see him make some genuine growth and to work to change his self destructive habits.

Because just like boys need models of healthy masculinity, people need models for how to break free from self destructive habits and to process emotions in a healthy manner. People need to see that you can be in a very bad place and come through to a healthy one. And that, ultimately, is what I would like for Jim Hopper.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Mount Everest Ain’t Got Shit On Us (Fezco x fem!reader, part 19.) - The Aftermath, Part 2.

Description: You were always told that your life will be as you wish it to be if you’ll study enough. That it will pay off if you work hard. And some people were given you like a scary example of what will happen when you don’t obey. But sometimes it feels good to disobey.

A/N: Inspired by Post Malone’s Circles because I feel it is a happy song to sing when everything goes to shit.

Warnings: Suicide mentions, psychologistic and police investigations, Rue being fucking high.

Word count: 3.7 K

Read the rest here, babe: PART 1  PART 2  PART 3  PART 4  PART 5  PART 6  PART 7  PART 8  PART 9  PART 10  PART 11  PART 12  PART 13  PART 14  PART 15  PART 16  PART 17  PART 18

Masterlist and declaration: H E R E

Tagging: @charmed-asylum, @jeyramarie, @pantherxrogers, @analia-analia-analia​

If you remember and I remember correctly, I told you about the lottery called life. The one you can't win, the one you can't give up on. The worst lottery you could actually be a part of.

Sometimes, it does happen rarely, you get a second chance. You scratch the ticket and hold it in your hands, looking at it with an opened mouth; or that's the thing you're expected to do.

Sometimes, your life isn't such a lottery as it is a secret formula that you need to be careful to manipulate with. There is a lot of numbers and letters you don't know the meaning of and every little change in it can make an explosion which will make your life completely different. That usually happens when you win the second chance in the Russian roulette.

You couldn't exactly name what had woken you up. Then the only thing you could remember was that you felt how your feet got almost extremely cold and that you were freezing at the moment.

Your body and mind felt dizzy like it didn't even belong to you. Every muscle in your body hurt like fuck. You couldn't even move. And your knee wasn't exactly in its position either. What... The fuck was going on?

The last thing you could remember was that it was a November night and that you went to Fezco's after... Fran pushed you on a fucking cabinet. And then something happened - but to be honest, your brain was too tired to show you that shit. Plus you were drugged our of your mind - both the night and the morning you have regained consciousness.

When you looked out of the fucking window, you were trying to see what is out there for a long time, it was all white - you were afraid that you have cocaine hallucinations, but it was... Snow. It was fucking snow. 

You tried to look around nervously, furrowing. As you wanted to talk, your mouth felt extremely dry. As you wanted to move, your muscles didn't respond. But the change in your biorhythmic called the nurse to your room. She went into your room at a slow pace, playing with her keys, but just as she saw you, it looked like she just saw a ghost.

“Doctor Mortensen?” - She screamed at the top of her lungs as she ran through the corridor where you laid. - “Doc? She has wakened up. That young girl. Yeah. That one with the bruised liver and stomach, fractured and elbow and knee. Yeah.” - She spoke quickly as she thought that you don’t hear her clearly. But it made you freak out - your breath raised up and you tried to speak. At the moment, you finally knew why you couldn't talk. It was that something you had in your mouth and nose. 

“Hello, miss Y/L/N.” - A young, female doctor with Asian looks came to your room with a smile. She was beautiful, at least you saw her as beautiful, and she started to control every inch of your body. The needles were stretching your veins in a numb way, straining your skin on both your knuckles and your elbow hole. It should hurt, yet you were numb to it. Oh right. Probably morphine. - “ I am doctor Mortensen and I'm taking care of you for the last two weeks of your hospital stay. How are you feeling?” - She started to take the tube out of your throat - wonder that you didn't throw up at the spot. 

As soon as it was out of your throat, you started to cough. Before you could speak, the nurse gave you something to drink. It hurt and scratched so much. 

“How long have I been there?” - You looked at the doctor and she changed the vitamines which were pumped into your blood flow to help the nurse out. It was a young doctor, still full of those false, sweet ideals and maneuvers.

“Since the day it happened, since the thirteenth of November. Are you able to recall anything that happened that night?” - She asked you worriedly. You wanted to chuckle and ask her, why she asks you such a dumb question, but then you stopped and actually tried to remember what happened. 

It was completely blurry, the only thing you knew was that you were scared to your death - and the numb pain and cold feeling going through your body. 

“I... I actually can’t remember a single thing, doctor. I’m sorry.” - You said quietly and continued with drinking the water from the glass the nurse gave you. 

“Okay then, I will send our psychologist, doctor Hill. He will help you with recovering your memory and trust me, you need to remember.” - Doc Mortensen smiled at you. You slowly nodded with a frown. - “If you feel dizzy, it is completely fine. We tried to give you not much of morphine, sometimes we gave you something different, so your body wouldn't get addicted to it. But if you feel signs of dizziness, headache or an urge to puke, just tell our nurses. Your body is starting to detoxicate itself. Ok?” 

“Yeah.” - You smiled silently. Everything started slowly - nobody was allowed to visit you, the first two days you weren't even eating normal food; only drank water and ate something... Weird. But as soon as you could talk normally, eat normally and sit without having morphine injected into your veins, doctor Hill was sitting in your room with a notepad on his knee and a pen in his hand.

It was a young, smiling and seriously handsome doctor with a well-built body and black-ish hair. He had white doctor trousers and a black t-shirt. You smiled, because you would try something if you weren't dating... Fezco.

You stopped yourself from eating the pudding they gave you to eat. Fezco. Something happened to Fezco - you had a feeling that you saw it. That terrified you. 

“Hey, miss Y/N. Can I call you by your name? Is that a problem?” - Doctor Hill asked patiently. You nodded and tried to concentrate. You were weird since you have wakened up - quiet because you barely had talked to anyone except nurses or doctors and your brain was surrounded in a mist. You tried to remember what happened that night, but something was keeping you away from it. 

Today is December 18th, alright? You were in a coma for the last month and your body was bruised, you had broken bones, fractures, hematomas, and ruptures. How are you feeling now?” - He tilted his head to his shoulder like a little boy and smiled. 

“Doctor Mortensen told me that my knee is still kind of out of place and my knuckles are a bit fucked up too. Plus I have something with my head and my memory is fuzzy.” - You talked slowly and then you looked next to your bed. They gave you some morphine again because you told them that your knee is still weirdly hurting. the truth was you loved to drift off from the reality. You had something you called the “Rue” tendencies. - “But I’m kinda good thanks to my little pal here.” 

“I see. Can you remember anything that happened that night? Feelings, anything that took place?” - Doctor asked you again. Doctor Mortensen couldn't give you the therapy you needed - as she said. But you could talk to doctor Hill. 

“I remember that I was at home and that something pissed me off, so I left to go into my boyfriend’s apartment. I know that he had someone there, someone he knew. And after that, I know I was terrified. But I told you, it's fuzzy.” - You exhaled out loud and closed your eyes. 

“Okay. We will try something now, okay?” - Doctor Hill sat closer to you and wrote some information to his notepad. - “Now, lay down or at least lean down to the bed, close your eyes and imagine your bedroom. Are we there?” - You hummed in response as you concentrated. - “Let’s say, that... You are listening to your favorite song, just relaxing... What happens next? Say whatever comes naturally to you.” 

“A knock on my window. Somebody knocks on my window.” - You answered and fully dive into your own mind. You had only a huge tee and panties on, laid on your back and listened to a song as the leaves were falling down from the trees. It felt so real. It felt so real that you would say that you were there once. 

“Right, great. Who is it?” - The doctor’s voice slipped into your imagination. - “Would get off the bed for me and try to look at them?”

So you imagined as your feet slipped off the bed and you stood up to look into the garden. 

“I would expect Rue or Jules because Fez doesn’t have the time to come... But... I think... That it is my sister.” - You furrowed and didn't know why she is in that imagination. 

“Alright. You have one sister, am I right? Her name is Fran.” - You hummed again. - “Will you let her in or not?” 

“Of course I would, its cold outside and she... She isn't looking well.” - You nodded and Doctor wrote something down. 

“What happens next?” - His voice slipped into your ear again. 

“She lays down to my bed. We are talking a bit, but then she is mad... At... Me.” - You say slowly and then you stop yourself. At that moment, some memory opens up in your head. Fran was drunk and drugged again when you two talked. You had an argument and then she pushed you down on a cabinet. No. You couldn't tell that to the doctor. Fran would have problems because he would tell to other people. 

You were lying to a doctor. Jesus fucking Christ. 

“Why is she mad, can you tell me?” - His voice intensified. He knew something. That motherfucker knew that she hurt you.

“No. I don't know... But after that... I get up and slip on my tee I forgot on the floor. Mom asks me if everything is alright, I tell her that it is okay and because I am angry with the argument I had with Fran, I exit the house by the window. But... I hurt my head. My temple is bleeding.” - You open your eyes slowly and take a look at the doctor. You were able to manipulate a manipulator with a degree. You sly motherfucker.

But after that, you only knew you saw Fez at his place and that he had someone over. And after there, there was only terror. You were truly in the dark just as much as Mr. Young's doctor was.

"The great thing is that you don't have any sort of amnesia. But it is really important to me that you'll be completely honest with me, alright?" - Hill asked you and looked you in the eyes. - "Were you honest with me?"

"Doctor, I didn't even remember that any of it happened and you just got it out of me. Can I even be more honest with you?" - Your eyebrows rose a bit. You were lying, of course, but you couldn't just tell him that your addicted sister fucking pushed you. That would be fucking disgusting to just tell on her. You still felt the need to protect Fran, still giving you a chance... After a chance... After a chance.

"Well, try to focus on that night. You need to tell us everything you know. There was a murder near the place you were hit and the police think that your side of the story could be useful. They'll come and talk to you." - He got up with a sigh. Could he tell that you were fucking around? You didn't know. You hoped he wasn't having a clue. - "But enjoy your pudding now, I heard that they're delicious. And I have a surprise for you." - He opened the door to your room nonchalantly and gestured to someone that that should come in. - "I'll see you tomorrow again, Y/N."

It was Rue looking like a piece of fucking crap. You could tell since the first move she made that she's high on something again. But she was a good pretender, so the doctor didn't notice. She nodded at the doctor and shoved her fists into the pockets of her coat.

She waited until he left the room and she shut the door.

"Ya had an appointment with doc hottie as well, huh?" - She said with a contented smile and sat down on me chair opposite of you, where doctor Hill sat. - "He tried to convince me dat drugs are bad before I went to rehab. Sorta nice guy."

"Rue, what you've taken? You're fucking high. And don't you try to lie to me." - You furrowed at her and she just giggled. Her eyes were kinda dead, and if you wouldn't know her, you wouldn't even notice that her face is strangely sweaty and swollen.

"Lex or Val. Not sure." - She put her ankle on your bed, grinning at you. You rolled your eyes and put the pudding away. Rue immediately took it and started to eat it as if she hasn't seen food in a couple days. She looked like it.

"Why are you here? High in a hospital, for god's fucking sake?" - You whisper-shouted at her angrily.

"Gee, haven't talked to yo ass in a month and the first thin' yo do is to yell at me? Fuckin' rude, man. I ran fuckin' out of school just to see ya." - She laughed. She was out of the fucking world. - "Came to tell ya somethin' before cops come to play truth or dare with ya. Fezzy..." - She breathed out loud. You immediately sat up and the beeping became more intense as you started to panic.

"Is he alright? Where is he? He's the one who..." - You started to cry and high Rue leaned in to hold your face in her hands. She was giggling, shushing you. You didn't find that fucking funny at all. But Rue was too high to know. So you pushed away slightly since your hands were barely working.

You were getting rehab almost every day so you could feed yourself again and walk. Your muscles were too tensed and stuck since you laid in a bed for a month.

"He's fine. That boy is fine and he can't wait to see ya, babe. He's the one who shot fuckin' Mouse down." - She said with a nod. She wasn't lying at that point. Fezco was completely all right and carrying on with his drug business. And he cried when he heard you woke up.

But there was no time for that fucking love story you two have. There were more important things to go through at the moment.

"So if yo don't want his fuckin' ass rotten in jail, better listen to every single word Imma tell ya." - All of a sudden, Rue looked sober and serious, which made you serious too. But you were still sobbing - Fezco was somewhere out there, fine and alright, safe and sound and still in love with you. You couldn't wait to see him.

"We won't talk about dat part where Fran pushed ya on the fuckin' cabinet because she's already too fucked up to do any good. Leave 'er out, ok?" - Rue’s lips came too close to your ear as she started whispering. You cleaned your face from tears and nodded again.

"Yo need to say that Mouse made ya do everything. Tell 'em I and Jules were there and that we saw it. Nate and Maddy were waiting outside to pick us up for a late-night brunch or whatever. Mouse made ya do PCP, repeat after me." - She took your hand and held it tightly.

"You, Jules and I came to Fezco's. Mouse made me do PCP and Nate and Maddy were waiting for us. Why the fuck should I talk about Nathan? Was he there?" - You wondered and Rue rolled her eyes.

"Better not be an ass to dat dickhead. He's helpin' out big time. Okay. You took da PCP and then you don't have any idea what was up." - She stared you down.

They have already told the police that you were drugged, but you needed to confirm it, so they would not take you seriously at all.

"Okay. I, you and Jules went to Fezco's, Nate and Maddy were waiting outside, but when we were inside, Mouse made me took a pill. After that, I don't know anything?" - You repeated, not sure if you told every detail right.

Rue sat back, smiled and still hold your hand. Jesus fucking Christ, she thought. You were the last piece of the puzzle.

"Should I tell that he had a gun?" - You rose your eyebrows at Rue.

"Oh yea, I forgot dat itsy bitsy thin'. He had a gun. Good thinkin'. How did ya think of dat?" - Rue looked at you. It would be fucked if you didn't tell them he was aiming at you.

"He was a dealer. They always have one." - You smiled sadly. Then someone knocked on your window - it were to police officers, a young lady, and a tall man. You nodded at the unsaid question and they came in.

"My name is Anna Diaz, this is my colleague Cole Treshman, we're from the local police department. May we talk to you?" - She smiled. You liked her, she looked nice and you liked that.

"Sure, it's about the night, right?" - You said quietly with fear in your voice. Anna just simply nodded, not adding anything else.

"We have to ask you to leave, miss..." - Anna looked at Rue like she knew her from somewhere. Rue just stood up and shook her shoulders playfully, not giving Anna a proper answer. Rue leaned down and kissed you, then she left the room. That didn't make Anna change her posture or the look she was giving you.

"It will be quick and simple, we just have a few questions." - Treshman said in a cold voice and you nodded. So there was the nice and bad good tactic, nice.

"Can you tell me what happened, sweetie?" - Anna came closer and sat on your bed partly.

"So..." - You coughed nervously. Anna just nodded with a smile. Like it was alright to be nervous. - "It's pretty blurry, but I left the house after having an argument with my sister."

"Were there any friends who were with you?" - Anna asked with true concern. You shook your head a bit.

"Not at the moment. But when I got to my boyfriend's apartment, his name's Fezco, Jules and Rue were there with me." - You nodded and looked at both of them. Anna nodded and looked at Treshman.

"Was there anyone who you planned on meeting?" - Treshman asked.

"Yeah. Nate Jacobs and Maddy Perez. We were supposed to take some food and chill a bit after that. I was fucked up from having an argument with Fran." - You nodded again.

"What is your relationship with those two? I mean... Are they your family? Friends?" - Anna asked with her eyebrows rose up. Jesus. Have you fucked up something?

"Both of them are my classmates. We know each other from school." - You said quietly. Fucking Nate Jacobs. Couldn't they beg to help anyone but Nate and Maddy? Obviously, they couldn't.

"What happened after you entered your boyfriend's door? Can you tell us?" - Treshman spoke from the other side of the room; he quietly stepped to the window and looked on the falling snow.

"There was a guy, they called him Mouse, and he had some pills with him. He had a gun and made me took one of it. After that, there's a blackout in my head. I don't know what happened after that." - You said quietly, looking at the both of them with your best innocent face.

“So you don't know who was shooting? Could your boyfriend have a gun with him by any chance?” - Treshman asked in a calm matter, but you could tell from the position of his body that he is disappointed in your utterance.

“I don’t even know that someone was shooting.” - You sighed and looked him in the eyes. - “And my boyfriend never told me that he is possessing a gun. I don't believe that he had one with him.” 

“Well then,” - Treshman wanted to ask one last question when the silence was interrupted by Anna’s walkie talkie starting to break as someone spoke on the other side. She gave both you and Treshman a look and the man stood up in front of your bed while she walked onto the other side of the room. 

“I can hear you. Yeah. I just finished with the young girl who was hit by a car while drugged. Yeah. I understand - we’re on our way.” - Anna looked at Treshman and smiled at you. But she was stressed all of a sudden. 

“Thank you for talking to us. We need to leave now.” - She said loudly but then turned to Treshman as she thought you cant hear her. - “We have a reported attempt at suicide. Fran Y/L/N. Trying to get any information out of this girl is pointless, shes traumatized and doesn't remember a good portion of that night.” 

But blood in your veins froze down completely.

Fran tried to take her own life.

[kageyuji]

(Here comes the biggest ship request ever, I apologize in advance.) hi!! Please and thank you for a ship for Twilight, Maze Runner, Friends, Buzzfeed Unsolved, Harry Potter, Divergent, Percy Jackson, Good Place and Pirates! (You are by all means allowed to tell me to go screw myself, and only do a select few or even none of these- I know it’s a lot!) I am a straight female, I’m 5’7, on the chubby side, I have long brown hair, brown eyes, I’m a Slytherin, I love animals but am a cat person-

I got this request really late at night and for whatever reason the “you are by all means allowed to tell me to go screw myself” sent me, so thanks for that lmao.

Also, I didn’t end up doing Unsolved or Pirates because I couldn’t decide, I hope that’s okay :)

For Twilight, I ship you with Embry!

Even if you like cats especially, you love animals and...well...

Embry has a weird respect for the arts. A lot of the Quileute tribe elders are really artistic, so they do a lot of drawings and occasionally paintings. So, he has learned to love art. Yours is no different.

Plus, he really likes stories, he could sit and listen to the campfire stories until dawn if he was allowed.

So he’d like to read your writing, he’d be hanging on to every word.

I can’t explain why, but Embry is definitely the one to enjoy music. He likes to listen to you sing.

He’s really understanding about your anxiety. Before he shifted, he had a lot of anxiety too.

He and the pack are really tightly knit, so don’t worry about having to meet too many new people.

Everyone is really nice, but Embry would warn them to back off if you seemed to be getting uncomfortable

He likes your personality too, though

You’re just so bubbly and sarcastic, it’s something that he can definitely get behind.

Embry likes to stay up late, too. He does probably get a bit of an earlier start though, just because he has a lot of energy.

But he loves to stay up late with you, talking or doing whatever.

He’s also one of the few people in the pack that really like video games, so if you’d want to stay up late owning him in whatever game you want to play, he’d be fine with that too.

For Maze Runner, I ship you with Newt!

Art isn’t really something that’s common in the Glade, there had been a few canvases that had come up in the box, but no one really knew what they were for.

Then you showed up, and started creating drawings and paintings. All of the boys love your work, but Newt in particular. He just can’t fathom how you’ve managed to do that with just your hands and a paintbrush.

He also really likes your singing voice. A lot of the boys came up with little limericks, especially after drinking a little too much, but then he hears you singing he’s kind of surprised.

It’s just not something that happens a lot in the Glade, and he was definitely into the arts before he lost his memories.

Newt definitely understands depression and anxiety, so when he saw how sad or anxious you got sometimes, he probably got close to you. He’d tell you how he got his limp, and teach you ways that he’s learned to deal with being anxious.

Newt likes staying up later, too. He’s not a runner anymore and therefore he doesn’t have to get up so early, so he’d probably stay up late with you.

He likes your humor, it reminds him of how bright the world must be outside of the maze (I’ll see myself out lmao)

For Friends, I ship you with Chandler!

He’s definitely a cat person, just try and convince me otherwise

You two would be so sarcastic together

He can’t draw or paint very well, but he does like all kinds of art.

He likes to look at your drawings and paintings, he could spend an afternoon just looking through your sketchbook.

He also isn’t the best at singing, but he tries.

He’d definitely be the guy that sings along with his girlfriend, purposely sounding horrible just because he wants too.

Chandler is pretty intune with mental health, he learned a lot about it whenever he was trying to recover from his cigarette addiction.

He finds your sarcasm really funny, he’s just one of those people who likes sarcasm. Not to mention that you two sometimes have complete conversations using sarcasm and sarcasm only.

When you wake up all grumpy, he can’t help himself but to laugh and poke fun at how cute you look.

Especially when the two of you stayed up making crappy jokes the night before, and he keeps remembering them.

For Harry Potter, I ship you with Harry!

He doesn’t care that you’re Slytherin, though let’s just say he does find it amusing when Malfoy gets pissed because Harry got a girlfriend before Malfoy.

Harry was told he was nothing for his entire childhood, so he understands about all of your anxieties and depression.

He’d be there to comfort you, he just wants you to feel safe and happy.

He also doesn’t like to be around people that much, he likes his friends but everyone knows him but he doesn’t know most of them.

So he doesn’t really try to get you to hang out with him in big crowds, he gets that people are overwhelming.

Ron and Hermione are really the only people he’s close with, so don’t worry too much about having to meet too many people.

Harry doesn’t stay up too late, but he has pulled a few all nighters to finish schoolwork he forgot about.

He has always found the paintings at Hogwarts fascinating, but he will admit that they talk an awful lot and can be annoying.

So, he likes your art — any form of it, actually — but he could stare at especially your paintings all day.

For Divergent, I ship you with Four!

He’s a Dauntless, but we all know he’s definitely the one that’s the most repspectful and understanding.

He understands mental health a lot more than anyone else in Dauntless, or any of the factions really.

So he’s really supportive, always watching out for you. He gets really defensive when Eric talk down to you, and he always ask you to make sure you’re okay afterwords.

The closest thing to art in Dauntless are tattoos and body mods, and maybe a few street acts, but Four really likes any kind of art.

He can’t help but watch the colors of your paintings, or listen to the sound of your voice. It’s so angelic and pretty, especially compared to everything else.

Dauntless usually have a set time for lights-out, but Four has been known to break that rule. He’d love to stay up late with you, doing whatever you wanted to.

He finds you really cute when you wake up all grumpy, he just can’t help it.

He likes your sense of humor, too. Most people don’t like to speak up to him, he accidentally scares them, so it’s weirdly nice for someone to sarcastically tell him off.

For Percy Jackson, I ship you with Leo!

The Crackhead Energy

I feel like he would definitely built you a robot cat, since pets aren’t really allowed at camp.

Everyone has their fair share of a tragic backstory at camp, but Leo is definitely the one who understands you the most out of everyone.

After his mother passed, he realized a lot of things about mental health and now he’s very intune to you.

He teaches you/helps you with breathing exercises for your anxiety a lot

On a happier note—

You two are so wild together.

Both of you are incredibly sarcastic, which can lead to some pretty interesting conversations together.

Believe it or not, Leo is actually pretty good a drawing

A good amount of design has to go into his machines and even tiny gadgets, so he’s honed his sketchwork over the years

Clean lineart and paintings are different stories

Leo is also pretty dramatic, he’s a great actor. Well, not crying, emotional tv-actor, he’s more of an animated, over-exaggerated stage play actor.

So he likes to run lines with you, and show up to your rehearsals. If someone is out for the day, he’d happily fill in and say their lines.

For The Good Place, I ship you with Jason!

Again, it’s all about the pure Crackhead Energy that both of you have

He’s lowkey kinda dumb, but his hearts in the right place, okay?

He really likes animals too!

Honestly he could spend an entire afternoon at the animal shelter with you, just hanging out with all the cute animals.

He stays up late a lot too

He’s probably playing games, let’s be honest here.

That being said, he would absolutely love to ruin anything close to a sleep schedule with you

He loves playing video games with you, he probably lets you win occasionally but otherwise he’s just losing by accident.

He’s definitely one of those boyfriends that sing along with you

But like...really horribly (horrible on purpose, of course)

Jason gets it if you don’t like to meet too many new people, thought he does tend to like any party he can get into

Don’t worry, though. He’s always down to stay home and cuddle.

[hide-the-cutlery]

The next two days are going to suck.

I’m out of pills. Well, not completely out. I have about 8 of my anxiety pills left — to last me 3 weeks. I’m supposed to take 3 a day. So I have those, and some otc pills that take me out of myself a little, but I have to be careful with those, because, for me, they can trigger panic. I can pick up my pain meds in 2 days, but they usually makes me puke. I thought I was doing better this month with my usage, but I guess not. Then there’s more anxiety pills that supposedly help with my alcohol cravings, which aren’t a controlled substance, so I can probably get those next week. None of this really matters, because I don’t have shit now.

I’m so medicated. Even if I took everything as prescribed, I’d probably be an incoherent mess. I’m a master manipulator with doctors, which I’m simultaneously proud of and ashamed of. I know how to get what I want, within reason. It’s all about building a rapport with them and finding that sweet spot where they believe you need what you’re getting and never trying to push for more. I tried a few times to get another of my anxiety pills a day, but my psychiatrist pushed back and changed something else instead, so I knew I had to drop it.

What boggles my mind is that I’m a fucking alcoholic (addict), and these medical professionals still throw potentially dangerous, addicting medication at me. What pisses me off is how much they don’t listen. I saw my psychiatrist yesterday and brought a list of things I wanted to talk about with him, since the appointments go so fast. I wanted to explain my racing thoughts keeping me from completing simple tasks. My complete lack of impulse control. My delusional beliefs that the universe is trying to get back at me for being a shitty person. That I’ll stay up all night (sometimes for 2-3 nights in a row) and do things like clean. Even if I lay down, turn off everything, and pray for sleep, I just can’t. The fact that I didn’t finish my cleaning (or whatever I started) gets in my head and makes rest impossible. His solution? Let’s increase your seroquel again.

Scary things are starting to happen. Sometimes I go on a “bender” in a store(s), and I don’t remember when, how, what I got, etc. My memory needs to be jogged sometimes. This past time I got twelve bottles of body wash, for a total of 29. And that’s not including hairspray, hair gel, hair accessories, dry shampoo, lotion, makeup, nail polish, and a fuckton of clothes. I am out of control. It’s funny — I want to lose a little more weight (I just lost ~25lbs), but then all the clothes I’ve acquired won’t fit, so the fruits of my labor will be spoiled. I’ll have to start over. That is literally my thought process, and it’s so fucked. Stores know me. They watch me. They follow me. They know my fucking name and know what I do. And honestly, I just don’t care. I mean I care because I don’t want to get caught again, but the odds are seemingly in my favor. Even the LP woman where I actually got the cops called on me said “we’ve been watching you a long time, but you’re too good.” Not saying that as something to brag about, just recalling what happened. Also, I recognize when someone is trying to manipulate me. She was trying to get me to confess to other things because what they must have had on me would never hold up in court. I am not stupid. I don’t know what I did that time to allow them to catch me, but clearly I slipped up somewhere. Either that, or they just went with it, hoping I’d confess. Which I did. I cooperated; hopefully it helps me in the end. I was watching trashy tv this morning, and a woman mentioned she went to jail for two months for petty theft. The host of the show even seemed shocked by that. Maybe she had priors or other factors that played into it. But yeah, I can’t go to jail! It’s not an excuse, and if you look at my actions alone, yeah, maybe I deserve to go to jail, too. But (prepare yourself for some massive excuses) I’m sick. I don’t do it because I want material things. I don’t think I am above the law. I’m not trying to make some pathetic stand against capitalism. I just can’t control my impulses, and I’m sick. I’m working with my therapist, my psychiatrist (at least I make an effort to), and some women in AA to get help, and nothing is working. I thought after I got caught, I’d stop, and for a while, I did. But that apparently wasn’t enough, either. It’s a compulsion — fighting it is futile. It actually started out as excessive spending, but I ran out of the means to keep that up, so now it’s this. I know it’s because of my issues with addiction and mental health. I don’t see it any differently than drinking, drug use, sex, or whatever. It’s an alternative to drinking. I can’t do that anymore, so this filled the void. Every time I have spent money excessively or done this, I haven’t been drinking. The object of my addiction (for me, at least), bounces around until I can’t do that thing anymore, and my brain holds up a sign that says NEXT in glowing, red letters. Like a “no vacancy” sign at a shitty motel.

I know before I went on that little tangent, I was listing some things that are scaring me. Sometimes, after I wake up, I’ll check my phone and find that I tried to write, but it’s total jibberish. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing time. I don’t know where the days go; I wake up and (try to) go to bed. I’ll start to do something, my mind will go blank, and I won’t remember what I was doing. I’m stumbling all over the place. I’ll try to have conversations (usually in the morning), and I’ll be able to hear myself slurring. I seem to talk without thinking. An example: I’ll be in a room with only one other person, talking to them, but it will feel like part of myself has separated from me and is screaming “You LIAR! Shut the fuck up! That’s not true and you know it. Quit pulling things out of your ass and tell the fucking truth. Drop the whole facade; you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, nor do you believe what you’re saying. You’re pathetic. Spineless. You’re fake.” I swear I couldn’t pick myself out of a lineup sometimes.

I feel that third presence with me frequently, but recently it hit a new level of intensity. I had a few job interviews a couple weeks ago and I found myself exaggerating the truth so much that it made me feel uncomfortable. All I could hear in my head was “LIAR LIAR LIAR”. (And forcing myself to make unwavering eye contact made me feel ill.) I tried to tell myself that’s just how interviews go, and that they weren’t really lies at all, just maybe a few embellishments, but I cannot listen to myself when I’m being rational. Irrationality is really all I know lately. I ended up taking a position with a company that seemed sketchy as hell, but I was desperate. I’m tired of being broke and needed the money so badly that it would have been absolutely foolish of me to decline the offer. The me who showed up to those interviews and got hired was not the me who showed up on the first day. The embellishments and feigned self-confidence were gone — all that was left was pitiful, anxious me with one foot out the door in case I had a panic attack and who won’t look you in the face, much less make eye contact. The more and more I learned about the position and the company, the more I wanted out. It turned out to be door-to-door sales, which was not how the job was described in the interviews. If there ever were a job that wasn’t for me, that’d be it. The leader of my team obviously noticed and basically let me quit. So I’m back to being unemployed. Oh well, it was a life lesson. I’m also back to being broke (not that I ever wasn’t). I didn’t even get paid for my training! I’m doing worse and worse things to get a few bucks here and there. It’s shameful. I would have declined the position on the spot, but my family is pushing me so hard to go back to work full time that I couldn’t in good conscience say thanks, but no thanks. I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t think I’m ready. Sadly, you can’t look at someone and see what’s going on in their mind. If they could do that, I’m pretty sure they’d back off. I’ve been telling them I have to make my own decisions, and my priority is getting some help with my mental health. That didn’t really go over well. They think I’m capable because I had my shit (somewhat) together a few years ago, but it’s not a few years ago anymore. I’m still recovering and struggling. The tension in this house is almost tangible, and it’s completely my fault. Well, it’s my fault in the sense that I’m not where they want or expect me to be. It’s not that I don’t want to work or contribute financially. I do. I want a normal existence, but “this life I loathe is in my way”.

So because of all this, I’ve decided to look at getting a complete psych evaluation. I’ve never been given any kind of diagnoses aside from issues with depression, anxiety, and substance abuse. I know that’s not all that’s going on. I’ve had potential diagnoses thrown around like bipolar disorder, BDP, OCD tendencies, suppressed memories of trauma... I’m sure the pills don’t help (“but it sure is funny”). I take them because I can’t handle day to day functioning. Every day it feels like there’s a crisis, and I’ve felt this way long before I ever took a swig of vodka or popped some pills. When I discovered those things, nothing seemed as intense anymore. I stopped jumping at my own shadow. No wonder I’m an addict.

[blahsome]

March 18 2020, yet another big milestone. 25 years. A quarter of a century. Is it a big deal or are numbers arbitrary and it’s the same amount of a deal as it ever has been? I can’t publish everything I’ve written down for this year without feeling guilty, but I also can’t step on no toes all the time. And now, I will also feel guilty posting this when there's a pandemic occurring, but, I am trapped at home with little to do other than edit and re-edit this writing to be suitable enough for the public. I started writing this on April 9, 2019, too early to start my 25th anniversary writing? I’ll guess not. So here it is, my yearly open letter to my mother with intermittent ramblings and poems about my experience moving though life as the person I am and my perceptions as a flawed but resilient female. It’s like if I put it out there, maybe I’ll somehow reach her and she will somehow let me know. Highs and lows, as usual. Just after 2 years off the sauce I had a bigger ‘aha moment’ than putting down any bottles, though one wouldn’t have happened without the other. I realized drinking wasn’t my real problem to begin with. It was people, and my desperate need for their acceptance and approval. My need to be recognized and valued instead of coddled and unconsciously kept in a box. My need to control the outcome of situations and stepping on toes in the process. After so long being alcohol free I came to see that I had to start living for me. In early June 2019 a dear friend turned me on to a book called CoDependent No More. In maybe a week’s time I absorbed every word, the narcissist in me was almost convinced that I’d written it myself, it resonated so deeply. The following week I started attending CoDA meetings. Now that so many of my grievances and ailments make sense, I only wish I’d known sooner that it was okay to live life with me as my number one priority. I didn’t know before that I didn’t have to feel responsible for other people’s actions or inactions, but my self worth had been dependent on it. I’m 95% sure my mother was CoDependent, and with that consideration, I’m able to understand her life choices better and therefore navigate my own with slightly better foresight. Wikipedia says “Codependency is a behavioral condition in a relationship where one person enables another person's addiction, poor mental health, immaturity, irresponsibility, or under-achievement. Among the core characteristics of codependency is an excessive reliance on other people for approval and a sense of identity.” Now, that’s just one definition. There are many charastics to pick and choose from, and let me tell you, us codependents (I can only speak for myself) can be picky and choosy. Some people define codependency as a disease because if it goes untreated it only gets worse. I’m trying to break a lifetime of habits. Hi, My name is Blossom and I’m CoDependent. Every Monday night I go to a meeting where a group of women gather and we all try to work on ourselves to let go of whatever unmanageable ailments are keeping us shackled. It’s humbling and it fills me with hope. It empowers me to continuously seek change and clarity. Codependency is a tough one to recover from, as you can’t quit people. Once I had a name for this problem, every love song sounded different and every frustration made sense. I became able to recognize crazy making and slow down and see that I didn’t have control and things had become unmanageable. In doing so, I was able to step back and make better decisions for myself and my life and that’s how this whole last year unfolded more in my favor than any year previous. I worked on detaching and I started living for myself. March is a hard month for me. I sometimes feel so undeserving of a skin to be settled in. I writhe around in my persistent and annual grief. I start getting anxious in February wondering how it will appear this year. This March is particularly hard. I moved into a house with strangers and rarely stay there. I’ve got no place of my own to grieve, and with COVID-19 amongst us, I don’t want to take up any more emotional space while the world is feeling its current devestations and fears. My hopes for 2019 were to have more highs than lows, make my amends and reconciliations, and to keep my head mostly above water. And that was mostly the case. My aunt told me shortly after my post last year that my mom had self imposed low self esteem (now I recognize this as codependency). Watching home videos of her I feel like I could see stress in her face and I think about what she wrote in her journal about worry making her face look funny and how she didn’t want anyone to feel as she did. Maybe because it was a different time she felt like she couldn’t talk about her anxieties and had to bottle them up. I’m thinking about all the time I’ve spent transfixed by being a motherless daughter and trying to figure out where I fit into the word. I’m thinking about how long I spent tending to my father's bent and dusty wings, thinking I’d needed to see one of my parents fly so that I could’ve learned how it’s done. I’m in some required college to career success class that’s making me question my path, as if stress wasn’t doing that already. I’m laying in bed wishing that I’d figured out sooner that my wings were fine regardless of anyone else’s. I wish you were here so I could tell you all about everything. And so you could do the same. And so we could share the load. I quit smoking finally. Now my only vice is other people’s problems and trying to fix them to no avail. The eternal heartbreak I mentioned in my last letter makes more sense now. And the boy who told me to turn off the lights on my birthday sent me a podcast that said something about only being able to be loved as much as you’re willing to be vulnerable. And I think we’re all scared to be completely honest about how shitty we are, so we just perpetuate the shittiness and stay closed and unloveable. Early August 2019- I’m off track as usual, probably malnourished, definitely exhausted. This morning I was crying, I thought I wouldn’t be able to pull it together and that my eyes would be red when I got to my first job of the day. I think I was mourning. Things are going to change so much. I won’t have any more free time. I have to restructure everything. Which I think is what I wanted, but what a learning curve. I still have desperate hopes of creating a camp for motherless daughters someday. And it has to be accessible to all. But lord knows how far off in the future it is. At this time my feet are seldom beneath me, I’m sprinting forwards and if I stop I will stumble. I have to figure out my shit first I guess, and I’m putting in the worrrk. Or trying to at least. At a CoDA meeting a woman was talking about learning how to wield her anger, a thought that made me tremble. I liked the sound of it, as I have so much, and if we could turn it into a power, a force for good...it’d be all over. But I’m stifled by it, embarrassed of it. When I cancel plans it's usually because I’m embarrassed about how angry I am over something out of my control, and I can’t come down. Everyone was relatable, everyone seemed to be making progress, even if at this time it looked like a breakdown. They told their stories and I cringed inwardly, thinking of what I would have done in their situation. The time for change is now, I’m shaking in my boots. Some poetry and prose: My broken heart painted my world red slandering your name ensuring I’m to be seen as a fool who sobs wolf My depressed history understands every bit of where you come from like we have the same veins My logical self tells me that’s your burden to bear but I do everything I can to fabricate your crutches and excuse your bad behavior - Codependent Cowgirl Uncharmable. You only want your ex cause you think that’s where you can be yourself, but really that’s where was born the version of yourself you hate the most. Here I am standing strong, aching for my newest weakness. You’re having none of it. If I unclench my jaw and take a deep breath Tears roll down my cheeks THIS is relaxing So I tense back up And jump back into my cortisol spiral There is too much to get done to spend even one second thinking about you Six Sundays have passed since I’ve seen you last Codependency writes all my prose and all my sonnets All my pros and wilted bluebonnets - Go hard or go home Or go hard and stay at home, for forever because you thought you and your home would be each other’s salvation because home was the only thing that ever willingly invited you to change it and was better for it. But home got too heavy and home wouldn’t change on its own. And all the changes you did accomplish didn’t prove your worth. Plagued by nostalgia and sentiment Chronic grief Frozen in grief, and just when I begin to thaw, the temperature drops again Perpetually stressed What if to lose a parent as a child, is to lose the present. Because then you are trapped dreading the uncertainty of the future and wondering about a past you never knew and will never know, theirs. - Fuckless nights I unwittingly dusted off my fiddle strings and played as best as I could but you were never pleased. I was always out of tune or just off beat. -- And so let us not demonize others for our perceived shadows they cast and have casted We can’t all be deciphering your eccentric and elaborate needs when you’re shouting CUNT at the tips of your fingers and claiming to empower women while you dig in your claws to another. Chicken soup wasn’t enough to cleanse your soul. -- I think about you every day Literally nothing happens And I’m reminded of you I wake up I think of you I want to punch a wall I till the dirt I think of you I go on a date I don’t like him I think of you I let myself get so fucked up over you My rose colored glasses are shattered but I’m still wearing them I can’t bring myself to say nothing but nothing I say gets through to you I was operating out of a place Of fear I felt threatened by any number of women I’d never met and will never meet. I saw a message on your phone It confirmed my suspicions You drunkenly tried to explain it away I wanted to believe you but I had already poured the concrete and I cart it with me everywhere Slowly I’m leaving little bits here and there Becoming lighter - This week I wrestled with my codependency, Manic and exhausted from my nervous system vibrating I spent countless hours elbows deep in the dirt trying to find the root of it all An unsolvable problem parallel with reality Hard work makes me stronger Even if I can’t kill all the weeds Progress over perfection What even is progress? fuck my life. I’m no fun at this time. The doors will rot in the yard, my gut tells me just like the others. It’s not even a metaphor, just a strong probability, and a waste. Oh my god the realizations just keep rolling in. For hoarders the drama triangle isn’t just for people, but objects too. The doors must’ve been playing victim, and he’s gone to rescue them. The only corner left for me is The Persecutor. - Back in the thick Texas air Drawn to tough love From best friends to boyfriends Can’t get enough of the push and pull I’m nothing like the others I’m so much more with so much less You make me nervous But I don’t have much to lose I want to roll over and kiss you on the mouth I want reciprocation I want you to push my face away Just to kiss me on the neck You always get me with a twist We are scared of each other Collective hurt Collectively hurt We are missing something and are unable to accept ourselves and each other as we are I don’t know how you can lie to me Or how I can stick around for it For all those times you smash it right I guess Second best to you kissing my neck Is when I’m out of sight but on your mind I don’t fit in to some plan you thought you had I break the mold I’m quiet and bold We are anxious, we are stepping on each other’s toes Bite your tongue For better or for worse Things stay the same But with time, and your tongue between your teeth Eggshells are everywhere, splintered into our feet Make it up as you go along Keep the gas on I’m filling the space between my eyes and my rose colored glasses with wool - Same as ever Tongue between my teeth Lighting up another 100 out of 10 You wonder if you know me But you don’t give yourself the opportunity I’m right behind you writing my words that my teeth won’t allow my tongue to speak Desperation is such a drain Self inflicted low self esteem A familial affliction Looking like a 10 Feeling like a dud That low self esteem has me trembling And today was a good day - With a bottle of booze as his gate keeper He’ll never let me in I’m flushed, way too in my head Thinking up scenarios to catch you with your hands red bloodied from tearing my heart out and probably hers, too. - When I first quit drinking I felt this temporary empowerment, like I always had my wits about me. I could do anything. And then my codependency cloud settled back in, my intuition slipped back out the window. Now it’s like I’m in the desert, with a paddle, which makes even less sense than being upstream without one. It takes so much energy for me to state my needs. I’ve lived much of my life being brushed off and I predict rejection of my needs and so I try to suppress them and be ok with things as they are, but I need more. When I’m cancelled on, or am not prioritized, I need to be provided with alternatives or I feel insignificant. Reminders of my stated needs feel like nagging. I need reassurance. It’s exhausting and disheartening. -It’s the little things like when I ask if you want to do something and you tell me what you’re doing instead, without offering any alternative. Or when you tell me nothing. And I have visceral feelings that to inquire is to overstep and overstepping leads to termination. When I’m doing better I don’t write as much. Pain is romanticized, joy is foreign to me and perceived as fleeting. I’m trying to flip that script. Going to CoDA helps me in this effort. It reminds me that there is space for me and it's ok for me to have needs and taking care of myself should be step one in all of my endeavors. It's ok to say no. I don’t owe anyone anything, and also no one owes me anything. I’m closer than ever before to becoming the butterfly out of the cocoon, though I'm still very far, and that's okay. Progress over perfection. Now wash your hands and stay safe. If not for you, then for your loved ones, or your friends friends loved ones.

[finderskeepersff]

59.

I usually daydream through this but I haven’t, I’m actually paying attention for once. Ever since I told Sofia, I didn’t want to lift my hurt and give it Sofia but I needed to say it and I don’t ever want to say it again. I just want to be happy, and to know Sofia is pregnant I want to get out but not rush things. Sofia said it to me, she said don’t you dare leave now so I’m taking my time, it was a lot of hurt. I think it’s one of the hardest things to tell the woman you love but I did, it’s a step forward for me to tell her. But I’m here still, I’m here wanting to feel better and I do and I am getting there but I want to leave knowing I know how I can handle the things I will see and be with, drugs are going to be there for me openly and that is the hardest part for me, but with Sofia being pregnant again I want to do better. Like we really got a family “Cassius?” June said my name, she has said my name every day to get me to speak. I cleared my throat as I got up “you don’t have to say anything? You can stay” pushing my hood back “I’m Cassius, I am a recovering addict” I sat back down, June smiled at me “hi Cassius” the group all said “one step at a time” she said, to admit to what I have in front of people is a little nerve wracking but I have to accept this, I have to accept what I am. With me being a father again, second chance I want it and I want to go home knowing I’m ok.

Henry stood waiting for me as I stepped outside “how dare you have two weeks holiday?” I said, Henry laughed “well I was going to tell you but you was having time with Sofia, come on” Henry opened his arms to me “but you could have said” hugging him “you get clingy, I get emotional so I couldn’t tell you but I’m proud of you Cassius. You have been trying a lot haven’t you?” Nodding my head as I walked off “so how does it feel to open up to a loved one?” Sitting down on the step “good, I just want to go home now but I need to know I can be ok around the things that get to me” Henry sat next to me “good, one step forward. So your trigger points are, your parents and I know you said to me there is no way of speaking with them but it would be good to have them here?” Shaking my head “they would laugh at me” openly admiting to the truth “I don’t want to speak to them, but I’m going to be a dad again. Sofia is pregnant” looking over at Henry “oh my god, Cassius! That is great news, has this made you want to push to leave?” Nodding my head “I just want to be home for my family, I think I know my points. You know when things get on top of me, I end up feeling helpless. My parents and Celine, I see them and I see my past” which is true “ok so Cassius, lets say you see them. You’re going to feel uptight and get stressed, how do you deal with that and then you see drugs. You can then feel that high, no feelings? What do you do?” Good question “go home to Sofia and speak to her, or Kyle” Henry nodded his head “good but I need to set you up with narcotic anonymous meetings for you, you need to get involved with these because you’re not alone” I hate speaking to people but I need to start trying.

This nigga got me coming to Walmart, I am so confused on why too. I don’t get it but we here, I am just following him around “you having a party?” I laughed, he out here buying paper plates “could be Cassius, did I ever tell you. You was one of my hardest people that I have dealt with?” shaking my head “you told me now, why you saying that?” he waved me over to walk “you don’t remember much, but you was awful. I was like we are never going to calm him down, it’s a hard task to get someone to calm down. Then you left first time around, when people come the second time, they are always hard to get down. Because they know, but I am happy for you. And look at that, god has given you a new baby too. But Cassius, always remember, you have made a lot of people very proud, like myself” Henry is a good friend, I would say he is a good friend “appreciate bro, so am I invited to this party?” must be a big party “erm, possibly. I am not sure you see. You like going to sleep at ten, my party goes over” I laughed “you calling me old? You the one with grey hair now, talking about me” pushing him “hey, hey. You can break my hip now” he pointed at me and hit my arm “who names their kid Henry though, like imagine it. You was born and you hold your child and you’re like, he looks like a Henry” he side eyed me “my parents thought that name through, at times I do think the same actually” I knew he would.

Looking down at this cake “100 days though? What is that about?” he pointed at me “put your damn belt on first and it’s been 100 days since me and the wife have been married, got to treat her well and give her a little party” letting out an oh “that is dope, least you married. I have been rescheduling that shit for a long time but when I leave the first thing I am doing is making Sofia my wife” putting my belt on “good, don’t drop the cake now. Make sure you hold that” he said as we drove off “I think you should too Cassius, get married. She seems like a lovely lady, she is so supportive of you. I mean the phone calls I got when I was at home, I was like please stop but she wanted to know what you are doing, how you are doing. She was very concerned, and I like that. It shows you have a good foundation to go back too, I think you have been through a journey where it will continue in Atlanta. Just know Cassius, you have done the most work. You are a strong man and have pushed through this, I just helped but you did the work and did this” I smiled lightly, he the one that kept me sane up in this bitch “if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t stay, I respect you. On god, I do bro” Henry laughed “and you better do that, you respect your elders” I laughed “I ain’t ever ask you, how old are you?” I mean he looks about forty odd “me, I am fifty three. I am a old man Cassius” I respect him a lot “and you help people like me, that is good” he is a good man, he deserves everything in life.

Taking the bags out from the trunk “are you having your party here? Am I seeing your wife?” who the hell would have their party in a rehab place, that is straight weird “well I am spending it at the place I love with the person I love, just take the stuff in for me, I will be right behind you” I would never have a party here, like it’s boring. We can’t drink, there is no weed here. I mean I can smoke but that is it, slowly lifting my hand up to press the buzzer. I near dropped that cake, now that would be a disaster and I would feel so bad “I got it Cassius” Henry said using his fob to unlock the door “you need to give me that so I can come in whenever I like, it’s dope here. Like peaceful and shit, I want to see my flowers bloom too, I am into that gardening life you know” walking into the building “it’s relaxing ain’t it, just take it to the hall where we have the group sessions” I think I have grown so used to this life, like in a weird way it’s just normal and shit, and nobody is out to kill me. Imagine if they knew I was here, they would come and killed me in my overdosed state.

I need music in my life, maybe Sofia could bring me something I can just listen to music on. I have been working hard on my speech for the wedding, it’s been a long few days just writing, lots of changes have been made but I think I have perfected it. I want this wedding to be the most perfect thing for her, as soon as my ass is out of this place I am marrying her, first flight there. It has to happen, I can’t continue to fuck around anymore. It is so unfair on Sofia but I am happy, I think I will go and have a nap after this. I ain’t got nothing else to do but think, I just need to know how to react to seeing drugs. I need to get over it, I can do it I know I can because I have no damn choice but too. Sitting back in the chair sighing out, I am scared to leave this place “Cassius” Henry said my name knocking on my door “I need you to help me with something” Henry popped his head around the door “with what? You fucking with my nap schedule, shit better be good” getting up from my seat “it will be, stop being grumpy” rolling my eyes “well Sofia said I can’t take tablets for sleeping so I be not sleeping at night, I just lay in bed but then I nap throughout, it’s just a mess” I can’t really get my sleep in check and I don’t think I ever will.

Looking behind me “you finna walk ahead? The hell you doing bro” his old ass is slow as fuck “I am coming, you keep on walking. I am walking” if he says hang some shit up then I am refusing, I am not doing that at all. I will not even come to this event, I ain’t doing that bullshit. Looking behind me again and Henry is right behind me “go in then” I am suspicious now “nah, you do it. I don’t play that sneaky shit” Henry laughed, he reached around me and pulled the door open “sneaky shit? Get your ass in here” he placed his hands on my shoulders, pushing me into the room “you a pushy old man, I ain’t even playing” I chuckled. I stopped walking seeing the room filled, workers and other people that are having treatment with me “Cassius” Sofia waved at me, scrunching my face up in confusion “huh?” I am confused “Cassius, today is your one hundreth day since you have been clean” Henry said walking around me “one hundred?” I repeated “you have been clean for one hundred days, I lied this is for you. This is a milestone for you Cassius” I am still trying to comprehend that it’s been one hundred days “The first ninety days of your recovery is unquestionably the most important part of your addiction recovery process. There just is no doubt. You reached that Cassius, but you didn’t stop there you made it to one hundred days. You have been clean, this is you Cassius” Henry pointed me “this is me” I repeated “this is you, I told you it’s you, come here” I want to cry “you did well son” Henry hugged me “you did well, I am proud of you. You did it” Henry hit my back as he hugged me.

I am in shock first of all “you need to celebrate Cassius, one hundred days being clean” June said, I am in daze and then everyone is clapping. Do I belong here, is this me. I just smiled putting my head down “Sofia is there” June pointed, looking up to where she is pointing too “she came” I said in a whisper, Amira and Kyle both got up from their seat. I abruptly froze seeing Cartier, that is him. He is literally grown as fuck “Cassius” Henry touched my shoulder “for you” he held out an award “you need to understand how much this means to yourself and a lot of other people around you” staring down at the award, looking up from the award “I just want to say thank you” my voice is a mess, clearing my throat “I just want to say thank you, I ain’t even know it was that many days. It doesn’t feel like it, it’s been hard for me. I only just recently got to a point where I actually have opened up, it’s taken me so long and I want to thank everyone here, I was quiet with most of y’all but y’all kept it one hundred with me and honestly, it means a lot. Henry, you my bro for life. You know what, you ain’t even that. You’re a man, you took care of me through all of this shit. You’re someone I wish my dad was, I appreciate you and thank you for showing me how to grow flowers” Henry clapped laughing “you can now do it yourself, I am proud of you Cassius” dapping him “old man” hugging him.

I think I find it hard to see my son like that, he is grown and it’s like I missed so much of it. He is so grown, just holding himself right “my brother!” Kyle ran at me “shit my nigga!! Fucking love you man! You did it” hugging Kyle, he picked me up “you light as shit now but I am so hype for you bro” he put me down “thank you, it’s something I didn’t think about. I am shocked myself like one hundred days? That’s like three whole months, I been missing that long” Kyle shook his head “don’t worry about it, you good and that is it” he is right “congratulations Cassius, this is big of you to do” Amira said “thank you, appreciate it. For everything” hugging her “it’s ok, I want the best for you” she really went out of her way for things “I am nervous seeing my son though, like he is here” I said smiling moving back from the hug “you bought him here” watching Sofia walking over to me “because he is also proud of his dad, that is why. I mean don’t mind his moody ways” I feel choked up “I have missed so much, it’s been one hundred days Sofia, that is a lot of days” Sofia doesn’t seem fazed by it “and you’re ok” Sofia opened her arm, leaning down to hug her “I am so proud of you Cassius, we came out for you” looking down at Cartier, you can tell he has been crying. He got a sad face “the boy” touching his cheek but he was bound to move away from me “don’t be so grumpy, he is teething so he is not happy” he is so grown, my boy is grown and I missed so much.

Cartier don’t know me for shit, I am some stranger bitch right now. Turning the chair around to face Sofia and Cartier “how are you anyways? You came here for me? Like all this way?” Sofia smiled at me “why wouldn’t I? When Henry told me, I was so proud of you, I came because it’s a big day for you” I grinned, that is nice “I didn’t really know I have been here this long, I am shocked Sofia. Three months? Like it is kind of long, no wonder he doesn’t know me” this is wack “Cassius, I don’t care. I am so happy you have gotten help, I am so happy Cassius. Cartier will grow used to you again, trust me but I just want you happy and better. Look at you, I got you back Cassius. I don’t care if it took a year but you’re alive and well, I love you so much Cassius. One hundred days clean” Sofia touched my face “I am ready to come back now, Henry is preparing me for situations, I will be back” Cartier is just staring at me “and we are waiting for you” Sofia took Cartier Pacifier out “he is teething, he just wants to bite” Sofia tried to show me his swollen gums but he ain’t having any of it “it’s me Cartier, you know me” touching his leg, he keeps on staring at me “he will remember you, it’s honestly him being a brat” I understand “I am so happy to see you though, your my boy. I love you!” I smiled at him “and we love you too” Sofia said.

[one-hell-of-a-bi]

Oh shit, that's so much worse than my problems. I am SO sorry you're going through that level of help. D: But if you can get somebody to listen at all, a lupus test might be good to at least rule it out. Osteoarthritis was what we suspected at first for me, and honestly I probably have a few arthritic joints on top of the lupus. But I really hope you get decent care and people who actually listen to you soon, because that is such major bullshit.

Thank you, cuz yeah it’s def total bullshit. I am seeing my primary doctor again in a couple weeks and when I do I’m gonna bring up what the pain specialist said and I’ll mention lupus and other tests and see what he says. The longer I’ve seen him the more nice he’s been and I dunno what that says about him but as long as he is listening and helping I don’t really care. 

Tbh tho the worst part is the pain management place. I know that the opioid addiction crisis is bad but it seems like the response has been to make disabled people suffer and it’s not actually solving any problems. Like it has been proven that the people who become addicted are overwhelmingly not disabled people who need these meds everyday, but people who are injured and have been prescribed too many of them them short term since all that Big Pharma is interested in is prescribing them as much as possible so they can make money.

But in response what has happened is that they are putting rules in place as to what pain patients can be given and it is hurting us. Because my pain is bad. Depending on what I do my average pain level is usually a 5-6 and can spike as high as 9 if I have to push myself. I need these pain meds to help me sleep and to make it so that I can function day to day. 

I also have debilitating anxiety that has symptoms that are almost on par with my pain. When my anxiety is bad enough I will stay up as late as possible until I legit cannot keep my eyes open because if I try to sleep at any other time I have anxiety attacks. I can be irritable for weeks at a time and have severe chest pain that lasts just as long. And when I have anxiety attacks, which more often than not happen when I am out in public, my symptoms are hellish. I start crying and hyperventilating, and my heart rate skyrockets to dangerous levels. When it gets bad enough I start disassociating so severely that I legit cannot process external stimuli at all(when I think back on such attacks I can’t really remember seeing anything properly, everything is either blury or weird colors or both and I can’t even hear) and so I def NEED this medication. I cannot function properly without it. (And to describe how bad my anxiety gets once when I was out of it and couldn’t get anymore I was having an anxiety attack before work but knew I couldn’t call out so I legit fucking took a shot of rum to help me calm down. Without this crucial med I would turn to drinking to relieve my anxiety. And that is not a fucking healthy option.)

And now I have to choose. Either have the medication that keeps my pain at a manageable level or have the medication that manages my debilitating anxiety symptoms. And as a side note I have tried lots of different long term anxiety medications and none of them work and anxiety like the attacks and long term symptoms I have are nearly impossible to “mindfulness” my way out of, believe me I have tried. The meds I am on currently are the only ones that have ever worked. So I legit have no idea what to do. And it’s so fucking unfair.

Like not to shame addicts in any way I know lots of people who have become addicted to lots of different things and it def is a disease and needs to be addressed, but I have NEVER shown any signs of addiction or abuse on my meds. The anxiety med they gave me is addictive, it’s a benzodiazepine, but they have me on a low dose and I only take it when I absolutely need it. I have never sold it or taken more than I need or given it away or anything. I am also on another controlled substance, a medication for my ADHD. And once again, no signs of addiction or abuse, I’ve never sold it or given it away or taken more than I need. The same with my current pain meds which are an opioid. 

I have done everything I can to be trustworthy and honest because it is the only way to get the meds I need, and since I have seen so many other people with addictions I am VERY careful because I don’t want to go down that path. It’s part of the reason that despite my current psyche office having an official policy of not prescribing benzodiazepines  they made an exception for me. But no, since other people become addicted because of Big Pharma I have to fucking choose between two medications I fucking NEED to function. 

Plus the fucking lady at the clinic was already treating me like an addict. I told her that I hadn’t taken my anxiety meds in a long time despite needing them because I was scared since if I take them too close to my opioid it can kill me and she still was acting all suspicious like she didn’t believe me. She even said “If you ever feel the urge to take the meds you need to tell me, we have to be honest with eachother, ok?” And I was like??? Bitch??? I don’t fucking “feel the urge” to take my meds, I need to fucking take them because my brain is sick. You wouldn’t describe me taking my adderall or my emergency inhaler as “feeling the urge to take it” because I fucking need them to exist as a normal human being. When someone is sick and needs medication they are not an addict, they are SICK. 

Tbh I think when I go back I’m just gonna tell her that I choose to take the anxiety meds. Cuz yeah the opioids help but I can deal with extreme pain. I cannot deal with my anxiety. But I’m kinda worried that she won’t let me because if it is a bulging disk I’m probably gonna need surgery and if I do I will have to take pain meds to recover and if so she won’t let me have my anxiety meds. I honestly hope it is a disk thing despite none of my other doctors agreeing with her just so I can get this all over with and be allowed to have my anxiety meds again. Cuz this really is such bullshit and I don’t deserve to be treated this way when my only crime is having a disability and mental illnesses. 

Anyway, sorry for the rant, this is just really frustrating and I am getting really close to being done with everything. I am tired and angry and feel like crying all of the time and I can’t have a life because of all of the appointments and pain and I just wish one fucking doctor would actually listen and help me or at least assure me that everything is gonna be ok instead of treating me like this. Thanks for the message of positivity, it means a lot

[tempusedax-rerum]

My Experience with BPD

1. Frantic attempts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.

I’m very lucky to have a loving and understanding boyfriend who genuinely believes in my worth as a person. We’ve been dating for nearly ten years and we communicate very well. Despite this, I have recurring fears that he will suddenly and unexpectedly leave me or is harbouring secret resentment. Often when we fight or argue or even just disagree, I can abruptly find myself panicking, apologizing, promising to be better just please don’t go away please love me again please I’m scared. It comes out of nowhere and it surprises me every time. Sometimes I can talk myself through it: it’s okay, he’s just upset, he will be there tomorrow morning, I promise. But sometimes I get carried away with it.

2. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.

Before I met my boyfriend, the only relationships I’d had were abusive or massively one-sided. Friendships are obsessions for me and I can only seem to have one at a time. I can be friendly with people and I’ve been told I’m very kind and easy to talk to but I don’t really have friends. I can’t decide if I love a person or hate them. Being aware of this problem, I try to stay on the love side of the split and just avoid getting to know anyone deeply or letting anyone know me. I have difficulty interpreting others’ feeling and usually assume their opinions about me are negative. I usually disappear from places and people who have become too familiar.

3. Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.

I don’t know who I am. I have large gaps in my autobiographical memory. I can’t decide what kind of person I want to be or what career I want or what colour is my favourite. When I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize that person who looks back. Inside my mind I have several voices (I think of them as the child, the teenager, and the adult, although they do have names) who each have opinions and feelings and thoughts of their own. They fight constantly with each other to be in control of the body that they are forced to share. I’ve had this experience of being fragmented since I was about 10 years old, when I first remember “hearing” thoughts that didn’t seem to belong to me. Sometimes I hate myself and sometimes I care for myself. My likes and dislikes change frequently and without warning.

4. Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging.

When I drink or smoke weed, I have trouble stopping when it’s becoming a problem. My father was missing from a lot of my childhood because of addiction, so I’m very careful about using substances. It’s hard for me to resist continuously using or doing something that makes me feel good, to the point that it becomes very unhealthy. I spend money I know I need for important things like bills or rent or food because I feel good for like ten minutes when I have a new thing. I binge on food, sex, drugs, and internet. I feel very guilty and ashamed of this behaviour but I still have difficulty stopping myself before the consequences start to become obvious. I have difficulty planning or preparing for things properly or I misjudge my ability to wing it. This is something I’m getting better at self-regulating since I finished a course of DBT.

5. Recurrent suicidal behaviour, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behaviour.

I was ten years old the first time I hurt myself on purpose. I did it because I felt angry and embarrassed and I felt like I needed to be punished somehow. When I was 14 I started cutting and burning myself. At 15 I added disordered eating to the ways I could harm my body. When I was 17 I attempted suicide. After I met my boyfriend I promised myself I would stop doing those things. Despite that promise, I still hit or bite myself in episodes of extreme stress, still think about suicide on a daily basis, still have trouble feeding or taking care of myself.

6. Affective instability due to marked reactivity of mood.

My moods fluctuate wildly in the course of a day. It really feels like a spin-the-wheel kind of emotional landscape. I can feel intensely depressed for the morning, suddenly recover happiness and optimism and then have a five-hour panic attack. I often cannot handle how extreme my emotions become; all sadness becomes despair, all happiness becomes euphoria, all anxiety becomes terror. I take personal offense to things that aren’t meant to hurt me. I feel intense shame when I make small mistakes or mildly inconvenience others.

7. Chronic feelings of emptiness.

Especially when alone, I feel a sense of numbness, like nothing touches me, nothing interests me, nothing has meaning or worth. It feels like I only exist when people are looking at me. If I’m not feeling a feeling then what am I? I have difficulty remembering what feeling a different way was like.

8. Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger

I don’t scream at or fight with other people; usually I turn all anger towards myself. When I get angry, it’s a hot flash of pain inside my brain that needs to be suppressed immediately or I will hurt myself. I excessively control anger to the point where I almost never feel it, instead I feel shame or sadness. I’m trying to learn how to recognize and appropriately express anger instead of denying it so deeply that it hurts me.

9. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms.

When I’m very stressed I hear voices. Not hallucinations - the voices are in my mind. They’re the voices I mentioned above, but louder and much more intrusive. I start to think that I am pieces and I forget how to be a single person. Sometimes I have amnesia or act very strangely. I also become vulnerable to delusions, usually guilt or shame-based, and paranoia. I begin to believe that the people in my life are lying to me, sparing me from the reality of my inherent badness. Although I logically know it isn’t true right now, when I have these episodes  I lose touch with reality.