#I dissociated so hard a week ago and I have not recovered. the sense of alienation has not gone away because it is still here

[manicmanuscription]

The Right Time

Feysand x Reader

Word Count: 13674

Warnings: Angst, Possible Medical Inaccuracies, Fluff, Love Confessions, Delirium, Lack of Sleep, Depression? Panicking, Dissociation.

Summary: Reader is a new single mom, and she pushed away her only support system determined to prove she could do it on her own. But on a bad sleeping night she's slipping. Luckily her mates are there to pick her up.

A/N: I've been really obsessed with baby/pregnancy fic's lately due to baby fever, but I have never actually been pregnant before so a lot of this stuff is based on information from family members or other fanfic's. So a lot of this might not be correct. This fic has also been playing in my head after a shit ton of pregnancy fics i read so there might be grammatical errors!

─── ♡ ───

You didn’t know what you expected your life to be when you were just a faeling but it certainly wasn’t like this…

Living in a small cottage nestled in the countryside of Velaris, a wailing baby in your arms, bags under your eyes, no ring on your finger and no baby daddy in sight. Your house was an absolute mess but you didn’t have the energy or time to clean, you would’ve hired a maid but ever since your daughter was born a few weeks ago your paranoia had skyrocketed. It didn’t help that you were a valued member of the Inner Circle and not only had your life been threatened numerous times but you had been attacked just as many. 

You never expected it to be this hard though. Andromeda was squealing at the top of her lungs and you were sobbing right along with her. Rocking her up and down and desperately trying to figure out what was wrong. Not only were you still recovering from your intense labor and your homones all over the place but it was impossible to get any sleep, if your lovely daughter wasn’t having difficulty latching and by some miracle she had fallen asleep for longer than forty five minutes than you were staring at the wall cooconed in blankets a deep sense of dread overcoming every sense in your body made it diffuclt to fall asleep.

Anxiety kept your eyes awake at the thought that something would go wrong the second you let yourself relax. Your body would pass out from sheer exhaustion and Andromeda’s cries would awaken you and you started the whole song and dance over again. 

You were so, so, tired. Your mind had you seeing shadows moving across the floor and you could barely stand up straight. It was a miracle that fae get pregnant, conception taking years at a time and even then the pregnancy and labor extremely diffuclt, a lot of fae not surviving the process. You knew you were incredibley lucky to have a daughter, to have the chance to hold her and you loved her fiercely with ever fiber in your being yet you couldn’t help but regret everything.

You wished you never went to that club, never met that male, you wished that male had stayed instead of running in the opposite direction and you wished to all gods that you hadn’t pushed away your only support system, determined to prove you could do it on your own. 

Your family had been a shining star during all of this. Especially your High Lady and Lord, Rhysand and Feyre knew the deep intracies of pregnancy better than most after everything they had been through with Nyx.

Theey had stuck to your side the second they learned you were pregnant. Taking turns holding your hair back as you violently threw up from intense morning sickness, got all your cravings the second you mentioned it, held your bump when the weight started hurting your back or rubbed your feet when your ankles swelled.

They even forced you to stay at their house for weeks at a time so they could take care of you and when you insisted you were becoming a burden and returned home they had made themselves comfortable on your couch before you felt guilty and returned to the River House if only to save their spines. 

You had tried pulling away from them, guilt eating you alive every second of your pregnancy. Their actions didn’t help the absolute massive crush you had on them, in fact it only increased your adoration for them which made you shame spiral. The second your daughter was born you knew you couldn’t continue leaning on them for support, it only hurt you at the end of the day when you remembered they were mated, they had each other and a son and despite their overly flirty comments and lingering touches that just ended up causing more confusion. There was no room for you, you couldn’t keep pining after them when you needed to focus on Andromeda.

You told them you needed space, practically shoving them out the door even after they had spent 18 hours holding your hand’s and helping you deliver your beautiful daughter. Of course they had straight up refused your attempt to push them away and stayed with you a few days after labor, helping take care of you during the harsh after effects. But you finally kicked them out throwing out some cruel word’s that would haunt you to this day. Andromeda needed her mother to be present and emotionally healthy and you couldn’t provide that if you keep second guessing and overthinking every brush against your hand or every comment about your eyes. 

You could do this, you had to do this. You needed to be the best mother you could be for your little star. 

Yet you couldn’t even do that because she would not. stop. crying. The sound shredded your heart to pieces and guilt and shame turned the shattered bits of you to dust. She was fed, clean and warm and you couldn’t figure out why she kept crying. The thought made you feel like a horrible mother and you let out another sob at the same time as Andromeda as you bounced her up and down, forcing your numb feet to pace the room. “Please, please just go to sleep.” You begged. “I don’t know what’s wrong.” Your voice cracked and you spiraled at the scream she let out. 

You couldn’t do this. 

It was too hard, you were a horrible friend and an even worse mother and you didn’t deserve this little miracle in your arms. A better female would be able to handle it. You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t do this, you couldn’t- 

“Oh Angel.” A soft voice broke and you turned to find Feyre and Rhys standing there, you opened your mouth to say something but Rhys was moving the instant your eyes met their’s. As soon as he was a breath away from you he reached for Andromeda, saying something about help yet the words were distorted and muffled in your exhaustive state, soft arms gripped your shoulders and you almost fell over at the weight of your baby being removed as Rhysand gently pried her away from you and into his arms, a smile gracing his elegant features.

You were too tired to fight, to do anything to protest as Feyre led you away from the bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom. She was saying something too but you didn’t hear it, all your last remaining energy focused on listening for Andromeda, making sure she was ok. Feyre titled your chin to look up at her and she pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. Your mind suddenly sharpening as her magic brushed against your mental walls as she forced you to listen to her. “She’ll be fine Sweetheart, Rhys has got her, now let me take care of you.” 

Everything felt so far away as if you were dreaming, moving through life in a haze as Feyre gently undressed you and settled you in a warm bath. She washed your hair and body and massaged your shoulders, whispering word’s of comfort that did not reach you as you floated away from your body. She fed you fruit and cheese’s your body chewing the food on autopilot. When was the last time you ate? 

The food and Feyre constantly touching you slowly brought you back down to earth. To the reality of your hunger, your tiredness, how sore all your muscles were and to the lack of Andromeda crying, you could hear Rhysand humming lowly through the crack in the door and the occasional creak of the floorboards as he calmed your daughter down. The thought had tears lining your eyes again. “She hates me.” You whimpered and Feyre brushed your tears away with the pads of her thumbs. “No she doesn’t.” Feyre she affirmed confidently. 

You shook you head in disagreement. “I can’t do anything right Fey, I said all those nasty things to you a-and I couldn’t even get her to sleep, and I’m so tired. I wasn’t cut out for this alright? I’m going to fuck her up so badly, I’ll ruin everything.” You were sobbing again, a broken sound tearing from your throat and the sound looked like it physically pained her. “Andromeda adores you alright love? We can all see it, she never looks at anyone the way she looks at you.  Your so attuned to her, you love her so fiercely and that’s the most important part. Your doing your amazing love. You’re not going to fuck anything up. You’re an amazing female and you’re an amazing mother. I forgive you, so does Rhys. We just want to make sure your ok.”

You let the words sink in, your heart beating wildly out of her chest as you cried at the tenderness of her words. “Why are you dong this to me?” You asked brokenly, you felt as if they were pulling you in all different directions. “Why are you saying all of these things when-“ when you’re mated. Were the unspoken words. But you couldn’t say that, you’d never say that and ruin whatever pieces of friendship you had. 

“When what?” Feyre asked softly as she stroked your damp hair.  

“When- I- I-“ You stuttered not knowing what to say as your mind panicked at the close confession you’d almost made. “Why are supporting me like this.” You instead asked, needing to know why they had stayed so close to your side and pulled at your heart strings so violently. “Just..why Feyre? Go home, to your son. I’ll be fi-“

“If you finish that sentance I swear to the gods-“ Rhysand exhaled heavily from the now open doorway,. “Rhys.” Feyre warned but he brushed her off as he crossed the room and  kneeled in front of the bathtub, gripping your face in between his large hands. “Do you not see how much we love you? How much we care for you. I think we have made it obvious Angel. You are our mate. Just please- please let us help you.” The last part sounded like a desperate plea, a whine leaving his lips and you didn’t have it into you to be shocked that the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court were kneeling beside you, begging. your heart froze at the love confession. 

“Wait…What?” You asked slowly, waiting for them to tell you this was all a big joke. You couldn’t believe this, you couldn’t let yourself hope. Feyre was giving Rhysand an annoyed glare but at your voice she turned to you, her expression to shifting to one of hope. “You are our mate darling.” She whispered, entertwining a tattooed hand with your’s, water dripping onto the rug, reminding you that were naked in a bathtub and an embarrassed flush crept up your cheeks. 

“And we love you.” Rhys added once again, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“We didn’t want to tell you like this, especially not right now.” Feyre added with a pointed tone, giving her - your -  mate another glare. The High Lord just rolled his eyes. “I’m tired of waiting for the right time Feyre.” 

You were pretty sure your heart was beating a milllion miles per hour and you couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle that turned into a delirous laugh. Their brows furrowed and expressions shifted to something more broken at that and you immediately apologized as you gasped for breath in between your laughter. “I- just.” Your voice cracked as you started talking, regaining some wisdom. “Do you know how long I’ve been in love with the two of you?” You whispered, your voice coming out in a high pitched tone as you tried to get it out all in one breath. “I felt so guilty-“ Lips crashed onto yours. The addicting scent of lilac and pear completely invading your senses as your gorgeous mate kissed you. Fireworks exploded in your chest and all of a sudden it felt like you could breath again. 

You felt as if you had arrived home as you finally allowed yourself to recognize the glowing bond in your chest instead of gaslighting yourself and pushing it down. It was overwhelming to feel the surge of emotions on your mates side and exhilarating all at the same time. Feyre moaned as your tugged on her bottom lip possessively. Soon her lips trailed down your neck and shoulder and a new set of lips met your own. 

Rhysand was different than Feyre yet just as addicting as his tongue clashed against yours, immediately taking control of the kiss. 

After a few more minutes of your mate’s overwhelmingly beautiful touch and you finally pulled away, panting hard. “What..What about Andromeda?” You asked timidly, knowing you would put her above yourself always, if they didn’t want another child than you couldn’t do this. Couldn’t allow yourself to hope only to crash and burn later. 

Rhysand hummed softly, taking one of your hands and kissing the inside of your wrist. “What about her darling?”

“Do…you still want me? She’s not your-“

Feyre gripped your chin firmly once again, directing your eyes to hers. “Andromeda is ours just as much as Nyx is.” 

“Your ours, Andromeda is ours. Nothing is going to change that.” Rhys agreeded with just as much conviction os Feyre. You almost started crying once again, completely overwhelmed by the revelations of the night and Feyre hummed softly as they both remembered why they were here in the first place. To take care of you and their daughter. Rhysand got up and grabbed a fluffy bath robe and you don’t remember buying and Feyre helped you out of the bath stealing a quick kiss from you. “There’s still so much we have to do and talk about.” You mentioned as Rhys slid your arms into the robe. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “We can talk later, let’s get you into bed Sweetheart.” You could feel the adrenaline  from the night starting to wear off as Feyre led you to the bedroom. Your daughter finally snoring softly in the crib next to the bed.

They dressed you in your favorite PJ’s and each pressed a kiss to your lips before tucking you in the bed, Rhys magically changing the sheets with a snap of his fingers. 

Feyre snuggled in beside you, running her nails along your spine and Rhys sat on the end, massaging your sore feet as they forced the usual dread and anxiety away and for the first time in weeks you allowed yourself to finally relax at your mate’s gentle touch, your body completely melting underneath them. One hand gripping your daughter’s finger through the bars of her crib and one hand holding onto Feyre’s as you drifted off to sleep

[autumatically]

let's talk about my system history! this is gonna be a deep dive chronicling everything i know, so strap in:

the story starts ten years ago, back in high school. (possibly earlier?) one day i was in my dorm room and all of a sudden i just... Woke Up. like i had been sleepwalking for weeks, doing all of my schoolwork on autopilot – but suddenly i was awake and aware of my surroundings.

i tried *desperately* to cling to this sense of awareness, but it didn't last long, maybe 5-10 minutes. then i slipped back "asleep" for weeks, sometimes months at a time, only to "awake" at random intervals. all the while, my life seemed like it was living itself without me.

i was confused and distressed. whenever i was awake i would try to tell the nearest person what was going on – but they didn't understand what i was talking about, and i didn't have the words to describe what was happening. well, i have the words now: it's dissociation.

if you don't know what dissociation is... it's like when you're putting away the dishes, and you get into a rhythm, and suddenly the dishes are done and you barely remember doing them. that's great when it's the dishes – but not so great when it's ten whole years of your life.

and it never got better! i left high school and it continued all through college, all through my parents' divorce, all the way through working full time to care for my mom. my dissociation hasn't ceased. i'm still stuck on autopilot... that's me, Autumn. (hence the name.)

my role started out simple: to be a heuristic. my job was to pick the least difficult option so that we could get to safety and collapse. because these ten years were so stressful, so high-velocity, and so exhausting, that building a shell for this role was a necessary evil.

i learned how to handle class/work related stress by doing the bare minimum to pass under the radar. i learned to handle people related stress by fawning, giving them everything they wanted until they went away. then i would collapse on the bed to recover… and that was my life!

the "random" times that i would wake up from dissocation were never random at all; they were ONLY during times that i was recovering, collapsed on the bed, away from all that stress. a moment of respite just long enough to peek out and say, is it safe now? is the stress over?

so if i'm the Autopilot that helps us get to safety... then when i wake up, i am in Manual control of myself. this makes two of us: Autopilot Sky (Autumn), and Manual Sky (who still doesn't have a name). and for a while, we thought it was just the two of us.

eventually the span of time between "waking up" got longer and longer, as i needed to take on more adult responsibilities – and fawn for my mom. i became more of my own person apart from Manual, finding my own joy and identity... taking up more time and space in our system.

and then one day Manual woke up next to my partner. it was the original Saturgay, January 2, 2021... the day we refer to as our anniversary. i was finally away from my mom and work, in a place comfortable enough to slip out of dissociation for the first time in years.

Manual was never awake for more than five minutes at a time since *high school.* so imagine with me, if you will, a little sheltered christian child who one day wakes up with a trans woman for a partner. the sheer shock of suddenly being in these circumstances...

...both for me, and for my partner, who listened to our story with such love and tenderness as i've never seen in my life. we really earned each others' trust that day. even Manual, who decided that day to trust my instincts, that i'm making good choices for us.

the next few months were some of the hardest i've ever lived, so hard that it maxed out me and Manual's combined efforts. when we would collapse on the bed with our partner... sometimes neither me *nor* manual were there.

it was like we would dissociate even harder into an exhausted state of anxious spiralling, unlike anything we've ever experienced. we called it Empty, because if Autopilot and Manual aren't driving, then who's in the pilot's seat?

those few awful months finally came to a close; my mom moved out, and my partner moved in. in the wake of mom's departure, i felt it was my responsibility to take care of the house... and work full time, and do all the driving, and *everything else.* i was stuck in "go mode"!

so i took on all of the work that my partner and i should have shared, even discouraged her from helping. until i once again worked myself to exhaustion, to an Empty state. and this time, Empty knew that something was *very wrong.* so it screamed, and gave itself a name: Ghost.

"things are supposed to be safe now!! why am i still working myself to the bone?? this is NOT OKAY!!!!!" and ghost was right. but my mistake, as well as its assertion, opened pandora's box: we're now plural, possibly DID – and we can't go back.

ghost didn't just suddenly exist that day, though. it was always there, every time i would fawn and it hurt us, every time doing the bare minimum cost us something important. ghost was a box of that i put all my pain in, and it came spilling out when we were at our lowest.

(celeste fans may think of ghost as the badeline to my madeline)

so now there's a bunch of us! and i can't just hog center stage anymore; we all have to have our input on this life. manual has to help me make decisions beyond just "lesser of two evils" heuristics, and ghost has to tell me when i'm overdoing it and we're in pain.

and more than just helping me... manual needs to be caught up to speed on who we are now, and ghost needs to find its own identity beyond just our pain. we all deserve time to come into our own. i've had ten years running this ship and taking up all our system resources!

...and in the process of finding ourselves, we've found a *fourth:* Rose, who seems to be our traumatized inner child of sorts? she's hit the hardest by our ADHD and anxiety, but she's a fierce friend with her own identity and desires separate from ours.

hopefully we can find room for all of us in this weird little family. but this is why we're making twitters and system bios; i want us to have our own spaces to exist, to be free, to be ourselves. for trusted friends to see us, to get to know us.

so far we've learned to love ourselves and support each other, but now i want to take the next step and give them the support i get back from friends, from dreams, from agency, from *living.* identity is a wonderful gift, and i want all of us to experience it.

we may only have one body, but through the magic of the internet, we can have multiple accounts! 💖

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

((*Note we are/our body is diagnosed with Combined Type ADHD, & our therapist suggested autism is comorbid, which we suspect we do actually have based on conversations with the autistic community & research (peer reviewed articles + the old diagnostic test (RASSD-R? RAASD-R? Something like that - some of y'all probably know what I'm referring too. I think we got a 205?)). Relevant to what this is about.

Also I use “™” (trademark symbol) to indicate “this is one section/thing” & “this is a ✨vibe✨” so that's what those mean))

---

Us for the past week or two (especially before work): Well, if ADHD meds are just stimulants, and caffeine is a stimulant, I can basically use coffee to self-medicate without worrying about unknown side effects (since I already know how caffeine affects the human body & how it affects us).

Us at work on caffeine, unmasked: *some tics (especially when tired/stressed), The Cups Must Be Arranged In This Pattern Or I Will Cry™ (portion cups for dips, we work in fast food), Sensory Overload Says Hi™, That Beeping Pitch Is Making Me Want To Rip My Skin Off™ (timers; angry fridge door got left open), Sauce Got On My Hands, Bad Texture, Get It Off™ (lots of extra hand washing), can't make eye contact to save our life (/mild exaggeration), Please Don't Touch Me™/avoiding contact, hyperfocused zooms, gets 2x to 3x normal work done like it's nothing, small head shakes (as if saying no) are soothing, going nonverbal every hour or two from Overstimulated™ because the beeps don't stop & having to type into a document on phone to communicate, Auditory Processing delays, Visual Processing delays, This Face Mask Is Grabbing My Face, Bad Texture, Make It Go Away™, can function without music but feel awkward & processing delays are worse without music, Words Are Difficult™ + Entire Dictionary Vanished & Everyone Is Speaking Simlish, I Understand Nothing™, collapse to the concrete shaking & immediate meltdown or shutdown as soon as work is over, lay in bed Too Overstimulated To Move/Exist™ for 2 to 4 hours as soon as we get home because need to recover*

Us at work on caffeine, masking: *dissociation, losing time, very long audio processing, everything gets internalized & shoved down, quiet/distant thoughts swirling, very dizzy*

Us this morning (before work): Yea no I don't feel like drinking coffee today.

Us at work (leading into after work), unmasked: *constant inner monologue, both narrating what we're doing & thinking about how the way we're doing it screams ‘I'm ADHD’, more intense & frequent tics (hard head shake, shaking hand off like it has something on it), need music to not zone out/get Choice Paralysis, more shaky hands, thoughts go zoom, losing large chunks of time, rearranging the pattern of portion cups literally every time we put another set out to fill because Too Similar Is Too Boring™, every little bit of movement draws attention & Must Look™ (cars, people walking, flashing lights, clocks), ✨S H I N Y, Must Look 😍™✨ (one of our favourite visual sensory things is silver &/or gold/bronze shiny metal), That Person Is Wearing A Business Suit To The Dentist, That's Odd, ¿Did They Just Leave Work? (& similar unhelpful distraction thoughts)™, Go Go GO/Must Move™, Pace Back And Forth Is Soothing™, Tap Fingers On The Keyboard™ stim (move fingers as if playing piano, but just tapping palm/other fingers/air), “EEEE” constantly in head, very awkward eye contact (Too Intimate™), immediate full body shakedown after work (5 hour shift) because ✨Need To✨™, goes for a walk immediately after work because Too Much Energy, Need To Move™ & Understimulated™, replacing words with other words that don't make sense or make little sense (e.g. “that's not what I was trying to make” instead of “that's not what I was trying to open”), people's voices are speaking so slow they sound far off & processing is difficult, Please Talk Faster™, Very Very.Easily Distracted™ (planned to do some self-care an hour ago, planned to read today 3 hours ago, but ✨Nope✨ Tumblr & distractions are too interesting)*

Us at work, unmedicated & masked: *inner monologue/brain background noise: “Old McDonald had a farm, and Bingo was his name-oh. B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O, and Bingo was his name-oh.” into the Jeopardy theme (doo doo doo do-do, doo doo doo), into the McDonald's jingle (“buh dah buh dah dah, I'm lovin it”); shaky hands, clumsy as heck, bouncing on toes, wiggling toes; humming to self, quiet whistling, hidden fidget cube in pocket quiet clicks*

Us: ...

Us: ...Well. Now that we've been medicated awhile I notice how much ADHD actually affects us because this is different. 😶

---

There's noticably different feelings, experiences, traits that we now notice. We've never medicated our ADHD before because didn't want pharmaceutical dr~gs, so we honestly couldn't tell what would be affected by meds or not (always dealing with ADHD on a daily basis). Being ✨medicated✨ showed us what was definitely ADHD & what probably wasn't, because we got used to not dealing as much with ADHD stuff & then today was all the ADHD things &....oh. ¿What we thought was Just/Still ADHD™ even though we were basically medicated was actually autism? 😶

Disclaimer that not every ADHDer will experience all of these & they may experience things we don't, & not every autistic person experiences all these things & they may experience things we don't. We aren't The Golden Standard™ for ADHD, autism, comorbid ADHD & autism, or neurodivergence. Also, some of these may be overlap as well, they’re not exclusive to ADHD or autism.

So....that's how our day went 😅. We weren't planning to be unmedicated with intent to see the difference, just didn't because too lazy to make coffee &...yea. apparently they //are// different, in ways we didn't predict/expect.

~Nico (he/they)

[not-from-the-absence-of-violence]

You’re falling now. You’re swimming. (This is not harmless. You are not breathing.)

In a different universe where Dref survives Tiberius' attack in Burza Nyth. Everyone is having a hard time processing, hopefully this time they have eachother. 

Travis was having a bad day. That wasn’t too weird, considering they had just gotten out of Burza Nyth, Dref had been in a critical condition for weeks and they had only just managed to stop the Mariner. They all were having odd days: processing, repressing or whatever.

Still. Gable had known Travis for a long time, too long, and his bad days generally consisted of getting angrier and more venomous than normal.

Gable usually didn’t even notice, just got hurt and bit back, generally they left him too it, not willing to deal with him. Until they thought back on it; a day or even months later, realising this was Travis’ only coping mechanism. They added all the times they had hurt him in retaliation to the enormous pile of guilt they already carried, and kept going.

Travis being hurtful on purpose was at the very least familiar by now, almost comforting. But today Travis was silent, distant, only doing motions on auto pilot. Which was acutely distressing, even to the crew who didn’t know him like they did.

Gable might have been able to deal with just Travis, but Jonnit had the look of someone who hadn’t slept in a while, and a quiet nervous energy. Dref was still recovering from Tiberius’ attack and pushing himself to get back to work.

Gable might have been able to deal with all of it if they didn’t dream of Hildred’s fear after she had found out what they had done, if they didn’t feel like they had inexplicably failed everyone around them. If it didn’t feel like everything was falling apart and they were going to lose everyone. Again.

They were all sitting in Dref’s office. Dref was writing something, but Gable got the impression he was only writing for the pretence of having something to do.

Jonnit was sitting on his desk next to him, talking about small traditions he had as a child. Clearly he was trying really hard to cheer everyone up. Gable’s heart ached, he shouldn’t be responsible for holding them all together, and yet they knew his familiar chatter about what cake his mom would make him for his birthday was probably the only thing keeping them going.

Travis was sitting on a cabinet and not interrupting Jonnit at all. In fact, he seemed to be staring at a fixed point on the wall. Of course, he might just be bored of the conversation, but if this was the case then he usually just left.

They were all hanging on a small thread, teetering on the edge of something.

“Your mom sounds like she is the best, Jonnit,” Gable commented, hoping to join in lightening the mood.

They felt the awful pang of guilt as Jonnit started tearing up.

“Yeah,” he said, “She was.”

There was a deafening silence. Dref looked at Jonnit like he wanted to help, but didn’t know how.

Gable felt anger flare up in them, anger at the way the world always seemed so unjust to the people they loved. They were so acutely aware of how young Jonnit was, how he deserved everything to be nice and safe. And how they couldn’t give any of that to him.

They gathered their boy up in their arms, hoisting him onto the chair they were sitting in. Jonnit clung back, he was clearly crying now. Not quite sobbing, just like the tears were falling despite himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, attempting to wipe his tears, but they just wouldn’t stop. “I’ve just been thinking about her lately, her and my dad and Zana, but at least I’ll see them again and she is just‒”

He choked on his own sob and Gable held him tighter, desperate.

“You d‒ on’t need to ap‒ apologize,” Dref said, hovering over them, unsure. “It is only l‒ logical you would f‒ feel this way.”

Travis was holding the side of the cabinet so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Still turned away from them.

“Travis?” Gable tried, tentatively.

Travis turned around, his eyes red and puffy, visibly shaking. “I am fine,” he snapped.

Dref flinched at the tone in his voice. Jonnit pressed his face into their chest.

It was too much, just too much. It felt like falling, or even worse, like drowning.

-

Travis fucking hated dissociation.

If there was something he was familiar with, it was feeling like a stranger in his own body. Distantly, he remembers years ago, when dissociation had been a welcome relief to not feel like he existed when his father had still been around.

The newer fear he had acquired around not being in control, combined with the fact that it always brought him back to his brilliant childhood, meant that now it just sent him into a panic, which in turn made the unreality worse.

The worst goddamned cycle he was trapped in.

He was aware he was crying, in the sense that logically, he knew he was crying, but he couldn’t feel the tears roll down his face. He saw them fall into his lap like he was looking through the eyes of another man.

In that same way he could see Gable looking at him worriedly, Dref was now pressed into their side, not quite hugging but holding their hand, clearly upset. Of course he’d gotten hurt, he should know by now that that’s the only thing Travis knows how to do. Get people hurt.

Travis couldn’t talk, or perhaps he could? Did he not want to? He only knew that trying more than simple sentences would make him cry more and he really didn’t want that. He wanted to leave so badly and he just couldn’t.

Gable was holding onto Dref and Jonnit, and they looked so lost, barely holding it together. Travis had to leave them. He would. But Jonnit had hit a nerve ‒ why did people always hit his nerves ‒ and all he could think of was his mother, weak and feeble in bed, and the sound of his father’s angry shouting.

Don’t leave me. William had said to her and then there was a river, and he was shouting louder and he couldn’t save her either.

He wanted his outbursts to be dramatic. It would make sense, screaming and ugly panic, but instead he stared into a corner and cried. He was trying so hard not to, but despite that he couldn’t stop it.

He felt like he was looking onto himself, like a spectator of his own life. How pathetic the picture was, with his friends he didn't deserve sitting across from him, not knowing what to do and him weeping, helpless, like it had always been.

It was brilliant really fucking brilliant

‒

Jonnit was known for being optimistic, but even he didn’t really know what to do with the current situation.

They had all been worried about Dref for weeks now. He’d finally woken up just a little after they took off from Burza Nyth, but the lack of sleep and constant stress had worn on all of them.

Partially because of that, probably, the anniversary of his mother’s death had hit him harder than it had in years. Usually he would have Zana and his dad, and they would cook her favorite food and share memories, like a bittersweet celebration. In hindsight, talking about it to someone, anyone, might have helped, but he’d known everyone was already feeling pretty bad. No need to saddle them with his feelings too.

It felt weird to even be upset about it, with everything that had happened, with the Mariner lurking and Dref being hunted by whatever the cutting stone was. But as much as he loved all his friends, he missed her, and he missed his family and his home.

Everyone had been quietly feeling awful, and it just so happened that they all had reached their breaking point now.

Gable was holding onto him like he might disappear, or run away. Dref still looked pale and sickly, now with added helplessness. Travis looked worse than Jonnit had even seen him, and he had seen Travis almost bleed to death. He was painfully aware of how small he was, how even with all his power, this is something he couldn’t solve. His friends had gone through so much pain he didn’t understand, and he so desperately wanted to help them.

But really, he was still just a child, and he too had been swallowed in the sea of problems, just like everyone else had. So he just clung to Gable, and then Dref took one of his hands, and they held each other, like a liferaft in a flood.

-

Dref was trying really hard to do breathing exercises. He was painfully aware of everyone's present distress, which is precisely why he had to calm himself down first. It was difficult, with two shaking hands in his hands and Travis’ awful sobbing in the background, with Tiberius' voice lingering, with the sharp pain still in his body.

Always thinking you can help everyone, Alisdair.

Another deep breath, hold it, exhale. Exercises like this helped, but it always felt like giving up when he needed them again.

Pathetic.

No. He was stronger than the ingrained memories and thoughts. His friends needed him.

He closed his eyes, felt the pressure of everything, adjusted his grip on the hands he was holding and took yet another deep breath. It was like fighting against a strong current, but a few more breaths and he felt more in control.

He let go of Gable and Jonnit, giving them a shaky but reassuring smile. They were both still wrecked, but it was okay, he needed to maintain his calm.

He went over to Travis.

“T‒  ravis,” he said, very carefully putting a hand on Travis’ hand, “C ‒ an you h ‒ h ear me?”

Travis’ eyes focused on him, he nodded.

“C ‒ can I help?”

He shrugged and shook his head. I don’t know.

Gently, Dref coaxed him to stop hurting himself by holding on so tightly, at least, and helped him off the cabinet. Then, he started to push his desk to one side. Jonnit and Gable quickly caught on and stood up silently to help him move it. He had a couple of blankets lying around in the office. They had been for if he fell asleep working late, and now they were to keep him warm as he recuperated.

Together they haphazardly laid them out, and in a few moments they had something that vaguely resembled a nest. Gable and Jonnit flopped onto it, Jonnit still safe in their lap, and Dref sat close next to Gable. He didn’t like tight embraces, so instead he held their hand.

Travis placed himself at the other side of them. Gable cautiously put one of their arms around him. He looked as limp as a rag doll, but he leaned into the touch a little, and didn’t seem quite so acutely distressed. Jonnit started humming softly, Dref rocked a little, and slowly they all calmed down together.

Gable was the first to break the precious silence.

“Thank you,” they said to Dref.

“Yeah,” Jonnit said. He looked tired but otherwise alright. “We really needed someone to pull us out of this one.”

“A‒ anytime,” Dref said, and he smiled, knowing they could get through anything, together.

Gable turned to Travis. “How are you holding up?”

Travis was still tucked into their side, looking mostly like an annoyed cat.

“I will say I have seen better days,” he said, “But overall this still doesn’t make the top ten worst days, so.” He shrugged.

The rest of them shared a look, but they all knew this was probably as close as Travis would ever get to admitting he was feeling something.

“We probably should talk about....well you know, stuff,” Jonnit said, gesturing vaguely. “That's what people always say, right?”

Gable actively winced, Travis groaned and Dref also felt a familiar twinge of apprehension.

Maybe they could all use some professional help. Dref filed that away as an idea for later.

-

They all went around and talked. Most of them were still clearly skirting around some topics, but that was okay. They were trying at least.

Travis barely said anything, but he still felt better hearing for everyone's voices, feeling the familiar weight of Gable around him. He looked around at them all. He could feel how much he cared about these people in his chest, and he decided not to pay attention to how afraid that made him. At least, not today. And he would never admit it, especially not to Gable.

-

Jonnit felt lighter after talking, even if he couldn’t fully verbalize his feelings about everything. He could only vaguely explain the feeling of duty, his desire to fix everything.

“T‒ that should n‒ not be your r‒ responsibility, Jonnit.”

Gable added quickly, “We are here to help you. We’re in this together.”

And at that he cried again, but this time it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

-

Gable knew there was nothing that could fix the guilt they had carried around for so many years in one single afternoon. They couldn’t even bear to talk about Hildred or what she had found out, not yet.

But it was alright, even then, because this time it felt like there was a way out of this downward spiral. Out of the darkness. There were at least these three people to help them, and this time, Gable was going to let them.

They laid down their head, and for the first time in ages they didn’t feel like they were running. They were home. They let themselves believe, hope, that maybe everything was going to be okay. Maybe they all deserved this peace, with each other.

Even if the universe didn’t let them have it, they were ready to fight tooth and nail for it, and in the determined faces of the others, Gable could see that they were too.

-

Dref had never really known what it was like to be part of a loving family. The lingering marks of his parents, Tiberius, and Olivia were still in his mind and his body both, and it often threatened to overwhelm him. But here was Gable's steady hand to anchor him, and Jonnit’s excited chatter to ground him, and even Travis’ annoying presence to distract him.

He looked at all of them, as they dissolved into a debate about something inconsequential, still tangled up onto each other, and he smiled to himself.

They were his family now, the one Alisdair Youngblood had always dreamed about on particularly lonely nights. He caught Travis’ similar wistful look, before he immediately looked away. But still, Dref could see the smile on his lips.

This family was small, broken and complicated.

But it was his, and that was all that mattered.

[princess-of-riviaa]

Inflicting Misery Chapter 4

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Summary: After the world of the CIA hears of August Walker’s death and betrayal, you track him down to hear the truth for yourself.

Author’s Note: The previous chapters took place before the events in Mission Impossible: Fallout. This chapter picks up after the events of the movie.

Warning(s): Mission Impossible Fallout spoilers, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), fingering, choking

Word Count: 3,716

You double check to make sure your gun is locked as you step inside the safehouse. It’s quiet--eerily so. Your instincts tell you that someone’s here, that you’re not alone, and the silence tells you that the other person is aware of your presence and doing their best to not make a sound. You move through each room slowly, your gun raised and ready to shoot. The kitchen is empty, as well as the living room and dining room.

You make your way upstairs, but as soon as you round the corner of the hallway, a hand comes up behind you to wrap around your mouth. The attacker’s other hand grabs onto your gun and tosses it down the hall before you can fire. From the size of the body behind you, you know it’s a man. And he’s easily twice your size. You elbow him in stomach as hard as you can but his stomach is hard. He’d expected the blow and easily deflected it. His hand is still tight around your mouth, so you bite down on his fingers and his grip loosens enough for you to escape his hold and turn on him. Your fists are raised before you even take a good look at him--and then you freeze.

The attacker is August. Very alive August. Very hurt August.

For a second, you’re relieved. You’ve been recovering from your accident for six weeks now, but you still lose your breath too quickly. You didn’t have the strength to fight someone off much longer. But your relief quickly turns to something worse.

His face is so scarred and burned that you can’t even speak, can’t blink, can’t fucking breathe because the sight of him in so much pain makes you sick to your stomach and angry as hell. Ethan Hunt did this, you know it. Your boss had briefly mentioned Hunt’s name in the debriefing this morning, before announcing that August had fallen off a cliff and failed to survive the fall--the latter clearly being a lie. He just holds your gaze, daring you to look away. There’s anger in his eyes. You’ve known him long enough to know the anger isn’t aimed at you, but at whoever did this to him, at the world for letting this happen, at himself for god knows what.

You feel yourself begin to dissociate, watching your hand reach out to him rather than feeling yourself do it. He flinches back when he realizes you’re trying to touch his face. You freeze. The coldness in his eyes is replaced by a fear you’ve never seen in him before. You give him your most assuring look as you slowly inch your hand towards him again. This time, he doesn’t move. His entire body is tensed like he’s afraid to even breathe. But he lets you touch him. He lets your fingers brush over the marred skin, the layers upon layers of burned flesh. There’s just smooth skin where the curls on the left side of his head used to be. You’ll miss running your fingers through those curls.

But he’s alive. It could have been his entire body that burned. But it was just his face--and not even all of it. He’s alive, and he’s breathing, and he’s safe.

You pull him against you. When your arms wrap around him--squeezing hard enough that if he were any smaller it would hurt--you don’t think you can ever let go of him again. He hesitates. For an everlasting second, he hesitates. His body is tense under your touch and you don’t know if he’s going to push you away or say something to hurt you. His arms hang limp at his sides. But finally, finally, he hugs you back and you bury your face in his chest. Your senses are overwhelmed with August: the mint/pinecone smell of him, strongest when your nose is buried in his chest hair; the feeling of his thick muscles relaxing against your body and his arms encircling you, pulling you tight against him until every part of you is touching some part of him; the sight of that navy shirt that’s three shades deeper than his eyes and the spots where he’d clearly tried to clean blood out but had stained the material just a shade off from the rest of the shirt; the taste of your heart in your mouth, beating so fast with such immense relief that he’s alive and beside you again; and the sound of him whimpering faintly, barely audible to your ears. His chest rises and falls unsteadily and you know he’s crying as he buries his face into the top of your head. You feel the teardrops fall onto your hair and soak them, but you don’t pull away.

You’ve worked with August long enough to have gone on several missions together. Most of them were successful, but a rare few weren’t. And you know that when he has hard days or suffers tough losses--like the one he’s suffering now--the thing he needs the most isn’t someone to talk him through it. He needs someone to be there for him, to hold him and stand beside him until he’s cried all of his tears out. That’s not how you deal with your pain, but if that’s how he deals with his demons then you’ll be right there next to him, fighting those demons alongside him.

So you stand there in his safehouse, buried beneath this man’s huge ass arms, looking like a child compared to him, and you let him cry. You let him scream out all the anger and pain and embarrassment and regret that he’s kept bottled up until just now. You stand there, and you fight his demons alongside him.

He calms down several minutes later. You pull away just enough to look him in the eye.

“Tell me what the hell happened,” you say, and the tone of your voice tells him that there’s no way he’s getting out of explaining what the hell is going on.

So he tells you. He talks for what must be a good hour, explaining everything: Sloane sending him on a mission to work beside Ethan Hunt and ensure he doesn’t do anything destructive; having a falling out with Hunt and his team and them turning his back on him; ending it all on the edge of a cliff as he faced off with Hunt, before Hunt pushed him over the edge.

“That’s a beautiful story,” you tell him bitterly. “Beautifully fictitious. Are you actually lying to me right now? After everything? Look around, August. I’m the only one you have left, the only one who knows you’re still alive. Either you tell me the truth or I walk out that front door and never come back.”

He clenches his jaw. “You’re going to walk out either way. Once you know the truth...”

The look you give him makes him shut up.

“Hunt and his men discovered I’m John Lark,” August admits, watching your face as his words register in your mind.

You’ve heard the name. Everyone in your division is familiar with the terrorist who dreams of annihilating half of the world’s population and starting a new world order. August Walker is John Lark.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that the big reveal? The big secret you’ve been hiding?”

“You’re not surprised,” he realizes. “You knew?”

“You had me edit that stupid manifesto all those years ago, remember?” you recall. “I’ve known about this whole John Lark deal before anyone else did.”

He frowns. “Why didn’t you go to anyone about it?”

“You swore me to confidentiality,” you remember. “If I check that stupid paper for grammatical errors, you’d track down my abusive father and kill him for me. Which you did. So I couldn’t tell anyone. And I knew the story would come out eventually. No one can hide in the shadows forever, not even you, August.”

“You knew who I was this entire time,” August says, still disbelieving.

“You’re August Walker,” you say, “a dangerous man with as much bloodlust as every other person in the CIA. You’ve got the right idea that the world sucks, just crazy stupid ideas as to how to go about fixing it. You’re the first and only person who saw potential in me when I first started as an agent, and you’re the reason I work under Sloane now. You’re the only friend I’ve had in the last six years. So yeah, I know who you are.”

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Friend? Really?”

You shrug.

“I’m not your friend,” he disagrees.

“Well then what--” you begin, but he shuts you up with a kiss. It surprises you to breathlessness.

His hands are suddenly on your hips, your tiny frame swallowed up by his large hands, and he walks you backwards until your back collides with the wall. The kiss deepens as your bodies press tightly together. August crowds every inch of your body and it’s so overwhelming and hot that you find yourself moaning into his mouth. As your mouth parts, he takes the opportunity to tug on your bottom lip before licking his tongue inside your mouth. You reach out for him. Your hands reach for his hair, but he holds your wrists against the wall over your head, keeping you trapped against him.

“You really like pinning me up to walls,” you let out, trying to make a lighthearted joke, but the breathless way you say it has an effect on him.

His erection presses into your stomach as he moves his mouth to your neck. He nips at your ear just enough to make it hurt before whispering, “I really like hearing you moan my name, baby girl.”

“Fuck,” you sigh. The deep baritone of his voice on top of his filthy admissions sets your body on fire. Your hips grind up against him, needing him to touch you. “August, please.”

“Just like that, baby girl,” he says as he adjusts both your wrists in one hand and uses his free one to wrap around your throat. “Say my name just like that.”

“Please, August,” you beg again, too desperate to put up a fight. “I need you to touch me.”

“Be specific,” he tells you as he licks a stripe up your neck. “Tell me what you want, baby girl.”

You love how dirty he makes you feel, how he talks to you like you’re the sexiest woman alive. It does things to you that you can’t explain. And it gives you the audacity you need to voice your desires. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

He hums into your neck, clearly liking the idea as he spreads your knees apart with his leg and presses into against you core. You cry out and begin to grind against his leg. You’re so wet that your heat spreads to his leg as you continue to drip through your underwear. Fuck, there’s too many layers of clothes between you right now.

“Fuck me, August,” you cry out.

He stills and pulls back from you, looking in your eyes for a sign of hesitancy. “You’re sure?”

You nod hurriedly, past the point of words. Fuck, you need him.

He kisses you roughly enough that you feel it in every part of your body. His hands move from your wrists and neck to grab your ass and lift you from the ground. Your legs instantly wrap around his waist. You never break the kiss as he leads you to his bedroom. Your heart races in your chest in anticipation and nervousness. You want this as much as you’re afraid of it.

August is gentle as he spreads you out on his soft bed. He takes his time to take off your shirt and unbutton your jeans before pulling them down with your underwear. As soon as you’re naked in front of him you close your legs and wrap your arms around your breasts. He growls in disapproval and grabs your wrists, holding them above your head. He nudges your legs apart with his own and takes in the sight of you again.

“You don’t get to hide from me,” he says, and his husky voice on top of the look he’s giving you makes your nipples harden with desire. His eyes flick down to your chest and he lets go of your hands so he can grope at your breasts.

“Oh!” you cry out as he wraps his mouth around your right nipple. He runs his tongue over the bud before clasping his lips around it and sucking--hard. Your mouth falls open with a gasp.

His left hand massages your other nipple while his right hand reaches between your legs and cups your heat. His fingers are instantly coated in your wet arousal. It makes you blush, him knowing just how wet you are, but the way he moans in approval before running his fingers between your folds just makes you more breathless. The stimulation on your breasts and between your legs is more than you can handle. You feel your body tighten as your thoughts become blurred.

“August,” you gasp out, knowing what that feeling signals. “August, I’m gonna... fuck, I’m...” You’re so fucked out that you can’t finish your sentence to warn him properly.

He continues to grope and suck on your nipples as he inserts one long, thick finger inside of you. The feeling is foreign, but it’s so fucking amazing that your walls clench around him immediately. He curls his finger inside of you just once. That’s all it takes for you to come undone underneath him. You cry out his name as you cum and your body shakes and spasms through your high.

He pulls away from you when you can breathe properly again. The smirk he’s giving you makes you blush and you want to smack him for it, for gloating in the effect he has on you. “You’re so fucking sensitive, baby girl. This is gonna be fun.”

Before you can ask what he means by that, he inserts another finger inside of you. The stretch is tight and it hurts for a few seconds. He curls his fingers inside of you and the pain quickly turns to pleasure so great that your eyes squeeze shut and you’re reduced to a moaning mess again. His fingers move fast inside of you. It doesn’t take long before you’re gasping and falling over the edge again. You cry out and clutch onto his forearm as you cum for him again. Your eyes water as your body becomes overstimulated.

August, the fucker, doesn’t even give you time to come down from your high before he moves between your legs and kisses your heat. His lips latch onto your clit. By the time you come back to your senses, your body is already writhing against him again. Your hips buck up to his fingers and mouth as he goes all out on you. His fingers move at an inhuman speed inside of you and you realize that he added a third finger at some point. You’re so wet that your pussy makes a squelching noise every time his fingers move inside of you. The noise is so vulgar that your face burns. Sweat sticks to your neck and back as your fingers clench the sheets beside you.

“Please, August!” you beg. Five minutes ago you’d been begging for him to fuck you; now you’re begging for him to relent.

But your words only spur you on and he swirls his tongue over your clit, his lips still sucking hard on your heat. Your legs clench around him as you cum again. Your body spasms uncontrollably and tears fall down your face. You’ve never felt this much pleasure in your entire life. He swallows up every drop of your arousal.

“You taste like fucking heaven, baby girl,” he groans and the sound of that noise falling from his mouth just does the filthiest things to your mind and you’re desperate for him once again. He kisses each of your thighs. “Relax, baby girl, I’ve got you.” If his words don’t have an affect on you, his mouth returning to your clit certainly does. His fingers move inside of you again and it isn’t long before you’re overwhelmed with pleasure again.

“August, please!” you cry out as tears snake down your cheeks. His fingers are moving so fast inside of you, his tongue circling your clit so intensely, that you’re about to cum again--for the fourth time tonight. And he hasn’t even fucked you yet. Your vision is blurred and your body is on fire and the pleasure is so close to turning to pain.

You need his cock.

You need him inside of you.

You need to feel him fill you up to the brim, feel him warm your insides with his seed.

You need him to claim you.

August pulls his mouth away from you and your body twitches, your nerves too overwhelmed and overstimulated to process any input in a normal manner. You open your eyes just enough to look down at him between your thighs, smirking like the fucking devil. “I’ve already claimed you, little one,” he says, and you swear your entire body burns with a blush as you realize that you just said all those things out loud.

“Please,” you gasp, your breaths coming in quick, short bursts.

He rises from the bed and you whimper at the loss of contact. You instantly miss the warmth of his body and the stimulation of his mouth and tongue making you completely soaked for him. He undresses himself slowly, taking his time with every button on his shirt. He’s fully aware you’re losing your mind with every passing second. After what feels like an eternity his shirt falls to the floor. Your eyes rake over his body. You’ve seen him shirtless before but it’s never any less impressive. Your eyes jump all over his skin, not knowing where to look first. The sight of his muscles flexing and jumping in his arms as he unbuckles his pants makes you drip even more for him. And those scars, tiny war wounds he’s gotten from what he won’t say, but a reminder that he’s dangerous all the same--god, if the sight of those scars don’t just make the filthiest things run through your mind. Your hands ache to run through that thick, dark chest hair. He steps out of his pants and you’re already so wound up that you moan at the sight of his cock, hard and huge. Your walls clench as you anticipate the sting you’ll feel as he pushes himself inside of you for the first time.

“Fuck me,” you beg when you see the lust in his eyes, making the room burn with an intoxicating, mind-numbing heat.

He’s on top of you a second later, pushing your legs apart and lining up with your entrance. You close your eyes in anticipation when he pushes the tip in and stays there, waiting for you to adjust to his size before pushing further in.

“You’re so fucking tight, I love this pussy,” he growls as he continues to sheath himself inside of you.

You cry out his name in a whimper, though it’s more out of pleasure than pain. God, the things this man is capable of making you feel... it’s terrifying how intoxicating he is.

At long last he bottoms out inside of you. He wraps his hands around your hips, so tiny in his hands, before beginning to move inside of you.

“Gonna fuck you until you cry,” he promises.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You don’t know what to compare it to. It’s so much better than his fingers. His tongue on you feels almost as good as this, but the feeling of him inside of you eclipses everything else. His grip on your hips is tight as he bucks his hips against you, his balls slapping against your ass. And, fuck it, your body is so wound up and tired and overstimulated that tears already spill down your cheeks, giving August exactly what he wants. He slows his movements inside of you to a gentle pace. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out, your brain and body too tired to function properly. August leans down and licks the tears that fall down your face. The act is so sweet, yet simultaneously so arousing, that you moan and whine.

“I love the little sounds you make for me, baby girl,” he whispers. Seconds later he’s pounding into you again, turning your whines into full out screams.

His thrusts grow sloppier, the pace quickening even more, and you wonder when he’s going to cum. Your body is at the edge too, but you’ve already cum so many times that you don’t know if you can do it again.

One of his hands move to your throat, squeezing tight enough to keep you from breathing, while his other moves down to circle your clit. Within seconds your body is so aroused that every part of you is tingling. Your walls clench around his cock as you cum. He follows seconds later. His seed is warm inside of you and shit, he didn’t wear a condom, but you’re too out of it to care or really process what all of that means.

August pulls out of you and releases his grip on your throat, letting you breathe again. He lies down beside you and pulls you into his arms. You rest your head against his chest and listen to his heart begin to slow. His fingers run through your hair soothingly. That’s the last thing you’re aware of before you fall into a deep, blissful sleep.

...

You don’t know what time it is when you wake. All you’re aware of is how sore your body is--and that August is gone. You get out of bed, wondering if he’s getting something to eat downstairs, when you notice a post-it note on the bedside table. You pick it up and read:

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Don’t come looking for me this time.

--AW

***

Taglist:

@littlefreya​

@agniavateira​

@hnryycvll​

[luntica]

Part of my life right now is recovering trauma memories. And before anyone goes "therapist implant those" or some other inappropriate miss information. My therapist has been very hands off as they are one young and undecided, and two never met me in person thanks to covid.

So this has been just occurring naturally, uninfluenced and been a great strain mentally.

I have been drinking alcohol, and using weed for pain usually.

But these memory recoveries often happen after sobering up and feel more real and terrifying in the moment than any movie.

After word they feel unreal and distant. And that disconnect has caused a bad perception of time as of recently where usually I only lose time while gaming or writing on art.

Yesterday often fell like a week ago, moments of the day feeling as if they had happened days ago not hours.

Part of that is dissociative, usually a result of my more active and communicative alters. But another part is the memories cause derealization, a form of dissociation that causes a feeling of disconnect from reality.

Such a huge part of me doesn't want to believe the memories, the alters I meet who have those memories, the fear and trauma responses that happen regardless of how much I deny the memories.

I met a child recently who apparently was "valerie" living threw our later time in Virginia and early schweinfurt. She Usually presents at age 6 and paranoid about everything.

I know many memories aren't just secrets to me that have only now surfaced. But that many who have known me never knew. I don't know how these things went unknown. But I know it happens and isn't the fault of anyone but those who did the wrong doings.

Im slowly having to face these events and accept those traumas to help recover from them. But it's hard. Especially since taking about any of this stuff feels taboo in social culture.

Mental illness

Child trauma

Disabilities

Especially things like multiple personalities and all the bad media, misconceptions and fear.

I just want to be able to tell people I knew befor this stuff came up about everything. I want to ask them if any of it seems possible or makes sense. I want comfort from old friends. I want to consult older people who have trauma and seek advice.

And of course get the mental health help I need. But this field is very limited. Especially if you are nerodivergent and broke.

[orange-plum]

I try to write shit like this, and I always just stare at a blank screen for minutes and delete my sentences.

Maybe it’s that in 3 days it’ll be the 1 month anniversary, or maybe it’s just that for the past couple years I’ve never gotten a break to just catch my breath and recover (Friend drama with Lemon, financial problems, moved out, got a tumor, Lemon’s dad died and she self destructed so I felt like I had to watch out for her and put my emotional stuff on hold, depression, drank every day to cope, more financial problems, surgery, recovery, depression, Voldemort day, friend stuff, Lemon moved away etc etc) but my minds been really discombobulated recently.

I either overthink and wanna do some unhealthy things to cope, or I zone out or dissociate I guess for chunks of time. I think a good 20% of my day I don’t remember. Which is kinda scary cuz the scariest thing that happened to me was in a blank zone. So it freaks me out I guess haha

I remember stuff sometimes tho. I’ve remembered a couple things from that night. One was kinda minor, but the other one was a hand on my ribcage. Just. It feels really imprinted on me haha Even writing that is making my hands shake, but I think at least putting thoughts down “on paper” helps more than I’d like to admit. When I remembered that I think I zoned out cuz I looked at the clock and it was 43 minutes later and I was gripping my hand real hard that I guess I dug my nails into my hand so it’s got all these cuts and shit on it now.

I know it’s not realistic and I don’t have any sort of professional training for it, but I really feel like I should be able to handle this on my own. I don’t like asking for help. I don’t like seeking stuff out and just dumping my shit on someone cuz that’s super rude. Idc if they even say they don’t mind. They’ve got their own stuff, and my stuff is really gross and personal and all it does is make us both feel uncomfortable so. Idk maybe I’m scared of being seen different or pitied? It’s easier just to joke and be pleasant.

It’s just when I get alone I’m just. Idk. I don’t even think I’m a person anymore. Or I don’t feel that way, anyway. 

It’s weird cuz I’m all about positivity and optimism and stuff, but ngl I think you can’t be a survivor without being a victim first. You can’t just wake up the day after something traumatic and be a survivor. Healing doesn’t work like that. And I think I’m just upset cuz I wanna be the survivor version of me but I have to wait to heal to be that. And I hate being a victim it just makes me sound weak and whatever. But it’s not like I have any control over that. I think I’m in the early stages of grief, maybe denial or something. So I’m just nervous that when a later stage comes it’s all gonna hit the fan and I’m just gonna be unbearable to be around and everyone’s just gonna wanna take off.

Which is OK I wouldn’t blame them. Everyone wants a carefree life and shit. I don’t wanna bring someone down with my drama.

I already kinda feel like I do that now anyway haha I feel like I talk about this too much but IDK what else to do with this information. I try to keep 95% of it to myself cuz it’s just unpleasant, but sometimes it spills over.

I remember the first week after it happened I think I stress ate and maybe gained 5-8lbs. But now I just eat a bagel and part of a cucumber a day or something and it’s hard. I had McDonalds the other day cuz I knew it had more calories in it, but I think I lost all that weight and maybe more cuz I just don’t wanna eat. The shorts my dad bought me a few weeks ago, I can now take them off without unbuttoning the button. Which is kinda nice I like losing weight. But I just don’t wanna develop some kinda eating disorder haha 

I upped my workouts, too. I just don’t like anything anymore, but at least with working out I can take out some stress. Maybe that has something to do with it, too? I have no idea.

I just feel like I’m slowly self destructing. And I know I’ll get better cuz I’m strong, and some people tell me that or say they look up to me so I will for their sake, but maybe I do need to self destruct before I can get better? It was kinda like that with my tumor last year. It’s just scary, I guess. I feel high every day, everything’s jumbled around and I blank out and then I feel manic then I’m depressed I’m just all over the place. I’m irregular, that’s it. And I’m tired, man. I’m so tired. Every god damn day. I’m just exhausted even when I’m just sitting down. And when I’m not awake I’ve been having dreams of being murdered and assaulted. It’s freaking me out.

No, I’m not going to go vent to someone. No, I’m not gonna look into any self help groups. No, I’m not going back to therapy. Thank you for everyone who offered advice, but I know me and I’m not gonna do that stuff. Not right now, anyway.

I think I’m also jealous. Jealous people get to have lives that don’t feel like you’re a pilot to a body instead of in a body. They have friends and dates and relationships and priorities. Meanwhile I’m over here on pause and my biggest accomplishment is walking outside to my car when the sun’s up.

And I feel bad, cuz that’s not fair. When did I become the bitter bitch because people have lives? I’m sure I can have a life. I think I’m just too scared to have one. Cuz if I do, maybe that’ll lead back to another bad situation.

I had a life the night I went out and look where that got me.

And another thing, I can’t get over Lemon. I’m just. Idek if I wanna talk to her anymore. We text sometimes since she moved, but she... she dropped the ball so hard on me. She ignored the issue and moved away to be happy with her boyfriend and start a new life. I went out for her last night here like she wanted, got assaulted, and then she expects me to act like it never happened so she could move. I’m just upset with her I can’t even explain how upset I am with her. And she comes back to town next month.... If I let her know how I feel, she’s gonna shut down and never speak to me again I know it, and IDK if that’s what I want. But not telling her how pissed off I am is also eating me alive.

I remember sitting there with that cop staring at me, telling me I needed to make a decision on the spot. And I had my hands in my hair, completely unsure if I wanted to open an investigation, and I was like “If my friend just called the cab company I’d know what to do” and he was like “Yeah, but she didn’t. So you need to decide.”

I literally could not choose to file something because fucking Lemon didn’t call that damn cab company. I am so upset over that I think about that every day.

I just want to shut up and never talk about this again but I can’t. I say that and then vent like this. I feel like I walk around with a big X over my head that people can see “Ruined” or something. I don’t even know how to function anymore. Maybe I have ptsd IDK. I always think about it. When you think I’m not thinking about it, you’re wrong.

I hate myself at the moment. And I know it won’t always be like that. Recovery, and all. But for the process, at the moment that’s how I feel. I’m just a barely functioning person who’s ruined. 

I’ll pick up the pieces. I will. I will. I will for sure. But I’m being honest rn. No amount of reassurances will change how I feel.

What happened to me in my mind right now was my fault, I put my friend above myself again and because of that I had to learn a life lesson. Whyyyy did I look away for those 5 seconds? Ughhh It’s none of my business. My parents told me all the time for years that it’s not my business if Lemon’s in trouble with a guy. I shouldn’t have butted my nose in and pushed that drunk guy away. She’s an adult, she can tell him to fuck off if she wants. She just has no backbone and maybe I feel like I have to look out for her??? Look where that got me. I look out for Lemon and get roofied, only to have her ignore my requests to help me afterwards and move. She ain’t ride or die. She cares about me, but not enough to be 100% a friend.

I got ruined for someone who doesn’t even meet a friend standard. People have told me that for years and I ignored them. I’m so fucking stupid jeez, Orange. It’s common sense.

I’m not grounded, I guess. I’m just all over the place. I wish I had someone to ground me. I’d literally pay a big, strong guy to give me a hug for 5 minutes just so I feel safe for a second. I just don’t feel safe, I guess. I keep getting nervous this will happen a second time. It’s like a gut feeling. When I go outside I’m just jittery, watching people.

Ugh. Well. I just wanted to vent. This is just for myself. I’m a pretty open person so Idc if I do this on my blog and people see it but. If I write it to myself in private it doesn’t seem real. So I don’t like doing that Idc I’m not sure why. I’m not trying to start drama I swear. So just ignore this. I just needed to clear my head and breathe for aminute.

[omnical]

I Sing the Body Electric... (2/?)

( Previous - Next )

Summary: Dr. Angela Ziegler knows a few things about Detective Fareeha Amari.

Genre: AU, Romance. Dark humor, supernatural elements.

Characters/Pairings: Angela, Fareeha, Pharmercy; minor: Lucio, Mei

Rating: T, mentions of body gore and third party violence, dark humor.

Links: AO3

Dr. Angela Ziegler did not know what she was doing with her life.

To be fair, she never expected to be haunted by her own insecurities, but Angela supposed reaching her thirties was the primary culprit of her sudden change of heart. She never used to worry, and never used to wonder if she was wasting her life by focusing on her work, until she found it barely made her happy anymore. 

Sometimes Angela allowed herself to sink back into her memories. Mostly whenever feelings of intense sadness came into her mind, unbidden. Memories of when she was a child in her father’s study, wide-eyed and curious about his strange books, and colorful anatomical models with their detachable parts.

She remembered examining them with her pudgy toddler hands, lower lip sticking out as she took them apart --  cillary body, choroid, sclera, lens -- before putting the parts back together again. She liked putting them back together again.

She remembered her parents telling her how smart she was, how good she was, pride lighting their eyes. If she tried hard enough, Angela could still remember their voices. It helped lift her spirits up, sometimes.

However, her parents’ untimely passing did not exhaust love and warmth from her life. She lead a happy and carefree childhood, after her parents died. Her aunt and uncle tried their hardest to fill that silence in her heart with their own voices, and sometimes Angela thought it worked. Your mother and father would have been so proud of you, Angela.

And now, after making a living out of being smart, she became Auntie Dr. Angela, who sent the best sweets and the newest toys despite missing family gatherings for the holidays sometimes.

And birthday parties.

And weddings. Video calls.

Auntie’s funeral.

“It’s all right, my dear. Maybe you can come next year?”

...

Dr. Lindholm found Angela dissociating in front of her computer monitor one day.

He brought her hot chocolate from the coffee machine in the pantry, the beverage watery and clumped up with cheap chocolate powder. And with it, he effectively coaxed her out of her mental calisthenics. She was like a terrified critter hiding inside her burrow. “You always did think too much for your own good.” He said.

She had no one else to turn to, no one else to confide in, until Dr. Lindholm, poorly hiding the hurt he felt after Angela hesitated to tell him initially, managed to make her spill everything with one look.

“When I was your age, I ended up working myself to the bone, too.” Dr. Lindholm grumbled through his words, speaking with a gruff gentleness only a father of seven would have. “Until my poor wife knocked some sense into this hard noggin’ of mine, and I had to look back at myself and what I was missing. But that’s life.”

“Why did you decide to stay?”

“I was happy with my job and I still am.” He answered, tugging his mustache with a thumb and forefinger. “Sometimes you need to figure out what’s best for you, get your hands dirty. But it is different for everybody, Angela. Whatever worked for me might not work for you. These things don’t come with a manual.”

“I see.”

“Guess that means you can do whatever the hell you want.”

“It would be easier if I knew what I wanted to do.”

“Take a day off.” Dr. Lindholm said, patting her shoulder. “Away from all this crap. Maybe that will help clear your head?”

Angela walked to a pub that evening with some of her coworkers, some of them surprised that one of their local recluse bothered to join them at all. She holed herself up against the corner of the pub at first, until Dr. Winston invited her to throw a few darts with him, which was fun despite missing the dartboard the entire time. She also cheered for a losing football team, got into a heated debate about rugby with a baffled stranger, drinking pint after pint. Mirthful brown eyes watched her all night.

After getting ‘plenty pissed’, she went home. Angela woke up with a bad hangover, her mouth sour, and a pulsing headache, wondering if her night out helped.

She felt inclined to disagree after vomiting all over her bathroom floor. It took hours until she mustered the strength to clean up after her own mess.

The next day, Dr. Angela Ziegler deleted her resignation letter, and never thought about quitting her job again.

The steel autopsy table glinted from the bright surgical lights overhead.

When Angela closed her eyes, blinding spots shaped like surgical light bulbs flashed behind her eyelids. She blinked, long and hard, willing them to go away.

When she opened them again, she noticed Lucio was sending her a look over the autopsy table, a pair of forceps in his hand.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“I can see that.”

Angela looked down at their patient.

Hi .

Time to get back to work.

An assistant drone whizzed past Angela’s eyesight with a mechanical hum. Its gears and internal mechanisms whirring and clicking, its optical eye taking photographs of the cadaver, and stowing away details for the report; breaking them down into categories. Nails, skin, hair. And while the drone did its work, Angela exhaled, letting a long breath whoosh from her lips.

“February 8, 1:45 PM. Female, forty-eight years old. Found in her living room, seven hours after time of death, which was estimated at: February 7, 10 PM. According to investigation reports, she died from an unwitnessed cardiac arrest.” Angela frowned beneath her medical mask. “Her family wanted to be sure about the cause of death. As far as we know, she was alone at home. No evidence of assault or struggle.”

The patient’s feet were swollen. Taut skin stretched across sharp lines of bone. The corpse’s flesh -- once brown and aglow with the rosy hue of life -- was now ashen and cold. The patient’s face was expressionless, grim. Mrs. Tanner looked peaceful in her final rest.

I am so sorry.

“Assistant drones found some areas of her clothing were singed.” Angela said. “Very slight, almost undetectable. There were no signs of burns on the corpse, either.”

“That’s weird.”

“Very weird.”

“The police reports never mentioned anything which might have caused it.” Lucio said, “Think it’s conclusive evidence, doc?”

“Maybe. If only things can be that easy.”

Angela fiddled with the plastic shield protecting her face. She fixed her rubber gloves around her wrists, listening to it snap against her skin, as if the sound would quell the storm forming inside her heart.

“Okay, I am ready.” Angela said, “Let’s open her up.”

Lucio handed her a scalpel.

…

“Wanna order Italian later, doc?”

“That sounds great. I’m craving garlic bread.”

“I know this place that makes amazing garlic bread. They make their own bread -- fancy restaurants always make their own bread -- so you know it’s super fancy. It’s a walk away from here, but totally worth it.” Lucio said. “Better not have too much, though, people say garlic breath is a turn off for some people. If you know what I mean.”

Angela held the sternal saw aloft. She sent him a dirty look.

“Hey, I'm just saying.”

“We are recording this session, Dr. dos Santos.”

“Nobody but us listens to it, anyway, what's the harm?”

“Ugh.” Angela turned the saw on and began to cut across the sides of their patient’s rib cage.

...

“Need help there, doc?”

“Yes.” Angela nodded. “Take this to the tray, please.”

“Got it.”

“Thank you.”

Working with the dead followed a careful step-by-step scientific process.

“Checking the pericardial sac. Scalpel, please? The small one.”

The other half of the job was to understand the abstract.

“Maybe a towel, too.” she added. “There is a lot of liquid in the cavity.”

Whenever Angela got bored during her trip to and from work, she found herself watching ordinary people mill about in their daily lives. A person showing signs of nicotine addiction. An elderly woman waiting in a cafe who was probably diabetic, her coffee order later confirming Angela’s guess. A child chasing a cat after recovering from a broken leg, maybe two or three weeks ago. They were textbook and precise observations, nearly perfected after years of practice.

Since their patients did not have the ability to speak for themselves anymore, or show discomfort, or express pain, they took it upon themselves to help reveal the dead’s final words. But it was the unpredictable human mind which added tons of variables and what-ifs in the equation; something unseen from the abstract could turn a murder case around and present truths from lies. Their patient’s final meal. Their medicine intake. Past ailments. Angela had a knack for the abstract.

“What do you think so far?” Dr. dos Santos asked, helping her lift a layer of flesh with a large pair of forceps.

Dr. Ziegler, hands deep inside the body’s chest cavity, answered. “Homicide.”

“How’d you figure?”

“Let’s call it a gut feeling, doctor.” An amused wrinkle appeared around Angela’s eyes, revealing the smile under her mask.

“Ha, very funny.” Lucio said. “Are you suggesting a killer clown appeared from her television screen and scared her to death?” He chuckled, “We should send that report to the Chief of Police. Get his grouchy ass storming our office.”

"Wouldn’t that be a sight."

“Speaking of the Chief of Police--”

Angela and Lucio jumped at the new voice.

A short woman, round-faced and perky, smiled at them from behind the autopsy room doors. “I am so sorry for interrupting you guys." she said with a nervous giggle, "How is the examination going?”

“Lucio and I are still not finished with this one, Mei.” Angela said, bowing her head in apology. “Would it be possible if you told Captain Morrison we will finish this after three?”

“Okay,” Mei shrugged, throwing the pair a knowing look. “I guess I’ll tell Detective Dimples to come back another time.”

Dr. Ziegler dropped her scalpel in Mrs. Tanner’s chest.

“Oh, shit.”

Detective Amari was here.

Detective Fareeha Amari.

Fareeha Amari. She was here.

Angela skidded to a halt outside her office door, and took a moment to stare at the twisted knotholes of the wood. Blue eyes, dancing like two fading matchsticks, unable to focus where she was looking until Angela concentrated all her intent on the silver of the doorknob. She had to find the strength to open the door eventually.

Angela worried her lower lip, fingers combing the messy rat’s nest of hair on her head. She tugged at the lapels of her white coat, which smelled of antiseptic and murk from the autopsy earlier. It stank on her skin, under her nose, and her eyes had deep bags under them, as if they were two small ditches dug out by a worn trowel. The scent and look of death always clung to her, but she thought it was impossible to look nice after spending hours in the morgue.

After a few moments shifting her weight between her feet, she willed steel into her bones and pushed the door open. A beam of white light from the hallway’s fluorescent lighting escaped through the gap, and as soon as she opened the door, a person’s shadow revealed itself stretched out onto the rug. She hesitated, her eyes adjusting from the dim room after walking through the hall. Dark clouds covered the sun, the rain pelting her window, overall encompassing her office with a dreary, gray overtone.

When her eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting, Angela’s gaze followed the unmoving shadow to its source -- who was wearing a pair of soggy black shoes.

Her eyes traced up to dark trouser pants, pressed, creased, hiding a pair of elegant, long legs. A coat hung over their shoulders, limp and drenched from the afternoon rain.

Detective Fareeha Amari loomed above Angela’s desk, surveying the mass of documents and towers of folders strewn about. Her head quirked to the side, probably in curiosity, hair dripping with rain water. It was a miracle Detective Amari did not notice Angela leaning against the doorway, her knees folding over each other, wobbling like jelly.

Taking a shaky step forward, Angela closed the door behind her, careful so as not to startle her visitor. She licked her lips, mind racing over ideas on how to greet the detective without looking like a baffled idiot. Just a simple greeting. She had to sound calm, firm, use her customer service telephone voice. That always worked.

‘Fancy seeing you here, Detective Amari. You cut a dashing figure, as always.’

That was horrible.

“Dr. Ziegler,” Angela forced herself to abandon her thoughts, dragging her eyes away from the pair of long legs gracing her office, and into Detective Amari’s eyes. Dark brown eyes, almost black. It left her rooted on the spot, her knees stopped wobbling like jelly. “Glad to see you again, doctor.”

“Fancy dashing you here."

Detective Amari raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips quirking to an amused grin. “I’m sorry?”

Angela cleared her throat. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

There were a few things Angela knew about the mysterious Detective Fareeha Amari.

First. She had a stress ball tucked inside her jacket pocket at all times. It was orange, like a basketball.

Second. She wore a lady’s suit at work, and sometimes a baggy windbreaker jacket during colder days, instead of a blazer. She wore a pair of jeans and a baseball cap during stakeouts and sting operations. She always looked perfect.

Third. She did not mind being referred to as a they, or a he, or a she. “Doesn’t matter.” Detective Amari said once, “Please call me whatever you like.”

Fourth. A week ago, Detective Amari had a cut on her cheek and a broken finger. Two weeks before that, a suspect made her long nose crooked for a while. Three months ago, she broke her leg after falling off a flight of stairs in the precinct.

Today a broken arm hung over her chest in a sling, and half of her face was swollen and purple like a bowl of bruised mangoes and grapes.

Fifth. Fareeha knew a few things about Dr. Angela Ziegler.

"Please tell me those bandages aren’t hiding anything serious.”

“Got roughed up a couple of days ago." Detective Amari said.

“You should take better care of yourself, detective.”

“I’m used to it, doctor. Occupational hazard.” She smiled, motioning at her cast. “Comes with the territory.”

Angela shook her head and scoffed, trying to keep herself from being charmed by the curve of Fareeha’s full lips, and the grin reaching her eyes. “Oh, nonsense. Let me get you something.”

Detective Amari faltered, “I hope I am not intruding, doctor?”

Angela waved away her weak excuses, and began searching for a towel, a handkerchief -- anything that could help her friend. She ignored a few empty drawers, and quickly closed the one overflowing with rubbish before Fareeha saw her shame.

Finally, she found a hand towel from her tote bag, and handed it Detective Amari with an embarrassed chuckle.

“I guess I should have been better prepared, considering the local weather.” Angela said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? Always raining, and dark, and...” --   stop talking about the weather, Angela -- “Anyway, I hope this can help.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Fareeha smiled, and took the offered towel from Angela’s hand. “To be fair, it’s not everyday a soaked idiot comes in dripping water everywhere after forgetting to bring an umbrella.”

“Indeed. I mean, you’re not an idiot. That’s not what I meant.” Angela twisted her fingers around each other, resisting the urge to caress the bruises on Detective Amari’s cheek. “And you are free to intrude on my work any time, by the way. I don’t mind.”

Detective Amari opened her mouth, pausing as if she was about to apologize for the second time, before changing her mind. “Thank you.”

“Wuh -- ” Words, Angela. “Would you like to take a seat and tell me why you got injured, this time?”

“Just a group of guys assaulting a kid in an alleyway.” She replied with a tight smile, shaking her head. “We didn’t expect it to turn into a car chase across the square to sixth avenue. Backed them up into a building, where they had friends waiting. One of them sucker punched me.”

“Oh, goodness.”

“I broke my arm after tripping over a rubbish bin an hour later.”

“Sounds... exciting.”

“And a lot of paperwork,” Detective Amari frowned. “Which is less fun compared to a car chase, I guess.” She handed Angela the damp towel after attempting to dry her face. Detective Amari took a moment to comb her hair back with her fingers, dark strands curling over her cheek, making it look both neat and tousled and... “Maybe you should take a seat, doctor? Your knees are shaking.”

Angela felt herself fall into her leather chair, boneless -- she cleared her throat. “So, how can I help you today, Detective Amari? Is this about a case?”

The detective tensed, her mouth turning into a frown as she leaned against the edge of the desk, fingers gripping the edge. “Yes, in fact.” She pulled out a thick case file from inside her suit jacket, and Angela wondered how she kept it dry and intact after running through the rain.

“We got a video clip.”

Dr. Ziegler flipped through case file, her knuckles white as she flipped through the pages. Pictures and reported evidence spread across desk in a mess, all of which she still remembered fresh in her mind, while the newly found puzzle-piece played on her computer monitor in a loop.

“Maybe the recording was tampered?”

“Maybe.” Detective Amari scratched the bandage under her chin. “Our techie couldn’t find anything suspicious in the recording. Or the recorder, for that matter. There were no time skips, no evidence of anything being erased. No tampering, as far as we know.”

“So his wife hid the camera inside the… ?”

“She hid the camera inside his bookcase.”

“Because she suspected her husband was cheating on her.”

“I know what this looks like. Jealous wife murders husband, plants fake or tampered evidence to get us off her trail.” Detective Amari said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It is true Mrs. Finnegan has a clear motive, but why would she give us the recording? She could have destroyed it, and we would have never known it existed.”

“Detective,” Angela pulled her glasses from her nose. She paused, resting the spectacles on her thigh. “Are you prepared to tell me he was killed by an invisible creature?”

They shared a look.

“These strange cases have been popping up left and right.” Angela said. “We were working on another case before you came to visit, and believe me when I say I can’t wrap my head around that one either.” She leaned against her chair with a tired huff. “They all look like natural causes -- our autopsies reveal they are natural cases. Oftentimes we leave it as is and shelf it, but I’m often at a loss. It always feels wrong, somehow. Off. Like there’s something missing.”

“I know.” Detective Amari pushed herself away from Angela’s desk. “I feel the same.”

The detective stared at the wall opposite Angela, deep in thought. After a while, the square of her shoulders deflated. “I just came by to inform you, doctor. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you think of anything. Invisible men, werewolves, body-snatchers, whatever you guys figure out.” she chuckled, finding no humor in her words. “As long as there's evidence backing it, I’m willing to hear anything at this point.”

“This is something your techie can figure out more than I can.” Angela said. She smoothed down the crinkles of her dress shirt, trying to find something her fingers could be busy with while the detective stood too close in front of her. Their knees were almost touching. “Strange video recordings aren’t my forte, unless...”

Detective Amari froze.

“No.”

“Unless I -- ”

“Absolutely not.” Fareeha pivoted around her heels and began to pace, her hand expressing her words wildly. “May I remind you about the last time you took a plunge? Light bulbs exploded, things floated around, creepy voices. And I think that body moved.”

“That was completely my fault. I forgot to mention temporary reanimation can happen sometimes.”

“You fainted and you stared at your hands for an hour, doctor."

"Now, I don't remember that..."

Fareeha shot her a dry look. "You were talking about yellow eyes.”

“Sometimes they get annoyed.”

“I nearly -- ” Fareeha closed her eyes and pulled away, biting the insides of her cheek. “I won’t let you go through that again. It’s too dangerous.”

“We don’t even know if I will make contact.” Angela glanced at the door in case anyone else was listening. “Besides, last time was just a tiny, tiny oversight.”

“A tiny oversight?”

“Fareeha, please listen to me?”

Fareeha closed her mouth and shook her head in disbelief, but decided to do as Angela insisted. Instead, she grabbed the orange stress-ball from inside her jacket pocket, and squeezed it with an iron grip.

“I have lived with this curse all my life, and I wasted so much time trying to forget it ever existed. I’m out of practice, I admit, but I am ready to keep trying.” Angela said. “Two times out of ten it can get worse. Three times out of eight, nothing happens. But there is a fifty-percent chance of us getting the answers we need."

"With the remaining fifty-percent possibility of the guy’s head spinning around? I can deal with poltergeists, maybe, but not that."

“The body’s head didn’t spin.” Angela groaned. "Look, whatever, or whoever is running around in this city, innocent people are getting killed.”

“And we’ll do our best to stop them.” Fareeha said. “We’ll search for other solutions. Our techie can check the video again, she’s a genius. The toxicology report is still pending. Maybe he got stung by a bee and he’s allergic. I dunno.” she winced. “Contacting crazy spirits should be our last resort, doctor. God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“And what if there's no other way?”

“I’ll find another way."

“I can do this.” Angela said, almost jumping up from her chair. “I know I can do this.”

“Yes, but I can’t--” Fareeha said with a frustrated sigh, squeezing the ball hard until her hand shook. “I just wanted to update you about the case and tell you what we found. I wanted to make sure I wasn't losing my mind."

"You didn't show this video to anyone else, did you?" she asked, her sentence a statement more than a question. The detective's accompanying silence was enough of a reply.

"I can’t ask you to risk your life again." Fareeha said. "If something happens to you…“

Angela’s shoulders fell.

The rain outside seemed to grow in volume as they both regarded each other, silent and tight lipped. Heavy droplets pelting the windowpane, her desktop computer whirring, thunder rolling across the dreary city.

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Fareeha spoke again. “I can't lose you to one of those things, doctor. You are one of the few good friends I have.”

Angela felt her heart flutter. “Well,” she mumbled, inwardly cursing herself for folding under the spell of Fareeha Amari’s words too soon. “I’m, um, same. You are the same, to me, I mean. A friend.” She breathed in awe.

Detective Amari’s lips twitched into a weary smile, tucking her stress ball back inside her coat pocket. “Don’t fret about this case too much.” Her voice deepened in confidence, and Angela felt her back stiffen in attention. “Please leave it to me. I promise we’ll figure something out. Invisible creatures or no.”

“We will.”

“Are we okay?”

“We’re okay.” Angela croaked.

“Good.” Fareeha sighed in relief, “Shit, I need to go. Busy day in the precinct.”

“Of course.”

“Please take it easy, doctor, and don’t do anything without me. My apologies for taking too much of your time.”

Fareeha gathered the case documents from Angela’s desk, shoving it back inside her coat, and began to walk away before Angela could form a coherent reply. “You have my number, Dr. Ziegler, call me any time. I mean it.” Fareeha blindly reached for the door as she turned to look at Angela. Her dark eyes gripped Angela’s attention like a vice, that it seemed to glow under the dim lighting of the room. “Give me two weeks and maybe -- if all else fails -- maybe I will consider helping you do the other thing.”

“How about next week?” Lunch? Dinner? A movie?

An early morning jog around the park?

Oh, forget that, Angela. You can’t jog even if your life depended on it.

Fareeha laughed. “You are, by far, the toughest, most stubborn woman I have ever met. I’ll give you that, doctor.” she winked. “Two weeks, tops, and I promise I will help you.”

“I will take your word for it, detective.” Angela swallowed, her throat pushing down her traitorous thoughts, as if it would spill out of her mouth if she allowed them to stray.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

Angela tensed, her fingers digging into the arm of her chair as she watched the detective pull her door open with nary a backwards glance. “Wait, Fareeha.”

“Yes, doctor?”

Angela faltered, chewing her lower lip. Her heart aching as a billion sentences rolled through her head, most of them spontaneous invitations to places she has never seen before. But wouldn't it be nice if she had? With someone like the detective?

Live a little.

“Thank you.” Angela said, “For looking out for me.”

Surprise lit up Fareeha’s face. Her smile crooked, and her eyes warm. They felt like a hearth in Angela’s cold office.

“Any time, Dr. Ziegler.”

Detective Amari was already closing the door behind her before Angela could find it in herself to speak again. The last edges of her shadow disappearing underneath the frame; and with it, the final traces of her warm presence.

Notes: This took so so damn long, I'm not gonna lie folks, we spent the entire two month hiatus to expand this little one-shot into a hopefully more proper multi-chapter. We had a lot of fun plotting and planning things out, but man... did you know you can watch human autopsies online? Yeah... you can watch human autopsies online, full and very graphic ones. Very educational!

Anyway, unfortunately, we can't promise another prompt update (though at least now I know which direction and style we're goin with this), since I'll be moving apartments sometime around next month, and things will be incredibly busy as heck, but we will most definitely do our best :D

Thank you very much for reading! Have a nice day, everyone~

Edited (24/09/17): So soon! Had to post this very late and caught a few minor errors I overlooked :)

[jam2289]

Explorations in Business - Part 3 of ?

This is my third time trying to write this article in the last two weeks.

Here was my last attempt.

- - - - - - -

I always wanted to have an interesting life, and I do.

I have done the classics like mountain climbing, skydiving, alligator wrestling, whitewater rafting, running with bulls, scuba diving, ice luging, road tripping, etc. I officiated my second wedding this weekend, I just arranged to borrow the staffs, swords, and dueling pistols for one of my four speeches at the Harry Potter festival in Sparta, Michigan this summer, I'm writing notes for the comic book I'm working on, and the philosophy papers I'm working on, and the fictional tales I'm working on, and I'm editing horror stories for the "Horror Without Borders" anthology for the Russian publisher I'm working with. All of that just starts to hit on the interesting things I've done, but I have a bit of a problem.

Since I've focused so much on doing interesting things that almost all of the values I've fulfilled in life have been experiential values, and that's become a strong habit now. What my life is mostly missing is the productive side of the equation, the creative values. Obviously I've started to change that, that's what the writing is about and that's what starting the business is about. But, the transition is not smooth. Rewiring the brain is not easy or fast. In a general sense you could say I have developed the skill of consuming life, but not the skill of producing life.

remuneration, just and unjust society, catallactics and cratics

Two weeks ago I put the MeditateWithJeff.com website up. I posted it to a number of groups about pain and meditation. Only the pain groups make sense. I had a few people go to the site. I didn't accurately track it because I just used the cheapest version of Weebly. But, 11 people watched the video I had on the site. It was a Youtube link, so some might have come from there, but I set it up so that you would probably only get to the video through the website. But, only three people filled in any part of the survey section that I had set up. Out of that only one person filled in the contact information.

- - - - - - -

Normally when I start writing an article I just grind on it until it's done, I go through it once for editing, and I hit publish. I had to stop on this article because I had a chiropractic appointment, and when I got back the words just weren't coming out anymore.

To finish the idea that I started in that aborted article, I sent an email to Wendy saying that I would like to talk about what she thought of what I was doing with meditatewithjeff.com and how I could make it the most helpful for her. Let me look up the actual email because maybe my communication is just bad, but she never responded. Here's the email.

- - - - - - -

Hi, I appreciate you filling out the info on my site. If it's possible I would like to get on a video conference with you this week. The survey questions are great, but more can be learned when you're really talking to someone. Is there a time on Wednesday that would work?

Jeff Martin

- - - - - - -

Apparently I need to get better at writing those. One of the other people that responded to the survey questions said that they really wanted me to reach out to them so that we could talk, but they didn't give me any contact information.

I had planned to have at least one conversation before doing anything else. When that one conversation never happened I just didn't do anything else. It's kind of pathetic, a complete lack of initiative. It saddens me to observe this in myself. So, we will dive deep and fast into what's wrong with my psychology and how I might fix it, then I will jump into a bunch of business decisions that I need to work out.

Here's the problem, when I had my misadventure in Africa a few years ago it was a bit traumatic. It was definitely dramatic. I've been traumatized before and it took me years to learn how to fix that, but I did. Now that I have that knowledge it's not too hard to use it again. Trauma isn't really an issue for me anymore. The issue came after the event itself.

Over the next couple of years my ability to do anything was hammered into the ground. I lost my physical abilities to the point of not being able to walk across the street to get the mail without having to take multiple breaks to lean on cars and catch my breath. I lost my short term ability to the point where I could only repeat back three numbers at a time, the average is about 7 or 8, and with the collapes of my short term memory down went my IQ too. Losing long term memories was the scariest part. It's trippy to realize that you've forgotten things you used to know, because you're not sure what else you've forgotten and you have no way of founding out. It feels like your life is being erased. Without these abilities you can't really do anything in life. One failure can be recovered from, two failures can be ignored, three failures can be overcome, you can convince yourself to keep trying after four failures. Eventually though, eventually it wears you down.

Those couple of years wore me down. I'm not sure how many years they took off my lifespan, it was not insignificant. But the detrimental thing that happened is that it erased my idea of my future self. It was hard realizing that I was no longer how I defined myself. I used to think of myself as an intelligent adventurer. I could no longer call myself either of those things. That's bad. It's worse to realize that you don't really have any reason to make plans for the future. If you can't do anything and you're losing your memory then your future is short, there's just no reason to construct an idea of a future self.

When I think of myself in the future I think of nothing. I don't see myself in the future. I see the future as being without me. That's no longer the case at this point. My health is doing pretty well. I joined the high IQ society Mensa after having brain damage. I should have ideas about my future because I have a future, there's just been a lag in my mind building that future self again.

I noticed this problem sometime in the last two years, this not being able to think of myself in the future outside of the next couple of months. And that's a problem, because it's a problem that I haven't been able to address. I've been working on it. I've been writing out goals, ideas, and plans. I have a ton of plans for writing projects. I've developed a value chart based on an expansion I made to the work done by psychologist Viktor Frankl. I've used a technique adapted from psychologist Carl Jung to incorporate dissociated parts of my personality that have shown up in various dreams and such. These things have helped. They've changed my personality to some extent, but not enough.

Which brings me to what I need to do. This is what I think has the best chance of causing a significant personality change in a positive direction, but it's uncomfortable just thinking about it. That's often a good sign that you're on the right path. The psychologist Jordan Peterson talks about how the Soviet writer Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn did it when he was in the gulags. You need to figure out every major mistake you've made in your life. You need to look at every major thing that has gone wrong, why and how it went wrong, what you could have done differently, and what you should have done.

The reason that we have memories is so that we can do better at living in the future. I do not see myself as doing better at living in the future. I want to. I think that it's logical that I could, but it feels inauthentic. So it's reasonable to think that I have ineffectively adjusted to my surroundings because I made the wrong choices about how to perceive and act in the world. If I could process those decisions and make better ones then it's reasonable to think that I would change my ability to live.

It only makes sense to do this in writing because writing is thought that you can refine. So, that is an uncomfortable process that I will soon start on my blog at JeffreyAlexanderMartin.com, JeffThinks.com, and/or Jeff.Irish. I am logically looking forward to it, emotionally I am not.

Now, back to the business. The FounderCo meeting in Holland went well today. It was focused on marketing. I am a step behind that, still trying to find the product-market fit. Or, more traditionally labeled as market research and product development. Or, more honestly labeled as trying to figure out what the heck I'm selling and who I'm selling it to.

My idea in one sentence is something like this: I help people with chronic pain use meditation to change their perception of that pain so that they can live and function better. Every time I say it, it comes out a little differently.

The mentor I sat down with today was also a Jeff. There are a lot of us. Jeff was throwing ideas at me off the cuff after I started him down the path of my idea and explained where I was in the process. Here's his basic perspective. What I need to do is get clear about my customer persona. Then I need to find out what makes my solution different and position my company in that way. I could kill my business right at the start with pricing so I should talk to a number of potential customers to try to feel that out. I should know more about my competitors. I need to work on getting strategic referral partners. I should develop some cheap lead products that will help people to trust me so that they will buy more expensive programs. I also need to find some credibility.

That's all pretty good stuff. Things I have to think about. Hard problems.

My discussion group was interesting. It's a valuable part of the meeting. Liz asked me what my gimmick was after I told her the basic idea of MeditateWithJeff.com. I was a bit confused by that and said that the closest thing to a gimmick that I have is my personal story. It took several minutes to tell, but it seemed to connect with people. In person I connect well, especially when telling stories. It's all of that practice in Toastmasters meetings. I think the story can be my credibility and eliminate the need for any kind of gimmick. I hope so because otherwise I don't have credibility and I don't like gimmicks.

For the last part of the meeting I talked with Hailey about literature. It was great. I have a lot of good conversations with a lot of interesting people, but that was the most engaging one for me in the last few weeks. It's funny because I came away from that discussion feeling enlivened, and knowing a few things of note about Hailey. But, she now knows quite a lot about me for such a short discussion. She has the skill of listening in spades. I didn't fully realize that until I was walking away. A great skill to have.

So, business decisions. Let's see what I can work out here. Here's another version of my one sentence that I wrote down: I help people in chronic pain learn to perceive that pain in a new and more manageable way.

That sounds pretty good. One issue is that this isn't completely true. It's a statement that might be true in the future if things go well. Eric Weinstein is the capital investment manager for billionaire Peter Thiel. He talks about what success takes. It's about crossing an adaptive valley. Imagine you're on a hill in one spot. You can't go any higher. But, you can see a mountain. Now, to get to that mountain you not only have to climb, you also have to go down this hill and across the valley. When you start you're not even sure you can do it. You say you can do it, and then we find out if you really can when you try. That's what that statement is, it's on the other side of the adaptive valley.

One thing I think I am making progress on is describing what the problem with chronic pain is and how that might change. It's been getting better verbally as I've talked with people about it. The basic idea is that the pain takes up all of your awareness. You can't focus on anything else, you can't think of anything else. It's like one of the warning lights coming on in your car. Maybe you need an oil change. But, instead of just having a light come on, there's a siren with flashing lights right in the middle of your car. You cover your ears, but now you've let go of the steering wheel. You have to grab on again. The lights are flashing in your eyes and you can't think with all of the sound. That's what intense chronic pain is like, it takes over your entire awareness.

We're not trying to turn off the warning light. Actually, we want the warning light on. Today at the business meeting Liz asked me if I have made myself impervious to other types of pain. I have not. And, I don't want to. I still want to be aware of the pain in my neck and head. The pain is there for a reason. It's important to be able to feel it to be aware of things getting better or worse. If I do something that throws my spine too far out of place I will start to get cognitive issues in just a few days in a small way. If I went a few weeks without a chiropractic adjustment in that situation I would start to have fairly severe memory issues again. I need to know if there's an issue, I need to be aware of the warning signal.

All I want to do is turn off the flashing lights and siren. I don't need those. I know there's an important problem and I'm doing my best to fix the situation. But I can't fully fix it. I will remain aware of it and monitor it, but I need to be able to function in life. I need to be able to do things. So I need to turn off those lights and siren, and that's what I do with my meditation technique.

A business consultant at the meeting asked me how often I meditate. I think my answer surprised him. I'm inconsistent. I meditate here and there. I've found that to manage the pain I probably need to meditate every few weeks. I think the longest I've gone without meditating was two months and still managed it fairly well. A lot of people meditate to stay calm and focused. I think that for that thing then daily practice is probably important, but it's completely different for chronic pain management. The need fluctuates based on what's happening in your life.

I think a key part of my customer persona is that they are committed. I think that this will often go with desperation in the case of chronic pain. That's unfortunate, but it's the reality. I've been there. And that's the point, to help them. I think this contradicts the idea of having cheap products and services. Then people can just "try it out." Well, that's not going to work. If you just play with this what's going to happen is that it's going to be uncomfortable and then you're going to quit. I'm fairly tough. I broke my collarbone in football practice when I was 13. I didn't even take a break. I kept practicing. I didn't go to the doctor. I didn't miss a practice. I didn't miss a game. I had issues holding my arm up. I couldn't get in my stance on that hand and had to rest it across my thigh. It was harder to hold onto the ball. It hurt like hell. I was stupid. But I played the whole second half of the season with that collarbone healing on its own. So, I think I can say that I'm fairly tough, but I almost quit using this meditation technique for the pain issues in my spine. It's not easy.

I think that's why I might go against almost everyone's advice and not do a cheap product. The people that I'll have have tried other things and they didn't work, they've been waiting for the pain to go away and it hasn't, they're desperate and committed, and willing to take a plunge and see what happens. Maybe I could have a video that essentially lays out how to do everything. Maybe I sell this for... I have no idea. Let's say 200 dollars? Then, if you want to really dive in you can join the group. The first month is 500 dollars and includes three private sessions. The normal monthly fee after that is 100 dollars a month and we do a weekly live call. I'm not sure that makes sense.

I think I need to engage local pain groups, but I kind of want to go to them with something. I need to reach out to people with lists, but I want to have something before I do that too. Maybe I could reach out to these people before I have anything and say what I'm trying to do. That might work. Maybe I could just write my story and reach out with that.

I will probably incorporate some mention of pain in a speech I give this month. Not a specific focus on this, but hitting on it somewhat. That will continue my development of articulating this subject.

I think that maybe I should just be trying to arrange calls with potential customers rather than any type of survey.

I should develop a FAQ section. I think that might help me to figure out what people will be confused or unsure about and address it. I got that idea from the meeting two weeks ago. There were a lot of people that do marketing and advertising for a living at that meeting. It was interesting to hear their ideas about how I should structure my products. There's a bit of consensus that I should sell something cheap, but I see problems on that path. Matt mentioned that he got some business advice before which was to do the opposite of what people say. I pointed out that the problem with that is that the advice isn't really consistent, so what should I do the opposite of if the opposite of one suggestion is just another suggestion from someone else. How do you decide who to be contradictory to? I joked that maybe I should do nothing because no one had proposed that so it would be the opposite of everyone. Unfortunately, that is closest to what I've done over the past two weeks.

Here's a similar problem. This is my list of favorite business books.

- - - - - - -

Positioning by Al Ries and Jack Trout

Lead, Follow, or Get Out of the Way by Jim Lundy

Zero to One by Peter Thiel

The Culture Code by Daniel Coyle

Sell or Be Sold by Grant Cardone

The Knack of Selling Yourself by James Mangan

Good Profit by Charles Koch

Magnetic Sponsoring by Mike Dillard

The Art of the Start by Guy Kawasaki

The Leadership Crisis and the Free Market Cure by John Allison

The Millionaire Messenger by Brendon Burchard

How I Raised Myself from Failure to Success in Selling by Frank Bettger

Breakthrough Advertising by Eugene Schwartz

Principles by Ray Dalio

Scientific Advertising by Claude Hopkins

How to Win at the Sport of Business by Mark Cuban

My Life and the Principles for Success by Ross Perot

Hackers and Painters by Paul Graham

How Power Selling Brought Me Success in Six Hours by Pierce Brooks

Straight Line Persuasion by Jordan Belfort

The Millionaire Fastlane by M J DeMarco

Shoe Dog by Phil Knight

Not Fade Away by Peter Barton

Dare to Succeed by Mark Burnett

Losing My Virginity by Richard Branson

- - - - - - -

The problem is that there is a lot of contradictory advice in there. I remember Grant Cardone talking about how you could have success following his advice or the advice of Dave Ramsey, but not both.

I think that I might be thinking too low on the price. I feel weird with high price things because I've had little interaction with high price things, but it's useful because my margins would be high enough to be able to afford advertising, and then my fate would be in my own hands.

Let's try to think in some unusual ways. I often do that on accident anyway.

The three major objections that you usually have to address for most products are: not enough time, not enough money, won't work for me.

Can I answer any of these in odd ways?

"I don't have enough time."

"You're right. If it's not a priority in your life then you don't have the type of issue that I address."

"I don't have enough money."

(I feel for these people, I really do, because I have been in this situation my entire life.)

"You're right. If you can't find the money for this then it hasn't become a high enough priority for you."

(I don't feel good about that one. What if I had some sort of scholarship program? Maybe.)

"This won't work for me."

"You're right. The number one predictor of success is the number of times you're willing to try. It won't work for someone that won't try, and try again."

That's an interesting line of thought. I was having trouble thinking about who my customer persona should be, and when I was looking through "Positioning" they mentioned that you could figure out who shouldn't use your product. I immediately thought of people that are "just interested." The people that are just dabbling won't find success with my technique. Having a lot of those customers just means that I would have a high failure rate. So, what about just eliminating them?

I'm still having trouble figuring out what my product offer should really be. I started with the idea of a few personal sessions and then daily group calls. Now I'm thinking weekly calls that will be recorded and available because how many people are going to show up if I have these calls daily? I don't know, but I think it might be low. Maybe I should have a cheaper video on the front end.

What if I just did personal consultations at high prices and then worried about scaling and such later? I don't know.

I do think that I have a decent schedule worked out for a group call.

- - - - - - -

Welcome

Short version of my story

Why we do this, what works, what doesn't

How we do this

Awareness games

Meditation

Good session example

Non-satisfactory session example

Good session example

Questions

- - - - - - -

And I've found this marketing format that I like.

- - - - - - -

Who it's for

Problem

Why their current method won't solve their problem

How I discovered what works

How to get it

- - - - - - -

Some version of a combination of those things might work well for a webinar.

It's late. I'm tired. I have to teach in a few hours. I will have to think on this more tomorrow.

________________________________________________

You can find more of what I'm doing at http://www.JeffreyAlexanderMartin.com

[realtalk-princeton]

Before princeton i had BED- it started when I was 11-12ish and became uncontrollable in my last couple of years of school. Fortunately I’m pretty active and cycled pretty much daily so binging on 3000 calories at a time 2-3 times a week only made me borderline overweight at its worse. When I got to Princeton I found it harder to access my favorite binge food so my BED almost completely went, and I haven’t binged since November now. Having said that, since August 2017 I’ve lost 26lbs, partially

[cont.]Through trying to lose a bit last year but mostly from eating less this year. Since the weather started getting warmer though I’ve really lost all willingness to eat and can only force myself to go to max 2 small meals a day. My friends haven’t noticed but none of my clothes fit anymore. I’m worried both about going back home for summer because my family might notice (they last saw me in January) and also that my metabolism has slowed and now I’m too scared to eat more than 1000 calories a day[cont.] because its going to make me fatter and even after losing so much I’m still nowhere near having a flat stomach. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to be fine with maintaining once I lose about another 5-10lbs but I know the amount I’m eating currently is unhealthy, so any advice for getting to my goal more healthily? I’m also scared im gonna start binging again in the summer

Response from Clipper:

Hey anon- I am so sorry you’re going through this. TL;DR: hang in there; you have the strength to overcome this and create healthier, lifelong patterns for yourself.

I currently suffer from mildly disordered eating which arose from going on my medications at college (not eating during the day, then bingeing late at night when my evening medications kick in).  I used to also very strictly control my eating in high school before I was diagnosed with my various mental and bodily afflictions (gotta catch ‘em all, it seems) because it gave me warped a sense of control over my life.

I’m gonna give you some overall good feelings-type advice. Then, I’ve enlisted one of my best friends to give a longer answer, as they went through something more directly aligned with what you’ve described here. Here goes:

I know it sounds impossible to think of, but you can get a stranglehold on this sucker and pull yourself through to the other side. It unfortunately takes more work than continuing as you are now- and will involve you eating sometimes when you (or your body) don’t want to in order to get your metabolism up to shape again. But it’s important, and as I said up top: you have the strength to do it. Having a flat stomach is not a measure of health nor is it a good goal to have. A healthy resting stomach is typically not flat. 

When I was in high school, to help myself eat enough throughout the day, I started a food diary. I would just list off the things I ate so that I could visually make sure I ate enough. Don’t use an app for this, as these tend to count calories- which is not what this exercise is for. It’s to help make sure you eat enough and to help you become accountable for your food cycles and habits. 

Passing onto my friend now for more practical advice: 

Congratulations on not bingeing since November!! That is a huge accomplishment. But you are overcompensating in the other direction by restricting and you will inevitably slip back into a binge-purge cycle if you continue to restrict your intake. TRUST ME. 1000 calories a day is nowhere near enough for anyone. Stop worrying about what might happen in the future and focus on being present and creating daily habits and practicing today. Take it one day at a time. Losing weight is addictive and it is difficult not to be seduced when you see yourself shrinking. This is the hardest part imo but you have to try to stop equating your self-worth with your weight and start appreciating your amazing body for all the miraculous things it does to keep you alive and healthy.

I suffered from anorexia and overexercising in high school. I lost weight rapidly but it was not about appearance; I didn’t have a choice but to do what I thought was “healthy”. I went into starvation mode from restricting calories and exercising too much; I never felt hungry and developed horrible stomach pains, dangerous electrolyte imbalances and kidney problems. I developed exercise bulimia once I started bingeing and exercising extra hard to “work off” the thousands of calories I’d consumed while bingeing. I had been eating so little that bingeing was my body’s last resort to try to keep me alive. When I came to Princeton is when it got really bad. When I would binge, my body kicked into its most primal mode of survival and I would completely dissociate and go into a fugue state and just eat everything in sight. I would steal food from my roommates and stores and even eat out of the trash. I was bingeing so frequently that I gained about 50 lbs in a few months. I finally sought help my freshman year here and found my wonderful therapist who I still see weekly. I went through IOP and day programs and spent two weeks in a residential facility but it wasn’t until taking a year off and really examining my life that I began to really overcome it. I still put too much emphasis on being skinny and my eating habits are still irregular, but I let myself eat whatever I want and have not counted calories in years. I also stopped exercising altogether and am trying to gradually reintroduce gentler forms like yoga and walking into my routine. I am at peace with where I am right now. The thought of gaining weight still scares me somewhat but it does not rule me like it used to and I know that if I gain a few pounds no one will notice but me and everyone will still love and care for me. Today I ate a whole pizza and sat in bed all day, which to most may not seem “healthy”, but compared to where I was a few short years ago, this is enormous growth for me. It is a constant process that takes daily practice and in June I will be graduating with two degrees: one AB and one ED.

Stop weighing yourself. Give or throw away your scale right now. Stop trying to lose weight and focus on being well. Make an appointment with a nutritionist (your dsl has referrals) and ask them to monitor your habits and do blind weigh-ins. Also make an appointment with a therapist and/or psychiatrist if you don’t have one. Prozac has been known to help with BED at certain doses so they might recommend you that. Make sure you’re eating three balanced meals a day; they can be small in size but make sure you have a good balance of protein, carbs, fats, and fruits/veggies. Never go more than 4 hours without eating something because that will cause your blood sugar to dip and will make you more likely to binge later. Make a daily schedule with evenly spaced meal times that are realistic work for you and make sure to add snacks so you’re not going too long without eating. If you have a roommate, tell them you’re watching what you eat (you don’t have to go into detail if you don’t want) and ask them to help you and keep food in your space limited or ask them to keep it in their room. Pay close attention to your hunger cues; notice what times of day you tend to be hungriest.

STOP. COUNTING. CALORIES. Caloric labels are inaccurate and you do not know exactly how much energy you’re expending each day and it’s all so arbitrary it doesn’t mean anything anyway. The internet is not always your friend. Stop looking up calorie counts of foods and block websites that could trigger you to obsess. Start trying to listen to what your body needs instead of intellectualizing what you think you should need. Continue moderate exercise and be aware that if you exercise more you may be hungrier and will definitely need to eat more. But intense exercise can also suppress appetite.Keep it to 30-40 mins of cardio 3-5 days a week, ALTERNATE with strength training days, with COMPLETE REST DAYS in between. If you feel restless on the days you don’t exercise, take a calm walk or try meditating or gentle stretching. And make sure you DO NOT BY ANY MEANS restrict your intake on the days you’re not exercising; rest days are when your muscles rebuild and they need food for that!Drink at least 64oz of water a day and more if you exercise and/or drink caffeine. 

ALSO no one has a completely flat stomach and it fluctuates with your digestion and cycles anyway. If you feel bloated, try herbal teas like ginger and mint (really anything with ginger in it) but avoid “detox” or “flat belly” teas and supplements that contain laxatives because that is a slippery slope. Also avoid very salty snack foods that can make you retain water, avoid chewing too much gum which can make you swallow air and get belly bloat, and avoid anything with sugar substitutes like aspartame because those can also wreak havoc on your digestion. Eat full-calorie and full-fat versions of things, avoid “lite”, low-fat and sugar free snacks. Don’t drink too much caffeine either because it can have an appetite suppressant effect and make it harder for you to eat normally. ..You are young and your metabolism will recover as you begin to eat normally again and your weight will settle at a place that is right for you. Your pulse is probably slow and might you feel cold because you are not eating enough. You will NOT become overweight by eating regularly. Please trust the process; I know it feels impossible and it’s super triggering to have to eat when you don’t want to or you aren’t hungry but you have to start refeeding now or you may begin doing permanent damage to your body. It’s too much to do alone so seek the help of experts and listen to them. Stop fooling yourself. Take time off if you need and be honest with everyone but most importantly with yourself.

If it helps, make a list of things you like about yourself and your body and especially your heart and mind. Stop fixating on imperfections. If you have a lot of mirrors around, get rid of them. If your clothes don’t fit, get new clothes. You deserve to feel good and restricting/losing weight/bingeing/purging (exercise is a form of purging!!!) might be a temporary high but will not make you feel good in the long run. Stop making excuses. If you haven’t eaten three meals yet today, go get dinner as soon as you can. The best time to start is right now. Best of luck, you brave ED warrior.

[jam2289]

Explorations in Business - Part 1 of ?

I have revealed my origination process in creative writing, theology, and personality transformation. Now I shall do the same in business.

I've been struggling with my next move for the last 6 months. I know I need to change something. I don't make that much money teaching English online, and I'll be squeezed out in the near future, I think. I've been doing it for about 2 and a half years anyway, so it's a good time for a change.

One issue is that I've had a lot of ups and downs over the last few years in my capabilities. I highly doubt my own ability now in a number of ways.

I knew that I wasn't making progress and that I needed to change something. That's part of why I'm always doing new things, I don't want to get stuck. If you lose momentum in life it's difficult to get started again.

A new environment with new people can change a lot. I'm on the email list for Start Garden, which is a small business organization in Grand Rapids, Michigan. They recommended this new organization called FounderCo. A young guy, Matt, that runs a drone company started it just a few months ago. It's all about people starting businesses. I figured I would stop by a meeting and see what it was like. It's in my exploratory nature.

That first meeting that I went to about 3 weeks ago was an interview format. John and Abbey have been married for 15 years and have been running separate businesses for most of their careers. They focused on how you do that as a couple. It was informative and interesting. (It reinforced my ideas about the usefulness of a Rogerian approach and non-violent communication.)

After the main presentation we broke into groups and had various discussions surrounding what people are working on in their businesses. You also had the option to sign up for little 10 minute consultations with John and Abbey. I had signed up when I first got there. I had no idea what I was going to talk to them about. But, when in doubt, wade forth.

When I went in to talk to John and Abbey I still hadn't decided what I was going to say. Most people ask things about business. I'm trying this in marketing, what do you think? I need to get more sales, how? I'm having trouble with an investor, what do I do? Etc. I was different.

I said something like, "Alright guys, I don't exactly have a business question. What I need is more like general life advice." Both of them said, "Oh boy!" And we all laughed a little. It was great.

I laid out the basic situation: getting sick in Africa and struggling to recover for the last few years, teaching English online, knowing that I need to make a change, not knowing what that direction is. I gave a few options. I said it would make sense for me to do something like test prep, or teaching English, or English exam prep. I think those could be successful businesses, but I'm not too excited about them, it would just be about getting some money, and helping some people in exchange of course.

Or, I said, I could do something crazy like meditation coaching. Meditation significantly changed my life. I had to do a lot of exploration and eventually figured out what worked for my chronic pain issues. I also created my own framework for the four major divisions in types of meditation, which are useful for different things. I call that framework Jeff's Meditation Matrix. But, I don't really have any credibility and I think the meditation market is flooded.

I asked them what they thought.

John said that it's hard to tell if the market is flooded. And if there are a lot of people doing it, it means that there are a lot of potential customers. You just have to be better than the other options. Abbey said that my story is my credibility. They asked if I've written my story down, and if I've done any writing in general. I write, and I've written part of that story. They said that's the path.

The great thing about John and Abbey is that they're encouragers. It feels good because they're on your side. We talked a little about how I should do it. I prefer to work online because I've grown to like that over the last few years. Should I focus on individualized and personalized meditation coaching, or on a niche chronic pain market? Abbey said that the personalized coaching might be good to get it going and get to the point where I was living on it, but it wouldn't scale. John pointed out that a chronic pain focus was probably scalable.

It was weird walking back out to the rest of the meeting. I found my discussion group, but I was still in my own little thought bubble. I had come to the meeting half expecting it to not be useful, and here I was contemplating a decent direction to go in business that could help people, that there's a market for, and that I'm interested in.

I stuck around for about an hour after the event technically ended, talking to people. I had shown up early and talked to a bunch of people too. The best conversation was at the end of the night though. Jordan is in his early to mid 20s. He invented a mask that recycles your own hot air for people working in freezers. He's been working on it for over two years, he has prototypes in the field, and he's working on switching over to a sales and marketing focus.

He asked me what I needed to do over the next two weeks to make progress on my new idea. I said that the best thing would probably be to set up a simple website with a letter and/or a video explaining my story and potential product. Then have some questions that people could respond to so that I could collect some idea of what people have tried before, what they're frustrated with, what they might pay, etc.

Two weeks later I saw Jordan at the next meeting at The Treehuis in Holland. I was a little uncomfortable about going to the meeting because I knew that I would have to tell people, namely Jordan, that I had done nothing with the business. I did a lot of other things over those two weeks. I wrote a bunch of articles, I edited stories, and a number of other things, but nothing on the business. You can ascribe that behavior to various things like internal conflict, uncertainty, dissociated parts of the self, etc. If you're anxious to do something, it's often a good sign that it's something you should do.

This time Matt gave a short presentation about time management. My friend Casey came as well. We did our group discussion thing. There was also a mentor available for private 10 minute conversations again.

Apparently Bryan focuses on public relations and sales. I sat down across from him and presented the basic idea. He wasn't enthused about it. Which matched my opinion, I still wasn't really sold on doing it. Too much doubt about the idea, too much doubt about myself.

What was interesting is that we had a lot of time left and Bryan started thinking through the idea to himself, and we were talking a bit, shooting things back and forth. Slowly his thinking evolved. Once he realized that I could focus on chronic pain, and that it was essentially a telehealth slash telemedicine business, he was sold. He became so enthusiastic he sold the idea back to me. Telemedicine is growing like crazy, and chronic pain is rampant, as well as the opioid crisis. He mentioned that he even has some back pain. He explained how you could have live calls scheduled at certain times for people to join. That you could make deals with insurance companies and large corporations for their employees. You could tell that he was starting to build a strong plan in his mind of how to build this thing.

I think after I told him a bit about how my C1 vertebrae had slid into my brainstem and I had laid in a dark and quiet room for about 2 months at one point, how I had tried pain killers, how I had developed my own framework for the different types of meditation, that many types of meditation don't really work for intense pain, how the neurons build networks for pain signals that become reinforced and insulated by the myelin sheath which are then essentially little personalities and are similar to how addiction works, and how I can still feel the pain signal but I experience it in a different way that still allows me to function, then he started to become convinced that I could do it. He said he was excited to see what I could do in the next six months.

I hung out at that meeting for awhile too. There was a great conversation about raising and managing investment capital from angel investors. Then, walking back to our cars Casey and I had a good conversation about technology, business, health, and politics. (GPS had led us both to the wrong address at first.)

Once I was in my car I had nothing to do but think about the business. I was thoroughly convinced that this is the right direction after my talk with Bryan. I don't have a radio in my car and my ideas really started to formulate themselves on the hour ride home. I couldn't hold all of the good ideas in my head so I sent myself six voice messages on Facebook to help remind me of my ideas later.

Over the next two days I wrote down several pages worth of notes about how to lay out my story, how the calls should work, what good pricing plans might be, etc. I looked into the research that would add some validity to what I'm saying works. I just found what works and how to do it, so I didn't have the research on this yet. I had done my own phenomenological exploration to find answers. Luckily some of the research does exist. As it turns out the medical industry has been taking Buddhist and Hindu methods of meditation from thousands of years ago, changing the names, and then selling them as medical interventions. Then they do medical research on their newly named techniques. I still don't think they can actually explain how it works though.

Then... I didn't do anything. It's at that point that I realized I needed an intermediate step. Since writing articles has worked so well for other things that I'm trying to figure out I thought I would do it with business too. And, the same thing applies. Just like I wish writers had kept a record of everything they had done and thought along their journey at the time, I wish business people did the same thing. There are great books written after the fact, but I want to know what the perspective was at the time. So, that's what I'm doing.

In the next article I will lay out my plans for presenting my story, potential pricing strategies, potential positioning strategies, how my process should work to iterate and adapt, what the actual product will look like, and what my first steps are.

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You can find more of what I'm doing at http://www.JeffreyAlexanderMartin.com