#I have had acne for over half my life so I know how tolling it can be so pls feel free to message me and ask questions

[cynical-things]

Maybe a weird question but can I ask your skin care routine? I think you have made posts about having acne and I have too

Hey sure. This will be a bit of a long one but this is my evening routine. I have combination skin that is reallly acne prone and so prone to breakouts / clogged pores so everything i use is low in pore clogging ingredients. Obv this is what works for me and won’t work for everyone who has acne

Oil cleanser (haru haru) first - I massage it into skin for 1 min and then add water and massage for a further 30 secs (so it goes milky in appearance) before washing up and following up with water based cleanser - massage for 1 min then wash off

Then once skin is semi dry (still damp) I put on the mugwort essence and depending on the day I follow this up with Peter Thomas Roth treatment or retinol (I use retinol every 3-4 nights and PTR in between)

Then I put on the oat calming gel as moisturiser, eye cream and if I have a pimple to be treated, the neutralising spot treatment

In the mornings I just use micellar water (the garnier one usually) on a cotton pad or splash my face with water (no actual cleanser). Then the mugwort essence and spf:

[riverforasong]

Climbing Through the Wall

TW: Self Harm, Weight issues, and family instability, oh and nudity, I guess. It’s a non-fiction thing so if that’s not your bag, thanks for coming anyway!

It’s never really been a secret, per se, but I’ve only just now started to freely admit to people that I’m a nudist. Be it out of fear of how people would react, or embarrassment stemming from a, now that I think of it, weirdly conservative upbringing, I never talked about it. I would drop hints here and there, but never much explicit, even with super close friends it remained a non-topic, despite the fact that it was, and is, a very big part, and honestly, fundamental part of my life. Hell, I’m literally naked right now (Probably, depending on when you’re reading this and what time of day it is, I could be at the store or at work or something, but it’s like a solid 90 percent chance). When the topic does come up, especially with people just learning about it for the first time, I get a lot of questions about it, which is absolutely to be expected, and I don’t mind it one bit, mostly because I love talking about this kinda stuff. One of the questions that always trips me up a little bit though, is “Why?” Why choose to go naked all the time? Which seems like an easy answer, being naked is awesome, it’s more comfortable, it releases stress, and makes it easier to sleep, and it honestly baffles me why anyone would choose to wear clothes if they didn’t absolutely have to. For me at least, it’s the only time I’m ever really comfortable, clothes and I just never really gelled. But it wasn’t until recently, and I’m talking within the last 3 months recently that I realized how important it was to me, and the recovery of my self image. My self esteem has always been low, and a lot of that stems from how I physically look, but it goes even deeper than that. From here on out this story gets kind of intense,TW: Self Harm, Weight issues, and family instability, oh, and nudity I guess, but you should have figured that out by now,  so if you’re not into that, maybe skip to the last paragraph? Or you could bail out here, the whole gist of it is being naked makes you feel better about yourself, you and your friends should give it a try sometimes. Got it? Good, and here we go.

I’ve always been the fat kid, right from the get go, in school that’s how I was pegged. Like a lot of fat kids, we learned to be the funny one in the group, because humour is a damn fine way to mask any and all insecurities you’re hiding within yourself. I’d always told myself that it doesn’t bother me, people are gonna say what they say and you can eiher take it personally, or let it roll off your back and make a joke about it, and that’s what I always did. Or at the very least, tried to do. It worked, or so I thought, but I’d be lying to you right now if I said it never got to me. Late night when no one was listening, it would replay over and over in my head, about how that’s the only thing people ever see in me. That’s always going to be their first impression. I will never be loved if I look like this. Now this is a batshit crazy way of thinking in retrospect, but that’s how m'brain works when it’s back on it’s bullshit. Later in life, what I now know to be an anxiety issue and mental illness, went unchecked for too long. In my family, I always had to be the level headed one, parenting the parents so to speak. My brother had sever Social Anxiety Disorder and would lash out in increasingly terrible ways that he can talk about in his own damn story, but my parents were not… I dunno, mature enough? No that seems silly, equipped to? Equipped to take care of this in the way it needed to be. Yelling begat more yelling, violence begat more violence, you see how things roll. I would always have to step in and make sure things don’t escalate any further than they already had. Taking pieces of myself and shoving them in the holes of the levee to make sure the whole place doesn’t flood. It would work, things would calm down and merrily we’d roll along until the next disaster hit. This worked for them. It didn’t however, work for me. Being the person who took care of these issues took a toll on me that I didn’t expect. See, I was just as sad and angry as everyone else, but I couldn’t express it in any way, because I needed to fix the issues before they became worse, but unlike everyone else, I had no one to check on me. No one to make sure that I was doing okay enough to function, which as it turned out, I was not. The anger and the sadness and the overall  negative emotion swelled inside of me and remained bottled up until it could no longer stay. I began to cut myself to release it. I couldn’t find someone to help, and I couldn’t take it out on anyone else, so I took it out on the person who mattered least in the house, myself.

Still with me? If so, here’s a puppy.

Cutting may have relieved the emotional pain and stress I was feeling, but it also left something in it’s wake. Big, obvious, ugly, red scars. Crisscrossing my arms and legs. New ones would pop up every couple of days or so. A couple people would ask about it, I’d tell them it was my cat, which if you knew my cat made sense, ‘cause that little thing’s kind of a bastard, and the situation would be left alone. This went on for a while, longer than I’d like to admit, but the important thing was I got help. Help from friends who are truly invaluable to me in ways I could not possibly convey because I don’t know that many words. I’d love to say it got better immediately, and I never even thought about doing it again, but shiiiit, you know that’s not how life works. I still struggle with it to this day. I was however, on the road to healing, both physically and mentally. The problem remained though, these scars would be with me forever. You can still see them if you look close enough at my arms, and it’s been a solid ten years or so since the first major incidents. Now, as someone who already had a pretty low vision of himself, this did not help at all. I hated going outside, I hated putting myself out there in the world. I hated what people might think, might say, might point out. It was an awful ouroboros of thoughts leading to actions leading to thoughts leading to actions. I was disgusted with who I was and what I looked like. From the fat, to the scars, to the fact that I thought my head was too big, and my feet too small. Now, as a guy, you don’t know that you get to feel this way. We don’t talk about how men can obsess over their looks and how it makes them feel as much as we really do. There’s not a lot of self help books for that kind of situation, or if there is, I sure didn’t find any. Mostly 'cause I didn’t look that hard, mostly because I was afraid to ask for help, mostly because I didn’t know I was allowed too. There’s that ouroboros again.

This is where the whole nudist thing kicks in. See, my whole life, I always kinda hated clothes, getting dressed, shopping for them, gah, I just hate it. I was always more comfortable naked than anyway else. My parents on the other hand, wanted no part of anything like that. I remember as a 4 year old getting told I was too old to walk around without being fully dressed. Socks, Pants, Underwear, Shirt, the whole 9 yards. I remember bring up the subject to my mom, who was so horrified at the concept of me being a nudist she actually started yelling despite herself. We once watched a documentary where one of the characters was raise in a nudist family, there weren’t even on screen, and my parents would rally against them, talking about how it’s sick and why have these people no shame? I always gave a half-harted  affirmation, but on the inside, it was killing me. I never drank, did drugs, had underage, unprotected sex, got into fights, that wasn’t really my thing. My rebellion was being naked. Naked inside, outside, sometimes with friends, sometimes in public, for as long as humanly possible, down to the last millisecond I could. But during the rough patch, I hated how I looked so much I stayed covered up, to a ridiculous degree. I’m talking long sleeve shirts in summertime, wearing shorts in the bathtub kind of covering. It was a mess. I figured the whole thing was a phase and it was time to outgrow it. It was time to repress some feelings and urges, and get back shoving my emotions and feelings of inadequacy back down my own throat.

I know it was a stupid idea. I’m also in the future.

This went on for a while, although I can’t remember how long. I felt miserable, and couldn’t figure out why. I kept wearing increasingly baggy clothes to hide what I though deserved to be hid. But I wasn’t getting any better internally, it just looked like it. I didn’t feel any better about the way I looked, I just stopped looking. I don’t know what changed, eventually. Something did though. Maybe I just cracked through the shell I had formed around myself. But for the life of me, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I may have hated the way I looked, but I hated clothes more, I guess.

When you’re naked for a long amount of time, a few things happen. At first, you’re highly aware and tactile about every single thing around you. You’re aware of every imperfection on your body, from love handles, to acne, to scars, to weird ingrown hairs, to what you need to shave, to how dry your knees are. Everything, Every. Damn. Thing. And then? You forget about it. You focus on something else, you watch TV, you play video games, you clean the house, you check your garden, whatever it is, and you forget about what little things bug you about you. When you do it over and over again, that first part where you obsess about everything becomes shorter, and shorter, until it eventually disappears altogether. Nudity helped me come to peace with who I am, and what I look like. I may not like a lot of the things about me. But I don’t obsess, it doesn’t ruin me, it doesn’t encapsulate all I am anymore. The biggest change was seeing it happen to other people, the first time I ever went to a nude event, it was the Portland Naked Bike Ride in 2016, and you realize how diverse we all really are. I saw fat people, skinny people, trans-gendered people, men, women, children of all shapes, sizes and colours hanging out and talking to people. I was horrified about what they would think about me when I came walking in, but no one batted an eye. We talked, we laughed, we shared stories and jokes and videos about whatever. I finally realized that the only person saying these terrible things about me and they way I looked, was me.

Whenever I finally tell people that I’m a nudist, I get one of two reactions. One is always someone showing a ton of interest, but not wanting to admit it, so they ask a lot of questions, but try to do it superstitiously, and two, people who say stuff like “That’s so cool, but I could never do it myself,” and that one always bums me out. We have taught people from the time that they’re born to the time they die, that being naked is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad thing, and is only to be reserved for taking a shower no longer than ten minutes, and having sex in the missionary position only for the purposes of procreation after marriage, and for the love of all that is holy never speak of it, or practice it outside of these two times. It’s terrible to shame someone for something so simple and natural and helpful. To tell people right out of the gate that their body is shameful and should be hidden away because “No one wants to see that.” We kick their self esteem in the chest before it even has a chance to get started

I’m getting kind of soapbox-y and that’s not the point I’m trying to make. The point is, I fully believe that nudism saved my perception of myself, and I feel like people need to give it a chance. Separate it from it’s sexual connotation and invite your friends over for a naked movie night or something like that. I even ran a naked DND session once, and it went over like gangbusters. It helps folks who t think they’ll be uncomfortable for the first time focus on something else, and realize life is just that much better. Getting people naked and watching their faces go from assuming it’s going to be awkward to genuine fun and comfort is one of my favourite feelings in the world, because we stop putting so much pressure on ourselves and what we wear and what we look like, when no one has anything to hide..

[trashboiiz]

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” / “Dance with me.” (Aleks x Reader)

(Y/N: Remember that time I said I can’t write anything short? Well heres a fucking 1000 word fic)

You told Aleks you would take care of everything. You would do the laundry, wash the dishes, take Mishka to the vet, cook dinner, and do the 100 other things that had to be done. Aleks has recently been overloaded with work, and you wanted to make his life a little easier. Since he had to work for Cow Chop this upcoming weekend, you decided to take on the immense task of doing the housework yourself. You convinced Aleks you could do it. To be honest, you convinced yourself.

It was 8pm when you started making dinner. It would’ve been done earlier if Mishka didn’t jump out of the car at the vet and run half a mile away and you remembered your credit card when you went grocery shopping so you didn’t have to go home and get it. But 8pm isn’t that late, right? It’s not like the food was ready at all, but Aleks wasn’t going to be home until around 9 because of work.

The dinner you had planned was different than the usual Chinese take out or pizza you both usually get. The crappy food has taken a toll on your energy and your skin; it was like you were a middle schooler again, covered in acne. Aleks’ unhealthy died hasn’t helped him either. He’s gained quite a bit of weight after moving from Denver to LA where you can order food 24/7. It’s not like you don’t think he’s attractive, to be honest, you liked the extra layer between you and his boney legs. It wasn’t fun trying to snuggle but getting a bruise from hitting your calf on his knee. He was nice and soft now, but the rapid weight gain probably wasn’t good for his health.

On the menu tonight was chicken with roasted vegetables; easy enough. Although you had more experience with stovetop cooking, using the oven was generally healthier since you don’t need to use as much butter or oil.

You seasoned both the chicken and the vegetables and put them in the preheated oven. After setting the timer you plopped down on the sofa, the first time you’ve been off your feet in hours.

“I better get a fucking thank you after this” you groan, realizing maybe you shouldn’t taken on all the responsibilities.

As you lay on the couch, you realize how drained you actually are. Running errands and doing housework for the whole day has kept your mind too busy to realize that you’re tired. Now that you’re resting for the first time, a wave of exhaustion washed over you, making it hard for you to keep your eyes open. You fight, blinking aggressively to stay awake, but you yawn defeatedly and fall asleep.

The violent ringing of the fire alarm jolts you out of your sleep.

“Wha-what?” you mumble still half asleep.

After a few seconds your eyes adjust to the light and you notice smoke billowing from the oven.

“Oh no, oh god. Oh no no no no no.”

You run into the kitchen and quickly open the oven door. A plume of smoke engulfs your face, causing you to cough and your eyes to water. Through your tears you can see the remnants of chicken and carrots, burnt to a crisp. You throw on some oven mitts, take the tray out of the oven and throw everything into the sink to be doused in water. The fire alarm continues to sound, smoke still think in the air. Opening the window lets out a majority, but some still drifts along the ceiling. You grab a dish towel and aggressively wave it near the smoke detector, desperately trying to make it stop.

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

You look over your shoulder and see Aleks grinning at you.

“Our dinner was cooking before I fucking obliterated it” you moan, still waving the towl.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Aleks walks over to you, confused

“I’m just exercising my arms. What does it look like genius”.

“Hey, hey Y/N. No need to get stressed out,” He pulls over a chair to stand on and removes the batteries from the alarm, “there we go. All done.”

“Wha-but I-” you try to blink away the tears but there’s no use.

Covering your face with your hands you sob, the stress and anxiety finally breaking you down.

“Oh no. Y/N I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Aleks pulls you close, your head resting against his chest.

“It-it’s not y-you A-Aleks,” you catch your breath between sobs, “it’s j-just been a shit d-day”

“Shhh, it’s okay Y/N” he rubs your back, trying to calm you down.

“I t-thought I could do e-everything myself, b-but I overestimated h-how much there w-was”

“You’re just a people pleaser. I get that Y/N. Don’t worry about asking me for help or leaving some things to do later”.

“But-”

“No, that’s it. End of discussion. You have to let me do some crap. Maybe I’ll cook dinner next time”.

“When’s the last time you cooked anything?”

“Does flarp at the office count?”

“Wha-”

“Never mind”

You giggle, the tears beginning to stop.

“Hey I know what will make you feel better”

Aleks reached into his pocket and pulls out his phone. After a few seconds of pressing buttons, nice, slow music begins to play. Aleks stretches out his hand towards you.

“Dance with me.”

“You’re such a fucking nerd” you chuckle and take his hand.

“Look who’s talking.”

Aleks wraps his arms around your waist and you put yours around his neck. You dance, or sway, to the music and close your eyes, breathing in a mix of Aleks and smoke. It was calming. Aleks always knew how to make you relax. You loved that boy.

“I love you, Aleks” you mumble into his chest.

“I love you too, Y/N”

[sanderssides-fics]

See you

Plot: loosely, see you -The Ready Set

Au: human family au

Tw: abuse, death, family death, major character death, neglect, malnutrition, slight swearing, alcohol abuse, car crash, self hatred, sibling hatred, cats, therapy, medication, prosthetics, family abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, cemetery.

Tags: @polysandershell @analogically-prinxiety @pattonscardigan @the-prince-and-the-emo @softlogic

_______666_______

Dear diary,

I hate myself.

Nobody could ever tell Virgil he was not a burden. He’d never listen, he was too far in his own self hatred to hear any kindness. It was his fault. Virgil found himself in a rut when he was 12 years old and he went out with his dad. Patton had seen Virgil crying the day before because of bullying at school, so the caring father decided to take his son to ice cream just the two of the,. Virgil was beyond ecstatic when he knew that he and his dad would be alone together, it didn’t happen at all. Everything was a family thing to him. Patton was the loving dad, Logan was the business dad, Roman was the older brother, and Virgil was the kid.

“Kiddo life gets better, not everything stays the same. My love for you will always stay the same, our family will always stay the same-” The car spun out of control as Patton avoided a head on collision with a 16 wheeler, slamming over guard rails into a 20 story drop down a riverside cliff.

“Dad!” Virgil screamed as the car fell, both their heads bleeding from smashing on the dashboard when they hit the guard rails. Virgil was in tears as he looked at the desperate for safety dad.

“I love you kiddo” Patton rushed out with wide eyes, everything was black.

Virgil woke up in a hospital bed with a monster headache, and his whole body ached. He had something compressing his head, a cast on his arm and his led hurt really bad. “Bout time you woke up” a voice said from next to Virgil, a glance over had Roman in his eye sight. Roman carefully hugged his younger brother. “I was worried about you, I’ve got some bad news though”

“Where’s dad?” Virgil asked and Roman’s face dropped, a look of sadness strapped itself to Roman’s features. “Roman…”

“Virgil,..” Roman trailed off not making eye contact with the younger.

“Rom- no.” Virgil countered, then he too felt the sadness as Roman nodded. Patton was gone, off a cliff. All because of him. Virgil’s breathing sped up and the heart monitor went crazy. Nurses rushed in and restrained Virgil so that he wouldn’t hurt himself as he thrashed to get out of bed. Patton wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be. He said things wouldn’t change

He said he’d always be there.

He lied. Virgil screamed out, Logan held a sobbing Roman in the corner of the room. Virgil was transferred to the mental care unit once they knew his vitals were good. He was released 3 weeks later, Roman picked him up. Virgil seemed dead inside, he just stared at his own knees with limp arm at his side and the other in a cast, from knee down his left leg was a prosthetic they had to teach him to walk with.

“Pops wants you to know it’s not your fault. He’s hungover right now which is why I’m here�� Roman said, but received no response. There was no light in Virgil’s eyes anymore. “What did they do in that mental care” Roman asked worriedly, Virgil’s eye twitched.

“They… they said I need these once a day” He handed Roman a bag of 5 pill bottles. Depression medications, pain medications, anxiety medications, sedatives. Roman took the bag and set it behind the chairs.

“What are they for?” He asked.

“Me.” Virgil responded with a small lip twitch upwards.

“Well obviously but what about you do they fix?” Roman asked worriedly as they pulled into the driveway, getting out and helping Virgil walk to the front door and then to his room. Virgil didn’t know the answer, so he didn’t answer. He was just glad to be in his own bed again.

“Thank you” Virgil said quietly and Roman smiled gently, and nodded before leaving the room turning out the light at Virgil’s request. Virgil slept for a few hours but awoke to glass smashing somewhere downstairs. He looked at the clock, 11 pm, he stood out of his bed and carefully walked to his door and then downstairs using the walls as support.

“Pops, calm down.” Roman pleaded, Virgil could only see their shadows from the kitchen light against the living room wall. He saw his father slap roman hard against the face creating a loud clap.

“No! Is not right for dem to char so much for a bed” Logan slurred, obviously drunk. Virgil frowned, Logan never drank.

“Roman?” Virgil called out and the house went silent before Roman appeared in front of Virgil from around the corner.

“Yes?” There was a bright hand print on Roman’s cheek. Virgil frowned and hugged Roman, receiving the hug back he was helped upstairs, this time he was brought to Romans room and Roman held him all night. They were kids again for that night. But after a week Roman didn’t let Virgil in his room anymore and Logan was starting to drink shots at every meal. Virgil left the house a lot, to go and see the park ducks or to look at things Patton loved to look at. He just wanted out of that thin white bed at home, he just needed a break.

Sometimes he’d look at the coffee table in the living room for hours on end, watching the dust coat the stack of magazines Patton never got to read. All the articles he never got to share at dinner time to help the other out with a simple little issue such as acne or closet organization. Virgil missed the loving presence in the house that only was in small doses now. Like Virgil receiving odd hugs from his brother.

Virgil knew he shouldn’t have been so distracting on the road that night. He spent endless nights staring at blank ceiling space questioning what ifs about that night. He lost sleep, in fact he hadn’t slept in 3 days and the only toll it took on him was that he wobbled more when he walked. It went unnoticed though, everything did.

Virgil didn’t know his life was so infinitesimal until Logan no longer talked about Patton, until Roman didn’t look him in the eye. Until the house was silent at four in the morning and he remembered how dark and quick his week long coma was. Until he knew Roman didn’t like him anymore, no more hugs, no more help. He was about as useful as a screw was to a hammer and life moved on. Time passed quickly and soon it was a year since Patton had been in that arm chair every night. Until loveless empty Christmas was slept off, a valentines day made of two parts vodka one part neglect. Virgil didn’t know how lost he was in his mind and how lost the family was in their life until he remembered how there was no school since that crash.

Virgil dove himself into a mess of dark poetry and graveyard naps. Hoping he’d just awake with his father. A cold stone wasn’t the same as Patton’s loving embrace and it never would be. Virgil felt alone, he felt lost, and he felt forgotten.

“Don’t worry kiddo, I’m always here for you. Daddy’s not going anywhere” He was eight again and held in his fathers arm at his birthday party as he sobbed about a rug burnt arm.

Virgil smiled gently, remembering that night as he stared at Patton’s grave stone. A loving Father wasn’t enough for Patton to be described, he was the best dad. The sun bit at his skin as he left his hand print in the loose dirt he disturbed every time. Patton was with him in his heart… But it wasn’t enough. The clouds covered the sun as Virgil left the stone, the warmth being replaced by a chilled breeze. It was his fault that Patton was gone.

—-

Roman got mad when Virgil tried to hug him and pushed him away, Virgil yelped like a dog and looked at Roman with silent tears dripping down his chin before Roman threw a punch knocking Virgil to the floor. The younger held his cheek and looked at Roman with such heart broken eyes that Roman almost stopped but then remembered something.

“It’s your fault Dad is dead! You’re the reason this family is falling apart! I hate you” He hit Virgil again and again, hands and feet both parading bruises to Virgil.

Virgil laid on the grey carpet of the upstairs hall, his drool was half blood at this point. Roman walked away, slamming his door behind him, Virgil couldn’t help but remember the way Roman used to be. How he’d run to his aid if Virgil had just stubbed his toe. Peppered him with kisses and danced guitar calloused fingers on his sides until Virgil would be crying from laughter instead of pain. Now the only dancing Roman’s fingers did were a bruising samba on his stomach and lip splitting salsa on his jaw. Virgil let his eyes close, hoping to wake in a universe where he hadn’t messed up so bad.

—-

Roman had no more love for him, it was a vicious cycle now. Roman’s anger took form in physical abuse that was always directed at Virgil. The baby brother tearing himself apart anyways. A constant scream of ‘It’s Your Fault!’ flung at him, constant tears on Virgil’s cheeks as Roman’s hands and knees took their marks into Virgil’s skin until he was home again.

Home was with Patton in a loving home of soft PDA fathers and couch cuddling brothers. Disney on the TV and clean arms on display. Patton being happy and telling the boys in his life about his neighbourly visits. Logan talked about work stories, Roman’s make belief games with Virgil were always fun. Virgil was normally the villain, receiving tickles and hugs as punishment for being evil but Virgil was happy.

Then, he’d wake up. On the floor of wherever he passed out and he’d get cleaned up before going to his bed for dreamless nights of less than sober thoughts.

The medications didn’t work anymore

Virgil’s sleep schedule was erratic and usually his only sleep were his knock outs during the attacks. He lost himself to the scars and the poetry. Sweater sleeves covered his bodily mistakes but no amount of fake smiles and make up could hide his mental and emotional pain. No dirt hand print could fix what he did to his dad. Virgil slipped on his shoes with a backpack on his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Logan grumbled, vodka stench was clung to his breath. Virgil looked at where the former-teacher was resting on the couch. He thought hard for a response that would suffice but something clicked in his broken mind and he looked straight in Logan’s eyes from across the room and stated,

“Out.” He closed the door behind him, letting the humid summer night air cascade his skin as he found a path to the cemetery once more. He let the dirt cling to his shoes as he stepped around the paths and up the hills until he found Patton. He took a seat next to the stone and opened his bag. Placing a cookie dough scented candle on the bottom of the gravestone he lit it and let Patton’s favourite scent take over the dirt scent. He placed some irises on the ground next to the candles and then pulled out a blanket and an inflatable pillow. He finally settled for lying next to the spot where Patton was buried. He talked for hours about what was going on and why he was doing what he was. Why he bled every night, why Roman made him hurt, why Logan downed a spirit every day, why he felt lost. He let the stone hear his every wish, his pleads for a second chance, his confessions of love and sacrifice for Patton. How he wanted to take the elders place, How Patton had so much to live for.

Virgil woke the next morning and packed his things but left the candle burning and the flowers resting. Patton loved them, even if Virgil wouldn’t ever know that. Virgil took his time walking home, not wanting to deal with Logan or Roman. They’d both be mad about his disappearance last night. Home was no longer safe, and it was because of him that things got like that. He just wished that he’d wake up from this nightmare and find that everything was how it once was. His birthday was in 2 days and no one was going to know. Patton kept track of those things, Patton held parties, baked the treats, cooked the meals. Virgil was ninety-one pounds with his prosthetic on, before Patton’s passing he was 200 pounds but most of which was muscle. Virgil was skin and bones, and even then he was more bones than skin with how much he had scarred.

“Where the hell have you been you little twerp, you cant just disappear when you know your place in this family” The word was stressed excessively by a seething Roman. Teeth clenched, nostrils flaring, and worst of all his knuckles were already bloody. He and pops had gotten in another fight, Logan was probably passed out in the living room again. Virgil didn’t want to fight back this time, he didn’t have the energy or strength. Roman had friends that kept him fed so he was well muscled and easily broke Virgil’s fragile ribs with a single hit. The snapping crunch that followed had Roman stalled, but he recovered and kept his attack on the weak brother he once protected. A blind rage kept his fists pounding his brothers abdomen and skull. Roman’s knees fell on Virgil’s hips. Soon, It was Virgil whom fell and passed out. Hours passed, squeaky breaths coming from the young boy but nothing else. Soon those breaths stopped, and Roman sobered from his hatred enough to realize what he had done.

“Shit!” Roman repeated as he scrambled for the landlines that were long ago cut off. There was no electricity so no phones worked anymore, Roman hadn’t noticed how horrid the family had got. Logan downing bottle after litre and Virgil struggling to live any longer under Roman’s fists and how gentle touched starved the kid was… that’s all Virgil was, a kid. Roman ran to the neighbour and begged them to call the paramedics, claiming their dad was a little too hard on Virgil this time. It took 10 minutes for the ambulance to get there and 20 more for them to be ready to just call it.

Roman took staggering breaths, he messed up and now was losing his little brother because of his own issues. It wasn’t Virgil’s fault Patton was gone, it wasn’t anybody’s fault. Roman begged them to keep going, but it was too late. Virgil’s heart had stopped and no matter how many shocks and how much chest compression they did, he wasn’t coming back. Roman sobbed, he fell to his knees not caring how the gravel tore at his skin, not caring how the tears in his eyes left racing stripes on his cheeks as they fell to the dirt and stained the rocks a different shade of grey. Roman didn’t care anymore, he just wanted them back. He wanted his little brother back, he wanted his father back, he wanted his pops back. He wanted the old life, he wanted how things were. He couldn’t fix what he had broken, he couldn’t bring them back.

Roman stood up and went inside, throwing away all the alcohol in the house and went back to where the paramedics were signing papers about Virgil’s death. “Can you take my dad with you back to the hospital please, he needs help. He’s been drinking way too much for way to long. ” It was surprisingly easy to get Logan into the truck before they left. Roman spent months fixing the house. Keeping Virgil’s room how he loved it, adopting a grey cat and a black cat. The cats claimed the rooms that Roman had bought them to replace the people of. The black cat, named Vee, was always sleeping in the emo room, the grey cat was either in the kitchen or on the blue bed playing with yarn. Nobody and nothing could place his losses, but Roman knew that Patton and Virgil would be happy that he and Logan were both Recovering. Logan was back home within a year and stayed sober for the rest of his life.

Somewhere, where the dead people party and sleep, Virgil was cuddled up with Patton in a happy life in their own space watching their family grow and live. When Logan and Roman joined them it became a happier life. Everything was okay, everything was alright.

Things get better, lives move on, you lose some and you win some but when the time is right you leave. You don’t decide when you go though, you wait for the stars in the sky to know and then you’ll leave.

[kummerspeck-griefbacon]

2017

Weeeeeeeelllllpppp! It’s a New Year, and I’m ready to start working on this blog again. I really couldn’t have procrastinated more if I tried, but whatever, I’m here now, it’s only January 2nd, so I’m not that far out of the game. I’ve been re-reading Jory Ames “Weight Loss Journey: Changing My Life One Story and One Pound at a Time”, and it has really inspired me to start up the blog again, I feel it is key to my weight loss journey to share my frustrations as well as my successes as Ms. Ames has done. She was the first woman to write the book that I wanted to write, and it def helped that she is an older woman (she’s 54- I’m 47), she is the same height as me (5′4″) and she is/was in the same weight category (she starts the book at 210, and resolves to lose 10 lbs per month for 6 months to get to 150). I would LOVE to lose 10 lbs per month but I don’t know if that’s possible for ME, she definitely proves that it IS possible (I think from reading it the first time that she doesn’t make it all the way in 6 months, but she does come pretty close.

Let me update you since I wrote last, well over a year ago- nothing has changed, weight-wise. I’m probably right around where I was. Actually, I’m sure I weigh more, because I quit smoking around the last entry and as of today, I am still quit. That is something I am very proud of- something I really never thought I could or would do. I was one of those smokers that really enjoyed smoking 90% of the time. I quit on 9/30/15, so I’ve stopped for over 15 months. I feel secure in quitting after I hit the year mark, but I know people go back at the drop of a hat, so I try not to get too cocky, especially since my entire family smokes. My husband quit a few months after I did and he has stayed quit, so that is fantastic. I feel like nothing would cause me to go back to smoking except a horrible tragedy, so I leave it at that. But quitting has taught me one thing- if I could do that, I can do anything. It wasn’t even as hard as I expected. Don’t you hate when people say shit like that? But it wasn’t- I used the patch, which I had never tried before, the one with the steps. So I guess that gave me enough nicotine in my system to keep me from punching people in the throat, and then I bought cartridges for my e-cigarette that had 0% nicotine, so I could still have the feel of a cigarette and the inhaling and the “smoke”. The e-cig helped for a very short while- it really can’t compare to a real cig, and it seemed to give me a weird cough, so I just kept it around and didn’t use it much, but I knew it was there if I needed it. So with those tools, it was much easier than I expected (BITCH- I know!), but the main thing was I knew I was ready to give them up forever, and the other times I had tried to quit (not many, because I did like to smoke), I couldn’t get on board with the quit forever thing, so I always wound up telling myself I could have just one, and just one always leads to another.

But anyway, back to the WEIGHT, after I gained about 15-20lbs from quitting smoking (and it happened QUICKLY- within 3 months), I found myself at the beginning of 2016 hating myself, and more determined than ever to lose the weight. I was very depressed about the weight- I was heavier than I had ever been, I think at one point I reached 221. And if the gain wasn’t bad enough, I found that no matter what I did, I would not lose. I could not drop the weight. I bought the Cize dance program to dance the fat away- I didn’t stick with it. And I was trying to not do anything drastic diet-wise- I can’t do all day protein waters, or starvation, or binging/purging- I just don’t have the desire to punish myself, I’ve done that for so long and it’s only gotten me where I am. Finally I decided to see a therapist- if I couldn’t lose the weight, I needed to find a way to like myself, because I was really low, and I can’t afford to be depressed- I have too much to do- I have a family to take care of, I have 2 dogs with special needs and a cat, I work from home with my husband and it’s a very demanding job, and I have a house to run. I don’t have time to be depressed. Two things occurred to me around this time:

1- I realized that if I had never gone on a diet starting at 13 years old, I bet I would weigh much less than I do now. Years of diets has taken a toll on my body and my health. And more than that, the really heartbreaking thing is all the years I have spent hating myself, for what?

DID I EVER MANAGE TO HATE MYSELF THIN? NO- I DIDN’T.

2- I want to weigh 125. My older self knows that 140 is a much more realistic goal, given my age, the fact that I am in (or close to) pre-menopause, I possibly have PCOS, and how far I have to go. Then the diet-educated part of myself knows that the yo-yo dieting over the years has probably raised my body’s natural weight set point, so who knows? When I went in to therapy, I decided that if I could get to under 180, I could be happy with myself because that’s when all of my health problems began- aching hips, back, knees: snoring, cystic acne, etc.

AGAIN- I COULDN’T FIND A WAY TO BE HAPPY WITH MYSELF AS I WAS, BUT SUCH IS THE SICKNESS.

I live in a small town, so I had to just cross my fingers and hope that the therapist I got was a good one, because not many accept my insurance. I got lucky- I saw Risa for about 5 months, built up my self esteem, started standing up for myself and doing good things for me and my body, and she pronounced me “cured”, with the understanding that I could call her if I needed her. That was a proud moment for me because I usually don’t finish things, and it made me feel even better about her as a doctor/therapist because she could’ve taken my money forever (my mother saw a therapist for over 10 years) so I was worried that she would never let me go and I would have to quit and be a quitter. During therapy I started taking daily walks with my dog and started yoga, and I lost a few pounds, between 5-8.

I was still of the mindset that diets don’t work, and that I have to heal my relationship with food and my body, gently, with no punishing diets, Geneen Roth style, Susie Orbach style. I still believe all the things they say- eat when hungry, eat what you are hungry for, eat with no distractions, stop when you are full. I believe what they are saying, but I cannot make it work for me. And try as I might, I cannot accept myself at this weight. Wait, no- I can accept myself at this weight, but I do hate it, and I know with every fiber of my being that this is not me- this is not how I am supposed to be. I will be more comfortable when my joints don’t ache, and I don’t have high blood pressure. So something has to give.

I was gentle as I could be with myself until I got a year of no smoking under my belt- I knew I had to give myself the time to adjust to that. I was angry about the

weight gain, but it’s not like I was surprised- I knew it would happen. I probably would have gone back to smoking if I knew for sure that I would lose those 15-20 pounds. But I knew that wouldn’t happen, so I had to stay the course. 

As soon as I hit the year mark, I heard about “Bright Line Eating”, and it resonated with me. Bright Lines are like boundaries that you don’t cross. Ever. And if you do cross them, you go right back to the boundaries. You resume. Bright Lines were NO SUGAR and NO FLOUR. White Lines. Bright Lines. Addictive as cocaine, flour and sugar are. Made perfect sense to me. There were other bright lines I wasn’t ready to get on board with- weighing your food, eating 3 times per day. Period. Writing down the next day’s food and eating only what you wrote. I didn’t care about those. But no sugar and no flour sounded good. So, starting on Oct 3rd, and weighing 212, I started an atkins-like diet, except I could eat potatoes, rice, fruit and triscuits, although in moderation. I still would have an afternoon snack, but no evening snack. I got used to it pretty quickly, and was feeling good. Decided to weigh every two weeks. After the first 2 weeks, I lost 6 lbs. I was writing down what I ate. The diet looked like this:

Breakfast- 2 cups of coffee with cream, no artificial sweeteners allowed.

6 triscuits with natural peanut butter and a banana.

Lunch- Chef Salad

Snack- 20 raw almonds and 1 babybel cheese

Dinner- Taco meat on arugula

Thanksgiving came and I was worried because my Mom was coming and usually diets go right out the window when Mom comes. I had already decided that I was going to allow myself stuffing and gravy. I didn’t allow myself peanut butter cookies, which I love. I was so proud of myself. But the scale just got more and more depressing. I managed to get to 198.6 (which thrilled me because I love getting under 200- 200 is the number that I really can’t stand), but then 2 weeks would go by with no loss, and then 2 weeks later, 2 pound gain, and then 2 weeks later, nothing. I was like “Really? Already?” When you have 75lbs to lose, you don’t expect to get stalled 10lbs in. That’s part of the problem, too- those pesky expectations. 

Finally, I gave in and broke my bright lines about a week before Christmas. I was tentative at first, but then it was like the “just one cigarette”- yesterday found me swigging liberally at egg nog throughout the day (and there are like 500 calories in a half a cup of eggnog!) Funny thing about eggnog- I was watching “Mike & Molly” the other day- Molly was depressed about something, swigging nog from the container, sitting on the couch near Vince. Vince says “I never understand how you can drink that stuff without the liquor- it’s basically pancake batter!” OMG- I almost peed my pants- it’s so true. But even seeing that didn’t put me off the stuff, unfortunately. But yes- I’ve been eating all of the peanut butter cookies I missed at Thanksgiving, and plenty of chocolate!

Ok- this post is long enough, so here’s the plan:

Plan A- I am going to try HCG drops for the next month- 2 days of carb loading followed by 3 or 4 weeks of a strict diet- no breakfast, except coffee (I must have my coffee), then protein plus veggies for lunch and dinner. If I make it that far, then I have a few weeks of a modified plan to ease me in to regular eating. I can expect to lose 20-30 lbs if I am successful.

After Plan A has been completed (I could do another round, but I have to wait 8 weeks after the original 28 days before trying again), or if Plan A is not completed,

Plan B- Weight Watchers. I’ve never tried it, and I believe that new things work the first time around (like the nicotine patches worked for me). This year I can afford it, I work from home so I can go to the Tuesday 9:30 am meetings. And I love me some Oprah! I love the idea of Weight Watchers because:

1- Supposedly, you can eat whatever you want, nothing is off limits

2- Weekly weigh ins- never done that, either. I would think that keeps you motivated

3- Camaraderie- maybe I can make some new like-minded friends.

Ok- that’s enough for today, I’ll be back tomorrow with the dreaded weight. I haven’t weighed in several weeks, so I’m anxious/worried to see what the number is.

Do you have any goals this year? Let’s do it together!