#I still blame my depression pills

[nei-ning]

Many weird dreams from last night. In first my sis was playing some video game so I helped her to find items etc. In one point we noticed one team member is missing. A male vampire demon. We found him outside in medieval town. He was laying in a little fenced animal area where was pile of poo, human corpse with flies etc. He had long black horns forward and between them small area of reddish-brown hair (like Crowley's hair style curl from Good Omens).

He was alive but his chin and neck had bad burns, skin looking like melted cheese. He sat up and spoke slow in a hissing way, like snake. What I managed to hear from him, he said he would allow himself to be burned again if it would save his friends (meaning all of us his team mates). He stayed behind to begin with to save someone from very intense fire. He survived.

In next dream I was in a house with sis and someone else. Sis had ordered 2 huge boxes of things (vitamins, kitchen supplies, toilet papers etc). I was given a time limit to use on unpacking those boxes. I failed miserably each time! :'D in first round I didn't even find the clock to check the time. I'm second time I still had 32min left and I thought I can easily unpack the rest of the stuff in that time. Bullshit xD in last time I had time left 3,28 seconds. I gave up.

In other dream I was on the walk, suddenly just ending up in this room which was some kind of animal shelter. There was a woman who clearly couldn't care less at being there. She worked there but she was doing crosswords. Across her was bigger cat, looking like Verti. I actually didn't see him but I knew he was there. I heard his voice in my head. He said: "My heart hurts..." I instantly told about this to the worker who just groaned and said: "He keeps saying that." I was shocked! That cat was clearly and seriously ill and she did nothing! I wrapped this cat in white towels, rushing through this tiny hallway, finding a vet in the same place. I told her the situation as she started to listen to his heart. I asked will he survive but she shook her head, saying it's already too late for him. He either died there and then or she was going to put him down, end his pain.

In last dream mom took me to see my uncle who said to me he knows someone leaked out the information to me. I was scared since I thought he was talking about another thing but then he said: The seal. I need to know can you kill it." I said I won't hesitate to kill an animal if it's suffering. Just give me a riffle and I kill it. He seemed pleased so we headed out. The seal was supposed to be in the middle of the road where uncle had moved it, hoping someone to drive over it but we lived in rural area. The seal was found at the base of a tree near the road.

Uncle was holding a huge knife. He was going to pierce seal's head with it but I noticed how the seal opened it's eyes, being responsive. I yelled my uncle to halt and he did. This seal had long healing wounds all around it's body but no blood. It looked a bit tired but otherwise good and healthy. I told my uncle we should try to save it since it was energetic enough to be given a second chance. We just would need to find / get it fishes and see if food would help it as a first aid.

Uncle's friend, who I don't know, came there and she had a tracking collar for sheep but it was put on the seal, just in case. Then next we were in a car and this seal was in my lap. We drove past my childhood area with a lake and the seal saw this lake, another seal hunting fishes near the shore. This greatly improved seal's health and mood. It clearly recognized the lake and the other seal. I was happy, smiling at it. I said to others it clearly knows where it is, where it is from and it must had swim in this other lake via this underground tunnel / pipe which went under the road further away, connecting upper and lower lake.

I told this seal it will get back home after we get it some fish, feed and observe him 2 days to be sure he's okay. After that I woke up.

[joannechocolat]

On Power, and on Powering Through, and Why They’re Really Not the Same

I don’t pay much attention to personal attacks in reviews. It comes as the flipside of success; an attempt by the critic to puncture what they see as too much success. But I still remember one review, just after the film of Chocolat, when two of my novels happened to be in the Top 5 at the same time, in which a (male) newspaper critic referred to me dismissively as a premenopausal woman writer. I was a little taken aback. Clearly, it was meant to disparage, but I was only 35, ten years away from the perimenopause. What exactly did he mean? It wasn’t a comment about the book (which I doubt he had even read). The obvious misogyny aside, it seemed to express resentment, not of my books, but of me, myself, my right to take up space in his world. That word – premenopausal – was at the same time a comment on my age, my looks, my value, and a strong suggestion that someone like me shouldn’t be this successful, shouldn’t be writing bestsellers, shouldn’t be so – visible.

I don’t recall the name of the man, or the paper for which he was writing. He was far from being the only journalist who felt I didn’t deserve success. I shrugged off the unpleasant comment, but he’d meant it to hurt, and it did. I still wonder why he – and his editor - thought that was appropriate. I also wonder why, 20 years on, women are still dealing with this kind of thing. It’s still not enough for a woman to be successful in her chosen field. Whatever her achievements, you can be pretty sure that at some point, some man in his 50s or 60s – maybe an Oxbridge graduate, author of an unpublished novel or two - will offer his opinion on her desirability, either in the national Press, or most likely nowadays, by means of social media. The subtext is clear: women who don’t conform to societal values of what a woman should be are asking for this kind of treatment; especially those who dare to achieve more than their detractors.

10 years after that nasty review, I finally began the journey into perimenopause. No-one told me it was happening. No-one in the media was talking about it at the time. Even my doctor never thought to mention that my symptoms – the insomnia, headaches, mood swings, anxiety, depression, sleep paralysis, hair loss, brown patches on my skin – might have a single origin. I began to feel I was losing my mind: as if I were starting to disappear. I started to doubt my own senses. I blamed it all on the stress from my job. My mother had powered through menopause – or so she led me to believe – and made no secret of her contempt for modern women who complained, or treated the symptoms as anything more than a minor inconvenience.

And so I did the same. I powered through; and when at last I began to experience the classic symptoms of menopause - irregular bleeding, hot flushes, exhaustion, night sweats so bad that I would awake in sheets that were wringing wet – it did not occur to me to seek help. After over a year of this, I finally went to my doctor, who took a few tests, cheerfully announced I was menopausal, and when I inquired after HRT, advised me to power through – that phrase again - and let Mother Nature take her course. The internet was slightly more helpful. I took up running, lost weight, cut down on alcohol, downed supplements and sleeping pills and vitamin D, and felt a little better. Then, breast cancer came to call, and by the time my treatment was done, the symptoms had more or less disappeared, or at least had been superseded by the symptoms of chemo. I congratulated myself at having powered through cancer as well as surviving menopause.

But two years later, I feel old. I look that way, too. I’ve aged ten years. Some of that’s the cancer, of course. I was quite open about my treatment when I was powering through it – partly in order to pre-empt any questions about my hair loss or any of the all-too visible effects of three courses of chemo. Not that it stopped the comments, though. Even at my lowest ebb, a sector of social media made it clear that my only concern should be to look young and feminine to anonymous men on Twitter.

Right now, I don’t feel either. My hair has gone grey and very thin. My skin, too, seems thinner; both physically and mentally. At a recent publishing event, several acquaintances failed to recognize me; others just looked through me as if I had become invisible. Invisibility would be a relief; I find myself dressing for camouflage. I tend to wear baggy black outfits. I got my OBE last week. Photographs in the Press show me talking to Prince William. I’m wearing a boxy black trouser suit, flat shoes and a red fedora. I think I look nice. Not glamorous, but comfortable; quirky; unpretentious.

On a thread of largely supportive messages, one Twitter user pops up to say: Jesus, who’d accept an honour looking like that middle-aged disaster? @Joannechocolat thought she’d make an impact? She needs a stylist. If you look in the dictionary for the definition of “dowdy”, it features this photo.

It’s not the same man who belittled me over 20 years ago. But the sentiment hasn’t changed. Regardless of your achievements, as a woman, you’ll always be judged on your age and fuckability. I ought to be used to this by now. But somehow, that comment got to me. Going through menopause isn’t just a series of physical symptoms. It’s how other people make you feel; old, unattractive, and strangely ashamed.

I think of the Glass Delusion, a mental disorder common between the 14th and 17th centuries, characterized by the belief that the sufferer was made of glass. King Charles VI of France famously suffered from this delusion, and so did Princess Alexandra Amélie, daughter of Ludwig 1st of Bavaria. The condition affected mostly high-profile individuals; writers, royals, intellectuals. The physician to Philip II of Spain writes of an unnamed royal who believed he was a glass vase, which made him terribly fragile, and able to disappear at will. It seems to have been a reaction to feelings of social anxiety, fear of change and the unknown, a feeling both of vulnerability and invisibility.

I can relate. Since the menopause, I’ve felt increasingly broken. I don’t believe I’m a glass vase, and yet I know what it feels like to want to be wrapped in a protective duvet all day. I’ve started buying cushions. I feel both transparent, and under the lens, as if the light might consume me. On social media, I’ve learnt to block the people who make mean comments. To make myself invisible. To hide myself in plain sight. I power through, but sometimes I think: why do women power through? And who told them that powering through meant suffering in silence?

Fortunately, some things have changed since I went through the menopause. Over the past few years, we’ve seen more people talking about their experiences. Menopause is likely to affect half the population. We should be talking about it. If men experienced half these symptoms, you bet they’d be discussing it. Because power isn’t silence. You’d think that, as writer, I would have worked that out sooner. Words are power. Sharing is strength. Communication breaks down barriers. And sometimes, power means speaking up for those less able to speak for themselves.

I look at myself in the mirror. I see my mother’s mouth; my father’s eyes. I see the woman I used to be; the woman I will one day become. I see the woman my husband loves, a woman he still finds attractive. A woman with a grown-up child who makes her proud every single day. A menopausal woman. A cancer survivor. A woman who writes books that make other people sit up and think. A woman who doesn’t need the approval of some man she’s never met to be happy. She can be happy now. I can. And finally, I understand.  Powering through isn’t about learning to be invisible. It isn’t about acceptance, or shame, or letting Nature take its course, or lying about feeling broken. It’s looking beyond your reflection. It’s seeing yourself, not through the lens of other people’s expectations, but as yourself. The sum of everything you’ve been; of everyone who loves you. Of claiming your right to be more than glass, or your reflection in it. The right to be valued. The right to shine, regardless of age or reproductive status. Men seldom question their own right to these things. But women have to fight for them. That’s why it’s so exhausting.

This morning, instead of putting on my usual baggy black sweatshirt, I chose a bright yellow pullover. I looked at myself in the mirror. It’s not a great colour on me now, but it feels like dressing in sunshine. My husband came into the bathroom. You look –

My husband rarely gives compliments. I can’t remember the last time he commented on how I was dressed. I wondered what he was going to say. Dowdy, perhaps? Inappropriate? Like a menopausal woman in dire need of a stylist?

At last, he said: When you smile like that, you look like a friendly assassin.

A friendly assassin. I’ll take that.  

Shining like the sun. That’s me.

[zivazivc]

Sorry if this has already been asked before but why did the band break up? And did they break up on decent terms? Do they still talk to each other sometime?

It has been asked before, I just never answered jshfbdjcbh I'm still piecing everything together and stuff is changing or getting tweaked all the time, so I'm always super hesitant about answering these types of questions, afraid that people will take whatever I say as the final answer. So basically what I'm going to answer now will already contradict what I told some people already. And maybe in the future the story might go a little differently too (although I'm pretty satisfied with the current events)

Uhhh, get ready for a long info dump. I didn't expect I'd write this much...

Floyd basically stayed with the band for 8 years (from 14 till 22) and got pretty messed up in the process. The rest of the guys are all quite older than him so I guess I could say they were more responsible, or at least had a better understanding of their own limits (also they grew up in this kind of environment or grew up aware of it, while Floyd was oblivious and naive about all of it) and while they do get drunk and do drugs often, none of them are really dependent on them. They are also pretty good judges of character and know how to avoid trouble. Floyd on the other hand drove in with no breaks and constantly got himself in trouble that the rest (mostly Les) had to drag him out of. He also developed bipolar during this time (in my story Floyd constantly fluctuates between being saturated and being desaturated because of this) and his manic and depressive episodes started getting out of hand after his teenage years. (None of them are aware it's a mental disorder that's making him act so out of character.)

Floyd was becoming miserable because of this and all of his problems pilling up, and started blaming Les for the way he was. Les never argued this which only fueled Floyd to blame him more. In the end he was getting so frustrated and irritable that Floyd constantly tried starting arguments with him, even putting him down and getting aggressive at times because Les gets very unresponsive and closed off during personal conversations (guy is a giant onion of suppressed trauma that Floyd is hellbent on peeling open).

Eventually there was one fight too many, terrible things were said, some objects flew through the air, and Floyd walked out (or Hed kicked him out, I haven't decided yet) with the promise of going home and never seeing them again.

So, yeah, it was very messy and Floyd was the primary asshole, even though he's not really to blame either...

But Floyd didn't make it home (was too scared to sneak through Bergen Town to get to the tree (i don't think i can judge him for that either)) and he just returned to the reckless lifestyle, this time without anyone being there to keep him safe. So if he was messed up before, this is the time period where he got absolutely fucked up. This is also when he got heavily addicted to sour worms. And when he chronically slept around (half the time just to get offered free worms or have somewhere to sleep, other times because he was having manic episodes and was feeling hypersexual). (This is also potentially the period when he had the two eggs with that techno troll, but I'm still thinking if I want that to be canon to the story or not.) During this time he also grew to become very anxious and his self-confidence went to shit when he was being himself.

Then after about three years of that, he bumped into Les at some party. He wanted to dodge him out of shame but Les grabbed his arm and manhandled him outside to talk. Floyd felt like shit about the way they had split up and tried apologizing for all the stuff he had said and done to Les, but Les wasn't having any of that because he wasn't angry at Floyd, he was just worried about him. Les is also insanely empathetic like Floyd, and he knew that Floyd never really meant any of it, and that he was just looking for an outlet when he was hurting. Also he does think he is to blame for the way Floyd ended up.

Les wanted to know why he didn't go home like he had said (because that was the only reason Les had even let him walk out in the first place). A few exchanged words later and Floyd broke down telling him all the awful things he'd done, and Les promised to help him, feeling insanely guilty. Floyd wondered if he was allowed back in the band but Les made it clear that the band wasn't good for him and that he was never taking him back. Instead Les helped him go though rehab. I don't think trolls have those institutions (or at least not many are aware of them or how they work (I'm sorry but I refuse to believe the Trolls world has internet and cellphones, Mountrageons can keep that for themselves lol)), so it was more or less just Les finding Floyd a job and his own place to stay in the middle of bumfuck nowhere where he had no option but to detox, and constantly checking up on him to make sure he was doing okay. During this time they grew pretty close again. Or maybe the better term would be that Les slowly started putting his walls down again.

Hed needed a while to warm up to Floyd again. He's almost as protective of Les as Les is of him, and he resented Floyd for the way he had treated him.

Flea is pretty phlegmatic when it comes to any sort of arguing or drama. He was casual about seeing Floyd again, they were never super close anyway.

And Liv, she left the band when she and Hed broke up (haven't decided if that happened before or after Floyd left), so Floyd didn't get to see her again after bumping into Les at the party. And I haven't thought yet if they'd ever meet again somewhere later in life. But if they did, I think they'd both be happy to see each other.

Anyway...

Floyd managed to detox and successfully kept the job for about a year, but then he became manic again and messed it all up. After that he returned to his nomadic lifestyle, but he never fell as hard as those three years again. In my story Floyd's life is a constant cycle of getting his life together and fucking it up and booking to the next place. And he and Les are trapped in a never-ending cat and mouse game where they're both trying to fix each other.

So, uh, Les and Floyd are still very close and see each other somewhat often...

(sometimes monthly, sometimes yearly)

Yeah...

I am so fucking obsessed with them I'm gonna hurl. Please take this song before I combust:

[ww2yaoi]

Yesterday was quite a day, I mused as I hurried back from the medics: I caught diarrhea and voted for Roosevelt. Now I was bound for the barn on the west side of Uden where we had moved from an outpost in the north several days after returning from Best. The ballot had gone on its way to the States, but I still had the diarrhea; it made me hurry faster. The first platoon had taken over a large barn and made itself at home in the hay. Supposed to be on the M.L.R., we had posted a couple of men on 24-hour guard in the field behind us while we slept on soft hay in thin, one-man sleeping bags which had caught up with us with the last of the regiment’s rear echelon. It was our most comfortable position in Holland. But I couldn't enjoy it, because I had the worst diarrhea I had ever caught in the Army; I couldn't lie still for more than twenty minutes. Cramped and irritable, I had spent most of the day and night running back and forth to the slit-trench latrine behind the barn, with time out for a mile walk to the medics and a dose of sulfa pills. It was all the cooks’ fault, I mused as I came in sight of our quarters. Bastards always were dirty. They kill a cow and butcher it and boil it hard in pasty gravy and call it beef stew. It almost broke my teeth, but the stew wasn't to blame—it was the wash water afterward. Vile as the British seamen on the Samaria, who had set out cold pans of salt water for us to wash our mess kits in, they gave us a single garbage can of soapy water as a battalion rinse. By the time I got to the can, the scum was an inch thick on top. The grease clung to my pan, breeding germs, and gave me diarrhea at the next meal. I had spent last night on the run, unable to enjoy the comforts of my sleeping bag. Well, anyway I had voted. That made me happy. I had to walk almost two miles to cast my ballot, but I would have walked ten, if necessary, because this was my first vote—I was 22 in June—and I had always wanted to cast it for Roosevelt, the greatest President we had ever had and the only one who ever gave the working man a break. Roosevelt had faced and overcome the two great crises America had ever suffered: the worst depression in history and the world’s biggest war. He was a politician, as crafty and conniving as any, for politics is a cesspool of lying lawyers, but his work was greater than the man, and the country was better for it. The rich Republicans hated Roosevelt for helping the working man, for encouraging the labor unions to wring a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work out of employers who had never heard of such a thing before and for putting into effect fair-employment practices that they considered outrageously Socialistic. Roosevelt helped the unemployed when Herbert Hoover, the last Republican, an engineer who never quite understood humanity, had said, “Let every man help his brother,” when he knew perfectly well that the rich weren't about to help the poor, never had and never would. I had grown up with Republicans and gone to school and college with them, and sickened by their selfishness, their cold avarice and lofty contempt for the common people, had early sworn to vote for the Democrats, who, for all their rotten political faults, were more concerned with the welfare of the country as a whole. Delighted that I had at last fulfilled that ambition, I snapped back to the present when I saw a dozen people standing in front of our barn. A wild-eyed crone was shrieking and cackling at some soldiers while several Dutch children looked on.

David Kenyon Webster, Parachute Infantry, pg. 142-144.

Happy election day, USAmericans! If David Webster can walk two miles with bad diarrhea in an active war zone to vote, so can you!

[maladaptiveobsession]

“Too Little, Too late”

Synopsis: How the DOL LIs react to the player’s suicide

pt. 2

Contains: gn!reader, male!love interests, suicide by pill overdose, death, necrophilia, alcoholism, self-deprecation, dissociation, depression

Words: 1163

A/N: Do not take the content warnings above lightly. The character’s sentiments and the player’s death is described in detail. If you are sensitive to any of these topics, please take care. I had intended to write for some other NPCs as well, but quickly realized I was not in the mental space to continue. I was using my personal experiences as reference, so my personal feelings and the feelings of the characters blended together and I just got overwhelmed.

Alex:

He’s confused and distraught. Why didn’t you confide in him? Was he not enough? He thought you were doing better. What did he miss? What could he have done differently? There’s nothing he wouldn’t have done if it meant keeping you.

He’ll never recover. The farm is neglected, unable to handle the grief. Everything reminds him of you. He blames himself and spends every moment missing you. Alcohol is his only solace and perhaps his demise as well.

Avery:

He’s initially enraged. You repay him by attaching a tragedy to his public image? Above all, he feels betrayed. Anger eventually morphs into bitter acceptance. He tries to pretend otherwise, but he’s affected deeply. He’s not sure how to feel, but it’s wrong all the same. Never before had he grown so fond of any of his arm candy. It was too little, too late by the time he realized he wanted more than a transactional relationship. He continues to attend functions, but his smile is tighter and his eyes are weary. Any attempts to replace you fail miserably. Nobody smiles like you or laughs like you. Nobody is talented enough, smart enough, or obedient enough.

He won’t forget you, but he can’t afford to lose his image, so he grieves in silence. He wonders if things might have been different had he realized how he felt sooner. What might things have been like had he put a ring on your finger? It’s only now in your absence that he understands the joy you brought him. He should have paid better attention to his plaything.

Eden:

Inconsolable is the only way to describe him. Little has brought this man to his knees or made him tear up, but discovering your cold, lifeless body broke him. He’s pissed at you for leaving him. He’s pissed at himself for not noticing the signs; he should have known better than any other. Among the anger, he’s confused. Why didn't you ask for help? There’s nothing he wouldn’t have done for you. What could have been so bad that you would want to kill yourself? Was he so awful? He begins to reflect on his behavior towards you. He knew your initial meeting was unsavory at best, but he had changed since and thought you were healing. He spends every waking moment criticizing his past actions, wondering what might have been had he treated you better.

He considers taking his own life but chooses to live through the anguish as punishment. He tries his best to overcome, but nothing is the same without you. He misses you deeply; the comfort you brought him left so easily. If only he had cherished you more and taken better care of you. If only he had just listened. You should still be cozying up against him on the loveseat, but you’re not and never will be.

Kylar:

Kylar initially denies your death. You’re not dead. You’re just sleeping. As time goes on, he becomes hysterical. You must be ignoring him to get his attention! You’re okay! You’re fine! Nothing is wrong! He’ll defile your body, having convinced himself you’ve entered a deep sleep. The smell will force him into clarity. He knows that smell well; he would recognize the stench of rotting flesh anywhere. He’ll fly into hysteria, falling to his knees and wailing. His darling is gone forever. Why did you do it? Was he not good enough? He must have neglected you or upset you somehow! He should have paid attention. You would be here otherwise. You were unhappy, but he was too selfish to notice! This is all his fault!

Unlike all the rest, Kylar cannot live without you. He takes his own life shortly after, collapsing over your decomposing corpse. If you squint, it’s nearly a romantic sight.

Robin:

Finding you in your bed, cold and stiff with pills spilled haphazardly across your desk, was the worst moment of his life. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t break down and cry. There’s no confusion. There’s no need to ask why; he knows. He’d spent ages wondering how you managed to keep yourself together. How you smiled so brightly in such disturbing circumstances escaped him. It’s only now that he realizes just how much you were suffering, quietly enduring for his sake. He should have seen the signs—the smile that never reached your eyes, the flinching, the lethargy. Things you couldn’t hide that he should have seen but simply didn’t want to acknowledge. It wasn’t a conscious decision by any means, but rather a subconscious attempt to avoid uncomfortable truths in hopes they’d resolve on their own. Had he reached out to you and comforted you, he’s pretty sure you’d still be here. Your blood is on his hands.

Robin will never be the same, and there’s a chance he’ll follow your example. In another timeline, he decides to keep fighting, leaves town, and never looks back. Another version is swallowed up by grief and grows darker and vengeful. Regardless of his path going forward, he lives in your memory. Time heals, but the scar won’t fade.

Sydney:

He is beyond distraught. Why did you do it? Why did you leave him? Was he not enough? He misses you severely. Every waking moment is torment without you. Your loss sends him plunging deeper into the church’s grasp, regardless of purity. If the church is responsible for your passing by any measure, Sydney severes ties completely. Unlike all the rest, Sydney has a loving parent to comfort and guide him through the grief.

Ultimately, Sydney will move on. He carries your memories with him. Your death still haunts him, but he’ll eventually find somebody to start a family with. He’ll convince himself he’s happy, but he can’t help but wonder how things might have been if you were by his side instead.

Whitney:

Numbness engulfs Whitney. Nothing feels real anymore. Is he even real? How can you be gone? He still has the bruises you gave him from your last encounter, so how can you be gone? Anger bites at his mind, but the static sorrow washes it away. Without you, nothing matters. He blames himself. He was a terrible person to you. Of course you would choose death over somebody like him. Even if he was changing for the better, that doesn’t take away what he did to you.

He washes down the grief with liquor. He doesn’t live; he drifts, too tired to even take his own life. He’d spend the rest of his life punishing himself for failing you. With enough time, he might snap out of that fog. Of all the rest, he is the most likely to use this trauma to make much-needed changes around town. He’ll stay single, too afraid of failing yet another person, of being hurt, or of betraying you. Whitney will ultimately be okay, even if every day is a challenge and every memory is overwritten with regret.

[im-not-an-object-ok]

For three months this year, I bled nearly every day. My doctor doesn’t know why. Google doesn’t know why. The condition is simply called “postmenopausal bleeding,” and medicine’s best guess as to the cause is that the postmenopausal hormone-replacement therapy I started last November suddenly made my endometrium, the lining of the uterus, “unstable.” All scientific knowledge added up to “If it’s still happening in six months, get back in touch.” (I’m still bleeding intermittently, and I don’t know why.) This is the kind of massive medical shrug that anyone with female anatomy has probably encountered.

Despite major advances for women over the past 100 years—the invention of the contraceptive pill, greater access to safe abortions—much of female biology is still woefully underserved by science. There are reasons for this, most notably the historical exclusion of women from medical and pharmaceutical trials, partly because our awkward hormone cycles were thought to skew results. There’s also the fact that some scientists still project findings from research on men onto women, seeming not to realize that women aren’t just small men: Women are different down to the cellular level, meaning that many of our immune responses, experiences of pain, and symptoms (including, for instance, those that accompany a heart attack) may be different from men’s. Are you having a nasty, unexpected side effect from your medication? That could be because most drugs were developed with male bodies in mind. A 2020 review of 86 common medications, including antidepressants, cardiovascular drugs, and painkillers, found that women were likely routinely overmedicated and suffered adverse reactions nearly twice as often as men.

The lagging science is particularly apparent when it comes to periods and female hormones more generally—the subject of the anthropologist Kate Clancy’s new book, Period, a scientific and cultural history that purports to tell the “real story of menstruation.” Clancy’s book makes clear that a lack of data is to blame for many of the ills that women and girls face concerning their reproductive health, like doctors’ failure to diagnose painful conditions such as endometriosis.

My severe endometriosis was discovered only when I was 41, accidentally. For decades, I had been given prescription-strength painkillers, and my doctor never seemed to wonder whether the amount of pain I was in was abnormal. When I published an essay about my menopausal depression in 2018, a deluge of women wrote to tell me that when they were going through something similar, their doctors had told them they were imagining their brain fog or panic attacks, or had put them on antidepressants that didn’t work because many depression drugs are inadequate to treat the symptoms of fluctuating estrogen.

[darkanddirtyknb]

Personal Update

Hello, my beautiful like-minded creatures in the flesh,

It’s been a while since I gave an update, and I thought one was long overdue. If I’m wrong about this and you don’t care to read about my personal life (I really don’t blame you), please go on about your day. I hope it’s a great one! If you are interested, I will clue you into what’s been happening.

As usual, I have already had many medical appointments this year and many more to come. I had a procedure done on my right shoulder last month (happy July, by the way!) to see if we can get a steroid concoction to help me. If it doesn’t (it’s been touch and go so far), I will need to have a different, more painful procedure done. I’m still playing around with medication, trying new things, getting new side effects, and finding out that my body is pretty much anti-all pills. It’s super frustrating, to be honest. I’m all for being clean, and I think that less is usually best, but in my case, I’m getting no relief anywhere. I’m not sleeping. The brain fog is worse than ever, my memory is awful, joint pain, neuropathy, and muscle fatigue are worse, etc… All in all, the physical stuff is different in a few ways, but pretty much the same.

However, I’ve been in a down spell with my mental health. The depression lately has been impressive, really. I work hard daily to stay positive and keep my head above water, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t back-breaking work. That alone makes it hard to be productive, but I’m forcing myself to do things—it’s unfortunate because writing hasn’t been one of them. I want to, and the urge is there, but my memory and ability to form sentences are making it extremely hard, and writing seems impossible right now. Even writing this has been a journey and not a good one. Very bad, in fact. Think boggy marsh full of mosquitoes, mud-filled shoes, and sweltering, humid heat. I’m working hard to get out of the swamp and onto a tropical island, but until then, this is where I’m at—overrun by anxiety, depression, and medical hang-ups. I’m working with my therapist, though. Soon, I will be starting EMDR. That should be fun. I’ve been touching on a lot of trauma lately, so hopefully unlocking all of it and putting it in the right place will help me move forward.

There’s more, but I think you’re all smart cookies, and you got the gist of things. This update has become long enough. I hope that you’re all doing well by staying happy, healthy, and living life to its fullest! I mean that. Truly. I care about all of you, even if we don’t talk much or at all in some cases.

Take care and be safe. The world is as terrifying as it is beautiful right now.

With all my love, Kai (your local disturbed homo)

[icanfixhimclub]

𝑇𝑤𝑖𝑛 𝑆𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑑 𝑀𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 || 𝐽𝐽 𝑀𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑘

Pairings: JJ x fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Cursing, Running away, mental abuse, attempted suicide, drug overdose, mention of blade, bullying, depression

Summary: Based off the song Twin Sized Mattress by the Front Bottoms

This is for the lions living in the wiry broke down frames

Of my friends' bodies

You look around at the people around you, almost looking like shells of their old self, well at least to you, maybe you’re just self projecting. You didn’t feel like yourself lately, you didn’t feel like anything really. Maybe your friends just didn’t notice the change, or maybe they didn’t care. You wouldn’t blame them, you didn’t want to be around yourself either. Not when she’s around.

When the flood water comes, it ain't gonna be clear

It's gonna look like mud

But I will help you swim, I will help you swim

I'm gonna help you swim

Even with what’s been going on lately, as you look around the fire, everyone laughing together, you realize that these are still the people you’d do anything for, help them swim when waters muddy, sacrifice yourself in order for them to breath. These are your friends, your family, you’d give them the moon if they needed you too.

This is for the snakes and the people they bite

Josie. The blonde haired, green eyed snake that you had lovingly welcomed into your friend group when Sarah had brought her. She didn’t like you, you didn’t know why, but it hurt. She would whisper things to Sarah and Kie and they would give you funny looks. A sinking feeling started in your chest whenever she would lock eyes with you and smile, a cruel, spiteful smile.

For the friends I've made, for the sleepless nights

For the warning signs I've completely ignored

Watching as Josie cozied up with all your friends hurt more than you’d like. Watching them cozy right back almost hurt more. It wasn’t fair, these were your friends, the friends you made all by yourself, the friends that you earned. Sometimes, you’d stay up, late at night and scroll through pictures. You’d realize that as you scrolled, your pictures become more and more sparse around the time Josie came.

Maybe you should’ve noticed it too, how she would always nudge you in the wrong direction. When everyone would hang at your place when your parents weren’t home, you’d find a razor blade were Josie had sat. She would offhandedly mentioned how sometimes ‘people don’t know when they weren’t welcome’ as she looked directly at you. Red flags were popping up left and right, but you cared too much about your friends happiness to notice.

There's an amount to take, reasons to take more

Josie had given them to you, the were painkillers, stronger than any you had ever had. She had said ‘you looked a little stressed lately, thought these would help. Don’t take more than three, or you could overdose, and we wouldn’t want that’ it was unnerving, the way she said it with such ease yet such demand. You stared at the bottle in your hands, leaning over your sink. Your mind is racing as you shook out five. You knew she was probably lying. You knew that five probably wouldn’t even do anything, but deep down, you hoped it would. You swallowed the best you good, and laid down in bed, texting your friends.

‘I took some pills, I don’t know what will happen, if it something bad then I’m sorry. I love you guys.’

At the chateau, JJ and John B were panicking. Sarah and Kie were trying to calm them down and Pope was sitting in silence, staring off. Nobody was able to reach you at all, and they were seriously considering driving to your house and busting down your door. Just then, Josie walked into the Chateau, smiling.

“Why the fuck are you smiling! Y/n could be dead! Are you just ignoring what she sent all of us?!” JJ was livid, did she not care? Josie only looked at them,

“I didn’t get a text”

“We think y/n/n tried to kill herself! She took some random pills and texted all of us!” John B was screaming and Josie backed away. You weren’t supposed to actually take the pills, just get the message and leave. “That’s it, we’re going to her house.” Everyone followed John B out the door and to the Twinkie, except Josie, but nobody noticed, maybe that was the wake up call they needed. They pounded on your door three times before running to the back of your house and climbing in through your window. You were passed out on your bed, barely breathing.

It was a blur to everyone after that, carrying you to the Twinkie, taking you to the hospital, getting your stomach pumped. Nobody would ever forget that night, and it was agreed between everyone silently, this had something to do with Josie.

It's no big surprise you turned out this way

When they close their eyes and prayed you would change

They could all hear it. The screaming of your parents coming from your hospital room. This was they first time they’d experienced it, but they knew it was bad. For as long as the could remember, you did everything you could to please your parents, and that had transitioned to everyone else too. After particularly bad nights that you would run off to chateau, you’d flinch whenever the boys would get rowdy or yell.

You had broken down to JJ one drunk night, crying to him and telling him everything. How they would never be happy, how they wanted you to be completely different, how one night as a kid you had heard your mother praying over her bed that you would change. You cried until you fell asleep, and JJ spent all night holding you close to him, whispering to you everything he loves about you that you would never know.

And they cut your hair, and sent you away

You stopped by my house the night you escaped

It had only been a week since you’d been back from the hospital that your parents sat you down at the kitchen table. “This was your last straw y/n,” your father came behind you with a pair of scissors as your mother talked, “We have given you so much and you still do this…this SHIT!” You heard it, the sound of scissors chopping away at your hair until it was at your shoulders. “We want you out. You’re getting sent to a boarding school in Georgia. You’re leaving tomorrow, now go upstairs and pack.”

She had turned her back to you before you could say anything. You sprinted to your room, tears clouding your vision as you shoved everything you could in a large duffel bag. You shoved in your jewelry and your secret stash of money you kept hidden from your parents. Your ID and a secret credit card you had hidden from your parents were stuck into a hidden pocket as you zipped up the bay forcefully. If you were leaving, it was on your own accord. You slipped on your shoes and slipped on a sweat shirt, the one you had stollen from JJ last summer. You crawled out your window and sprinted as fast as you could to the chateau, banging on JJ’s room window.

With tears in my eyes, I begged you to stay

“Y/n/n’s? What the fuck, it’s like 3 in the morning.” He opened the window and rubbed his eyes.

“I’m leaving.” Well that definitely woke him up, “They wanna send me away, some school out in Georgia. I can’t let them send me away, if I leave, they don’t get the satisfaction of making me. I’m going to the mainland JJ.” He stared at you with his mouth hanging open, speechless. Before you even noticed them, tears starting rolling down his face.

“No no no, please don’t leave, we can’t do this without you, I can’t do this without you.”

“JJ-“

“We can hide you here, it’ll be okay, please stay, please. Please, y/n, I love you.” You almost didn’t register it, but you know that if you listened, they’d still find you and you would drag all your friends down with you.

So, you swallowed and fought off tears, staring at JJ,

you said, "Hey man, I love you, but no fucking way!"

[crowdeerdire]

Ok ok, this is gonna be a long post... But I've been really wanting to do this for a long time! Here's my Our Life MC: Kel Jamie Last! In all 4 steps! (here I'm gonna write what I wrote uptop because I know my hand writing isn't the best/is chicken scratch) Kel 8yrs Old (Confident Fond) - Confident - "wild"/clumsey - fond of Cove, aka the "Weird New Kid" - Loves Bugs, especially pill bugs (will collect them on her hands) - 4'0'' tall - Tomboy - weird kid in class so doesn't have a lot of friends until Cove - close with Lizzie at this point Kel 13 yrs old (Nervous Crush) - has grown shy/reserved - introverted - tries to take care of others over herself - very self conscious - enjoys art - in band (plays the violin) - "EVERYTHING" grew at once over the year - 5'4'' with boobs (based this on my own experience with life and growing up.) - tall like Cove - Big crush on Cove but just acts buddy buddy (he's her best friend in the whole world! She can't ruin that!) - Good buds with Derek; thinks he very fun to hang around - finds school on the easy side/doesn't care much about it - still the weird kid at school so she mainly hangs around with Cove and sometimes Miranda Kel 18 yrs old (Nervous Crush/Love) - panromantic/demisexual - starting to come out of her shell - still very introverted tho (few friends but high quality) - still tries to take care of everyone with the tendancie to ignore her own needs - sleep issues - more of a confident artist/ exploring that route more - plays violin until she graduates high school, but stops right after - 5'4'' ; never grew more after her big growth spurt at 13! Still mad about it and blames Cove for stealing her height (jokingly) - Says she has a crush on Cove (not really outloud to anyone...), but honestly she's fallen in love with him - thinks he's out of her league (why would he like her back???) - no idea what she wants to do in life; feels very lost after high school - doesn't get along well with Baxter at first... Like Cove she finds he comes on WAY too strong Kel 23 yrs old (Relaxed Love) - "goth" era - still shy but starting to feel more like herself/stand up for herself more and just feel normal in her own skin - freelancer/artist - diagnoised with depression and adhd. Medicated but still working on those issues (thankfully Cove is always there for her) - because of that has a hard time remembering to eat (especially when she's hyperfocused on a project), and feels guilty about it, but Cove is really good at helping her out (he likes taking care of her when he can) - picked up the ukelele about a year ago just to play music again - adopted an older cat - In love with Cove and probably engaged by now, if not by the Step 4 events - lives with Cove and his fish (thankfully the cat is chill and doesn't go after them) - Still keeps in touch with Miranda, Terry and Derek. Gets a redemption arc with Baxter (they will be friends or ELSE) Height chart throughout the steps:

[shbtcklyy]

colors and suns

Erwin buys some paint to cheer up Levi.

(lee!Levi, ler!Erwin)

[modern au, painting tickles, references to depression]

w/c: about 900 words

"So you, uh," Levi looked at the bag, "bought a coloring book paint to do the fucking BODY THERAPY art?"

"Exactly," Erwin said and smuggled.

"The knitting club would have the same effect so no, thank you," Levi growled at him and handled the bag to his hands. "Paint this shit by yourself!"

He turned back and disappeared in the kitchen. Erwin put the bag on the floor pursed his lips, offended.

"I'm still in, just in case!" he tried to outshout the sound of the pans and bowls, but it was too loud.

Erwin couldn't blame him for that. Levi didn't like it when he tried to help or to offer any kind of therapeutic aid. Pills and meditation (in this case just poor tryings, actually) were the only thing Levi accepted from his psychiatrist and he never tried to speak of his disorder again. Depressed? Okay, we got this, I can live my life.

He also was really sluggy after the pills, so they ended up on their couch watching TV. Erwin was massaging Levi's head with his fingers, his hair smelled like soap and grass. He couldn't help himself but kiss him in forehead once or twice.

"Le-evi" he murmured, "what if we still try it?"

Levi found Erwin's nose and pinched it.

"Do what'y want, I'm too tired too argue."

Erwin cheerfully jumped and went for the paint, screaming "take off your clothes!" from another room to his husband.

"What are you gonna draw?"

"What are you expecting me to draw?"

"I don't know. Draw a flower."

Erwin opened up the green paint and poured a new brush in it.

"I'll draw on your back, is it ok?" he asked to get the nod and brushed over his spine.

"Ouf, it's cold," Levi whined. Erwin drew a stem and started painting the leafs on his sides, thinking of continuing this pattern on the front, but Levi suddenly shivered, when he got lower.

"Are you alright?" Erwin asked and stopped.

"Yeah. Yeah," Levi nodded. "Just do the thing."

Despite one thought crawling in his mind, Erwin continued painting the flower; returned the brush on the top, slowly stroked it down to the ribs - Levi shivered again - and poked it near the armpit.

"Raise your hand, I need to get to your other side," he muttered, tongue out from concentration.

"Are you doing this on purpose or what," Levi hissed at him. Erwin raised his eyebrow.

"What's wrong?"

"It tickles," Levi said.

"Don't worry, I'll finish soon," Erwin forcibly raised Levi's hand and brushed over his armpit. Levi twitched and snorted, loudly enough to provoke Erwin's interest. He changed his way and instead of painting on Levi's chest he returned to his ribs, pretending that he is coloring something.

"Erwin, stop," Levi growled through his teeth, but Erwin only grinned.

"It's not my fault that you're ticklish," he shrugged his shoulders and lowered to the tummy, thinking of taking a bigger brush.

"Just, just draw somewhere else, I don't know!" Levi was hardly holding back the giggles. Erwin stayed on his tummy for too long, painting unnecessary circles and patterns around his belly and pelvic line.

"Hold on, hold on, I'm almost done," he teased, going around the folds on Levi's tummy and swiped the brush behind his back again. "Is that too hard for you?"

Levi didn't answer. In a few seconds Erwin told him to lie down.

"Which paint now?" he asked, Levi only made a face:

"I don't care! Just do it fast."

Erwin sighed through his nostrils, poured the brush in yellow paint and without any shame started flowing it on the inner side of Levi's thighs. Levi jumped and squished them together; Erwin was taken aback.

"Levi, relax."

"What if you try to draw on something else?"

"Levi, it's for therapeutic purposes!"

He spread his thighs forcibly (he knew Levi wasn't stresses by this - his eyes were calm enough) and continued painting. He heard the giggles immediately.

"Erwin- Erwin, stop, stop, y-you drew enough," Levi held up his palm to his mouth, though Erwin knew what was hiding behind it, "Erwin, get that fucking brush out!.."

Erwin wasn't convinced enough by this, he smiled slyly while drawing small suns on Levi's thighs.

"Don't twitch!" he sang and drew a line to his knee bend; Levi bumped him in the his slightly, giggling. "I'm almost done, almost done!"

"Youhu said that five minutes agooDON'T FUCKING TOUCH MY KNEES!" he squealed, frantically kicking his legs. Erwin realized he found that place and concentrated on drawing circles behind the knee, enjoying that high-pitched laughter.

At the end he stopped drawing and began simply kissing the unpainted areas of his skin, pale skin, the veins seen. And Erwin had a thought, just one small thought that if Levi could smile a bit, that horrible dark part of their life will be gone for a minute. Just him, Levi and some happiness.

He climbed over his hips, kissed Levi on the stomach, between the ribs, in the neck, causing him to have quiet chuckles.

“I love you so much, Levi...” he whispered, and Levi ran his thin fingers through his hair, smiling limply. Erwin quickly kissed him on the lips and then suddenly tickled him under the ribs; Levi bucked and grunted with laughter.

“Come on, you,” he snorted. "You'll spill the paint..."

[yubellia]

Please stop protecting Stolas

Wish me luck everybody. This might be a bit risky. Remember how I talked about full moon in my last post? Since than, I saw so many people protecting Stolas. Coming up with all kinds of excuses for him and his behavior…. It’s just sick. So I thought I talk about it again.

Prepare yourself because I also am writing something for Octavia.

Also, there are many things I don‘t write about in detail. Others did a way better job, showing it with pictures. I just want to talk about some stuff.

——————————————————-

So. Before we begin I would like to say AGAIN, that Blitz made mistakes too. Yes he broke into the palace, yes he played with Stolas‘s feelings to get the book. And yes that’s messed up. I know. But I still believe he was in the right to call Stolas out for all his nonsense.

For starters, Stolas was the one who started the deal. After blitz realized that he could use that, he followed. On multiple occasions we can see how Stolas pushes the interactions in one direction. The bedroom. This will be interesting when I talk about Octavia too. It was Stolas who said stuff like „you are so cute when you are serious.“ like really? He didn’t take blitz serious. Not one bit. Everytime blitz seemed annoyed or voiced his opinion, Stolas dismissed it as a game. Only after the events at Ozzie’s, when blitz drove him home and told him „I can‘t do it. I don‘t want to.“ did he realize that this might not be a game. Blitz called him out. That this was a deal, that blitz was his plaything (Stolas even called him his ‚impish plaything in the past I think? Like wtf? Not to mention ‚itty bitty Blitzy‘ I would be embarrassed too.) and all that. After THAT did Stolas really start to think and realize that blitz really isn’t happy.

And Blitz was right to call him out too. Remember how Ozzie stood up to Mammon to protect Fizz? Blitz was there. He saw all that! He knows that it could be different and he was holding back tears before he drove away. He has feelings for Stolas. Everyone and their grandma knows that.

But what did Stolas do? When he was called out and people saw him with an imp? He hides in shame. I know Blitz was using him to get into the club. Before you point that out. I know. But imagine you are with someone, they get called out for it and instead of backing you up, or saying SOMETHING to help, they hide. Try to not be seen with you. Blitz was right to call him out. We know that he has feelings for Stolas. Now imagine how painful that one was.

Stolas can claim to love him all he wants. It doesn’t mean anything if he can‘t act like it. How is blitz supposed to know what Stolas feels? Do you forget that he didn’t hear those depressing songs we get? I already talked about their interaction in full moon. If you wanna know, please read that one.

Now, let’s talk about some of the ‚excuses‘ I’ve seen for Stolas.

„He didn’t have his pills.“ yes, I too wrote about that. I said something like ‚it’s not a good start for something important like this.‘. But I forgot something. First, Stolas is a GROWN MAN! I know! I know! He acts like a teenage girl with a crush sometimes. It’s easy to forget that. But it’s true. And as an adult, he should be able to take care of himself. And keep an eye on his pills

Second, if you take pills and you take them on a schedule. And not missing out. It will actually take at least a day or two (or more depending on what it is you take), until your body realizes what’s going on and falls back into the old ways. You don‘t get withdrawal symptoms that fast. Maybe with painkillers but not with this. He could have panicked without his pills but he should have been fine. So this one is not an excuse really.

Second, people actually blame Blitz, the Victim in my opinion, by saying „he stole the book he could just go and find a new job.“

The first part, ok. I already said that he started this in a way. But the rest? I am sorry but…. Did you watch the show?

Striker outright confirmed that it’s pretty impressive for an imp to start a business in the first place! Imps are at the bottom! We don‘t really see how hard it really is to find a job for them but it seems like they don‘t really have the ways to work themselves up. Unless you are like Fizzarolli. Talented and lucky to have Ozzie. But those are exceptions.

Second, „find a new job“. Guys…. Blitz is not an employee, blitz is the BOSS! It is his business. He can‘t just quit. He has a responsibility! For his employees who need jobs! Bills to pay ! Not to mention it would be nice if he and his daughter would not end up penniless on the streets and starving!

Seriously, people are so desperate to defend Stolas, the one with ALL THE POWER in this relationship, that they don‘t think before they write! I know it’s easy to feel bad for Stolas! I too have seen images of little baby Stolas that plays with blitz and can‘t realize what’s going on. Well congrats! You fell for it too! This is called victim blaming. Blitz had no choice. Not if he wants to do business that is. But because he is loud and aggressive and a jerk sometimes, we feel bad for poor, poor Stolas. A few depressing songs and boom!

I know that I said both messed up. And it’s true. But Stolas messed up more. At least focusing on this relationship. Like I said, I also write something about Octavia and Stolas too. That topic hits pretty close to home for me. So if you wanna know more reasons why Stolas messed up, wait and see.

——————————————————-

Sorry. Lost my composure for a moment. It’s just so annoying. I know that some people look at fizz and Ozzie and hope that someday we get something close to that with these two guys. But really? They are very different from Ozzie and fizzy. That won‘t happen. Not too soon at least. And not without Stolas really working on himself. (BOTH working on themselves. Blitz needs to learn to trust and open up for real. To not think too low of himself and let others in.) Stolas saying that he understands that he did something wrong doesn’t mean anything if he doesn’t work on it.

(I already wrote about how he messed up his love confession. I am not blaming Blitz for not taking him serious in that. And remember, blitz had the crystal. He didn’t have to run after Stolas but he did. Give him credit where it’s due. Ok?)

Like Rosie said: „words are cheap. Actions, they speak the truth.“

So? What did his actions tell us so far? With blitz and Octavia? Doesn’t look too good now huh?

——————————————————

So…… I hope i didn’t upset too many people. Stolas fans, I am sorry. Something makes me want to like this fluffy bird too but…. I can‘t help it. He was in the wrong.

This was more jumbled then i wanted it to be but i hope you understand.

Remember, English isn’t my first language and if you wanna see more, wait for it.

Goodbye.

[disgruntleddd]

AITA for wanting to cut ties with my ex?

I (22) have been friends with my ex-fiancé (21) since we were 14. We were best friends for years and they crushed on me for ages, until we finally started going out when I was ~18. We were each other's firsts and we got engaged when I was 20 and they were 19. We moved in together when I was 21 and they were 20.

Last November (six-ish months ago now, jeez, time flies) they broke up with me. They were sexually assaulted in a club and told me that the experience made them realize that they want to be more upfront with their boundaries and desires. They don't think we're compatible like that and wanted to date someone more similar to themselves while still being my best friend, like we were before.

For a while, I tried to make it work even though I was absolutely miserable being around them knowing that what we had was gone. They had an online friend, we'll call him D (24), who they'd grown close to over the course of the year or so we'd lived together. Well, they already had a visit planned months in advance for D to come out and stay in our apartment for two weeks. They told me that they were romantically interested in D, and wanted to see how things went in person. I didn't want to ask them to cancel such an expensive trip so short notice, so I sucked it up. At the time, I expressed that I wanted D to sleep on our fold-out couch (we have a two-bedroom, and they got their own bed after the breakup) but they told me that who they invite into their bed is none of my business.

Anyway, so, my ex lied to me. Turned out that they'd already been dating D for a couple of weeks before the visit took place. The walls are not thick so I heard them fucking more than once. My ex invited me out to drink with them and I ended up crying because it was really painful to watch them hang off of someone else and loudly make jokes about all the sex they were going to have later.

Fast forward a couple of months, and D gets kicked out of his apartment and needs somewhere to live. This is where shit hits the fan, and what prompted this post.

D has never liked me, although he tries very hard in a shallow way to make me like him. (I think it's an anxiety thing — he wants me to like him because then I feel less threatening, not because he actually cares about getting to know me, you know?) I overheard a phone conversation between Ex and D where he was ranting about how I have no friends because I'm such an unlikeable bitch, I'm never going to change or improve myself, he fucking hates me, I'm a narcissist, Ex needs to move out and cut ties with me because I'm so toxic, blah blah blah. D also has schizophrenia, multiple personalities due to severe childhood trauma, he age-regresses (constantly; his default mental age is ~17), and he's an alcoholic. All of this to say that he is a very paranoid and depressed person.

(Side note: I expressly told my ex that I didn't want him to stay in our apartment. They said that they understood and assured me it would only be for a few days while they found him a place. It's been ~3 weeks now, and he's still here.)

I was woken up one night a week ago by my ex and D having a very loud conversation about suicide. D was having a mental breakdown/panic attack and ex was actively having to keep him away from pills and knifes. I laid in my bedroom and listened to D describe a fantasy in which he takes a gun and blows his brains out in front of me — apparently because I am a huge source of depression and anxiety for him, on account of me not liking him.

I don't believe I've been mean to D. I simply don't care about him. I do my best to not acknowledge him/pretend he doesn't exist. My ex disagrees.

They claim I've been outwardly cruel to him and that my hostility is the reason for his near suicide-attempt. They called me all sorts of names and pinned the blame almost entirely on me.

That night of the panic attack, I also became anxious that D would try to do something to hurt me or my two cats. (He has a history of animal abuse/murder.) I went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife to sleep with because I was too tense to get back to sleep.

Well, D found out about the knife and apparently he is now terrified that I'm going to do something to him (and he could have only known about it if my ex told him, as he does not enter my room EVER), which my ex also blames on me.

My ex made the decision to break our lease and move out around a month ago. Rather than find a new roommate, I decided to get a small one bedroom apartment for myself. My ex seems upset about this. I told them blatantly that I don't want to see each other or even communicate once the move is completed, which I don't think they've grasped. They keep making remarks about trying to stay in contact or me visiting them at their new place.

I am a college student and I have a job. I have missed three of my morning classes this month already because my ex and D both like to stay up late at night and play games in the living room and/or drink together. They both talk very loudly and this can go on until 2 in the morning. It's nearly impossible for me to relax and sleep with their constant activity. I also do the dishes, feed the pets, clean up after them, sweep, take out the trash, throw away the beer cans they both leave everywhere, hell, I've even done their laundry.

The only thing my ex does is cook occasionally, which they seem to think is an effort towards our friendship, when they consistently prioritize D's dietary desires over mine, never help me with my groceries, and when they order food, never get anything for me. If there is enough food for three, then they will offer me some. That's about it.

They make no effort to spend time with me and actively avoid having difficult conversations while at the same time accusing me of moving out because I'm "running away from my problems." They want to be both my best friend and a good husband.

Oh, yeah. Ex and D are married as of last week, ish. No idea why. Not my problem.

But, the way I see it, it is functionally impossible for Ex to prioritize someone as high-maintenance as their new husband AND be my friend at the same time, considering all of the emotional conflicts going on in our fucked up little situation here.

(Side note: all of this is IGNORING the 3k my ex owes my parents, as they helped us both out when my ex lost their job last year. My ex told me that they're frustrated because it feels like my family is "ganging up" on them, and that they were under the impression my parents would just forgive the money and all of us could part ways on good terms. I have literally no idea where they got THAT impression.)

I feel ignored and underappreciated. I am also fairly confident that I'm being gaslit, as Ex constantly blames me for my feelings AND for D's feelings. I am posting this now because I legitimately cannot tell if I'm overreacting or not. Ex makes me doubt my thoughts and the validity of my actions. (RE: the knife incident, they chastised me for scaring D all because I was "paranoid," when I brought up the phone call I overheard, Ex told me that D was just drunk/angry and didn't really mean it, the last time I complained about them both being noisy (during sex) it was brushed off as me being bitter that I'm still single, etc)

I know that Ex is also stressed and dealing with a lot. Am I being too harsh? Am I overthinking this? Should I buckle down and try to make it work? I've been friends with them for ⅓ of my life — they've been with me through my worst and my best. So much of who I am is shaped by them. I don't want to give that up, but I also think that maybe I need to if I'm ever going to improve myself/my mental state.

I am legitimately looking forward to moving out on my own, being responsible only for myself, only cleaning up my own messes, focusing on work and school and potentially maybe even making some new friends. I don't want Ex in my life anymore, I just want to put the last year behind me, and I think they know that — they're just in denial. They want to have their cake and eat it, too.

[skzddicted]

lost again.

bang chan x f!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship

warnings: use of pet names, heavy themes; ed, drugs/drug abuse, depression, mentions of OD, mentions of recovery and relapse (please lmk if i missed something!!)

a/n: hey guys, i’m really sorry for disappearing for so long i haven’t been doing the best and couldn’t write at all but anyways, this fic is kinda very personal to me and it's very heavy so pls check out the warnings!! i wrote partly based off of my own experiences, so i'm really sorry if anything is off.

wc:~1k

reblogs and/or feedback are greatly appreciated!!

song rec!!

partly proofread(?)

it’s not real.

none of this is real. none of it is.

that’s what she tried to convince herself, over and over again.

all the late nights she laid in bed, bloodshot eyes wide open, 

every time she was hunched over the toilet, shoving her fingers up her throat,

whenever she passed out from overexertion or malnourishment, or when both got her at the same time,

each time she swallowed whatever pills she had on hand at the moment.

all these times she’d just imagine herself to be a character in a book. someone in a story. a story that isn’t real.

except for the part it is, and that story is her life.

she never thought she’d actually ever get this far. she always told herself that she still had control over her mind and body, that she always will, even now. she doesn't believe that she’s sick, or at least not enough and when you convince yourself that you’re only faking it all for long enough, you’ll eventually start to actually believe it and you’ll only want to get worse and worse. whether it’s to prove something to yourself or the rest of the world, you won��t really know anymore.

it’s not like anyone ever really cared anyways, so she might as well go as far as she needs to be satisfied. little does she know, she’ll never be.

when he came into her life, everything she had tried to convince herself of before almost vanished. it all started feeling too real. she started feeling things she had never felt before. 

guilt was the main thing.

she’d been messed up for the longest time, yet she can’t recall a single time she felt guilty about ruining herself or her life. but when he came along and started showing her what it’s like to have someone that genuinely cares, it was then, that it truly hit her, that all she ever wanted was to feel needed, cared about. even if it was just for a moment.

and chris, he gave her that and so much more. most importantly though, he stayed. he made a promise to always stay and never broke it, no matter how hard she tried to push him away sometimes.

he was the only constant, the only good thing, in her life. he even gave her the courage to attempt recovery, but if it only took one person, if it only was that easy, she would’ve done it already. she relapsed and tried again countless times. not once did he give up on her, nor did he force her to do anything. he just encouraged her to give it a chance, if she relapsed, he'd be right by her side, keeping his promise.

she watched him break, over and over again, because of her and it just made it all harder, made her hate herself more than she ever has. but chris never blamed her. he believed that the day they’ll both finally be fine will come. be it sooner or later, one thing he’s sure about is he’ll never give up on her.

-

the clock reads 5:32am as chris gets home from the studio. he enters the shared appartement and slips his shoes off. all the lights are off, except for the bathroom light. the door is wide open and he’s scared to look inside, possibilities of what could’ve happened racing through his mind. as he steps in, he takes a deep breath to calm his shaking body at the sight; there she was, sitting on the floor, leaned against the bathtub, either asleep or unconscious. chris was praying it was the former as he walked over to the girl.

“y/n? hey, baby?”, he shakes her a little and her eyes flutter open.

he lets out a sigh of relief as he takes her into his arms. it wasn’t the first time chris had found her like this, although the other times did have far worse outcomes.

when he feels her tears soak through his shirt, he pulls away to cup her face and look into her eyes. 

her beautiful eyes that never failed to make him fall in love with her all over again.

“chris, i’m tired,” she takes a deep breath before she can continue, “i’m sick and tired of feeling like this, chris,”, “of living like this.” she chokes out and tears run down her cheeks, more than before. chris wipes the tears before they can get far, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“i know, love,” he whispers.

“it’s not easy.” her voice is weak and barely audible, but chris knows that this is a cry for help and he’s going to do anything it takes to help her.

“do you want to try again?” chris asks softly and she knows exactly what he means. silence fills the room again for a while, until she lets out a soft “yeah.”

she’s been there. she had tried to recover and stay clean countless times before with no success, she knows what it’s like. but something felt different this time.

chris felt it too.

he’d been with her through all of her tries, and he’ll stay for endless more, if it meant she’ll be fine in the end.

but he prays, to whoever was listening, that this feeling doesn’t betray him. them. 

that this time will be the one.

that the day they’ll both be alright will come sooner than later.

[m1ck3yys1lly]

Sooo!! I made this last month, this silly little BkDk fic based on the song ‘My Girlfriend’ by TV Girl! It’s incomplete but hey, I don’t even know if I should finish it 🤷! It’s post-war and was made a few months ago, so not too caught up to date !! But, here we go! I hope you enjoy<3

Now Playing…

‘My Girlfriend’

“Izuku, you need to get out of bed. Go shower or something…” Katsuki spoke with a sigh, knowing the other wouldn’t listen to him anyways; why did he even try anymore? Oh right, it’s basically his job.

After the war, Izuku fell into this rut, this deep depression that took over his entire being after all the adrenaline wore off. After a few months, he stayed inside all day; as if he just gave up on being a hero. He never left his apartment, the one he and Katsuki shared now, never left bed even.

It was understandable, he went through it the worst. No one could ever understand the pain he went through; not even Katsuki himself. It’s been three years, probably longer, but they both found it easier not to count.

They both used to just lay in bed all day, wrapped in each other's arms to fend off the night terrors. Alcohol and food stains all over the bed and floor, clothes discarded and forgotten all over, not that they got dressed to go anywhere anyways; it was a mess. No one blamed them, they went through hell and barely made it back.

“Izuku, please.” Katsuki begged, moving to Izuku’s side of the bed, bending at his knees to meet the gaze of the other. It was almost routine, Katsuki bugging Izuku to do something and Izuku either complying after a while or being forced by Katsuki to get his ass up.

Izuku’s hand wormed its way to Katsuki’s face, caressing his cheek before tracing the large scar across his face. He had the option of healing the scar completely, Eri, once all healed up, jumped at the chance of being able to help more. But Katsuki said it was a reminder of their victory and strength; those words were Izuku’s, despite hating the scar himself.

“Let’s go, up, up,” The blond sighed, grabbing hold of the green haired boy and pulling him to sit up; getting a groan in return.

“A little longer?” Izuku requested, looking at Katsuki with pleading eyes.

“Shower. Now. I’ll start it, grab your clothes.”

Izuku sighed before he begrudgingly dragged himself out of bed, forcing himself to stand and move across the floor; paying no mind to the pillows and blankets spewn across it. He always says he’ll pick them up, make the apartment clean and do his half, but he never gets to that point.

Katsuki rolled his shoulders before bending down and messily tossing the fabrics back on the mattress, deciding to make it later Katsuki’s problem.

The attached master bathroom was beside the closet, where Izuku stood lazily grabbing whatever clothes he spotted, not caring whose they were or if they were clean or not. Clothes were clothes.

Katsuki pushed the bathroom door open and flicked on the light, blinking a couple times while adjusting to the light. He trudged to the shower, turning it on at the perfect temperature he knew Izuku liked.

He checked everything, making sure the soaps were full and everything was ready for him. There was a button beside the shower, one in every room; precautions set in place incase of emergency.

The buttons were simply there and attached to the wall if either Izuku or Katsuki needed the other if they were away, which was uncommon, but still necessary, at least in their own eyes. They had them installed during the second year, when Katsuki felt more productive and left Izuku’s side.

The water hit the ceramic in a rhythmic hum, making calming music. It was almost peaceful, their life together. Despite the night terrors and bottles of pills filling the cabinets, it was calm; as calm as life could be.

“You getting in too?” Izuku asked, grabbing Katsuki’s attention with his entrance. He just watched the other toss his clothes on the counter beside the shower carelessly.

“Can’t. Need to go over to pick up groceries from your mom,” Katsuki responded and ruffled the other’s hair.

Izuku’s hair was a story of its own. Once Izuku was in care, they had to shave it off; a buzz cut on Izuku was definitely an interesting look. Under any other circumstance, Katsuki would’ve teased the other relentlessly. But it did grow back slowly after, slowly but surely, and now, three years later, it was longer than before.

A humm erupted from Izuku in acknowledgment as he pulled off his shirt, tossing it carelessly into the already overfilled laundry basket. Katsuki took note of it for later.

“Cya,” Katsuki called, placing a peck on the other man’s cheek.

“Be safe,” Izuku replied, his eyes looking at Katsuki. They held such deep emotion, worry mostly, but it was all mixed up with his past traumas.

“Always am,” He called while exiting the room, sliding the door halfway closed.

Katsuki hummed a tune as he left the master bedroom, making his way down the hallway. Photographs lined the wall on both sides, an attribution from both their mothers.

The photographs were ones of each other and their families, pictures when they were little or ones during UA, they covered the walls, an attempt to make it feel more like a home. There were more around the house, along with paintings and bookshelves, and many other knick knacks.

Their apartment was decently sized, with two bedrooms, a full living space, a nice sized kitchen, two bathrooms, a closet for the washer and dryer, and dining space. It was large for the two of them, considering they spent most hours in the bedroom.

UA bought the whole building, a small gesture of thanks for, y’know, saving the continent from doom, so Izuku and him could do anything with the place. Inko lived in the apartment next door, unable to truly live far from her boy; it was already a lot that she wasn’t living in the apartment with them.

But truly, Inko did a lot for them. She bought groceries and clothes, in the earlier months she would come, along with Mitski and Masaru, to do laundry, make dinner, set up decor, make the bed, show the boys and dress them; their own personal caretakers. It was sweet, but once Katsuki was able to get out of his funk, at least a little, he started to do the chores around the house.

Katsuki opened the apartment door which lay next to the kitchen and living space, in the center of them both, the clear exit. Before, Izuku would have full blown panic attacks if Katsuki even suggested leaving the apartment. Even stepping in the halls was a painful experience for the younger. Getting Izuku to even start living in the building was a hassle, but now it was the only place he stayed. Katsuki was finally ‘allowed’ to leave now, Izuku knew he wasn’t going far and would be safe anyways.

The hall was wide, he could stretch both arms outward and wouldn’t be able to touch the walls, spacious and comfortable. The building was under Izuku’s name, funded by U.A., but under his name, they had the freedom to do whatever with it. It was their home.

Katsuki left the door cracked and walked around nine steps to Inko’s apartment, give or take. He lifted his arm up and gently knocked, letting his other mother know he was ready to grab the groceries she prepared.

“Katsuki!” The stubby lady happily spoke while opening the door. She immediately motioned him in, propping open the door and gazing behind him. No doubt looking to see if Izuku decided to come.

“He’s uh- showering,” Katsuki said in a grumble while entering. He couldn’t help but feel bad for her.

Inko smiled a smile, sad but nonetheless a smile. She left the door wide open, welcomingly.

“I’m glad you got that poor boy to take care of himself; who knows how he’d be without you.” She commented while entering her apartment.

Pictures everywhere, like his and Izuku’s apartment, but they mostly were pictures of Inko and her son. Her furniture was clean and matching all of the decorations, the curtains open, illuminating the room. It was warm, and the smell of a meal flooded his senses. It felt like a true home. Katsuki hoped his and Izuku’s apartment would feel like a home.

“You’re truly an angel, a blessing,” She continued, dragging Katsuki out of his reflections. She walked into the kitchen, readjusting the apron Katsuki just noticed her wearing, it was a soft cream color. “I’m forever grateful for you.”

Katsuki never knew what to say, she always spoke about this stuff, always talking about Katsuki as if he were some kind of saint.

(this part went unfinished…)

˚✧₊⁎♡ʚɞ⋆｡⋆ʚɞ♡⁎₊✧˚

Katsuki juggled the containers, he declared he didn’t need her help, more than she already helped. After all she made them dinner, she said she accidentally made extra, but he knew it was a lie.

“‘Zuku, your mom made food come in he-“ the blond paused after kicking the door open, he figured the boy would’ve crawled back into bed, but there he lay on the couch, curled into a blanket while the tv screen buzzed.

Katsuki felt like a proud parent, like a father who hears his kid got the perfect grade or graduated from law school, something ridiculous like that. His smile was present in his face, wide and not hidden.

He placed the plastic containers down on the counter to his left, opening up the bags to unload the actual groceries into the fridge and cabinets.

“What’d she make?” Izuku asked, curiously from his spot perched up on the couch. He looked over with obvious interest.

“She said it was some kind of soup, can’t remember the name.” Katsuki replied, opening the fridge and placing the fruits in the crisper.

“Maybe it’s her potato soup,” Izuku replied with a hum, just imagining the food.

“Pretty sure that was it”, he replied, closing the fridge after putting all the items in. “She should sell the shit, it’s delicious.”

All he got was a hum in agreement, Izuku’s focusing shifting back to the screen. Katsuki didn’t mind, it gave him time to grab bowls and bread for the duo to eat. He moved swiftly but without urgency. Grabbing bowls and spoons from the cabinets. He poured the soup into the bowls before placing the rest of the container into the fridge for later.

Katsuki grabbed hold of both bowls, holding them both from the bottom. He made his way to Izuku’s side, handing him a bowl before plopping down on the couch himself.

“What we watching-?” He questioned before a frown plastered onto his face. “You’re not supposed to be watching the news, Izuku.”

He didn’t get a quick reply, green eyes trained on the screen as familiar faces were displayed. Heroes. Their classmates; the ones who made it and decided to still be heroes anyways.

“It’s just showing reruns, I wanted to see how everyone was.”

Katsuki just frowned at that answer. Sure, he wanted to see how the others were, they called weekly and kept each other updated; something Katsuki couldn’t have ever seen himself doing before this.

He didn’t argue or demand it be turned off, it was just reruns, some footage taken after the news showed it. What’s the harm?

Such a stupid question. The harm was Katsuki’s instinctual desire to go out there too, to fight and be a hero. He knew he and Izuku were recognized as heroes already, the saviors of Japan. But he wanted more, he wanted to live his dream.

On the rare occasion, he wanted to leave, to join his classmates and show the world who he was and what he stood for.

But he wasn’t even sure how he would start, where would he go? He couldn’t just jump out there and start fighting crime. He’d need an agency and so much more. It’d be too much of a hassle.

Katsuki slouched onto the couch. Either way, one look at Izuku convinced him otherwise. He couldn’t be a hero without him.

He wasn’t sure if Izuku wanted to pursue a hero career anymore. Mental professionals made it clear to not bring it up unless Izuku did first. Don’t push boundaries and make memories resurface, they said.

A kiss made its way onto a freckled cheek. Nobody was perfect, not himself, not Izuku. He was willing to wait until the world stopped spinning. And even then, if they never became heroes, just being together in peace would be okay too. They would have each other till the end of time, being alone wouldn’t be a fear anymore.

˚✧₊⁎♡ʚɞ⋆｡⋆ʚɞ♡⁎₊✧˚

“You need to slow the fuck down on drinking that. You’re going to get alcohol poisoning or some shit.” Katsuki snapped, grabbing the can from Izuku without room for protest.

It was one of his rough days, where Izuku refused to listen or do anything. All he did was lay in bed and drink, only getting up to use the bathroom or to grab another bottle. He was like a toddler during these times; Katsuki hated it.

The glare coming from the green haired male felt like daggers, but Katsuki wasn’t one to be a pushover, a couple dirty looks he could handle, even though he hated being the bad guy; especially to Izuku.

“I don’t give a shit that you’re pouting,” he said, his glare in return lacking any anger, it was more of a silent scolding.

He moved across the bedroom, avoiding a wet spot of spilled beer, making his way to the bathroom to pour the rest out; he would’ve drank the rest himself, but then he’d be a hypocrite, so he resisted.

Izuku was mumbling some slurred and annoyed shit he’d probably regret later, Katsuki didn’t mind. Izuku was an angry drunk, swearing more and cursing out Katsuki until he started bawling and curling into his arms. The worst of it was when he would start screaming, pointing blame and being a total bitch. Katsuki just let him. He took any and all punches, verbal and physical.

Flicking off the bathroom light and returning to the bedroom, Katsuki placed the empty glass bottle on the night table. He took a seat on the bed beside Izuku…

And that’s all Mickey has to share today!! <3 !

[aita-blorbos]

Am I the asshole for killing my ex partner?

Tw- murder, depression, alcoholism, torture

I (30 something male) am an American spy. I had a British partner, let's call him O, and we were really close (in a heterosexual way). Four years ago we went on a mission together, and he slipped on a banana pill I threw away earlier. I assumed he died and ran away, and sank into a deep depression. After four years of alcoholism, I decided to pull myself together and become a spy again. While on a mission, I was captured by the enemy. My captor kept making cryptic remarks, but I didn't think too much of it, as he was literally torturing me to death. I was saved last minute and escaped, but we met again, which is when I found out the enemy was actually my "dead" partner, O. He survived the fall, and joined a weird agency that's trying to create something they call "the internet". The worst part is, he knew all about my depression and my alcoholism. He knew I blamed myself for his death, and didn't bother to tell me he was alive. Even though he claimed that he moved on, he did kidnap and torture me, so I think he was still pretty mad. After a dramatic fight where we talked about our past (in a heterosexual way), he was about to shoot me, but I shot him first. I know he was my partner, but he changed so much. I don't think I had any other option but to kill him.

AITA?

[fan-a-tink]

Young Royals S3 thoughts

EP 1

First word of the season is crown prince.

The queen is ill. taking pills. Simply depressed or something else too? 

„Was this how you imagined it would be?“ „No, this is better.“ My heart.

Settling the video issue outside the courts. Simon just wants it to be over - Linda why are you not listening to your son?

Fuck you Rickard for telling everyone about Simon and the drug thing anyway. That was so unnecessary!

And then they all just signed anyway?

The queen having a breakdown scares the shit out of me. Wille is going to have to take over so soon, and the responsibility will be the death of him and Simon.

Madison is the only one seeing that something is actually wrong with Felice, and she’s trying to be such a good friend. 

Farima seems cool!

Simon grounded. wtf, I don’t like it. And it’s not exactly his fault he didn’t tell Linda about everything that was going on - like she has to take some blame there too.

Vincent you fucking idiot. I hate you. You don’t get to blame Wille for this. And don’t you DARE talk to a reporter.

That kiss, in the library, and everyone going absolutely quiet - AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

Crown prince.. and your boyfriend! - AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

I’m not sure they are really listening to each other, actually. Please guys, no more miscommunication!

YES, Wille!!! Show off your boyfriend and shut down their reactions with that look of ‚that’s my boyfriend, and if anyone has a problem with that, they have a problem with me!“

Fucking hate Vincent. „You and Wilhelm can sit together on the bus out to the slums.“ Fuck you Vincent. - Also, is it bad that I think August actually handled that situation really well?

Sara, my love - do you need a hug? 

That heart on the hand is a heartstopper reference, and no one will ever convince me otherwise!

So Marcus talked about Simon to the press. As if we needed any confirmation that he was a dickhead. Good riddance.

Simon don’t respond to the tweets!!!!

Foolish. But brave. - Yes, that sums up Wille pretty well :)

Wille saying „I wish I could ask him“ about Erik breaks my heart. Look at his eyes when he says it! There is so much grief which he has not processed at all. 

Sara going to Micke. I love that he takes her in, but also, she should really talk to someone else, not rekindle the extremely strained / non-existent relationship with her dad which was so traumatic to her! Saraaaaaaaa, please talk to your mum, or a therapist. Anyone!

Wille waking up peacefully smiling and redrawing the heart on his hand. This is joy. 

Ok that initiation shit sounds traumatizing as hell - who the fuck thought that would be a good idea? 

And no, Vincent, shut the fuck up, you don’t get to blame Wille for any of this!!!! Just fuck right off!

Did Simon keep that seat for Wille? 🥰

Simon’s expression at ‚Is it true? Did it happen to you?‘ And ‚what about the other stuff?‘ - just not able to comprehend how Wille could have done any of it. Ohhh, I smell drama on the horizon, and I don’t like it.

I love that them hearing about the restrictions makes them hold hands even tighter. I love that they can just do that now, in public, in school, in front of everyone. Still not over it. 

The new principal’s smile gives me serial killer vibes.

Aaaaahhhhh, I’m not ready for the drama, I’m not ready for the discussions, the tensions, the secrets, for any of it!!! I’m scared to keep going, because I don’t want them to have to go through any of it - haven’t they suffered enough? Haven’t we suffered enough?