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ahouseoflies · 4 years ago

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The Best Films of 2020

I can’t tell you anything novel or insightful about this year that has been stolen from our lives. I watched zero of these films in a theater, and I watched most of them half-asleep in moments that I stole from my children. Don’t worry, there are some jokes below.

GARBAGE

93. Capone (Josh Trank)- What is the point of this dinner theater trash? It takes place in the last year of Capone's life, when he was released from prison due to failing health and suffered a stroke in his Florida home. So it covers...none of the things that make Al Capone interesting? It's not historically accurate, which I have no problem with, but if you steer away from accuracy, then do something daring and exciting. Don't give me endless scenes of "Phonse"--as if the movie is running from the very person it's about--drawing bags of money that promise intrigue, then deliver nothing in return.

That being said, best "titular character shits himself" scene since The Judge.

92. Ammonite (Francis Lee)- I would say that this is the Antz to Portrait of a Lady on Fire's A Bug's Life, but it's actually more like the Cars 3 to Portrait of a Lady on Fire's Toy Story 1.

91. Ava (Tate Taylor)- Despite the mystery and inscrutability that usually surround assassins, what if we made a hitman movie but cared a lot about her personal life? Except neither the assassin stuff nor the family stuff is interesting?

90. Wonder Woman 1984 (Patty Jenkins)- What a miscalculation of what audiences loved about the first and wanted from the sequel. WW84 is silly and weightless in all of the ways that the first was elegant and confident. If the return of Pine is just a sort of phantom representation of Diana's desires, then why can he fly a real plane? If he is taking over another man's soul, then, uh, what ends up happening to that guy? For that matter, why is it not 1984 enough for Ronald Reagan to be president, but it is 1984 enough for the president to have so many Ronald Reagan signifiers that it's confusing? Why not just make a decision?

On paper, the me-first values of the '80s lend themselves to the monkey's paw wish logic of this plot. You could actually do something with the Star Wars program or the oil crisis. But not if the setting is played for only laughs and the screenplay explains only what it feels like.

89. Babyteeth (Shannon Murphy)- In this type of movie, there has to be a period of the Ben Mendelsohn character looking around befuddled about the new arrangement and going, "What's this now--he's going to be...living with us? The guy who tried to steal our medication? This is crazy!" But that's usually ten minutes, and in this movie it's an hour. I was so worn out by the end.

88. You Should Have Left (David Koepp)- David Koepp wrote Jurassic Park, so he's never going to hell, but how dare he start caring about his own mystery at the hour mark. There's a forty-five minute version of this movie that could get an extra star from me, and there's a three-hour version of Amanda Seyfried walking around in athleisure that would get four stars from me. What we actually get? No thanks.

87. Black Is King (Beyonce, et al.)- End your association with The Lion King, Bey. It has resulted in zero bops.

ADMIRABLE FAILURES

86. Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (Cathy Yan)- There's nothing too dysfunctional in the storytelling or performances, but Birds of Prey also doesn't do a single thing well. I would prefer something alive and wild, even if it were flawed, to whatever tame belt-level formula this is.

85. The Turning (Floria Sigismondi)- This update of The Turn of the Screw pumps the age of Miles up to high school, which creates some horny creepiness that I liked. But the age of the character also prevents the ending of the novel from happening in favor of a truly terrible shrug. I began to think that all of the patience that the film showed earlier was just hesitance for its own awful ending.

I watched The Turning as a Mackenzie Davis Movie Star heat check, and while I'm not sure she has the magnetism I was looking for, she does have a great teacher voice, chastening but maternal.

84. Bloodshot (David Wilson)- A whole lot of Vin Diesel saying he's going to get revenge and kill a bunch of dudes; not a whole lot of Vin Diesel actually getting revenge and killing a bunch of dudes.

83. Downhill (Nat Faxon and Jim Rash)- I was an English major in college, which means I ended up locking myself into literary theories that, halfway through the writing of an essay, I realized were flawed. But rather than throw out the work that I had already proposed, I would just keep going and see if I could will the idea to success.

So let's say you have a theory that you can take Force Majeure by Ruben Ostlund, one of the best films of its year, and remake it so that its statement about familial anxiety could apply to Americans of the same age and class too...if it hadn't already. And maybe in the first paragraph you mess up by casting Will Ferrell and Julia Louis-Dreyfus, people we are conditioned to laugh at, when maybe this isn't that kind of comedy at all. Well, don't throw it away. You can quote more--fill up the pages that way--take an exact shot or scene from the original. Does that help? Maybe you can make the writing more vigorous and distinctive by adding a character. Is that going to make this baby stand out? Maybe you could make it more personal by adding a conclusion that is slightly more clever than the rest of the paper?

Or perhaps this is one you're just not going to get an A on.

82. Hillbilly Elegy (Ron Howard)- I watched this melodrama at my mother's encouragement, and, though I have been trying to pin down her taste for decades, I think her idea of a successful film just boils down to "a lot of stuff happens." So in that way, Ron Howard's loss is my gain, I guess.

There is no such thing as a "neutral Terminator."

81. Relic (Natalie Erika James)- The star of the film is Vanessa Cerne's set decoration, but the inert music and slow pace cancel out a house that seems neglected slowly over decades.

80. Buffaloed (Tanya Wexler)- Despite a breathless pace, Buffaloed can't quite congeal. In trying to split the difference between local color hijinks and Moneyballed treatise on debt collection, it doesn't commit enough to either one.

Especially since Zoey Deutch produced this one in addition to starring, I'm getting kind of worried about boo's taste. Lot of Two If by Seas; not enough While You Were Sleepings.

79. Like a Boss (Miguel Arteta)- I chuckled a few times at a game supporting cast that is doing heavy lifting. But Like a Boss is contrived from the premise itself--Yeah, what if people in their thirties fell out of friendship? Do y'all need a creative consultant?--to the escalation of most scenes--Why did they have to hide on the roof? Why do they have to jump into the pool?

The movie is lean, but that brevity hurts just as much as it helps. The screenplay knows which scenes are crucial to the development of the friendship, but all of those feel perfunctory, in a different gear from the setpieces.

To pile on a bit: Studio comedies are so bare bones now that they look like Lifetime movies. Arteta brought Chuck & Buck to Sundance twenty years ago, and, shot on Mini-DV for $250,000, it was seen as a DIY call-to-bootstraps. I guarantee that has more setups and locations and shooting days than this.

78. Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga (David Dobkin)- Add Dan Stevens to the list of supporting players who have bodied Will Ferrell in his own movie--one that he cared enough to write himself.

Like Downhill, Ferrell's other 2020 release, this isn't exactly bad. It's just workmanlike and, aside from the joke about Demi Lovato's "uninformed" ghost, frustratingly conventional.

77. The Traitor (Marco Bellochio)- Played with weary commitment by Pierfrancesco Favino, Tomasso Buscetta is "credited" as the first informant of La Cosa Nostra. And that sounds like an interesting subject for a "based on a true story" crime epic, right? Especially when you find out that Buscetta became a rat out of principle: He believed that the mafia to which he had pledged his life had lost its code to the point that it was a different organization altogether.

At no point does Buscetta waver or even seem to struggle with his decision though, so what we get is less conflicted than that description might suggest. None of these Italian mob movies glorify the lifestyle, so I wasn't expecting that. But if the crime doesn't seem enticing, and snitching on the crime seems like forlorn duty, and everything is pitched with such underhanded matter-of-factness that you can't even be sure when Buscetta has flipped, then what are we left with? It was interesting seeing how Italian courts work, I guess?

76. Kajillionaire (Miranda July)- This is another movie so intent on building atmosphere and lore that it takes too long to declare what it is. When the protagonist hits a breaking point and has to act, she has only a third of a film to grow. So whispery too.

Gina Rodriguez is the one to inject life into it. As soon as her motormouth winds up, the film slips into a different gear. The atmosphere and lore that I mentioned reeks of artifice, but her character is believably specific. Beneath a basic exterior is someone who is authentically caring but still morally compromised, beholden to the world that the other characters are suspicious of.

75. Scoob! (Tony Cervone)- The first half is sometimes clever, but it hammers home the importance of friendship while separating the friends.

The second half has some positive messaging, but your kids' movie might have a problem with scale if it involves Alexander the Great unlocking the gates of the Underworld.

My daughter loved it.

74. The Lovebirds (Michael Showalter)- If I start talking too much about this perfectly fine movie, I end up in that unfair stance of reviewing the movie I wanted, not what is actually there.* As a fan of hang-out comedies, I kind of resent that any comedy being made now has to be rolled into something more "exciting," whether it's a wrongfully accused or mistaken identity thriller or some other genre. Such is the post-Game Night world. There's a purposefully anti-climactic note that I wish The Lovebirds had ended on, but of course we have another stretch of hiding behind boats and shooting guns. Nanjiani and Rae are really charming leads though.

*- As a New Orleanian, I was totally distracted by the fake aspects of the setting too. "Oh, they walked to Jefferson from downtown? Really?" You probably won't be bothered by the locations.

73. Sonic the Hedgehog (Jeff Fowler)- In some ways the storytelling is ambitious. (I'm speaking for only myself, but I'm fine with "He's a hedgehog, and he's really fast" instead of the owl mother, teleportation backstory. Not everything has to be Tolkien.) But that ambition doesn't match the lack of ambition in the comedy, which depends upon really hackneyed setups and structures. Guiding Jim Carrey to full alrighty-then mode was the best choice anyone made.

72. Malcolm & Marie (Sam Levinson)- The stars move through these long scenes with agility and charisma, but the degree of difficulty is just too high for this movie to reach what it's going for.

Levinson is trying to capture an epic fight between a couple, and he can harness the theatrical intensity of such a thing, but he sacrifices almost all of the nuance. In real life, these knock-down-drag-outs can be circular and indirect and sad in a way that this couple's manipulation rarely is. If that emotional truth is all this movie is trying to achieve, I feel okay about being harsh in my judgment of how well it does that.

71. Beanpole (Kantemir Balagov)- Elusive in how it refuses to declare itself, forthright in how punishing it is. The whole thing might be worth it for a late dinner scene, but I'm getting a bit old to put myself through this kind of misery.

70. The Burnt Orange Heresy (Giuseppe Capotondi)- Silly in good ways until it's silly in bad ways. Elizabeth Debicki remains 6'3".

69. Everybody’s Everything (Sebastian Jones and Ramez Silyan)- As a person who listened to Lil Peep's music, I can confidently say that this documentary is overstating his greatness. His death was a significant loss, as the interview subjects will all acknowledge, but the documentary is more useful as a portrait of a certain unfocused, rapacious segment of a generation that is high and online at all times.

68. The Witches (Robert Zemeckis)- Robert Zemeckis, Kenya Barris, and Guillermo Del Toro are the credited screenwriters, and in a fascinating way, you can see the imprint of each figure on the final product. Adapting a very European story to the old wives' tales of the American South is an interesting choice. Like the Nicolas Roeg try at this material, Zemeckis is not afraid to veer into the terrifying, and Octavia Spencer's pseudo witch doctor character only sells the supernatural. From a storytelling standpoint though, it seems as if the obstacles are overcome too easily, as if there's a whole leg of the film that has been excised. The framing device and the careful myth-making of the flashback make promises that the hotel half of the film, including the abrupt ending, can't live up to.

If nothing else, Anne Hathaway is a real contender for Most On-One Performance of the year.

67. Irresistible (Jon Stewart)- Despite a sort of imaginative ending, Jon Stewart's screenplay feels more like the declarative screenplay that would get you hired for a good movie, not a good screenplay itself. It's provocative enough, but it's clumsy in some basic ways and never evades the easy joke.

For example, the Topher Grace character is introduced as a sort of assistant, then is re-introduced an hour later as a polling expert, then is shown coaching the candidate on presentation a few scenes later. At some point, Stewart combined characters into one role, but nothing got smoothed out.

ENDEARING CURIOSITIES WITH BIG FLAWS

66. Yes, God, Yes (Karen Maine)- Most people who are Catholic, including me, are conflicted about it. Most people who make movies about being Catholic hate it and have an axe to grind. This film is capable of such knowing wit and nuance when it comes to the lived-in details of attending a high school retreat, but it's more concerned with taking aim at hypocrisy in the broad way that we've seen a million times. By the end, the film is surprisingly all-or-nothing when Christian teenagers actually contain multitudes.

Part of the problem is that Karen Maine's screenplay doesn't know how naive to make the Alice character. Sometimes she's reasonably naive for a high school senior in 2001; sometimes she's comically naive so that the plot can work; and sometimes she's stupid, which isn't the same as naive.

65. Bad Boys for Life (Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah)- This might be the first buddy cop movie in which the vets make peace with the tech-comm youngs who use new techniques. If that's the only novelty on display here--and it is--then maybe that's enough. I laughed maybe once. Not that the mistaken identity subplot of Bad Boys 1 is genius or anything, but this entry felt like it needed just one more layer to keep it from feeling as basic as it does. Speaking of layers though, it's almost impossible to watch any Will Smith movie now without viewing it through the meta-narrative of "What is Will Smith actually saying about his own status at this point in his career?" He's serving it up to us.

I derived an inordinate amount of pleasure from seeing the old school Simpson/Bruckheimer logo.

64. The Gentlemen (Guy Ritchie)- Look, I'm not going to be too negative on a movie whose crime slang is so byzantine that it has to be explained with subtitles. That's just me. I'm a simple man. But I can tell you that I tuned out pretty hard after seven or eight double-crosses.

The bloom is off the rose a bit for Ritchie, but he can still nail a music cue. I've been waiting for someone to hit "That's Entertainment" the way he does on the end credits.

63. Bad Hair (Justin Simien)- In Bad Hair, an African-American woman is told by her boss at a music video channel in 1989 that straightening her hair is the way to get ahead; however, her weave ends up having a murderous mind of its own. Compared to that charged, witty logline, the execution of the plot itself feels like a laborious, foregone conclusion. I'm glad that Simien, a genuinely talented writer, is making movies again though. Drop the skin-care routine, Van Der Beek!

62. Greyhound (Aaron Schneider)- "If this is the type of role that Tom Hanks writes for himself, then he understands his status as America's dad--'wise as the serpent, harmless as the dove'--even better than I thought." "America's Dad! Aye aye, sir!" "At least half of the dialogue is there for texture and authenticity, not there to be understood by the audience." "Fifty percent, Captain!" "The environment looks as fake as possible, but I eventually came around to the idea that the movie is completely devoid of subtext." "No subtext to be found, sir!"

61. Mank (David Fincher)- About ten years ago, the Creative Screenwriting podcast spent an hour or so with James Vanderbilt, the writer of Zodiac and nothing else that comes close, as he relayed the creative paces that David Fincher pushed him through. Hundreds of drafts and years of collaborative work eventuated in the blueprint for Fincher's most exacting, personal film, which he didn't get a writing credit on only because he didn't seek one.

Something tells me that Fincher didn't ask for rewrites from his dead father. No matter what visuals and performances the director can coax from the script--and, to be clear, these are the worst visuals and performances of his career--they are limited by the muddy lightweight pages. There are plenty of pleasures, like the slippery election night montage or the shakily platonic relationship between Mank and Marion. But Fincher hadn't made a film in six years, and he came back serving someone else's master.

60. Tesla (Michael Almereyda)- "You live inside your head." "Doesn't everybody?"

As usual, Almereyda's deconstructions are invigorating. (No other moment can match the first time Eve Hewson's Anne fact-checks something with her anachronistic laptop.) But they don't add up to anything satisfying because Tesla himself is such an opaque figure. Driven by the whims of his curiosity without a clear finish line, the character gives Hawke something enigmatic to play as he reaches deep into a baritone. But he's too inward to lend himself to drama. Tesla feels of a piece with Almereyda's The Experimenter, and that's the one I would recommend.

59. Vitalina Varela (Pedro Costa)- I can't oversell how delicately beautiful this film is visually. There's a scene in which Vitalina lugs a lantern into a church, but we get several seconds of total darkness before that one light source carves through it and takes over part of the frame. Each composition is as intricate as it is overpowering, achieving a balance between stark and mannered.

That being said, most of the film is people entering or exiting doors. I felt very little of the haunting loss that I think I was supposed to.

58. The Rhythm Section (Reed Morano)- Call it the Timothy Hutton in The General's Daughter Corollary: If a name-actor isn't in the movie much but gets third billing, then, despite whom he sends the protagonist to kill, he is the Actual Bad Guy.

Even if the movie serves up a lot of cliche, the action and sound design are visceral. I would like to see more from Morano.

57. Red, White and Blue (Steve McQueen)- Well-made and heartfelt even if it goes step-for-step where you think it will.

Here's what I want to know though: In the academy training sequence, the police cadets have to subdue a "berserker"; that is, a wildman who swings at their riot gear with a sledgehammer. Then they get him under control, and he shakes their hands, like, "Good angle you took on me there, mate." Who is that guy and where is his movie? Is this full-time work? Is he a police officer or an independent contractor? What would happen if this exercise didn't go exactly as planned?

56. Wolfwalkers (Tomm Moore and Ross Stewart)- The visuals have an unfinished quality that reminded me of The Tale of Princess Kaguya--the center of a flame is undrawn white, and fog is just negative space. There's an underlying symmetry to the film, and its color palette changes with mood.

Narratively, it's pro forma and drawn-out. Was Riley in Inside Out the last animated protagonist to get two parents? My daughter stuck with it, but she needed a lot of context for the religious atmosphere of 17th century Ireland.

55. What She Said: The Art of Pauline Kael (Rob Garver)- The film does little more than one might expect; it's limited in the way that any visual medium is when trying to sum up a woman of letters. But as far as education for Kael's partnership with Warren Beatty or the idea of The New Yorker paying her for only six months out of the year, it was useful for me.

Although Garver isn't afraid to point to the work that made Kael divisive, it would have been nice to have one or two interview subjects who questioned her greatness, rather than the crew of Paulettes who, even when they do say something like, "Sometimes I radically disagreed with her," do it without being able to point to any specifics.

54. Beastie Boys Story (Spike Jonze)- As far as this Spike Jonze completist is concerned, this is more of a Powerpoint presentation than a movie, Beastie Boys Story still warmed my heart, making me want to fire up Paul's Boutique again and take more pictures of my buddies.

53. Tenet (Christopher Nolan)- Cool and cold, tantalizing and frustrating, loud and indistinct, Tenet comes close to Nolan self-parody, right down to the brutalist architecture and multiple characters styled like him. The setpieces grabbed me, I'll admit.

Nolan's previous film, which is maybe his best, was "about" a lot and just happened to play with time; Tenet is only about playing with time.

PRETTY GOOD MOVIES

52. Shithouse (Cooper Raiff)- "Death is ass."

There's such a thing as too naturalistic. If I wanted to hear how college freshmen really talked, I would hang out with college freshmen. But you have to take the good verisimilitude with the bad, and good verisimilitude is the mother's Pod Save America t-shirt.

There are some poignant moments (and a gonzo performance from Logan Miller) in this auspicious debut from Cooper Raiff, the writer/director/editor/star. But the second party sequence kills some of the momentum, and at a crucial point, the characters spell out some motivation that should have stayed implied.

51. Totally Under Control (Alex Gibney, Ophelia Harutyunyan, Suzanne Hillinger)- As dense and informative as any other Gibney documentary with the added flex of making it during the pandemic it is investigating.

But yeah, why am I watching this right now? I don't need more reasons to be angry with Trump, whom this film calmly eviscerates. The directors analyze Trump's narcissism first through his contradictions of medical expertise in order to protect the economy that could win him re-election. Then it takes aim at his hiring based on loyalty instead of experience. But you already knew that, which is the problem with the film, at least for now.

50. Happiest Season (Clea Duvall)- I was in the perfect mood to watch something this frothy and bouncy. Every secondary character receives a moment in the sun, and Daniel Levy gets a speech that kind of saves the film at a tipping point.

I must say though: I wanted to punch Harper in her stupid face. She is a terrible romantic partner, abandoning or betraying Abby throughout the film and dissembling her entire identity to everyone else in a way that seems absurd for a grown woman in 2020. Run away, Kristen. Perhaps with Aubrey Plaza, whom you have more chemistry with. But there I go shipping and aligning myself with characters, which only proves that this is an effective romantic comedy.

49. The Way Back (Gavin O’Connor)- Patient but misshapen, The Way Back does just enough to overcome the cliches that are sort of unavoidable considering the genre. (I can't get enough of the parent character who, for no good reason, doesn't take his son's success seriously. "Scholarship? What he's gotta do is put his nose in them books! That's why I don't go to his games. [continues moving boxes while not looking at the other character] Now if you'll excuse me while I wait four scenes before showing up at a game to prove that I'm proud of him after all...")

What the movie gets really right or really wrong in the details about coaching and addiction is a total crap-shoot. But maybe I've said too much already.

48. The Whistlers (Corneliu Porumboiu)- Porumboiu is a real artist who seems to be interpreting how much surveillance we're willing to acknowledge and accept, but I won't pretend to have understood much of the plot, the chapters or which are told out of order. Sometimes the structure works--the beguiling, contextless "high-class hooker" sequence--but I often wondered if the film was impenetrable in the way that Porumboiu wanted it to be or impenetrable in the way he didn't.

To tell you the truth, the experience kind of depressed me because I know that, in my younger days, this film is the type of thing that I would re-watch, possibly with the chronology righted, knowing that it is worth understanding fully. But I have two small children, and I'm exhausted all the time, and I kind of thought I should get some credit for still trying to catch up with Romanian crime movies in the first place.

47. Borat Subsequent Moviefilm (Jason Woliner)- I laughed too much to get overly critical, but the film is so episodic and contrived that it's kind of exhausting by the end--even though it's achieving most of its goals. Maybe Borat hasn't changed, but the way our citizens own their ugliness has.

46. First Cow (Kelly Reichardt)- Despite how little happens in the first forty minutes, First Cow is a thoughtful capitalism parable. Even though it takes about forty minutes to get going, the friendship between Cookie and King-Lu is natural and incisive. Like Reichardt's other work, the film's modest premise unfolds quite gracefully, except for in the first forty minutes, which are uneventful.

45. Les Miserables (Ladj Ly)- I loved parts of the film--the disorienting, claustrophobic opening or the quick look at the police officers' home lives, for example. But I'm not sure that it does anything very well. The needle the film tries to thread between realism and theater didn't gel for me. The ending, which is ambiguous in all of the wrong ways, chooses the theatrical. (If I'm being honest, my expectations were built up by Les Miserables' Jury Prize at Cannes, and it's a bit superficial to be in that company.)

If nothing else, it's always helpful to see how another country's worst case scenario in law enforcement would look pretty good over here.

44. Bad Education (Cory Finley)- The film feels too locked-down and small at the beginning, so intent on developing the protagonist neutrally that even the audience isn't aware of his secrets. So when he faces consequences for those secrets, there's a disconnect. Part of tragedy is seeing the doom coming, right?

When it opens up, however, it's empathetic and subtle, full of a dry irony that Finley is already specializing in after only one other feature. Geraldine Viswanathan and Allison Janney get across a lot of interiority that is not on the page.

43. The Trip to Greece (Michael Winterbottom)- By the fourth installment, you know whether you're on board with the franchise. If you're asking "Is this all there is?" to Coogan and Brydon's bickering and impressions as they're served exotic food in picturesque settings, then this one won't sway you. If you're asking "Is this all there is?" about life, like they are, then I don't need to convince you.

I will say that The Trip to Spain seemed like an enervated inflection point, at which the squad could have packed it in. The Trip to Greece proves that they probably need to keep doing this until one of them dies, which has been the subtext all along.

42. Feels Good Man (Arthur Jones)- This documentary centers on innocent artist Matt Furie's helplessness as his Pepe the Frog character gets hijacked by the alt-right. It gets the hard things right. It's able to, quite comprehensively, trace a connection from 4Chan's use of Pepe the Frog to Donald Trump's near-assuming of Pepe's ironic deniability. Director Arthur Jones seems to understand the machinations of the alt-right, and he articulates them chillingly.

The easy thing, making us connect to Furie, is less successful. The film spends way too much time setting up his story, and it makes him look naive as it pits him against Alex Jones in the final third. Still, the film is a quick ninety-two minutes, and the highs are pretty high.

41. The Old Guard (Gina Prince-Bythewood)- Some of the world-building and backstory are handled quite elegantly. The relationships actually do feel centuries old through specific details, and the immortal conceit comes together for an innovative final action sequence.

Visually and musically though, the film feels flat in a way that Prince-Bythewood's other films do not. I blame Netflix specs. KiKi Layne, who tanked If Beale Street Could Talk for me, nearly ruins this too with the child-actory way that she stresses one word per line. Especially in relief with one of our more effortless actresses, Layne is distracting.

40. The Trial of the Chicago 7 (Aaron Sorkin)- Whenever Sacha Baron Cohen's Abbie Hoffman opens his mouth, the other defendants brace themselves for his dismissive vulgarity. Even when it's going to hurt him, he can't help but shoot off at the mouth. Of course, he reveals his passionate and intelligent depths as the trial goes on. The character is the one that Sorkin's screenplay seems the most endeared to: In the same way that Hoffman can't help but be Hoffman, Sorkin can't help but be Sorkin. Maybe we don't need a speech there; maybe we don't have to stretch past two hours; maybe a bon mot diffuses the tension. But we know exactly what to expect by now. The film is relevant, astute, witty, benevolent, and, of course, in love with itself. There are a handful of scenes here that are perfect, so I feel bad for qualifying so much.

A smaller point: Daniel Pemberton has done great work in the past (Motherless Brooklyn, King Arthur, The Man from U.N.C.L.E.), but the first sequence is especially marred by his sterile soft-rock approach.

GOOD MOVIES

39. Time (Garrett Bradley)- The key to Time is that it provides very little context. Why the patriarch of this family is serving sixty years in prison is sort of besides the point philosophically. His wife and sons have to move on without him, and the tragedy baked into that fact eclipses any notion of what he "deserved." Feeling the weight of time as we switch back and forth between a kid talking about his first day of kindergarten and that same kid graduating from dentistry school is all the context we need. Time's presentation can be quite sumptuous: The drone shot of Angola makes its buildings look like crosses. Or is it X's?

At the same time, I need some context. When director Garrett Bradley withholds the reason Robert's in prison, and when she really withholds that Fox took a plea and served twelve years, you start to see the strings a bit. You could argue that knowing so little about why, all of a sudden, Robert can be on parole puts you into the same confused shoes as the family, but it feels manipulative to me. The film is preaching to the choir as far as criminal justice goes, which is fine, but I want it to have the confidence to tell its story above board.

38. Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets (Turner Ross and Bill Ross IV)- I have a barfly friend whom I see maybe once a year. When we first set up a time to meet, I kind of dread it and wonder what we'll have to talk about. Once we do get together, we trip on each other's words a bit, fumbling around with the rhythm of conversation that we mastered decades ago. He makes some kind of joke that could have been appropriate then but isn't now.

By the end of the day, hours later, we're hugging and maybe crying as we promise each other that we won't wait as long next time.

That's the exact same journey that I went on with this film.

37. Underwater (William Eubank)- Underwater is a story that you've seen before, but it's told with great confidence and economy. I looked up at twelve minutes and couldn't believe the whole table had been set. Kristen plays Ripley and projects a smart, benevolent poise.

36. The Lodge (Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala)- I prefer the grounded, manicured first half to the more fantastic second half. The craziness of the latter is only possible through the hard work of the former though. As with Fiala and Franz's previous feature, the visual rhymes and motifs get incorporated into the soup so carefully that you don't realize it until they overwhelm you in their bleak glory.

Small note: Alicia Silverstone, the male lead's first wife, and Riley Keough, his new partner, look sort of similar. I always think that's a nice note: "I could see how he would go for her."

35. Miss Americana (Lana Wilson)- I liked it when I saw it as a portrait of a person whose life is largely decided for her but is trying to carve out personal spaces within that hamster wheel. I loved it when I realized that describes most successful people in their twenties.

34. Sound of Metal (Darius Marder)- Riz Ahmed is showing up on all of the best performances of the year lists, but Sound of Metal isn't in anyone's top ten films of the year. That's about right. Ahmed's is a quiet, stubborn performance that I wish was in service of more than the straight line that we've seen before.

In two big scenes, there's this trick that Ahmed does, a piecing together of consequences with his eyes, as if he's moving through a flow chart in real time. In both cases, the character seems locked out and a little slower than he should be, which is, of course, why he's facing the consequences in the first place. To be charitable to a film that was a bit of a grind, it did make me notice a thing a guy did with his eyes.

33. Pieces of a Woman (Kornel Mundruczo)- Usually when I leave acting showcases like this, I imagine the film without the Oscar-baiting speeches, but this is a movie that specializes in speeches. Pieces of a Woman is being judged, deservedly so, by the harrowing twenty-minute take that opens the film, which is as indulgent as it is necessary. But if the unbroken take provides the "what," then the speeches provide the "why."

This is a film about reclaiming one's body when it rebels against you and when other people seek ownership of it. Without the Ellen Burstyn "lift your head" speech or the Vanessa Kirby show-stopper in the courtroom, I'm not sure any of that comes across.

I do think the film lets us off the hook a bit with the LaBoeuf character, in the sense that it gives us reasons to dislike him when it would be more compelling if he had done nothing wrong. Does his half-remembering of the White Stripes count as a speech?

32. Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (George C. Wolfe)- This is such a play, not only in the locked-down location but also through nearly every storytelling convention: "Where are the two most interesting characters? Oh, running late? They'll enter separately in animated fashion?" But, to use the type of phrase that the characters might, "Don't hate the player; hate the game."

Perhaps the most theatrical note in this treatise on the commodification of expression is the way that, two or three times, the proceedings stop in their tracks for the piece to declare loudly what it's about. In one of those clear-outs, Boseman, who looks distractingly sick, delivers an unforgettable monologue that transports the audience into his character's fragile, haunted mind. He and Viola Davis are so good that the film sort of buckles under their weight, unsure of how to transition out of those spotlight moments and pretend that the story can start back up. Whatever they're doing is more interesting than what's being achieved overall.

31. Another Round (Thomas Vinterberg)- It's definitely the film that Vinterberg wanted to make, but despite what I think is a quietly shattering performance from Mikkelsen, Another Round moves in a bit too much of a straight line to grab me fully. The joyous final minutes hint at where it could have gone, as do pockets of Vinterberg's filmography, which seems newly tethered to realism in a way that I don't like. The best sequences are the wildest ones, like the uproarious trip to the grocery store for fresh cod, so I don't know why so much of it takes place in tiny hallways at magic hour. I give the inevitable American remake* permission to use these notes.

*- Just spitballing here. Martin: Will Ferrell, Nikolaj (Nick): Ben Stiller, Tommy: Owen Wilson, Peter: Craig Robinson

30. The Invisible Man (Leigh Whannell)- Exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I needed.

I think a less conclusive finale would have been better, but what a model of high-concept escalation. This is the movie people convinced me Whannell's Upgrade was.

29. On the Rocks (Sofia Coppola)- Slight until the Mexican sojourn, which expands the scope and makes the film even more psychosexual than before. At times it feels as if Coppola is actively simplifying, rather than diving into the race and privilege questions that the Murray character all but demands.

As for Murray, is the film 50% worse without him? 70%? I don't know if you can run in supporting categories if you're the whole reason the film exists.

28. Mangrove (Steve McQueen)- The first part of the film seemed repetitive and broad to me. But once it settled in as a courtroom drama, the characterization became more shaded, and the filmmaking itself seemed more fluid. I ended up being quite outraged and inspired.

27. Shirley (Josephine Decker)- Josephine Decker emerges as a real stylist here, changing her foggy, impressionistic approach not one bit with a little more budget. Period piece and established actors be damned--this is still as much of a reeling fever dream as Madeline's Madeline. Both pieces are a bit too repetitive and nasty for my taste, but I respect the technique.

Here's my mandatory "Elisabeth Moss is the best" paragraph. While watching her performance as Shirley Jackson, I thought about her most famous role as Peggy on Mad Men, whose inertia and need to prove herself tied her into confidence knots. Shirley is almost the opposite: paralyzed by her worldview, certain of her talent, rejecting any empathy. If Moss can inhabit both characters so convincingly, she can do anything.

26. An American Pickle (Brandon Trost)- An American Pickle is the rare comedy that could actually use five or ten extra minutes, but it's a surprisingly heartfelt and wholesome stretch for Rogen, who is earnest in the lead roles.

25. The King of Staten Island (Judd Apatow)- At two hours and fifteen minutes, The King of Staten Island is probably the first Judd Apatow film that feels like the exact right length. For example, the baggy date scene between a gracious Bill Burr and a faux-dowdy Marisa Tomei is essential, the sort of widening of perspective that something like Trainwreck was missing.

It's Pete Davidson's movie, however, and though he has never been my cup of tea, I think he's actually quite powerful in his quiet moments. The movie probes some rare territory--a mentally ill man's suspicion that he is unlovable, a family's strategic myth-making out of respect for the dead. And when Davidson shows up at the firehouse an hour and fifteen minutes in, it feels as if we've built to a last resort.

24. Swallow (Carlo Mirabella-Davis)- The tricky part of this film is communicating Hunter's despair, letting her isolation mount, but still keeping her opaque. It takes a lot of visual discipline to do that, and Claudio Mirabella-Davis is up to the task. This ends up being a much more sympathetic, expressive movie than the plot description might suggest.

(In the tie dispute, Hunter and Richie are both wrong. That type of silk--I couldn't tell how pebbled it was, but it's probably a barathea weave-- shouldn't be ironed directly, but it doesn't have to be steamed. On a low setting, you could iron the back of the tie and be fine.)

23. The Vast of Night (Andrew Patterson)- I wanted a bit more "there" there; The film goes exactly where I thought it would, and there isn't enough humor for my taste. (The predictability might be a feature, not a bug, since the film is positioned as an episode of a well-worn Twilight Zone-esque show.)

But from a directorial standpoint, this is quite a promising debut. Patterson knows when to lock down or use silence--he even cuts to black to force us to listen more closely to a monologue. But he also knows when to fill the silence. There's a minute or so when Everett is spooling tape, and he and Fay make small talk about their hopes for the future, developing the characters' personalities in what could have been just mechanics. It's also a refreshingly earnest film. No one is winking at the '50s setting.

I'm tempted to write, "If Andrew Patterson can make this with $1 million, just imagine what he can do with $30 million." But maybe people like Shane Carruth have taught us that Patterson is better off pinching pennies in Texas and following his own muse.

22. Martin Eden (Pietro Marcello)- At first this film, adapted from a picaresque novel by Jack London, seemed as if it was hitting the marks of the genre. "He's going from job to job and meeting dudes who are shaping his worldview now." But the film, shot in lustrous Super 16, won me over as it owned the trappings of this type of story, forming a character who is a product of his environment even as he transcends it. By the end, I really felt the weight of time.

You want to talk about something that works better in novels than films though? When a passionate, independent protagonist insists that a woman is the love of his life, despite the fact that she's whatever Italians call a wet blanket. She's rich, but Martin doesn't care about her money. He hates her family and friends, and she refuses to accept him or his life pursuits. She's pretty but not even as pretty as the waitress they discuss. Tell me what I'm missing here. There's archetype, and there's incoherence.

21. Bacurau (Kleber Mendonca Filho and Juliano Dornelles)- Certain images from this adventurous film will stick with me, but I got worn out after the hard reset halfway through. As entranced as I was by the mystery of the first half, I think this blood-soaked ensemble is better at asking questions than it is at answering them.

20. Let Them All Talk (Steven Soderbergh)- The initial appeal of this movie might be "Look at these wonderful actresses in their seventies getting a movie all to themselves." And the film is an interesting portrait of ladies taking stock of relationships that have spanned decades. But Soderbergh and Eisenberg handle the twentysomething Lucas Hedges character with the same openness and empathy. His early reasoning for going on the trip is that he wants to learn from older women, and Hedges nails the puppy-dog quality of a young man who would believe that. Especially in the scenes of aspirational romance, he's sweet and earnest as he brushes his hair out of his face.

Streep plays Alice Hughes, a serious author of literary fiction, and she crosses paths with Kelvin Kranz, a grinder of airport thrillers. In all of the right ways, Let Them All Talk toes the line between those two stances as an entertaining, jaunty experiment that also shoulders subtextual weight. If nothing else, it's easy to see why a cruise ship's counterfeit opulence, its straight lines at a lean, would be visually engaging to Soderbergh. You can't have a return to form if your form is constantly evolving.

19. Dick Johnson Is Dead (Kirsten Johnson)- Understandably, I don't find the subject as interesting as his own daughter does, and large swaths of this film are unsure of what they're trying to say. But that's sort of the point, and the active wrestling that the film engages in with death ultimately pays off in a transcendent moment. The jaw-dropping ending is something that only non-fiction film can achieve, and Johnson's whole career is about the search for that sort of serendipity.

18. Da 5 Bloods (Spike Lee)- Delroy Lindo is a live-wire, but his character is the only one of the principals who is examined with the psychological depth I was hoping for. The first half, with all of its present-tense flourishes, promises more than the gunfights of the second half can deliver. When the film is cooking though, it's chock full of surprises, provocations, and pride.

17. Never Rarely Sometimes Always (Eliza Hittmann)- Very quickly, Eliza Hittmann has established herself as an astute, empathetic director with an eye for discovering new talent. I hope that she gets to make fifty more movies in which she objectively follows laconic young people. But I wanted to like this one more than I did. The approach is so neutral that it's almost flat to me, lacking the arc and catharsis of her previous film, Beach Rats. I still appreciate her restraint though.

GREAT MOVIES

16. Young Ahmed (Jean-Pierre Dardenne and Luc Dardenne)- I don't think the Dardennes have made a bad movie yet, and I'm glad they turned away from the slight genre dipping of The Unknown Girl, the closest to bad that they got. Young Ahmed is a lean, daring return to form.

Instead of following an average person, as they normally do, the Dardenne Brothers follow an extremist, and the objectivity that usually generates pathos now serves to present ambiguity. Ahmed says that he is changing, that he regrets his actions, but we never know how much of his stance is a put-on. I found myself wanting him to reform, more involved than I usually am in these slices of life. Part of it is that Idir Ben Addi looks like such a normal, young kid, and the Ahmed character has most of the qualities that we say we want in young people: principles, commitment, self-worth, reflection. So it's that much more destructive when those qualities are used against him and against his fellow man.

15. World of Tomorrow Episode Three: The Absent Destinations of David Prime (Don Hertzfeldt)- My dad, a man whom I love but will never understand, has dismissed modern music before by claiming that there are only so many combinations of chords. To him, it's almost impossible to do something new. Of course, this is the type of thing that an uncreative person would say--a person not only incapable of hearing the chords that combine notes but also unwilling to hear the space between the notes. (And obviously, that's the take of a person who doesn't understand that, originality be damned, some people just have to create.)

Anyway, that attitude creeps into my own thinking more than I would like, but then I watch something as wholly original as World of Tomorrow Episode Three. The series has always been a way to pile sci-fi ideas on top of each other to prove the essential truths of being and loving. And this one, even though it achieves less of a sense of yearning than its predecessor, offers even more devices to chew on. Take, for example, the idea that Emily sends her message from the future, so David's primitive technology can barely handle it. In order to move forward with its sophistication, he has to delete any extraneous skills for the sake of computer memory. So out of trust for this person who loves him, he has to weigh whether his own breathing or walking can be uninstalled as a sacrifice for her. I thought that we might have been done describing love, but there it is, a new metaphor. Mixing futurism with stick figures to get at the most pure drive possible gave us something new. It's called art, Dad.

14. On the Record (Kirby Dick and Amy Ziering)- We don't call subjects of documentaries "stars" for obvious reasons, but Drew Dixon kind of is one. Her honesty and wisdom tell a complete story of the #MeToo movement. Kirby Dick and Amy Ziering take their time developing her background at first, not because we need to "gain sympathy" or "establish credibility" for a victim of sexual abuse, but because showing her talent and enthusiasm for hip-hop A&R makes it that much more tragic when her passion is extinguished. Hell, I just like the woman, so spending a half-hour on her rise was pleasurable in and of itself.

This is a gut-wrenching, fearless entry in what is becoming Dick and Ziering's raison d'etre, but its greatest quality is Dixon's composed reflection. She helped to establish a pattern of Russell Simmons's behavior, but she explains what happened to her in ways I had never heard before.

13. David Byrne’s American Utopia (Spike Lee)- I'm often impressed by the achievements that puzzle me: How did they pull that off? But I know exactly how David Byrne pulled off the impish but direct precision of American Utopia: a lot of hard work.

I can't blame Spike Lee for stealing a page from Demme's Stop Making Sense: He denies us a close-up of any audience members until two-thirds of the way through, when we get someone in absolute rapture.

12. One Night in Miami... (Regina King)- We've all cringed when a person of color is put into the position of speaking on behalf of his or her entire race. But the characters in One Night in Miami... live in that condition all the time and are constantly negotiating it. As Black public figures in 1964, they know that the consequences of their actions are different, bigger, than everyone else's. The charged conversations between Malcolm X and Sam Cooke are not about whether they can live normal lives. They're way past that. The stakes are closer to Sam Cooke arguing that his life's purpose aligns with the protection and elevation of African-Americans while Malcolm X argues that those pursuits should be the same thing. Late in the movie, Cassius Clay leaves the other men, a private conversation, to talk to reporters, a public conversation. But the film argues that everything these men do is always already public. They're the most powerful African-Americans in the country, but their lives are not their own. Or not only their own.

It's true that the first act has the clunkiness and artifice of a TV movie, but once the film settles into the motel room location and lets the characters feed off one another, it's gripping. It's kind of unfair for a movie to get this many scenes of Leslie Odom Jr. singing, but I'll take it.

11. Saint Frances (Alex Thompson)- Rilke wrote, "Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us." The characters' behavior in Saint Frances--all of these fully formed characters' behavior--made me think of that quotation. When they lash out at one another, even at their nastiest, the viewer has a window into how they're expressing pain they can't verbalize. The film is uneven in its subtlety, but it's a real showcase for screenwriter and star Kelly O'Sullivan, who is unflinching and dynamic in one of the best performances of the year. Somebody give her some of the attention we gave to Zach Braff for God's sake.

10. Boys State (Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine)- This documentary is kind of a miracle from a logistical standpoint. From casting interviews beforehand, lots of editing afterwards, or sly note-taking once the conference began, McBaine and Moss happened to select the four principals who mattered the most at the convention, then found them in rooms full of dudes wearing the same tucked-in t-shirt. By the way, all of the action took place over the course of one week, and by definition, the important events are carved in half.

To call Boys State a microcosm of American politics is incorrect. These guys are forming platforms and voting in elections. What they're doing is American politics, so when they make the same compromises and mistakes that active politicians do, it produces dread and disappointment. So many of the boys are mimicking the political theater that they see on TV, and that sweaty sort of performance is going to make a Billy Mitchell out of this kid Ben Feinstein, and we'll be forced to reckon with how much we allow him to evolve as a person. This film is so precise, but what it proves is undeniably messy. Luckily, some of these seventeen-year-olds usher in hope for us all.

If nothing else, the film reveals the level to which we're all speaking in code.

9. The Nest (Sean Durkin)- In the first ten minutes or so of The Nest, the only real happy minutes, father and son are playing soccer in their quaint backyard, and the father cheats to score on a children's net before sliding on the grass to rub in his victory. An hour later, the son kicks the ball around by himself near a regulation goal on the family's massive property. The contrast is stark and obvious, as is the symbolism of the dead horse, but that doesn't mean it's not visually powerful or resonant.

Like Sean Durkin's earlier film, Martha Marcy May Marlene, the whole of The Nest is told with detail of novelistic scope and an elevation of the moment. A snippet of radio that mentions Ronald Reagan sets the time period, rather than a dateline. One kid saying "Thanks, Dad" and another kid saying, "Thanks, Rory" establishes a stepchild more elegantly than any other exposition might.

But this is also a movie that does not hide what it means. Characters usually say exactly what is on their minds, and motivations are always clear. For example, Allison smokes like a chimney, so her daughter's way of acting out is leaving butts on the window sill for her mother to find. (And mother and daughter both definitely "act out" their feelings.) On the other hand, Ben, Rory's biological son, is the character least like him, so these relationships aren't too directly parallel. Regardless, Durkin uses these trajectories to cast a pall of familial doom.

8. Sorry We Missed You (Sean Durkin)- Another precisely calibrated empathy machine from Ken Loach. The overwhelmed matriarch, Abby, is a caretaker, and she has to break up a Saturday dinner to rescue one of her clients, who wet herself because no one came to help her to the bathroom. The lady is embarrassed, and Abby calms her down by saying, "You mean more to me than you know." We know enough about Abby's circumstances to realize that it's sort of a lie, but it's a beautiful lie, told by a person who cares deeply but is not cared for.

Loach's central point is that the health of a family, something we think of as immutable and timeless, is directly dependent upon the modern industry that we use to destroy ourselves. He doesn't have to be "proven" relevant, and he didn't plan for Covid-19 to point to the fragility of the gig economy, but when you're right, you're right.

7. Lovers Rock (Steve McQueen)- swear to you I thought: "This is an impeccable depiction of a great house party. The only thing it's missing is the volatile dude who scares away all the girls." And then the volatile dude who scares away all the girls shows up.

In a year short on magic, there are two or three transcendent moments, but none of them can equal the whole crowd singing along to "Silly Games" way after the song has ended. Nothing else crystallizes the film's note of celebration: of music, of community, of safe spaces, of Black skin. I remember moments like that at house parties, and like all celebrations, they eventually make me sad.

6. Crip Camp: A Disability Revolution (Nicole Newnham and James Lebrecht)- I held off on this movie because I thought that I knew what it was. The setup was what I expected: A summer camp for the disabled in the late '60s takes on the spirit of the time and becomes a haven for people who have not felt agency, self-worth, or community anywhere else. But that's the right-place-right-time start of a story that takes these figures into the '80s as they fight for their rights.

If you're anything like my dumb ass, you know about 504 accommodations from the line on a college syllabus that promises equal treatment. If 2020 has taught us anything though, it's that rights are seized, not given, and this is the inspiring story of people who unified to demand what they deserved. Judy Heumann is a civil rights giant, but I'm ashamed to say I didn't know who she was before this film. If it were just a history lesson that wasn't taught in school, Crip Camp would still be valuable, but it's way more than that.

5. Palm Springs (Max Barbakow)- When explaining what is happening to them, Andy Samberg's Nyles twirls his hand at Cristin Milioti's Sara and says, "It's one of those infinite time-loop scenarios." Yeah, one of those. Armed with only a handful of fictional examples, she and the audience know exactly what he means, and the continually inventive screenplay by Andy Siara doesn't have to do any more explaining. In record time, the film accelerates into its premise, involves her, and sets up the conflict while avoiding the claustrophobia of even Groundhog Day. That economy is the strength that allows it to be as funny as it is. By being thrifty with the setup, the savings can go to, say, the couple crashing a plane into a fiery heap with no consequences.

In some accidental ways, this is, of course, a quarantine romance as well. Nyles and Sara frustratingly navigate the tedious wedding as if they are play-acting--which they sort of are--then they push through that sameness to grow for each other, realizing that dependency is not weakness. The best relationships are doing the same thing right now.

Although pointedly superficial--part of the point of why the couple is such a match--and secular--I think the notion of an afterlife would come up at least once--Palm Springs earns the sincerity that it gets around to. And for a movie ironic enough to have a character beg to be impaled so that he doesn't have to sit in traffic, that's no small feat.

4. The Assistant (Kitty Green)- A wonder of Bressonian objectivity and rich observation, The Assistant is the rare film that deals exclusively with emotional depth while not once explaining any emotions. One at a time, the scrape of the Kleenex box might not be so grating, the long hallway trek to the delivery guy might not be so tiring, but this movie gets at the details of how a job can destroy you in ways that add up until you can't even explain them.

3. Promising Young Woman (Emerald Fennell)- In her most incendiary and modern role, Carey Mulligan plays Cassie, which is short for Cassandra, that figure doomed to tell truths that no one else believes. The web-belted boogeyman who ruined her life is Al, short for Alexander, another Greek who is known for his conquests. The revenge story being told here--funny in its darkest moments, dark in its funniest moments--is tight on its surface levels, but it feels as if it's telling a story more archetypal and expansive than that too.

An exciting feature debut for its writer-director Emerald Fennell, the film goes wherever it dares. Its hero has a clear purpose, and it's not surprising that the script is willing to extinguish her anger halfway through. What is surprising is the way it renews and muddies her purpose as she comes into contact with half-a-dozen brilliant one- or two-scene performances. (Do you think Alfred Molina can pull off a lawyer who hates himself so much that he can't sleep? You would be right.)

Promising Young Woman delivers as an interrogation of double standards and rape culture, but in quiet ways it's also about our outsized trust in professionals and the notion that some trauma cannot be overcome.

INSTANT CLASSICS

2. Soul (Pete Docter)- When Pete Docter's Up came out, it represented a sort of coronation for Pixar: This was the one that adults could like unabashedly. The one with wordless sequences and dead children and Ed Asner in the lead. But watching it again this week with my daughter, I was surprised by how high-concept and cloying it could be. We choose not to remember the middle part with the goofy dog stuff.

Soul is what Up was supposed to be: honest, mature, stirring. And I don't mean to imply that a family film shouldn't make any concessions to children. But Soul, down to the title, never compromises its own ambition. Besides Coco, it's probably the most credible character study that Pixar has ever made, with all of Joe's growth earned the hard way. Besides Inside Out, it's probably the wittiest comedy that Pixar has ever made, bursting with unforced energy.

There's a twitter fascination going around about Dez, the pigeon-figured barber character whose scene has people gushing, "Crush my windpipe, king" or whatever. Maybe that's what twitter does now, but no one fantasized about any characters in Up. And I count that as progress.

1. I’m Thinking of Ending Things (Charlie Kaufman)- After hearing that our name-shifting protagonist moonlights as an artist, a no-nonsense David Thewlis offers, "I hope you're not an abstract artist." He prefers "paintings that look like photographs" over non-representational mumbo-jumbo. And as Jessie Buckley squirms to try to think of a polite way to talk back, you can tell that Charlie Kaufman has been in the crosshairs of this same conversation. This morose, scary, inscrutable, expressionist rumination is not what the Netflix description says it is at all, and it's going to bother nice people looking for a fun night in. Thank God.

The story goes that Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, when constructing Raiders of the Lost Ark, sought to craft a movie that was "only the good parts" with little of the clunky setup that distracted from action. What we have here is a Charlie Kaufman movie with only the Charlie Kaufman moments, less interested than ever before at holding one's hand. The biting humor is here, sometimes aimed at philistines like the David Thewlis character above, sometimes at the niceties that we insist upon. The lonely horror of everyday life is here, in the form of missed calls from oneself or the interruption of an inner monologue. Of course, communicating the overwhelming crush of time, both unknowable and familiar, is the raison d'etre.

A new pet motif seems to be the way that we don't even own our own knowledge. The Young Woman recites "Bonedog" by Eva H.D., which she claims/thinks she wrote, only to find Jake's book open to that page, next to a Pauline Kael book that contains a Woman Under the Influence review that she seems to have internalized later. When Jake muses about Wordsworth's "Lucy Poems," it starts as a way to pass the time, then it becomes a way to lord his education over her, then it becomes a compliment because the subject resembles her, then it becomes a way to let her know that, in the grand scheme of things, she isn't that special at all. This film jerks the viewer through a similar wintry cycle and leaves him with his own thoughts. It's not a pretty picture, but it doesn't look like anything else.

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isa-ly · 4 years ago

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HOW TO EMOTION?

TW: mental health, therapy, repression, dissociation

Today’s just one of those days where I’m questioning whether or not I’ve completely lost the ability of functioning like a normal human and kind of feel like the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz. You know, casual Friday.

I know this is a written blog, but since I am also very much a woman of images and metaphors, I shall once again try and elaborate the issue of today’s post by making it into a well-known, kinda dead and yet very accurate pop culture meme:

I am not kidding, this is what I look and feel like in most of my therapy sessions. I’m pretty sure Kerstin would agree with me here, as the topic of feeling, or more like my inability of doing so, has been pretty much been the red string winding itself through my mental health journey so far. I mentioned it briefly in the last post, but I figured since today is just one of those pesky overthinking ones, I might just dive in a bit deeper and try to detangle my knotted thoughts into something a bit more coherent.

I’ve talked about this before to some of my closer friends and honestly, every time I tried to explain it, I just felt like an absolute mad psychopath. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I’m not, but it’s kind of hard to get people to understand what it feels like to just ... not feel. Okay, that sounds a little bit too dramatic, let me try and re-phrase it in a way that makes more sense.

I talked all about the metaphorical elephant and it’s even more metaphorical stake last time and this is kind of the extended version of that issue. The Stake Supreme, if you will. Basically, one of the earliest coping mechanisms that I picked up when I was very young, was to simply swallow down any feelings of anger, rage, sadness or hurt and pretend that they just weren’t there. Now, that’s not really something very unusual, as we generally live in a society that doesn’t leave a lot of room to healthily express or work through our emotions with the crushing weight of professional, educational, financial, social and personal pressure constantly weighing on our shoulders. So, again, I’m very well aware that me pretending that my bad feelings don’t exist, does in no way, shape or form make me a special snowflake.

It does, however, make me a very emotionally repressed and mentally inept snowflake. And that’s not really great either.

It took me many therapy sessions to figure out that what I had used as a necessary protection mechanism for all my childhood and young adulthood, had slowly but certainly turned into the root of pretty much all my current mental health issues. And here I was, thinking that mommy and daddy issues were just a try-hard-to-be-relatable brand that pseudo-depressed people on Twitter liked to use to excuse their shitty personalities. Oh no, am I one of them now? Alright, back to the point.

I’m just going to try to explain, both to myself and you, what happens in my head whenever the aforementioned process of ~A Feeling~ occurs. Where normally, I would experience something that elicits an emotion that I then experience and feel, lately (and by that I mean ever since some of the more severe of my mental issues started happening) I instead feel like the actual emotion gets stuck somewhere between having been produced and actually reaching my consciousness. In a way, to get back to that earlier visual, it feels like I’m the Tin Man. The feeling gets dropped into my empty tin chest and while I try my absolute hardest to actually feel it, it just sits there. Not really arriving, not really unfolding, just existing while remaining completely detached from me. And I continue to feel how you would imagine a man made out of tin and air would feel: hollow.

I’m trying really hard not to make another load of self-deprecating jokes here, as sharing and trying to explain this makes me beyond uncomfortable. Instead, I’m just going to keep going because that’s kind of the point of this blog. When I told my therapist what I typed up there just now, she explained to me that this strategy of processing (or lack thereof, actually), is commonly referred to as repression and dissociation. And that with my history of handling emotions (or, once again, lack thereof), it actually made quite a lot of sense for me to struggle with this.

She then went on to explain that one could imagine it like this: Whenever anything triggers an emotion to be formed (which, you know, happens quite a lot, since that’s kind of all that human brains do), my self-taught mechanism is to immediately replace it with a so called ‘non-feeling’. I know, that word seemed strange to me too in the beginning. What it means is that by having constantly invalidated and swallowed down my own feelings of anger and sadness through the course of my youth, I unintentionally created this perfect, well-oiled machine of repression that unquestioningly does its job without me even noticing. In a way, I somehow mastered the art of literally, fully and completely detaching myself from my emotions and simply viewing them as separate entities to my own mind.

Now, while that sounds like a sick villain superpower, I’m gonna be honest: It kind of fucking sucks. Especially on days like these, where old habits resurface and I once again find myself looking at my own emotions as if they were statistics on a computer, knowing that they are there, knowing that they exist within me, but for the life of me not being able to actually feel them.

That’s yet another thing I also learned in therapy. There are miles, literal continents, if not even multiverses, between rationally knowing you should feel something and actually feeling it. I’m not completely insane and oblivious, I very well know that I am capable of having emotions and that they are there and being produced by many funky chemicals working together in my brain. However, simply knowing this on an intellectual level is no where close to satisfactory if you cannot actually feel it too.

It’s like looking at ice cream, knowing that it’s there, seeing it with your own two eyes, remembering and being able to imagine the taste, the texture, the sweetness and yet never really actually being able to eat it. Never really feeling it melt it in your mouth. It remains an idea, a concept, close to smoke in thin air that you can very clearly see, and yet never really grasp.

And that, as you might be able to imagine (or even relate to, if you’ve experienced it before), is just not a lot of fun, to be quite frank. Emotional repression? Yeah, no, that one definitely gets a bad Yelp! review from me. Wouldn’t recommend. Zero stars out of five.

In addition to accidentally failing to process my own emotions (are you proud of me, mum?), there’s also the other half of the problem which is, as my therapist already mentioned, the dissociation. Now, I want to be clear here: While I’ve gotten quite a few medical diagnoses in my time in therapy, the actual condition of dissociation or dissociative disorder, which is actually a personality disorder, is not one that I ever received. The dissociation my therapist talked about, ergo the one I am experiencing, is more situational and linked to the repression. Funnily enough, it is literally happening at the current moment, while I’m writing this post.

Actually, it’s been there for every post I wrote. It is also there during almost every therapy session and whenever I attempt to talk to someone about my problems or feelings. If you ask me how I am and we get talking about my mental health, you can assume that I’ll be dissociating about two minutes into the conversation. Usually, it’s not something that is very noticeable. At least that’s what I like to believe, maybe it’s also super obvious, like my soul leaving my body, and people are simply confused or kind enough not to mention it. Who knows.

My therapist, however, did notice it, as she let me know after a few sessions, when I first tried to describe what dissociating felt like to me. “Oh, yeah, I can tell whenever it happens. I just thought I’d give you your space until you wanted to talk about it”, was what she had said. Oh, Kerstin. You’re a real keeper.

So, what does it feel like to dissociate? (I once again pretend that someone is asking so I don’t feel like I’m talking to myself about myself). It’s a little hard to explain but here’s what I have told some of the friends I have talked to about it before: Imagine from pretty much one second to the other, your entire head is filled with cotton, kind of like you’re really tired and exhausted and everything that you see or hear doesn’t really get through the thick wool that seems to have replaced your brain. Forming thoughts and staying in the moment gets harder with every minute that passes. There’s this weird pull at the back of your neck and the front of your forehead that kind of just wants you to close your eyes and drift away. Far away to somewhere where it’s quiet and cotton-y and there’s no one or nothing else around you.

It’s not just mental, it’s physical. It feels like your brain hit the shut down button without your consent, like it’s slowly closing the blinds as it gets darker and darker and you just want to fall asleep. Speaking seems to become almost painful, thinking coherent thoughts is close to impossible and following what others are saying is a million times harder all of a sudden. It’s like the world has gone out of focus and you’re trying to sharpen the lense again, to no success.

Actually, I think that a lot of people have experienced dissociative symptoms before. Not to play Dr. Freud here, but it happens quite a lot, for example during panic or anxiety attacks. Some of my friends have told me that it felt like they had suddenly left their body and were watching themselves as from across the room. That’s why often dissociating is also described as an out of body experience. Because in a way, it literally is one.

As my therapist explained to me, and as I experience it too, it’s comparable to your brain throwing a metaphorical fuse because it’s in danger of short circuiting. My dad would be so proud if he saw me making electrician references (yes, he is a trained electrician, okay). Anyway, what I’m trying to say is: Often, when I’m exposed to emotions (and that includes talking or writing about them), my brain will run a little too hot like an old, wary car engine, and before it gets too close to exploding into a fiery death, it simply flips the switch and disconnects itself from the body and the emotions that are happening in it. Just like the repression, this is yet another safety mechanism that my brain came up with in reaction to me never really learning how to correctly process emotions. So, whenever some of those stronger feeling resurface or leak out, it tries to protect me from them by cutting the connection between the both of us.

In almost every way, it feels like I’m being locked out of my own head and can no longer really use my own brain. To someone who’s never felt that before, this might seem a little terrifying. And I agree that, objectively, it is. Knowing that the grey goo behind your skull has the power to shut out what in the ever-loving fuck is considered your conscious self, is a bit worrisome, to say the least. However, to me, it’s something that I have a) gotten very used to by now and b) in the moment don’t actually experience as something scary at all. I’m disconnected, remember?

Which is also why it’s sometimes very, very hard to get grounded again and find the way back into my own head. Like a bird that’s accidentally escaped its cage, proceeding to go fucking rogue in the living room, then crashing into a wall, all while trying to figure out what the fuck is happening while it’s on the verge of blacking out. I’ll often feel so dull and dizzy that all I really want to do is curl up and stare at a wall until eventually, my mind and body connect again and things are back to normal.

To kind of circle back to the whole theme of this post: This whole dissociation thing is very strongly connected to my tendency of emotional repression. It’s somewhat of a vicious cycle, which is why days like the one I’m having right now, can be a little tricky. It starts with me feeling empty and hollow, bim-bam-Tin-Man, and is usually followed with feelings of isolation and depression, since I cannot seem to get joy, satisfaction, or any emotion, really, out of anything. This then often leads to me trying to force some sort of emotion into myself, struggling to dig through my subconscious in hopes of finding something, anything, and eventually becoming even more frustrated. Aha! Frustration! That’s an emotion, right? It’s there! Can you feel it? I think you can, oh wow, there it is! Oh, wait, no ... no, now my head is getting heavy. Everything’s blurry. Is the feeling still there? Maybe. Who cares, just close your eyes now. So sleepy, hm ... floaty float.

Okay, sorry, that just turned into a weird combination of a badly written slam poem and a pretentious high school theater class rendition of some old play no one has ever heard of. I’ll just use the fact that I’m still dissociated as hell as an excuse for now. Wait a minute ... if I’m this spacey and zoned out right now, how am I even managing to write this post? Huh? Isa? Explain yourself!

Well, I haven’t been in therapy for nothing. It’s been over eight months of Kerstin and me figuring all of this out, finally putting a name and label to it and therefore understanding why it’s there and how it works. Which has helped me a great lot in actually handling it. That’s kind of the whole point of therapy after all, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong: These days where I feel repressed, empty and dissociated, can still be hard and they’re rarely ever fun. They honestly make me want to bash my head against a wall in hopes that that will make it go back to normal.

But since I don’t really favour having a concussion on top of feeling depressed and detached from my body, I have learned to use other counter-measurements to help the process of finding my balance again. Rebuilding that mojo, am I right? This post is already pretty long, so I won’t go into even more detail on all the different methods and mechanisms of bouncing back, but I’ll say this much: I spent a good portion of therapy trying to learn when to push and when to rest whenever I’m feeling dissociated. And yeah, it’s a fine line and I still haven’t fully figured out how to walk it without falling from one extreme into the other.

But take this blog, for example. I know that writing it, actively facing my problems and the very strong, repressed emotions connected to them, will make me dissociate like hell. A few months ago, that would have been reason enough for me to not do it and simply ignore it again. Now, however, after working with my therapist and on myself, I have learned how to push my own limits just far enough in order to, in this case, continue to write even though it feels like my brain is about to burst into a cotton explosion. It’s a give and take, a sort of push and pull I’m playing with my own mind and head. But as time progressed, I figured out the game plan a little better, I learned my own rules and the secret short cuts and cheating methods (because come on, who really plays fair, that’s for boring losers) and the resting time it takes for me to restore my strengths again.

So, today for example, I woke up as Mr. Tin Man, progressed to being a lost, numb and rogue dissociation-bird (man, I really gotta work on my metaphors, this is just getting worse by the minute) and then decided that the best way to counter-act all of it, would be to sit down and write my lovely new blog. Has it helped? A little, yeah. It took my mind off the right things, made some others a bit worse and intense but now, I feel a little more stable and like I managed to talk some sense back into my spiraling, detached brain.

Kerstin, please tell me you’re proud of me. Because as we all know, therapy is about impressing your therapist and not about getting better for your own sake. Pft, who needs that. What do we want? Validation! When do we want it? All the time, because we never got it as a child, so now it’s the only thing we crave in life!

Yikes.

Alright. So, here we are. Since I’m still feeling a little zoned out and dopey, I’m not fully sure if everything I wrote made complete sense. But hey, while this blog is for others to read should they feel like it, it’s still mainly there for me to sort my own racing thoughts before they can spiral out of control. And I think I managed to do that just now. And I know that that feels kind of nice.

Actually, I feel it too.

P.S.: I just had to. A little self-deprecation doesn’t hurt anyone.

#therapy #retrospection #repression #dissociation

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artemisegeria · 5 years ago

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The Fabric of Our Lives

A/N: Today is the two year anniversary of my writing Scarlet Vision fanfiction, so I wrote a fic celebrating their second wedding anniversary. Rated G, no warnings.

“What’s the theme,” a large yawn that she unsuccessfully tried to cover escaped her, “of this year’s present again?” Wanda’s eyes closed as she sank further into the couch cushions. She had been getting fatigued much more quickly over the last eight weeks. Vision had been pressing her to see Doctor Cho or another medical professional, but she insisted her tiredness was simply a result of their active lifestyle.

Vision smiled at her. He had to admit that he found her extremely cute when she was so relaxed. They had decided last year before their first anniversary to follow the traditional order of anniversary gifts. Well, it had been Vision’s idea, and Wanda had gone along with it. “Cotton. This versatile material represents both comfort and strength. Like threads of cotton woven together, so too will our marriage become more interconnected in time.”*

Vision had already started to create Wanda’s anniversary gift. He had rented a

“Right. Cotton. Interconnected. Got it.” She didn’t even bother to stifle the next yawn.

Vision smiled indulgently at her. “Would you like a foot rub, my love?”

“Yes, please.” He lifted her feet into his lap, pressing his thumb into the arch. Within minutes she was snoring. Vision shifted to carry her into their bedroom. When he settled beside her, he set to thinking about what he could give her that fit his theme.

***

Wanda had finally taken Vision’s advice to see a doctor. She was sitting in their room, clutching the results of the tests they had ordered.

Pregnant.

It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

Apparently not.

She read the results for what felt like the millionth time. She and Vision had discussed having children, the possibility of adoption, what their life would look like if they chose to bring children into it. They had been certain that they would have to seek out artificial insemination if Wanda wanted to become pregnant.

Now all their speculation was proven worthless. She was pregnant with Vision’s baby, no matter how unlikely it seemed. As the reality sunk in, Wanda let herself feel the happiness of this gift. Being parents was something both she and Vision wanted, but she hadn’t yet let herself feel the full extent of how much she wanted it. She didn’t want Vision to feel guilty for the difficulties they might have in conceiving.

When she felt the edge of Vision’s mind returning, she shut down their connection, walling her mind off carefully. She needed a little more time to get used to the idea before she told him. She quickly put the paper away in her nightstand drawer. Vision entered the room with a soft smile on his face, which she gladly returned.

But when he felt the wall in her mind, his mouth puckered in confusion. She patted his knee and smiled at him to reassure him. “I can’t have you guess what I’m giving you for our anniversary.” She felt a pinprick of guilt, but justified that she would tell him the truth soon enough.

“Ah. Then I shan’t pry.”

“Movie?” she asked, to distract him and herself.

“That sounds lovely.” They selected a light-hearted comedy on Netflix and cuddled up together. Wanda found herself focusing more on the feeling of Vision’s heartbeat beneath her ear than the ridiculous plot on screen. She smoothed her hand up and down the material of his pajama shirt, needing to touch him to remind herself that this was her life.

As always, with or without their mental link, Vision sensed her need for comfort. He swept her hair to the side, first rubbing her neck before moving his hands down the length of her back, kneading and massaging. She melted further into his body.

Before she knew it, the room had darkened, and she noticed that Vision had turned off the movie. The covers were pulled up firmly around her chin and Vision was still awake with a book in hand.

She struggled to sit up. When she finally managed it, she kissed Vision on the cheek. “Good night.” She didn’t like to go to sleep without wishing him well for the evening.

“Sleep well, Wanda.” She relaxed back against the pillows, content in the knowledge that her growing family was safe and together.

***

Vision traveled to the apartment he had rented to hide his project. The tapestry stood as he had left it several days previously, still only half completed on the loom. He eyed it critically. It did not look as he had envisioned it. But he supposed he would have to wait to see the finished product.

He continued his weaving. He focused entirely on his project. The rest of the world became immaterial as he poured all his love for Wanda into his work. Hours passed as he wove the threads into a seamless whole, hoping to make them as strong as the bonds that held their marriage together.

It was dark when he finished that day’s portion. He took a leisurely flight back to the mansion. The breeze of the cool night air reinvigorated him after a day of stillness.

Wanda was already asleep by the time he returned. He tucked her in carefully and lay down next to her. She stirred, reaching across the bed for his hand. Vision drew her hand to his lips. “I am back, Wanda. Sweet dreams.”

She murmured something that he could not decipher before relaxing again. He settled one arm around her as he transitioned into his resting mode to keep her company.

***

Wanda gradually got used to the idea of her pregnancy. At least it gave her an idea of what to give Vision for their anniversary. She placed the order with a week to spare before their date night. She had planned last year’s anniversary, so it was Vision’s turn this time. And he was not giving her any hints. Any time she angled for hints, he simply smiled at her and said that she would find out on the night.

So, she went about her days, trying to conceal her anticipation of the revelation she was about to make and her curiosity about the date. All while trying not to act too different than usual. When she received the notification that her items had arrived, she rushed down to the guard station. The mail had not yet been sorted, but the agent on duty was one she was friendly with. She helped Wanda find her package, and she hid it in an unused room in the mansion.

Then, she went down to one of the training rooms to burn off some of her anxiety. She was mindful of not expending too much energy because fatigue still plagued her, but she would not have minded an excuse to take a nap.

Later that evening, she asked Vision to read to her. He chose one of her favorite fairy tales. She imagined him reading to the babies and smiled to herself. She let the smooth, rich sound of his voice carry her away. As had happened many times recently, she found herself snug in bed a while later. Vision was lightly stroking a hand through her hair, and she sank into him.

***

Vision bade farewell to Wanda early in the morning on the day before their anniversary. He had wished to finish his project before then, but a last-minute mission had derailed his plans somewhat. He was grateful that he had put a cushion in his schedule, just in case.

He had only to clean up the edges of the tapestry before presenting it to Wanda. His wife. He was still taken aback by that fact. She had chosen to share her life with him, and he would always be grateful for that.

After finishing the tapestry, Vision carefully rolled it up and tied it neatly with a ribbon, placing it in a cylindrical poster container. He hoped Wanda would like it. He hoped he would not needlessly open old wounds.

***

Wanda couldn’t help fidgeting as she sat through another meeting. She appreciated that Carol and Sam’s meetings were faster than Steve’s, but she needed to get away to finish wrapping her anniversary present. Not to mention to keep some distance between her and Vision, lest she give away the secret early.

She fled as soon as the meeting was over. She had experimented with wrapping the presents separately and having Vision open a number of bags and boxes. But in the end, she decided that she could not bear his usual calm approach to opening so many packages. She was already tying herself up in knots imagining his reaction.

***

Vision watched Wanda eating the meal he had prepared with pride. They were sitting on a blanket on the floor of his rented apartment. She was devouring the lasagna he had prepared with relish and had barely stopped to say a word. When she finally looked up, she was blushing slightly. “That was really good, Vizh.”

Wanda eventually offered him a bite, but he declined. He was eager to have her open his present. Wanda finished her meal in a few more minutes. “I am glad you enjoyed it. Are you ready for dessert?”

“Dessert or dessert?” She wiggled her eyebrows on the last word.

“The former.” Her pout enchanted him, as always.

“Fine.”

He removed the chocolate-covered strawberries from the cooler he had brought for their makeshift picnic. When she saw them, Wanda immediately forgot her faux annoyance. She ate one strawberry with the same enthusiasm that she had eaten her entrée. A piece of chocolate stuck to the side of her mouth, and Vision gently wiped away with his thumb. “Another?” She nodded. Vision selected one, pressing it to her lips. He licked the juice off his fingers when she was done.

Wanda was staring at him dreamily, but she clapped her hands together. “Okay. Present time.”

“May I go first, Wanda?” He had waited long enough to present this to her.

“Sure.” She looked oddly relieved at his request, but Vision was more concerned about the reception of his own gift.

“Just one moment.” He phased through the other room and pulled out the cylinder. When he presented it to Wanda, she seemed perplexed.

“What is this?”

Vision held back a smile and struggled to maintain a flat tone. “I believe the general theory behind gifts is that the recipient opens the gift to discover what is inside.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” She tossed a wadded up napkin at him. Vision let it bounce off him harmlessly. She pulled the top out of the cardboard tube and turned it upside down to let the tapestry out. She pulled on the string that was holding together. The tapestry unrolled and Wanda stared at it. She was utterly still, enough to make Vision fear he had misstepped.

Vision gazed at his handiwork over Wanda’s shoulder. It showed their wedding as it would have been in an ideal world. The entire team was present at Clint’s farm. Natasha and Pietro were standing with Wanda. Her parents were sitting in the front row. Vision had not wanted to cause pain, but he thought she deserved a taste of what their wedding should have been.

Wanda’s wide smile and tear-filled eyes when she finally turned from the picture reassured him. “How long did this take you?” Her voice was still shaky with unshed tears.

“Roughly six weeks.”

“Thank you.” She slid closer to him, leaning into his chest. “This is amazing.”

He stroked his hands through her hair and relaxed into their embrace. He almost forgot about his present when Wanda slowly pulled away from him. “Let me get yours.” She levitated a medium-sized box from her bag over to him.

Wanda’s tears faded away. Vision noticed a new pitch of excitement in her. Her hands were shaking, and her powers fizzed more wildly around her wrists, spreading up her arms. Her energy was infectious. Vision abandoned his usual careful unwrapping and tore through the paper covering the box.

The first item he uncovered was a miniscule item of clothing. He gingerly unfolded it. The front read, “Marco…” The next onesie read, “Polo…” Vision was smart; he knew the likely meaning of this present, but his mind shut down at this new information. He simply pressed forward with the next items in the box.

Vision pulled out the next set. One read, “copy;” one read, “paste.” The final set bore the declarations: “Yes, we’re twins.” and “No, we’re not identical.” Beneath those were two matching adult-size shirts. The top line read, “Overachiever.” Below that was an image of four tiny feet and below that, it said, “I never do anything halfway.”

When he reached the end of the clothing, he sat still. Dumbstruck was too small a word for what he was feeling. He was also struck blind and deaf. His neural processing all but stopped for a few moments.

Soon he distantly realized that Wanda was clutching his hands. “Vizh. Please say something.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yeah.”

“With twins.”

“Uh-huh.”

Wanda was still staring at him pleadingly. Something about her worry allowed Vision to regain functionality. A smile that he could not contain broke out on his face as he slid his hands up her arms. When he reached her back, he pulled her toward him and leaned back so that Wanda was resting on top of him.

She giggled into his neck as he gently nibbled her earlobe and pressed kisses to her cheek and jaw and neck. Joy spilled out of him in a laugh as well. He was chuckling into her shoulder for many long moments.

When they both finally calmed down, Vision cradled Wanda’s face in his hands to draw her gaze to his. Her expression had settled into a bright smile that was at odds with the tears pouring from her eyes. She reached down to wipe the tears from his own cheeks. “We’re really having two babies?”

“We really are, Vizh.”

“This is the best present that I have ever received.”

“Me, too. I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but I needed a little time.”

“And that is the true reason you’ve been shutting me out?”

“Yeah.” Their eyes met for an endless moment. Vision would remember this for the rest of his existence.

The moment broke when they collapsed into giddy, overjoyed laughter again. Vision wrapped his arms tightly around her. Their little family was growing. Their marriage held more than enough love to nourish a baby. It was only appropriate that their love and marriage would bring two children into the world.

Together, they would weave their love together into a fabric that would never be torn apart.

*The previous two sentences were taken from a search result on google because I really liked the wording and thought it sounded like something Vision might say. Available here: https://www.thespruce.com/traditional-second-year-anniversary-gifts-cotton-2301868.

#fanfiction #scarlet vision

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uglypaw · 5 years ago

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i'm 6 weeks post op as of yesterday! heres my full diary for the first week post op that i wrote during recovery if anyone wants to know what my experience was. CW: blood, surgery, drugs, unsanitary, self harm. if you have any other questions im happy to answer them!

sorry for how long this is lol--

june 21 friday (surgery day)

i'm writing this a few days later but here's how i remember it--

i checked in to the empty office and the copay was $10. the receptionist had me sign a form so that they could call my dad once my surgery was over and he gave me a plastic medical bracelet with my info on it. we hung out in the waiting room for about 10 minutes before i was called in by a nurse. she asked me if i had to pee (i did) and asked if there was a chance i could be pregnant (there wasn't). this nurse was very apathetic and had a very flat voice. i didn't like her.

she had me go to a bed with a gown and a bag for my stuff on it and instructed me to change with the curtain drawn. i did and hung out for about 10 minutes for her to come back, and then she had me lie down and covered me with a blanket and went over my medical record and what meds i was taking and stuff like that. while she was doing this, a male nurse came by and gave me a bunch of painkillers to take with a cup of water(i almost choked on them), and put in my IV on my hand, which was the most painful part. he said i have thick skin on my hand and he really had to push. at this point i got kinda lightheaded hearing him say that but i calmed myself down after a bit.

they called my dad back in and another nurse told me it would be about an hour before the surgeon came to see me. we hung out and played with the monitors on my blood pressure and heart rate and O2 and stuff and made jokes about writing messages on my torso for the surgeon to see when i was under. during the entire time waiting for surgery i was super hungry and wanted to hurry up so i could eat afterwords.

after about an hour the surgeon came by and marked me up, which was kind of uncomfortable because the markers he used were sharp. he held conversation the whole time and was very friendly and charismatic. he went over the marks a bunch of times, and had tentative places marked for my nipple grafts.

he told me the right side was larger than the left so the incision would have to be a bit longer, but since i'd lost weight the incisions were going to be very minimal either way.

after he marked me up he left me again and i asked another nurse to use the bathroom and i got a heated blanket. the anesthesiologist came by and he was funny and casual and alleviated any anxiety by explaining what meds he would be using on me (don't worry about the pain, i prescribe A LOT!!!) and he left once more and another nurse (OR helper) double checked what procedure i'd be doing on the computer, and she told me they would ask me the same questions again once we were in the OR to double confirm. (this ended up not happening because i passed out pretty quick.)

they came by again and confirmed the OR was ready for me, and the anesthesiologist gave me two shots into my IV of some warm liquid and told me i'd be feeling it pretty quick because they were strong (he was right, within a few minutes i was feeling loopy and warm. i was worried i'd have a panic attack about the meds taking effect so fast but it was nice). my dad filmed this part.

they came by about 5 minutes later and said they were ready so they had my dad go back to the waiting room and wheeled me to the OR which was a tiny room with a lot of machines and bright lights and white walls. i remember thinking it looked nothing like it did on TV. they had my name on a whiteboard on the wall. they introduced me to some of the new people i hadn't seen before but i was pretty out of it by then so i wasn't paying too much attention.

they had me scoot over from my hospital bed to the surgery table, and had my arms out to the sides crucifix style. i thought this was really funny and made a note to remember it after surgery.

i recall a few more moments of them rechecking my charts but then the next thing i remember is coming out of anesthesia and seeing my dad and the lights overheard being really bright. someone took off my oxygen mask but i think i was having trouble waking up so they had to put it back on so i would breathe.

they tried to sit me up too fast and i almost passed out so i was given water and gatorade (that i brought from home) and they very slowly raised my bed. my throat was really sore during this time and i remember the gatorade burning as i drank but it was better than the water.

coming out of anesthesia was long and i remember being irritated at it taking so much time and making everyone wait for me. i was also the second to last person in the recovery room (there was a lady next to me coughing a lot, the nurses were saying she was a handful).

my dad told me the doctor told him it was a super easy surgery and it made a difference that i was "lean". he said i might not have fluid in my drains by monday (surgery was on friday) but they wanted to be absolutely sure that i wasn't draining anymore before taking them out.

we talked with the nurse for a while as i caught my breath and could sit up again, and my dad ran to the pharmacy downstairs to pick up my muscle relaxer meds before we left. the nurse talked to me about my transition and stuff like that. i didn't mind because i was still pretty out of it.

when my dad came back they got me a wheelchair but made sure i could stand and could walk to the wall without falling. i was pretty weak but made it steadily. i was surprised how mobile i was. my dad helped me get dressed but i didn't need much assistance.

my dad pulled the car around the front while the nurse wheeled me down to him, and we chatted as we went. the whole hospital was empty and it looked closed. he pulled my chair right up to the car and helped me in, and we thanked him a few times before leaving. he kept repeating if there was any issue with drains coming out to come back to this hospital.

the drive home was fine, and when we got back my dad insisted on taking the dogs out so i could get out of the car. he helped me out and eased me inside to my room. my mom gave me soup though i wasn't too hungry. i chilled in bed for a few hours before falling asleep and my dad showed everyone how to empty the drains. my mom was grossed out but not too much.

i ended up eating about half an edible to help me fall asleep and manage some of the discomfort, but i could have done without it. i had to pee a LOT during the night because of how many IV bags they'd given me. right when i came out of surgery they told me it was good i was dehydrated because it meant i had followed the instructions on not drinking nor eating since midnight the night before.

i was a little worried about wiping myself but my arms were very mobile and i could do it no problem.

i took a bit of tylenol but none of my prescriptions because the pain was very manageable.

sleeping on my back was the hardest part as i was supposed to be sitting up, and my neck was killing me even with my travel pillow. my butt was also really sore so the next morning i made an effort to walk around a bit. having a big squishy pillow under my butt while i slept also helped with the soreness and by day two it was fine. i stretched my legs a lot and tried to lay down as little as i could.

june 22, saturday

morning after surgery

night 1 wasn't great! i woke up a lot to go pee and it was uncomfortable laying sitting up. my neck ended up hurting a lot from the travel pillow. this morning brutus wanted to be with me so bad and i felt bad sleeping without him. i had to maneuver him around so he was on my lap and not my chest because he wanted to be close.

my incisions hurt a bit but it's not unbearable. it feels like the night after i made a big self harm cut, stings and i don't want to jostle them.

the rice krispy definitely helped last night with pain and relaxation and falling asleep, and i'm surprised it didn't give me anxiety or a bad dream.

i don't like sleeping on my back. i woke up around 3 to pee and didn't get back to sleep until almost 5. i was thinking about food to eat the whole time.

i really want ihop pancakes and syrup.

i'm getting little sharp shoots of pain on parts of my chest but they're not too bad and hopefully they mean i'm healing. i'm hopeful they're where my nipples are.

i really should have brought cough drops to the hospital, my throat was very sore after intubation.

i feel electrodes still stuck to my upper chest and i want them off, they're irritating. (i ended up peeling them off a few hours later)

it's still tough to pee but i've been taking short walks around the house to stretch my legs. i. get tired easily so they don't last more than a few minutes. still haven't taken any of my prescribed pain meds, but the pain is getting worse i think. people are telling me the pain will get worse tomorrow.

i've been vaping thc and taking tylenol to manage the pain and they make me sleepy so i've been taking 2-2.5 hour naps and then getting up to pee and snack.

i took a norco pill in the afternoon but i dont think i needed it. i didn't feel much of an effect from it at all, but it did make me sleepy. that evening i went for a bit of a walk around the front yard.

june 23, sunday

i didn't sleep very well again last night but it was better than the day before. i think having a soft pillow under my butt helped with the soreness and i didn't need the travel pillow as much as i did yesterday with my naps. i still woke up disoriented a lot from my 2 hour naps

i stayed up till like midnight and then just passed out from exhaustion so i didn't wake up very much during the night to pee. this morning i woke up very refreshed but feeling gross physically. i cleaned out my own drains, had papa clean my shoulders and put on my testosterone, and megan dry shampoo my hair. i still haven't pooped but i'm not making too much of an effort. j think i'll take laxatives today.

thus far the pain isn't too bad. last night i had little twinges of sharp pain along my sides near my armpits but haven't had any since. taking deep breaths is getting harder because the incisions are getting more sore and my back is hurting from the binder.

this morning when we drained my drains one of them had barely anything in it which is good

update: i did poop a bit. i've been peeing a lot today.

i haven't napped at all but my arms are getting painful from being squeezed from the binder.

having that shower in a bottle has helped keep me feeling fresh and clean. i may take a sponge bath sometime this week. hygiene is keeping me feeling good, i brushed my teeth and washed my face with actual soap earlier which helped me feel good.

june 24, monday

i'm very sleepy today. i washed myself again with the shower in a bottle and i woke up itchy. i took a long nap in the middle of the day and i'm still pretty out of it and tired. i woke up last night only twice to have diarrhea from the ex lax chocolate papa got me yesterday.

i didn't have a lot of fluid in my drains this morning but it was more than yesterday.

my right drain keeps coming undone. i took another nap today and once i woke up i saw it was completely inflated. i fixed it pretty easily but it's strange it keeps happening.

ive been having binding pains a lot today from being compressed so tight. it hurts mostly when i stand up.

i gave myself a sponge bath today and washed my hair in the sink! i think that activity drained me because afterwards i took a 2 hr nap. i keep feeling like i'm sleeping a lot but all my naps are quite short.

june 25, tuesday

today i had a bit more pain where the drain sites are. it stings and burns a bit but it's not unbearable, just very uncomfortable. it happens regardless of the arm positioning.

i'm getting a lot more tingling/pins and needles over my chest but my actual incisions don't hurt. my ribs and back are killing me from the binder soreness, and i've been tired but not enough to sleep. every time i get up it kind of resets the pain so i'm trying not to adjust a lot.

i feel like i've been eating a lot of crap the past few days so im trying to be more mindful about eating more protein and less refined sugar

also, my chest was very itchy so i put my hand down the front of my vest to scratch it and i couldn't feel anything. it felt like when a limb falls asleep too hard to even be pins and needles and just turns numb. it made me uncomfortable so i only did it a few more times.

i have less energy to walk today than i did yesterday, but not tired enough to sleep. i'll definitely take more of the sleepy antihistamines to sleep tonight.

june 26, wednesday

not much new stuff to update on today. i took two norco pills because one didn't do anything and i almost passed out, i got super lightheaded and nauseous and had to lie down for a while to let my brain catch up.

we took the dogs on a walk to the gate and my chest felt weird walking but not in a totally bad way, i just had to go a little slower so i didn't jostle anything.

i'm so excited for friday! i can't wait to get my drains out.

pain has been pretty minimal today though i did take a few naps. i haven't smoked today at all because i wanna keep my brain clear and save my weed and there hasn't been a huge difference in pain.

my muscles feel very good today and it doesn't hurt to stretch my shoulders and reach for things as much.

drain sites are still very itchy and kinda sore. not a lot of fluid but i noticed the right side hasn't been inflating as much! i think it just needed to be milked and cleaned better.

june 27, thursday

the pain has been the worst today by far. i was draining a lot and found out that exercise or excessive movement will cause more drainage, and i did go on a longish walk yesterday with my mom and the dogs. i ended up taking tylenol, flexeril, hit my pen, and had the rest of the rice krispy treat just to dull the pain. it's starting to go away now but i'm still getting like stinging throbs and aches where my drains are. i'm definitely taking painkillers before we go tomorrow!!

i'm worried the excess drainage means that they'll want me to keep the drains in longer. i rally hope not, they're the one thing causing me pain.

i looked at my chest this morning and last evening and there's a little blood bubble inside the plastic they taped me up with on my left side. i can see my chest too, with all the surgeon marks and the edges of the incisions. it does look like he curved under the pec muscle. i was expecting straight line incisions, though i'm sure i'll warm up to it.

i've been very weak and light headed today, and when i stand up i need to take a minute to let the stars go away out of my vision.

june 28, friday

today's the day! we're leaving soon to go to kaiser for my one week post op. i really hope they take the drains out despite the spike in fluid i had the other day from going on that walk.

i'm very tired today and feeling very lazy. usually i want to bathe in the mornings but today i feel so gross i don't want to do anything. i managed to get myself out of bed today to do my laundry but that's as much work as i could manage.

later; they ended up not taking the drains out because of the spike in fluids from going on a walk the other day. they want to be 100% sure that there's less than 20mg over two or three days so i'm making an appointment for monday.

Monday update: got the drains out. Completely painless and not uncomfortable -- didn’t have much sensation in the area and the nurse distracted me so I didn’t notice her removing them. The worst part was her cleaning the area with alcohol beforehand.

#speaks #top surgery #surgery #post op #recovery #long post #cw

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chatlote · 6 years ago

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Not much to say except hope you had a good weekend, thank you again for your support and hope you enjoy this chapter !

(<-Previous) (First) (Commissions) (Ko-fi) (On AO3) (Instagram)

Lance didn’t sleep much that night. There were many possible reasons for this; The two main ones probably being the fact he spent the day taking half-assed naps and all the anxiety of Keith’s letter along with the reply that Lance wrote and gave him. He can’t stop rolling around in bed and thinking, hoping that the reply was good enough to get his point across, to not scare Keith away. This was his one chance at possibly ending up… oh- Quickly, he sits up on the bed, the reality of the situation really catching up to him this time. “We might end up dating.” Because this wasn’t going to be only trading ‘I love you’s’ all the time would it? “Oh no.” It’s not that he doesn’t like the idea, quite the opposite; obviously, since he wrote all those letters because he certainly wouldn’t mind dating Keith. He’s just shaken by the fact that this is actually real life, and no longer a fantasy in his lovesick mind where he has some level of control. Lance reminds himself that he said they would take things slow in the letter. “Calm down.” He tells himself. “You don’t even know what he thinks yet.” He looks at the letter on his stationery, and aware he won’t be able to fall asleep; Lance gets up and grabs the letter before quickly returning to bed. There, he stays awake through most of the night, re-reading Keith’s words while smiling like a fool. It’s weird how this simple piece of paper makes him feel so anxious, happy and calm all at once, he loves it.

He has no idea when he actually ends up falling asleep, but when Lance wakes up he still has the letter in his hand and it still definitely feels too early to be awake. Taking a quick look at his bedroom clock, he finds out he’s right. However, he wouldn’t say that’s a bad thing, because according to the time Keith is already awake. Unless he’s skipping morning training - something that usually only happens when they have been fighting for several days straight or Keith has fallen asleep somewhere in someplace that isn’t his bedroom (like yesterday at the Bridge). So a little too sleep deprived to make sound life decisions, Lance follows his first impulse of getting up and leaving his room to go find Keith.

It’s only when he is facing the training room door that he is slightly more awake to start doubting himself, again, wondering if he should just go into hiding and never face Keith again. Maybe his reply was awful or maybe Keith didn’t even mean anything that was in that letter. Fortunately, he is still more sleep than awake. So he tells his negative side to shut up (because it’s too early to deal with this) and opens the door. Lance’s earlier suspicions were right, he realizes as he finds himself staring at Keith eye to eye, who had reacted at the sound of the door opening. “Hey.” He says. “Hey,” Keith replies, slowly approaching Lance. The closer he gets the more Lance realizes that he doesn’t have any actual topic to talk about, or well, no topic that isn’t somehow related with the letters. “So uh-! You are bleeding!” He realizes when Keith is only a few feet away. Along with his cheek scar a thin line of blood slides. “Wh-“ “Come here-” He grabs Keith’s arm, dragging him to the corner where they keep medical supplies. Keith doesn’t stop him. He orders Keith to sit down while he grabs what is necessary. It’s only when he turns around that he notices that Keith is fidgeting his thumb and index finger and staring somewhere else. Lance remembers the position they are currently in and feels a little awkward himself. “Do you want to… take care of it yourself?” Keith shakes his head. “No, it’s… it’s fine.” Carefully Lance gets closer and starts taking a look at the wound, gently touching Keith’s cheek. His skin is warm, and he doesn’t know if it’s only in his head, but he feels like Keith leaned into the touch. “You have to take care of this scar better; don’t you know how fragile burn scars can be?” “Sorry.” “It’s… not your fault.” Lance says while starting to disinfect and treat the wound. “What happened?” “I don’t know.” Keith shrugs; his voice is calm. Obviously not that worried about the bleeding. “It was probably while I was distracted.” He smiles. “Not usual for you to be distracted in a fight.” “Yeah well… I finished writing the reply.” With that, Lance’s hands stop moving.

(Next ->)

#love letters au #klance #laith #believe it or not the original ending of this chapter was an even worse cliffhanger #sorry #i promise we will get to really fluff soon #probably

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tibbygetsrekt · 5 years ago

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Guess who went to their first Pride today! Guess who also has HELLA social anxiety but was determined to do it anyways? This guy. So while I was at work trying not to think about it I wrote a thing! And then I went to Pride in South Dakota of all places and it was pretty damned amazing tbh. Anyways fic using self insert in the TF2 fandom with Heavy below the cut.

Ta, Tiberius

“Assassin?’

They heard the team calling for them, but couldn’t move. They were exhausted. From smiling, from everyone being too close, being touched, touching other people. They were wore the fuck out and had no inclination to answer anyone. Instead they were curled up inside the crate that Sasha was resting on.

It was safe there, no one would touch Sasha, and would avoid the room to make sure Heavy didn’t think that they touched Sasha. Moving to lay on their stomach, Assassin dropped their head onto their arm, thumb pressing the volume up on their phone, music crooning through their ears, and just tried to make the world go away.

And didn’t realize they’d fallen asleep until vibrations coming through the ground alerted them to someone coming. To be honest they weren’t even sure the team liked them, they always seemed to be on, always loud, always on some other bullshit. But they couldn’t help themselves being surrounded all the time with so many people. Even three people could be considered too many.

Turning the music down to be able to actually hear, they lifted their head and fought the urge to scoot back in the crate. Don’t move and they’ll go away, don’t speak and they won’t hear you. The light flicked on, and Assassin flinched, blinking a few times before being able to see properly.

There was one person who would go near Sasha, watching Heavy’s boots begin walking towards the crate. Trying to make themselves smaller despite the fact he couldn’t see them, Assassin could still feel their anxiety digging its claws into the back of their neck.

“I know you are here, Assassin.’

They didn’t answer, feeling their throat clench as the anxiety spiked all over again. They trusted Heavy, even when he was furious he’d never actually kill them. But the idea of those hands touching them, even just to drag them out of the box made them feel panicked. The boots moved out of sight, and part of them relaxed, a small part that was dumb and thought out of sight meant safe.

Assassin’s phone fell from their hand as Sasha was moved, the crate rocking. Looking up they saw Heavy’s fingers curl around the lip of the crate and only had a moment to realize what he meant to do before their world shifted as he flipped the crate upright. Without a side of the box to block the bulb, it was too bright, and Assassin’s eyes teared up, crouching down in the crate and covering their head with both arms.

“Ah… it is that time.’

They heard something that didn’t make much sense, a few things, and they yanked out their earbuds trying to rally the outlandish personality they put on for the rest of the team. But they hadn’t had enough time to recharge their battery.

Lightbulb, shattered. Chair, dragged. Heavy, sat. Their mind finally registered the sounds they’d heard, wiping at their face hurriedly before lifting their head again. It was dark in the room, but they could make out Heavy’s silhouette above them, his arms crossed on the rim of the crate.

“Did you eat today?’

“No.’ They scowled up at his grunt. “I wasn’t hungry.’

“You are never hungry when you should be, toksichnyy tsvetok.’

That was fair, Assassin wrapping their earbuds and cord around their phone. But they stayed crouched low in the box, even though their body was screaming for a hug. It was also still screaming don’t touch me, and Assassin sniffled against their better judgment. Heel of their hand swiping at their cheeks, they reached up to grab the opposite lip of the crate and stood to perch on it.

“How did you know where to find me?’

“When you were not on the fridge, or in the rafters, or any of your other ridiculous places, I thought you might be… dealing.’

“That’s a nice way of putting it, yeah.’ Sniffing, swiping at their nose with their wrist, they could still hear the rest of the team calling for them.

“I do not understand your other places, you hate heights. Very much. Why?’

“Because I hate that I hate them, I didn’t used to.’

“Ah, facing your fears. That is a good thing.’ He still hadn’t moved, and they suddenly realized that he was talking softly.

“And if I jump you catch me.’ They added, a poor effort to put back on the over enthusiastic mask they wore. The smile didn’t last a second, their hand slowly moving towards where his arms were stacked before pulling back. “And, y’know because I sometimes pretend I fell and you caught me.’

“I will always catch you.’

Their chest clenched tightly, feeling the hot prick of tears in their eyes.

“Well I am a trained assassin, dontcha know, I could probably pull off a three point landing if I wanted.’

“Yes, and ruin your knees for your old age.’

They couldn’t argue that, legs swinging gently, heels lightly thumping against the box. Outside the door they heard someone run past calling for them, and froze, head snapping towards the door in case they came back to check the room. They didn’t, and Assassin slowly relaxed again, looking back towards Heavy’s silhouette.

“You are feeling a little better, yes?’

“Yeah, no I’m feeling a lot better.’ They lied, a tight smile he couldn’t see. “Just needed a bit of quiet to get my head back together, y’know.’

“I do know.’ He chuckled. “It’s always amusing watching you lose the battle, because you never seem to notice until it is too late.’

“So glad I can amuse you, Heavy. My only life mission.’

“I know it’s bad, that you are hurting yourself, but the little twitches, and too bright smiles, they are amusing.’

“No, yeah no I get it. A laugh riot, eh.’ Swinging their legs over the crate’s side to get out of the box entirely, they were caught off guard by hands wrapping around their waist.

Reacting, they squirmed and twisted, feet straining to touch ground, Assassin let out a cough when they were suddenly hugged tightly.

“Jeez! What is this?’ More squirming did nothing, finally going limp as they crossed their arms over their chest.

“It is better I laugh at this then get concerned.’ Heavy’s chin rested on their shoulder, ignoring their sulking. “When I get concerned I get angry, and I would begin punching anyone who cannot tell you need to get away.’

“Oh.’

They could see that happening, Heavy suddenly punching Soldier in the face for being too loud, Scout for how fast he was talking, Medic for getting into their personal space, Spy for staring too long… the entire fort would find itself flipped upside out.

“You’d do that for me?’ Unaware that they were rubbing their cheek against his, Assassin tried to shake the image of Heavy on a rampage. “You’ve known them longer though-’

“Which is why I try to find your pain cute, so I do not murder my comrades.’

“That’s… oofta that’s so sweet!’ Dramatically laying a hand over their heart, Assassin laughed when he grunted and put them down finally.

Turning they reached up to cup his face, going on tip toe to press a kiss to his lower lip. They weren’t prepared to find themself crushed against him, his arms right as he hugged them.

“I worry that one day you will leave and not find your way back on a very bad day.’

“What? That’s crazy talk, yeah? I’m like a wild cat you fed, and now you’re stuck with me.’ Arms wrapping around his shoulders, they nuzzled against his neck. It was hard to be scared of anything when Heavy held them.

“You need a safe word.’

“I have one! It’s Cary Grant, but I didn’t think you were into that sorta thing… Seems more Medic’s thing, or Scout… …. Maybe Spy.’

“Nyet, I mean for when everything becomes too much. Something for you to say, so I can help you leave before it gets really bad.’

“That’s…’ they wanted to say dumb, but… “Okay, so if I notice, then I should say… …. ……. I dunno?’

“Sasha.’ Assassin pulled back a bit, staring at him in the dark. “If it starts becoming too much you say Sasha, and I will chase you from the room. It will look like a game to our comrades. Or I will yell that you touched Sasha again and chase you from the room if you are pushing yourself too far.’

“I think you just like yelling at me, you big oaf.’ They let their head fall back onto his shoulder but didn’t sound angry, they sounded amused.

“You like my yelling.’ He said as he nuzzled their neck, finally putting them down. “You have very strange tastes, toksichnyy tsvetok.’

“I’m wired all sorts of wrong, so that’s no surprise.’ When Heavy began to move towards the door, they didn’t follow.

He stopped, turning around.

“Can we stay here a bit longer?’

“Yes.’

Going back to the chair he sat, reaching out to pull them to sit on his knee, an arm around their waist. Lifting their legs, they rested their feet on his other leg and leaned against him.

“This is not a good place to sleep.’

“I’m not sleepy, I just don’t want to-’

“When you are dealing, you get very tired. I will not be surprised when you fall asleep in a few minutes.’

“I will not!’

But they did, not even five minutes sitting in the dark, cuddled close to Heavy’s chest, Assassin fell asleep, one hand clutching at Heavy’s shirt. Rolling his eyes, he tucked his other arm under their knees and stood. It took him a moment to get the door opened, lips twitching with amusement when Assassin shifted, pressing their face against his chest at the sudden light but didn’t wake.

“So you found them.’ Spy stated, a cigarette hanging from the edge of his mouth. “Curled up with your Sasha?’

“Yes.’

“Mm, I thought as much. You might want to hurry, Scout is due to run through here any moment looking for them.’

Sighing, Heavy nodded and carried the sleeping assassin to his room and kicked the door shut. They refused to let go, so he sat down and awkwardly scooted back on his bed, laying down with them half sprawled across him. It wasn’t until after he was somewhat comfortable that he thought of the blanket he was laying on. His room was always cold, he liked it that way. And Assassin was from a cold state, and didn’t seem to mind at all as they shifted until their face was tucked against his neck.

“You are going to get cold, toksichnyy tsvetok.’ In response they cuddled closer.

That was all he was going to get, Assassin mumbling nonsense in their sleep. Letting out an exasperated noise, Heavy rolled with an arm wrapped around them, and half laid across them instead, fighting a smile as they let out a soft contented noise. He would worry about the blanket later, it was good they were finally getting sleep.

#self insert #self shipping #tibby’s library ;; f/o fics #( bullets on the chessboard )#anxiety cw #it was a really rough day #i don't like being around a ton of people #i hate being out in the sun at all #if you need me to go outside call my bitch ass at dusk

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stupid-jeans · 6 years ago

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Well. It’s not fic (not really) but I’m posting this here anyway mostly for me. This is...really heavily veiled RPF. And it’s not relevant to any of my recent fandoms. If you can figure it out um...you get a medal. This is a verse my wife and I wrote in almost nonstop for 10-something years. And I missed it so this is what happened. It’s not the beginning, it’s not the end. *shrug*

CW for mentions of rape/sexual assault/PTSD/flashbacks/disassociating/war related violence, but nothing major.

Matt didn't expect that going back up the Hudson would cause a problem. Why would it? Nothing happened there. And he was fine. He'd been fine for several months now. He almost didn't think about it every day anymore (it helped that he'd left, that his time in the army was done), and things were good.

So he went upstate to visit his brother, because being away, being in a war zone, had made him want to mend whatever was left of the wreckage of bridges he'd burned with his younger siblings. If he was being totally honest, spending so much time in California played just as big of a role as the war had. His siblings didn't deserve to pay for the fact that his mom died. And it had been twenty fucking years already. It was definitely time to bury the hatchet.

Everything went okay until they decided to go to the bar, on a Friday night of a three day weekend. Everything was fine until he'd been brushed up against twenty too many times while playing pool, until Jimmy's buddies were ragging on him for playing a shit game, until some guy with an army-issued buzz cut stumbled into him walking out of the bathroom, and the next thing he knew, Jimmy and two of his buddies were hauling Matt off the guy and dragging him out of the bar. The shock of the cold air snapped him out of it, and then he was shaking and fighting the urge to run and Jimmy just looked worried. Fuck.

"I'm...gonna call Wes?" Jimmy offered, and Matt almost objected, until he thought about the potential damage he could do to his little brother's career over the next 48 hours. So he nodded instead, handing Jimmy his phone. His voice wouldn't work yet, and with how badly his hands were still shaking, there was no way he'd be able to text.

So his brother called his boyfriend and then they walked back to Matt's hotel and Jimmy stood by the door, still looking worried (and also overwhelmingly like their father, and that wasn't something Matt was ready to process right now).

"You can't stand there all night," Matt said finally. Jimmy nodded but didn't move. "I didn't know tonight was going to happen or I wouldn't have come."

Jimmy softened immediately and it was all Linda, Jimmy's mom, and Matt felt a pang of guilt for all the times he'd pushed his stepmother away.

"I don't give a shit about that," Jimmy promised. "Are you okay? I mean, what the hell happened?"

"I can't, okay? I'm sorry." At least he hadn't said it was nothing. A step in the right direction.

"Being over there...it really fucked you up, huh?" Jimmy finally moved to the couch, sinking into it.

"I...guess you could say that," Matt agreed, because it was true. Not the way Jimmy was thinking, because it wasn't the sand or the heat or the bombs that got him. It wasn't patching up bullet wounds or picking fragments of IEDs out of his friends that kept him up at night.

No, as it had turned out, the real enemy had looked just like him. A home-grown farm boy from Oklahoma, just trying to make his family proud. And have a little fun on the side. Whether the other participant was willing or not. And Matt had definitely not been willing.

He was shaking again before he realized.

"Matt." Jimmy's voice was even, quiet, just enough to pull him back. He breathed and unclenched his fists, realizing for the first time that his knuckles were bruised. From decking the guy in the bar. His stomach twisted. "What can I do for you?"

"I don't know," Matt admitted. "Water, maybe?"

Jimmy brought him a plastic cup from the bathroom. "You know I love you, right?"

And that caught him off guard, because Jimmy wasn't exactly the type to get all sappy. Or maybe he was, and Matt had just never been on the receiving end. He was once again struck by how little he knew his half brother.

"Yeah. Yeah, I love you too."

They watched a movie with the volume on low, all the lights on, plenty of space between them, until Wes showed up several hours later. Matt took his first real breath since leaving the bar. The world blinked mostly back into focus, and Matt vowed never to come up here alone again.

A week later, he was only just recovering. Wesley had mandated he go to his therapist, and he had. He was doing all the right things, but this wasn't like medication. It didn't just get better. There wasn't just two steps back, there were fifty, and, though he'd stumbled forward again a bit, now he'd stalled.

There was exactly one number he could call that stood a shot at helping him, but he was wary. Wary because everything was so damn complicated. Wary because, of course the only person he wanted to talk to was his boyfriend's sister's ex. But after pacing the living room for well over two hours, barely keeping a panic attack and an almost guaranteed dissociation at bay, Matt caved and sent Ingrid a text, having no idea if she'd respond or not.

His phone rang less than two minutes later.

"Do you want me to come over?" Ingrid asked. "Are you home?"

"I...yeah. Um, that would be great," Matt mumbled, finally giving up on pacing and sinking onto the couch instead, still tense, still fighting the wave of dread in his chest, but one step closer to winning.

"Okay. Just, do me a favor and unlock the door for me? I'll stay on the phone until I get there, but I need you to do that, okay?" Ingrid said, and Matt flashed back to barricading himself in Wesley's bedroom in California, to Delaney unlocking the door from the outside, which Matt hadn't even known was possible, to resurfacing on the other side of a nasty episode with his hand to Delaney's throat, pinning her up against the wall, and Ingrid there, calmly talking him back to himself somehow, until he'd let go. "Matt." Her voice was just as calm now, gently coaxing him back to reality. "It's okay. We're all okay."

"Yeah," Matt whispered. It had been five years and he still wasn't sure that was true. "Okay, it's unlocked."

Ingrid kept her promise and stayed on the line until he heard the door open. "I'm really glad you called," she said, tucking her phone into her purse. "It's good to see you. Despite the circumstances."

He smiled a little, standing to greet her. "You too. I, um...thanks for coming. I wasn't sure..."

"Look." Ingrid stopped him. "Whatever happened between me and Delaney has nothing to do with me and you, okay? You can always call me and I will always be here for you. Just like you'll always be there for me, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Matt agreed easily.

"You think I can get a hug?"

And honestly, it meant the world to Matt that Ingrid wanted him to touch her at all. He hugged her, more tension ebbing out of him.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" Ingrid murmured once they pulled away.

So Matt did. And even though he'd told the same story to Wes, and his therapist, and his sister, it felt better telling it to Ingrid. Because of all those people, she was the only one who really understood.

"Fucking triggers," Ingrid muttered once he'd finished.

"More to add to the list, I guess," Matt sighed.

"But we're here," Ingrid said. "And they get better."

"Do they?"

"Yeah," Ingrid said. "I mean, the other night, after a show, I went out to a bar with some of the girls. I didn't need my meds, I had a few drinks, I took the subway home alone, and I didn't even notice until the next morning."

"You're a fucking warrior," Matt declared, sliding his arm around her as she leaned against him.

"I know you are, but what am I?" Ingrid teased.

Huffing out a laugh, Matt rolled his eyes. "Let's not wait until the next middle of the night trauma crisis to see each other again?"

"Should be a lot easier now that you're not all the way in fucking North Carolina," Ingrid murmured.

"You should stay tonight," Matt suggested.

"Um, yeah, if you think I'm going home at...3:30 in the morning, you're insane."

"You can take my bed. I'll stay out here." Matt gestured toward the bedroom.

Ingrid glanced at the door and then across the apartment at the other bedroom door. "That bad, huh?"

He hadn't slept with Wes since coming home. It was safer to sleep alone, to avoid the potential for issues. Though Wesley could overpower him much more readily than Delaney. Asking him to wasn’t fair.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"Okay. Will you come lay with me until I fall asleep, then?"

Ingrid had her own set of triggers, and Matt knew well enough that perhaps her biggest was sleeping somewhere unfamiliar. And they'd only just moved into this place when Ingrid and Delaney broke up. She'd been here maybe twice, and never overnight.

He obliged her gladly, sitting up against the headboard while she curled up beside him. "I'd say wake me up if you need anything, but I think maybe you'd be better off waking Wes," he murmured.

"Don't worry. I've been to this rodeo a time or fifty, remember?" Ingrid reassured him sleepily. "G'night, Matty."

"Night, Ingrid."

In the morning, he woke up to Wes making breakfast, talking quietly to Ingrid who was perched on the counter, sipping coffee out of an oversized mug. No nightmares, no anxiety.

He knew the instant Ingrid noticed he was awake, but she didn't acknowledge him. More things she'd learned, about letting him come around on his own. And Matt thought, not for the first time, that he'd never love anyone else the way he loved Ingrid.

"Morning," he greeted, joining them, kissing Wesley on the cheek, lingering against his back a couple of extra seconds. His boyfriend definitely noticed but he, too,kept quiet.

"Wes and I were just discussing the merits of sitting around and watching hockey all day," Ingrid explained, offering Matt her mug, which he took with a smile.

"As long as we stick to hockey," Matt said. "No baseball, no football. Got it?"

Hockey was the only sport they'd all ever agreed on.

Wes' phone went off and Ingrid glanced at it, her mouth twisting as she looked at the display. Delaney.

Wes seemed to figure it out right as Matt did and they both reached for the phone at the same time.

"Let me get it. You know anything in that pan'll burn if you leave it with me." It was enough for Wes to relent. So Matt took the phone and wandered back to the bedroom.

"Hey, Lane, it's Matt."

"What'd you do to my brother? You know what, don't answer that, I don't wanna know." Delaney's typical whirlwind of a conversation made Matt grin.

"Sorry to disappoint you but he's just making breakfast. Didn't really feel like burning the house down so you got me instead."

"You know I like you better anyway. Listen, I'm in the neighborhood so I'm gonna stop by. Bodega requests?"

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea…” Matt said, wincing a little.

“Trouble in paradise? My brother being a dick? You know I’ll come kick his ass if I need to…”

“No, it’s not that. Just...Ingrid’s here.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. If not for the sounds of traffic in the background, Matt would wonder if the line had disconnected.

“Oh.”

“I called her. I needed…” Matt sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. “Your brother shouldn’t be responsible for all my demons, Lane.”

“I get it. It’s fine. We’re adults, right?”

“Something like that.” He chuckled. It still didn’t feel like he’d grown up at all some days.

“So, I’ll let you have your morning. Tell Wes I said hi. And Ingrid too, I guess.”

“Very adult,” he teased.

“I try. And Matty? I get it. Maybe not exactly, but I understand why you need her. I’m glad you have each other.”

Matt’s chest ached, for himself and how grateful he was for this family that had become his own, and for Delaney and Ingrid, who still loved each other but couldn’t seem to figure out how to make it work.

“Yeah, thanks.” He sniffed and tamped down on his emotions. There’d been enough of those lately. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“We got coffee yesterday, loser,” Lane pointed out, laughing.

“Love you too, jerk.”

“Whatever. Tell my brother to text me.”

And before he could respond, the line was dead. Typical.

When he returned to the kitchen, Ingrid was wiping away tears and the ache in his chest returned tenfold. Wes was comforting her, both of their mugs abandoned, the burner on the stove turned off.

“What happened?”

Ingrid waved him off even as Matt closed the space between them, pulling her into his chest.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. I miss her, that’s all.”

He knew better than to say Delaney missed her too, that the two of them just needed to get their shit together. They were soulmates, and everyone seemed to know it but them.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know she’d be calling…” Wesley mumbled.

“Of course not. You don’t have to apologize for that. This is just...messy, that’s all. I think I’m gonna head home.”

“You don’t have to go,” Wes said. “Stay, have breakfast, watch hockey.”

“You sure?” Ingrid still looked skeptical.

“All this french toast isn’t gonna eat itself,” Matt declared, snatching up a piece off the plate and taking a generous bite.

“Something tells me you’d have no problem devouring every last piece of that with no help from me.” But Ingrid snagged her own piece and smiled. It felt mostly like old times and the tension that had been lingering in him since Hudson slowly ebbed.

After the game ended, while they were waiting on Wesley getting their pizza, Ingrid nudged him, snuggling against his shoulder.

“You should call him.”

“Who?”

“Jimmy.”

“Yeah?” Matt wondered how Ingrid had him so figured out.

“Maybe invite him down. I mean, they have to let them out of there at some point, right?” she teased.

“It’s a school, Ingrid, not a prison.”

“Exactly. So call him. Your territory. A little safer.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Alright.”

He half expected Jimmy not to answer as he nervously paced the living room. He could feel Ingrid decidedly not watching him from the couch, which helped, for some reason.

“Everything okay?” Matt could practically count on one hand the number of times he and Jimmy had spoken on the phone. All of them had been cursory greetings, usually while Matt was deployed, at the behest of Jimmy’s mom.

“Yeah. It’s fine. I’m fine.” It felt good not to lie. “Just kinda disappointed our weekend got cut short.”

“Yeah?”

“So, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to come down here? Do a weekend?”

“Like, in the city? Hell yeah.”

He must’ve been smiling, because he caught sight of Ingrid beaming back at him from the couch, and Matt wished he had a pillow to chuck at her.

As it turned out, mending bridges was a lot easier than he’d thought. There was work to be done, but today, it felt doable. That was a victory all in itself.

#excaliburandthelaundromat

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alixzin · 7 years ago

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Unfinished Medical Procedures Fic

In which Lin takes Alex to see a neurologist and has a series of brain tests done (EEG and MRI) to make sure nothing more serious is wrong. I wrote this last January while I was snowed in and highly productive. This was before I knew what in the verse to write and was doing a little of everything. I stopped working on it when “Where You Started” took over and demanded all my attention. At this point it’s been so long that I don’t know if I’ll ever go back to it, but it has some really nice moments that deserve to see the light of day, so here it is.

They are at first neurologist appointment, discussing tests he wants to run before prescribing medication to prevent migraines.

“It’s not at all scary, not like the MRI,” the doctor reassures them after expressing the need for an EEG. “All that happens is we attach electrodes, which look a bit like watch batteries, to different parts of your head with washable glue. Each one is attached to a wire that records the brain signals. You’ll just lie on a bed for an hour and your parents can stay with you.”

It’s starting to become a thing that every doctor they see refers to them as Alex’s “parents”, “Dad” or “Mom”. They’ve given up on correcting it.

“Now one part of an EEG that is challenging is that we intentionally put the brain under a lot of stress to increase the likelihood of catching unusual activity.”

Lin’s eyes widen at this and he gives Alex’s knee a squeeze. As if he doesn’t have enough stress on his brain already.

“What exactly does that mean? Can it be done without that?”

“It would just be a waste of time and money to be honest. The biggest aspect of this is sleep deprivation. For teens this means staying up for at least 24 hours beforehand.”

Alex full on rolls his eyes at this. Even Lin has to crack a smile. Alex would consider being allowed to stay up all night a special treat.

“I saw that look. It’s noted on his health history he has insomnia. Is staying up like that typical for Alexander?”

“Very. If we aren’t policing him Alex will go a full week with only a couple of hours of sleep.”

“That does not sound at all healthy and increases my worries about unusual brain activity. I’d be interested to see what’s going on in his head when that’s happening.” Wouldn’t we all. “If we’re going to do this, it’s best to do it right. Do you think Alexander could tolerate going 48 hours?”

“Alexander’s right here, you know!”

Lin grins. He loves Alex’s sassy side.

“What do you think Alex?”

“Please. That’s cake. I can go longer if you want.”

“No!” Lin and Vanessa say at the same time.

Alex is confident in his ability (and likely ecstatic to be allowed to stay up that long), but Lin can’t help but be nervous that this might not end well.

There’s a catch. Of course, there’s a catch. When Lin finally reads through the info packet on the test the night before Alex starts the sleep purge one detail jumps out at him: absolutely no caffeine.

Alex’s entire existence is powered by mass quantities of caffeine, which is one of the many things they have in common. Him and Vanessa have figured out that even when Alex is home sick or recovering from a bad migraine he still needs coffee, or else caffeine withdrawal symptoms get added to his illness. With all his anxiety cutting back on Alex’s consumption has been on the “things with Alexander that need to be addressed” list for a while now, but they haven’t gotten to it yet. Partially because that would mean Lin going through coffee detox with him to avoid looking like a huge hypocrite and partially because then they would lose their most powerful Alex negotiation tool. Need to convince him to do something he doesn’t want to? Bribe with extra coffee. Need to get Alex to stop an unhealthy behavior like refusing to go to bed? Threaten to take away his coffee. In their defense they are very new to this whole parenting thing.

He does try to convince Alex to back out of this and just do the twenty-four hours, but once Alex gets something in his head as a personal challenge there is no backing out.

The pamphlet recommended having an adult stay up with him to make sure he doesn’t sleep, but they all know that with Alex on the first night it’s not at all necessary. They’ll save that for the second night, if for nothing else then to keep him company and show solidarity.

The next morning over breakfast all Lin has to do is take one look at Alex to know this is proving more difficult than they had anticipated, taking in how pale he is and the already increased size of the bags under his eyes.

“Alex, you’re not going to school today.”

“What? No, I’m fine.”

“Even so, I’d really prefer if you didn’t, mijo.” He wants Alex near him just in case something goes wrong.

Lin’s concerned that if he leaves Alex home alone he might accidently fall asleep, which would normally please him, but that would just mean having to start this whole thing all over again. However, since Alex isn’t actually sick, Lin can’t quite justify taking the day off with him (given how many times he’s done that already), so he quickly comes to the decision to have Alex tag along with him all day. Besides it would probably be better if Alex was up and about doing things all day.

[Insert fluff of spending day together and finally meeting the cast for real. I’ll get to it!]

- Spoiler from nearly a year later, nope never did, oops.

Later on in the day at the Public Theater backstage, Lin finally convinces Alex to formally meet a few people. Knocks on Daveed and Oaks door.

“Hey Daveed, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is my…this is Alex.”

A man with one of the largest afro’s Alex has ever seen pops his head out. He looks familiar though.

“Alex. Good to finally meet you officially.”

“Hi.” Alex resists the urge to hide behind Lin. Not cool Alex. Not cool at all! You’re fifteen, not five.

“I’m glad to see you looking better. You really worried me a couple weeks ago.”

That’s it. He recognizes the voice now. This was the guy who called him “baby Lin” and had so frantically called Lin claiming he needed an ambulance. Alex could just about melt into the floorboards in embarrassment. What the heck is he supposed to say after meeting someone like that?

“Wait until you hear Daveed rap tonight Alex. The man’s a beast!” Lin gushes, completely oblivious to Alex’s humiliation. Or is it because of?

“Are you seeing the show tonight?”

Alex nods. Why is talking so hard?

“You’re in for a real treat! You’ve got a certified genius for a foster dad. Seriously, if anyone else had pitched this idea to me, I would have laughed at them, but because it’s Lin... Okay, I still laughed at him. Listen, I want to apologize for our last encounter Alex. We’ve been hearing Lin talk about you for so long, we were a little too eager, but shouldn’t have burst in like that. I’m sorry for the additional pain we caused you.”

Alex gapes at him. Nope—no idea how to respond to that either. He must look like such an idiot.

“Are you kidding?” cuts in Lin. “Daveed, you get that if you, Oak and Ramos hadn’t disregarded my orders to leave my kid alone, it probably would have been another hour before I checked on him? I don’t even want to think about what state he might have been in then. I am so incredibly grateful for your interference.”

Did Lin just call him his kid? What the hell is he supposed to think of that? This is his tweets referring to him as his ‘son’ all over again. Everyone had assumed he had meant Sebastian with that one, but sheesh. It flashes him back to the conversation he overhead Lin and Vanessa have about it while he was still recovering in bed.

“Oh come on, give me a break here! There are only 150 characters allowed. I don’t have room to put foster in front of it. Besides, the public doesn’t need to know about him.”

“You didn’t have to tweet about it at all.”

“People thought I was dying. I didn’t even give a goodnight tweet. I had to give some explanation.”

“And those fault is that? Lin, you have a twitter problem.”

Lin is very aware that Alex has never seen him preform outside of ‘In The Heights’ youtube clips he caught him watching, so he decides to still go on as Hamilton as planned. Instead they get a sitter for Sebastian so Vanessa can sit in the audience with Alex.

Alex is dazzled by the first act. Lin sees him from the stage go from drooping in his chair looking close to falling asleep to wide awake and hanging on every word by the second song. It makes for one of his best performances. Having Alex there and earning his approval matters so much more to him than any celebrity in the audience. What’s truly adorable is that when Vanessa brings him backstage during intermission Alex is acting shy and tongue tied around him, as if he’s suddenly star struck by his own foster dad. Lin’s not worried though, he knows it will pass the next time he annoys him.

“Did you really write that?” he asks shyly right before they leave to take their seats in the audience.

“I did.”

“How?!”

“It did take me seven years. If you like we can add a discussion of the writing process to our nights planned activities.”

“I’d like that.”

It takes him a while to notice since his back is turned to the audience for the second half of “The World Was Wide Enough”, but as soon as Lin comes forward his eyes zero in right on Alex. He’s bawling his eyes out and Vanessa is starting to look worried. Lin’s distracted enough by this that he misses his cue and grabs Pippa’s hand at the wrong time. At least he doesn’t have to sing anymore. Lin doesn’t know how he could do it when his Alexander is in the front row crying like that. During the bows he makes eye contact with Vanessa who shoots him a panicked look. She holds up her phone to indicate that she sent him a text, which he nods at in confirmation. Once they’ve gone through the motions, he all but sprints off stage to get to his phone.

“Bit of a situation here. Alex *freaked out* when you got shot. Flashback maybe?”

“Stay put for now. Don’t try to navigate the crowds. I’ll meet you there once it clears out a bit. See if I can get security to move things along.”

“Did you hear him scream when Burr shot you?”

That was Alex? Shit! On most nights at least one person shouts out when that happens so it was barely registered. In retrospect, it did sound a little more anguished than normal.

“You didn’t say you were going to die!” Alex wails, clinging tightly to Lin in a death grip.

“I’m sorry. It’s common knowledge that he dies in a duel. I thought you knew. Leslie even says he shoots me in the first song.”

“Shoots! Not kills!”

Would give him a sedative if it wouldn’t make staying up any longer impossible.

“Alex honey, you’re exhausted. Your emotions are all out of sorts right now. It was stupid of me to think seeing the show tonight would be a good idea.”

“No, I’m glad I saw it. It’s a masterpiece. You just need to change the ending.”

“Mijo, this isn’t just something I made up. You can’t rewrite the endings on a real person’s life and make it happy.”

“Then you need to play a different part where you don’t get shot.”

“It’s not real.”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want you getting shot at every night.”

Too exhausted to hold back emotions that night Alex ends up telling him about the cousin who took him in and moved them to New York after the hurricane and shot himself in the head soon after. That’s how Alex ended up in the American foster care system and why he’s not at all a fan of guns.

Alex is not satisfied until he gets to examine the prop gun and confirm that it can’t hold bullets that someone who dislikes Lin might sneak in. Even so, they have to get the props department to remove the trigger to reassure Alex he’s not really being shot at and make it so that if someone replaced a prop gun with a real one it would be obvious. Even after all that, it’s clear Alex doesn’t trust Leslie.

It’s past midnight and Alex and Lin are holed up in a café getting desert.

“Alexander, I know you don’t like talking about these things, but do you think you could fill me in a little on what happened tonight? That was a pretty big reaction.”

“I don’t like guns,” Alex mutters, taking a sip of his herbal tea. Even though it doesn’t provide the caffeine fix he takes comfort from the ritual of drinking a hot beverage. It gives him courage.

“Can you tell me more?”

“My cousin Peter shot himself in the head while I was in the next room. There was a loud bang, I ran in and he was on the ground. There was so much blood.”

This is a huge breakthrough. Alex has never shared anything about his past with them. All they know is the bare facts: his father’s not in the picture, his mother died quite suddenly of “natural causes”, cousin who was given guardianship of him committed suicide and he’d suffered unimaginable abuse at the hands of his most recent foster family. The exact details of these occurrences are foggy and until now Alexander hasn’t been willing to share.

“Do you think tonight was a flashback to that?” Lin tries to keep his tone mild and calm.

“Yeah…probably…” he looks so defeated. “When I hear a gunshot it’s like I’m back in that room again. Usually, like when Lee and Phillip were shot, I can talk myself out of it, remind myself it’s not real and I’m being stupid. But…when there was a gunshot and then you were keeled over... It looked like there was blood everywhere. I don’t think there was though. There was nothing to clean up after.”

“No Alex, there was no blood on stage.”

“All in my head,” he breathes heavily. The absolute exhaustion just oozes out of him. It’s clear all his defenses are down and Alex doesn’t have the energy to resist questioning. Lin will have to tread lightly.

“Do you think you could tell me more about Peter, mijo? Did he treat you okay?” Lin asks gently.

“I liked Peter. He was kind to me.” Alex stares down at his plate, not making any eye contact, but he talks. “After my mother died the probate court ordered all her possessions be auctioned off and the funds given to my half-brother, her legitimate son. Peter went to the auction and bought back all her books to give to me. He didn’t have to do that, I never asked him to and he never had much money, but he did anyway.”

“He sounds like a good guy,” Lin comments, encouraging him to go on.

“Peter was never stable though. His emotions were all over the place. He’d get really down sometimes and be too depressed to get out of bed for weeks. I ended up having to lie about my age and get a job so we could afford food and rent because he never went to work and couldn’t keep a job. When he got like that I’d have to bring him food or he wouldn’t eat at all. I used to worry all the time that he was going to die in bed like Mom. Sometimes he wouldn’t eat what I gave him, so I would force him and he’d yell at me to leave him alone to die.”

“How old were you when this happened, Alexander?”

“Twelve. I was twelve when I moved in with Peter.”

Over a year then. Over a year with that horribly depressing home life.

“It wasn’t always like that though. Sometimes Peter was full of energy. He was a lot of fun. He never slept much when he was like that and would take me out on wild late night adventures, sort of like we are now.” Alex smiles fondly. It’s clear that despite everything, he cared a great deal for the man. “Peter would get all these wild moneymaking schemes that he’d obsess over, but usually he’d get sad again before anything came of it. Except with moving to New York, that was the one plan he actually did and his mood didn’t change until a week after we moved.” Alex’s breath hitches in his throat. Lin can already see where this is going. “I don’t know where he got the gun…I should have kept a closer eye on him. I should have known the crash was coming.” Alex blinks rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling.

“Mijo, it wasn’t your fault. Not even a little. It sounds like Peter had severe bipolar disorder that was untreated. Do you know what that is?”

“I’ve heard of it,” Alex sniffs.

“You never should have been put in a situation to have to care for him like you did. He shouldn’t have been made responsible for a child in that state. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“I loved him.” At this the tears start running freely that Alex tries to rub away, though it makes no difference. Lin can’t hold back anymore and gets up from his seat across from him to pull Alex into a hug.

“I know honey, and that makes it so much worse.”

“I must not have mattered that much to him if he could kill himself and not care what happened to me.”

“He had a mental illness Alex. His brain was sick and not functioning properly. I don’t think he was capable of thinking of anything but his own misery at that moment. But it sounds like he did care about you a good deal.”

“He bought me back the books.”

“That’s right mijo, he bought you back your mother’s books. That sounds like a man who cared. Who loved you as much as he was able.”

Lin wishes so badly that this was the end of his trauma. That Alex was brought to live with them right after his cousin’s suicide, because surely all of that had been enough horror to last a lifetime. It’s not the end though. It’s not even close. After all of that Alexander’s story gets so much worse.

#Alex and Lin verse #unfinished story #read and comment

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ellymackay · 4 years ago

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5 Things to Know About Sleep and Psychological Health in the Coronavirus Pandemic

5 Things to Know About Sleep and Psychological Health in the Coronavirus Pandemic Find more on: Elly Mackay's Sleep Blog

More than half a year into the coronavirus pandemic, how are you sleeping? Are you up at night worrying about work, finances, family schedules, all of the above? Are you staying up late to take care of all the stuff you can’t get done during the day because of changes to your kids’ school schedules? Are you feeling isolated from friends, colleagues, extended family?

These are unprecedented times, with unprecedented challenges that are creating unprecedented stress and widespread problems for sleep. We’re learning more all the time about the impact of the pandemic on sleep and emotional health. It feels like the right time to check in about the latest science on how sleep is being affected, and what you can do to get your best rest during these stressful days and nights.

Short-term insomnia rates soared at the start of the outbreak. Now chronic insomnia is likely soaring, too

Acute insomnia is a sudden onset of insomnia symptoms, usually in response to a disruptive, stressful life event. Short-term insomnia happens throughout our individual lives. A job loss, a relationship strain, an illness in the family—something unexpected happens and suddenly you can’t sleep. There’s scientific evidence that large-scale events—things like earthquakes and wildfires–create spikes in acute, or short-term, insomnia in affected populations. For the first time in our lifetimes, the large-scale crisis that’s unfolding is happening to everyone around the world.

A number of studies found high rates of insomnia in response to the early days and weeks of the pandemic, including this large-scale study in China, which found that at least 20% of participants met a clinical diagnosis of insomnia. When scientists compared pandemic insomnia rates to pre-pandemic rates, they found the prevalence of clinical insomnia had increased by 37%.

Under any circumstances, acute insomnia often evolves into chronic insomnia. Acute insomnia typically resolves over a period of days or weeks. Chronic insomnia lasts for 3 months or more, with insomnia symptoms appearing several nights a week, week after week. Estimates suggest that roughly 50% of people with insomnia experience symptoms for a year or more.

Chronic insomnia raises risks for long-term health and functioning, including heart disease, metabolic disorders including diabetes, as well as depression and cognitive decline. I wrote recently about the links between disrupted sleep and Alzheimer’s disease.

Given the ongoing stress and upheaval that most people are facing several months into the pandemic, I expect that many cases of acute insomnia are now chronic.

WHAT TO DO: It’s time to take a careful, honest look at your sleep. Most of us experienced a series of sleep-deprived nights in the early days of the pandemic. If your sleep is still disrupted, if you’re routinely having trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, if you’re waking early and feeling unrefreshed by your sleep, you’re experiencing the symptoms of chronic insomnia.

Acknowledging your sleep issues is the first critical step to improving your long-term health. There are a range of treatments for chronic insomnia, including cognitive-behavioral therapy that’s specifically designed for insomnia, as well as natural supplements, mind-body awareness practices, and modifications to sleep routines and sleep hygiene habits. Identifying any underlying medical conditions that may be affecting your sleep—and any potentially sleep-disrupting side effects of medications you’re taking—is also an important step.

These are 5 of the most common contributors to insomnia.

Discuss your symptoms with your doctor to determine the right course of therapy for your individual sleep issues. I always encourage people to seek the expertise of sleep specialists—here’s an American Academy of Sleep Medicine directory where you can find one.

Clinicians, educators, community leaders: we need more public health work that specifically addresses the sleep disruptions occurring in the pandemic. Don’t wait for someone else to do it—get organized to educate and support your community about the importance of tending to sleep.

Proximity to ‘hot spots’ affects the severity of sleep problems and psychological stress

Research has found that the severity of both insomnia and psychological distress during the pandemic are closely tied to individuals’ proximity to coronavirus outbreaks. Proximity here means a few different things:

Location. Being closer to the geographical site of a severe outbreak can heighten both sleep issues and trigger more anxiety, stress and depression.

Degree of exposure and threat. Essential workers and people working in place where outbreaks are more likely to occur are also at greater risk for sleep disruption and psychological distress. That’s everyone from health care workers, to people working in places such as nursing homes, manufacturing sites, even schools and universities. And the perception of threat is likely just as significant to sleep and stress as the actual, statistical measurement of risk for people who are working in places where groups congregate.

With pandemic hot spots shifting around the US and the world, different regional populations with experience different levels of exposure at different times, with shifting risks for sleep problems.

WHAT TO DO: Be prepared to respond to changing circumstances. We talk about emergency preparedness in terms of evacuation plans, go-bags, stores of supplies, plans to meet family in a designated space, plans to care for and transport pets in an emergency. These days, we all need an emergency preparedness plan for sleep. That includes:

Supplies of any supplements or medications you’re using for sleep and psychological health. I’ve written extensively on supplements and natural remedies for sleep, from melatonin to magnesium to cannabis. Here’s also a rundown of some of the most effective natural supplements for sleep, including melatonin, magnesium, and CBD. Important: Always consult your doctor before beginning a new supplement routine.

A sleep-focused game plan for when life gets turned upside down. Many readers have already lived through severe coronavirus outbreaks in their local regions, while others are living through it now. Still others may have a relatively low presence of coronavirus in their local area, but that may change in the coming months. We all need to develop plans for how we’ll protect our sleep if and when daily routines change again suddenly. We can’t predict exactly what that will look like, but we have a pretty good idea: schools shift to remote or reduce in-person hours, exposure to someone who’s sick means your family has to quarantine, stricter physical distancing measures means you can’t engage in your normal exercise regimen.

Take time NOW to plan for an altered routine that includes sufficient time for sleep. Set aside time for work, schooling, and household stuff around sleep—not when you would otherwise be sleeping. It’s a tall order, but your rest is fuel for your health, ability to function and maintain psychological health through this ongoing challenge.

I wrote in the spring about how each chronotype can use their individual preferences to create routines that support sleep, productivity, and emotional balance during these challenging times. This advice is just as relevant now as it was back then!

Social isolation is a BIG challenge for sleep and mental health

We don’t talk enough about the impact of social isolation—and the loneliness it can create—on sleep. Right now, so many of us are living at a distance from the in-person social networks that provide us with support, comfort, fun, and a sense of connection that’s both enlivening and calming.

I’ve written before about the impact of social isolation and loneliness on sleep. Even before the pandemic, levels of loneliness in the general population were alarmingly high and growing, with nearly one-half of US adults regularly feeling isolated and alone.

Scientific research shows that loneliness hurts sleep quality and sleep quantity. Research also shows that the quality (not the quantity) of our friendships predict how well we sleep. And recent research from the University of California, Berkeley shows that in turn, lack of sleep heightens feelings of loneliness and isolation.

WHAT TO DO: Use this 2-way street between sleep and social isolation to your advantage. Prioritizing sleep will help ease the psychological burden of the social distancing and isolation you’re living with. And finding ways to engage with people who provide you with a sense of connection will help you sleep better.

That can mean all sorts of things—having a quiet dinner with your partner, taking a long walk with a friend, reaching out virtually to people who “get you,” who make you feel good and make you laugh. Join a support group—virtual support groups are everywhere these days, for parents, seniors, health care workers, for people feeling the emotional strain of this prolonged period of social distancing. Get involved with helping others. Remote and safe in-person volunteer work can provide you with a powerful sense of connection.

Your sleep WILL improve when you strengthen your social ties.

Our Chronotypes may be chronically out of sync

Circadian rhythms regulate sleep-wake cycles, as well as most of the body’s important processes, including hormone production, immune system activity, appetite and metabolism, cognitive functioning. Our internal clocks serve as very precise timekeepers of all this biological activity, to keep us functioning normally. Even small disruptions to the timing of circadian rhythms can create significant problems for sleep, mood, health and productivity. And biological clocks are affected by the same processes they regulate, including sleeping and eating.

The pandemic has thrown daily schedules out of whack and introduced a number of new challenges for circadian clocks. We’re still spending way more time at home than is normal for most of us, and work and school schedules are less fixed and predictable. For many of us, sleep and wake times have changed, and are less consistent. Plenty of us are getting less sunlight, and more exposure to artificial light at night. Eating routines may have changed, with a tendency to eat later in the day that many people may be experiencing. We may be getting less exercise.

Ideally, our daily routines align with and reinforce our chronotype—when we work, when we rest, when we eat and exercise, when we play and have fun. (I wrote a whole book about this, The Power of When.) Disruptions to our daily routines have been both significant and prolonged, and disruptions to circadian clocks—commonplace before the pandemic—are now likely even more widespread and severe.

Research coming in has shown that during the pandemic, bedtimes and waketimes have shifted to later hours, and that people are using more digital media at night before bed, increasing sleep-disruptive nighttime light exposure, which will further shift the timing of our biological clocks.

Chronotypes that are out of sync negatively affect sleep routines, mood, energy levels, our ability to be productive. And there are long-term risks to health, including elevated risks for cardiovascular and metabolic diseases, cancer, obesity, and neurodegenerative disease.

WHAT TO DO: Reclaim a schedule that aligns with your chronotype. It may not look like the one you had before the pandemic. But if you’re working in alignment with your individual chronotype and being consistent about sticking to routines for sleep and activity, you are doing great, important work on behalf of your mental health, your sleep, and your overall health.

If you haven’t already, start by determining your chronotype, by taking this short quiz: www.chronoquiz.com. And here’s a primer I wrote earlier this year on how to use your chronotype to set up healthy routines during the pandemic. Most of us have fewer external guideposts providing structure to our daily lives. To improve sleep and protect mood and physical health, it’s essential we take the initiative to create routines we can stick with.

Psychological distress has soared during the pandemic—and it’s hurting sleep

A number of studies conducted during the pandemic have delivered similar, unsurprising news: stress, anxiety, depression and other forms of psychological distress have spiked. Research from the earliest days of the pandemic in China showed that more than 18% of the population was experiencing clinical levels of anxiety, and nearly 25% had depression. Other research from China and elsewhere around the world has returned similar results, in some cases showing significantly higher levels of generalized anxiety—and a strong connection between anxiety levels and time spent focusing on the coronavirus outbreak.

An analysis of research that’s investigated depression, anxiety, and stress in the pandemic found that each may be present in about a third of the general population. Among health-care workers, rates of anxiety, stress and depression are even higher, with about 45% experiencing anxiety and about 50% experiencing depression symptoms.

The implications here for sleep and health are profound. There is a close, bi-directional relationship between stress and mood disorders and sleep problems. Psychological distress also weakens the immune system, disrupts circadian rhythms, and raises risks for other psychological conditions including PTSD, ADHD, panic attacks and suicide.

WHAT TO DO: Don’t suffer silently. And don’t try to tough it out through chronic stress, anxiety, or feelings of depression, overwhelm, or hopelessness. Recognize that your sleep and your psychological health are connected, and that addressing any sleep issues you’re having is one way to improve and protect your mental health, in the short and long term.

Recognize also that improving sleep on its own may not be enough to restore emotional and psychological balance and well being. And the presence of anxiety, depression, and/or chronic stress may make it difficult to achieve significant improvements to your sleep. Cognitive behavioral therapy and other forms of psychotherapy—all available through telehealth and other virtual platforms—are a wise and important step to take. Waiting to seek out therapeutic help will only make sleep and psychological problems worse.

If you are having thoughts of suicide, know that you are not alone. If you or someone you know needs help, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text 741-741 for the Crisis Text Line. If you are in danger of acting on suicidal thoughts, call 911.

We’re in a long-haul journey through this pandemic, learning together, in real time, its effects on sleep and psychological health. We’ll get through by supporting each other, by learning all we can about the challenges we’re facing to sleep and mental health, and by putting that research-based knowledge into constructive action to improve our daily routines and seek out the medical and therapeutic support we need to stay rested and well, physically and emotionally.

Sweet Dreams,

Michael J. Breus, PhD, DABSM

The Sleep Doctor

www.thesleepdoctor.com

The post 5 Things to Know About Sleep and Psychological Health in the Coronavirus Pandemic appeared first on Your Guide to Better Sleep.

from Your Guide to Better Sleep https://thesleepdoctor.com/2020/10/22/psychological-health-and-coronavirus/

from Elly Mackay - Feed https://www.ellymackay.com/2020/10/23/5-things-to-know-about-sleep-and-psychological-health-in-the-coronavirus-pandemic/

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raeyvies · 7 years ago

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What if MC didn’t take care of herself while V was hospitalized ? (based on day 10) pt. 3

Actually wrote this a lot faster than I thought. Then again I already had half written by the time I posted pt.2. This part is a little slower, but it’s centered around Jihyun. Oh and MC’s blood results came back! Remember, MC here is MC Jeon because I gave her a last name.

Thank you so much again to those who gave me such positive comments! I hope you enjoy this part and well stick around for the next part because more is gonna start happening :D!

Pt. 1 // Pt. 2 // Pt. 3 // Pt.4 // Pt.5 // Pt. 6

Length: 2022 words

Part: 3/?

Pairing: VxMC

Warnings: none

Sorry for any grammatical mistakes ^^;;

Jihyun’s night turned out to be so much longer than he would have liked it to be. Since Jumin left, the room was just a cloud of silence and it was suffocating in the least. It bothered him that he woke up so close to the end of visiting hours. It was around 10:30 pm that he woke up and MC fell unconscious. He wanted to scream everything on his mind. Having no one to distract him, no one to talk to him, he was left to his thoughts. And anyone who knew what it was like to be alone to your thoughts in the dead of night was torture.

Jumin’s disappointed yet concerned words resonated in his ears and because of them, Jihyun was now looking back on his life. Had he always been this way? Why had he not seen how selfish he bad become? Even when he said he gave his all to Rika, he was really taking everything from her. How could anyone handle him? How could MC do this to herself someone like him?

Everything that seemed to make sense in his life no longer did.

Was it because he was now starting to change? Was it because he finally had an outside lens into his life? All these questions swam around in his sea of thoughts and refused to let him be at peace. At least for one night so he could recuperate would be enough. If Jihyun could recover, he could take care of MC. But negativity ate at him for what felt like an eternity, especially since the only clock in the room was across the room where he could not see.

If he was being truthful with himself, Jihyun was even avoiding looking at MC. Seeing her in such a state only made him feel so worthless and like a burden. He had promised her since the beginning that he would protect her. Save her. But it had been the opposite all this time and all he ever repaid her with was anxiety. He even began to admit to himself that it was his stubbornness and he needed to change that about himself as soon as he could if he wanted everything else in his life to change.

Stirring in bed only made his wound that much more painful so he could not even fidget that night. Constantly rubbing his eyes, he hoped that some drops of sleep and tiredness would rain on him. But it did not come until much later around midnight. It was at that time that another nurse came in to check on MC that exhaustion finally kicked in, sending him off to another world where he could escape such pessimistic thoughts. And he did not wake up until six in the morning when light shown through the window, courtesy of the early morning sun

The pain in his abdomen had subsided quite a bit, much to Jihyun’s relief. But now he was absolutely hungry, his stomach growling for food. It took him a while to completely wake up as he was drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness, his eyelids fluttering and fighting to remain open. It was not until he noticed that now there were two nurses checking up on MC, as opposed to the previous single nurse. They were injecting medicine directly into her veins and from what little Jihyun could perceive, he managed to hear them say that the blood work came in.

Jihyun grunted as he shifted into a sitting position on his bed and asked the nurses with a raspy voice, “I hear you two saying something about her blood tests. May I know what results came back in?”

The new nurse was not sure of he was allowed to know but the other was there when Jumin gave his permission to discuss MC’s test results with his friend. The nurse came to his bedside and showed him the document with all the information he needed to know. He squinted and rubbed his eyes hoping to focus on the letters but he was either too exhausted yet or his vision was worsening. It was most probable that it was the latter.

The nurse explained to him about the findings in her blood and said, “According to Miss Jeon’s tests, she's been developing anemia for a while now. Of course, it's nothing alarming or to worry about so much because it's easily treatable. That's why she was so cold last night.”

“I see… So, even with that condition, she'll be fine?”

“She should be. We're just giving her iron supplements and vitamin B now that we know. She has a low red blood cell count so that may contribute to still being asleep. With anemia, it means she'll be easily fatigued and lightheaded, but we'll discuss more about this when her guardian arrives,” the nurse informed Jihyun and then placed the documents elsewhere before returning to his side. “I'm also going to need to check your wound for the moment.”

Still trying to become fully aware of everything, he awkwardly lowered his blankets and lifted his shirt for the nurse to see. With a nod he gave, the nurse began to examine his wound. She also checked around the area for any tenderness, to which gave Jihyun discomfort, drawing a pained moan from his mouth. Once done with the examination, he pulled down his shirt and was informed that he was healing just fine and that he could walk now; finally being allowed the walk elated him so much but he knew he could not simply walk expecting to have the same strength in his lower body. After all, he had been confined to a bed for over twenty six hours.

Before the nurse could leave, Jihyun’s stomach growled again and it reminded him to ask for breakfast if was allowed to eat yet. Fortunate enough, the nurse told him that someone would bring him food soon. However, he was defeated by drowsiness and did not get to eat breakfast until much later around noon. Might as well be lunch then.

Admittedly, it was hard to push down the food they gave him because of its undesirable bland taste. If anything it felt like he was eating plastic. But Jihyun knew he needed something in his body to start functioning well again. Finishing up what little breakfast they served him, he drank up some grape juice and set the tray aside at the end of his bed. Considering that he was fully awake now, he removed his blankets, slowly and carefully, and his feet found their way to the floor. Shivers traveled up his body as he felt the floor was almost like ice. Jihyun grabbed hold of his IV, using it as his support as he walked over to MC. It was a painfully slow process and he thought his legs would give in very soon.

Sitting on her bedside, Jihyun laid his hand on hers and compared to last night, her hands were much warmer, to his relief. It seemed that the medication and supplements were helping her out, seeing as her skin was not as pale anymore. Listening to her steady breathing was soothing as well. Jihyun could not help but feel more than just worry and a desire to protect her. Part of him was developing affection for her, but he was hesitant to let it come over him. Simply knowing the last time he cared for anyone deeply and affectionately turned into a psychological mess, he wanted to keep some distance with MC. After all, Jihyun only caused her to worry more. He only repaid her with more concern.

Giving her hand a light squeeze, Jihyun whispered to the unconscious girl, “Don't worry about me for now. Focus on gaining strength okay? I'm alright now, so be selfish and recover. I'm not sure if you can hear me, MC, but I'm going out to walk for a bit. I want to regain my strength as soon as I can. Don't do anything dumb while I'm away, got it?”

Jihyun left the room for a while as he went out to walk in the halls of the hospital. To distract himself of the pain, he kept counting the things he saw and examined the paintings hung around the halls as decoration. Truthfully, he was also attempting to ward away his selfish and negative thoughts that made him take the blame for everything. Jumin was right and he had to change. But it was something he had always done, he forgot what it was like to be selfish. Maybe MC could teach him what it would be like.

No not yet. I can't ruin her not like everyone else.

He greeted many other patients walking around in hospital gowns identical to his, making small talk for the time to pass. He made a few laps around the same corridors before feeling exhausted. It was actually harder for him to breathe because the mere expanding and contracting of his abdomen as he did so caused him discomfort. Soon enough, he thought he could return to his room and find something to do. As he was approaching the hallway leading to his room, he heard his name being called out multiple times. Each time it sounded more broken and desperate, so he followed the voice.

It was MC who had just left her room. Her body was still slumped, meaning she was still tired, and her eyes looked around helplessly. She looked lost.

“Jihyun?” MC kept calling out though her head was still spinning. When she woke up, she did not give herself time to adjust. The moment she saw Jihyun’s bed empty, she sprang from her bed and outside the room. Just like someone who had been laid down for a long time and suddenly got dizzy upon standing, MC found herself clinging to her IV pole. She still could not focus her vision on anything so all she could see were blurry blobs of people striding along around her. And not one blob had mint colored hair. As though she were on autopilot, she was not even thinking. It was merely an instinct that she felt; that Jihyun was in danger again. “Jihyun!”

Every pained cry only widened the gash in Jihyun’s heart, and he tried his best to rush to MC. He wished he could yell out her name but that would only physically hurt him more. After turning at one more corner, he found MC appearing like a lost puppy right in front of their room. Before she could yell his name out again, he wrapped her in his embrace, coaxing her into calmness.

“I’m here. I'm okay,” Jihyun sighed and walked her back into the room, guiding her to lay down once again. “Why would you do that, MC? I know you're scared, but think of yourself first okay?”

MC was still so exhausted, and drowsy. Her appearance was still disheveled and her hair was a mess. Dark circles had formed around her eyes and Jihyun was convinced that those were not there before the incident. Her lips were so chapped that they looked white, clearly a sign that she refused to drink water yesterday. Nothing much was said by the feeble girl as she laid down once again, except a few phrase, “Lay down with...me. I need… know… you're here. Okay.”

Her grip was fragile on Jihyun’s shirt and he conceded. Despite wanting to keep distance, it was not an easy feat knowing that he had to somehow repay his debt to her. Careful and aware of the MC’s IV, he laid down in her bed next to her after grabbing his phone that was on the couch. She was quickly drifting back into an unconscious state once again, but just before leaving, she took hold of Jihyun’s hand. Their intertwined hands were laid on his chest right before she drifted off into another world again.

But she could still feel his heartbeat in her hand, and that was enough to let her fall deeper into darkness.

To be continued...

Pt. 1 // Pt. 2 // Pt. 3 // Pt.4 // Pt.5 // Pt. 6

#mystic messenger #mysme #mysme scenario #mysme fanfic #mysme v #mystic messenger scenario #mystic messenger fanfic #mystic messenger v #VxMC #mystic messenger angst

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bluecardigan-13 · 4 years ago

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My brother in law has recently diagnosed with pancreatic, lung and liver cancer. According to the oncologist it’s terminal.

It’s hard for me to understand or comprehend that someone so young, he’s 56, is going to pass way so soon. He has a history of cancer, but it’s been years.

I don’t understand how life can be so unfair. He’s married to my husbands older sister and she’s having problems coming to terms with the fact that she will never get to grow old with him. That he will miss seeing his grandchildren grow up.

According to the oncologist he has approximately 2 mos tk 2 yrs to live. But my sister in law says she will be surprised if he makes it to Christmas because he’s so frail.

My brother in law at one point was told by his dr that if he didn’t change his lifestyle, he would end up dying of a heart attack. So, he worked hard to change his diet, exercise and essentially change his entire way of living. He lost a ton of weight and was able to stop taking some of his medications because he was so healthy.

Now, only to be hit by this? How can it be that someone does so much of the right thing to end up this way?

My brother in law and sister in law are very close to us. Mainly because my husband is closest to his sister due to the fact they grew up together and are close in age. So, this hurts even more deeply.

Since we live in Hawaii my sister in law had asked if she pays for the ticket, will he come to support her. He of course said yes, even tho she lives in their hometown in Iowa. I have enough frequent flyer miles to pay for his ticket but not enough to pay for a rental car and spending money.

Plus because I’m fully disabled I am unable to work or travel. So I need to stay home with the kids. But we’re not sure if his employer will pay for his time away. And since he’s the only source of steady income? I’m not sure if we’ll have enough money to lay for bills, and groceries.

I tell you crowdfunding is hard. While I thought I had friends I could count on? They’ve slowly disappeared. Due to the multitude of illnesses I have, and as they steadily got worse, they slowly started to ghost me and leave me with no one to lean on.

I have one friend on Instagram that’s been helping me try to get my GoFundMe going. Since I’m looking for approximately $8k or more. Hopefully I’ll be able to collect more. Not just because I’m greedy, but because I want my sister in law to be ok for a bit. Pay for the funeral, bills and anything she needs. Also to help pay for my husbands travel expenses without having to ask my sister in law and stress her out more.

I honestly don’t know if I’ll even get close to my goal. Or heck when half way. While word of encouragement are fantastic, I desperately need the cash. I wish I had a money tree in the yard to cover what we needed.

I don’t know what to do to be able to have people be generous enough to donate a $1? I’m not expecting $100. Or heck $10. I just feel stuck. And as someone who tends to know what to do in tough situations? This one is the hardest of them all. I wish I had $100,000 to give my sister in law and enough money to pay for his travel expenses and our many, many bills.

It makes my head hurt. It makes me cry. It makes me so angry. I wish someone with a magic wand could come and wave it around like Cinderella’s fairy godmother and bibidi bobidty boo, everything is ok. LOL wishes don’t come true do they?

While they say money doesn’t buy you happiness, it sure as heck make things better. Because what’s a person to do? Buy meds over groceries? Pay for the electric bill over my medications?

It’s funny, I have OCD, CPTSD, bipolar 2, generalized anxiety disorder, panic attacks, social anxiety, agoraphobia, massive fatigue, fibromyalgia, early stage lupus. I also sometimes self harm to relieve the pressure of life. I also have visual and auditory hallucinations.

I just recently at the age of 41 had a double mastectomy and may have to have 3 more surgeries. 1 for skin expanding, 1 for reconstruction and another for my wrist.

But, as a mom? I don’t have the luxury of laying down for a 4 hour nap. Time to sit and provide myself self care.

I also run a small boutique business through Instagram. It’s self curated self care boxes for people who need encouragement to take time for themselves. I curate them myself, I support small business, artists, and select unique items for my faithful customers. These are not subscriptions. They are boxes that allow people to buy when they can afford it. And not commit them to $50/month as a lot of time live on fixed incomes.

So, with all of this? Who has time to sit down and rest? Not me? A lot of days I sit with my phone and fall asleep mid sentence trying to work. Due to my fibromyalgia, remembering words is difficult. The pain sometimes is unbearable. But I push through. I laugh at myself because it’s ridiculous. It’s easier for me to help others, than it is to help me.

Wanna know a secret? The one person other than my immediate family that’s gotten me through the pain in my life is @taylorswift. It’s her songs and lyrics that have given me the strength not to give up.

The one song lately I’ve been listening on repeat is the song she wrote for her mom. It means so much to her it’s hard for her to sing. I’ve watched her in pain because her mom is so close to her. It breaks my heart. As it breaks mine because of my brother in law’s situation. I can feel how much she wishes she could fix things for her mom. And how deeply it hurt to write that song. Much less sing it.

“Soon you’ll get better” “Soon you’ll get better” “Cause you have to” “What am I supposed to do, if there’s no you?”

This song is something I’m sure my sister in law things of. Surviving, the thought of being alone, and the heartache of losing your soulmate.

For me each album that @taylorswift has put out has a special meaning. Whether it’s “Lover”, or her latest “Cardigan” had brought me back from the edge to say ok committing suicide is not the answer. Someone loves me too much to do that. Someone needs that big hug from me to comfort them like a cardigan to walk away from life. Right?

Back away from the edge and get that someone will miss me. Like my sister in law will miss her husband.

One last thing? I love, LOVE that @taylorswift never forgets anyone. To me? That’s a true friend. I don’t have that. Missed birthdays, no gifts, no cake. Heck it’s been a week since my birthday 9/13 and at 42? I don’t think I’m a person who deserves anything. I don’t deserve nice things, cakes, or parties. I am not a good enough person who deserves help. Or anything. I joked, all I deserve is a glazed donut.

Can someone do something for me? Help me? Share this? Help me raise enough cash for my crowdfunding? LOL I’d love it if @taylorswift read this and just likes it. Maybe then I’d feel a little worthy of something.

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l-l-kristofferson · 7 years ago

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My Depression Struggles

***DISCLAIMER! IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR HELPFUL TIPS OR INSIGHT ABOUT DEPRESSION, PLEASE READ CAREFULLY. BUT IF YOU ARE EASILY DEPRESSED AND SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS, STOP READING NOW. THANK YOU IN ADVANCE!***

For those that know me personally, they know that I suffer from ADHD and bipolar disorder. Mostly because these are the only two conditions I talk about openly. I also suffer from anxiety disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), gender dysphoria, and depression. My other four disorders carry more stigma than the first two. I'm not as excited to talk about these topics in fear of judgment. That being said, I usually only talk about these things to a therapist or doctor. But with depression becoming more and more common, I feel that it should be talked about.

Here are some basic facts. In the US, about sixteen million (16,000,000) suffer from depression. That is estimated at almost seven percent of our population. It can be and is linked to a lot of disabilities in the world. It effects both men and women, at times effecting children from a young age. Those who are more likely to suffer from depression are girls and women. My mother, at one point in time, suffered from the condition. Worldwide, it effects three hundred and fifty million (350,000,000) people. It can stem from a lot of things such as loss and grief, personal or professional dilemmas, a preexisting medical condition, or all of the above. There are many other causes but everyone has a different experience.

What a lot of people don't know is that depression is just the general term for a lot of subgroups. There is major depression, premenstrual depressive disorder (PMDD), stress depressive disorder, manic depression, and post pardom depression. All have their separate causes and affect different people. Another thing that people don't get is that it can be linked to other conditions over the course of time. So here is my experience.

From a young age, I was always sad in some way. This probably started when my father separated from my mom when I was two years old. From then, he was in and out of my older bother's life as well as mine. Even now, I only interact with my father if I have to due to him leaving my mother and leaving us to struggle. Around seven or eight years old, I started to say to a lot of my adult "friends" at school that I would be better off dead. This caused concern and they brought my mother in about the issue, asking her if there were any changes at home. My mom explained what had happened years earlier and they suggested that I be put in therapy. From what I remember of those sessions with my therapist, Dr. Berman, she would always ask me how I was doing as I played with some toys. I would tell her about my day, about my brother and my mom, and about times I would see my dad. Every time I would go to a session, I would pick out a felt board with characters you can lay on top and make up a story. I would usually pick out a man and dress him in a knights costume, at times accompanied by a maiden or princess. After a while, she asked me why I would always do the same thing when I would visit her. I said that I didn't know. At the time, I had little idea of what it all meant because I didn't really think anything was wrong. I understood (in some sense) that my dad wasn't going to live with us ever again and that I wouldn't really get to see him. But looking at it now, I realize that all I was doing... was wishing someone would protect me like my father used to.

Eventually, I stopped going to therapy with Dr. Berman and "got over" what I was going through. I was okay until I was twelve. It started with the death of someone I was really close to... I lost her to suicide. It was the first girl I ever fell in love with and I never got to tell her how I felt. For months, I didn't know what to do. I would cry and cry and cry, not feeling any relief. This was my first glimpse into depression that I was aware of at the time. But soon, it turned into numbness and anger. Why did she leave me? She told me we'd be together forever. She abandoned me. This would coincide with my lesbian identity, something I was unaware of. When that got out in junior high, girls didn't want to come near me, which caused me to feel like an outcast. I was alienated by most of the girls, except a couple who remained friends with me (one I'd known since kindergarten and the one non English speaker who thought I was really nice). The boys thought I was awesome and welcomed me. For the next two years, I was able to make it through. I thought high school would be more accepting. I was so wrong.

When it got out that I was a lesbian nerd, I was constantly picked on by boys and girls. One time, someone said that a girl named Samantha thought I was cute and wanted to get to know me, maybe go on a date. Hearing this, I was so happy. It was awesome. A girl found me worth her time. I had seen her and thought she was pretty. Naturally, I wrote her a loving note and had her read it. Little did I know it was a joke and everyone was laughing at me. I went to the bathroom, cried, and had a fit. I even tossed my journal, bending the metal ring binding. As for the boys, they would toss me down stairs, throw me against walls, push me, physically assault me, hold me in dark closets, and trap me in the guy's room. Between struggling with my identity and being bullied until the age of sixteen, I was constantly depressed. I wouldn't sleep, I'd barely eat, and I wouldn't talk to anyone unless they spoke to me first. I was isolating myself to protect myself from rejection and ridicule. But that worked to my advantage. I kept my head in the books, excelled in class, and kept my GPA high. Friends came later like my best friend Odd, my friends Vachon, his brother Chris, my really good friend (and ex-girlfriend) Natalie, my shop friends Clyde and Erik, and other good friends (you know who you are guys). As I got to graduation, I won a scholarship for college, was in the top ten percent of my class, and surrounded by friends. I wanted to do better. For Jane...

From eighteen to now, it was alright. I kept my head in the books and tried to keep my GPA in the black. But from August to early November of this year, was my lowest point. I was fighting with my mental health facility to get my medication approved and in that fight, had no medication to fall back on. So I spiraled out of control. I couldn't sleep worth a damn, I had little motivation to do much of anything except watch YouTube and forget about it all, I wasn't eating any real food, I shut myself away from the rest of the world, I wouldn't shower for days (sometimes for almost a week), and my anxiety was awful. The only time I seemed to find joy was in the company of other people or on the phone with someone. I didn't feel alone then. But every day was a fight just to get out of bed. I thought of suicide and hurting myself a lot. I would take a lot of painkillers or drink half of a bottle of cough syrup to ease my pain and numb me from thinking. I was grateful for sleep... Because that was the only time I didn't feel any pain. I was mostly at peace. But after five weeks, I started having nightmares, one to three a night. I would be too scared to sleep and sought someone to talk to. Mind you, this was usually between two and four in the morning, when normal people are asleep. But that entire time, I was honest with three people, my best female friend, my therapist, and my regular doctor. Otherwise, no one knew that I was suffering. Not my friends at school, not my coworkers, not my classmates, not my family, not the customers I served. I didn't want them to know. I felt ashamed.

As of the fourteen of November, I have been getting better. It's easier to get out of bed, it's easier to talk to people about my pain, it's easier to eat, it's easier to do my work, it's easier to smile, and I can be more of myself. Some days can still be tough but I keep busy to stay out of those negative thoughts. The one thing I'm glad I did was not give up. I kept going. Through the pain, through the mental bouts and torment, through the anxiety and voices telling me to end it, I stood alive.

Some helpful tips I have are to 1) seek help, 2) be honest, 3) find a positive (and safe) way to deal with your struggles, 4) admit to yourself that you are in need, 5) remind yourself that it gets better, 6) drink tea (I do!), and 7) SMILE!

There are days that I get upset and want to get angry. But I try to keep calm and smile. It can be difficult at times because I'm under a lot of stress as I near the end of my academic career. I am currently doing two internships, a lot of schoolwork, participating in class, volunteering and helping friends, and holding a part time job. How am I alive? A lot of tea (HA HA!). I am grateful for my family, my friends, and those around me. They are one of few reasons I live.

I know it isn't easy for everyone and that there are those suffering much more than me. For those of you who are struggling, keep your head up and smile. If this is rock bottom, there is only one way to go from here: up. I hope that this post was helpful. If you ever need advice or need to talk, my Instagram is lame_dude_20 (my profile picture is of Roxas) and my Kik is Kingsebastianisdead (my profile is a picture of Ventus and the username is The Roxas Joker). I hope I can be the Merlin to your Arthur.

Thank you so much for listening. Write again soon.

#writer #writing #depression #mentalillness #itgetsbetter #hanginthere #don'tgiveup #depressionawareness #imheretohelp #welcometomyworld

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a-spell-a-rebel-yell · 5 years ago

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made in the a.m.

hello! I’m so sorry for missing a month’s worth of posts, but things happened and I really didn’t have time to sit down and actually write something worth reading. well, I did write, I just have it in the form of tweets... on my private account. ha. as always, hope everyone’s doing well—happy, healthy, and loved.

title, though some of you might’ve guessed so, isn't about One Direction’s album. it’s not even an excerpt that pictures what this post is all about. it’s just supposed to give a hint that this caffeine and Thailand horror movie fueled post is made late at night. and by theory, midnight talks call for subjects of our future beyond measure, and that’s our main course for tonight.

for a recap, life has been okay: I’m still floating. it’s half past midnight and I have my cinematic classics playlist on. I’m having a sleepover at my friend’s room—we live in the same dorm, my room’s just upstairs—and everyone’s asleep, except for me. can’t sleep much for whatever reason, so I decided to write with the company of composers showcasing their amazing talent on tugging at people’s heartstrings and evoking certain feelings. is this a report? a rant? a compilation of random thoughts? I’m not sure, you tell me.

so far my work has been okay (am I being repetitive purposefully to hide what truly happened? you can take a guess). three months in, focused in periodontology and oral medicine, I managed to finish 80% of the tasks I’m required to do. my own advice I wrote in older posts really do work, not in 100% capacity of course, but in a way, it strips me off of unnecessary and nonexistent struggles. I’m about to change department to oral surgery and complicated extraction in two weeks from now, again I feel giddy and... apprehensive. remember what I said about my anxiety of starting new stuffs? yep, the very same ghost is still haunting me.

though it’s not even as discernible as it did back then. now it’s more of a shadow lurking than a solid monster blocking my way. solution to the problem? the thought that all of these small, rocky steps I’m taking will lead me somewhere; tells me how far I’ve come.

back when I was still a fresh high school graduate, I couldn’t even imagine what’s it like to be a college student, to attend university level classes. but I passed it alright. then I couldn’t even think of drafting my graduation papers and presenting it in front of strict and intelligent professors. but I passed it too alright. a few months ago I never dared myself to dream of how life is going to be when i start clinical year, having heard ill stories told by seniors who had terrible experiences while undergoing the process. but look, here I am still.

it’s never a dull moment whenever it’s my time to tell my patients their treatments are finished. I get to see, and even better, savor the sight of them with their eyes lighting up, smiles rising, and clasped hands at the ready thanking me and saying wholeheartedly how I helped them to feel better, to look nicer, and to banish the pain they suffered before.

all of the above constantly makes it clear to me of my journey and its destination: to be a caring dentist. not just because I’m under the Hippocratic oath, but everything I’m doing is done for the sake of humanity.

I’ve seen way too many friends, seniors, and even professional doctors/dentists that are literal geniuses, super skilled to the core, the ones who can recall a particular paragraph from thick medical textbooks. the raw truth is not all of them are attentive, gentle, or thoughtful, even in the slightest. some talk to their patients as if they’re talking to a wall of brick, some use rough gestures with their sharp instruments and taking no notice of the patient’s reaction, some completely ignore their patients, and some even scam their patients by demanding for such high price for a simple procedure. being a brainy one doesn’t guarantee excellent behavior, I’ve learned.

i aspire to be just like those medic professionals who dedicate their life for the greater good, for a higher purpose. it’s my ultimate dream to serve the people, blind of race, religion, and region, as far as my ability can take me, without asking for something in return. yes I do have much more ambitious goals such as scaling international masters program scholarships, living somewhere in London, taking pediatric dentistry at King’s College. but i won’t mind having the former, it also brings genuine happiness as the latter does for me. I’ve discussed about this to my parents also, and their reception is positive, they encourage and support me wholly because they too share the same belief and faith as me.

keeping that in mind, what seemed like having to work so hard in days of living in hell starts to transform into what I like to call climbing a steep slope of a mountain. just like the art of mountaineering that is enjoying the tiring process of leveling up to the top while still admiring the surrounding nature, issues don’t seem so hefty as it was, the frequency of me whining and thinking how unfair it is lessen tremendously. i get to see that silver lining among the clouds: I start to do each task with a light heart and the concept that all I’m doing will amount to something great.

this seems to be such a trivial matter to you, but it’s important for me to write this down for better mind grasp and then actually implement these ideas in real-time. practice what you preach, they said.

lastly, wherever you are right now, whatever you’re feeling about the things you’re supposed to do, if you ever feel like you’ve strayed off path... just try to remember why exactly did you do it in the first place. it helps in refocusing and recharging your energy to go on.

from this one onward i just want to end my posts with my favorite phrase: good night, goodbye, God bless you all. x

#stuffs I wrote #I'm so scared of the future and what it brings #but I might as well face it head on #a day in my life #good luck

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jesseneufeld · 4 years ago

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Why Am I Waking Up at 3am?

Whenever I write about sleep, I hear from a chorus of people who struggle to sleep through the night. Anecdotally, it seems a far more common complaint than difficulty falling asleep in the first place.

These complaints are one of three types:

People who have trouble falling asleep

People who sleep fitfully, waking multiple times throughout the night

Those who reliably wake once, around the same time most nights

Understandably, this is a hugely vexing problem. Poor quality sleep is a serious health concern. Not to mention, sleeping badly feels simply awful. When the alarm goes off after a night of tossing and turning, the next day is sure to be a slog. String several days like that together, and it’s hard to function at all.

I’m going to go out on a limb, though, and assert that waking up in the middle of the night isn’t always the problem we make it out to be. For some people, nighttime wakings are actually something to embrace. As always, context is everything.

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What Causes You to Wake Up In the Middle of the Night?

One of the most frustrating things about nighttime waking is that there are so many possible causes. Sometimes the solution is as simple as practicing good sleep hygiene. Other times, medical help is in order. Still other times, the solution is something different entirely.

Transitioning to Lighter Sleep Stages

Sleep isn’t a uniform state of unconsciousness you slip into when it becomes dark and, theoretically, ride until morning. It’s a dynamic process that goes in waves—or more precisely, cycles—throughout the night.

There are four (or five, depending on how you slice it) stages of sleep:

Stage 1: light sleep, occurs right after falling asleep

Stage 2: deeper sleep

Slow-wave sleep (SWS): deepest sleep, a.k.a. Stage 3 and Stage 4 sleep

REM: lighter sleep where our more interesting dreams occur (although we can also dream in non-REM phases14)

A single sleep cycle lasts about 90 minutes, during which you move from light sleep, through stage 2, into deep SWS, and back up to REM. Then down you go again, then back up, ideally at least four of five times per night.

Your sleep is also roughly broken into two phases over the course of a whole night. In the first half, you spend relatively more time in SWS. The second half is characterized by a higher proportion of REM sleep.

What does this have to do with nighttime waking?

One possible explanation is that as you transition into lighter sleep — either within a single sleep cycle, or as you move from the first to the second phase—aches, pains, and small annoyances are more likely to wake you up. These can include medical issues like chronic pain, sleep apnea, restless leg syndrome, or GERD. Soreness from the day’s hard workout, noise or light from your environment, hunger, thirst, or being too hot or cold might rouse you from your slumber.

If you’re waking up multiple times at night, chances are that you’re experiencing physical discomfort that you’re not able to sleep through. Sometimes it’s obvious, but not always.

Was It Something You Ate Or Drank?

While individual studies have linked sleep quality to diet and macronutrient intake (high versus low carb, for example), they are mostly small and the results inconclusive.15 Still, you might be able to look at your diet and identify a likely culprit. For example, if your sleep problems started after going carnivore or adding intermittent fasting, that’s an obvious place to start.

A food log can help you spot patterns, such as whether eating certain foods at dinner tends to correlate with poorer sleep. Alcohol and caffeine are big sleep disruptors as well, though you surely know that.

If you’re frequently waking up to pee, you might be overhydrating, especially in the evening. More seriously, it can be a symptom of diabetes or bladder, prostate, kidney, adrenal, or heart problems. Getting up once or twice to pee probably isn’t cause for alarm. It’s worth seeing a doctor if you’re getting several times or urinating much more at night than during the day.

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What to Do About Nighttime Waking

First things first, pick the low-hanging fruit

I’m talking good sleep hygiene practices. Things like:

Sleep in a cool, dark, quiet room.

Minimize exposure to artificial lights after the sun sets. Use blue-light blocking glasses, and turn on night mode on your devices.

Watch your alcohol and caffeine consumption, especially later in the day.

Go to bed around the same time each night.

If applicable, experiment with your diet and food timing

Depending on your current diet, some experiments you might try include:

If you’re ultra-low-carb, try increasing your carb intake for a few weeks.

Try loading more of your carbs into your evening meal.

Make sure your protein intake isn’t too low.16

Try eating your last meal earlier if you’re waking up with indigestion, or later if you’re waking up hungry.

Try a teaspoon of raw honey before bed

One hypothesis is that you’re waking up in the middle of the night because your brain gets hungry for glucose eight hours after your last meal. The honey provides some carbs to get you through.

There’s no concrete evidence for honey as a sleep aid, but plenty of people swear by this remedy. I’m not sure it’s likely to be more effective than eating a serving of complex carbs at dinner. That said, even for low-carbers, I don’t think there’s any harm in trying.

I’ll note, though, that fasting studies don’t show a link to sleep disturbances.17 That calls the “starving brain” hypothesis into question, but I suspect there’s an important nuance here. Individuals who can comfortably do longer fasts are almost certainly also fat-adapted and, at least during the fast, producing ketones to fuel their brains. Metabolically, they’re in a very different place from a carb-dependent person who struggles to make it through the night.

Consider napping

If you’re unable to get enough high-quality sleep at night, you might prefer to adjust your sleep schedule entirely. Instead, aim for a shorter nighttime sleep period, say five or six hours, paired with an afternoon nap. This is another variant of biphasic sleeping.

Years ago, I wrote a post on how to conduct just this type of experiment. Check it out and see if it might work for you. It’s unconventional in this day and age, but I know people who thrive on this schedule.

Finally, don’t hesitate to seek medical help

Sleep issues are a symptom of many diverse health issues, including hyperthyroidism, anxiety, depression, and, as previously mentioned, diabetes, heart disease, and others. Your doctor may want to test you for sleep apnea.

The Case of Hot Flashes

Hot flashes are a common cause of nighttime waking for women of a certain age. If you endure nighttime flashes, you’re probably familiar with the standard advice:

Sleep in a cool room

Use moisture-wicking pajamas and sheets

Try acupuncture or other mind-body therapies

Add supplements like folic acid, or herbs like black cohosh or chasteberry

Investigate hormone-replacement therapy

Unfortunately, as I’ve learned from my wife Carrie’s and many friends’ experiences, there is no one-size-fits-all solution. I do think acupuncture is a potentially helpful, underutilized tool. Mostly, though, it’s just a combo of trial-and-error plus time that seems to get most women through this phase.

Getting Back to Sleep

In the meantime, while you get to the root of the issue, here are some tips for getting back to sleep:

Take care of pressing needs. Get up and pee, get a drink of water, or adjust the thermostat. There’s no point in trying to power through the discomfort that woke you up in the first place. Just fix it.

Keep artificial lights and screens off. Use small nightlights to light your path to the bathroom if necessary, and wear your orange-tinted glasses.

Do a calm activity such as reading by candlelight, deep breathing exercises, or sketching or writing in your journal.

Most of all, don’t stress! Fretting is likely to keep you awake for much longer than simply accepting the fact that you are awake and lying peacefully in bed.

Are You Fighting Something You Should Be Embracing?

I’ve long believed that humans naturally tend to be biphasic sleepers. The idea that we should be passed out for a solid eight hours per night is a social construct not firmly rooted in our sleep biology.

Historian Roger Ekirch argues, rather convincingly I think, that before the advent of artificial light, humans across geographical locations and social strata slept in two chunks during the night. The first, usually just called “first sleep,” or sometimes “dead sleep,” comprised the first four or so hours. “Second sleep” went until dawn. In between, people would enjoy an hour, or perhaps two or three hours, of mid-night activities such as praying and meditating, reading and writing, having sex, and even visiting neighbors. This was seen as completely normal, even welcome.18

Anthropological evidence confirms that some modern-day hunter-gatherers around the world likewise engage in biphasic sleeping.19 Also, in one small experiment, seven adults lived in a controlled environment with 14 hours of darkness per night. Over the course of four weeks, their sleep and hormone secretions slowly and naturally became biphasic.20

Scholars argue that biphasic sleep confers an evolutionary advantage.21 If some individuals fall asleep earlier and some later, and most people are awake for an hour or two in the middle of the night, someone in the group is always up. That person can tend the fire and watch for danger. In fact, the waking hour was sometimes called the “sentinel” hour. According to Ekirch, it was often referred to as simply the “watch.”

Are You a Biphasic Sleeper, or Do You Have a Sleep Problem?

Waking up multiple times per night, such that you rarely feel truly rested, is a problem. However, we shouldn’t rush to pathologize a single nighttime waking. That might just be your natural sleep pattern. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’d be better off aiming for biphasic sleep either. Even if you wake reliably at the same time each night, sometimes a full bladder is just a full bladder.

The litmus test is how you feel. With a biphasic schedule, the intervening waking period should be pleasant. Your mind should feel calm and alert, if perhaps a bit dreamy. Anecdotally, many famous writers, artists, and sculptors have adhered to a biphasic schedule, believing that creativity and flow are enhanced during the mid-night hours.

Of course, you can’t tap into how you feel if waking is causing you a ton of angst. Remind yourself that waking can be normal, not dysfunctional. I know this can be easier said than done, especially if you’re sleep deprived. The thing about biphasic sleeping is that you’re still supposed to get the eight hours of nightly sleep you need, give or take. That means you have to spend nine or ten hours in bed. How many people do that nowadays?

See if you can commit to at least a couple weeks of sufficient time in bed. Push away your previous (mis)conceptions about what a “good” night of sleep is “supposed” to look like. Try to welcome rather than fight the mid-night waking. Be open to what comes next.

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References

https://www.rwjf.org/en/library/research/2010/05/low-calorie-dieting-increases-cortisol.html

https://www.cnn.com/2020/08/05/business/grocery-prices-rising/index.html

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4947579/

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4578804/

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4405421/#:~:text=This%20study%20suggests%20that%20human,patients%20with%20obesity%20(48).

http://www.springerlink.com/content/w307w62037125v33/

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1550413112001891

https://journals.lww.com/ejanaesthesiology/Fulltext/2009/12000/Hepatocellular_integrity_after_parenteral.17.aspx

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/22308119/

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/21288612/

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/24316260/

https://www.nature.com/articles/ncomms3316

https://www.eurekalert.org/pub_releases/2011-03/uops-mwt030311.php

https://www.nature.com/articles/nn.4545

https://academic.oup.com/advances/article/7/5/938/4616727

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3700250/

https://academic.oup.com/advances/article/7/5/938/4616727

https://academic.oup.com/ahr/article-abstract/106/2/343/64370

https://academic.oup.com/sleep/article/39/3/715/2454050

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10607034

https://royalsocietypublishing.org/doi/pdf/10.1098/rspb.2017.0967

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