#I'm doing like 3 things at once right now and I've got a half migraine so having a hard time multi tasking

[wildfoxes-spirit]

I'm going through some shit and just need to rant

Some history about everything: I have been in three different states and gone through twice as many schools. I started reading in preschool, I was in the younger class so around 3 years old. At first the teachers thought that I had just memorized the book but my mom got me a book from the library and I read it to her. Because of this I got to go and spend time with the 4 year olds for half of the day. I think this was when the troubles really started. I could have skipped kindergarten but that required doing all of the work in half of the year. My parents didn't want me to have to do that so we just kept me we're I was. I'm almost about to finish 8th grade and this is going to be really long. I had a speech delay when I was learning. I knew that my mom knew what I wanted so I didn't even try to learn and had to go to speech therapy for a year or two I think. And then I had a really bad British accent despite being from the United States.

The trouble with school started back in first grade when I was doing hybrid school. 3 days online and 2 days in person. My mom and I would get into fights over one subject in particular. Writing. It would take a good two hours to do 30 minutes of writing. This was when I was still practicing letters. Well we had switched schools so I wasn't in the same school that I was. This was a traditional school five days a week in person. Well this was when I got my first glasses. We had gone to the eye doctor before school started and I had no issues. But one day my teacher had a page up on the screen that we had to copy down and I couldn't read it. She zoomed in quite a bit and I even moved closer but still couldn't see. Yeah, my prescription is pretty thick now. Anyways the lines were redrawn in the middle of the year so I moved schools. The first year wasn't to bad but the third is when things escalated. I HATED school in third grade. Absolutely HATED it. I didn't ride the bus anymore because it was to crowded and I didn't like it. Also this was around the time fortnight came out and little me was very against it because, and I quote, "people are going to try to replicate it in real life and eventually they will use real guns instead" I had a good family, lived in a good area, I don't know where I got the idea. But that's always how I've been, even now I'm critical but I'll get to that later. I had really bad migraines had a child and had to learn how to swallow pills earlier because that was the only form the medication came in. But the migraines were so bad that I missed a lot of school because I would throw up halfway through the day because the lights were making it worse.

I had to get dragged out of my mom's car most of the time and I was left kicking and screaming. It was bad. I was also a biter during this time so my mom would have large bruises on her art from where I bit her. I sat in the principals more then once just so that I was in the building. What's stupid is that I was right by the door. I would reach for it from the chair but I probably could have made it if I just bolted. I knew how to get home to, the school wasn't that far. Eventually we developed a system: if I came in without a fuss I could spend some time building a Lego set, but if I gave mom a hard time I had to go straight to class. I think it was the special ed room and teachers that did that but I don't remember. I could also go there if there was an assembly of any kind in the gym. I was REALLY sensitive to crowds and loud noises back then, still am but way less. So it worked for a while but it ended up a struggle again. I didn't participate in one of the biggest assignments and just kinda... slumped. I'm actually crying as I'm writing this while laying in bed at 10:06 EST.

I got tested at the end of third grade before we left Indiana for Texas. They thought that I might have autism but further testing would be required. I don't remember when I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. So we move to Texas and I start fourth grade. It's a great start. Some days were rougher then others but there was one time when my mom came for lunch and I was begging her to take me home with her. Like lunch ended and I had to be pried off her and was placed in an isolated room with an adult to watch me. My teachers had never seen me like this before so they were shocked and disappointed. Everyone was disappointed. The next year I moved schools again. A school had been built on the hill behind our house. Things were mostly okay. There were two subs that I didn't like tho. It was a married couple and they did jack shit. I'm reading class one day we were supposed to be working on something in groups but the sub was telling a story of his time in the military. I was 10 at this point and I raised my hand and pointed out that we had shit to work on and his story was incredibly distracting and unnecessary. I don't remember what he said but when I got home I was in tears. There was one other time we're his wife was subbing for our math class while our teacher was in a meeting and I straight up left the classroom without notifying anyone. I took my work and I did it out in the common area. When the teacher came back, and only then, did I re-enter the classroom. Oh and before we moved autism was ruled out and I was diagnosed with ADHD instead (I have the mix version)

That brings us up to 6th,7th and 8th. 6th grade was covid, there's not much. I hated the program of the school I was at because I was doing virtual. Did I mention we moved states again? The program was reviewing stuff that I already knew so when I switched schools to be at the one that I'm currently at they were reviewing for the end of the year test. 7th was a rollercoaster but not to important. I dated for the first time (and last), got in official detention... Fun. What I really want to talk about is 8th.

How many of you remember your 8th grade year. Was it as shit as mine currently is? I find myself critical of everything. I hate when there's a sub, not only does it thow me off but it means that I'm most likely to sit out in the hallway to I don't murder someone. A lot of the subs are incompetent. They don't keep the brats in like and have even made it worse. If someone could meet the brats from doing shit they shouldn't be the maybe, MAYBE, my sanity wouldn't buy dropping. I find that I'm a lot more mature then most of the brats. It's like putting an adult with toddlers. I'm also a bit of a control freak sometimes. But more often then not I have wanted to disappear from the face of the earth because I can't put up with the . I would be a horrible parent. Good thing I'm not having kids. And I can't tell what sent me into depressive episode 54, I don't think ADHD, depression, and being on my period was a good combo and yet here I am.

I would roast some of them but apparently arson is illegal

Why am I still here? Is it really worth crying at 10:40EST about life? I mean does anyone truly believe in me? i don't. Why did I have to be such a fuck up. I was a pain in the ass from the moment I was supposed to be born. I didn't want to come into this world and I still don't want to be here. Do my friends ever notice when I'm there? Would they even care if I stopped talking? Why am I always an outsider no matter who I'm with. Am I even going to be able to survive out there? All I can do is draw and hide.

[sheerioswifties]

So this past year unsolved hasnt been doing the supernatural episodes because crawling through small tunnels and sleeping in old houses isnt very covid safe. You'll see in the most recent season theyve been social distancing. Filming outside seated like 10 feet apart.

Ohhhh kay yes that makes sense. Oof this freaking virus has literally ruined everything huh. Okay next I need to learn about what the watcher is? I keep seeing it referenced in posts about unsolved like is it a new show Shane is doing on his own or just a new iteration of this one or. Idk, I'll find out. Okay well I hope someday people wear masks and get vaccinated enough to quell this thing so that they can come out to the Pacific Northwest for a few things actually omG I wanna go sasquatch hunting with them up here like very good times and I really do want to try apple taters

[punkscowardschampions]

Amelia & Jac

Amelia: My mum heard wrong and you're actually okay, right? Jac: I am now Amelia: but it was you Jac: me and half of Dublin Amelia: I could care less about about 3/4 of this town Jac: generous, a whole 1/4 Amelia: you know what I mean Jac: yeah Jac: your maths isn't that shocking Amelia: what happened? Jac: what do you mean Jac: I didn't accidentally swallow my mouthwash or something Jac: you know how it goes Amelia: alright, why did it happen? Jac: It was new years Jac: simple as Amelia: you don't give a shit about New Year's Amelia: or anything else right now Jac: I was feeling festive Amelia: because? Jac: because it's the reason for the season? idk Amelia: you're really going to make me figure it out? okay Jac: there's fuck all to figure out Jac: you've got drunk, you know why Amelia: What did she do? Jac: which nurse was it that told your mum Jac: or was it a receptionist, they're the fucking worst Amelia: answer my question so I don't have to go on her profile Jac: go ahead and look Jac: you won't be surprised, no one else is Amelia: [does so a pause] Amelia: I'm sorry Jac: I knew anyway Jac: well, was 99% sure Jac: but then that 1% went so Amelia: You could've called me Amelia: nobody on the gossip grapevine even knows the lad who brought you in Jac: I very much couldn't Jac: I was passed out Jac: so me either, the thank you note will sit here unsent, like Amelia: before, I mean Amelia: she didn't post that last night Jac: it was Christmas Amelia: so? Jac: a time for family Amelia: you used to be Amelia: basically Jac: well that's just weird Amelia: again, you know what I mean Jac: not acceptable to float your incest fantasies just 'cos you've got no siblings to go there with Amelia: ugh, shut up Jac: works for me Amelia: no, it doesn't Jac: ask anyone Jac: I've had a very relaxing break Amelia: none of this is working for you, that's why you ended up in hospital Amelia: for fuck's sake Jac: that was the tequila Amelia: none of this is funny Jac: what do want me to say? Amelia: quite literally anything that isn't a pisstake Amelia: that's how low my bar is now Jac: I got drunk, it isn't the drama your mum and whoever the fuck is making it out to be Amelia: it isn't a drama that you got so drunk you had to be medically emptied out after being brought in by a stranger, no of course not Amelia: anything could have happened to you but why the fuck would that matter Jac: clearly I was surrounded by nice people Jac: I wasn't in a crack den Amelia: you wouldn't tell me if you were Amelia: unless you had a joke you could make out of it Jac: I appreciate that you find me so amusing Jac: I'm not making jokes, there is just nothing to actually be said about any of it Amelia: Fine, we'll go back to not talking Jac: don't let me ruin your good time Amelia: it's a bit late for that advice, thanks anyway Jac: amazing Jac: way to make my hospital stay about you Amelia: how could I? It's all about Savannah fucking Moore, as always Jac: so you wanted to be the one I drank myself into a coma for Jac: I'm so sorry Jac: I'll try again next time and leave a note shouting you out Amelia: no you won't, because that would involve telling people about me Amelia: I might as well not exist Jac: 'cos I'm going around telling EVERYONE that this is about her Amelia: it's never been any secret how I feel about you or that I need you even though you don't need me Amelia: and you could've fucking died or something Jac: seriously Amelia: yeah Jac: it's bullshit if you actually believe that Jac: and you're not just saying it Amelia: all of this is bullshit Jac: I'm a fucking mess Jac: I hit you up all the time Jac: why do you need me to spell it out to you Jac: hire a fucking skywriter Amelia: none of it matters because when things actually matter, like this, you don't Jac: because I'm not fucking okay Jac: that doesn't mean that I don't those other times Amelia: I know that Jac: you clearly don't Jac: it means nothing Jac: then fuck it Amelia: it doesn't mean nothing Jac: it's so fucking Jac: infuriating Jac: I haven't talked to anyone else in person for so long Jac: and I barely do it in writing now either Jac: don't pretend you don't know that means something just to fit your narrative Amelia: what to do want me to say? or do? Amelia: I've spent ages worried about you even before this and there's nobody I can talk about it with because you won't Amelia: I don't get to be upset because it's Christmas and we're not friends and I'm over it, that's the narrative for everybody else Amelia: then I hear this and it's no big deal to you, apparently Jac: just not be so fucking dense Jac: at least when you're talking to me, you don't need to pretend that now Jac: what would you like me to say? how fucking vile it was having to bring up my entire stomach contents, what it smelt like? how terrifying it was to be there on my own? Jac: or what can I do for you now? start sobbing about how out of control my life is, repent, promise to change and be different? Amelia: I've already lost you once because of her, I can't do it again Amelia: especially not like that Jac: I can't stop loving her Jac: I can't stop it hurting Jac: all of us Amelia: I can't stop loving you Amelia: and she isn't going to force me to when she isn't even fucking here Jac: There's no point blaming her Jac: if she didn't know, before I showed her how I felt Jac: she didn't know about you and me Amelia: and you think I'm dense Jac: I don't think she's perfect Jac: not completely Amelia: it's progress Jac: shut up Jac: I'm sorry, alright, I wouldn't have told you, you wouldn't have needed to be worried Amelia: I'm worried by all the things you don't tell me Amelia: where you go and what you do when you're not 'hitting me up' Jac: it's not as if you'd wanna hear it though Jac: you want me to stop, like everyone does Jac: but I just Jac: I can't Amelia: I don't want to hear it because I know it's not what you really want Jac: I can't have what I want Amelia: you can't have her, it doesn't mean you have to have that Jac: None of it was real Jac: but it doesn't erase all that time, what was said and done and felt Jac: not for me Amelia: of course it doesn't Jac: it's like I'm trapped Jac: I can't go back but I'm just left here, she's left me here and all of the things we were going to do and be together aren't going to happen Jac: I'm not going to be that person but I'm not the same as before Amelia: it's like she killed you, you have to grieve Jac: I don't like who I am now Jac: without her Amelia: you said it, you're a mess Amelia: not much about that for a virgo to like Jac: this is just another day in the life for you is it Jac: 🦂 Amelia: it's not about me Amelia: how you feel about you Jac: it's no secret I CLEARLY hate myself Amelia: it'd be the worst kept secret ever if it was Jac: so yeah, it's nice to flip the script, have people think maybe I hate them instead Jac: I ruined Christmas because I hate you all, like, yeah, fine Amelia: maybe Cammie's brothers are little enough to fall for it Jac: it's surprising how effective playing at being a coma patient is for the cause Amelia: everyone knows you're hurting instead of hating Jac: alright Jac: sounding like a cringe 90s rnb love song is not cute Amelia: I'm not cute today Jac: have you got your serious face on to match your tone Amelia: my parents have and if you can't beat them, join them Jac: did your nan say something homophobic and they forgot to call her out on your behalf? Amelia: I'm grounded because of what you did, that's what passes for logic in this 🏠 Amelia: they haven't stopped talking about it or trying to overhaul my life Jac: oh great Jac: I'll not be able to see you too now Amelia: they've told me to stay in, they can't make me Amelia: you can see me whenever you want to Jac: your parents are actually sensible, if leaning towards over-protective Jac: they'll get a restraining order Jac: or me sectioned, if they can really sell it Amelia: they don't know about us Amelia: you're fine Jac: they know they don't want you being my friend Amelia: they don't want me getting hospitalised, that's all Amelia: they know if we were still friends I'd look after you and vice versa Jac: it isn't catching, it's alcohol poisoning Jac: can we go to the beach Jac: we've obviously missed the official swim but I want to Amelia: they did run out of Christmas drinks because I never got around to replacing what we stole and I did have to take sole blame, so that's where they think I'm heading Amelia: but yeah, we can go to the beach Jac: their friends always could put it away Amelia: and I wasn't even drunk last night Amelia: because I'd already had a lecture Jac: how drunk did you get on Christmas day then Amelia: it's not my fault they all stop at a couple of glasses Amelia: or want to my life a competition vs the child or children of every single person my parents know Amelia: 🥱🙄 Jac: you didn't know miracle was a lifetime obligation as well as a fancy title? Jac: gutted Amelia: did I hit you up, no, therefore I CLEARLY wasn't drunk enough Jac: Charming Amelia: 😏 Jac: you know, when I get drunk, I make really bad choices/nearly die Amelia: not always Amelia: and I might've given my cousin my phone so I didn't send you anything, okay? I'm that 😳🤓 Jac: She blatantly wanted to nose at all your private texts anyway Jac: I wouldn't trust any of mine as far as I can throw them Amelia: she'd have to steal my fingerprint, I definitely wasn't that drunk Jac: don't you delete them after? Jac: amateur Amelia: what would I do when you aren't talking to me if I did, read a book? Jac: you're quick with the recommendations for me, so yeah Amelia: I get enough migraines without encouraging them Jac: 😏 Jac: we definitely shouldn't be friends then Amelia: that's not even in the top 10 of reasons why we shouldn't Jac: again, so polite Amelia: come on, you know I'll break any amount of rules Jac: it's not supposed to be adding to the fun of it, like Amelia: fuck supposed to as well Jac: alright Jac: but I ain't going out and getting drunk tonight Jac: I feel inside out still Amelia: what do you want to do then? Jac: I don't know Jac: let's just start with the beach and I'll see Amelia: okay Jac: what do you wanna do Amelia: I only give a shit about seeing you Jac: It might take me a while to get out Jac: goes without saying I'm more than grounded Jac: one pair of 👀 on me at all times Amelia: that kind of wait won't kill me Jac: alright Jac: I'll think of something Amelia: remember a coat this time, yeah? Amelia: I can't lend you any more without literally taking the one off my own back Jac: oh no Amelia: you didn't nearly die in my coat, did you? Jac: I was wearing it Jac: but I don't have it now Amelia: oh Jac: I do remember where I was, I wasn't that gone when I arrived Jac: but I don't wanna go back, I can give you the address? Amelia: do I want to go there or should I just hit the sales? Jac: yeah Jac: consider it a late christmas present? Amelia: wait, my late Christmas present isn't that you didn't die? Jac: you're glad, aren't you, that's a gift Jac: but I also meant money for a coat, that's only fair, if anything Amelia: I can afford my own replacement coat Jac: alright Jac: but I did lose it Amelia: I lent it to you, if it was that precious to me, I wouldn't have Amelia: and my mum will be thrilled I'm asking to go shopping Jac: yeah, true enough Jac: what did you get her for christmas? Amelia: [something her basic mum would actually love because she only had to buy for her parents so might as well go in] Jac: wow, daughter of the year much Amelia: I'm their only daughter, there's no contest Jac: all I got mine was a nervous breakdown so you know Amelia: I did that last year, you know, before it was cool Jac: 🤓 Amelia: I'm sorry that you didn't invent pining Jac: I'm not pining though, you can have that Amelia: I don't want it Jac: I'm sorry you invented pining Amelia: I didn't, I just happen to be amazing at it Jac: or bad at it, depending on your outlook Amelia: well yeah Jac: I look awful Amelia: how do you feel? Jac: awful Jac: at least there's no disparity there Amelia: you've nailed it, along with the majority Jac: start as the year will go on, no matter my intentions or otherwise Jac: fucking hell Amelia: I look great, you've been warned Jac: 😂 Amelia: 👧🏻 Jac: at least it isn't bowl-esque now Jac: like your xmas throwback Amelia: I knew you'd like that Jac: that santa is creepy looking though Jac: your face says it all Amelia: 😂 Jac: how likely do you think any of my siblings are to cover for me right now Amelia: 🤔 very unlikely Jac: distract and run it is Amelia: can you even 🏃 the state you're in? Jac: They gave me IV, I'm technically in my prime, thank you Amelia: carry on Jac: you don't have to come Amelia: I want to though Jac: alright Amelia: okay Jac: [I think she should ask Jesse to cover but whatever the outcome of that convo let us say you do get out somehow and you can go to the beach] Amelia: [yeah even if he won't, find a way gal] Jac: [have your nice moment] Amelia: [it's deserved, well not really because you ruined christmas and new year's but Savannah ruined everything first so it kind of is lol] Jac: [it's what being a teen is all about henny] Amelia: [not this teen, I was a goody two shoes] Jac: [my boo is too good she would never lmao, I did so] Jac: [I think they should have a nice time but then someone/someone's parents is at the beach so she's like well bye] Amelia: [that's very valid because you lowkey wouldn't be able to go anywhere without seeing someone either they know from school or Amelia's parents know the parents of] Jac: [exactly, it's an easy way to end things before anything really has to be said or done so tah everyone] Amelia: [I hope you're both going home, we don't need any more drama immediately] Jac: [my boo says get your ass back home] Amelia: [mhmm] Jac: [she has nowhere to be so I'm sure she's going back to bed lol] Amelia: [get your arse back home too Amelia even though I'm sure that girl has text you at Christmas and New Year's] Jac: [at least you weren't at the beach gal] Amelia: [I 100% vote you do see her when school starts though even though she in the year above and would have to seek you out lol] Jac: [my boo says let her have it] Amelia: [we do love the jealousy always] Jac: [mhmm] Amelia: [not letting you date her though because she actually seems to like you so that'd be rude] Jac: [only jac and savannah can do that lol] Amelia: [Savannah do like this boy cos he reminds her of Jac remember LOL] Jac: [lmao]

[cookinguptales]

Okay so weird question, but how exactly did you get diagnosed with POTS? I was diagnosed with hypermobility syndrome and partial arrhythmia a while ago, and it's only just recently that I've had a doc wonder if I have POTS. He didn't really tell me anything about POTS, and now I'm really lost! Do you think it's unlikely that I could get to be 21 and not be diagnosed?

Strap in, friend, because the story of how I got diagnosed is long and unpleasant.

So to start off, here’s a basic explanation of Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. It’s a syndrome, which means that it is a description of a collection of symptoms rather than an underlying cause. Frankly, doctors aren’t super sure why any of this happens, what exactly causes it, or even if it’s genetic or what. (But my mom, sister, and grandmother all show signs of mild POTS, so uh. It’s probably genetic.) The long and short of it, though, is that your blood vessels are supposed to automatically tighten or release in order to control blood flow. When you stand up, they tighten to counteract gravity and make sure blood stays where it should be. When you have POTS, your blood vessels don’t do what they’re supposed to do. Your autonomic nervous system stops controlling this tightening and loosening process, which means your blood flow is not being adequately controlled. (Also, there seems to be some research showing that #1, we tend to have more elastic blood vessels, which means they just expand when they fill up more – bad because that means your body can’t use blood pressure to regulate blood flow, either, and #2, we may not always have enough blood in our bodies to fill our blood vessels, so again, shitty blood pressure.) ANYWAY, what all this means in practice is that assorted parts of your body aren’t getting enough blood, or they’re getting too much blood. Blood does all sorts of important things for your organs, especially oxygenating them, so this really means that POTS is an “anything that can go wrong will go wrong” situation. Anything in your body that uses blood can go haywire at any time. And sorry to say, that’s everything.

Now, POTS is highly variable. Again, it’s a loose collection of symptoms, and those symptoms are different for literally every patient. POTS is actually super common in teenage girls, but it tends to be very mild and some teens (mostly boys, mind) completely grow out of it, so people often don’t even notice they have it. People only just started researching it and it’s still not talked about much, which, well, is probably due to sexism. I learned the hard way that teenage girls are not generally listened to when they complain about nebulous symptoms, especially if those symptoms have literally anything to do with hormones and menstruation. (Which POTS does. It’s…I think ¾ of all people who have it are biologically female, and onset usually accompanies periods of hormone fluctuation such as start of menstruation, childbirth, or start of menopause. Most sufferers get it in their teens when they start getting their period.) Like… It’s hard to really put this in a gender neutral way because I promise you, the reason doctors are shitty about POTS is tied to both the biological and societal effects of being female. That’s an aside though.

Anyway, tl;dr, it’s different for everyone and doctors think you’re nuts. When I was diagnosed, in the informational packet literally said “THIS IS NOT ALL IN YOUR HEAD” because so many patients have been repeatedly told that. For me, I was actually uh. I don’t want to say lucky? But in some ways I guess, yeah, lucky. I have a really bad case of POTS with some really severe symptoms. I have a lot of digestion problems, extreme exhaustion problems, dizziness, faintness, anxiety/depression, pooling/tingling/coldness in extremities, and here’s the biggie – blindness. When I stand up, I often just straight-up go blind. (Or if I’m just sitting there doing fucking nothing if I’m on an airplane.) It was really bad especially when I was a teenager. It used to be like literally every fucking time I stood up. (We later found out it was because all the blood was draining out of my head bc gravity. Turns out your brain likes blood! This is also why it hurts so much.) Now, doctors ignored most of what I told them about exhaustion, trouble keeping down food, aches and pains, etc. I was repeatedly told “oh, well, that’s just part of being a teenage girl”. Like honestly, try telling someone that you have exhaustion, pain, and nausea relating to a period and see how seriously you get taken. Jesus.

BUT UH THEY COULD NOT IGNORE THE BLINDNESS. Like I don’t care how teenage girl-y you are, it is not normal to go blind on the regular! My doctors could not figure out what the hell was happening. And I do mean doctors. I got POTS when I was around 10, along with my period. I was diagnosed when I was almost 18. In the meantime, I was passed around between dozens of doctors and honestly? I was a guinea pig. They didn’t know what was wrong with me so I was subjected to constant barrage of tests and treatments that made me a hell of a lot sicker. I was going to like 3 different doctors a week, sometimes every day. There are very few medical tests I have not had at least once. Some of the treatments they tried, I later learned, carried a strong risk of addiction, permanent neurological damage, and death. I was a drugged-out mess trying to drag myself through 15 flavors of physical therapy every day. Like uh. In short, my teenage years weren’t…good… 

I finally got referred to like my sixth neurologist, and the guy was like “okay, you have been passed around between neurologists, cardiologists, ENTs, sleep disorder specialists, etc. for YEARS and we don’t know what’s wrong, so it makes no sense to keep ‘treating’ you – so I’m gonna take some readings and send them (and you) to a research hospital”. And that’s what he did! He took me off all of my medications (leading to the kind of DTs that honestly possibly could have killed me; I researched a few of the medications later and let’s just say you’re not supposed to go off them cold turkey) and did some tests. He found out some stuff like my blood pressure moves around a lot when I stand up. And sometimes my blood pressure was as low as 60/40. (Yo, that’s almost dead. The nurse took the reading three times with two different machines bc she was freaking out, lmao.) So he referred me to Mayo Clinic.

Now, what I did not know before this was that Mayo was actually the clinic that had discovered (and still researched) POTS! They saw a lot of girls like me. They took some blood, did a few tests, and when I had my appointment with them, they knew in under a half hour that I had POTS. I…cried. A lot. haha. It was so bizarre how many things in my life were actually an indicator of POTS. They were like “do you often sit all folded up?” and I basically exclusively do – and often got in trouble for it in school – and they were like “yeah, that’s POTS, you unconsciously try to keep all your limbs tucked in to reduce how far your blood needs to go”. Which is, I guess, why I tend to lose sensation in my legs and/or have my feet turn purple when I sit in normal chairs. lol. “Do you ever get dizzy or black out when you stretch or yawn?” oh yeah. “Do you get really sick when you take hot showers?” almost died once or twice, check! “Do you get weak when you lift things above your head?” you betcha. “Do you have a lot of problems with heat and sunlight?” OH YES I DO. Living in Florida was hell. I’d be vomiting and unable to stand up after like 30 minutes outside in the summer. I still vomit and get migraines if I look at a sunset, when the sun is strongest. Sensory sensitivity, especially photosensitivity, is a thing with POTS.

The actual diagnosis of POTS is kind of difficult. They usually have to do a ton of tests to rule everything else out first. Then they’ll usually try a tilt-table test (they tilt ya and measure your heart rate to see if your heartbeat skyrockets to help battle your blood doing weird shit) or a sweat test (which I am told is supposed to be painless but was one of the most painful experiences of my life so maybe it was a POTS thing) or look at your pee and see if you’re hella dehydrated. If you have POTS, you’re pretty much always hella dehydrated. (Gross but important: a symptom I never mentioned bc I didn’t know how abnormal it was – it burned like HELL when I peed. Turns out I was grossly, dangerously dehydrated. My urine was so concentrated that it was literally burning my urethra. idk how this slipped by so many doctors, but drink some dang water!) So it’s really a combination of tests for diagnosis, and they have to know to look for it in the first place! More and more doctors know about POTS now, but when I was first diagnosed almost a decade ago (this February! :’) when I went to college none of the school doctors knew about it. My family doctor didn’t know. None of my specialists knew about it. They wouldn’t give me student vaccinations bc they didn’t know how they’d interact with my brain. lol. It’s better now, though! I recently got a new doctor when I left my school’s health system, and she knew what POTS was! I was so happy, haha. Once I had a doctor literally google it right in front of me, so it was uh. A welcome change.

All this is to say that getting POTS diagnosed can be hell!! And I could definitely buy that you’re 21 and haven’t yet been diagnosed, especially if you’re female. My recommendation is this: the main treatment for POTS is diet and exercise, and that can’t hurt even if you don’t have POTS. I shit you not. There’s no cure or anything, but you are supposed to drink A LOT of water (I drink over a gallon a day, and that’s on days I’m not dealing with the sun) and eat a LOT of salt (”as much as you can stand” was their exact wording) and wear compression clothing (spanx and compression socks help me) and try to keep your body as toned as possible. It’s really easy to get out of shape when you have POTS (god knows I did), but they recommend trying to keep your blood moving. (THOUGH, CAVEAT!! I put on a lot of weight since I got diagnosed, and I have to admit. It’s gotten my blood pressure to a healthier level. So idrk what to make of that.)

I’m not gonna tell you to start eating massive amounts of salt when I don’t know your body, but drinking water can’t hurt you. So if you suspect that you may have POTS, start drinking water. This is not a replacement for a treatment plan, but it can’t hurt you! It can only help! So while you’re working with your doctor, just drink a lot of water and see if it helps you feel better. It is like night and fucking day with me.

Finally, POTS has a high comorbidity rate with other issues. In other words, if you have a severe case of POTS, you probably don’t only have POTS. A common illness to have with POTS is EDS, or Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. It’s a type of hypermobility, which may be why your doctor is concerned. (I don’t have EDS, probably, but I do have some pain/movement issues that they’ve never been able to pin down, so there’s probably…something. idk.)

Here’s my advice. Work with your doctor to try and figure things out. Drink water. Make sure you have a good doctor whom you trust. Even after I got diagnosed, I regularly got medical professionals who believed this shit was all in my head. And try not to worry. Like I said, for most people who have it, POTS is extremely mild. If you change your lifestyle, you might not see many symptoms at all, and if you do, well. Work with that trusted doctor. Hit me up. I know a lot of ways to get a lot of salt in your body. lol

[bythegraceofcass]

Hey Ladies and Men, and my Non-Binary friends. Bythegraceofcass, here. I decided to share the first chapter of my Stucky fic here. I'm dying for support and readers with this one. It not only keeps me motivated but it means a lot to me when people enjoy my stories, because all I want is to write stories that make people laugh, cry and feel all warm and fuzzy inside. So, please, take a moment to read this chapter. If you like it, hop on over to my fic on AO3, the first 3 chapters are up and I am almost done writing chapter 4. ❤ Thank ya'll, and Happy Holidays.

P.S. this is an AU, It is not a canonical story.

Unintended, Chapter 1

Summary:

After surviving a harrowing terrorist attack in New York City, Bucky Barnes finds himself in dire need of a little helping hand. Or, rather, paw. In comes Natasha, Bucky's best friend and much adored professional dog handler in the dog show world. While on a fateful trip to a dog show to search for a breeder to get his service dog prospect from, Bucky lays eyes on someone surprisingly even more beautiful than Natasha Romanoff herself.

Steve Rogers is everything Bucky could possibly dream of, if he could dream.... that is. Plagued with awful nightmares, flashbacks, chronic pain, a metal arm and mental illness, Steve is just what Bucky needed to give him the push he deserved towards finding his self worth. But is Bucky capable of loving and being loved? Or does his traumatic past and pain, both physical and mental, prevent him from finding the happiness he truly deserves? Is Steve Rogers just another pretty fling, or the doorway to Forever?

Chapter One

Bucky sighed as he got out of Natasha’s shiny black Corvette. His neck ached from the weight of his prosthetic metal shoulder, he slid on his black leather glove, a long sleeved red Henley preventing his prosthetic to be seen by the outside world. “Natasha, is this really necessary? Couldn't I just go to the pound, pick out a dog there?” Natasha rolled her eyes as she shut the driver's side door “Bucky, you know very well that isn't how it works. You need a well bred puppy from someone who responsibly breeds healthy dogs if you want to train a dog to be your service dog. Mostly, shelter dogs really don't work.” Bucky glared at her, reverting his gaze to the building which held hundreds of barking dogs of every breed, vying for the most prestigious ribbons to prove their pedigree bloodlines and stellar structure.

Bucky grit his teeth, a dog show is not the place he wanted to be. He had a migraine, and a migraine whilst stuck in a room with a bunch of barking, whining dogs is not the place he wanted to be. But Natasha told him he would be most successful landing a good, responsible breeder to get his puppy from, here. Since she was a professional dog handler, she had some in's and out’s to the best breeders in the nation. Most were friends and clients of hers, and in the dog world, anyone who's a friend of Natasha's is a friend of theirs.

Today, Natasha didn't have a dog to show. But, since she was very well known and many breeders and owners wanted to hire her to get their dog finished, she always came dressed and ready to enter the ring. Bucky secretly envied her. She was beautiful, successful in honestly the hardest and most cut throat industry out there, and married. Here he was crippled, disabled and working at Stark Industries after… well, after. Not to mention, bi and single. He and Natasha had a thing a while back, but it never went anywhere.

They were better off friends.

They got their fold up chairs out of the trunk and walked inside the building. Almost immediately, Bucky was assaulted with people grooming their dogs, blow drying their dog's fur, trimming nails, accentuating muscle groups on their dog's bodies. Most every dog he saw was absolutely beautiful, even the breeds he wasn't fond of. He noticed a long line of people waiting to enter a section circled off with a white fence, about thigh or waist high. Next to them were the most beautiful Golden Retrievers he had ever seen. “Natalia. I think I’m gonna go watch the Goldens.” Bucky sometimes called Natasha by the Russian version of her name, ever since she found out he had a Russian ancestor- Just one- she'd insisted he "tap into his Russian roots". To the dismay of Bucky, who was mostly American on his father's side and Romanian on his mother's, he did. Only because he was forced, and Natasha was scary when she was crossed.

Bucky made his way over to the ring and set his chair up, he took his phone out and set it in the cup holder on the arm. He pushed back his long hair out of his face and sighed, subtly rubbing his temple in attempt to soothe his aching head which was only made worse by the noise in the building. He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for. Sure. Nat had told him a thing or two about proper canine structure and what to look for in a dog… but to him, a dog was a dog. As long as they were loyal that’s all he cared about. After the… incident… Bucky was never the same. Plagued by constant pain, nightmares, flashbacks, Anxiety and Depression, that drugs could never cure, despite the fact that he kept taking them, Natasha talked Bucky into getting a Service Dog. He didn't see a problem in getting one. He loved dogs, and had always wanted one. As a kid, he was busy caring for his sisters and his Ma never wanted dogs in the house. She said she had enough to worry about with three kids. However, as a tax-paying adult living in his own place, Bucky could do whatever the hell he wants. And now, Bucky wanted a dog.

He watched as handlers and dogs entered the ring, just as Natasha set her chair up and sat down next to him. Suddenly, his eye caught a tall, muscular, blond haired man jogging into the ring and kneeling down next to his dog to set him up in a stack. The man wore a smart light grey suit with a light blue shirt, which he could visibly see chiseled abs through, and grey paisley tie. It accentuated the dog, not to mention his body, perfectly. “Hey. Who's that?” Bucky nudged at Natasha, pointing subtly at the golden haired man. “Oh, that.. is Steve Roger’s. Fierce competition and… one of the best Golden breeders in New York. He lives over in Brooklyn. I was hoping he'd be here. His dogs are incredible.” Bucky never took his eyes off of him, Natasha smirked. “I also believe he's single. I’m pretty sure he's gay. I’ve never seen him with a girl, nor does he ever hit on any of the female competition here.” Bucky blushed, glaring at her before reverting his eyes back to the gorgeous man with the pretty dog. “I’m not here for that Nat.” Bucky shifted in his seat, his shoulder and head beginning to ache even more. He rubbed at his temple again. “I’m interested in getting a puppy from him.”

In all actuality, Bucky was actually interested in him. Not his puppies. However, he was technically here for one reason. He could go to any random bar and get laid there if he wanted to; but that wasn't how his mama raised him and he knew it. Bucky watched as the handlers exhibited their dogs to show off their strongest attributes, if a dog had a poor topline but gorgeous front, the handler made sure to show that off to the judge. All handlers were knelt down baiting their dogs and holding their tails up, as per standard, and the judge quickly, but efficiently, made her rounds. Stopping at each dog to take in their overall structure and appearance.

When she stopped at Steve's dog he made sure to give the judge eye contact. And, would you believe it, the little shit had the audacity to flash an adorable, albeit charming, smile that made Bucky's heart flutter. The two exchanged words, which made it obvious she thought something highly of him, and moved on to the next. Natasha rolled her eyes and snorted “And that, my friend, is how Rogers just won the entire breed ring, even though it just started.” Bucky looked at her in total confusion. Natasha sighed in slight irritation at his absolute ignorance despite her constant aspirations to convert him and turn him into a dog obsessed fiend like her.

“Okay, notice that cute little smile Steve just gave the judge? The eye contact? Exchange of words? There's really one thing that makes the dog world go round and that is called Politics. As I've mentioned, Steve has phenomenal dogs with beautiful structure and even prettier pedigrees. Every Judge in the country knows that.” She looked from Bucky to Steve “Paired with his own gorgeous looks, he always manages to earn nothing more than Best of Breed.” Bucky reverted his gaze back to Steve, ‘I know how you feel lady. He could punch me in the nuts and I would ask him to do it again', he though to himself.

Once the judge finished making her rounds, she went back to the front of the row. Everyone stood up, making sure their dog stayed in their perfect stances. One by one, a handler walked up to a taped off rectangle in front of the ring and situated their dog. The judge checked the dogs bite and ran her hands along the animals body to check his structure, then she watched as the handler strategically jogged down the ring in a vertical straight line and back to show the dogs movement. Once they returned, the handler would ask the dog to do what was called a “free stack”, which essentially was getting the dog to automatically stack themselves up without help from the handler to prove they were “built right". If a dog cannot do a natural stack, they have poor structure and will not win or be considered for the breed gene pool.

Finally, it was Steve's turn. He did everything so gracefully. From setting his dog up, to jogging down the ring to gait his dog. The golden retriever he showed was the epitome of the breed, himself. Bucky was in absolute awe. Sure, he'd watched Natasha show dogs of almost every breed many times, but he had never seen an exhibition so graceful before.

Man, he was really in deep. And he'd never even spoken to the guy. Yet.

About an hour and a half later, the judge had viewed every male and female dog in her assigned breed. Just like Natasha foresaw, Steve's dog won. For whatever reason, Bucky was happy he did.

After what seemed like an eternity, after pictures were taken of the winning dogs for the day, the handlers who won went back to their grooming area to wait for the group ring. Natasha got up and Bucky followed suit, making sure to food up their chairs and carry them with him. As they made their way to Steve's grooming table, Natasha was constantly stopped for hugs, kisses, hand shakes, greetings from her fellow handlers and breeders. She’d even gained some new clients.

Once they arrived to Steve's area, he had his suit jacket hanging on his chair and was stood at his grooming table, touching up his prized winning dog. Bucky internally swore, he could literally see the man's back muscles ripple through his thin dress shirt. And nothing turned Bucky on more than a well muscled back.

“Hey, Rogers.” Steve turned around and instantly lit up, a broad toothy grin plastered on his face ��Natasha.” He pulled the petite redhead into a big bear hug “long time no see,” He said after releasing her. “You showing today?” Natasha shook her head in answer. “No. Actually, I’m here with a friend.” Steve then reverted his gaze to Bucky. “Steve. This is Bucky. Bucky, Steve. “ the two men shook hands, Bucky couldn't help but notice the guy was a tad bit stronger than him. Which wasn't something he frequented in other gay male suitors.

“Steve, Bucky is actually looking for a breeder to bring home a puppy from. This puppy will be rather special. Buck, here, hope’s to train the little fur ball up to be his trusted Service Dog.” Natasha explained. Steve’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had never had someone approach him for a service prospect before, but he had no doubt his dogs couldn't be great at the job. After all, his motto was versatility, intelligence, health and structure over anything else. “I think I would be more than honored to place a pup with you, Bucky. Normally, people just email or call me and ask for prices of my puppies.” He rolled his eyes, obviously frustrated by the mere mention of the way most people inquired “I like your style. It means a lot that you came here to get a first glance at your choices in breeders.”

Bucky couldn't help but smile in response to Steve's praise. “Well, I have a certain little spiteful redhead in my life. If I didn't come, I knew I would personally have to pay for it later on.” He shuddered in mock fear and Natasha elbowed him in the ribs, to which Bucky yelped slightly. “What he means to say, is, I taught him everything he knows. He knew it would be the obvious responsible choice. Once he gets that puppy, I’m definitely getting gratitude cookies.” Natasha glared at Bucky playfully.

“So, what kind of service do you need from the dog, if you don't mind my asking, Bucky?” Bucky hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the question. Steve quickly took notice in his discomfort, blushing, he immediately softened the blow. “I-I mean. So I can pair you with the right pup. That way you won't get stuck with something that won't meet your needs and lifestyle. It's totally up to you if you want to share it with me.” Bucky shifted his weight to his other foot and took a slightly shaky breath. He hated talking about the suffering the… incident… brought him. “He really just needs light to medium mobility and psychiatric work. So, maybe an easy going, intelligent, stable, steady dog will do it. A pup who scores a ‘4’ on the Volhard Test will do perfectly.”

Bucky relaxed. He was definitely baking Natasha gratitude cookies.

Steve nodded, obviously slightly deep in thought. “Alright. I think I may have the perfect pairings for you. Do you work?” A much easier question he could answer. “Yes. I’m an engineer at Stark Industries.” Steve once again raised his eyebrows and whistled. “Nice. Tony Stark has a reputation for offering the best pay and benefits a job has to offer.” Steve glanced at his dog laying lazily on the grooming table. “This, here, is Valor. He's a two and a half year old male. He’s one of my best studs right now, and actually one of the males I have in mind to sire your pup.” Steve reached out and lovingly stroked the dog's head. “You can pet him if you’d like. He loves attention, as any Golden worth their salt would. Don’t’cha pal?” the dog thumped his tail on the grooming table in response.

Bucky reached out with his flesh hand and gently stroked the dog's ear. The dog licked his hand briefly, signaling that he was clearly his new bestest friend. Bucky smiled, there was a sense of joy dogs brought him that no other human could. Well.

Except for maybe one human, now.

Steve smiled warmly, Valor had always had a knack for being a good judge of character and rarely gave people kisses. Maybe Bucky was better than he realized. He glanced at his watch and sighed. “Bucky, would you be okay with coming by my house tomorrow? Just so you could better get to know my dogs and we could interview each other.” Bucky's ears perked up. “Sure!” Bucky winced at his response. A little too enthusiastic Barnes, tone it down a notch “ I mean. Sure. What time?” that's better. “2:30 too late?” Bucky shook his head “2:30 is perfect. Whatever is best for you.” Steve pulled out his wallet and grabbed a pen from his grooming bag, scribbled something quickly on the back of the card, and handed it to Bucky. On the front it read

‘Marvel Golden Retrievers

Steve Rogers

Breeder/Owner/Handler’

On the back was Steve's business number.. and-

“My personal number and address. I don't normally give out that information too quickly, but you’re an exception.” Natasha glanced up at him and smirked, to which Bucky flustered and blushed ever so slightly. “Thanks. I, uh… I’ll text you my number when I get home.” Steve offered his hand to shake, which Bucky accepted whole heartedly. “Well. It was nice to meet you Bucky. Good to see you again Natasha.” The two hugged again, before they pulled apart and Steve said “Don't be such a stranger next time.” Natasha smiled “I’ll be at a show next weekend. Maybe I’ll see you there.” Steve winked at her in agreement. Which did nothing to help Bucky's pure and unadulterated lust at the moment. “See ya tomorrow, Bucky.” And the three parted ways.

Natasha didn't say a word until they got back in the car. “You’re totally gonna bone Steve.” Bucky shoved her “Shut up and drive. Do something useful for once in your life.” Natasha smirked “Gratitude cookies.” And the car vibrated to life with a steady purr.