#Ptsd in healthcare is real

[midnightlovestories]

I, for one, love the fact the the writers in Prodigy made Janeway retire from Starfleet. Not only it makes sense but also shows her character growth.

Janeway loves Starfleet, Janeway IS Starfleet but I really appreciate that Prodigy showed that you can experience burnout even in doing something you love, in something that you considered part of who you were.

I love that Janeway allowed herself to recognize that it was becoming too much for her and took active steps to focus on herself (retirement). She's been through a lot even before Delta Quadrant and the PTSD from the Delta Quadrant alone was enough for her to spend the next decade in therapy. Also, if we consider Mosaic as canon for her backstory, she never really dealt with the loss of her father and fiancé, or her depression. She never grieved properly, she never processed her loss, she forced herself (and was pushed by her sister) to move on, she returned to Starfleet and kept herself busy, she buried her grief.

All that is a lot to carry and I mean A LOT. It all boils over in 'Night' in season 5 and she succumbs to her depression and then AGAIN, in the end she just claws her way back because the crew loves her and won't allow her to sacrifice herself and also her sense of responsibility to her crew wins. She claws her way back. She had a job to do, she has to get them home. Self-sacrifice is imbedded deeply in her character.

But there's no respite at home. Home is not the same.

Janeway is a scientist and an explorer first anf foremost, she’s also excellent diplomat. Politics is part of diplomacy but politics is not why she joined Starfleet for. Her job as an Admiral is now mainly politics, it's a chronically stressful occupation with insane responsibility and Janeway hadn't had a break for years at this point. And even Chakotay’s disappearance aside, she's clearly disillusioned with what Starfleet is at this point.

It is becoming too much and Janeway acknowledging that is huge step for this character, it must be nothing but devastating to acknowledge that the one thing you gave your life in service of, is no longer serving you, it's actually bad for you and your mental health. I don't believe Janeway took the decision to retire lightly, I imagine it broke her heart to retire but she needed it.

I know kiddies watching PRO won't know any of this, because you need to know Janeway’s backstory from Voy, but just the fact that the show for kids did not shy away from trauma and mental health issues is, in my opinion, phenomenal. I love and applaud the writers decision to make Janeway retire, however briefly. It checks out.

[martyrbat]

someone paid at least ten dollars to loudly announce that people being subjected to a genocide are inconsiderate of their mental health and that theyre the real victim here. you cant be a mental health advocate or say you care about people struggling with these issues if you do not extend your care to be for people outside a western country, you're just an imperialist with buzzwords.

What about the mental health of Ola Ahel, a Palestinian 7th grade teacher with such a passion she graduated with first class honors, and instead of teaching like she's been excited for, had her first year tragically cut short and now is struggling to provide and get enough people to donate to take care of her and her six family members?

What about the mental health of healthcare workers, like Doctor Moath, a 24 year old who's campaign has been incredibly stagnant and provides care for other people's loved ones in Egypt while fearing constantly for his own loved ones, two younger brothers (16 and 23) and a 56 year old father, that's still in Gaza? What about the mental despair and pain Moath and his family face in fearing they'll never see each other again or the pain in having to talk with your family to decide who will evacuate and who will be left behind because there's no donations for days and weeks at a time?

What about the mental health of Mohammad Ayesh, who is so widely depended upon to have @gaza-evacuation-funds be a thing, who verifies people's fundraisers to give our minds some ease that it's going to people that need it? Who sees and transports the martyred and injured, who drives into danger with the goal of finding survivors, who now suffers from migraines and lung damage due to smoke and debris inhalation from over a year of this selfless care? What about his mental health as he fears having uncontrollable coughing fits when IOF members or the fear of not being there to take care of his disabled younger, disabled brother, Yasser? What about Yasser's mental health as he isn't able to keep up with his speech lessons and is dependent on a cochlear implant? What about his fears of something happening to his brother, of his hearing device being damaged again and having to go through days without hearing again and being unable to hear danger or the voice of his loved ones?

What about the mental health of the children who's traumatized and will suffer with PTSD from watching their family be killed and be subjected to fearing for their their familes lives, such as the Naseer and the Al-Kafarna family? They includes 16 year old Ghazal Naseer, her five year old, Mohammad, and her 26 year old sister as they're separated from their parents and family. The Al-Kafarnas, consisting of three children with the eldest being only 7 and their parents, became like a family in this year of hell to the Naseer's, including traveling together, sharing shelter, and providing the comfort of knowing they aren't alone in their despair. The father, Fayez, has been injured in the head with shrapnel while trying to bring food to the families and little Mohammad had recently been struck by Israeli drones and needs urgent care.

What the mental health of those familes, who are mourning those they have lost and fearing for who remains and the pain of starvation and violence they're subjected to? Such as Israa Rabah and her two children, one a toddler at just 2 and one who was born into this genocide? Israa's family was murdered, their tent bombed, and her husband was kidnapped by the opressor eight months ago and she has yet to seen or hear about him since, unsure if he has been martyred too or if he is still being held hostage and experiencing the cruelty of the IOF. Her pregnancy, a time when she should be excited to grow her family and celebrate a new life, has been filled with pain and struggle such as malnourishment and healthcare. And now her and her children are suffering from this siege and inhumane conditions as she hasn't even had the time to grieve everyone she has lost and the life she had hoped for and deserved due to the stress of trying to protect her babies and raise money to provide the necessary supplies they need as well as enough money for her father's treatment against cancer.

if youre like me and was disgusted by the cruel, self centered post in the screenshots, please block them and spend that ten+ dollars they used to spread hate and discouragement and donate to one of the linked GoFundMe's or, if picking one family is difficult for you, you can still donate to someone randomly spotlighted on gazafunds or select a post on gaza-evacuation-funds. They all need it and your donation, rather it be the $5 minimum to the maximum amount, matters and will make a difference

[notiddygothgf]

𝟎

★ pairings: suguru geto x satoru gojo, satosugu

★ synopsis: Suguru Geto struggles with letting people in after leaving a three-year-long abusive relationship. Enter Satoru Gojo, the boy who doesn't seem to take no for an answer.

★ c.w.: slow burn, mutual pining, explicit sexual content, dub con elements, implied/referenced rape/non-con, mahito is a real abusive asshole, past relationship(s), past abuse, recovery, hurt, comfort, vent fic, based on my shitty ex, my therapist told me it'd be a good idea idk, im a good writer I swear, brought to u by the bch who wrote best friend's brother!choso, sexual tension, new love, fluff, angst, smutt, graphic, psychological trauma, theres a happy ending in here I swear, angst with a happy ending, psychological trauma, PTSD, idiots in love, sexy smut I swear.

★ a/n: NGL I kinda hate how this turned out. but! it had to be done! I had to get it out of the way. the way I think this is gonna work is past flashbacks first, present time next. it's gonna prob alternative between the two for a while. comment your thoughts! let me hear u! feel free to slander mahito... he plays the shitty ex.

★ w.c.; 3.4k

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐔 𝐍 𝐅 𝐎 𝐑 𝐓 𝐔 𝐍 𝐀 𝐓 𝐄    𝐀 𝐈 𝐋 𝐌 𝐄 𝐍 𝐓

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

PROLOGUE

2019. MONTH UNKNOWN.

I WAS ONLY 12 YEARS OLD the first time I tried to kill myself. In retrospect, I can’t possibly imagine what could have been so important to little me that he firmly believed he would rather die than live without it. I wish I could say that I had a difficult life. That simply was not the case. I grew up with two loving parents and a kind brother, in a small town where every friend I’d ever had was within a mile of me at any given point in time. We weren’t rich, but we most certainly weren’t poor. I had everything a child could ask for and so much more.

Again, I wish that I could say I had a difficult life, but that simply was not the case. 

It’s just that I’ve had these… thoughts for as long as I can remember. An unfortunate ailment, if you will. No matter what I did, there always seemed to be something missing. Something I felt I would spend my whole life searching for – or at least trying to supplement.

At 12 years old, I planned my first attempt.

It didn’t work.

So, now, faced with the unbearable burden of deciding what I was going to do for the rest of my life, I chose to pursue a childhood dream of mine. I wanted to go to school to become a doctor. I didn’t know what kind, per se, but I knew that I wanted to heal. 

Maybe I thought, I don’t know… that if I healed enough people, I may have been rid of the ailment – healed, myself.

So I left my small town, enrolling in an academy 30 minutes away from the house. I got into their Healthcare program. Again, what more could a kid want?

Yet the void inside of me only grew larger, more ravenous. I lost touch with all of my small town friends – one by one. I had no one.

But I was pursuing my passion, right? Why wasn’t it enough?

It was in that godforsaken academy that I met him.  

“Pick a card,” he asked me. His grey eyes were so sharp, even then. “Any card.”

I glanced down at the fanned-out deck in his pale hand, eyes crawling over the many different suits and shapes before eventually settling on an ace. I pulled the card out. 

Ace of spades. I tried to memorize it. I also, coincidentally, tried my best to ignore the incessant thrum of my racing heartbeat against my veins, my arteries, my chest. He was sitting so close to me.

It was just the two of us in the hallway. Just me and him and the infinite space between us, the small gap between my right shoulder and his left. 

I handed it back to him. “What are you doing?” I asked.

He slipped the card back into the deck without looking. He shuffled it once, twice, three times. Made a bridge with his hands and let the cards fall back into place. I watched with a remarkable sense of interest.

“Is this your card?” He tucked a stray blue hair behind his ear, producing a card.

I furrowed my brows, about to say something, when I noticed something off about the card. It was different. Where there once was a large blue spade, there now was a small, torn piece of lined paper taped to the surface. The gray lettering on the handwritten note read,

WILL U GO OUT W/ ME?

My eyes went as wide as saucers. My mouth lolled open, lips shaped around his cursed name, “Mahito, I…” 

I thought of my parents. I thought of my religious father. What would he say? What would he say if he found out his 14-year-old son was a homosexual?

I thought of my parents, and I bit my lip, “I don’t know if I can… I don’t know. What if my dad finds out?”

Mahito tucked the deck of cards neatly into the pocket of his black cargo pants. His hoodie was rolled up to his elbows, revealing intricate stick-and-poke linework over his forearms. He shrugged, humming, “Who says he has to?”

The tardy bell rang. We were late for first period.

My mouth opened by itself again. At fourteen, I wasn’t so sure I was ready to lie to my father about something so serious. Not yet.

Seemingly sensing my hesitance, Mahito laid a hand on my stiff shoulder. “Hey,” he muttered softly. “Think about it. Give me your answer after school, yeah? We’ll meet here at 3:30.”

And then he slipped away with a quiet, ‘See ya’.

Without confirmation.

In his absence, I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat.

2019 February.

Mahito ran away from home two weeks into our relationship. Ran away without so much as a notice or a warning. Ran away and left me there to assume the worst. He didn’t live in the best area. Perhaps he was staying with a friend? If not, was he dead in a ditch somewhere?

There was no way to tell.

He could have at least told me, I had thought. Then again, would I have tried to stop him? Undoubtedly.

They issued a missing persons alert the day after he didn’t show up. I remember seeing the poster all over my social media, all over the streetlights and posts. 

It didn’t seem real. Even as I held the missing poster in my trembling hand, I remember feeling numb. I remember feeling as if this were all some sort of cruel prank, that he would be back just in time for our after-school walk with a smile on his face.

 But there he was, smiling up at me from the page in my hand. 

MISSING PERSON: MAHITO 

Height: 5’8

Weight: 150

Eye color: gray

Hair color: blue

Remarkable features: tattoos on arms

Last seen: February 14th.

I crumpled the piece of paper up, tossing it across my messy bedroom with a sigh. I hadn’t slept last night, and I wouldn’t have slept tonight either.

I sunk into myself, curled into a ball on my twin-sized mattress – the same one I’d had for as long as I could remember – and cried. I was utterly inconsolable. I cried until my voice was hoarse, until there were no more tears left to cry.

Until my phone buzzed.

I assumed it was another homework notification. I didn’t check. What did it matter? In my eyes, my world had stopped spinning. It had stopped the moment he ran away.

But it buzzed again, and again.

It was then that I realized I was getting a call. Begrudgingly, I picked my phone up off of the bed. I turned it over. The screen was lit up with the words ‘NO CALLER ID’. 

I wanted to hang up. Desperately. Wanted to save myself a shred of peace and dignity and move on with my night – in hindsight, I probably should have just hung up when I had the chance. But, no, I felt something in my gut call out to me.

Against my better judgment, I answered, “Hello?”

The line crackled. “Suguru?”

Suguru. 

My heart leapt up into my throat. With wide eyes, I answered again, “Who’s this?”

“Suguru, it’s me, Mahito,” He sighed with relief, like he hadn’t expected me to pick up. Truth be told, I hadn’t expected it either. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you sooner, my love. I’m calling you from a phone booth right now.”

My love. The nickname sounded like honey coming from his lips, but I knew it was laced with venom. Still, as would seem to be the trend, I was weak for it. 

My eyes began to water again, somehow. “Where are you?”

I knew better than to call him ‘baby’. Not when my father was sleeping in the room next to mine. 

“I can’t tell you that right now,” He answered. Of course, he couldn’t. There always seemed to be something he was hiding from me. I didn’t see it that way back then. “Look, I don’t have much time to talk, I–”

“I’ve been worried sick about you, Mahi,” I spoke again. I felt numb. So numb. “Please, just–”

“I stole ten grand from my mom,” He cut me off. “I’m running away from home. The abuse, it’s just– I can’t. I can’t, anymore.”

His mother was a real piece of shit. I knew that. She never wanted Mahito, not as a single mother. So she tried multiple times to be rid of him – beating him senseless with hangers and wires and even going so far as to attempt to poison him on his birthday. 

Still, ten grand was a lot of money.

Stolen.

“I’m on the run from the cops, I– I think they’re trying to find me,” He panted into the microphone. “You can’t tell anyone, okay? You gotta lie for me.”

I felt sick. Sick to my fucking stomach.

“I’m sorry, I…” I trailed off, holding back vomit. “Hold on.”

I ran to the bathroom and promptly emptied the contents of my stomach into the sink. I had just eaten mac and cheese an hour or so ago, and the vomit was tinted yellow. I could still see a few noodles here and there, only partially digested.

It made me want to hurl again.

“You okay?” he asked me.

“Am I– No, I’m not fucking okay, Mahito! First, you run away without–” I had to swallow bile a second time. I felt it burn as it slid back down my throat. “You could have fucking warned me , or something, and now you’re calling me at eleven at night to tell me you’re fleeing the fucking cops?”

He paused. “I know,” he said. “I know, I’m sorry. You know I love you.”

And immediately, like some sort of magic trick, I felt my exterior soften. I didn’t even care that we were only a few weeks into our relationship. He was my first. It was like he knew the effect he had on me. 

“Suguru,” he said again. “I love you.”

His words were like honey. I took a spoonful.

“I love you, too,” I sighed into the receiver. 

“You’ll keep quiet about this for me, right?”

I was weak for him, as always.

“Okay,” I said.

I found myself sitting at my desk in the middle of the day, struggling to concentrate on the lesson. The classmates at my table – more like a group of desks placed together – were talking about the missing boy.

My missing boy.

They were talking to me, actually, but I had long since tuned them out. It was all a blur for me – a blur of faces and voices and words I didn’t want to hear. 

“He’s a freak,” The boy across from me, Choso Kamo, remarked. “If I were you, I’d break things off before it’s too late.”

Choso’s critical words sent a sharp pang right through my rotten heart. 

“Exactly,” My friend, Shoko, chimed in. She was a pretty thing, about a few inches shorter than me with brown hair up to her chin. She always looked so tired . I wonder if she recognized that I felt the same. “He’s got some serious issues. Guys like that rarely make for healthy relationships.”

Choso leaned in, leaned over the desk to offer more of his thoughts, “You can’t just ignore the fact that more people are catchin’ on, either. What if your dad finds out? You know he thinks that… kind of stuff is wrong.”

Choso was Shoko’s friend. He wasn’t homophobic. A little misguided, but he had the spirit. Hell if he weren’t a raging heterosexual, I might have even gone for him instead. He had that look I liked – sleepy, downturned, dark eyes framed by messy bangs. He never wore colors. He was content to make a statement in black. Black eyeliner, black shirt, black doc martens, black hair done up into two messy pigtails. 

It was his signature look.

Our classmates didn’t take too kindly to ‘emos’ like him, though. He was an outcast. Hell, we all were. That’s why we sat together, after all.

The harsh opinions of my classmates threatened to erode my self assurance. I knew people were talking – people always talked. I knew the hushed whispers of my name as I walked past people and cliques in the mornings on my way to class weren’t a hallucination. 

I knew I had to stand by my boyfriend. I knew I had to stand by Mahito, but the weight of their disapproval put a strain on my shoulders. Does anyone want to hear that their friends don’t approve of their partner?

Admittedly, he wasn’t a very good partner. He had demonstrated that much in the first few weeks of our relationship. I knew he wasn’t good for me, but, fuck, I wanted to try. I wanted to make things work so badly that I ached for it. Everyone else knew he wasn’t good for me, too. 

But, fuck, was I naive to wish I could prove them all wrong?

In my eyes, he was only misunderstood. The ghosting, the red flags, the alarming behavior… I could see past it all because I loved him. My first love. No one understood him the way I did. How could I blame them for their concerns?

It didn’t matter how many voices I had in my ear telling me it was wrong. Soon, he would come home to me, and I would feel his skin against my cheek as I hugged him hello. That’s all that mattered.

How could that be wrong?

“It’s not wrong. How could it be?” I kept my gaze trained on my desk. My vision was blurry, unfocused. My mind felt numb and detached. I muttered. “I love him. He loves me, too. He told me he did.”

He did.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Choso and Shoko exchange a dubious look. 

They didn’t understand him the way I did.

“He told me he loved me,” I repeated the words like a mantra, like a reminder to myself that I was fighting for something. 

That as long as I was loved by him, I would be okay. 

He called again that night. Earlier, this time, at nine o’clock. 

I was in the shower at that time, curled up on the floor, sobbing into my arms. The water streamed past my shoulders, my arms, my nose. I glanced over at the screen through blurry eyes. 

NO CALLER ID.

I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath.

Then, I let the call ring.

Current Day. 

[12:13 PM]

[Automated]: you have 3 new messages. Play back?

[USER] Selected:

[NO] ...

... [View Inbox]

...

[ Last 6 Years ].

[REPLAY>>] Message from 'Blocked Number'.

Transcription:

" Suguru, this is me, Mahito. I don’t know if you can hear me or not– I don’t know if anyone can hear you or not, so please use headphones, or something, I don’t know. I just wanted to call and make sure you’re okay. I’m gonna try and call you later. Right now you seem to not be answering your phone for some reason. Doesn’t matter, though. I’m not in a really good place, right now, I’m… surrounded by a lot of people. So, um.. I just wanted to say that I love you, and I’ll call you a little bit later, okay? Bye– kisses…….”  

[End of Transcription] 

[Automated]: Would you like to play the next message?

[ Yes. ]

“ Suguru, is this– this is me, Mahito. Um.. I just wanted to say that I’m okay. Nothing has happened to me yet. I’m perfectly safe. I’m in a laundromat somewhere. And, uh, I said I love you… I don’t know why you’re not answering my calls… You know that I always try to text you whenever I can– and try to… call you, but… I don’t know, maybe you’re too depressed, or some shit. Maybe you’re mad at me. I understand. I– what I did was wrong, I… What I did was idiotic, and what I did was stupid, and shitty… And I understand if you’re mad at me and you don’t wanna answer my calls. So, yeah, I gues… I’ll try to call you again tomorrow. 

If you’re hearing this voicemail, but you probably won’t, um… I just want you to know that I love you. And I’m trying to do my best just… to see you again. You like pizza, don’t you? How about we do a pizza date sometime, yeah? Somewhere around next week, maybe. Huh? How about that? Sounds cool, right? Yeah, yeah it does. Um, anyway, I… gotta… I gotta go. I have to… do some things. Uh… uh… at least I love you. 

And, I– I might not have brought much with me, but I have the little stuffie that you gave me. It’s in my book bag. Not gonna take it out because people are gonna know what my things look like. I’m always gonna keep these memories close to my heart. I don’t care what anybody says. Even if I go to prison, I’m taking this shit with me. Alright? Um, I guess that’s it. And… last thing? I love you. 

Please, answer me. If you’re calling, that means you actually care, but if you don’t, then… it’s fine. Don’t recall this number. I’m not gonna respond. This is just some random guy’s phone. Okay? Um… I love you, and please stay safe. Please don’t worry, I’m still alive. I miss you. Okay, bye, I love you.”

 [End of Voicemails Received on February 18th, 2019].

[Automated]: Would you like to replay the messages?

[ No. ]

[ Delete ] > [ All messages from {Blocked Number}] 

[Automated]: Are you sure?

[Yes]

[Automated]: Deleting all messages from {Blocked Number}.

THE WIND BLEW IN HEAVY from below, sending a plethora of leaves flying out in all directions. As I knelt down to test the current with my fingers, my boots sank deeper into the muddy riverside.

I sat on the bench in front of the riverbed. Wiping my fingers dry on the fabric of my denim jeans, I took a moment to take in my surroundings. The park was mostly empty, save for a few teenagers

The water always looked pretty this time of year. For a few moments, you stood there drinking in the sight of it.

In the present, I sat alone in front of the serene lake, surrounded by the picturesque beauty of nature. Lush green trees lined the shore, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. The scent of damp earth and the distant call of birds created a peaceful atmosphere, contrasting with the turmoil in my mind.

I watched as groups of carefree teenagers ran around, their laughter and joy a stark contrast to the heavy weight I carried in my heart. A deep sigh escaped my lips as I averted my gaze towards the shimmering water.

I wished for the water to possess the power to cleanse me, to wash away the burdens that weighed on my soul. 

The sound of the water rushing past was almost deafening, drowning out the laughter of the teenagers. It consumed my thoughts, leaving me with an overwhelming feeling of dread and isolation. I yearned for the water to offer solace, as if it held the key to absolution and a fresh start, but it remained an unsettling reminder of my own inner turmoil.

I had a vision every time I came here for some peace of mind. It was the same vision every single time. It plagued me every time I found myself in front of the water. It was an image of me, standing at the water's edge, and then, with a deep sense of despair, throwing myself into it, sinking into the abyss and drowning.

As I sat there, the scenery around me seemed to blur, and the vision of my drowning self played on a loop in my mind, a relentless nightmare that I couldn't escape. The lake, which should have been a source of tranquility, had become a symbol of my pain and a relentless reminder of my inner struggles.

It seemed to call to me. I could almost hear the wind carry my name.

Suguru.

The water always looked pretty this time of year. I sat there watching it for a moment too long, wondering what it would feel like to be enveloped by the cold current, to feel it wash me away. 

And, again, the sound of the current grew louder. Deafening. Consuming me.

a/n: l comment and lmk what u think pookiesss

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @missphanosaur18 , @bontensbabygirl, @megumissunshine, @chocoyanchan, @littlelovebug98, @lucisimpongod, @xochyw, @jaegerstan222 , @electro-supremacy, @mellytheteddy, @clover0310 , @soraya-daydreams, @priussy, @insanehumantinker, @staygoldsquatchling02, @nonksity, @hinata7346, @chososwhoresblog, @mindurownbussines , @hearts4sid , @simplefools , @ynjimenez

wanna join the taglist?| mlol; chapter index

[darkmaga-returns]

If it had not come from a government report I would have had difficulty believing this horrifying case history.

Aaron Kheriaty, MD

Nov 01, 2024

According to a recent report (see page 13) from the Chief Coroner’s office of Ontario, a patient with mental health conditions, including severe depression and PTSD, and a covid vaccine injury was euthanized in Canada, instead of receiving treatment for his physical and mental disorders. This case report shows how the Canadian healthcare system abandoned a suicidal patient in need of real medical and psychiatric care (in Canada, euthanasia is euphemistically termed Medical Assistance in Dying [MAiD]):

Mr. A was a male in his late 40s who experienced suffering and functional decline following three vaccinations for SARS-Cov-2. He received multiple expert consultations, with extensive clinical testing completed without determinate diagnostic results. Amongst his multiple specialists, no unifying diagnosis was confirmed. He had a significant mental health history, including depression and trauma experiences. While navigating his physical symptoms, Mr. A was admitted to hospital with intrusive thoughts of dying. Psychiatrists presented concerns of an adjustment disorder, depression with possible psychotic symptoms, and illness anxiety/somatic symptom disorder. During a second occurrence of suicidal ideation, Mr. A was involuntarily hospitalized. During this hospitalization, post-traumatic stress disorder was thought to be significantly contributing to his symptoms. He received inpatient psychiatric treatment and care through a specialist team. He was also diagnosed with cluster B and C personality traits. The MAiD assessors opined that the most reasonable diagnosis for Mr. A’s clinical presentation (severe functional decline) was a post-vaccine syndrome, in keeping with chronic fatigue syndrome, also known as myalgic encephalomyelitis. No pathological findings were found at the time of post-mortem examination. The cause of death following post-mortem examination was provided as post COVID-19 vaccination.

This case report was brought to my attention by my colleague Alexander Raikin at the Ethics and Public Policy Center, who is carefully documenting the concerning developments of the euthanasia regime in Canada. As he explains, “In just six years, the number of deaths from euthanasia or MAiD increased thirteenfold, from 1,018 deaths in 2016 to over 13,200 deaths in 2022. More Canadians die by euthanasia than from liver disease, Alzheimer’s, diabetes, or pneumonia. In fact, MAiD is now effectively tied as the fifth leading cause of death in the country.” Nearly one in twenty deaths in Canada is now by Euthanasia. If you are interested in more on this topic I recommend this recent interview and this article by Raikin (or this longer report for those who want a deeper dive).

[clutching-our-plurals]

*MASTER POST*

||NSFW DNI: SFW BLOG||

Top ten things to know about our beliefs before you follow this blog!

We use the block button like the devs intended, do not test us.

Antis aren't welcome on this blog, nobody wants that kind of toxicity. Ship and let ship, it's block on sight if you aren't with it pals.

We're not gonna tolerate any right wing bullshit on our blog. This includes stigma related ideals about mental health, personhood, and accessibility. This blog is run by a queer, disabled plural. Please be SO for real.

Keyword blockers are everything when navigating online

No one deserves harassment over fiction. Public figures (excluding Politicians) deserve privacy and don't deserve harassment unless they've committed some truly horrible act. (Internet drama is not a horrible act)

It doesn't matter what you're diagnosed with, it doesn't matter how mentally ill you are, you are responsible for your actions and must take accountability for them. As a host it is your responsibility to right wrongs committed in the body, regardless of whether you committed them or not.

Plurality is a spectrum.

Not all plurality is dysfunctional, it doesn't need to be "cured" it needs to be functional.

Plurality is under researched and there is so, SO much we don't know. You've no way of telling if someone is plural or not. Endos are probably plural they're just in denial about their trauma and that's not functional systemhood, get a handle on that.

We're always open to new friends, plural or not.

Instructions on how to use the Keyword blocker below ↓↓↓

Keyword blocker instructions!

[Silly tags to check out on our page]

#pluralclutch reblogs

#pluralclutch rambles -non serious rambling

#pluralclutch art

#pluralclutch sillies -jokes and memes

#pluralclutch commentary -serious rambling

Btw all of the borders we use are free use, made by Saradika-graphics here on Tumblr.

More about us!

Suspected diagnosis: OSDD-1b

(we can't risk getting more than a confirmation from a therapist/being diagnosed on paper because our physical health is so severe. Living in America means that our healthcare is limited and prejudiced, we will not be taken care of the way we need to in the event of emergencies where we live, if we are diagnosed. As unfortunate as that is, we still plan to work with a therapist to achieve the most functionality possible for our system.)

Diagnosis: C-PTSD, H-EDS, POTS

Our DMs are always open to Chill systems or singlets with similar ideas, and we love moots and new friends. (We only bite meanies, pinkie swear)

[traumacatholic]

Finally kind of feel in a position where I can post this. I realise that my last post and long disappearance was probably of great concern to some people, and I am deeply sorry for any worry or pain that I've caused other people with that long disappearance. There was a lot going on in my life, including moving house. And I think the longer I took a break from Tumblr, the more daunting it came to come back. But the fact of the matter is, I've cried over this blog a lot. Or rather, I've cried over the followers of this blog and the people that have engaged with it. I have been dealing with a great sense of guilt. Guilt that I've let you guys down. Guilt that I've betrayed you in some way.

Something that always pained me, was the reality of my own struggle to access mental health support. It's an unfortunate reality, that no matter how many times we might work to raise awareness, and tackle stigma surrounding mental health (particularly complex mental health issues like OCD or PTSD or Schizophrenia, etc). That this doesn't do much to tackle the core issue that's the main struggle for people: accessible healthcare. Be that to do with any financial costs or lengthy waiting lists or other issues. There was a sense of deep guilt of encouraging people to seek help, whilst also being fully aware that they might be even more disheartened if they reached out for help and were unable to get anything substantial. I would never want to build someone's hopes up in order to then shatter them. I've experienced it all too much with trying to access support on my own.

I also felt really guilty running this blog when I was struggling with Church attendance. It felt like I was lying about my piety, to people that were desperately trying to fight to be able to attend their Church and to be a part of Church life. I'm in a city now, and I've started attending Church regularly. I've been trying to get into the practice of daily prayer, and the daily readings of theological texts alongside Scripture. Some days are better than others, but then I guess that's always going to be the case. Something that was really deeply meaningful to me during RCIA was being told that conversion to the faith wasn't a one and done thing. Each day, we are constantly converting back. We are constantly returning to God and being renewed in our relationship with God, no matter how far we stumble or what kind of problems we stumble into - willing and unwillingly.

And this is where it gets, I guess, the scariest. I've been dealing a lot with anxieties and doubts surrounding my faith. Not in the, "Hey guys sorry I've taken a break and became atheist" kind of way. But I've been feeling a strong pull towards Orthodox Christianity. And the Church I've been attending, has been an Orthodox one. I don't know. It feels weird to type that one out. It felt so weird to call myself Catholic for a long time. And then I became so happy of the title, and I loved the faith. I still do, love Catholicism. But I think this is something I need to explore. I've been feeling the draw to Orthodoxy for a long time, and I always kept pushing it away. But I think the only real way I can really address it, is by actually giving it a fair chance and exploration.

I don't know what I'll do with this blog. I don't intend to delete it - I think there are still people that can find help and comfort from the prayers that I've posted. I do have a new Tumblr, where I post excerpts from Orthodox texts I've been reading. I do still feel really strongly about helping people struggling with mental and physical health issues, trauma survivors etc. I care intensely about that work. And it's why this post pains me so much. I still want to be able to give you guys help, you can always send a message over to my new blog @orthodoxadventure if you're in need of any prayers or advice surrounding mental health/trauma etc (also despite the circumstances, I did go through RCIA, and if anyone has any questions surrounding it, I'll try my best to answer) , and I think I'm going to make it a habit to check the blog here.

I'm deeply sorry to anyone that I've hurt by doing this. I would really appreciate your prayers. None of this is, particularly easy. I feel like I've let down and hurt so many people. But I also knew that the more I tried to resist the interest of Orthodoxy, the more I felt that I was letting myself down and letting my relationship with God down. Maybe in some time, I will return to Catholicism, much more content and happy and more knowledgeable in that choice. Maybe I will go further down the path to the Orthodox Church. But I knew I couldn't just feel like I was sitting on the fence any longer. I hope that you will be able to forgive me for this, and I intend to keep you all in my prayers.

[33ff33]

Emergency: please don’t scroll past this!

Hello. As of this weekend my friend Gia @ zombielots will be facing homelessness for her own safety, fleeing an abusive situation - They have no support in real life and will be forced to cut off their entire family to maintain their safety. Due to their environment they are struggling severely with ptsd and anxiety and needs to get on their meds again, which they have been denied state healthcare and cannot afford on their own. This is incredibly difficult and time sensitive, so please if you can afford it please donate, another way you could help is by reblogging this. Any amount will help, and it will be greatly appreciated!

Cashapp / PayPal

♡ amongst everyone who donates, there will be a lil raffle to get a kandi bracelet! It’s going to be 5 bracelets! ♡

[builtbybrokenbells]

belladonna | vii (pt. 2)

Too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

masterlist | taglist

Pairing: Daniel Wagner x f!reader

Word Count: 17k

Warnings: Please heed the warnings very carefully and understand that the scenes and themes in this chapter can be extremely triggering and/or upsetting to some readers. This is a detailed and extensive list, but please inform me if I miss something, and it will be added immediately.

ALL OC—abusive/toxic romantic relationships, graphic scenes/potrayals of abusive relationships and domestic violence, choking/strangulation, mentions of SA/previous sexual trauma, roofies, non-consensual sex, coercion, mentions of grooming, verbal abuse, insults, name-calling, punching, spitting, mental illness/descriptions/behaviour of bipolar episodes, overdose, mentions of previous OD, descriptions of overdose (stimulants & narcotics), heavy descriptions of addictions/addicts/addict behavior, heavy mentions/descriptions of drug use (stimulants/narcotics), mentions of drug related bodily issues/trauma, heavy mentions of relapsing, trauma bonds, descriptions of toxic/abusive parents, death of family members, descriptions involving and describing child abuse and neglect, PTSD/CPTSD behaviors/reactions/explanations, dissociation, trauma, triggered trauma responses, near death experiences, suicidal ideation, mentions of death/dying, absent parents, death of a parent, parents with active addictions, missing persons, police stations/reports, mentions of criminal activity/criminal records, poverty, crying, mentions of blood/scenes with blood/bleeding, vomit, extreme emotional distress, mentions of cheating, mentions of AA/NA, NA meetings, fighting, yelling, drinking, flirting, mentions of hookups/sex, smoking, depression/anxiety, sorry if I miss any 🤍

As always, please feel free to reach out to me if you need an ear, and know that you are not alone in whatever troubles you are facing. I’ve also included a list of helplines and resources for anyone who may be in need of them. I love you all so dearly.

Emergency substance abuse hotline (US): 1-800-662-HELP (4357).

Canadian Mental Health and Addictions Phone Line: 1-833-553-6983

Virtual NA meetings and support (worldwide)

Canada’s complete comprehensive list of addiction helplines, inpatient/outpatient programs, and family support per province | UNITED STATES

Canada’s comprehensive list of domestic and family violence helplines and resources | UNITED STATES HOTLINE

Canada’s guide to mental health help and crisis intervention | UNITED STATES

If you are struggling with addiction or know someone who is, remember to inquire about Nalaxone kits at your nearest pharmacy, as many in Canada are active participants of the program. At participating locations and clinics, Nalaxone kits are free of charge and accessible without a prescription or healthcare card. It is a fantastic and life saving tool to have on hand while waiting for EMS. There is also free online courses for Nalaxone training to anyone who is interested.

Remember, no matter what is portrayed in fiction or media, the safest course of action for anyone suffering from an overdose (accidental or intentional) is to call 911.

If you are struggling with an abusive relationship or domestic violence, know and understand that you are not alone. You are heard, you are seen, and you are loved. We believe you, and we hear you.

Hi everyone. Just the same as the last, this chapter is incredibly personal to me, as is every emotion and scene within it. When I started writing belladonna, I knew I would be putting myself on display through my writing in a way i have never done with you before. As I sit and edit this chapter, I’ve learned that sometimes being on display and relating to others is the only way for me to heal and work through this.

This chapter is course, gritty, a bit gruesome, and fictional, as much as it is based on real life events that happen to many people behind closed doors. When opting to write about my struggles with addiction, I never wanted to come on here and sugarcoat a disease that is vile, cruel, gross and above all, deadly. Alongside this, mental health and domestic abuse is something I have personally survived through and still struggle coping with to date. I have been very lucky to be blessed with so many friends and supporters when I started posting on here, and your love has bled the courage into me. This particular story has been incredibly cathartic for me, even if writing it has been painful by times. It is my hope that by telling a story about my own struggle, that maybe somehow I can reach someone who has felt the same or been through something similar and help them. Love is the only way through, as is being honest and transparent, and I hope my honesty is conveyed and that my love for you all is so apparent in everything I do and post.

Please heed the warnings at read at your own discretion. Kindly send me a message if I have missed anything. Also, I implore you to send me a message if you need an ear. I love you all so very much. 🤍 be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes.

July 10th, 2022 - 3:46 AM

A rush of air filled your lungs, painful and tormenting as you snapped back to reality in an instant. Vincent’s hands were gone from your neck, but yours continued to claw at the same spot as if he was still holding you there. Your throat pained down to the very core as you wheezed in a second breath, finding it difficult to feel satisfied as you struggled through it. The screaming in the background, the insults and flood of obscenities were a muddled mess of noise. Everything was intense, sending your senses into overdrive and nearly making you fall to your knees.

For a brief moment, passing you by so quickly but so achingly strong, a wave of grief filled you. Grief for breathing, grief for surviving, grief for having to face whatever the fuck was to come next. You didn’t want to do it, but now you had no choice.

Just another wonderful gift Vincent always seemed to have for you.

A loud crash distracted you from the agony that stemmed from the basic, automatic bodily function, also throwing the misplaced emotion out the door with it. You knew you were grateful to be alive, even if it was hard to recognize in the moment. Your eyes cut to the source of the sound, noticing that Dylan was the one who pried Vincent off of you.

Of course it would be. He was always taking care of you, no matter if it was a nuisance or not, just because he wanted to. Dylan was the example, showing you true, selfless love every minute of every day.

When he freed you from Vincent’s grasp, he did not stop to celebrate the fact. Instead, he threw Vincent backwards with all of the force he could muster, sending him straight into one of the tables behind them. Landing atop a chair, the wooden legs collapsed under the weight, splintering and scraping him as he fell straight through it. As he scrambled to get up, fury radiating from him still as if he did not realize the extent of what he had done, you felt a pair of arms grabbing you from behind, not waiting a single second before they pulled you to safety.

Michigan.

Always there to save the day, even if he should have ran a long time ago.

He pushed you behind him, acting a barrier between you and the chaos without any second thought. Keeping you safe was his only priority, and after what he had just witnessed, he would stop at nothing to ensure it.

Before Vincent could get to his feet, Dylan grabbed the back of his shirt with both hands and pulled him up off the floor. He was seething, his face red and his jaw locked as he held back every word that was desperate to be heard. In respect of Daniel, for all he had already witnessed, he did not want to add to it. In respect of you, for all you had just been through, he did not want to make it any more traumatic. The scratches on Vincent’s arms looked painful, bleeding and raw, but nobody paid any mind to it, fearing the worst was yet to come as Dylan led him towards the kitchen without a word. Vincent was fighting, not willing to go so easily, but Dylan had a tight enough grip on him that his effort was worthless. You watched from behind Daniel, clinging to him like he was the very thing that gave you life, that would ensure that life would remain.

In the moment, it was the truth.

You could hear the back door being kicked open, then slammed shut almost immediately. The silence in the dining room hung heavy over the three of you, nobody knowing what to say or what to do. The sting of your skin was growing worse by the second, the ache in your bones quickly becoming the only thing you could think of, and the struggle to breathe was starting to scare you. The adrenaline had worn off completely and reality was beginning to set in.

“I-I gotta clean this u-up,” you stuttered out, looking at the broken chair lying in a pile of mop water. Your voice was raspy, raw and hoarse as you tried to divert the attention to something different. You couldn’t handle both sets of eyes on you, the sympathy and the fear. You felt a growing sense of shame, the need to hide or to disappear so nobody could ever see you again. They were perceiving you in a way that made your skin crawl, like you were weak and fragile, like you were going to crumble and fall in lieu of Vincent’s horrid behavior.

You cleared your throat, wincing slightly as the urge to cough only worsened. You raised your hand to your neck, shaky fingertips grazing over the most tender points. As you did so, you felt breathless all over again, lightheaded as you recalled the last seconds you thought you would ever live.

“No, Y/N, you have to go.” Katie said, rushing past you before you could get the chance, finally coming back to reality after the shock of the scene.

“N-no,” you argued, winded as another forceful cough took hold. You covered your mouth with your hand, feeling your head ache desperately as you tried to satiate the fit. When you calmed down, another wheezy breath pulled into your lungs, you noticed blood speckled on the back of your hand. “My… mess.” You uttered through gritted teeth, the tension in your jaw only making your head hurt more.

“No, baby. Go home.” She turned to look at you, her eyes still widened with fear.

Underneath her fear, something else was shining bright, something you’d never seen from her before.

Appreciation.

She spent so long angry at you for ‘stealing’ Vincent, but as she watched the night unfold, she understood all of the horrible things you had spared her from. Violence, misery, mistreatment and abuse. You took the brunt of the tragedy while she stayed jealous over someone she should have been avoiding at all costs.

Regret and remorse filled her as she understood you had inadvertently saved her life.

And by god, you did not like the woman standing before you, but you were grateful for it, too.

“I’ll clean this up—go home and get away from him, before the morning shift gets here.” She tried again, looking to the parking lot to ensure nobody had already arrived.

“She’s right, Utah. I’m taking you home.” Danny said, voicing his own opinion and leaving you with no other choice. “Now.” You looked up to meet his eyes, his expression stony and his eyes sad. The sight broke your heart, and only hurt more when you understood it was your fault.

You had never heard him sound so firm with you. You figured that this was your last chance to take it seriously before it was too late. You had put him through so much, made him a part of your fucked up world with no second thoughts, and even if he loved you, you knew it was not worth it.

“Okay,” you squeaked out, giving a subtle nod. Even the movement hurt, making you wonder if you looked as terrible as you felt. You were spiralling, your thoughts and your body, and you believed for a moment you might collapse and succumb to sleep right there on the floor. You had never felt this kind of exhaustion, never suffered through something so taxing. On top of the exhaustion, you felt ill. Genuinely, wholeheartedly sick, more so than ever before. You felt Daniel’s hand take your own, and before you knew it, he was guiding you out the front door.

As soon as you cleared the front steps of the diner, your hand went in search of the wooden railing. You barely noticed the sting of splinters in your palm as you leaned over the side of the steps, retching and sputtering as you lost every bit of control you still had left. Tears sprung to your eyes, dehumanizing you further as you realized just how pathetic you looked in the moment.

Your knuckles were white as you gripped at the railing, holding yourself steady as sobs tore straight through your chest, bleeding you dry as you put yourself on full display for Danny to see. You weren’t sure you had ever felt so weak, so unimportant, so hopeless. Whatever bit of humanity and self respect you had left, Vincent had stripped from you completely.

How could you have fallen in love with him, someone so vile and cruel, so utterly despicable and evil? How could someone who said they loved you treat you so badly? How could he say such things with such conviction, in front of everyone you loved?

What had you done to make him think so badly about you?

You thought you had done everything to prove how much you cared, loved him so completely that he never had a doubt. You tried your hardest to take care of him, to help him get better, and he still fucking hated you.

Maybe he could see something you could not.

Maybe he was right.

You had spent your whole life trying to prove to the world that you were good, that you were worthy and deserving of all of the things you never got, but maybe there was a reason why it never worked out. You had done so many bad things, walked the earth on borrowed time and still found yourself stuck in the same pit of despair, desperate for love and healing. After twenty-four years, you had to stop blaming the world and looking inward. Maybe Vincent was right, and you were the problem all along.

There was something so fundamentally wrong with you, down to the very core and including the wisps of battered soul that clung to you by a thread. You were rotten, from the very beginning and until your very last day on earth. Born from hate instead of love, cursed with the very illness that your parents succumbed to, and never changing even when you knew you were a part of the problem. You watched your father disappear, never to return and never got closure. Your mother, still nursing a bottle of liquor to put herself to sleep, hating herself just as much as you hated her. Vincent, Dylan, struggling to survive and turning to substance to make the world feel a bit better. Instead of avoiding the same path, being good like Patrick and Hunter, you were sucked straight in.

Worse yet, you chose it.

You were an amalgamation of your parents worst failures, a product of their mistakes and a living reminder of their misfortune. You were a roadblock, a nuisance and a danger to everyone around you. You wanted so badly to help, but your hands only ever knew destruction. A slave to the illness and to a system that you would never escape, not from a lack of knowledge, but because you were never meant to.

It all hurt, and you wished so badly to forget it, for it to be different. As tears pooled down your cheeks, blood lining your chapped lips as it trickled from your nose, you knew it would never be different. It could never be different. This is what life was supposed to be, and it was never your destiny to get better.

Daniel was never meant to be yours, and you were only hurting everyone further by remaining by his side, trying to twist a narrative that was already set in stone many moons ago.

It did not even matter what he thought of you now, because it could not change anything.

Your destiny was on the other side of the building, getting the shit kicked out of him by your best friend, likely not feeling a shred of remorse for what he had done to you.

Vincent was what you deserved, and all you would ever have. What you were doing with Danny was just torture, making yourself believe things could be better and that you could change it, teasing yourself with a better life when escape wasn’t an option.

You wished so badly that you would have realized it sooner before you broke everyone’s heart, but just like always, ruin was all you knew, all you had.

It was all your fucking fault, and you could not blame Vincent for opening your eyes. Far too long had you spent blind and ignorant to all you caused.

You had ruined everything, for once and for all, and nothing you could do would ever repair it.

You barely remembered getting to the car, only the burn of the heated seats through your clothes and the rush of warm air against your cheeks as you shivered in silence. Daniel did not even try to speak, barely acknowledging you until the car was in motion and the highway was passing you by. Your hands were folded atop each other, resting in your lap as they continued to shake with a ferocity you couldn’t comprehend. So many emotions were running rampant, so many regrets and plenty of fears. You had no idea what he was thinking, how much he heard, and you weren’t looking forward to finding out.

Then, without speaking a word, Daniel reached forward and pressed the button to turn on the stereo. His phone, already connected to the Bluetooth feature, was placed in your lap with Spotify open on the screen. Your gaze flickered downward and your heart warmed at the small action.

Maybe he did care after all.

Maybe he wasn’t scared yet.

Desperate to focus on something other than your searing muscles, you picked up the phone and searched for the only song you wanted to listen to: Ventura Highway.

Thinking back to that warm, sunny day in May, you wished so desperately to go back in time, just for a moment, just to experience that carefree joy with him and Sam one more time. Laying on the porch of his Airbnb, journal in hand while the two plucked at strings on guitars, you wondered if you would ever be as happy as you were then, if the two of you would ever be together like that again.

For the first time in your life, you yearned to go backwards instead of rushing forward.

As soon as the soft melody filled your ears, it seemed as though the floodgates opened. Tears poured down your cheeks, your vision blurred and your throat tight as you begged the universe to allow for it again, because something so good should be felt more than just once.

You wished to feel as free as the song sounded, to envision a life of peace instead of one of suffering, and one with him beside you. You didn’t want to live like this anymore, constantly on edge and fearful for your life. You wanted to atone for your sins, to truly change and become what you always hoped you would be, but you only wanted it with him.

Without him, it did not seem worth it.

He could see you crying, hyper aware of every choked breath and shallow sigh, wishing that he could take it all away and show you that life was better than that, than this.

Instead of telling you that, he drove straight past the side road for the Airbnb and turned the volume up a bit higher, his fingers drumming a beat against the leather steering wheel cover.

When the verse began, so softly, you could hear him singing along. You resisted the urge to turn the radio off entirely and listen only to his rendition of the song for the rest of your days.

You slipped your shoes off, pulling your feet up on the seat and wrapping your arms around your legs. With your knees against your chest, you leaned forward and rested your head against them, your head too heavy to hold upright any longer and your neck still aching. You stared out the window, listening to every word of the lyrics and still finding yourself stuck on that day on the porch.

You wondered if you knew this was where it ended, would you have done things differently?

Taken more precautions?

Talked to Daniel sooner?

You didn’t know, but what you did know was that it didn’t matter. Some part of you always understood that when the time came to tell him about everything, it would be disastrous. There was no avoiding it, no way of laying it down nicely nor gently, and no way of ignoring it. The truth was bound to come out, and you were inevitably a part of the miserable downfall. As much as you tried to avoid it, to keep it under wraps, he was always going to find out.

You couldn’t stop crying, feeling two whole years worth of suffering all flowing freely at once. You came to New York in search of something more, but as you sat in the passenger seat and listened to the same damn song on repeat, you realized you were still stuck in the same cycle, even if the environment was different. Daniel, sitting next to you, his fingers still anxiously drumming against the wheel, was the ticket out. The issue was not him, but you entirely. You weren’t strong enough to change. Instead, you wished for change while you did nothing to ensure it. Staying with Vincent for so long, letting it get to such a point, was on you. You allowed the treatment, and you made your own bed. You couldn’t be mad at his behavior, because it felt much like being upset at a baby for crying. You knew him well, and what you endured that night was unfortunate, yet perfectly in character for him.

Worse yet, for you.

This was not the first dispute the two of you found yourselves in, even if it was the most violent. What he did was horrible, and you were suffering the ill effects of it now, and would be for the foreseeable future. Still, you could not ignore the fact that you played a terrible, horrible part in it. If anything, you started it. He was villainized for his actions, but it did not feel right for you to be coddled when you committed the same crimes. You hit first, knowing exactly what would come of it, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

Upset at what he said, you couldn’t ignore the pressing nature of the truth.

You were no better, and you were still the woman from Utah, blaming your problems on the rest of the world when they started with you.

Haunting, but a reality you were constantly drowning in.

You were a terrible person, sober or not, and you had no idea how to stop being that person.

Like everything else, it felt hopeless.

After hearing what was said in the diner, did Daniel also think you were a horrible person, or did he believe the lies you told him to make yourself seem better?

Your chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of your realizations finally catching up and beginning to suffocate you. The scabs on your hand from the shards of glass reminded you of your own instability, your own hostility and rage that you could never control. You were living, walking proof of every failure. Each scar, every cut, and all the bruises were not incriminating for others, but for you, who walked through life as a hollow body and let the demons control you. Your brittle teeth and thin hair, the breaking nails and shaky hands, the bags under your eyes and the insufferable thoughts were a product of your own wrongdoing, and you would never leave them behind.

You were the same person you often thought you would never be again, sitting in a car with the type of person you always wanted to be, but never would.

As you peeked up through your tear-soaked lashes, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the tiny mirror, you thought you might fall apart and turn to dust. It was not you, a starving artist with an abundance of love and a desire for better. It was not the addict, using and abusing those who only ever tried to help. It wasn’t even the little girl, broken and battered as she clutched her only teddy bear to her chest, hiding from the biggest bully she would ever encounter. Instead, the eyes, broken vessels seeping crimson into the whites, were your mothers, the woman who haunted every dream and shot down every opportunity and possibility, who still ruled your life from two thousand miles away.

You were not her, but that night you held more likeness to her than ever before, and the thought alone made you fear the fact that you would never escape her curse, because every part of you was made from her. She was the blood in your veins, the beat of your heart, and the soul that was fading and flickering. It was that way because she made it so—she made you. You were not her, but you would not be you without her, and for that reason you would spend every waking minute despising yourself. Your likeness was irrefutable, and as much as you hated to admit it, inescapable. Wherever you were, you would carry her along with you, even if the only thing linking you was the DNA in which you shared.

You did not break from the thought as the car slowed, nor when it pulled into a twenty-four hour gas station, long past the door to the Airbnb, to home. You did not notice as Daniel parked and got out of the car, walking into the building with his head down and his weepy eyes concealed. You were so far away that when he returned, you did not turn your head to greet him, and your hands that found their way to your neck remained in place like stone, fingers settled over the bruises left behind by someone’s broken and soulless son.

Only when you made it to your second destination did anyone find the courage to speak, and it certainly was not you.

“You know, when I was a kid, the idea of love scared the shit out of me.” His voice was much calmer than you expected it to be, louder and clearer than you could manage in the moment, and served as a comfort you did not believe you deserved. “Used to lie awake at night for hours, staring at the glow in the dark stars my dad helped me put on the ceiling. The whole idea seemed so… intense. Picking one person to trust, to share everything with, no matter what. I could barely tie my own shoes, or clean my room, or do math. How the hell was I supposed to know when I found the right person, or how not to fuck it up?”

The topic, incredibly intriguing and not what you expected him to start with, turned your head and pulled you from the endless void of self-hatred you were lost in. When your gaze fell on the boy in the driver's seat, you noticed he was not looking at you. Instead, his eyes were pointed at the windshield, admiring the view outside. His curly hair was tickling his pink cheeks, his eyes tired and sad, but unwavering as he studied the intricacies of the view. His wrist was draped over the top of the steering wheel, his back flush against the seat and his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Ventura Highway was still playing softly in the background as he conjured up his next thoughts. He didn’t seem defensive, angry, or anything even close to what you thought he should be feeling in the moment. Instead, he seemed comfortable, content that he was there with you, and happy that you were there with him.

“I don’t think I understood it as much back then,” he paused, the tip of his tongue tracing over his bottom lip as the words faded from the air. “‘Cause when you’re a kid, every mistake and every failure seems like the end of the world. Get a bad grade in math, and your entire week is ruined. Lose a game of basketball in gym class, and you’re gutted. Break a vase, and you know your parents are going to ground you… it all seemed so much bigger than it actually ever was.” He didn’t look to you, but you could tell he noticed your attention had shifted to him. You were listening, and that’s all that mattered. “I always thought that when I fell in love, if it didn’t work, that would be the end of everything, and it scared me.” He shrugged, like the memory of this terrifying notion barely phased him anymore.

“When I got my heart broken for the first time, it really did feel like the end of the world. I never thought I’d feel that way again, that I could love like that again, and I guess it kind of made me think that I was right all along. Took a long time for me to try again, and when I did, it ended the same way.” He let out a small chuckle as he finished, like the tale was funny instead of painful for him.

Why was he telling you this? What significance did it have to the current situation, to the relationship between the two of you? Talks of love made your head ache, because love had never been kind to you. After the events of the night, you were beginning to believe you would never truly be loved at all.

“—made me feel like I would never know what being loved is supposed to feel like.”

Oh.

Now it made a little more sense.

“I didn’t know how to love, or how to be loved, but I wanted it. I wanted to know it so bad. More than anything else, I think. Especially at the end of it.” He explained, his eyebrows furrowing together in the most devastating and beautiful way, noticeable even in the dim light pooling through the windows. You wondered if he was radiating his own light, so precious that his goodness was spilling over in the most obvious of ways, or if you loved him enough that you would notice every miniscule detail even in pitch blackness. Whichever it was, it hurt you more to know that after the night was over, you would likely never experience it again. “When I got to New York, it felt like everything changed.” You froze, all previous thoughts of unworthiness fleeing you for a moment.

Was he actually saying what you thought he was?

Could he really feel that way about you?

No, it wasn’t possible, and you refused to get your hopes up. It was too soon, and you had put him through too much. It was ridiculous of you to assume such a thing.

“I get it now, Utah.” He whispered, his voice so quiet that it could barely be heard even in the near complete silence, but you would always listen for him. Every sound, every word, every breath that left his lungs meant something to you. In fact, it meant everything, and he would never go unknown or unheard as long as you walked the same earth.

As much as you struggled to believe it was real, you understood it now, too.

You would go to the ends of the earth, suffer through disaster and despair, be whatever he wanted you to be, even if it hurt you, as long as it meant he was around.

“All of that other shit was nothing compared to what I know now.” You thought your heart may fall straight through your chest, showcasing in the most obvious ways that it beat solely for him. “So I need you to trust me when I tell you, whatever you need to say, I will listen, and I will stay. After everything that’s happened, you have to believe me when I tell you that I’m not going anywhere.”

Your lips pressed together tightly, like they were trying to lock up every dirty secret and horrid confession, your body telling you he was too perfect to bear the weight of your sins. When he turned his head to look at you, when the warmth of his brown eyes struck you straight in the soul, you knew he was telling the truth, that he would not leave and he would not break under the weight of your past. At least, not in the same ways you had broken under the weight of it.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide anything, Utah. What I feel for you… it’s not going to change. I don’t think… not even if I wanted it to. It’s here to stay.” For the first time since you met him, you could hear the broken heart sitting in his chest, beating with only half strength as it explained that he was not as perfect and pristine as you framed him to be. Hurt could touch him, and it did affect him, and by withholding the truth, you were making him feel ways you swore you never would.

You had to tell him—it was no longer about you, but about the man you had fallen completely and irrevocably in love with. He wanted to know you, and denying him of that hurt you just as much as it hurt him.

“It’s not pretty.” You croaked, the sound of your own voice off putting to you. His eyes flickered down to your neck, and for a single moment, he was back in that harrowing and terrifying moment, not knowing how it would end, not knowing if the two of you would ever be sitting together in his car ever again, not knowing if he would ever get the chance to tell you.

“I never expected it to be.”

And maybe that was the problem all along. You forcing words in his mouth, placing expectations upon yourself that he would never even think of, pinning him with notions that couldn’t be further from the truth. He didn’t expect anything, and you believed he expected everything.

“Before anything else, are you okay?”

You thought about it for a moment, deciding that honesty was the only thing that mattered anymore. Although you had never lied to him, you had been evading the truth since the very beginning, and you didn’t want to do that anymore. He deserved it all, and you wanted to be the one to give it to him.

“No,” You tried to shake your head, wincing at the dull ache ever-present in your muscles. “Not really.”

“In pain?” You let out a hum of agreement, seeing him reach between his legs to grab the bag of shit he had gotten from the corner store. Without another word, he reached in and grabbed a bottle of painkillers, placing them on the dash as he grabbed a can of Redbull for you. You swallowed back a lump in your throat as he placed a bag of sour candy next to the rest of the items. “I didn’t… I still don’t know what to do, but I wanted to do something, and I figured you wouldn’t let me take you to a doctor, since you’re so against medical intervention in any sense.”

At that, you couldn’t help but laugh. It was tiny, barely there, but still a laugh nonetheless. He was right, and in no way would you have ever agreed to go to the hospital, but he was okay with you not being okay with it. So okay that he was willing to tease you about it. He didn’t know anything about your world, but he loved you enough to learn, and he loved you enough to adapt and to make you comfortable.

“You didn’t have to do anything, Michigan. Nothing at all.” Your voice was still raspy, hoarse as you choked the words out, but it was easing up the more you did it.

“I know I didn’t have to.” He replied, a bit more curt than usual so you understood where his head was at. “I want to, Utah. I want to help you, to be there for you, to listen to you. I want to be here.”

Sometimes it felt like no matter how many times he said it, you would never truly get it. Even if it didn’t seem that way, you were trying as hard as you could, but the entire ordeal was foreign to you. Silence fell upon you once again, but not because you didn’t want to talk. You didn’t know where to begin, and it was overwhelming the longer you thought about it. You knew that you didn’t have the luxury to hold back anymore, especially after putting him through everything, but you couldn’t help it.

“It’s a lot, Danny. A lot that I don’t really talk about, but I’m trying my best—I will try my best, from here on out.” You corrected yourself, knowing that you had not been trying your best. Now, you made a pact with yourself to avoid hurting him any more than you already had.

“That’s all I’m asking.” He reached over, cautious as he took your hand in his own. He didn’t want to be too much for you in the moment, but it was killing him to sit by and do nothing. Thankfully, you were receptive to the touch, making him feel much better.

“The part that I always left out… that I said I couldn’t talk about… it was never because I didn’t want you to know.” You clarified, your bones as heavy as cement as you tried your best to phrase your thoughts. Your head was still spinning, but you had to talk about it, for him. “I always wanted you to know. I’ve always wanted you to know everything about me, but I was so fucking scared, Michigan. I still am, but I’m trying my best not to be.”

“Why are you so scared?” He asked, his voice still soft and sweet, trying to show you you had no need to feel such a way.

“It’s just… it’s hard. Falling for someone so… so fucking perfect, when I’m such a fucking mess.” You stressed, your hand raising to your hair. Your fingers combed through knots, the tug on your scalp distracting you from the surge of anxiety. “It’s hard telling anyone about it, but you? Danny, you’re… everything. Everything good in the world, all in one place. I don’t want it to scare you off, o-or make you see me differently, or whatever the fuck.” You huffed a breath, closing your eyes to rid yourself of the burgeoning sadness growing in the pit of your stomach.

“Utah,” he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, bringing you back to reality for a moment. You looked over at him, remembering all he said and all he had done for you. If you couldn’t trust him yet, you never would.

“You’re right.” You sucked in a sharp breath, giving a gentle nod. “I know… it’s just… fuck, Danny. This world… it’s not yours. You don’t have to understand it, and most people don’t. I couldn’t blame you if it did scare you, or you wanted to run. I get it, and that’s why it hurts.”

“Utah, it is my world.” He corrected, firm on his stance. “It’s my world because it’s yours.”

Why you had never thought of it that way, you weren’t sure, but he was right. He was invested in you, therefore making him a part of the awful things just as much as the good things. Even if this conversation had never happened, he still would have been a part of it solely because of the shit he had witnessed on behalf of his love for you.

“Okay.” You nodded, your gaze falling to his hand intertwined with yours. Off with the bandaid, the best way to do it, even if it was the most painful. Confess now, explain later. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Michigan. I know that you’ve caught on to things, my behavior, what other people have said. If anything, I’m the stupid one for not saying anything sooner. It’s why I was avoiding you all week… pretending like I didn’t get your messages and telling you I couldn’t go home with you. I wanted to reply, I wanted to go home with you, but I just couldn’t force myself to have this conversation. It’s killing me, and it has been all along.” So much for ripping the bandaid off. You had become awfully good at rambling as of late, and you could only blame it on your nervousness when in his company.

“It’s okay,” he assured you, his thumb tracing circles into the back of your hand. “We’re talking now. That’s what matters.” You gave another slight nod, taking a deep breath as you prepared yourself to say it out loud.

“I’m an addict.” You blurted out, your free hand raising to your mouth as your eyes widened in shock. It sounded wrong coming from your lips, so cold and distant as you told the man you loved about your biggest struggle to date. You felt your heart racing, aching as it grew tired of the stress it had been under all night. Slowly, still horrified, you turned to see his expression, to know for sure if it changed anything or not. When your eyes fell on him, he looked the exact same as he did moments before, love still shining in his sweet face and glimmering in his eyes.

“Okay.” He whispered, squeezing your hand ever so gently.

Okay?!

In your mind, that could mean a magnitude of things, and the simple response sent you spiraling further. What was he thinking? How did he feel?

“Okay?” You creaked out, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you felt your skin begin to itch. The air in the car was unbelievably stuffy, making you feel like you were suffocating. The tightness in your chest and the breathless sensation threw you for a loop, reminding you of what it felt like when you truly couldn’t breath, when Vincent’s hands were around your neck preventing you from doing so.

“Okay, baby.” He said again, reassuring you. “Stop overthinking this. I’m listening, and I want you to tell me more. You are the same person I met at that diner, and the same girl that I fell for. I’m just listening, and I’m learning.”

Learning. Listening. He cared, and he wasn’t going to stop caring. You had to trust him, to believe him, and to stop letting fear get in the way. He was the same man you fell for, too kind and understanding for his own good, and he wanted to know these things. Okay just meant okay. You were safe with him.

“I… uh…” you paused, clearing your throat once again and wincing at the pain. “On my fifteenth birthday, things at home were horrible. We had moved in with Bruce—my mom’s boyfriend,” You added quickly, realizing you had never actually told Daniel his name. In fact, you couldn’t even recall the last time you spoke his name at all. “About a year before that, I’d say. I was drinking a lot, hanging out with a group of people who were doing the same. That weekend, nobody was around, and we weren’t really allowed to celebrate our birthdays, anyway. My mom and Bruce were out of state… some stupid fucking business meeting, which was really just dressing up and getting drunk. My friends were all busy, so I was desperate to have fun and fill the void, I guess.”

“They were fucking terrorizing Hunter and Patrick in the living room before they left. It was all I could think about, the horrible shit they said, and how Patrick and Hunter just… took it, to protect me, so I wouldn’t have to deal with it on my birthday. They always took the fall, whenever they could, and even if I lived a million lifetimes and dedicated each one to repaying them, or thanking them, it would never be enough.” You paused, remembering the sound of it as if it were just yesterday, the sound of your mothers voice so loud in your ears, and the sound of Hunter’s muffled sobs from his bedroom tearing your heart straight from your chest. No matter how long, no matter how far, it would never leave you. “I just wanted it to stop, to go away, for my brain to shut the hell up so I could finally have some peace and quiet.” You cried, the wave of emotion that washed over you overwhelmingly felt as you told the story. Never, since the very day it happened, had you ever explained it in so much detail. For years, nearly a full decade, it had been kept so secret that even you found the details fuzzy by times.

But he deserved it. He deserved the truth, the full extent of the matter. He deserved everything.

His hand in yours tightened, his silent show of love, his silent show of support.

He wasn’t mad, and he didn’t hate you.

“After they left, Hunter wouldn’t talk to me. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t want me to see him suffering. They were both so selfless like that…” you trailed off, remembering how truly and genuinely they loved you. You thought that you found that love in Dylan and Vincent, the kind that made them willing to do anything, including sacrificing themselves for you, but now you knew it was not the same. Dylan maybe loved you that way, but certainly not Vincent, and he never would.

Daniel, though, loved you beyond what anyone else had ever done in the past. He was one of a kind, just like Sam told you that first day you met him, and nobody else in the entire world could compare to him.

“But they were my best friends, my only real friends. Patrick left, and Hunter locked himself in his room, and everything was just so loud, and it wouldn’t fucking stop.” As if you were sitting on that bathroom counter again, you could hear the swarm of thoughts buzzing in your ears and behind your eyes. It was impossible to think, to ignore, to breathe. You dropped Danny’s hand, both of your own raising to your head as you tugged at your hair. Tears seeped through your closed eyelids, flooding your cheeks as you willed your brain to stop, to remember that you weren’t there anymore.

“Utah,” you could hear it, loud and clear, above all of the other thoughts, like it was the only thing that mattered.

You weren’t too much for him.

You were enough.

“Baby, come on.” You could feel the gentle graze of his fingertips against your cheeks as he turned your head towards him, begging you to look at him. “You're okay. You’re safe with me.” He whispered, slowly willing you to lower your hands from your head. “Whatever you need to say, however you need to say it, I’m here and I’m listening. You’re safe.”

Safe. Something you had never been before you met him, yet were slowly growing accustomed to in his presence. You never wanted to let it go, and even if you feared the feeling was fleeting, your fingers were clasped around it, desperate to keep it close.

“Sorry, I just… sometimes, when I think of it for too long, it feels like I’m right there, living it all over again.” You breathed, your chest heavy as you let your eyes scan your surroundings. In his car, not your mothers house, sober and pained, not high and empty. You were okay, and he was okay. For a brief second, you wondered if you would really be okay together, holding hands through the worst of it and celebrating the victory when the time came.

You couldn’t put that evil picture in your head. Not until he knew everything, at least. It wasn’t fair to you or him, and getting your hopes up would destroy you if he decided to leave at the end.

“Just look at me, okay? That way you remember where you are… who you’re with.” His hand on your knee gave a gentle squeeze, the softness of his actions sending a rush of relief through you. You managed a small nod, so minuscule it barely even hurt your damaged muscles, happy to know he could be your anchor even when you did not deserve it.

“So… I locked myself in the bathroom, knowing that the liquor cabinet was a no-go, and I looked through the medicine cabinet, knowing that my mother would have something in there that was worthwhile, something that would make everything quiet. I googled all of the names, what they would do for me, and I certainly found out. That night, I sold my fucking soul, so desperate to forget about how horrible my life was that I made it even worse.” You paused, your eyes flickering out the windshield as you noticed the peek of the sun in the sky. You always found it funny, knowing that even if you were falling apart, the world would continue turning with little regard for you at all. You were nothing, a spec, an insignificant mess in the grand scheme of things. The sun would rise, but it was up to you to try again. Right now, talking to Daniel, being honest with him in hopes for better, you were trying again in a brand new type of way.

“OxyContin.” You finally said it aloud, the word knocking the air from your lungs and making you sick to your stomach. Daniel stayed silent, his hand never moving from your leg as he listened. “I tried to convince myself that I was okay, that I would know when to quit before it was too late, but I was fucking wrong. The very minute it passed my lips, I was a changed woman, and in no way good. For a while, I would just pop one when mom and Bruce were too hard to handle, and I would sleep the worst of it off… or tune it out. I sedated myself every night and had myself convinced that it was okay, that it was normal.” You paused, feeling a stab in your heart as you recalled what it felt like to be so far gone the whole world was silent and still. Worst of all, even if you knew it was wrong, you missed it with a fervor.

“It didn’t take long for those to run out, and when they were gone, I was already in too deep. Weed wasn’t cutting it, and drinking only made me want it more. I knew nothing would compare to that feeling, so I went chasing it. Mixing pills from the cabinet, trying to replicate the feeling… drinking and smoking, or drinking and mixing pills. I was fucking insane, an addict from birth who finally had a taste of it. I hated being sober, because it made living at home that much harder to choke down. I made friends with some bad people, who were really only there to help me get a fix. I’d feel bad about using them if they hadn’t been doing the same thing to me.” You shrugged, wrapping your arms around your torso and hugging yourself tightly.

“We partied a lot, and I guess that really brought out a side of me that I never thought I had. There, I discovered Coke, which will always be my biggest enemy. Loved it so much I blew a hole straight through my nose.” You chuckled at yourself, sharing the only secret that was solely yours and sniffing on command from just the mere thought of it. “It was easy back then, to chalk it up to smaller things. I was bored, I was hurt, looking to pass the time until I could get the hell out of that house. I never seemed to see it as a problem, even if Hunter and Patrick could see straight through me.”

“They knew?” He asked, trying to keep his head straight with all of the information you were throwing at him.

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded. “From the very beginning, they knew something was wrong. I mean, how could they not? I know people hear a lot of shit about drugs and addicts, but even if you aren’t that far in it, it changes everything. Sometimes, feels like it changes you as a person entirely. Don't even recognize that girl when I look back on old pictures, and I’m sure they couldn’t recognize me then, even if my face didn’t change. I was dodgy, quiet most of the time but had a temper like nothing else… no control over my emotions. I was gone a lot, always sleeping or up all night, not eating… lots was wrong, and they were the only ones who truly saw it for what it was.” You drummed your fingertips against your bare arm, goosebumps prickling your skin as you took a deep breath. “Not much they could do, though. You can’t force an addict to get clean. Just doesn’t work that way.” You shrugged softly, ignoring the sting in your neck as you did so.

You knew this, so why the hell were you still trying so hard with Vincent?

Vincent.

Vincent.

Vin…

Why the fuck were you still thinking about him?

You couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was like a parasite, eating away at you and unwilling to stop until there was nothing left. He would be your end, but it would not be any fault of his. The blame would be yours, constantly letting him rule your life in such ways. You had let it get to such a point, and you were stuck suffering the consequences. The issue was, you did not know how to stop.

He was so intricately woven into every aspect of your life, embedded in the very fibers of your being and destined to exist within the frame forever. He was your life now, even if you constantly wished it were not true, forever wanted something better. Would you be stuck this way for eternity? Always committed to a man who would ruin you? Or was there better?

Was better even meant to be yours?

Looking over at Daniel, you knew it must be, because if it were not, he would not still be there.

“Utah?” He asked, breaking you free from your thoughts and shocking you back to reality.

“Hmm?” You hummed, your hand raising to the back of your neck. Your fingers gently massaged the muscle blanketing your spine, noticing the stabs of pain as pressure was applied. Your eyes screwed shut, your molars grinding together as a general sense of malaise took hold. “Sorry.” You mumbled, realizing he was waiting for you to continue.

“Don’t be… I just want to know you. I need to… after everything we’ve been through—“

“You do know me.” You assured him, cutting him short. “More than anyone else, now. I’m sorry I kept this from you, and I swear I’m trying my best to give it to you now, but it’s hard. If I could rewrite my story, I’d leave this out so nobody ever had to know about it again. I hate that version of me, and it kills me to think that anyone would still see me as that… monster. I just… I never wanted you to see me as a monster.”

“I’ve never,” he shook his head, firm as he made sure you understood. “And I will never. Utah, I think you see yourself as that, but I don’t. Not when I met you in the diner, and especially not after seeing everything I have. You are selfless, kind, caring, and loyal, even when you shouldn’t be. You would do anything for anyone, including sacrificing yourself for them. That version of you, whatever you think of her… does not reflect who’s sitting beside me now.” Your stomach sank as you listened to his sweet words, realizing you’ve yet again pinned him with ideas he would never think twice about.

“I feel like it every day.” You breathed, your shaky hands flat against your thighs as you tried to ground yourself. “All of the horrible things I’ve done, the people I hurt, I can’t forget it. I spent so long trying to make up for it, but I still worry that it’s not enough, that I’m still this evil person who only cares about herself.”

“Bad people don’t wonder if they’re bad people, Utah.” He whispered, placing his hand over yours to draw your attention back to him. “They don’t care.” He was right, but you were too damn stubborn to see it. It was easier to believe you were bad than to give yourself any credit, and it was easier to be miserable than to try and be happy, because it was all you had ever known. This, sitting next to someone who listened, who cared, was completely new and foreign to you, and it was so hard to believe it was real. “Take your time, tell me when you’re ready, but I need to know, Y/N.” He felt bad for pushing you after you went through something so horrible, but he was tired of being kept in the dark, unable to remain so helpless when it was clear you needed someone to help you.

“I know you do.” You agreed, giving him a sad little smile. You wished he would be mad, berate you for waiting so long and hiding so much because you felt like that was what you deserved, but he wasn’t like that. The only reason you felt it was so deserved was because that was how Vincent often treated you, and Daniel was nothing like him. He was trying to rebuild what another person had broken (or, what plenty of people had broken), and even you were working against him. It was time to let him in, to let him know, to love him how he loved you.

“At first, I was using ‘recreationally’, as some would call it. Mostly when we were partying, or on really bad nights. In hindsight, it was most of the time, but I didn’t care enough to call it a problem.” You paused, gulping down a large lump in your throat. You felt a panic rise in your chest, realizing you would have to tell him of the times you most often wanted to forget, the most painful and ugliest times in your life, but he deserved it. “A few months after school started, just after Christmas, m-my—“ you cut yourself off, feeling a searing pain in your chest threaten to burst through. You choked on air for a moment, your vision blurred with tears as you recalled one of the most painful days of your entire life.

Still, his hand remained on top of yours, supporting you without saying a word, listening without interrupting, and loving you even if you believed he should not be, because that’s just the kind of person he was.

“My grandfather died.” You breathed it out as if it were one word, as if it weren’t an earth shattering moment that changed your life entirely. Your throat ached, begging to cry out, to let the whole world know how you truly felt about the fact. Instead, you stayed silent, keeping it all to yourself just like always. “It was sudden, and it took us all by surprise… and my mother tried to keep me from going to the funeral.”

“What?” Even he, barely knowing a thing about your family other than your mother, knew that was the most evil thing she could have done.

“Yeah,” you scoffed a laugh, nodding ever so slightly. “She was mad at me for getting into shit at school, and I was grounded. Said I didn’t deserve to go. Only reason she didn’t stop Patrick and Hunter was because Patrick had his license. Once he passed the test, they couldn’t get him to stay home even if they paid him.” You mumbled, willing a frayed thread of your jeans around your index finger.

“You did go though, right?”

“Yeah,” you assured him. “Snuck out my bedroom window, ‘cause the cunt locked my door from the outside. I wrote her an apology letter and slipped it under her bedroom door the night before, begging her to let me go because she refused to speak to me… I did that a lot back then, especially when I was little, but it never worked. Patrick said he’d wait down the road if I climbed out the window, so I did. Broke my fucking ankle, but I still made it. Think she put me up on the second floor so I couldn’t sneak out, but it never worked.” You felt sick as you remembered the surplus of pain you suffered through that day, slipping an Oxy as they spoke eulogies of the man you loved more than anyone in the world, feeling the throb of your broken bone barely compare to the agony in your heart.

“I was high for the whole ceremony, a zombie at the reception… from there, it all went downhill, much worse than it was before. Once mom found out I had snuck out, she made sure to make my life a living hell, and to survive it… I stayed high… but before I could, I had to figure out how. I was a broke teenager with an expensive hobby, and no establishment would hire me in that state even if they were desperate. My mom was over my shoulder constantly, so I had to come up with a different solution.” You paused, checking to see if he was still following. When you met his eyes, you knew he was hanging on to every word. “There was this dealer… he was bad news in high school, and even worse when he flunked out. Did a couple stints in juvy, and a few months in jail when he turned eighteen. He liked… girls like me.” You put it lightly, grimacing at the thought. “Broken, stupid, naive… underage.” You mumbled, ensuring he understood what you meant.

“At first, he made a lot of promises, and he really wasn’t that bad. I had seen him around at a few of the parties, got a few rides home from him… he was nice enough, and he was interested in me. I’m not sure if that was the selling point, or if in the beginning I really was interested in him. The lines are all blurred now.” You huffed a sigh, leaning back into the heated seat to soothe the ache in your muscles. “Doesn’t matter much anyway… we both used each other, even if his crimes were worse than mine.” You turned your head to stare out the window, unsure if you could look him in the eye when you told him this part of the story.

“I don’t know if it was because I was a kid, or if the drugs really made me crazy, but I asked him to work out a deal… I didn’t have any ideas in mind, but he did.” You gave a dry chuckle, your stomach sick and your skin crawling as you remembered the suffocating smell of his cheap cologne, laced with liquor on his tongue and force in his touch. You felt frozen in your seat, fear gripping you like he was behind you, his breath on your neck and his body pressed against yours. You sucked in a sharp breath, squeezing your eyes shut as you turned your hand to lace your fingers through Danny’s, praying it would help bring you back to reality.

Safe.

You tried to remember what he told you, to believe it was true. When you were with him, your Michigan, nothing could touch you. You knew if you said the word, he would take you away from it all and make sure you felt safe forever.

“I don’t want this to change how you see me.” You mumbled, plagued with the same anxieties yet feeling them so much more. This situation, this memory, was your hardest story to tell, but you wanted him to know, to comfort you.

How beautiful it was to be loved by him, and finally after so long you were eager to receive it.

“Not possible.” He whispered, never once daring to move his hand from yours.

“He… uh, fuck.” Your voice cracked, raspy and raw still as you tried your hardest to tell him. “At first, he did me a few favors… called us friends and said he wouldn’t accept money from me anyway. I thought it was great, but I was so stupid.” You choked on a sob, feeling the panic begin to rise again. You tried to hold it back, to regain control, but for a brief second it felt impossible.

“You aren’t stupid, Utah.” He shook his head, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. “Tell me what happened.”

“He picked me up one night… my ankle was all healed, so I could sneak out again. We went to his house, and I don’t remember much, but I remember enough.” You explained, nervous eyes darting to the trees outside. “I was so fucked up, probably more than I ever had been before, and he just kept giving me shit… filling my cup, or whatever he could, really. I should have been more careful, but I passed out on his couch… I woke up to him… doing things… to me.” You were firm as you spoke, telling him all he needed to know. Further detail was not needed, and he certainly wouldn’t be the one to push you.

“I was so out of it, even when I woke up I barely knew what was happening. Next thing I knew I was in Patrick’s backseat. Him and I, we never talked about it again. I don’t know if I called, or he did, or what, but I know Patrick knows what happened.” You swallowed hard, even more remorseful to admit the next part. “I dunno if I just forced myself to believe that nothing happened, or I made it up, but I just… carried on like normal. Kept going back for fixes, and he eventually stopped trying so hard to hide it. Made me feel like I owed him, that I had to… so I did. For a long time.” You paused, knowing you played a part in one of the memories that haunted you the most. “I think worse things happened a lot more than that night, but I can’t say for certain, yaknow? Just didn’t have my senses, most of the time. Outta my tree, blacked it all out… yeah.” You couldn’t look at him, too fearful to see disgust in his expression. “I blacked everything out after that. I don’t remember graduating, or anything in between. Maybe it’s for the best.”

“When I did graduate, I guess you could have called him my boyfriend. Wasn’t much of one, but it was the closest I ever came to a real one… until you.” Your eyes dropped again, studying his hand in yours for a moment longer to remind yourself who you were with and that you were safe. “I moved in with my brothers, in a shitty ol’ bachelor that they shared for dirt cheap. Slept on the couch, and we struggled, but we were happier than ever… just being together, without our mother always over our shoulder. Even if I was a junkie, they were just happy I was alive, that I made it out. I wanted to get sober, to be better, even if I was stuck in the worst of the addiction. I can remember sitting on that torn, beaten up fuckin’ couch, searching for rehabs with Hunter while Patrick tried to juggle community college and a full time job.”

“Patrick always did so much for us, and I guess I didn’t want to drag him into that, too. I thought if I could get sober, do it on my own, it would prove to him that I did appreciate everything he sacrificed to keep us all safe.” You explained, always gutted at the fact you couldn’t do it for him. “I went cold turkey, spent three days sweating it out on the bathroom floor, fucking delirious and angry at the whole world. We celebrated my birthday in that damn bathroom, and the cheap cake the two scraped up change for ended up in the toilet, but it was beautiful, you know? In its own, gruesome, fucked up way. The three of us, together, poor but together, doing everything we could to be better and do better.”

“But it always ends, right?” You hummed, lips dipping down into a frown as you reminisced. “My grandmother died that summer, which set me off on a whole new kind of rampage. She left us everything. The house, the inheritance, whatever she had was ours, but I never stuck around to see it.” You paused again, trying to keep your thoughts straight as you dumped everything on him. “I took off, spent a few nights with that same guy and ruined every bit of progress I made. I didn’t go to her funeral.” You said through gritted teeth, unable to believe you prioritized drugs over the most important woman in your whole life. You still hadn’t forgiven yourself for it, and you knew you never would. No matter if you stayed sober for the rest of your life, the horrible things you had done would haunt you for eternity.

“One night, I was at that guy's house, and we were fighting. Like, the kind of fighting that used to make us hide as kids. Found out I wasn’t the only fifteen year old he liked, so I tried to give him hell for it. Guess I found out I wasn’t a match for him, and he gave it back to me ten times worse.” You tried to shrug it off, but still felt the ache in your bones where he laid a violent hand, your skin still searing with the memory of his temper. “I left with a backpack, and for the first time I really understood that I was just like my mother. Didn’t break a cycle, didn’t try harder, never did better. I went to county, got cleaned up, and couch surfed for a year. Spent all of the money I got for graduation and ended up washed up on his doorstep a year later, begging for forgiveness because I felt like I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I wasn’t ready to get sober, and I wasn’t going to face Patrick and Hunter in that state. I didn’t even look like myself, and to be honest, I wasn’t. That person, she is a stranger. Even though I haven’t been perfect, I was never that person again, and I thank fucking god for it every day.” You swiped away a few tears with your free hand. “Near the end of my stay with him, I had no idea how I was still alive, how I even made it to that point. I was death walking, wasting borrowed time on getting high and being a terrible person. Then one night, the world stopped.”

“What do you mean?” You continued staring out the window, barely hearing him as a steady roll of tears flooded your face.

Why were you still here to tell this story?

Why wasn’t that the end?

“Utah?” He asked again, begging to bring you back from wherever your mind took you. Still, you sat stoic, your misery bleeding you dry without remorse, making you wonder if you survived it solely to suffer the consequences. Death would be too easy, and this was your punishment. Recounting your horribleness to the most perfect, kind and loving man you had ever met. Even his gentleness was no match for your evil. You had made your bed, and it was time to lie in it.

“I did too much, I guess. I pushed my limit, took too many chances… was too confident in myself and overshot by miles, and other people took advantage of that. He took advantage of that, pawning me like property, like… fuck.” Your eyes squeezed shut again, the same crawling on your skin making you ill as it grew. “I don’t remember a whole lot, still to this day… I remember how loud the music was, being in a bedroom that I couldn’t even recognize, and the weight. The hands.” You squeaked, sickened from the vaguest of memories you still had. “And when I started to OD, knocking on death's door, they still only cared about themselves. They dropped me off at the entrance of the emergency room, dumped me on the ground and left. They didn’t even tell anyone, or wait to see if someone would help. They didn’t care.”

“A nurse found me, called the code… they found six substances on my tox screen, two that I didn’t remember taking then, or ever before. How they saved me… I don’t know. It was a fucking miracle.” You were quiet as a mouse, unsure if you could keep talking yet knowing you had no other choice. “They called my mom, ‘cause she was still my emergency contact. All she did was laugh in their face and rub salt in the wound. She didn’t care, and she never did. Even she thought I should have died there, and for a real long fuckin’ time, so did I.”

The silence that hung between you was suffocating. Still, it wasn’t as painful as the ache in your chest, nor was it even close to the pain of telling him the truth.

“Hunter and Patrick found out… used their inheritance to draft a check for the best rehab in town. Spent six months coloring and suffering through group therapy, wondering why the hell they still cared after all I had put them through, angry yet knowing exactly why they never came to visit.” You cried silently, giving up on wiping your face clean as you understood it would never stay that way. “When I got out, I knew I couldn’t stay there. If I had any shot at getting better and staying that way, I had to leave. Nothing good ever came out of that fuckin’ place, and I should have left sooner. Figured I’d book it to New York, concrete jungle… chase my dreams and start over. Then I met fucking Vincent.” You spat his name with so much venom it caused Daniel to recoil ever so slightly.

“Trickin’ me into bed, hiding things and keeping secrets ‘till I was on his fucking hook, knowing exactly what would happen but doing it anyway ‘cause he only ever fuckin’ cared about himself.” You were vibrating with rage now, unable to swallow back the surplus of emotion filling your heart and overshadowing the sadness. “I fell for it, so I’m no better, but god does it make me mad. I feel like an idiot, always the one ending up like this when he walks away fine.”

“I didn’t stay straight when I came here, even if I wanted to. I fucked up a lot… few nights at the Pony could ruin anyone’s life. It’s always the same old fuckin’ story. Slip up, go down the drain, suffer it out in the detox box, and come back to the same old shithole to start over again. Watch Vincent OD, backslide. Get him sober, get myself sober, go to work in the morning like nothing happened. I feel like a fucking babysitter, always responsible for a grown man who acts like a fucking toddler. I wasted so much time loving him, so much time helping him, just for him to throw it in my face every goddamn time. He’s the only other person in the world who knows all of this shit… then he throws it in my face, for everyone to hear.” You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down before you got too deep into the anger.

“For a long time, it felt like love… the want to help someone because you care for them. Now, it just feels like an obligation, like he’ll die if I look away. Him and Dylan and I… we did everything together before you showed up, and you know… it was family. Always family, even when I hated them. If you’ve got no one to lean on in a world like this, you’re a dead man walking. We go to NA meetings together, work together, and spend our free time together. They took care of me, and I took care of them. Dylan never took it for granted, and he was always my biggest fan and my best friend… but Vincent always found a way to make it my fault, to make me feel responsible for everything.”

“I’d get him on a good week, and he was the best guy in the whole world. So loving and supportive and caring, like he wanted to be that way all of the time. He never apologized, but he tried to make up for it by just being there. ‘Till something happened, or he had a bad day, or I looked at him the wrong way, then I was the bad guy. Could never call him out on it, because he’d just call me crazy. Never had an idea about accountability, and never knew how to love someone. He’s got so many problems I’m surprised he even has the capacity to love at all.” You were venting now, rather than telling, but Daniel still sat and listened to every word, never once wanting to be anywhere else. “But when he did love me, it never felt like he truly loved me. Was always to get something from me, or make up for something shitty he said or did… I’m just the fucking idiot who fell for it. I spent my whole life desperate to be loved, so I settled for that, because the few days of good were worth it.”

“When I tried to pull back, he’d find a way to pull me back in, or he’d just be fucking miserable about it… trying to pit Dylan against me, too. When you asked, all those months ago, if he changed today would it make up for everything he’s done… Danny, nothing could ever make up for the shit he’s done. At the same time… I feel just as fucking responsible for where I am right now.”

“Why do you feel responsible?”

“Lots of reasons… for hanging on, for still caring, not knowing how to let go. He wants me stuck in the cycle and I feed into it. I fight back, I hit first even knowing what’s going to happen. He just… it makes me feel so crazy I can’t stop myself from fighting. He knows how much this stuff bothers me, and he said all of those horrible things in front of everyone tonight, and it wasn’t just to air out my dirty laundry. He said it because you were there, because he wanted you to think those things about me too, so I’d be stuck with him when you ran. He can’t have me now, so his grand idea is to get everyone to leave me so he’s the only thing I have left.”

“Utah, you know that I’m not running, right?” He asked, his voice just as quiet. “When he said all of that stuff, not for a second did I think he was right.” You finally turned to look at him again, every ounce of pain apparent in your eyes and telling of all of your misery.

“But he is.” You choked out, horrified at the thought but knowing Daniel still deserved the truth. “I’m a washed up fucking junkie, trying to fix everyone else while I drown under my own shit. I pushed everyone away, made everyone’s life hell, even when all they did was love me. I’m no saint, and I’m not even good. He was right, and so was my fucking mother. I’m everything that I never wanted to be, and I don’t know how to stop.” You said through gritted teeth, trying to contain some of the emotion begging to break free. “I can’t write a fucking book, I can’t love someone without violence, I can’t stop fucking up and hurting people… I can’t even stay sober, for Christ’s sake.”

“Y/N,” he nearly laughed, appalled that you could say such things about yourself. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Brazen with his response and unwilling to back down, he made it a point to challenge everything you once believed about yourself. “What you went through… for you to still be… Jesus, Utah. The fact that you’re sitting here talking to me right now amazes me. After tonight alone, I can’t believe you could say those things about yourself.” With wide, bloodstained eyes you watched as he took his turn to talk, not expecting that sort of response at all. “You are the strongest, most resilient, admirable person I have ever met.”

“Danny, please don’t—“

“No.” He cut you off, ignoring your pleas for him to be passive. “I’ve been quiet for too long. I’m done hiding how I feel, Utah. You can call us whatever you want, pick whatever label you like, if any, but it doesn’t change anything about us. I’m not going to bite my tongue and hold back what I think because you think you don’t deserve it.”

“Stop.” You pleaded, pulling your knees to your chest in some inadvertent and humiliating way to protect your heart. “If you say it, it changes everything.”

“No it doesn’t, Y/N.” He argued. “It doesn’t change anything, especially if we’ve been feeling this way the whole time.”

“Danny, stop for a second and think—“

“I’m thinking! I think about it every minute of every day, Utah. Thinking about how fucking amazing you are, how perfect you are for me. I don’t think you’re broken, and I don’t think you’re bad. I think you’re a girl that’s been through hell and back, that’s too fucking stubborn for her own good, who won’t let herself believe that someone could actually feel this way about her. You’re not a nuisance, you’re certainly not bad for me, and you are the very thing I’ve been waiting for. I don’t know if you feel the same about me, but I sit up every night and I pray that you do—“

“God, stop it!” You exploded, the scratch of your throat agonizing as you cried out. Panic was pulsing in your fingertips, crazing you like a trapped animal facing a predator. “Can’t you fucking see that I ruin everything? That I hurt everyone I touch? That I’m a fucking mess, and you deserve so much more?”

“What is it, Y/N?” He asked, responding much calmer than you could at the moment.

“What is what?” Exasperated and exhausted, you needed him to be direct.

“Tell me why you don’t want me to say it.”

“I can’t hear it and I can’t say it because I can’t handle it if you decide to stop.” You finally confessed the biggest thing you had kept secret from him. “I feel it, Danny. I feel it everywhere, in everything, all of the time. I can’t stop feeling it, no matter if you’re around or not, but I’m so fucking scared of it. You just listened to my miserable life story, and you’re still here, wanting to say it just as bad as I do. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that someone like you could feel that way about someone like me. I can’t wrap my head around the fact you want to stay, because I have no idea why.”

“Then let me tell you.” He pleaded, his soft brown eyes speaking straight to your soul. The profound emotion in his gaze nearly stopped your heart.

If you ever wanted to overcome these struggles, you had to let him help you. You had to listen, to learn, and above all, you had to believe him.

“Okay.” You whispered, keeping your defensive stance but opening your mind just enough to consider his perspective. He seemed hesitant, nervous that you might go back on your word, but your eyes showed that you wanted to know, that you wanted to understand why the hell he thought so highly of you.

“Do you believe in fate, Utah?” He started slow, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Not particularly, but I’m starting to see why people do.” Looking at him, still caring and still present after everything, you could not refute such a notion. Something of a higher power ensured the two of you would cross paths, and you could no longer ignore the universe pointing you in the right direction. He walked into your life for a reason, and it was none that you previously believed. Maybe, just maybe, he was an apology for all of the horrendous things you had experienced in the past, the very thing that would make you believe that better was possible.

“I swear to god, Utah, whatever it was that pulled me towards that dinner was irrefutable. I didn’t want to be anywhere else—I couldn’t be anywhere else. Sam thought I was fucking crazy for being so adamant about eating there, but it all made sense as soon as I saw you. I had been looking for… for this, for my whole life. I told you on your birthday that I came to New York for a reason, and I know for certain that reason was you. You turned my whole fucking world upside down, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He brushed a lock of hair away from your face, the gentleness of his fingers sending a shiver down your spine. Never, in your entire life, had anyone loved you gently.

“You are the most stubborn, self-assured, independent woman I have ever met. You don’t lean on anyone, and you never ask for help, but I want you to trust that even if you never ask, I always know. I want to be the one who knows, who’s there when you need help, even if you never admit it. I never had any intentions of leaving you behind, Utah, because it would be the stupidest thing I have ever done. Letting someone like you go… is not even an option.” His hand still lingered on your cheek, so light and soft that when you closed your eyes, you could almost forget it was there.

“I’ve never met anyone so real… so unafraid and so resilient. You’re smarter than anyone I know, you’re witty and always have something to say, to challenge. I’m attracted to you Utah, I know you know that, but I am amazed by you more than anything else. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but you are the type of person everyone wants to fall in love with. After being burned, after all of the hurt, all you want to do is love and help people. You advocate for issues everyone is scared to talk about, you never back down from a fight, even if it’s better for you, and you do it all without any benefit to yourself. You are so brave and so strong, and you do all of it while still smiling, even if you don’t want to be.”

“After everything Vincent has put you through, you still went to the Pony and you stayed by his side, and I don’t think you’re stupid for it. Utah, that was the most selfless thing anyone could do, and knowing how difficult it would be for you, you did it anyway. What happened when you were a kid, what happened when you were struggling, and what just happened tonight is not your fault. Baby, it was never you that was unlovable. In my opinion, I don’t think you could ever be unlovable. The people that came before me never deserved you. I don’t know the ones from Utah, but I know Vincent, and I know he’s never been worth your time.” You could tell he was holding back on that subject, unsure of how much he should say in case he crossed a boundary he couldn’t come back from.

“It’s okay.” You whispered. “You can tell me how you feel.”

“I feel… that he’s an egotistical, arrogant, selfish fucking idiot. I feel that if he lays a hand on you again, we will not be sitting here talking about it. I feel that he made you feel like you deserve nothing when you deserve everything. I feel that he didn’t deserve you and he never will, that he should get the worst that life has to offer, and that he deserves to watch me love you the way you deserve, the way I do love you.” He paused, getting angrier the longer he spoke. He was trying to remain calm, to voice his feelings in a way that would not make you fear his emotions like you feared Vincent’s, but you knew in every context, he could never be Vincent. “I love you, Utah, and I don’t fucking care if you want to hear it or not. I love you for all that you are, every version of you—past and present, and hopefully future. I want to spend everyday with you, doing literally anything. When you’re beside me, the world feels right. That feeling isn’t going to go away, and I don’t ever want it to. I love you, Utah, and more than I’ve ever loved anyone else.”

“Michigan,” you breathed out, suffocating a sob as it tried to pass your lips.

“Utah, if you said the word, I’d take you to Nashville right now. I’d take you away from all of this, give you a life where you don’t have to wonder if you’re loved, one where hurting isn’t normal. That’s all you’ll ever know if you give me the chance, and I can promise you that. Baby, even if we had nothing, no money, no place to stay, I would feel like the richest man in the world as long as I had you.”

“Danny, you need to know what you’re getting yourself into.” You whispered, your hand back in his and suddenly the ache in your chest seemed less severe. “I am not that perfect person, and even if I’m doing better now, I might not always be doing this well. I fuck up, and I make the wrong choices, and sometimes it feels like drugs are the only thing that will ever matter to me. I love that you love me so completely, so selflessly, and I’ve been begging for someone like you my entire life, but I still have a lot of work to do to be better. I still go to NA meetings regularly… and I lied to you. I lied to you about all of this because I was too scared to tell the truth.” You paused, gulping down a large breath.

“That first day we ever hung out… I didn’t have a fucking doctors appointment, Danny. I haven’t been to a doctor in years, because I can’t fucking afford it. I was at the NA hall because I woke up and knew that if I didn’t go, I’d be right back at square one. I wanted to use so bad I completely forgot we had plans.” You huffed out a sigh, appalled at your behavior and remorseful that you dragged him into such a mess. “I fucked myself up forever, mentally and physically. I destroyed and betrayed myself for nothing, and I know I’d do it again without a second thought. I’m not the girl of your dreams—fuck, I don’t even think I can have kids, Danny. I can’t give you the life you deserve, even if so badly I wish I could. I can’t promise to be good forever, and I don’t want you to suffer through it.”

“Utah, I want to be here. I want to suffer through everything with you, and you don’t have to do it alone anymore. I’m going to celebrate with you, too… and be bored, and mad, and sad and all of the things, because it’s worth it to me.” He explained, his lips pressed tightly together as he formulated his next sentence. “I knew, Utah. From the very beginning. The key tags, the tokens on your bedside, the involvement in all of the political issues, the evasiveness, the hurt and betrayal you felt because of Vincent’s addiction, the bathroom at the Pony. I knew what I was getting into, Y/N. I wasn’t going in blind.”

Of course he knew.

He wasn’t stupid, and you were a terrible liar.

The disappearing at the same time through the week, the emblem embossed on the surface of the leather key tags, the tokens sitting right by your bedside so you can look to them first thing in the morning, the sour candy, the three drink limit you gave yourself every time you went for dinner, the Oxy in the bathroom, the pictures and the journals. He knew, but he wanted to hear it from you before he said anything. He loved you enough to be patient, to be understanding and willing to learn. He didn’t think you were a bad person, and he wasn’t afraid.

So why were you still so afraid?

The burns from the past were fresh, but the longer you spent beside him the less they seemed to ache.

“I want to be there when you publish your book. I want to be the person you lean on when you get tired. I want to protect you, to keep you safe. I want it all, Utah. I really, truly do. You mean so much to me, and I don’t care about those things. Kids with someone else… wouldn’t even feel right, because it means I would have to give you up. You are so much more than you think you are and I am willing to go through every up and down with you because I love you.” He continued, his thumb drifting over the back of your hand as a physical reminder of the truth.”

He believed in you, he trusted you, and he loved you.

How beautiful it is to be loved at all, but especially so when it was by him.

“God, Danny,” you sniffled, swiping the puddles from your under eyes. Your chest was tight, your bones aching and your skin burning. “I just… I’m scared. I’ve never been loved like this—it’s never felt like this before.” He gave a hum, agreeing with you, knowing exactly why. You turned to face him, finding yourself lost in the sea of brown once again. The soft twinkle of his irises under the lowlight felt like a spell casted over you.

It didn’t matter how afraid you were, because it would never overshadow how you felt about him.

You promised him the truth, and if you continued to swallow it down, you would lose him indefinitely.

You had to tell him. You had to trust him.

“I love you, Michigan.” You whispered. “I love you so much, and I never planned for this, but I’m so happy it happened. I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I want you to be that person for me, and I want to be that person for you.” You confessed, feeling more tears fall to replace the ones you wiped away. “Everyone that came before… I thought that I loved them, but I don’t think I did. Never, ever has it felt like this.”

“Come here.” He said, unbuckling your seatbelt with haste. With his help, you climbed over the center console and made yourself comfortable in his lap. You extended your legs to the passenger seat, resting your head on his shoulder as he held you close to him. You could feel the thud of his heart against his chest, slow and steady as the heat of his body soothed your tired soul. “I want to figure it out with you, Utah. Just let me do it.”

“Okay.” You whispered, giving a gentle nod. His hands on your body felt so soft, so inviting and nothing like the violent ones that were around your neck just hours before. He held you with every ounce of love and affection he had in his body, cradling you with respect as he silently showed you how much you meant to him. “I want to do that, too.”

All of a sudden, Ventura Highway floating through the speakers was no longer an evocative ode to the version of you that you would never be again; instead, it carried you through the softest and tenderest moment of your entire life, serving as an anthem for the freedom you found within his company. The world felt right sitting in his arms, like no hurt could touch you and made all the pain that came before obsolete. You knew, without a doubt, this was where you wanted to spend your days. Being held by him, being loved by him. It would never be like the conditional and violent love that came before, the possessiveness or the toxicity.

It was just love, the way that it was intended to be felt.

“Can I call you my girlfriend, or is that too much?” He asked, his tone light and soft, joking as he tried to lessen the tension in the air.

“No, I think that’s okay.” You confirmed, twisting a stray curl around your index finger. “I would like it a lot, actually.”

“Me, too.” He hummed an agreement. “If we’re going to do this, I do have a few rules though.” He added, unwilling to back down. You gave a muted hum, too exhausted to speak any further. “I don’t want you to hide anything from me anymore. You don’t have to. I always want to listen and I always want to help. You’re not alone anymore.”

“Okay.” You thought that one was easy enough, something you should have done from the very beginning and would do everything in your power to follow through with from here on out.

“I want you to keep telling me stories, to help me understand better. You’re right—we are different, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it. I want you to help me understand, so I can help you.”

“Okay.” You repeated, still intently focused on the lock of hair wrapped around your finger.

“No more Vincent.”

The silence came back, this time heavier and stronger than the last.

Although the thought of cutting Vincent off entirely hurt to think about, you would no longer pick Vincent over Daniel. You never should have done it in the first place. Tonight was the morbid end to an even darker era, and even if agreeing to the fact hurt, it was for the best.

“Okay.” You agreed.

“I just… it’s not healthy. I’m not jealous, Utah. I know you want to be with me… but being around him, letting him in… it’s not safe, and I will not let that happen again.” You both knew what he meant, and you both knew he was right. “I know you work with him so it might be hard, but after what I saw, I know that Dylan has your back.”

“He does.”

“I’m glad you have him, Y/N.”

“Me too.” You agreed. Dylan, undoubtedly, was the best thing that had happened to you until Daniel walked into your life. You were forever grateful for his friendship, even if the circumstances in which he showed you his loyalty were unfortunate. “Is that it?” You asked, unsure if earning his love could be so simple.

“One more.” He replied, his large hands resting just under the hem of your shirt, the skin-to-skin serving as a bigger comfort than anything else. “Well, two.”

“Okay.” You managed a small chuckle, unable to refute his charm even if you felt like the world was ending.

“I want you to get checked out at the hospital. I wanted to take you before, but I knew you wouldn’t let me.” At that, you grimaced, knowing you couldn’t foot the bill even if it was just for a simple check up. “Please, Utah?”

“Yeah, alright.” You cleared your throat, figuring that it would just add up on top of the old ones. Hopefully someday you would be able to tackle them. “Last one?”

“I want to come to an NA meeting with you.” He said. “I don’t know about this stuff, Utah, but I want to learn. I want to be there for you, to support you and to love you.” He explained further. “If you want that, of course. I want you to be comfortable.” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, mulling over the idea in your mind for a moment. It wouldn’t be hard to bring him, and certainly no worse than the things you had told him already. In fact, it might be nice to have someone with you, someone who cared. It would help him learn how to help you, and from what you could see, that’s all he wanted to do.

To be loved is to be seen.

To be loved is to be heard.

To be loved is to be known.

To be loved is to be changed.

He saw you, he heard you, he knew you.

It was time for you to allow yourself to be changed, and to do it with him by your side seemed to be the most pleasant way to do it.

“Yeah,” you even managed a small smile. “I think that would be alright, Michigan.”

“Okay.” He hummed, resting his head against yours ever so gently.

“So, that’s it?” You asked, your hand lowering to his bicep as he pulled you closer. “Does this change anything?” You couldn’t help but inquire, unsure what the next steps would be.

“No, Utah… I really don’t think it does.” He placed a kiss on your forehead, a small smile on his lips as he did so.

In all truthfulness, you really didn’t feel like it changed anything either. The only thing you had ever done since meeting him was love him. The only thing he had ever done since meeting you was love you. The only thing that changed was your willingness to let him, and your willingness to say it aloud.

After an entire lifetime of begging for it, the cycle was finally deconstructed, one small anecdote at a time. You could only hope that you were strong enough to follow through with it, that you really were the person he thought you were. Now that you had a taste of what it was like to be truly loved, you could never imagine returning to a life of being unloved ever again.

TAGLIST: @imleavingyoufornewyork @itsafullmoon @bladenotblaze @jessicafg03 @peaceloveunitygvf @torniturntomyarrow @lostoverseer @clairesjointshurt @jordie-gvf @lallisonl @smoking-jakelane @gretavangirlie @hollyco @aintthatapity @dont-go-home-without-me @dyslexicchild13 @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama

[snzluv3r]

i know there’s a lot of chronically ill/medically complex people on here so i was wondering, have any of you ever struggled with medical burnout (for lack of better words)?

(also gonna rant real quick under here sorry for the negativity)

i’ve been really struggling lately because it feels like half of my time is spent making phone calls and scheduling appointments and going to get tests and scans and spending months of my life just in limbo on waiting lists. i’m so sick of feeling like my health is a job and constantly being at the hospital for appointments like it’s gotten so bad that i can barely bring myself to take my meds anymore. it’s just so exhausting sometimes and i wish there was a way i could take a break from all of this without potentially making my health worse.

even today i woke up really sick and had to miss out on something i was really looking forward to yet i still feel this responsibility to make all of the medical calls i was planning to make anyway because i’ve been putting everything off for so long. it’s not like making those calls is that much work but it gets so frustrating being bounced around or not getting a straight answer because insurance or referrals or whatever other stupid healthcare system process that makes this all so much more complicated.

i also am still on the waiting list for my new PCP and have no idea when i’ll be able to actually meet her, yet my psychiatrist decided (without consulting me or my therapist) that because my meds haven’t changed recently (they absolutely have), i can just get all of my psych meds (including adderall) through my PCP….which i don’t technically have. i’m so frustrated because my nightmares have been so bad for years and they’re only getting worse and every med i’ve tried for PTSD nightmares is either bad for my physical health or doesn’t work at all and that’s really not something that i necessarily trust a pcp with??? it’s just not necessarily in their scope and i’ve had too many prescribers fuck up my brain and body by recklessly putting me on different psych meds without proper knowledge or research.

i’m just so frustrated and i’m so miserable right now i wish i didn’t have to do this for the rest of my life. and the fact that EDS literally just gets worse with age like? i don’t think i CAN do this for the rest of my life it’s just an endless cycle

sorry for complaining and ranting so much nobody is even gonna read this and that’s okay i just needed to get it off my chest

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Michael Shermer

Published: Mar 8, 2024

Leaked documents from World Professional Association for Transgender Health practitioners reveal a medical profession in the grips of an ideology-driven social contagion

In an early study of crowd psychology, Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds (originally published in 1841 and still in print), the Scottish journalist Charles Mackay documented such delusions as alchemy, fortune-telling, haunted houses, magnetizers, religious relics, and prophecies, and the mad crowds that fell for economic bubbles like the Dutch tulip mania, the Railway Mania, witch crazes, and the South Sea Bubble. “Men, it has been well said, think in herds; it will be seen that they go mad in herds,” Mackay observed, “while they only recover their senses slowly, one by one.”

The redux of my title includes such such popular delusions of the past half century as the Subliminal Messages scare, the Satanic Panic, the Recovered Memory mania, the Self-Esteem movement, the Multiple Personality craze, the Left-Brain/Right-Brain fad, the Mozart Effect mania, the Vaccine-Autism furor, the Super-predators fear, the Drug Abuse Resistance Education (DARE) program that increased teen drug use, the Scared Straight program that made adolescents more likely to offend, the Critical Incident Stress Debriefing (CISD) programmed that worsened anxiety and symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and many more that have plagued psychology and psychiatry.

The latest of what is likely to be added to this pantheon of popular delusions embraced by mad crowds is the trans movement as a whole and Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria in particular, as revealed on Tuesday March 5, 2024 by Michael Shellenberger, Mia Hughes, and their colleagues at Environmental Progress in a 242-page document titled The WPATH Files: Pseudoscientific Surgical and Hormonal Experiments on Children, Adolescents, and Vulnerable Adults. “The World Professional Association for Transgender Health (WPATH) enjoys the reputation of being the leading scientific and medical organization devoted to transgender healthcare,” the authors note. However, after reviewing hundreds of leaked internal documents revealing shocking levels of uncertainty, ignorance, and devotion to outdated and debunked pseudoscientific theories, therapies, and practices, the report’s authors conclude that the opposite is true:

Newly released files from WPATH’s internal messaging forum, as well as a leaked internal panel discussion, demonstrate that the world-leading transgender healthcare group is neither scientific nor advocating for ethical medical care. These internal communications reveal that WPATH advocates for many arbitrary medical practices, including hormonal and surgical experimentation on minors and vulnerable adults. Its approach to medicine is consumer-driven and pseudoscientific, and its members appear to be engaged in political activism, not science.

We devoted an issue of Skeptic to “Trans Matters” (Vol. 27, No. 1) that included an especially thoughtful, sensitive, and deeply-researched cover story by Lisa Selin Davis, “An Overview of the Debate, Research, and Policies”, documenting the massive spike in patients reporting gender dysphoria over the past decade (this data is from a gender clinic in British Columbia but rates are comparable elsewhere). Before 2015, most trans were young boys who identified as female; after 2015 most trans were adolescent girls identifying as males.

As I read the research, the Before Time (pre-2015) was very likely recording real instances of gender dysphoria (GD) in very young children and at a vanishingly rare rate well below 1%; the After Time (post-2015 to today) is very likely a phenomenon called rapid-onset gender dysphoria (ROGD), a label coined by the physician and public health researcher Lisa Littman, after she discovered in her exploratory study based on parental reports that entire peer groups of adolescents and teens were declaring themselves to be transgender, after immersion in social media or exposure in classrooms in which sizable proportions of students identified as anything but cisgender and straight. With watchful waiting and compassionate support for these adolescents, and dealing with their underlying issues of body dysphoria from puberty, autism, anorexia, and normal teen anxiety, sadness, and stress, the vast majority grow out of their self-identity of “being in the wrong body” and/or realize that, in fact, they are gay or lesbian.

Unfortunately, watchful waiting and compassionate support is not a practice that WPATH appears to recommend to medical and psychological practitioners; instead, “gender affirming care” calls for them to go along with whatever their (almost always) underage patients tell them that they want, which is often invasive, irreversible, and life-changing Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT) and/or surgery, including the amputation of healthy breasts in females (a double mastectomy, or “top surgery”) and the surgical removal of otherwise healthy genitals and reproductive systems that will never again function normally (“bottom surgery”). Detransitioners—those who transitioned then changed their minds and sought to return to their “assigned at birth” sex (a number that is growing by the month)—are discovering that they can never have biological children (they’re told “don’t worry, you can always adopt”), can never breast feed (they’re told they can “strap on” milk-delivering faux-breasts and become “chest feeders”), and can never experience the full range of normal sexual functioning, including orgasms, not to mention numerous drug side-effects, surgical complications, infections, mounting medical bills not covered by insurance, and the like. As the authors of the WPATH Files note:

This report will show that this is a violation of medical ethics and, as is revealed by its own internal communications, WPATH does not meet the standards of evidence-based medicine. It will further show that the ethical requirement to obtain informed consent is being violated, with members admitting that children and adolescents cannot comprehend the lifelong consequences of sex-trait modification interventions, and in some cases, due to poor health literacy, neither can their parents.

Before I review some of these documents, let me note that I have covered this topic before in this column, for example, answering the question “What is a Woman, Anyway?”, on the trans swimmer Lia Thomas in particular, and on trans athletes in female sports in general. I personally know two (MTF) trans adults who transitioned well into adulthood and are happy they did so, I recognize that there are people who genuinely experience GD (which is different from ROGD), and I stand by my statement in the last column that:

Of course we should support trans rights for the same reason we support the rights of people of color, women, and gays: it is immoral (and in many cases illegal) to discriminate against someone based on such immutable characteristics as skin color, gender, and sexual preference, so gender identity should be included in our ever-expanding moral circle and our ever-bending moral arc. The problem arises when there are conflicting rights claims.

In the WPATH Files what we see is the rights of underage adolescents and vulnerable adults being violated by the very people tasked with protecting them, so I agree with the authors’ call for “the U.S. government to oversee a bipartisan national inquiry to investigate how activists with little respect for the Hippocratic Oath could have risen to such prominence as to set the Standards of Care for an entire field of medicine, leading to the medical abuse of minors and vulnerable adults.”

What follows are some of the more revealing—and in many cases egregious—examples of uncertainty, ignorance, and embrace of pseudoscientific ideas revealed in the “semi-private conversations inside WPATH’s internal online forum for discussing specific medical cases,” along with my comments (below each screen shot)

Note that this post is from Marci Bowers, often tagged as “the world’s preeminent ‘gender-reassignment’ surgeon” and who self-identifies as “a woman with a trans history” (i.e., a Male-to-Female [MTF] trans), revealing that medical professionals had no idea of the consequences of transitioning youth. The correspondent inquires about the consequences for fertility and orgasmic response post transition. “The fertility question has no research that I’m aware of,” Bowers admits, but suggesting that puberty blockers will “preclude those opportunities.” Oh is that all? What about orgasms? Again, Bowers is “unaware of an individual claiming ability to orgasm” after puberty blockers. Say again?

Here is a man (AMAB = Assigned Male at Birth) who self-identifies as a non-binary female who is taking Cialis/Viagra (presumably to enhance his—sorry, her—erections) who wonders if they breast feed their 7-month old will the meds get into the infant’s system. Apparently the amounts would be so small that the infant would not experience “any adverse effects” such as, what, erections?

Here's a therapist who practices EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), the long discredited treatment for PTSD/trauma. These people are years behind the science. A 2022 literature review, for example, concluded: “Taken as a whole, this small body of work suggests that eye movements do not reliably affect susceptibility to misinformation, nor do they appear to enhance memory, but they do seem to increase spontaneous false memories.” False Memory Syndrome is the correct interpretation of what was happening in the 1990’s Recovered Memory Movement in which adult patients in psychotherapy were convinced by quack therapists that they had been sexually molested as children, even though the patients had no memory whatsoever of such abuse, nor was there any corroborating evidence such crimes ever occurred. Astonishingly, there were cases of aging parents who were tried, convicted, and imprisoned for sexual molestation based on nothing more than bogus “recovered memories,” a mass hysteria that came to an abrupt end when lawyers sued therapists for malpractice. See Carol Tavris’s account of this madness here.

Here is a discussion of Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), previously known as Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD), explaining that consent for transitioning must be obtained from each "alter" (alternative personality). DID and MPD is a bogus diagnosis. There is no such thing as multiple personalities, so there can be no "alternate" personalities to give consent. The entire diagnosis was founded on two famous cases that turned out to be fraudulent: Sybil and Eve (as in The Three Faces of Eve). The real Sybil—Shirley Mason (played by Sally Field in the film version)—admitted she made it all up: "I do not really have any multiple personalities. I do not even have a 'double.' ... I am all of them. I have been lying in my pretense of them." As for Eve, the real woman was Chris Costner Sizemore (played by Joanne Woodward in the film rendition), and her three faces eventually transmogrified into over 20, until a book revealed that the psychiatrist who diagnosed her was sexually and financially abusing her. Nevertheless, such quack diagnoses didn’t stop this surgeon from cutting off the healthy breasts of a DID woman, or carving out fake vaginas in two DID men:

For a complete debunking of these and additional bogus psychological theories, therapies, and treatments, see 50 Great Myths About Popular Psychology by the late Scott Lilienfeld and colleagues, and his more scholarly debunking in Science and Pseudoscience in Clinical Psychology. Skeptic’s own columnist Carol Tavris has debunked these and more quack psychology in our pages (for example, see her article on trans issues here).

This post-op trans woman (a man) later "discovered that I was not suffering from any actual pathology related to being trans.” Yet, she claims to still experience cPTSD, ADHD, anxiety, and depression. O-kay.

This exchange shows a practitioner reasonably conflicted about starting a patient on HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) with so many problems, but is nevertheless told it’s “the right thing to do”!

Here a WPATH member complains that their client was denied insurance coverage for surgery until completing a year of HRT, stating that they think the patient needs surgery “for her physical and mental health, along with her safety.” Safety?

This surgeon isn’t sure how to handle patients requesting “non-standard” procedures, such as top surgery without nipples (“non-binary” means “non-nipples”?) and “phallus-preserving vaginoplasty.” The latter is non-standard indeed, inasmuch as normal vaginoplasty involves removing the penis, testicles and scrotum. This patient apparently wants both. In a follow-up missive Dr. Satterwhite explains: “With every patient I operate on, I always take a patient-centric approach and I let my patient lead the journey (not me).” Therein lies the problem when you’re dealing with underage patients who are otherwise not allowed to drive, drink, smoke, vote, serve in the military, get tattoos, and more. Why would anyone—much less medical professionals—think that adolescents could make adult decisions about such life-altering treatments?

Note not only the age of onset of this condition (non-binary), 13, or that the testosterone request comes from the child and not a parent, guardian or medical professional, but that on top of all that this kid is purposefully starving themselves to look “more non-binary”. Presumably this means anorexia. Whatever this youngster is experiencing it is not going to be ameliorated by transgender medical treatments. This is medical malpractice, pure and simple, and it has to stop.

I could go on and on with dozens more such revelatory correspondence from the WPATH Files, so let me close with this observation from John Mackay, who presciently put his finger on the problem we are experiencing today: “We find that whole communities suddenly fix their minds upon one object, and go mad in its pursuit; that millions of people become simultaneously impressed with one delusion, and run after it, till their attention is caught by some new folly more captivating than the first.”

I have little doubt that when the ROGD trans social contagion runs its course it will be replaced by something else, but without politicians or attorneys intervening in the meantime I am not at all confident that the WPATH community is capable of self-regulation and course-correction away from the flagitious path they’ve been on. Still, in the long run, optimist that I am, I hope lessons will be learned from this episode, as they were with the aforementioned previous popular delusions; and with that hope I will give the last word to Mackay:

Let us not, in the pride of our superior knowledge, turn with contempt from the follies of our predecessors. The study of the errors into which great minds have fallen in the pursuit of truth can never be uninstructive. As the man looks back to the days of his childhood and his youth, and recalls to his mind the strange notions and false opinions that swayed his actions at the time, that he may wonder at them; so should society, for its edification, look back to the opinions which governed ages that fled.

Amen, brother.

[not-poignant]

I hope it's okay to ask, but how are things? Looking forward to Underline The Gold on Sunday so much

Omg I'm looking forward to it too

Tbh I'm up to chapter 8 on that now so we're ready to really start pushing ahead with some of the side stories which is exciting

As for me, it's been pretty rough, anon, not gonna lie. I'm going to put this under a read more because I'm pretty honest and also because there's more than one 'I might have cancer' mention among other things:

I kind of thought I was doing fine and then it all got on top of me a couple of days ago and (self-harm mention) I ended up self-injuring due to autistic meltdown. Sometimes I don't realise how bad things really are until I'm at that stage and I have bruises and soft tissue damage to show for it. I've since talked to my doctor and therapist about it, but like...oof.

I've actually been taking a break from writing since I've hit 50k and I generally have a rule that I have to take at least 2-4 days off once I've hit that point, but I'm still pretty stuffed, but mostly for health reasons. I've written 14 chapters this month so I feel okay about the break lol.

On Friday (the day after the meltdown) I needed to have a hand X-ray (even right now, the knuckles in my left hand are really sore), see my GP for 40 minutes, talk to my therapist, organise an iron infusion (I have microcytic anemia and need an iron infusion again, which I think is my 5th or 6th - I need one about once every 2-3 years, and mostly the time between is the slow downward spiral of losing more and more iron until I'm truly fucked) and a meeting with one of the head haematologists in the state because my red blood cells are bullshit and weird (yay). Guess that explains the exhaustion.

I still need to organise a lymph node ultrasound (which is probably nothing, except there is like a 'higher than average' chance it could be metastatic cancer, since I do have tumours in my head right now that could metastasize, and the tumours are extremely close to the swollen lymph node - also I haven't had a virus).

I need to organise a meeting with a dermatologist, I need to organise a full abdominal MRI to see if I have any other tumours we don't know about, and I got an eating disorder management plan for restrictive eating, which does entitle me to like...cheaper dietitian appointments, but also formalises me as having an ED as opposed to 'disordered eating.'

On top of that I had to deal with a tribunal after my Dad had a catastrophic stroke a few months ago, and the tribunal was last month, to determine who would look after him. Our family is so broken and my stepmother so manipulative/vindictive that the government decided no one could be trusted and took care of his finances and healthcare themselves meaning none of us can have any real say in his future (truly the best outcome, but a damning one for the state of the family), and I also had to listen to my stepmother accuse my sister of being a criminal for 20 minutes with completely unfounded lies, and of course, my Dad has had a catastrophic stroke, and that's complicated. That's a whole...

That saga is so much anon, I cannot even begin to explain even the tip of that iceberg.

I've been spending a lot of extra time like scanning family photos and other things and packing items in his home for storage etc. and while that's been done now for over a month and a half, I guess the burn out started some time ago and it's just been slowly getting on top of me. Kind of the 'slowly boiling a lobster in a pot' analogy.

I've been overall quieter on Tumblr as a result of all of this, and it all just...destroyed me on Thursday, and ever since then I've been recovering.

I've just realised it's nearly 1.00am and I swear the last time I looked at the clock - which felt like 5 minutes ago - it was 11.00pm.

Oh and to top it all off I've had vicious 'not falling asleep until 4.00am' insomnia + increased nightmares because my PTSD has relapsed back into 'pretty severe.' So um, managing most nights on 3-4 hours of sleep a night, and that's bad for all my chronic illnesses, of which I have many.

Ah. Yeah. :(

Lemme rustle up some good news for you, anon, because I feel like this is just too much crap.

Bushflowers/wildflowers are really nice right now as it's turning to spring in Western Australia (it's Djilba in the Noongar seasonal system, which I prefer)

Rhubarb is in season so I'm making a lot of stewed apple and rhubarb as a comfort food.

Reading the manhwa Punch Drunk Love and enjoying it.

Asks like yours - even if all of this sounds dire - helps me to undestand that I actually do have good reasons to feel tired and that it's okay to take breaks and that's really valuable (sometimes - though rarely - people use my anon function to talk at me, rather than talking to me as a person, and I just...really value feeling like a person sometimes aslfkjsa) so while I might seem down, this has actually been nice to end my night on. Also you've reminded me that I am super excited/happy to share more Underline the Gold with people

I got some organisational stuff and organising stuff in the house makes me feel good.

I have an extremely good doctor and tbh for a long time I didn't, so like, every good specialist and doctor is worth their weight in gold. :)

I hope you're doing okay and looking after yourself / taking care anon, and that you get something good out of what remains of the weekend. <3 And for everyone who needs one, hugs are on the house.

[dancingwithdoom]

Help me

I have spent $73 in the past 2 HARD WORKING WEEKS

On mother loving solitaire

God if you’re there it’s me and I need help

[spotlightstudios]

Wow, look at this neat abandoned building. Robot? Idk what ur talking about.

Outside Upgrades Lore beyond the Cut! (A lot of writing, feel free to skip.)

Hi guys!!! This is a doodle for my new and improved Outside Upgrades! Ruin edition!

The characters (ocs) pictured are N (left) and Light (right)!

N is an urban explorer by trade, making and posting videos of her explorations online. (She has no self-preservation skills, which is why she's so popular.) Meanwhile, Light was a FazCo. employee back in the day, and currently they're unemployed.

The whole point of this AU when I first made it was that Light was there the night the Plex collapsed (and would've escaped with the help of Moon). They lost their leg in that injury, and FazCo basically paid Light off to not spill the secrets of the company, and they got to keep Sun/Moon. Eventually they'd discover Eclipse mode, which was their caretaking protocol.

This update? Light was close to the entrance when it collapsed and was eventually found by a rescue crew (they were searching for Vanessa) with their leg pinned under sone rubble. They've been in recovery for a few years by the time they return with N to the Plex. The pair arrive shortly before Cassie, but they shimmy under that gate where it looks like Monty shoved through and go a different direction before she can keep up.

Eventually, they find their way to Gator Grub where Maskbot is and N snags a mask, but a lot of obstacles they can brute force through better than Cassie could. And by the time they get to the daycare, Cassie's already been through. Eclipse is there.

Seeing Light kinda, snaps him out of that "clean up" mode, and after some sappy moments, Eclipse decides to join the two explorers in their adventure and eventual return to the real world.

I like to think that they *do* catch up with Cassie, whether that be after the elevator crashes or before she goes to the basement to confront the mimic, they find her by complete chance. And of course, this is a whole child? Who put her down here??

Eclipse feels terrible that he sent her on her way earlier, Light is dumbfounded as to how she got so deep, and N (who's piecing together what Helpi has been talking about this whole time) is ready to confidently just undo the hinges on the door Cassie needs through so that Roxy doesn't get deactivated. And it *works*.

They all face the mimic, and whether they scoop it, or Eclipse and Roxy are enough to overpower it, or they just get to the elevator safely, it doesn't matter. They get out.

And then soft AU that it originally was ensues, with Eclipse getting repairs done and sticking with Light as a Healthcare assistant robot.

(N also slowly but surely recovers the other animatronics, with Light's help, and gets them repaired and puts about 30 firewalls on their programming. Roxy's the first, with Freddy being the last to be recovered fully.)

And of course, Cassie is implied to at least have a dad, so I imagine she'd find her father, and since he was *also* implied to be a Faz-Technician, he'd fix up Roxy best he could, and when Cassie introduced N finally (Light was busy) her dad offered to repair anything else she brought him, so she brought the band.

I'm not sure how much I'll write/draw for this, but originally I abandoned the idea because it had a y/n. I wasn't sure how I'd write about chronic pain or the loss of a limb or ptsd for a wide enough audience, and it eventually drove me to not write it at all. (Why you see me post AEB the mermay au more than the original-)

I'm glad that I made the choice to drag this one into oc land. Outside Upgrades was always self-indulgent (I made Eclipse a soft-boy and actually put together and decidedly not a whore, and it was pure luck that Canon Eclipse matches up so well) and it will remain self-indulgent.

Of course, if anyone wants to use the design or drop their own character in rather than Light, not like I'll complain! Tho I'd like ppl to @ me if they do use this concept or design cuz I'd just love to see it! :D

Bonus: EYE STRAIN WARNING

The original ver is this obnoxious Bright Red. I was staring at this for like 3-4 hours straight tonight smh.

[slutdge]

Tw medical abuse/ptsd: Medical abuse from holistic mothers gang UNITE - mine treated everything with essential oils, chiropractors, and gut healing. I get blindly angry when people bring up swapping basic, well controlled, dosed, medication- with fucking. ACUPUNCTURE ???? Seeing holistic practitioners and herbalists instead of doctors. The diets.

Yesssss omg it makes me so mad too, my mom said recently "if you guys were babies now i wouldnt have gotten you vaccinated", she chose holistic treatment over physical and medicinal treatment for her BPPV, she constantly denies my actual disabilities, she talked my pregnant sister into seeing a chiropractor for her pain instead of a real doctor which is so dangerous to her and her baby, and is adamant that i could just not be mentally ill if i meditated and took vitamins/essential oils. Its so fucked up to be raised like that. and like im speaking as someone who has been through the wringer of medical/psychiatric abuse but still, have some nuance, you can criticize the healthcare system and how its practiced without going full blown "crystals will cure my cancer" mode, and there are also even more infinite aspects to this i cant cover in a single short answer but denying disabled peoples needs in the name of holisticism is shitty and unexcusable for what i had to go through.

[she-karev]

Breakdown (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister PTSD Imagine)

Age Rating: 18+

Chapters: One of Two

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

Canon Episode: Season 17 Episode 10

TRIGGER WARNING: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Flashback, Nightmare, Depression

Mental Health Resources: https://www.ptsd.va.gov/, https://adaa.org/understanding-anxiety/posttraumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/resources, https://www.nami.org/, https://www.aacap.org/, https://www.dbsalliance.org/, https://afsp.org/

AN: Hey guys so I felt angsty and wanted to showcase doctors that suffered from PTSD during the pandemic. PTSD from this trauma is very real and it makes it clear that healthcare workers deserved better back then. So I wanted to show that with my main character, Amber Karev, who realistically would crumble at the pandemic and her relationship problems as well as her childhood trauma. I want to show that asking for help is nothing to be ashamed of, it’s okay not to be okay.

Summary: Amber has nightmares and flashbacks from being overwhelmed by the pandemic with her struggles being noted by her best friend, Jackson Avery, and her boyfriend, Andrew DeLuca, who try to help her. She makes a mistake that almost harmed a patient causing Jackson to step in and help. Later he tells her that she is slipping at work and tries to encourage her to get help but Amber refuses citing that she will get over it.

Words: 4724

“Push one of Epi!” Amber feels the ribs under her hands break as she applies CPR to her dying covid patient who is crashing. The exertion is making the resident breathe hard under her mask that feels hot against her mouth with the goggles around her eyes tight enough to leave bruises. Amber ignores her own feelings of being suffocated to focus on saving the elderly woman under her care.

“Epi is in.” Amber sees the monitor is still flatlining despite combined Epi and CPR. The sound is deafening to her as she has heard it for the last two months from her time in the covid ward. It is a ringing in her ears that is a constant reminder of the death and suffering that is spreading worldwide.

She looks back down at the patient who changed before her eyes. Instead of an old woman under her fist it is her oldest brother, Alex. The sight makes her want to stop but applying CPR is integrated in her and is instinct to never stop. She closes her eyes to shake the image away while pressing down his chest with all her might.

Amber opens her eyes to find Jackson Avery on the bed instead. The sound of the monitor flatline raises Amber’s heartrate as her breathing begins to thin feeling like the air is not getting in her lungs. Every blink she takes the person on the bed shifts to Jo, and then April, and then Carina and finally Andrew DeLuca who is still lying there no matter how much she blinks or closes her eyes.

Instead of the warm and lively man that she loves she sees a pale imitation that is cold to the touch. Amber stops breathing as she registers this before her hands stop compressions. She wants to keep going, make sure he’s alive but her shock is making her freeze in place.

It is like she is dying in that room along with Andrew except unlike him, her heart is beating in her chest like a jackrabbit. The pain in her chest feels like her heart is trying to beat out of her body. Normally she would react to this by clutching her chest by right now except her limbs feel like their made of concrete.

The only sound that is heard in this dimming patient room is the monitor flatlining. Amber can’t discern anything else except the flatline that starts to ring in her ears. She stands there frozen with the nurse not even lifting a finger to help Andrew who is dying in front of their eyes. Instead the nurse speaks to Amber in a neutral tone. The words from the nurse are muffled to Amber due to the ringing in her ears. However she can discern what the nurse is saying, even muffled these are words she has heard so many times it is every doctors unofficial mantra.

“Time of death…”

May 18th, 2020

Amber wakes up with a gasp desperate to breathe. Instead of the hospital she is in bed with Andrew beside her sleeping. She looks at him relieved to hear his light snoring that indicates it was a nightmare. Her heart is still beating fast, she rubs her own chest desperate for relief. Amber inhales deeply and exhales slowly until her chest soothes the constrictions that followed her from her dream.

Once her heart rate decreases to normal limits, Amber notices her shirt sticking to her chest and back. She swipes her forehead and feels a layer of sweat that is covering her entire body. Amber groans at this disgusting fluid before checking her phone to find that she only slept for three hours. After her back-to-back shifts yesterday, she tried to fall asleep but found it difficult to keep her eyes closed. Instead, she spent two hours tossing and turning until she finally felt tired.

Now she is fully awake again in the middle of the night because of another nightmare. For the past few weeks she has been plagued with dreams of being in the covid ward and losing a patient. This, however, was the first time her patients were her loved ones and it’s what made her decide that sleep will only make things worse, and she needs to keep busy, so her boyfriend doesn’t get concerned once again and watch her like she’s going to break like glass.

Ever since Andrew was discharged and she moved back into his apartment, Amber has tried her best to take care of him while he’s recovering. She helps him with wound care, PT, cook’s meals for him and makes sure he remembers to take his medication. All of this was relatively easy except for when she sleeps in the same bed as him.

The nightmares started the night she came home, and it’s gotten worse since. She has thrown herself into work and Andrew’s post op care to appear stable and active. However, he was quick to figure this out two weeks ago when a dream of her brother attacking her during his psychotic episode made her wake up screaming and he held her in his arms while she cried.

Every night since he begs her to go to sleep with the help of melatonin. Amber tries to lay by his side and sleep peacefully but the most she gets is four hours before a nightmare wakes her up in a pit of sweat and anxiety. Even when Andrew is lying down and holding her Amber does math in her head to stay awake until his breaths evened out and she could sit up without waking him.

Amber sighs at this lack of sleep but knows she’s not gonna go back down so she opts to go for a run before heading into work. She finds running in the park to be relaxing as it’s the one place besides home she can breathe without a mask. Amber grabs her workout clothes from the drawers and quickly changes inside the bathroom before exiting to put on her shoes.

The sound of the bathroom door closing wakes up Andrew in bed. He groans tiredly before sitting up waking up his dog Jazz as well who slept in bed with them again. Amber is in her workout clothes putting her hair up in a ponytail before sitting on the couch to put her running shoes on.

“Good morning.”

Amber responds numbly without looking up, “Morning, sorry to wake you I wanted to go out for a run before work.”

Andrew turns on his phone at his bedside table, “It’s 3:30 in the morning your shift doesn’t start for another 4 hours.”

“So?” Amber asks snappishly, “The hospital is too overrun, they need all the help they can get so I’m going in early.”

Andrew sighs at this rubbing his eyes, “You finished a double shift 6 hours ago, Did you have another nightmare?”

“God not this again.” Amber remarks annoyed, “Yes I slept, I had a great dream last night where my boyfriend wasn’t nagging me about my sleeping schedule any other questions or do you want to attach me to a lie detector test too?”

DeLuca sighs at this insult but keeps calm, “Amber I am not the bad guy here I am just trying to help that’s all. I know you’ve been through a lot and you work to numb the pain and I get that. I get it but there’s a limit to how many hours you pull before exhaustion gets to you even in the middle of a pandemic.”

Amber scoffs dismissively, “You know why don’t you tell that to the thousands of people that are dying in our hospital each day? Tell them a resident can’t work to save lives because she would rather lay back in bed and keep her boyfriend company, I’m sure they would understand.”

Andrew’s face falls at that but Amber is unmoved walking to the door, “I’ll see you at work.” The door slams closed with that statement causing Andrew to groan and collapse on the bed in frustration.

Four Hours Later

“MVC and abdominal pain coming in 2 minutes out.” Jackson announces at the ambulance bay where Amber is already gowned up and waiting, “I can page Parker if you want to nod off and drink this very expensive coffee I got you.”

Avery is carrying a cup of coffee that he hands out to Amber who rolls her eyes. She knows that her best friend is taking shifts when she does because he’s looking after her. Amber is annoyed at this overprotectiveness that has increased after Amber came back to work following Andrew’s attack. She finds people babysitting her to be insulting and degrading but takes the coffee as the caffeine calls to her.

“You’re lucky I like caffeine.” She sips the coffee that makes her gag, “What is that?”

“Vanilla brown sugar latte, it’s my favorite, it’s sweet.”

“It’s disgusting.” Amber throws the coffee away hurting Jackson, “How do you have a six-pack drinking that swill? And I don’t need to sleep I’m great so you can back off and go back to your pretty little plastics floor where nothing bad ever happens.”

“Wow and here I was hoping a good latte would make you less cranky.” Jackson teases before noticing his friend closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again and shaking her tired head causing him to worry, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I know what you’re doing.” Jackson raises an eyebrow confused, “You’re mothering me or babying me and it’s pissing me off.”

Jackson is startled by this outburst, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re a world class surgeon and you’re coincidentally working at the pit when I am, not to mention the covid ward, the check in desk, the testing tent, this is stalking.”

“Amber despite what your ego is telling you my entire world does not revolve around you.” Jackson states sternly, “Every world class surgeon in this building is going where they’re needed because specialties and surgeries are on pause. It’s not stalking it’s having our wires crossed, now are you gonna accuse me of boiling your bunny or are we gonna save lives?”

Amber turns to the ambulance coming in and rushes over with Jackson where the paramedics open the back door. There is a heavy-set black man on the gurney groaning in pain.

“What do we got?” Jackson asks the paramedic who explains.

“Paul Wilkins, 45-year-old male with new onset right side abdominal pain.” Amber helps Jackson wheel him inside the building, “No meds, no past medical history, allergic to Zofran.”

“Okay you got this Karev?” Jackson asks Amber.

“I’ll run tests and give him Phenergan for the nausea.”

Jackson pulls back, “Okay I’ll take the MVC page me if you-”

“I’m fine Dr. Avery.” Amber proclaims causing him to leave her with the patient and paramedic “Paul your our first patient today so you get the luxury package, bed 1.”

She and the paramedic lift the groaning patient on the bed before Vic Hughes and Travis Montgomery come in uniform wheeling a black woman who is on a gurney. Amber groans but approaches the firefighters ready to take in the new patient.

“What do we got?”

“Irene Davis, 35, complains of severe abdominal pain.” Vic outlines, “She has a history of MS and an Rx for steroids.”

“Any numbness or tremors on scene?”

“No, she didn’t show symptoms beyond the abdomen.” Travis answers, “Although she was complaining the whole ride over and insisted on not going to a hospital.”

“Because that worked out so well for my sister.” Irene bitterly states, “Came in for a hysterectomy and went out with terminal cancer.”

“I’m so sorry Irene but we need to check you out and make sure there’s nothing serious.” Amber points to a room, “Get her to trauma 1 and I’ll page general for a consult, is there anyone we can call for you? Family or friends?”

Irene chuckles, “That won’t be necessary, my brother-in-law works here, and he’ll come marching in when he gets whiff that I’m here.”

“That’s good.”

“You say that, but you’ve never met my brother.”

Amber chuckles lightly, “I have two brothers, so I share the feeling trust me. Okay get her inside and a doctor will be with you shortly.” The firefighters take Irene to trauma 1 leaving Amber to go to the station to page Jo. She is about to return to her patients when a familiar song stops her in place.

Avril Lavigne’s Complicated plays from the nurse’s phone while she is charting. Amber’s feet stop moving, they feel like cinderblocks stopping her in place with an unblinking catatonic face. When this song is recognized by Amber the next sound she hears is ringing in her ears and her surroundings are incoherent to her as her mind takes her to the moment she first listened to this song.

2002

A nine-year-old Amber Karev is sitting at the table of her house working on her homework. While she is writing her English paper, her CD player is attached to her headphones that she is wearing. The music blaring in her ears is Complicated by Avril Lavigne.

She is peacefully doing her schoolwork while her brother Alex is at college and her other brother Aaron is hanging out with his friends. A loud clank startles her causing her to remove her headphones and put them around the back of her neck.

“Why are you here?!” Amber can discern is as Helen having another episode making the young girl’s fear skyrocket, “Get out! Get out or I’ll kill you, I swear to God, I’ll kill you!”

The little girl quickly grabs the home phone before going inside a closet out of view from her frantic mother who keeps tearing the house apart. She crouches in a dark corner in the back of the small space before dialing Aaron’s number.

While she does this Helen grabs the pans and throws them around screaming nonsense just five feet from Amber who hopes her schizophrenic mother doesn’t open the door and try to kill her again. The phone against her ear is answered with her teenage brother on the other end.

“Hey kid what’s up?” Amber is too afraid to make a sound and give herself away so she holds the phone out to the door that is a weak barrier for their mothers frantic actions.

Helen is throwing cups out of the shelves, “Come out here now! Come out here so I can kill you!”

Amber holds the phone to her ear as her brother responds calmly but with a veil of panic, “All right I’m leaving right now, just stay in there, don’t open the door, and don’t make a sound. I’ll be there as soon as I can I promise.”

Her brother hangs up leaving Amber all alone in the closet where she follows his instructions and keeps quiet like her life depends on it. Even through the screaming and glass breaking the little Karev keeps herself curled up inside the closet while her life is in danger from the person who is supposed to protect it.

Present

“Amber.”

The resident snaps out of her flashback at the call of her name and turns to find it coming from Jackson who is tending to Paul Wilkins instead of her. He doesn’t look bothered however he looks worried for Amber. For a solid minute he saw her standing by the station frozen looking on like a statue. He called her out twice until she finally responded to his relief but his concern for her escalates after this catatonic episode.

Amber approaches them normal trying to ignore her flashback, “Did general come by?”

“Not yet. Trauma took my MVC to the OR so I’m stepping in.” Jackson answers before doing a physical test on the abdomen causing the patient to groan in pain, “I know it hurts but I’m almost done. We’re gonna do a CBC and kidney panel to see what the source is, it’s most likely anemia which is very treatable don’t worry. Karev, can you do the workup while I get a CT for bed 5? And make him more comfortable while the labs are running?”

“I got it thanks.” Jackson leaves her with a nurse. She quickly does the blood draw and helps him to the restroom where he pees in a cup for her. Amber hands the bag to an intern to hand to the labs. She yawns as her exhaustion starts to creep up on her but she persists and turns to the nurse while Paul is too busy curled up in bed holding his stomach that makes him groan in pain.

“Okay Taylor let’s give Mr. Wilkins something for the nausea while his blood work is being done.” She briefly closes her eyes while giving orders, “Give him 4 mg of Zofran and I’ll be back once the results are in. Page me if anything changes thanks.”

Amber walks away groaning tiredly as she heads to the trauma room to check on Irene. She is inside the hall when a realization stops her in place. Amber remembers the paramedic telling them that Mr. Wilkins is allergic to Zofran…the same medicine that she just prescribed for his nausea. Amber gasps at this before running out and bursting the doors open back to the pit. The PPE she is wearing doesn’t stop her from running at full speed back to bed 1 where the nurse is about to insert something into Paul Wilkins IV.

“Stop!” Taylor stops in place looking up at the panicking resident, “Taylor are you giving Mr. Wilkins-”

“Phenergan?” Amber turns to Jackson who stands six feet behind her looking at the nurse and patient calmly, “I told nurse Taylor we were out of Zofran and to use Phenergan instead. That’s what you were gonna say right? Before I came over.”

Amber pauses at that explanation before looking at Paul who is responding to the medication. She knows Jackson was with her when the paramedics told them about Paul’s allergy and as a result saved her from making a mistake that could have killed the patient. Amber swallows the lump in her throat before nodding and following his lead.

“Right, I was gonna say that.”

“…Right.” Jackson says coldly with a stern face that Amber discerns as disappointment. It makes her guilt grow and sees she’s not gonna get away Scot free from her friend. Amber leaves for her previous destination. Jackson sighs as he watches her walk away with his disappointment shifting to worry.

Later

Jackson is outside the ambulance bay leaning back against the building with his mask off breathing in the air he and everyone else has taken for granted. Normally it would be a hard day working in a pandemic that would warrant his brooding but now it’s added by his friends declining mental state.

Ever since Amber came back to work after Andrew’s attack, Jackson noticed that she was snapping at coworkers more, working at the covid ward beyond the limits for residents, easily startled by random events and dragging her feet at work that affects her performance. He keeps his distance because he was certain she was just reacting like a doctor working during covid. But after Paul Wilkins he knows now it’s more than that, he knows now that Amber is teetering at the edge and needs to be pulled back before she falls.

“Hey.” Amber appears six feet in front of him with her mask off and a remorseful expression.

“Hey.” Jackson keeps a blank face knowing he needs to be upfront with Amber and help her when she’s not helping herself, “We need to talk.”

Amber inhales looking down in shame, “I know I figured we would after what happened with Mr. Wilkins, what I did with Mr. Wilkins that was…that was unacceptable. I was there when the paramedics told me he was allergic to Zofran, and I prescribed it anyway. I came back from a double shift last night and I haven’t gotten sleep since. I’m tired and my mind is in a fog but that is no excuse I know that.” Jackson sighs at this with a stern look that effects Amber, “Are you angry?”

“I’m not angry.” Jackson says pulling himself off the wall to stand up right in front of Amber with arms crossed at his chest, “Truly I’m not, I was but now I’m worried about you.”

“And I appreciate that, and I so appreciate what you did for me this morning. You came through huge for me and if you hadn’t…” Amber’s face darkens at that scenario running through her head, “I would never have forgiven myself.”

“I know that.” Jackson says with a frown, “Why do you think I was keeping an eye on you all day?”

“Well lucky me that you decided to baby me today.” Amber half teases that Jackson doesn’t find amusing causing her to become serious again, “Jackson, you know me, you know I’m not that kind of doctor. I swear this is the first and last time something like this happens from me.”

“It’s not.” Jackson states making Amber look confused, “It’s not the first time this has happened. The reason you don’t know this is because I have been watching you closely and cleaning up your messes.”

Amber is taken back by this new information. For so long she has prided herself on her analytical skills and her ability to double-check her work. So, to hear her boss tell her that she has unknown skeletons in her closet makes her pause for a moment before prying for elaboration.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Jackson almost wants to stop; he almost wants to spare his friend the pain of finding out how she looks to others. But he knows he can’t watch her 24/7 and next time there won’t be an attending to stop her from making a fatal error like with Mr. Wilkins.

“Ever since DeLuca was discharged you haven’t been 100 percent at work.” Amber furrows her eyebrows in confusion, “You look exhausted, you’re dragging your feet. I chalked it up to exhaustion and taking care of DeLuca at home and burn out but then you started slipping at work.”

Amber scoffs at that, “When have I ever made mistakes like today? Tell me.”

“You want the list? I correct your EMR’s, put patient notes on the right charts, order rapid tests when you doze off.”

“Okay that’s just paperwork.” Amber defends herself, “That is not malpractice that’s normal. I mean you can’t tell me you didn’t make mistakes like that when you were a resident, and you weren’t in a pandemic then. I screw up some red tape once or twice big deal.”

“It happens all the time.” Jackson informs her in a low voice, so they don’t attract attention, “And it’s been getting worse. You prescribed Zofran you forgot a patient was allergic to after you had an episode and stared off into space for a minute. It was like your brain was somewhere else, like you were caught in a flashback.” Amber pales at that reminder causing Jackson to ask cautiously, “What did you see before you prescribed Mr. Wilkins the Zofran?”

Amber shakes her head not wanting to be pulled back into that dark hole, “I’m tired that’s it; it comes with the job I’ll get over it I always do.”

“Amber…” Jackson sighs gathering the courage to make his point to his friend looking at her in sympathy, “I think you need help; more help that any of us realize and I’m sorry for not seeing that until now, but I have and I’m here to tell you…you’re not okay.”

Amber shakes her head at that suggestion immediately as her face shifts to frustration, “I already have a live-in boyfriend pointing out all of my flaws I don’t need you doing it too.”

“Amber-”

“And you know what I am a big girl Jackson I don’t need an overpaid babysitter attached to my hip.” Amber snaps at Jackson who rubs his eyes as he knew this wasn’t gonna go smoothly, “I can take care of myself I have done it my whole life. I’m not some side piece for you to control like April and Maggie, my entire life doesn’t depend on your hero complex and another thing-”

“If I didn’t give half as much crap about you and babysit you a patient would be dead right now because your too exhausted to remember important medical information.” Jackson reminds her in a low harsh tone accompanied by a furious glare that appeared when Amber insulted April. This dark progression stops Amber’s rant, and she looks at her friend silently as he continues.

“I am trying to save you before you self-sabotage yourself until you get your license taken away. You and I both saw it with Jo when she came to work drunk and again with DeLuca when he became manic. It’s happening again only this time you’re the one who is getting worse, and I can’t stand by and watch you deny what is right in front of you and kill patients as a result. You would do the same for me and don’t even try to deny it.”

Amber is frozen by this for a moment before Jackson rubs his jaw and his fury shifts to concern and empathy, “I’m being your friend right now, I am helping you because you need it. You helped me when my mom was sick and when I was going through a question in faith and the universe. You were my ear and my shoulder to lean on so I am telling you I will return the favor. This pain you’re feeling you can’t keep it bottled up forever because eventually it’s gonna blow up and you won’t come back from it. I just…I just want you to tell me what you’re feeling so I can help you, please talk to me.”

Amber looks taken back by this heartwarming confession. Her best friend had been there for her time and time again whether it’s relationship or professional problems. Even when she was mad at him for leaving unexpectedly, she knew he would be in her corner. And she knows he wants to hear her honest response to his offer.

Amber inhales deeply taking a moment to gather her thoughts, “I feel…I feel off.”  

Jackson looks at her in sympathy over this morose statement as she continues, “One minute I feel like there’s no hope left, no love, no happiness just…nothing. And then the next minute I feel like screaming at the world and never stopping. Even when my boyfriend makes me a gourmet dinner it’s like ash in my mouth. I get mad at him for every little thing, it’s like I live on anger because there’s no hope left. It-It’s like I hate everything and everyone until I hit a wall, and I don’t feel hate or anything at all. I can’t sleep at night because I always have nightmares that feel so real I am afraid I’ll never wake up. It feels like…it feels like all of the worst feelings of everyone in the world has somehow entered my body and I can’t get it out.”

Jackson sighs at this feeling sad for his friend who has so much more turmoil than he even realized. It’s taking everything in him not to break protocol and hug her. She looks broken and small like a lost child and for the first time he can see her walls breaking down and her true feelings coming out.

Amber inhales to regain her composure and barriers, “But I’ll get over it and deal with it my own way that includes working.”

Jackson frowns at this while Amber puts her mask on, “I gotta get back in there, excuse me.”

Amber goes back inside without objection from her friend who looks grim at this confession. He knew she was in rough shape but not to this extent. He wants to help but he doesn’t know how to help with this. Instead, he stands there feeling just as hopeless as Amber just told him she feels.

Next Chapter Here

[faerymeat]

In your bio, wdym by "irl alice liddell"? Like, you look like her(which you definitely do) and/or you act like her? Or some other reason?

i mainly put it there because ppl always tell me i look like her lol 😂 but aside from looks i do have a lot in common with her. we both were sent to asylums against our will. we both have experienced psychosis and trauma. we both have a sister named Lizzie. Both our sisters named lizzie experienced the same kind of abuse that bumby put lizzie through, except in my case he did it to me too. i am older than my sister lizzie so i tried to protect her by opening up about the abuse to my mom. judging by alice's wonderland in the game, i'm assuming its made out of her own interests and things that pertain directly to her. its pretty obvious considering the heavy symbolism associated with it. based on that assumption i think its safe to say we both like bugs, teeth, etc. the vale of tears and the doll house levels are literally what the inside of my brain looks like. me and alice both tried to stop our abusers and both our abusers had other children as their victims. me and alice were both manipulated into thinking we were insane by multiple people in our lives. in my case it was my mother, doctors, and my abuser. we both love cats lol 😂 though i never received shock therapy, ppl did try to force me into receiving it because i lost the right to make my own medical decisions. i ran away before they actually could go through with the procedure. we both were abused/mistreated at mental asylums by corrupt/cruel healthcare workers. we both used opium as a "vice". we both have a toy rabbit 😂😂

its actually insane how much i have in common with her. thats why its my comfort game🖤 its really therapeutic to play a game as someone who went through the same experiences i did and be ale to get revenge on her abuser and finally begin to heal from it. because sadly my own abuser only got 3 years in prison for ruining my life and my sister's life. i have really bad anxiety/ptsd and most of my mental health issues stem from being abused as a child. I play alice: madness returns when i'm feeling upset or overwhelmed and it helps me immensely 🥰

another huge way i relate to her character is the wonderland part. like many ppl with ptsd i have always sort of retreated into my own little world when going through a traumatic experience. i even wrote stories about it and drew pictures about a place i made up when i was a kid. i would literally stay up late at night crying because i was so devastated that it wasn't real and that i was really trapped here forever😭 even as an adult i sometimes go back to that little safe spot in my brain when everything is just too much to handle mentally. 🧠⛈️

anyway, i'm sure there may even be more stuff i have in common with alice, but those are the major things i noticed when i first played alice: madness returns and american mcgee's alice🖤