#also ativan isn’t doing shit for me right now

[bpdamn]

whoop just had one of the worst fights with my parents/dad. my dad almost punched me, i grabbed his arm in an attempt to stop him, my mom lost it and started banging her head against the wall and started yelling at me for crying (out of anger sorrow and honestly most of all despair) instead of being there for me. both of them ended up playing the victim role. all of my traumas have been triggered and i guess we got some more to add to the list. it was that bad that i couldn’t even stop the tears from falling while in the train (it was a 1h ride) and i’ve been throwing up from anxiety ever since i’m back home :3

[thessalian]

Thess vs the Singular ‘They’

Managed to get through lunch with my mother with only a single argument, and that was more a semantic thing than anything else. ...Well, mostly.

She started well - she actually started the conversation about whether or not you’d had ‘the surgery’, a trans woman going into the women’s bathroom shouldn’t be an issue because you’re using a cubicle anyway and you’re not exactly exposing children to this and adults - real, sensible adults - wouldn’t necessarily care about an accidental flash of penis anyway. She gave a so-called ‘grey area’ of gym changing rooms and I flagged up that all gym changing rooms have or at least should have areas that provide privacy for those who want or need it and she acknowledged the point. So she’s nominally for trans rights, so I guess that’s better than I would have expected...

And then we got onto the singular ‘they’.

Mum insists that it’s grammatically incorrect to refer to a singular person with a plural verb, as you would have to do with ‘they are’. Thus she will never comfortably refer to anyone with the singular ‘they’, even if they ask her to. Because of that one tiny issue that she personally has with verb tense.

I asked her what she’d do if someone asked her to please use they/them pronouns with her. She said that if she didn’t know them well, she’d shrug it off and call them whatever she personally wanted to call them because they weren’t close and she wouldn’t have to refer to them often anyway, and if it was someone she was close friends with... Well, apparently her reaction would be, “I suppose, but I think it’s silly��.

So then I asked her what she’d say if they, close or not, asked her if she would please respect their right to be referred by their preferred pronouns. Answer: “Will you respect my right to call you ‘that person’ instead of ‘they’?”

I came so close to blowing up. I did tell her that her so-called rights didn’t mean shit in that situation (more politely, obviously). She kept insisting that it was ridiculous and she wasn’t going to use the plural verb ‘are’ to refer to a single person even if she didn’t know their gender. So I told her that it was perfectly acceptable usage and she just kept saying, “No it isn’t!” And as per usual, when I tried to close the conversation with, “Look, just Google the singular ‘they’, okay?”, she kept pressing. “No! It isn’t! You can’t use a plural verb to describe a single person! It’s wrong! It’s silly! It’s incorrect and I am perfectly right to refuse to do it no matter what!” So I just kept telling her to Google the singular ‘they’. Pretty sure linguistics is going to bear me out on this. Also pretty sure that she’s not going to care.

I pray my mother never meets a gender-neutral person. I don’t want to deal with that mess.

Seriously, most of the conversation went along the lines that my intellectually disabled aunt’s carer back in Canada is putting her on increasing amounts of sedatives, now having graduated to very low-dose thorazine. So my mother’s having to go back there a couple of times this month to meet with carer and doctors and all manner of mess to try to sort this bullshit out, and all I could really do was provide some aromatherapy soap because if Auntie Mickey is really stressed and grumpy all the time (which I doubt, but never mind), any sensible person starts with stuff like aromatherapy as treatment; they don’t go straight to ativan and graduate from there to thorazine.

[deanstits]

ok so like this is a vent post about this fuckin crime boss fic that im trying to work on so i just need to talk it out!!!

Okay so I’ve literally been trying so hard to work on this fic, and it’s so annoying that I just can’t seem to get going. Each sentence is like pulling teeth and I’ll write a few paragraphs and just viscerally hate them. I can tell its bad and not the direction I want to go in, I just can’t seem to get the story going.

My ideas for the fun parts once they meet are like!!! abundant! and sexy! but getting to that point realistically and smoothly is a real struggle for some reason and i’m not sure what it is that im doing wrong.

I literally have about 400 words of actual story and then like 5k of planning and ideas idk what im DOING just the beginning isn’t working for me. >:(

Idk if i just need to make minor changes to get the whole thing to click into place or if I should just scrap it and start again—like I said, 400 words aint much to just completely get rid of. but then I’m right back at the beginning with a map to where I want to be and no clue where to start??????

ALSO all I do all the time is just complain and be a fuckin self absorbed little asshole and I’m so anxious all the time it’s eating me alive why cant i get some anxiety medication or something this is fucking ridiculous !!!!!!!!!

anyways back to the fic that like essentially is so inconsequential idk why im upset about it lmao I want to write so badly and i just keep hitting this brick wall and it makes me so frustrated and upset.

Just let the words come please!!! from my brain to the page!! thank u so much!! just vomit out of my mind pls ty!!!

Usually when I’m writing it feels like I’m just transcribing an audio track that’s playing in my head as this shit just sort of flows through me, like i didn’t even write it, im just jotting it down for someone else, and now it’s like i’m digging each individual word out of hard packed earth and anything I manage to drag to the surface just isnt right and idk what im doing and its very friustrating and how come other people get like ativan or something and im over here like :))))))))))) this is fine!!!! my body is so tense all the time im so worried all the time i just want to be calm and not have my life be one long extended fuckin panic attack and then i think oh man im so self obsessed maybe shut the fuck up????

in short. hi how are u. if u read all this im so sorry lmao that wasn’t me intention at all I just!!!! am desperately in need of spewing out my feelings somewhere and idk where to put them except here so. ur welcome and im sorry lol .

[blowup1sun]

Ok, goings on of late:

My happy little weekend position at work has been eliminated and they have no real idea what to do with me. My hours have been cut to one shift a week while they figure me out. Yay.

Had my fistula tied off after 20 years of bullshit and trouble.had to pop a small zit like infection pocket at the tail end of the scar a couple of days ago, but it’s almost healed already.

My body now reacts so poorly to IV iron/iron supplements in general that they just give me blood at this point. Everyone continues to be baffled about how I had a hemoglobin of 63 and was still functioning. Am now sleeping even less thanks to the blood. Good times.

It rained ice Friday night. Poured rained most of today. Still several feet of snow on the ground.

Developed a “sensitivity” to Ancef, which triggered an allergic reaction to my dialyser which triggered an allergic reaction to a HYPOALLERGENIC LAUNDRY DETERGENT. My skin is so freaked out right now.

News outlets are finally talking about how low disability payments are in Ontario because of how many ODSP recipients want assisted suicide instead of trying to live in poverty any more. Everyone asked about why they want this have explicitly stated it has to to with ODSP payments, not their disability. And a provincial election is coming up, so I see more empty promises with a lack of follow through in my future.

Gramma is down with Covid since Tuesday, mom tested positive this morning.

I am BAFFLED as to how the Old Man isn’t sick yet.

And I keep thinking I’m getting it, then i have a nap and feel fine, so, who the fuck knows. Will most likely be getting swabbed on Monday, because mom is positive and I seem to have developed a small Not Weed Related cough.

“I bet you’re looking forward to that swab!” My dialysis nurse joked.

“I’m looking forward to the drugs your going to ply me with.” I replied. Because for some reason the nasal swab has become an automatic trigger for a 4/10 panic attack. I mean balling my eyes out, shaking with a small side of hyperventilating set me off. No idea why. None. First swab I had without drugs a couple of years ago was fine, it was actually better than I expected. A quick little test saying o had Influenza A. Walk into the unit a couple of years later, see the swabs on the table and BOOM! Ugly crying panic attack for no reason I can figure out.

So I now I get under the tongue Ativan and 50 of gravol.

Other triggers now suddenly include the dentist (which I guess isn’t really a surprise. HELLO TRAUMATIC VISIT WHENI WAS 6! I SEE YOU THERE!)

The Dumb Bitch in my head is O B S S E S S E D with Encanto.

I cannot figure out what Netflix’s end game is by cracking down on password sharing and adding ads. Like, the moment they try to make me pay a supplementary fee to share my password, I’m out. Same if the now $20/month account I pay for gets ads. Fuck Netflix. I’m also tired of trying to sort through the MOUNTAINS of Bollywood, South Korean dramas and murder shit to find something to watch. I spend more time downvoting this shit to try and get it out of my recommendations than I do finding anything new to watch.

Crave is the fucking jankiest app ever and Prime is nothing but frustration because I have to have a million other subscriptions to watch what I want. Rick and Morty wants a $20/month StackTV subscriptions, Stargate want’s a $4/month subscription and someone else wanted another $5/month for a streaming service I’ve never even heard of before. I am totally going to end up pirating again.I know it.

[lavendermenaceart]

Broken Pieces||Chapter 11||

Warnings: Hospitals, vomiting, blood, IV needles, drug addiction is mentioned, just a general warning.

Tag List: @stilinskis-banshee , @captainreid , @ultrarebelheart , @cynbx, @rawritsmolly 

Chapter 1||Chapter 2||Chapter 3||Chapter 4||Chapter 5|| Chapter 6||Chapter 7||Chapter 8||Chapter 9|| Chapter 10||

“Alright, thank you for your time.” Another door shut behind Spencer and Emily as yet another neighbor knew and saw nothing. The fear pulsed through him, turning quickly into anger as he drove his fist into the brick wall of the building once they made it outside.

    Emily looked shocked, her eyes widened and eyebrows shot up. Sure, you had snapped at her before, but she had never seen you so angry you resorted to physical violence. Your intelligence was your weapon. Her face took on a calmer and kinder expression as she reached for Spencer’s shoulder.

    Spencer jerked away, raising his hands. As he turned and walked a few steps away, he pressed his palms to his eyes as the pressure built behind them along with his frustrations. He could normally come up with 100 statistics, 1,000 precise facts, but right now he couldn’t think of anything except how hopeless he felt. They had no physical evidence, no witnesses, they barely had a profile.

    Emily was about to re-approach when she felt her phone ringing in her pocket. The Caller I.D was for Hotch so she didn’t even hesitate to pick up.

    “Do you have anything?” Her tone was serious and flat. Spencer turned to watch her expressions during the phone call.

    Her eyes widened in reaction to whatever the person on the other end of the line was saying.

    “Text me the details, we’ll all be heading over right now. Thank you.” He didn’t know whether to dare let himself hope or if he should let the dread overtake him. That one sentence could mean so many things. Were they going to a crime scene to find a body, a hospital to find you fine and healthy, a hospital to watch you die?

    “Police were called by a young boy. He said his mother ‘Stole a lady and she’s very sick.’ Hotch sent the address for the hospital to me.” Emily was trying to keep a brave face and an even tone. ‘Very sick’ from a child wasn’t promising, especially in their line of work.

    Spencer felt like his legs were going to give out from underneath him. Since as long as he could remember, there was a constant barrier between his emotions and himself. That barrier was fitting to burst as conflicting emotions landed blow after blow on his walls. Fear for your health, Anger that he couldn’t find you sooner, worthlessness because he could have prevented this if he had just stayed the night with you when you asked, Hope that you were okay and healthy as possible and if not that, at the very least alive.

    “Spencer, come on. I know it’s a lot, but she needs you.” Emily’s voice brought him back from his short break from the control he usual held over himself. He nodded, at a lost for words for once in his life as they both jogged towards the SUV, Derek and Alex following after leaving a nearby shop.

    “We go the call and info. Everything going to be alright, Pretty boy, okay?” Morgan had his serious eyebrows on, Alex agreeing from somewhere behind both of the male agents.

    “There will be hell to pay if it isn’t.” Emily added after they had all settled into the dark car.

Not even the jolting of the ambulance ride had woken you, but you were jolted awake when you felt a horrible pain right in the middle of your chest.

    ‘Oh god, i’m having a heart attack. I'm going to die.’ You wanted to sob but all the sensations were keeping you from thinking too much on your thoughts and feelings. Another jolt of pressure and pain. You heard the groan pass your lips before you really felt it. Your eyes fluttered open, burning under the bright white lights.

    “Ma’am, Ma’am are you with us?” One voice came from above you.

    Another from in front of you. “Patient is starting to show signs of responsiveness.”

    You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, your throat destroyed from all the force and acid of the past…...however long it had been since you had entered hell. You just grunted before you felt a dry-heave spasm through your torso.

    “We’re gonna need Ativan, Zofran-” The nurse or doctors or whosoever’s voice faded out as your eyes rolled back in your head again before you closed them. The pain and discomfort made you want to beg for death, or at least their strongest pain medications.

    “We’re going to need and X-ray to see how bad the damage is so we can decide the best course of action.” You just wanted to pass out again. Their voices and all the lights and sounds were grating on your ears and just made your nausea worse if you were being honest.

    “Alright, I’m going to be giving you medication for muscle spasms, nausea, and pain, alright? You’re most likely going to need a blood transfusion, also. Do you know your blood type?”

    ‘Ohmygod please stop talking to me please just give me drugs and blood, holy shit.’ Those were the only real thoughts you were having at the moment. “B….plus.” Was all you could really manage.

    “Alright, thank you. We need B plus, ASAP.”

    “On it!”

    For the reminder of your time awake and feeling, you zoned out. It was all you could do to try to escape the pain while you waited for the medications to kick in. You were alive. In a hospital. Surely, you would be seeing Spencer soon? What if he didn’t even know that you were missing? What if he didn’t even care? You could hear your heart rate rising as new tears mingled with the old dried ones on your cheeks. Soon, you were too high to even be bothered with emotions.

    In that moment, you understood. You felt close to what Spencer felt. You understood why he would choose this over you. Those were your last thoughts before the radiologist entered your room.

    You stirred, more comfortable than you had felt in the past few days. Your pain was probably at a 3 or 4 instead of an outrageous 11. Something...didn’t feel right. You felt too light. Something was missing. What was missing?

    ‘Oh my god.’ Was all that your drug addled brain could come up with once you finally had the muscle strength to lift your head and look down. Where your right leg once was, there was now just sunken blanket.

    “Y/N oh my god.” You turned your head, confused to hear a voice other than your own.

    There was Spencer, standing up from the uncomfortable hospital chair, tears in his beautiful eyes. Seeing him when you thought you were never going to see him again, you didn’t care about your stupid leg. You lost 3/4ths of your right leg, but you were still alive to see that beautiful grin splay across his face as he took the one long step to bend over and hold your face in his.

You were both nose to nose, your breath intermingling. There were no real words that could be said in this moment. All the fear, anger, and hopelessness was resolved in this moment. You were filled with the love and determination Spencer always made you feel, but now more so than ever. Finally, after neither of you could decide on any words to speak, your lips crashed together.

Your lips were chapped and clumsy due to all the medication and lack of water, but Spencer didn’t show any kind of deterioration in his passion. The increasing rate of your heart could be heard through your heart monitor as you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting out a soft moan against his lips.

Spencer pulled away, kissing your nose before pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m not great with being emotional, but god, I was so scared. I don’t think I have ever felt so afraid in my life as when I first saw your apartment.” You could hear the strain of tears in his voice. Your vision was a little blurry but you could see his eyes shining as he spoke. “I’m so sorry. I should have stayed like you asked, I should have paid more attention to your body language. I should have-”

“Spencer, Spencer stop.” You moved one hand from behind his neck to his chest. You weren’t sure you could articulate how you felt precisely, since you were high on all kinds of narcotics. but you couldn’t listen to him blame himself. “None of this is your fault. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine. I didn’t take the threats seriously until she was at my door. Look, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not in one piece, but that’s fine because I’m alive with you by my side.”

You giggled at your own joke, letting him know it was fine to laugh with you. When he smiled and let out a short breathy chuckle, it filled you with more joy than you had felt in a long time. Spencer excused himself for a moment so he could call the team and let them know you were awake and okay enough to talk. For the first time in a while you felt like everything was going to be okay.

“Did you know in the United States alone, there are over 500 amputations a day? And over 185,000 every year.” It was dinner time at the hospital, and it had been a few days. Spencer and yourself were snacking on some jello and watching Animal Planet on the hospital T.V.

Hearing him spewing facts was so relieving. For the past few days, he had rarely been talking about anything other than how much he loved you and how sorry he was. You tried not to look surprised, but instead nodded your head and chuckled.

“And I’m one of them!” You glanced over at him, smiling. “It’s nice to know I’m not alone.”

“Far from it.” The gorgeous nerd reached over and patted your remaining thigh.

“Alright, love birds! Here comes the daily delivery.” Garcia’s bright and cheery voice rang through the door as she waddled in on bright blue high heels, her blush perfectly highlighting her cheeks as she grinned, holding 3 vases with mixed bouquets and 7 different cards and 2 balloons.

“Jeeze. I think I get the message, guys. You really want to me to get out of here.” You reached your arms up, enveloping Penelope in a hug before grabbing the cards as she set the vases down in water free spots were left in the hospital.

All of the cards were from the team except for one. The name you found on the inside surprised you.

Spencer picked up on your surprise and his mind must have been jumping to the worst conclusions because he immediately had his profiler face on. “Who is it from?”

“Do you remember Paula, my friend who kind of stormed out of the hospital after….the, uh, incident.”

“Yeah, Of course.” Spencer leaned over the arm of the bed to read the card over your shoulder. His face fell and you felt yours twist in anger.

“Oh, no, angel. What did she say?” Garcia hurried towards you, looking down at the card before you ripped it into pieces.

“Told you so.” Spencer read off from his photographic memory, his lips dragging down at the corners in a frown.

“What a bitch.” Garcia turned towards you. “No offense.”

“None fucking taken. If she comes up here I will personally kick her ass.” You felt Spencer’s hand on your shoulder and Penelope was shaking her head.

“Don’t waste your energy, hun. You have a group of badass FBI agents to take care of her if she tries to bother either of you.” Garcia pulled up a chair next to your bedside, taking your hand in hers. “I mean, you could absolutely take care of her yourself, but It would probably hinder the healing process.”

Garcia had been such an angel this entire time. Of course she sobbed like a baby once she first laid eyes on your leg, or lack thereof, but now you were all bantering and joking about it easily.

“You’re an angel you know that? Does the team know that? Spencer, do you know that?” You looked between the two, Garcia flapping her hand flamboyantly like she was trying to shoo you away.

“Oh, stop.”

“Yes, The team is extremely aware of how much of a blessing Garcia is.” You all laughed and for the first time since being kidnapped, you felt relatively normal. It was easy banter for the rest of the night, other members of the team entering the room to chat and wish you the best. Hotch surprised you with your own wheelchair and you nearly cried. You hadn’t been thinking ahead that far, and admittedly neither had Spencer. You were both just enjoying the fact that you were alive and in the same room for the first time in days.

You were so thankful for these humans in your life. If you had been going through this alone, in all honesty you would be dead. You were so privileged to know them and to have met them. You were going to make sure they knew that and that they felt appreciated for the rest of the time you were in their lives. For now, though, everyone but Spencer was hugging you and telling you to rest and the medication was making you pretty sleepy.

You fell asleep holding Spencer’s hand over the railing of your bed, the sounds of Animal Planet in the background.

[jswdmb1]

Shine

“Let 'em get high Let 'em get stoned Everything will be alright if you let it go”

- Mondo Cozmo

John Boehner wants to you smoke dope.  Think about that.  This is a man who was a very conservative republican, and not just any republican. He was speaker of the house.  Not 30 years ago but less than 5.  The same guy who was “unalterably opposed” to marijuana legalization in 2015 wants you to be able to buy your weed with the same ease and legality as a six pack of beer.  Oh, and he’ll take your money while you are at it as a board member of Acreage Holdings, a company that cultivates, processes and dispenses cannabis in 11 states.  I mean, why give that money to the kid at the used record store when there are so many out-of-work former speakers of the house out on the market (don’t worry, Paul Ryan, there is plenty wacky tabacky for you to go out and sell too).  

Now, this may sound like I’m picking on old John, but I’m not.  There are way better things to pick on him about and besides, isn’t it a bit quaint to pick on a guy like that compared to what we have now?  In any event, I’m just using him as an example of how the tide of bong water has turned on this subject.  More and more folks realize that maybe there is a problem with criminalizing a relatively safe substance (compared to other drugs including alcohol) that may have some medicinal benefits.  Maybe things could be a bit better for someone with chronic pain, glaucoma, or just had a bad day if the stuff could be easily and safely purchased.   In very simple terms, it makes a lot of sense, but like everything, it is way more complicated than that.

The first problem is that marijuana is listed as a schedule I drug by the federal government.  Without getting too technical, that means it has no medicinal value and is not acceptable to be possessed for recreational use under any circumstances.  Drugs like heroin and cocaine are on this list along with many others (if you need a real education on this just watch a Cheech and Chong marathon).  The problem is that many drugs that have questionable value or are far more abused are not on the list.  As a matter of fact, your doctors, insurance companies, and anyone who is trying to make a buck off the drug wants you to have these in quite large quantities at very affordable prices.  The drug that first comes to mind for me is Ativan.  Ativan is a drug commonly prescribed for anxiety, sleep, and basically to calm you down.  It’s Valium for the millennial age.  It works like a charm but is quickly habit forming.  It is also incredibly dangerous when mixed with alcohol.  If you want to party like a rock star (and maybe die like one) wash your Ativan down with some bourbon and let the fun begin (none of which you’ll remember, trust me).

I know all of this because I’ve had my share of substances.  Please do not take this next paragraph as any sort of bragging.  For starters, I know people who have done WAY more than me.  Anyone who knows me knows that and that I always managed to stay off the edge when it came to too much (very subjective there, but let’s go with it).  Also, it really is nothing to brag about. Certainly not when the use turns into abuse and your jobs, health and relationships are at risk.  That being said, I don’t see anything wrong with sharing the experiences of using drugs and I think that puts my eventual conclusion to this post in context.  So, my story in a few sentences is that I drank for about 30 years, smoked pot for about half that time, and supplemented with a host of prescription medications throughout.  Some were relatively harmless like the range of antidepressants I have been on (though one I took in the 90’s turned out to possibly cause a fatal liver problem, but hey what the hell we all make mistakes!).  Others, like Ativan were addictive and more problematic when combined with other drugs. By the time I got sober, I had mostly phased out pot, but was hitting alcohol and prescription drugs pretty hard.  I haven’t had anything stronger than a cup of coffee or non-alcholoic beer in just over six months.

With that background, my position on the legalization of marijuana is surprising.  I’ll start with the statement that legal or not, everyone should get high at least once in their lives.  When done right, and in the proper setting, it puts you into a state of mind that is truly liberating.  It is no accident that so many creative endeavors have been fueled by the stuff. I also see how it could benefit in a number of ways as a medicinal agent.  But, just because pot may be a great experience and possibly even helpful, should it be legal?  Should it be available next to the Jack Daniels and the pharmacy where they are dishing out the Ativan?  My question to John Boehner and anyone else who has pivoted to supporting legalization is why now?  What has changed that makes it the right time?  Why marijuana and not cocaine?  Why not go the other way and explore prohibition of alcohol again?  

My point is that whether it is legal or not, it doesn’t fundamentally change the morality of doing drugs.  I have never understood why one drug is fine (we can drink wine at church!) and others are explicitly immoral (satan wants you to smoke dope!)  I find nothing immoral about using any drug any more than I would find it immoral to sit and eat a pound of bacon (done it – separate post). It may not be a good decision, especially when done in a way that harms yourself and others, but we make lots of bad choices that aren’t regulated and I don’t see why marijuana is singled out along with a few other drugs.  So, if there is nothing “wrong” with smoking pot, why not make it legal?  Heck, why not make everything legal?  A true libertarian (which I am not) would say hell yes it should all be legal.  Someone with an open mind, but with a logical fear that wide open may be too much, may say how about we think about it a little more.  I am in that camp.  I just don’t get the rush to legalize at this point.  If you want to smoke dope, you can do it just about anywhere.  It’s already been decriminalized or outright legalized in terms of small recreational use in many parts of the country.  Go to one of those places, find a dealer (or get yourself a medical card), and have a blast.  Who gives a shit if the federal government cares or not.  They certainly are looking the other way when you accumulate your 72 assault rifles and stash of 10,000 rounds of ammunition (is that a lot? I have a no idea but I wanted to sound very dramatic so I hope it is). I really don’t think it matters if you smoke a joint around the campfire this summer.

I guess the bottom line for me is that we have bigger fish to fry and I am pretty indifferent at this point if it is ever legal or not.  Right now, I am not interested in the stuff at all, but that may change as I explore my mental and physical health in this state I’m in of abstinence. If and when that happens, I’ll have my next dance with Mary Jane with or without Uncle Sam on my side.  If he’s with me though, I certainly will pass the joint along.  The poor boy sure seems like he needs it after the year we’ve had.  And if any of you are around, you can join us.  Even if it’s your first time, you are welcome. Just remember to inhale.

Cheers,

Jim

[succubused]

oh child, you have never been alone: pt. 1

xxxxx author note so scroll past if u are tired of my Shit and just want to Read

Here’s a clip from my original story that is either going to one day manifest as a game or as a novel. We haven’t decided yet but

It’s important to me that I get feedback on things like this so if you read it please tell me what you thought, what was confusing, when i used the same words too much (I’m really tired and jacked out on ativan right now so my brain isn’t 100 percent sry friends)

But this is Valkyrie whomst I’ve been talking about a lot, and also Quinn makes an appearance as well as Lace and Maven. Let me know if you want to see the next part of this, because it doesn’t just end where I stopped writing, I just got too tired to finish.

I have posted pics of all these dudes except for The Valkyrie™ (different from Valkyrie herself i know it’s a lot) and so lmk if you want a picture of Lace or of the Big Man Valk Himself because would be happy to draw

xxxxx end author note thank u for ur support

“You mean, you’re saying Valkyrie isn’t your name?”

“Yeah.”

How long had they been walking for?

It wasn’t the sort of rhetorical question you ask yourself at night, awake, how long have I been lying here when you can’t sleep. It was I don’t know when I am.

Where, then?

Snowed-over mountain’s edge. Wooden planks spiky with deformities stuck up through the ice, defiant, still trying to be a fence. The sight amused her. They were still trying. We should learn from that.

The cold was the kissing kind that leached through your cheeks and left your teeth shaking where they stood. Valkyrie pulled her hood tighter, for all the good it did, which was none. Hood, scarf, gloves, boots, so prepared. For all the good they did.

For all the good we did.

I’m sorry.

It was like a voice. Someone was speaking but it wasn't her.

“Something’s off,” she said suddenly and it occurred to her that this might have been the first time she had spoken aloud in

“Valkyrie?”

“Quinn?”

She turned but couldn’t see him, or Lace, or Maven. The snow blew from all sides, thick and falling in a heavy veil over her eyes. Blind.

“What is this? What’s wrong?”

“What is what? I can’t see you!”

Edge of fear in Quinn’s voice that’s not good for him that’s not good for anything I know what this is I know what this is—

“We’re dreaming, aren’t we?” Maven this time. Not afraid. Exasperated. Never afraid. Did he even know how?

“I would know…”

They were still climbing. Had she decided to do that?

“…wouldn’t I?”

A soft thud and a yelp of surprise.

“Not a dream,” Lace called. “Maven’s still here.”

“You pushed me!”

“You’re surprised?”

“Don’t high priestesses take a vow of nonviolence or something?”

A dark laugh. Lace was all right. “Technically it just forbids you from using violence against the faithful. When was the last time you went to absolution?”

“Last week!” he snapped, indignant.

Strange. Valkyrie hadn’t known he cared much for the church. But for them it was absolution or Leaching and Leaching wasn’t really everyone’s thing. Besides, she’d seen his arms. Unscarred.

“Look at that,” murmured Quinn. Hand over eyes, he turned to look at the valley, clear and gray all over, illuminated by a rose gold sunrise. Flat for a long time. In the distance, maybe, trees with white leaves.

Valkyrie crept next to him, cautiously. He glanced at her. “The trees are like us,” he said.

“Realistically impossible to approach and potentially a hallucination?”

Quinn laughed. “No, Val, they’ve got white hair.”

She started to smile. She froze instead.

ice in your chest that is how you describe it is it not

“Wait. Something’s off.”

when it comes and it always does come the air turns sharp for you thunderhead shaker of the earth she has no choice but to shudder when confronted with the burning ice of your fear

She blinked and looked around, trying to break the debilitating feeling that she was wasting time she wouldn’t get a second chance to use correctly.

ice that pounds in every single one of your veins it will crystallize all through your blood and instead of killing you it will turn you into

“The stairs weren’t there before,” she said quickly, “and it was snowing before, it was really fucking cold? Right?”

it will turn you into me, and you little horror have no hope at all of accomplishing anything against your enemy if you have not become me. Valkyrie.

Valkyrie stood still. “I would tell you all to run but I don’t know where to send you.”

“You could say precisely zero things that would convince me to leave you here, Valkyrie, but it’s a sweet thought.” Maven braced his feet against the top stair, drawing the sword that always baffled Valkyrie as it was nearly as tall as he was (and though Maven was by no means tall, he wasn’t exceptionally short either) and yet he wielded it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“If it attacks you just run, just go. I mean it. It wanted me. You don’t have to come in.”

“Yeah, we do.” Quinn bumped her aside with his shoulder. “Don’t pull this fearless leader riding solo into the unknown bullshit now, sweetheart. We’re past that.”

Lace and Maven exchanged a look, waiting for Valkyrie to round on him for calling her that of all things, but she just rubbed the place he had bumped her absently and muttered to herself, “Are we?”

Top of the stairs. They had been very steep. Climbing them must have been difficult. They would be very sore in the morning, assuming they actually had climbed them and not just been made to believe they had. The valley gleamed now, gray superseded by the light.

They weren’t in a dream, or a nightmare. Knocking Maven over had been necessary for nothing but breaking the tension. It is very, very difficult to trick a phantasm into believing they are awake when they are dreaming. Even half as she was, she would know, and she didn’t have that prickly-skull feeling she associated with dreaming. This wasn’t right.

Wing beats, enormous and slow, with a disorienting whap-whap-whap that raised columns of ash and dust through the cave mouth none of them had seen,

and then they were in freefall and this is how it ends, how anticlimactic,

and then they weren’t.

“Well, if it isn’t your name, what is it?”

Valkyrie rolled to her feet in a motion more convulsive than fluid. She felt for her swords and was glad to see she hadn’t speared herself in the fall. None of the others appeared to have been impaled either, or frightened to death. Yet. Quinn had jammed one end of his sword into the ground and was leaning hard on the middle guard, but it was hard to tell whether he was doing that because he thought it looked suave or because was in pain. It truly could have been either. Or both.

Lace had her arms crossed, contemplative but not afraid. Maven had his sword drawn and was staring at some point above him, but he wasn’t frightened either.

None of them were.

“My apologies,” they whirled, but the cavern echoed such that it was impossible to find a source. “I would ordinarily ask permission but I was concerned the spike in fear would kill your friends. Particularly that whom is already weakened.”

“Already—?” Valkyrie narrowed her eyes, then saw what it meant. “Oh, you mean Quinn?”

Quinn flinched and glared, muttering something about “weak ass” and “kick your ass” without moving his eyes from the shape slowly moving forward from the darkness.

“I meant no disrespect,” the voice said. It was sonorous, baritone, with a clipped accent Valkyrie couldn’t place. It almost sounded more like five men speaking at once rather than one. “I have seen many Afflicted die of acute terror. It is ugly. I wished to prevent it.”

“I…thank you,” Quinn said, looking slightly ashamed.

Valkyrie stepped forward. “You drank the fear,” she said quietly. “You, it was you, you brought me here, didn’t you? Are you a dread or a phantasm or, I mean, what do you want? From me?”

The laughter sounded of silk and molasses, collected somewhere in her chest in warm pools, filling empty spaces she hadn’t known were there. It was almost as beautiful as the creature himself.

He landed before them with two more of those heavy whump-whump wingbeats and stood, arms folded, still half-smiling a little. He seemed a little under six feet tall, in comparison to Quinn, but it was the way he held himself that made him seem like a leviathan. The man—at least, it seemed to be a man—he had dark skin that made his glowing veins all the more prominent. Every vein in his body, filled with lavender light and shining bright enough to illuminate the entire cavern, glinting off the gold hoops looping through his ears and his lips. He had been using his wings to block it out before, she realized. The wings—hard to see what was happening back there, but he had more than one set of them. The feathers gleamed slightly in the light from his blood. He took off his hood.

“I am the Valkyrie,” he said, softly, not taking his eyes off of her. “I am the same as you.”

They drew closer to one another while the other three backed away, as though propelled by opposing magnetic forces.

“What do you mean, ‘the’? Is my name your title?”

“Did you really think you were the only one?” he whispered. “The only one alive, maybe, but the only one? In all the centuries of the dread plague, the nightmare sickness, you thought you were all alone?”

“I am alone,” she said, quiet and controlled to avoid betraying that her voice was shaking hard.

“Oh, child,” the Valkyrie murmured. “You have never been alone.”

She inhaled sharply.

“You’re.”

“I have waited for another, and you have come.”

And she looked into that face, saw the long white braids, the white eyelashes and eyebrows, standing out so sharply against his skin, and oh god but the eyes, the dark red-gold eyes, his tattoo a single line right down the center of his face just like me and he looked more like a god than a man, really, but he wasn’t. He was—

“They called us Valkyrie. I was not the first.”

Hands clasped behind his back, he turned away.

“I do not know how many there were, nor how many were drowned upon birth, and I cannot find it in me to hate the mothers, not when the way we were conceived—the way most of them were conceived—I hate only the fathers.”

He opened his eyes. “I was half dread, half human.”

Valkyrie almost smiled. “Half phantasm. His name is Paroxys.”

The Valkyrie tilted his head. “Paroxys? I knew him. He was always…reasonable.”

[hollygopossumlovesj2]

Come Back Down, Part 13

Title: Come Back Down Part 13

Rated: PG-13 for cussing, etc

Summary: Jensen and Y/N get an unwelcome, unexpected visitor.

A/N: Thanks for being patient with me. I finally saved enough to purchase a really cheap lap top and will hopefully be able to write and post a lot more efficiently for here on out. Thanks for reading my stuff! (Also, kind reminder that my views are not necessarily reflected here, but I needed a villain. Don't roast me please.)

Tagging: @perpetualabsurdity, @maileann, @daydreamingintheimpala, @gecko9596, @gemini75eeyore, @jotink78, @dancingalone21, @winchesterprincessbride, @sandlee44, @exploratiionist, @arryn-nyxx, @littledarlinhavefaithinme, @tiffanycaruso, @boredoutofmymindstuff, @feelmyroarrrr, @raeganr99, @ruprecht0420, @anokhi07, @letsgetyourdeanon, @sis-tafics, @jensen-gal, @theoneandonlysaucymo, @27bmm, @callmesatansprincess, @hbenth, @atc74, @wheresthekillswitch

Master List  (if you need to catch up)

The face that confronted me from Y/N's front door was definitely not one I'd been expecting. "Danneel?" Just saying her name made rocks grind around my insides. Judging by just her expression, this was not going to be good.

"Jensen, so not surprised to see you here." Her tone and expression were completely sardonic, one finger twisting rapidly around a piece of hair. She didn't pause before she pushed past me to slip through the doorway and into the living room. "Hm," she gave it a bored appraisal. "Kind of quaint, isn't it?"

"Who is it?" Y/N hobbled around the corner in a loose tank top and a pair of her tight yoga shorts. The ones that barely covered her perfectly round ass. The tank top that Y/N was wearing perfectly showcased the hickies I'd managed to give her the night before. Fresh bright red and deep purple bruises in the shape of my mouth. "Oh." Y/N appeared dumbstruck for a moment before she snapped back into a more confident one, a smile on her face.

Danneel spared me a look, probably seeing the strange guilt I felt for what I'd been up to for the past few weeks, before turning back. "You look like you're getting around better." She was feigning nonchalance, but I could tell there was anger just beneath the surface.

"Uh, yeah. Better than being in a ravine." She offered cheerfully with a shrug before motioning to the couches there. "Where are my manners, have a seat! Can I get you something to drink? I don't have any sparkling water, but I have some coke or orange juice?"

Y/N was taking charge and it was a sight to see as I still stood dumbstruck. Y/N had apparently remembered her Southern roots. Danneel seemed a little stunned herself as she followed the underlying command in Y/N's tone and took a seat.

"I'm fine, thank you." Danneel answered primly, visibly getting her confidence back. "I just need a moment with Jensen." The alone was implied but Y/N probably heard it loud and clear.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure, I just need him to help me with something in the kitchen... Still a little gimpy." She motioned to her still cast encased arm. "Then he's all yours." Y/N seemed relaxed rather than having as hard a time as I was at having Danneel in Wyoming.

Danneel had never come here, it was always Y/N making the flight or drive to meet up with me. She'd never had any inclination of visiting a ranch. In fact, I could envision the way she'd handled walking in the gravel driveway in the heeled sandals she was wearing.

Danneel consented with a nod, but Y/N never saw it. She'd already began hobbling her way into the kitchen without even as much of a second glance in my direction.

I nodded once in approval before I quickly followed behind her, my eyes still wide from the original surprise. I immediately started to apologize, my voice a harsh whisper in the now silent house. "I had no idea she'd... oh my God what is she doing here?" I was about two seconds away from a panic attack.

"Hey, calm down. Take a few deep breaths, it's not so bad." She spoke calmly and clearly, her hands a welcome weight on my arms. "It's gonna be okay." Then, she smiled at me, a warm reassuring smile that warmed me down to my toes. She waited for me to take a few measured breaths, her right thumb running circles on the thin skin underneath my arm. "You good?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good." I finally breathed out, feeling my shoulders sag a little.

"Okay, so your ex wife shows up at your new piece on the side's house. No biggie. It's you're territory. You can make this go however you want, Jensen."

She smiled at the way my lips pursed, "Don't call yourself that."

"You're missing the point." She squeezed when she saw me lose focus again. It was like our relationship hadn't changed a bit. This was Y/N, my best friend no matter what and I couldn't be more thankful for that. "Do you want your Ativan?"

I nodded, "Okay," she grabbed me into a tight hug.

"Don't think too hard. You have nothing to hide. This is just between you and Danneel, okay?" She grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and an Ativan from the collection of prescription bottles on her counter. "Take your time." She soothed. Unscrewing the top of the water, she handed both to me with a steady hand.

Y/N was right, this was my territory. I could handle this. So what if I spent the first ten minutes just watching the hallway, waiting for Y/N to save me?

I nodded dumbly, not wanting to face Danneel alone. Which was strange because hadn't I spent a lot of alone time with her? We were married for fucks sake! I nodded again with more resolve and took my first steps into the den. I was a grown assed man, I could handle this.

"I guess you know why I'm here." Danneel began tentatively, turning her head to face me. There was not a thing out of place on her. She wasn't disheveled or in distress. In fact, she looked healthier than ever. It was obvious that the stress wasn't getting to her. But I couldn't for the life of me figure out what she was doing here.

"Actually, I really don't, Danneel. What are you doing here?" I asked, not unkindly. Although, I really wanted to ask her what was so important that she'd be willing to make the drive now instead of when we were actually married.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, seeing Y/N checking on me from the kitchen doorway. I nodded, grateful for the reminder that I wasn't alone. She disappeared down the hall to her room and I ached to join her. To just curl up in her bed that had too many pillows. To feel her close to me and know that I wasn't being judged just for breathing. For my inability to father a child. For my inability to give up my dreams.

She didn't look so confident anymore. In fact, she looked livid. "Is that what this is about, Jensen? You finally get the balls to fuck your best friend? Did you finally get it out of your system? Lord knows it took you long enough!"

Sadly the first thought that popped into my head was 'not yet'. Then, her words finally smacked me right in the balls. "What the hell, Danneel?!" What did she mean by finally? Jesus!

"Tell me I'm wrong, Jensen. Tell me you didn't divorce me so that you could come down here and shack up with her!" Danneel was red in the face, her fists clenched so hard that her knuckles turned white. "You couldn't take time off to fix your marriage but you cancelled all of your conventions the minute Y/N gets a damn paper cut!"

"It wasn't a fucking paper cut, Danneel! She needed me." I was ashamed to admit that I was absolutely dumbstruck again, and it occurred to me a little late that I didn't need to fuel the fire by immediately jumping to Y/N's defense. "No, Danneel, our divorce has nothing to do with Y/N." I began again, calmly, though I really wanted to scream. "We went thru the proper channels. We separated. After the appropriate amount of time, we signed the papers. We handled this amicably and that part of our life is done. I don't want to hurt you anymore than I already have Danneel, but it's been over. Way before we even thought about it."

"I think you mean I rolled over and gave you what you wanted!" She snapped, standing up now, towering over me in a way that she normally couldn't do. "I came here to talk this over like adults. To handle this outside of the courtroom, but I have to fight for what is right for my child, Jensen."

And just like that all the air was sucked out of the room and we were sitting in a damn black hole. "W-what?" I managed to stutter out, licking my lips because they suddenly felt numb.

"I'm pregnant, moron! So you better get this out of your system and get your sorry ass back home!" If I had been paying attention instead of dying a little inside, I would've noticed that she looked a little victorious about the absolute destruction she was causing me.

When I finally got my voice back it was shaky at best. I was going to need a lot more than just one damn Ativan to figure this shit out. "You're... How... I thought..."

"Yeah, four months. Big shock for me too. I thought I had a stomach bug or an anxiety problem. Turns out, I had an anxiety problem and the wrong kind of bug."

My head was spinning, my breath still getting stuck in my throat. "I've already- I've signed the-" God, I needed to get it together. Why was I so dumbstruck? I was happy, of course the universe wouldn't let me have that for long.

It was now that I noticed the gleam in her eyes, "I didn't." She smiled, getting dangerously close to my face. How could someone so small be so intimidating? "So, technically we're still married. Technically, you stepped out on me and I have the pictures to prove it. So, if you want to keep everything you've ever cared about and not hand over every cent you own for the care of me and this baby for the rest of your miserable life, you better end this. Now!"

Danneel left me frozen on the couch watching everything I'd ever worked hard to earn slipping away while she drove away in her rented Mercedes SUV. How in the hell, after all the times that we'd tried, had she finally managed to get pregnant? I was going to be sick. My stomach was flip flopping with the joy of finally being a father and absolute dread of the situation I found myself in.

I barely made it to the half bathroom off of the kitchen before everything I'd had to eat that day made a reappearance. It took a minute for my ears to stop ringing and my vision to clear before I realized Y/N was where she always was. Right beside me, her hand a reassuring weight on my back and a wet cloth in her hand.

What had I done? "Oh fuck. Oh fuck...  I... Shit."

"Shh..." Her fingers squeezed the back of my neck once before handing over a glass of water so that I could rinse out my mouth. She used the wet cloth to wipe my face with gentle, patient swipes.

"She's pregnant. There's a baby." I began haltingly, feeling like my chest might simultaneously squeeze into nothing or hollow out completely, leaving me a culled shell. I backed away from the toilet so that I could lean against the wall. It was soothingly cool on my skin.

"It's gonna be okay, Jay. A baby is good news, you wanted one of those, right?" There was something off about her voice, about how careful she was being but I lacked the brain cells to investigate it further.

"Of course. Of course... a baby. I mean, it's what we always hoped for, but..." I finally glanced up, finding Y/N awkwardly perched on the closed toilet seat. She was close enough that she could run her good hand soothingly through my hair.

"But, what?" She prompted after I'd been quiet for a few moments, her voice completely patient as she waited for my answer.

I felt terrible, that horrible deep ache lingering in my chest like a solid weight. All I wanted to do was rest, curled up with the woman I'd loved in one way or another for the majority of my life. "I just want to lay down with you. Can we do that?" Even to me I sounded pitiful, but I had no energy to reel it in. Y/N didn't need me to be anything else. She'd always been satisfied with whatever I could give her. I was always enough.

"Yeah, let's go." She patted my cheek affectionately.

I brushed my teeth quickly then followed Y/N to what I now considered our bed. It was bathed in soft light from the setting sun. This was where I had last been happy and I wanted to surround myself in it.

I let her get comfortable now that she was able to lay down without her brace for short periods of time, and wordlessly curled around her. My face was tucked into the back of her neck where I could inhale her scent,  which was like a balm.

Her hand took up a calming rhythm as she brushed soothingly across my arm that was circled around her waist.

"I love Danneel, I do, but it's not the same anymore." I know my voice was muddled by her hair, but I hoped she could understand me because I needed her to know everything now. "And I will love this baby with all my heart, but I still need you, Y/N."

"I'll always be here for you, you know that." She answered easily, never stopping her rhythm of comfort. But her words made something very clear to me. She didn't expect me to stay and that was unacceptable.

"No, I don't think you understand." I moved my arms so that my hand could cradle her face in my direction. Her eyes were glittering with moisture and wariness that I couldn't stand to see there. "I'm not leaving you. I can still love and raise that baby and keep you too. As far as I'm concerned I divorced Danneel, the only thing she will be to me is a mother to my child. But you, you are the love of my life. I can't lose that."

"And if you can't have both?" She asked quietly, her y/c/e eyes watching me carefully.

"I can have both. I'll make sure of it. I won't lose you, Y/N. Not now. Not like this, sweetheart." I kissed her nose, her cheeks and then finally her mouth, like I had every morning since the first morning I'd woken up in our bed. "I promise."

[dontshootmespence]

Becoming Real: A Diagnosis

In this installment, her psychiatrist (who she’s been seeing for a few weeks) gives her a diagnosis for what she’s been feeling as of late. @coveofmemories @the-slytherin-ice-queen @cosmicjennifer

                                                              -----

“How’s your dad doing?” Dr. Bhujang asked. Therapy had been going really well for the past few weeks. When she thought back, she’d probably started feeling like this shortly after Sophie embarrassed her in front of her gym class, but it was only recently, when she’d started to notice the signs of Sophie’s possible abuse that the overwhelming feelings of dread had truly set in. “He’s the one at work right now?”

“Yea,” she said. “Since I was born, one of them has always been home with me.  When I was really little, one of them stayed home one week and then they switched off. Now, one works full-time and one works part-time each week, and they switch off each week.” Ever since she was a kid, she couldn’t remember there being a time when one of them wasn’t there when she needed them.

Her psychiatrist jotted down a couple of notes. “Do you think you need to have one of them home at all times?” he asked.

“No.” She knew that if she ever really needed them, she could just call and they’d be there. “I think I’d be fine if they started going back full time, but lately I’ve been getting these feelings, I can’t really explain...” She started motioning with her hands in an attempt to indicate what she was feeling, but nothing was coming to her. It was really frustrating not being able to put a feeling into words.

During their first session, she’d told Dr. Bhujang about Sophie and what she put her through, that that was probably the first time she started feeling like this, but it was only recently, when she’d suspected that Sophie was being abused, that the feelings had kicked into hyperdrive. “So the most recent time you felt like this was because you saw Sophie come in with very heavy clothes that she wore all day despite it being warm inside the school?”

“Yea,” she replied heavily. “I just have a really bad feeling, and I can’t do anything about it.” 

Another few notes were jotted down before the Doctor asked her the typical psychiatrist question. “Well, when she walked in the other day, how did you feel? Physically and mentally?”

Diana took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, trying her best to break down what happened piece by piece to give him the best picture possible. “When she came in, I immediately took a sharp breath in. And I held it, but I didn’t mean to. Then it let go, I don’t remember actually doing it myself and I still couldn’t breathe well. Then I start shaking and sweating. If it gets really bad, I start feeling faint and I get numb in the extremities.” She wiggled her fingers for effect and the Doctor laughed.

For a few moments, Dr. Bhujang wrote down a ton of notes, pausing periodically and flashing a small smile in Diana’s direction. “Well, Diana, I think it’s fairly safe to say that you have a panic disorder. You’ve said these feelings only happen at very specific times, so I would’t say you have general anxiety, and you’re definitely not depressed, despite getting very sad when these attacks come on.”

“Dammit,” she said with a slight laugh. She had a feeling it was something like that, but she wasn’t a doctor, so she didn’t want to diagnose herself. “I had a feeling, but I was hoping I was wrong. So...what do I do about it? More therapy? Medication? I just really need to stop feeling like this, or at least find a way to make it go away faster.”

Quickly, he scribbled his doctor handwriting on a pad and handed her a prescription. “Xanax,” he said. “It’s very commonly used for people who have random panic attacks that aren’t consistent. Things like Ativan and Paxil and Prozac also work well, but those are better for people who are consistently anxious. The next time a panic attack comes on take one of these and it should help the panic attack to go away a bit faster and lessen the symptoms a bit.”

“Okay,” she said with a deep sigh. “I hope it works.”

“Try and keep careful track of how you feel in the 15-20 minutes after you take the pill, if it hasn’t gone away, or the symptoms are just as bad, we may have to up the dosage a bit, but I don’t want to start you on too much,” he said with a smile. “We’re out of time for today, but how about I see you in two weeks, and we can see if the dosage works for you?”

“Sounds good,” she replied, feeling a bit better now that she had an actual (and not just self) diagnosis. “Thanks, Dr. Bhujang.”

“No problem, Diana,” he said. “And say hello to your fathers for me.”

“I will,” she said. Spencer was waiting right outside for her. Soon she’d be able to get a driver’s license and they wouldn’t have to drive her anywhere. She felt bad that they always had to drive her places. She would’ve walked if the office were close enough.

As she walked outside and made an appointment for two weeks later, Spencer came up behind her. “How did it go?” he asked.

“I have a panic disorder,” she said with a half frustrated huff, half sigh of relief. “I kind of thought that.”

“Me too,” Spencer replied. He was nearly positive, but despite being a doctor, he wasn’t that kind, and he had no business giving out a diagnosis. “But you needed a medical doctor’s diagnosis, not just mine. So did Dr. Bhujang give you something for it? Or more therapy? What?”

As the receptionist handed her an appointment card for her next session, Diana handed the prescription to her Daddy. “Xanax,” she said. “Small dosage to start and if that doesn’t help, he said he’d up me. Can we go to the store now and get it filled? Because I want it for the next time I feel like shit.”

Spencer smiled and pulled her close to him as they exited the office and walked to the car. “Do you kiss your fathers with that mouth?” he laughed.

“Yesssss,” she replied. “I’d actually say I got my horrible mouth from my fathers. Both of them.”

Spencer’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Not me. Definitely not me.”

“Lies.”

Ten minutes later, they were at the pharmacy and waiting for Diana’s prescription to be filled. “This whole thing with Sophie isn’t going away anytime soon I don’t think so thankfully I’ll have this for next time.” As she held the bottle in her hand, a calm washed over her. She felt like absolute hell whenever one of those attacks came on, but now she had a name for it and a way to handle it. It may not ever go away, but she had a way to handle it, and as Spencer’s hand came around her shoulder, she figured even if she couldn’t handle it, she wouldn’t have to go through it alone.

[brunchbitch]

My psych NP won't prescribe me benzos for panic attacks. She wants to try all other options. I'm now taking clonidine, hydroxyzine and cymbalta. Hydroxyzine def lowers my HR but idk other than that. I keep having panic attacks. Do you have any reccomendations? I see the NP because it's covered by my insurance and at my eating disorder treatment center.

i know a lot of people are against benzos for multiple reasons (addictive, can exacerbate dissociation, etc) so if she isn’t willing to prescribe them for you bottom line, there’s not much you can do other than look for someone else. but definitely be honest with her about what’s happening - what PRNs you’re taking, what the triggers of the panic attack are, any skills you used (if you know DBT or mindfulness skills). many people try to get benzos out of doctors so i’m sure a lot of them are hesitant to prescribe them, but she may agree to it as sort of a last resort for you.

with all of that said, i always thought i needed benzos to help my anxiety - i was first put on xanax when i was a teenager but it didn’t help me as much so they switched me to ativan and i was on that as a PRN for like 6-7 years until they took me off it at the GR. i was mad about it bc i never abused it - i actually didn’t like how it made me feel so i would only use it if i absolutely needed it - but it was just a general blanket rule at the GR of no benzos and no stimulants for anyone. but i got used to being off it and using other ways of calming down. even when my anxiety got really high again re: my ED in the hospital/MN, the psych wouldn’t put me back on it bc he said that it can lead to more dissociation. that made me think back to all the times i was on P2 and REALLY not doing well, was on a shit ton of meds, and realized that i don’t remember most of my time there bc i was so snowed and dissociated all the time. so i then just kind of thought “ok, ativan is never an option for me again. what do i have left?” and i just threw myself into mindfulness/skills/other PRNs 100% when i was panicking or really anxious. it’s taken a long time to come to terms with it bc it was always so easy to just chew an ativan and i would just chill, but i’ve focused on other ways.

now i am definitely not telling you that benzos are bad for everyone or no one should be on them or whatever. but there are other options! and sometimes it takes a lot of different meds to find the right one - for me, my anxiety is sometimes more physical and sometimes more mental… when it’s more physical, i take neurontin and/or vistaril which makes me more sedated.. when it’s more mental, i use a shit ton of skills. i’m assuming you’re also in therapy (hopefully) so i think it would also be helpful to dig a little deeper to find out where the panic attacks are coming from - what the triggers are, what helps them or what makes them worse, etc. and maybe like keep a journal with you and start to track the panic attacks. idk if you’re in dbt but the distress tolerance module could be helpful to look over - i’ll repost the DT module of the DBT post i made.

lmk if you have any other questions. i know this is really really hard. i’m here. ❤️

[tessatechaitea]

Dark Days: The Forge #1

Sometimes when I see John Romita Jr. artwork, I think, "What did I ever have against Rob Liefeld?!"

Hawkman's final journal? Hooray! Go to hell, you stupid prick! And I thought these were going to be dark days!

Does anybody else find it weird that Carter Hall records his journal on Swiss cheese? Many years ago (I guess? There's no time stamp on the opening scene!), Carter Hall recorded the crashing of a spaceship on his lunch. But since he didn't know the word "spaceship," he wrote "sign written in metal." That will probably be important later but for now, it's time to move the story into the present. And where better to begin an adventure story than The Bermuda Triangle! Wait. I should rephrase that. "Where better to begin an adventure story in the 1970s than The Bermuda Triangle!" Oh boy! Eight year old me just came in his pants! I mean if that were possible. Nothing but pee would be coming out of there for at least another five years.

You know you can read and reread the data once you get somewhere safe? Or did you not save your data to the cloud? Idiot. You should use both terrestrial and cloud backups!

That scientist sounds like me in high school after first hearing Mr. Crowley: "There's something in the metal!" Batman rescues the scientist whose name is Dr. Madison (MADISOOOOOON!). Batman tells Dr. Madison that the only to safety is back through the volcano. Batman: "The only way out is in!" Dr. Madison: "Does that actually make sense? I don't think that makes sense." Batman: "If we don't go back through the lava, we'll be covered in lava!" Dr. Madison: "Do you ever listen to yourself speak?" Batman: "Outside will also have flying debris! Inside is just, um, you know! Liquid hotness!" Dr. Madison: "You mean lava?" Batman: "If you want to get technical about it! Now get in my Liquid Hotness Proof Bat-mech (trademark and action figure pending!), sit on my lap, and don't ask me if that's a bat-grapple in my pocket or if I'm happy to see you! I'm never happy!"

So they had to go back through the lava to get to the ocean? Batman does know Dr. Madison was standing in front of a window overlooking the water, right? How was just crashing through that not an option? Especially since Batman loves crashing through panes of glass!

Whenever an editor tells Scott Snyder to make something more exciting, he should just say, "Shut. Up!" Aquaman helps with the rescue and then he and Batman get into an argument about who's keeping bigger secrets. Batman probably wins that one because even if Aquaman had some really juicy secrets to tell, I'd never remain interested long enough to hear them. I'm already bored with this paragraph because I had to type "Aquaman" three times. Apparently the Blackhawks have some super secret covert black ops shit going on again. Remember how they returned in All Star Batman? Oh, you got tired of reading that series too? Well, believe me. They returned there. Meanwhile on Mogo, Cornelius the Guardian wants Hal to do something seedy to him.

"Don't tell Guy! I just got him to stop calling me gay!"

Oh sorry. His name is Ganthet. I must be thinking of Roddy McDowall's character from Scavenger Hunt. Speaking of Scavenger Hunt, I caught an episode of Family Ties the other day when some actor walked on and I was all, "Hey! That's short sleeves, checkered shirt, black sneakers!" Plus his son in the episode was Chunk from The Goonies. Should I mark irrelevant passages like these with asterisks?!

Ganthet having once asked Hal to jerk him off is now canon.

Once again, everybody in the universe is gossiping about how Earth is going to destroy the universe. If only the Justice League would stop saving it already! Just let somebody destroy Earth for the greater good, you hypocrites! Ganthet has pinpointed the threat to the universe in the Batcave so Hal Jordan decides to go invade it and not radio Batman saying, "Hey, buddy. I've got a possible issue that maybe you can help out with. Let's meet up in the Batcave." Instead he decides to sneak in and start going through Batman's things. I get it. It's the only way to ensure that a couple of heroes fight so all the fangenders can lose their shit over it. This part was probably Tynion's idea. "Hey! You know what I've read in comic books about five thousand times? That part where two heroes fight over a misunderstanding! Can we add that scene?!" And Scott Snyder snorts and wakes up and is all, "What? Whatever. Just write the script already! If I wanted to write it, I wouldn't have purchased you from your parents!" Anyway, Batman isn't home so Hal has to fight Meadowlark. You know, Not-Robin. Duke!

What is Duke reading to get his Green Lantern information? The Who's Who books from the mid-80s? That's where I get all of my information too!

Is Green Lantern just fucking with Duke or is there something about the yellow flaw that I don't know about? I thought it was completely gone. Is this Snyder and Tynion trying to backdoor the flaw back into the ring but only if the person using the ring is inexperienced and stupid? In the next panel, Hal Jordan says, "It's good to see Batman's still recruiting teenagers." Hey man. You better be careful with statements like that. At least he's not, you know, fucking them. Duke Thomas admits to not having a code name yet. That's adorable. All this fucking time and he still doesn't have one. Why can't Snyder just spit one out already? Waiting to find out his superhero name is like waiting for Sting to come in your mouth. Not that I'd know and not that it was the worst sixteen hours of my life. Meanwhile there's this place called The Campus underneath Philadelphia where The Immortal Men are headquartered. One of them is Immortal Man because of course it is. The other one is a guy in a robe with shaggy eyebrows that might be Carter Hall but I'm hoping is anybody else. Another one of their possible members would have been Elaine Thomas, Duke's mother. But she went crazy from Joker Toxin. They apparently know they need to save the world from something bad that's coming because it's always easier to tell a story about prophecy. It would be too hard to wedge these Immortal Men into the story if they didn't already know some huge Crisis was about to happen. So the guy in the robes isn't Hawkman because Hawkman gets the next scene. He's been having visions during the times between death and reincarnation. Whew! I thought he wouldn't have some secret inside information to get him right into this upcoming Crisis! In his vision, he sees a gigantic Batman statue with lots of people tied to its legs. I guess somebody is going to have to kill Batman before he becomes evil! After that scene, John Romita Jr. takes over on the art. I should probably snort some Ativan before continuing. Mister Terrific is helping Batman with the Mystery of the Dark Days. Hopefully they'll explain it in long, large word balloons that cover up most of the art. Something has been interfering with the harmonic frequencies of Earth-Main-Earth and Earth-2 (which I guess is back to its normal self? Or maybe Mister Terrific just got off before he wound up in that whole World's End mess? For some reason, I can't remember the story well enough to know if Mister Terrific was in any of it. Thank Jesus!) but neither Batman nor Mister Terrific know what's going on yet. To help them figure it out, Batman decides they must let Plastic Man out of his prison cell. They say they agreed to lock him up because he was too powerful but I think they just got sick of his stupid jokes. Back in the Batcave, Duke and Hal are investigating the Mystery of Batman Investigating the Mystery. It all started when somebody said, "That whole electrum in the tooth thing that resurrects the dead Talons is stupid! It's not scientific at all! Who comes up with such dumb shit?! DC Comics sucks!" Then Scott Snyder was all, "Wait! Wait! You haven't heard the whole tale of that! You shouldn't believe everything you see at first sight! You should wait for the second sight! Or maybe the third sight if everybody on Twitter complains about the second sight! But I don't think they will because this is going to be a huge Crisis! You'll love it!" So instead of electrum being in the teeth, Batman found a metal that shared the same energy signature as the helmet of fate, the quintdent of Aquaman, and the bracelets of Diana. To investigate this metallic mystery, Batman created a team that everybody forgot about. Everybody except me, of course!

Halo's costume is terrible. But Geoforce had better stay away from her anyway!

Duke has no idea who the wobbly speech bubble is. But that didn't stop him from saying, "Dick? Is that Dick? You know, Dick Grayson? Nightwing? Is that you?" So the metal is probably Nth Metal which would make it more believable that it was resurrecting the Talons. Because nobody is going to say, "Nth Metal can't do that!" I mean, they might. But they'd be wrong because Nth Metal isn't real and it can do whatever the fuck it needs to do when the writer needs it to do it. Although if it were Dionesium, nobody would say, "Dionesium can't do that!" Because that's exactly what it was made for! It's just that Nth Metal works better, plot-wise. Why would Aquaman's five-pronged trident have Dionesium in it? Deep in Batman's secret Batcave, Duke and Hal come to a door. Apparently the owner of the voice is behind it. I hope it's not The Joker. I hope it's Detective Chimp. I also hope it's revealed before this issue is over! Batman has also been keeping another secret in Superman's fortress. With the help of Mister Miracle, he unlocks the unopenable room it was stored in. It's a big yellow tower that Mister Miracle recognizes but I don't. Maybe it's Qwardian! It could also be something from Final Crisis which I've never read. Or something from an obscure 1967 Batman story. Or maybe it's something that, when it's explicitly named, I'll say, "Oh yeah. Fuck. I totally remember that thing now!" Anyway, I don't think it's important enough to reveal this issue. Because The Joker needs to be revealed in the Hal Jordan scene! Oh look! The Joker was the voice! What a surprise! Surprise! Are you surprised? Oh! You should also keep in mind how there were three Jokers, remember? That was a dumb bit that had to be thrown in so that Batman would say, "Impossible!", when he asked the Moebius Chair what the Joker's name was. Remember how that one guy on Tumblr got all pissy with me when I said they'd never reveal The Joker's name and how could I know that and I don't know what I'm talking about and all that shit? Fucking stupid kid. I didn't even get to say "I told you so!" to that kid when the reveal was that the Chair's answer was that there were three Jokers! Well, I'm doing it now! I fucking told you so, kid! So that's the end of Dark Days: The Forge! Maybe that thing Batman revealed was The Forge. I guess the next stop in this series is the event, Metal. It'll probably be about Dionesium and Nth Metal and how, when combined, everything is destroyed! What will this Crisis be called? Not just Crisis in Dark Days, right? How about Alchemical Crisis on Earths Starring Plastic Man?

[type2diabetestreatments-blog]

Ask D'Mine: Addicted to Benzos, Too Many Correction Doses?

New Post has been published on http://type2diabetestreatment.net/diabetes-mellitus/ask-dmine-addicted-to-benzos-too-many-correction-doses/

Ask D'Mine: Addicted to Benzos, Too Many Correction Doses?

Substance abuse with diabetes, doctors who don't like the way you're using your insulin pump — these are just a few of the prickly issues we deal with here at our weekly advice column, Ask D'Mine, hosted by veteran type 1, diabetes author and community educator Wil Dubois.

Send us your queries related to life with diabetes — nothing is off-limits here! (except of course specific medical instructions for your own care; that's what doctors are for)

Need help navigating life with diabetes? Email us at AskDMine@diabetesmine.com

Megan from California, type 1, writes: I am addicted to benzodiazepines, if you know what they are, and I'm wondering if the drug abuse can affect or be the reason I'm a diabetic now? I'm having a really hard time coming off them ... I guess my question is, can it affect my blood sugars?

Wil@Ask D'Mine answers: Oh yeah, I know what benzos are. But just in case some of our readers don't: They're a highly addictive family of depressant meds—tranquilizers in plain English—intended to counteract seizures, reduce muscle spasms, relieve anxiety, or serve as sleep aids. They act in a dose-dependent manner. Small doses have a mild sedative effect, middle of the road doses chill people waaaaay out, and whopping doses knock your lights out. Ummm... and I'm not even sure if I should mention this, but benzos are one of the media-hyped "date rape" drugs.

Worldwide, more than 2,000 different benzos are in production, but here in the U.S. there are 15 different types that are FDA approved including the trade names Ativan, Librium, Versed, Xanax, and my personal favorite: the 38-year-old blockbuster Valium. More than 108 million prescriptions are written for benzos in the U.S. annually, placing them at the number 11 slot of the top-20 most prescribed types of meds. For perspective, in sixth place, are anti-diabetes meds, with 165 million prescriptions. (Inquiring minds want to know the top three? In first place are cholesterol meds, in second place are antidepressants, and in third place are narcotic pain killers. Welcome to PharmaLand.)

Oh, and just so none of you judgmental-types mistake Megan for a low-life, benzos are handed out like candy by primary care docs, are highly addictive, and benzo addiction is a lot more common than you might suspect. Try this on for size: six percent of the U.S. population has abused benzos at one point or another.

In addition to being highly addictive, benzos have some nasty side effects from long-term use. As the drug's effect is on the central nervous system, long-term bad shit includes amnesia, hostility, irritability, and funky dreams. Withdrawal is also markedly wicked, not unlike the DT's suffered by severe alcohol abusers.

I remember my wife's grandmother, a sweet little old lady of 86 years old, had gotten addicted to very high volumes of Ativan prescribed by her primary care doc. She had been hospitalized for some other issue and the hospitalist (who must have gotten his medical degree in Mogadishu) stopped her Ativan cold-turkey, rather than tapering it down as any first year Resident would know to do. That night she attacked a nurse and pulled out huge clumps of the poor woman's hair.

She had to be restrained and we were called in.

Grandma had a wild-animal look in her eyes when I arrived on the scene, and she was convinced that I'd been replaced by an imposter. "That can't be Wil, he's too skinny!" (I had lost around 70 pounds following my diagnosis.) As we wheeled her out to the car she was screaming at the top of her lungs that she was being kidnapped by strangers. Oh, and she also started screaming that there was a bomb in the hospital and everyone should run for their lives. Interestingly, no one came to her rescue and no one ran for their lives. I don't know if that says more about our society or how respectable I look.

Moving on... did your addiction cause your diabetes? Well, we don't really know what causes type 1 diabetes, but I think we can be pretty confident that it isn't benzos or we'd have a helluva lot more type 1s on our hands. And let's not forget that benzo-addicted kids, while not unheard of, are a lot less common than benzo-addicted adults — while most newly diagnosed type 1s are kids.

As to the effect the benzos might have on your blood sugar, not much, or least not much that I can find. (Although apparently scarfing down a lot of carbs can make withdrawal symptoms worse in some people trying to kick the habit.) Of course, coming off of benzos is going to entail some serious withdrawal, which can be pretty grueling, as you know. I wouldn't be surprised if you had some trouble with blood sugar control during this time as your body will be putting up quite a fight.

For what it's worth, I did find one source, from the Japanese Journal of Pharmacology, reporting on a study in Brazil, on diabetic rats... and at this point I wonder if I should even go on? Oh well, what the hell: this study showed that if you give diabetic rats benzos it increases their insulin levels and lowers their blood sugar. But I couldn't even find out how many rats were studied.

So if anything, your addiction should help lower your blood sugar, not make higher.

That said, I think you should continue your efforts to get yourself clean, and to do that you need some folks on your side. You'll need to come off the benzos slowly. You'll need expert medical guidance, some counseling, and a ton of support from friends and family. And don't forget your online family. We're here for you, Sister.

Kellan from Ireland, type 1, writes: My endo wasn't impressed when he was going through my pump and discovered I was having up to 12 boluses per day. Even though I'm achieving much better numbers now than I ever was, he feels like I need to change this. If I'm achieving better numbers, then what's the problem??

Wil@Ask D'Mine answers: For about 12 years, my mom's VCR flashed "12:00" all the time because no one could figure out how to set the damn clock and it really didn't matter because she never did any timed recording, anyway. Did that make the VCR useless? Heck no. She could still make Blockbuster runs or hit the record button to tape something she was watching.

Was she using the VCR wrong? Maybe. But who the f--- cares? It was working for her.

And speaking of little old ladies, I have a little old lady patient we put on a pump about a year ago (she chose the pink one). Epic medical politics were involved, as her primary care doc was in another city but couldn't sort out her diabetes so she sent the lady to us. We decided a pump was the best solution, but her particular insurance would only accept a pump prescription from an endo. Then the endo wanted the little old lady to see the CDE in the endo's office, and this particular CDE was a complete idiot. No really, she was. The patient was a type 2 but the CDE set the bolus limit so low the pump wouldn't give the patient any insulin at meals (type 2s need more). But I digress.

Anyway, this little old lady had, pre-pump, been doing absolutely terribly. Her A1C was through the roof and her blood sugar was highly variable. Like all over the map. Ambulances were called for lows. She spiked into the 500s. She was what I like to call a CTW: a certified train wreck.

Over a couple of months I got her back on track. Her mornings ran a hair low, 90ish, but stable, and her peak after-meal readings were coming in around 160. It was a frickin' miracle in my book.

But her endo had a fit.

Why?

Because she wasn't counting carbs and using the bolus wizard.

Did I mention this lady has had a couple of strokes? Or that her eating patterns are very uniform from day-to-day? I didn't think she was up to learning carb counting, so I did an end-run and had her use a flat-rate meal bolus from the pump. We got a good basal rate set up, and worked out an effective correction ratio for her rare high blood sugars, all of which were triggered by tangles with her alcoholic low-life daughter. (Not that alcoholics are low-lifes; this woman just happened to be both.)

Was I using her pump "right"? Not really. Did I give a shit? Not really. Look, a pump is just a fancy syringe. It's "job" is to help PWDs control their blood sugar to the best of their abilities. I was judging our success by our results. Silly me.

The endo blew a gasket 'cause we weren't using the pump to the fullest extent possible. She got so mad she yelled at my little old lady and made her cry. My patient came back to me with her tail between her legs, depressed and defeated that her 6.1 A1C and lack of ambulance rides just wasn't good enough for the endo. "I guess I have to learn to carb count," she told me.

Or we can use the phone book, I said.

"But how will the phone book help me count carbs?" she nearly wailed.

I won't, I said, but we can use it to find another endo.

So I'll confess to being willing to break all the rules. When it comes to health, at least, I do believe the ends justify the means. My mom's VCR served her just fine with no idea what time it was. My little old lady controlled her diabetes just fine using 10% of her pump's capabilities.

Kellan, I think if you have to take correction boluses 12 times per day it's true that your pump is not programed to its fullest capabilities. And I guess that in theory, if you took too many boli too close together you could "stack" your insulin and give yourself a down-stream low. But if you're not having lows, don't mind taking the 12 boli, and your diabetes is well-controlled, then the problem is your endo's, not yours.

Ireland, huh? I think you and your pump should go to the nearest pub, get out the phone book, and find a new endo.

This is not a medical advice column. We are PWDs freely and openly sharing the wisdom of our collected experiences — our been-there-done-that knowledge from the trenches. But we are not MDs, RNs, NPs, PAs, CDEs, or partridges in pear trees. Bottom line: we are only a small part of your total prescription. You still need the professional advice, treatment, and care of a licensed medical professional.

Disclaimer: Content created by the Diabetes Mine team. For more details click here.

Disclaimer

This content is created for Diabetes Mine, a consumer health blog focused on the diabetes community. The content is not medically reviewed and doesn't adhere to Healthline's editorial guidelines. For more information about Healthline's partnership with Diabetes Mine, please click here.

Type 2 Diabetes Treatment Type 2 Diabetes Diet Diabetes Destroyer Reviews Original Article