#also the phrase 'mommy issues' feels like its been turned into a joke just like gaslighting. i dont like it

[horse-shit]

yknow sometimes it's kinda funny to say what the 'bare bones' of my maternal issues are

"oh did she hit you and punish you severely?" "no, she cared too much"

[angelicspaceprince]

Random Beetlejuice HCs.

Random Beetlejuice headcanons (there are some sad ones about how he died at the end of the SFT stuff, soz all). Also there is some stuff that is AFAB but not AMAB, I’ll work on that later. TW: Suicide, depression, self-harm talk.

SFT:

Is a hand holder. He needs to hold your hand whenever people are around to centre himself but also to show the world that you’re his and to just know that he is loved and to make sure you know you are loved

Really bad social skills and a horrid sense of personal space

Is a literal ball of anxiety and is a stimmer

Rocks in a ball when things ever overwhelming and flaps his hands when nervous

You get him a fidget toy that he uses so much it breaks within a month, so you have a steady supply at hand that he keeps in his pocket always

Is meh on the coffee thing, isn’t a massive tea fan, hot chocolate is where it’s at!

Actually a really good cook? He watches a ton of cooking Youtube videos when you’re away at work or at friends and ends up taking it up as a hobby

Legit cries when you give him his first gift ever because he’s never received a gift before

The first time you go to family Christmas and they give him a present he has to excuse himself because he just starts crying because these people don’t even know him and they got him a present? What the fuck?

Much to your surprise, he takes up knitting?

It’s a nice way to cool his brain and keep focused without disassociating (which he does often) and the bonus is he gets cute socks out of it?

In his mind, it’s a win win situation

Also he can knit dicks to throw at people, that’s just extra awesome

Can play guitar, piano and saxophone. Often likes to sing to you but the content matter of the songs aren’t always loving (mostly about how he wants to pound you)

Actually not a massive fan of horror movies, they’re so unrealistic that it bugs him

Will make sure that you can’t leave his grasp if he needs a cuddle session on the couch because he needs that contact time

Is really sensitive but will make a joke out of it, so half the time you don’t know if he isn’t offended or if he is and he’s just hiding it

You come home one day and suddenly there is just….a dog in your house?

“His name is Sandy, he is a black Labrador and he is our son now.”

Absolutely shocking handwriting. Just. Abysmal. You can’t make it out, so now its just become some weird game of Pictionary whenever he leaves a note for you that isn’t the phrase ‘I love you’.

Is super messy (obviously) but if you tell him to clean up, he will

If you do the dishes together (the only way you can get him to help clean up after cooking), he does the drying up because he does not want to shove his hands into hot soapy water, no thank you

When he dances, its not the timid, shy dancing you see when people aren’t dancing in a group. Its full on, full body, the entire house is his stage kinda dancing. And its arguably pretty good

Even when he gets you to dance what clearly isn’t a proper tango, but it’s fun none the less.

Really sensitive about suicide and self-harm, because he’s been there

Think about it, he was Juno’s assistant (movie, not musical, I know) which means he was a public servant which means he committed suicide

Given the way that everyone who has died carries on how they died into the afterlife through their looks from the moment they died, we can reason that Beetlejuice looks exactly like how he did when he died

The moss and hair and mildew and just the general damp look he seems to carry makes me think that he was either drunk, fell over and drowned in a puddle or lake or it was a calculated move and he killed himself to get away from his mother or just general demons

So yeah, if you self-harm or talk about killing yourself, he takes that very personally because you deserve better than that, and he’ll be damned if you kill yourself on his watch

It takes him a while to admit to you what happened and how he died, and it most definitely happens when you’re both drunk, but you remember what he says and whenever he talks about his childhood because its horrible and always ends with you holding him close because he clearly needs that shit

NSFT

Our boy here is such a switch

There are days where he needs to absolutely dominate the shit out of you, controlling every aspect of what happens, including when, where and how you cum

But sometimes he just needs to be taken care of and to obey every order you give him

Has tried every single kink and only a few of them are a hard no in his books

But if he had to limit it to his top 5-10 they’d be: Mommy/Daddy Kink, Puppy Kink, Cum Inflation (or anything to do with cum really), edge play, cock warming, anything that ends with either of you having a tummy bulge due to a toy, cock or just the sheer amount of cum that’s in you, humiliation, public sex, impact play and adduction/consensual non-consensual play

Rarely asks for you to be a sub for 24 hours, but he’s happy to be in puppy space or in sub space for days or even weeks if you so want or if he needs

Can give himself blowjobs

Also enjoys having his clones get in on the fun and to mess with you throughout the day if he knows he can get away with it

So. Many. Dick. Pics.

Just. Constantly sending you photos of his junk because he can

Sex is rarely serious unless you’re in a scene where that is required. If you two are just fooling around, it’s full of puns and laughter

Wearing stripes turns him on, wearing his clothes even more so

Lingerie to him is wearing his oversized hoodies and a pair of striped panties

Really good at shibari

If you’re in public and aren’t paying attention to him, he will slide a hand up towards your crotch and just push his way inside and start fingering you until you cum as quietly as you possibly can before sucking his fingers clean with a grin because ‘you should have been paying attention’

Massive case filled with toys that seem endless, almost like the perverted version of Mary Poppins’ bag

Likes to put toys in you when he’s in dom mode and make you wear them in public all day whilst he’s at home controlling the vibrator settings, just to see how much you can take

He. Will. Eat. You. Out. And is the king of it. And is proud of that fact

Aftercare is a must between the two of you, and due to his abandonment issues you can’t leave during aftercare time. You can during a scene if you tell him where you’re going and why but afterwards, he needs you there without interruption until he’s fully recovered. Both in dom and sub mode

Safe word is bath, for obvious reasons

You managed to get him in the shower once to tell him it’s a kink of yours to fuck in the shower and he was down for that. Didn’t work a second time, but he got the picture. BATHE

Has, on more than one occasion, made his dick stripy to surprise you and it always ends with you going no. Just no.

Produces an extreme amount of cum, it should be illegal and inhuman, which incidentally, he is

Can make his cock grow, swell, shrink, whatever you need on his command and he loves when he’s being cockwarmed to make his cock grow whenever you shift or move as punishment

Sometimes, in sub space, if he’s feeling needy and you need to work, you get him to sit in your chair and you sit on him. If he moves without warning, you make it to leave but he whines and promises to be good. If he says ‘I just need to adjust’ or whatever, then you won’t move if he starts to shift

IS. INTO. PRAISE. KINK

PRAISE THIS BOY

SO MUCH!

If you praise him well enough in sub space, he will cum without being touched and that, at the end of the day, is the goal

Really fucking low refectory period, like we are talking seconds

He’s not a one go type of guy, if you guys be fucken, you guys be fucken for hours

Has done stretches before sex to make you laugh and roll your eyes

Bought glow in the dark condoms once and surprised you with it

Most of the time, he will hold hands with you in some way as you fuck

Falls asleep within seconds of finishing and holds onto you so tight you can’t escape to pee or do whatever you need to do

Favourite positions: Doggy style, you riding his face or him or up a wall/on a counter

Claims you’re his favourite meal and that he has saved the best seat in the house which is his lap or his face

Most DEFINITELY as left you tied up in a room with a vibe pressed firmly on your clit to see how many times you can cum. He’s just outside the door, you both just like it when he acts as if he has left you alone to ‘suffer’

[isa-ly]

HOW TO EMOTION?

TW: mental health, therapy, repression, dissociation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yikes.

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

Actually, I feel it too.

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

[anothergirlrecovering]

Wedding weekend

I was in my college best friends wedding this weekend, and I'm honestly so glad for it. We literally had such a good time, and it was so good to be around people who make me laugh. Not just a regular laugh, but that deep belly laugh where you end up crying from laughing so hard. It was a long drive, a full 9 hours but somehow it didn't feel too bad of a drive. Weirdly enough, my husband and I didn't end up fighting at all. He slept for a good bit, and I listened to Waving through the window on repeat for a while. It's definitely my new favorite song, and I'm hoping i'll be able to see it live on broadway this summer.

When we got to our hotel, we checked in and headed to the rehearsal practice. There was literally one car in the parking lot, so I called sandi and asked what time it was. She told me it didn't start for another half hour and I immediately knew kit had lied because she thought I could be late. Thankfully I sort of just laughed it off and jokingly texted her saying I knew she lied and I was totally early. She called me laughing and said with such a big drive she just wanted to play it safe. She got there 15 minutes later, with a few of my old college friends, one being a girl named nastasha who I had hated in college. I was instantly bummed thinking about how awkward it would be, and feeling like my friends would ditch me for her, but I decided to try my best to be not awkward. We went inside, and sandi and I ended up sticking together since we were both in the bridal party. During that time we watched as my husband and her husand hung out with nastasha laughing and telling jokes. In the meanwhile sandi and I laughed on stage telling jokes and being shushed by kits future sister in law. I felt like a high school kid again, but I didn't exactly care because the part they were going over wasn't relevant to us. After the rehearsal we went to the rehearsal dinner and we ended up just laughing the majority of the time. They brought out the food family style, and I couldn't help but die of laughter when sandi said she hoped they bring out more choices in food. We laughed and talked about the time it looked like I shit myself but had fallen asleep in melted chocolate. And sandis husband told a story about a guy who yelled my bad queeda, which ended up being a phrase we continued to laugh about. When it was over I suggested we all go see the lake since I hadn't been. We walked around the sandy area and the rocks and laughed and took pictures. It was so nice just not caring about anything and being able to be happy. Ceselie and I had some time alone together and we ended up in a deeper conversation. She shared about how she has an issue with skin picking and has since undergrad. She asked if I remembered her diet pill and I laughed and said she must have been sensitive to my ed because she didn't tell me about it and she said the skin picking was triggered by that and never went away and shes seen several doctors and specialists but they cant figure it out and how to stop it. She said it makes her self conscious and when I asked about emdr and negative cognitions she laughed and said oh no don't make me dump all of my worthless negative beliefs out there. We laughed. Shes a therapist too and I told her about how making myself puke after the bachelorette party had given me anxiety because I hadn't vomited on purpose since being in recovery. We offered to drive her back to her hotel, thinking it was across the street but it was not. She put in no tolls and it ended up being a 45 minute drive, when it should have been 20 if we had just paid the toll, which we did on the way back because it was late and we were so tired and over driving.

The morning of the wedding we all went to the hair salon for our hair to be done. I didn't realize how many opportunities there would be to correct kits sisters shitty body shaming, and overall reminding everyone that its okay to enjoy all foods in moderation. We ordered chick fil a and enjoyed every minute of it because we were literally starving by the time we got to eat. Nastasha was sitting next to me and it was just the two of us, so I laughed and said hey do you remember that time we both hated each other in college and weren't friends? She laughed and said she was literally just thinking about that yesterday. I said I just wanted to say that I was sorry because I look back and realize that I wasn't always very nice and that I hadn't given her a chance and I have grown a lot since then. She thanked me and said she was sorry too and felt like we both hadn't given each other a chance, and she was thinking about how cool I am and was confused as to why we hated each other. I said I was immature and she was ditsy and for whatever reason we clashed. She laughed and said she is still ditsy, and we said we were both glad those days were behind us. Then we laughed about how weird our RA was, and how far we have both come. There was also a little girl who was maybe 9 or 10 and the hair stylist asked her how she wanted her hair. My heart melted when she said she wanted her hair just like her mommy. My heart broke when the mom rolled her eyes and said no, get something different. But melted again when the little girl said but I want to look just like you mommy. And broke again when the mom said ugh don't say that.

The wedding itself... So I took my propranolol and walked down the aisle at ease. Smiling like I'm supposed to. My scoliosis was killing me on stage, but I got through it. When it ended, sandi and I walked off stage together and we headed outside to blow bubbles. We all stood outside for a while waiting and talking and laughing and taking pictures. After blowing the bubbles, we went back in the church for a few pictures. I sat beside an adorable 6yr old macy, and asked her if it was ok to sit by her. She said yes and I made kid small talk, asking what her favorite part was. She said it was when she got to walk down the aisle, lol, and she told me that everyone was laughing. I asked if she thought the other girl might have made silly faces but she said no and laughed nervously. After taking a few pictures in the church we went on a party bus to go take pictures at a park. On the ride to the actual reception, I saw macy looking bored and she hopped up and sat beside me giggling. I could tell that she was bored and over it and had been ignored the entire time so I smiled her and asked if she wanted to play a game. I spent the 30 minute drive playing bubble gum bubble gum in a dish and a hand slapping game. We laughed together and I let her win a few times. She said we had to say kazam before slapping. I asked her how old she was and she said 6. I instantly got a bit sad looking at her, seeing how cute and innocent she was, and realizing that I was her age when my anxiety and panic attacks started happening. Sometimes its easy for me to brush off my young clients as different than me because they had such horribly different lives, but this little girl has no trauma history and was just simply a sweet little 6 year old. I had the half glass of champagne for the toast to kit and her husband, and avoided the whiskey because I knew we would be drinking wine at the wedding.

The reception... So I ended up way more drunk than I had meant to be. We got there and I was seated beside sandi. I said hi to my husband and took my seat. Everyone had a glass of wine with the best man and maid of honor speech. And then things began to get a little loopy. I remember complaining that we didn't have any potatoes at our table, and I remember sandi and charisse complaining that we were out of wine. Rachel, the sister in law who had shushed us at the rehearsal practice, got up and brought back wine and potatoes from the bride and grooms parents table, commenting on how our waitress sucks. I remember having another glass of wine, and that we talked about sex. I remember laughing and saying how I hate bjs and ran away after the last one to wash my mouth out with soap and that I almost tripped and my husband jokingly said run forrest run. They laughed and shushed me, and Rachel turned around laughing and saying she heard me and wont even put it in her mouth. Then we talked about what positions we liked and didn't like. And then I have no idea what exactly happened next, except that sandi and I must have kept drinking with charisse. I remember standing with them and laughing and taking some of sandis drink and some of my husbands drink. The rest of the night is a blur of random moments. I remember being on the dance floor and dancing, but I cant remember any specific songs. I cant remember any of the father daughter or mother son dance. I cant remember the cake cutting. I cant remember the garter toss or the bouquet toss. I remember at a point I walked to my husbands table and that the room was spinning. I remember sitting with my head on the table because I was too dizzy to lift it up. I remember that my a team was texting me in our group chat and that I was telling them I was drunk and sick and had a million typos. I remember overhearing someone say that sandi was in the bathroom puking, and I remember ceselie seeing me and asking if I had the spins. Ashlee texted and said that I needed to go throw up. I looked up and saw sandi standing across the table looking like shit, and so I knew the bathroom was clear for me to go puke. I remember hobbling to the bathroom and making myself puke a few times. I remember walking out and opening the door to ceselie there asking if I was okay. I said I didn't know and she put her arm around me and walked me back to the table. I cant actually remember anything that came next at the wedding. I don't remember saying goodbye to anyone. I remember being in the car and falling asleep right after. I honestly feel guilty and like a shit friend. I know that people are supposed to be happy and drink and dance at weddings, but I didn't mean to get trashed. My husband said he didn't realize just how drunk I was, and I don't remember the majority of the wedding. He said I didn't do anything embarrassing at least, but I just hate that I don't remember and I feel bad for it.