#also this isn’t a depression meal joke it’s about mental hospitals

[i-yeeteth-and-i-yoinketh]

I ask her on a date, she says yes, I tell her that I will cook her my peoples finest cuisine, she think I mean Indian food but then she realizes I served a Turkey and Mayo sandwich with no cheese, a pudding cup, Oreos, and both saltine and graham cracker, and a choice of apple or orange juice boxes, so she asks what people I was speaking of, i smile, “I’m bipolar!” She realizes what I meant and says me too, we kiss, three years later we’re married with matching pill cases

[justkeepingitreal]

Leaving the past where it belongs!!

So I haven't blogged in a long time!! I have struggled to find the words and tell my truth, but going through what I have and finally coming out the other side and writing again might actually help make me feel proud everytime I read it, and I also hope that it will help many other people who have experienced the same thing.

In my first blog I talked about marital rape, this stigma is still round, people don't think that its an actual thing, well I am here to tell you it really is!! It was only when my husband finally left i really understood what it meant to be raped. When my husband left he left me with the mortgage to pay and every bill, and he was the bread winner who had the income, I had to wait 6 weeks on benefits excuse I needed to feed my kids and he wouldn't at that point he wouldn't give me a dime. I was such a mess that I ended up having a one night stand!! Sorry what I though was suppose to be a one night stand with my next door neighbour, well little did I know what was going to come of this!! This man literally became obsessed, in my house when ever he wanted to, scared me into doing things I didn't want to do, like sniffing coke, did it once and hated it, little did I know what was going to come my way.

So one day I rang my mother inlaw and asked if my ex husband was there and she started laughing, my heart sank and in that moment I knew he had another girl upstairs, I asked if he could go to the shop and grab afew bits for the kids and he said when I'm done, he went upstairs and finished the girl off and didnt care( I love this girl to bits by the way she is amazing 💗) that night I started to have a drink and my other mate was there, after 2 glasses of wine I became very violently sick, my other mate left and I was left with the fella who wouldn't leave me alone, as I was being sick over the toilet me started touching me, he got me to my room and kept trying to sleep with me!! I used the excuse that kids lunches need made and I needed to go and make them, when I made it downstairs I started falling over the place my arms where floppy and I couldn't move properly, I fell to the floor and he proceeds to sexually assault, the floor was completely covered with blood and he hurt me holding me down!! I tried to fight with all I had and at this point I knew he drugged me, he even made a joke as he wiped the blood off his hands and trying to clean his jeans. He got upset over me being annoyed with my ex husband.

I broke it off and well a restraining order plus police bail and then court bail was given, this man tortured me and wouldn't leave me alone, he petrol bombed a family members house and when I tried to press him for rape he put a hit on me, he wanted me dead!! I lived in fear for over a year had to move a few times whilst battling serious depression and wanting to end it all as the pain was just to much, I also had to have surgery to repair the damage he done to me!! I know raped by two men!! Yes it actually happens he knew to drug me though, that's why I rarely drink now I can't bring myself to fully let go and enjoy myself again unless I'm with my friends who I trust.

Me and the ex husband got back and fourth a few times before he left for another woman, this woman was going to be the woman who changed who he was forever. We started off friends she manipulated every situation and got everything the way she wanted! Little did she know when I stated counselling and putting my foot down by god they didn't like it. She told me a sob story about how her mum was an alcoholic and let men into her room and was gang raped and in hospital after it, to justify being with my husband who was a rapist!! So much went down and she worked her magic so good she managed to make him believe i was the bad person and he walked away from his kids, yes I was the bad person who apparently in his head stopped him seeing his kids. Well initially I did, I wanted rules and boundaries in place for my kids to be safe going to his house, he wouldn't agree to anything and I wouldn't back down!! A narcissistic asshole doesn't like being stood up to, but I wasn't that scared little girl anymore, I was a single mother raising 3 special needs children alone. He can tell everyone I was the bad person I know my story and the truth, he can live in his wee world all he likes.

I moved out of my hometown to be safe, and with the other fella who wouldn't leave me alone is now in jail serving 4 years but will be released next May, justice system over here is a fucking joke. I won't get my justice for that rape as bit enough evidence apparently.

My ex husband of the other hand well!! I waited the long game, he signed the divorce papers with the rape on it, see not as stupid as I look ehh!! I did decide after he signed them and walked away from the kids as did his mum and sister, I mean for my kid to lose one side of the family in one day, talk about traumatic, that I wanted him in jail for the years of rape and the mental torture of gaslighting and manipulating me every chance he got, I want him to pay for the hell and suicidal breaking point I got too, he deserves to rot in jail for what he put me through and his kids, and her standing by his side knowing all well that he is a rapist and deemed a risk to women!! Shame on her.

My last piece of recovery is my eating disorder, I have Atypical anorexia- all the traits except being under weight!! I would starve myself 48 hours at a time, either stress or the severe panic attacks i was having I couldn't eat, it got so bad my body started taking over, I couldn't actually eat and when I did was like 2 bits of toast after 48 hours, then another 48 without food. I was pushing myself at kick boxing and just never feeling happy about my body, but then got so bad a was damage my body amd still today I have anemia and still struggling, well now I am in recovery and omg it has been so hard, forcing to myself to eat my push last the pain and yes pain!! My body hadn't been eating properly for so long it was readjusting and bu god it was very painful, and even right this second I struggle tk get past the two meals a day, to reset ur Brain that all food is good and that starving yourself isn't the best thing to do is harder than it looks. People think sure just eat, it isn't a simple as that I was gagging put food to my mouth!! I have lost over 2 and half stone trying to recover and eat normally!! I did start to restrict my food at Christmas time again afraid to put any weight on and with no kick boxing I was terrified of any weight gain, but I am on the right path and I am so proud of myself getting to where I am, without antidepressants and working really hard to get to where I am, now I still have bad days, and can go in and out of not being really there, but PTSD is a real thing and its always a working progress, but I have the right support now and letting people in and actually accepting help is a massive step for me, I need to be in good health and mentally good for my kids!! Snd standing up to these men and taking no more and sending their asses to jail, well they done the crime!! Do the fucking time.

I really hope my story helps other people!! It just shows that people can really go through a round time and still come out the other side. So this is where my past stops haunting me and I can move on, isn't easy but then what is in life

[writerbyaccident]

Healing Together (Yandere ShinsouxReader)

Request: Yandere Shinso saving a depressed reader who was trying to commit suicide during a patrol one night and checks her into a mental institution. He visits her daily with gifts. What started off as concern becomes obsession. The day she is released, he asks her to get marry him. She says yes. They go to a courthouse, marry, and have a nice dinner, and takes her home. He confesses about his Yandere side but she says she already figured it out but doesn’t care because he saved her.

So I changed up the ending for this a bit, the story kinda decided to go rogue on me, I hope that’s okay! If you or anyone you know is battling a mental illness, please know that you are not alone and that help is out there. I love you all!

Content Warning: depression, suicide

           Shinsou walked along the streets quietly, eyes scanning the shadowed city with suspicion. There had been some reports recently of a new gang of villains making their mark in this part of town, so he had taken to doing some extra patrols in the area. He wasn’t exactly expecting any villains to make a move against him at the moment, but that wasn’t what this was about. No, it was about sending a message, about letting the people of this city know that their heroes would do anything to protect them. And Shinsou, after years of hard work and defying expectations, was one of those heroes.

           As he neared the bridge, his thoughts were briefly caught up in examining what he knew about this recent trouble in his city, trying to see if there was anything he should be on the lookout for. He was so caught up, in fact, that he almost didn’t notice you standing on the wall of the bridge. But being the hero that he was, he soon spotted you and realized what was going on. Making his way towards you, careful to walk slowly as not to startle you, Shinsou reached out his hand. He couldn’t see your face in the dark, but he could see the way that you trembled slightly.

           “Hey,” he said softly, “what’s wrong?” You didn’t respond, the only indication that you had even hurt him was how you tilted your head slightly in his direction. The night was quiet, without even a breeze to muffle any sound that was made, letting him hear you sniffle and whimper.

           “C’mon, you can talk to me. I can help you.” You remained silent at his words, and Shinsou felt his nerves shoot up. If he couldn’t get you to speak to him, he might not be able to save you. Looking at you and your shaking form, he knew he couldn’t let that happen.

           “Please, I know what this is like. I’ve been there too. I’ve been in that place, where nothing is worth it anymore. Where you’re so tired, so tired that you just want it over with. Where nothing you say or do matters, where you put on a mask before leaving the house every day, a mask that just weighs you down even more. I’ve been here before, not at this bridge, but in that space. And I know I don’t know what you’re going through, but I know that I can help you.” Staying quiet in response, Shinsou heard you give a small sob.

           “You promise?” you asked him quietly.

           “I promise,” Shinsou swore. You turned a bit more towards him and seeing his outstretched hand, you took it, letting him guide you down carefully. When he was finally able to see your face, Shinsou had to keep himself from gasping, instead settling for a sharp intake of breath. Your eyes were shining, and not just due to the tears that filled them. Your lips were parted just a bit, due to the heavy breaths you were taking, and they looked softer than anything Shinsou had ever seen. He had a sudden, nonsensical urge to see if they felt as soft as they looked. He was able to hold himself back though, reasoning that that wasn’t what you needed at the moment. Instead, he held onto your hand tightly and took you where he knew you needed to go.

           Shinsou ended up taking you to a mental institution that he was familiar with, one that he knew had a very good reputation. Helping you through the check-in process, Shinsou aided you in figuring out your insurance and explained to one of the doctors what had happened. You fidgeted through the process, uncomfortable with the whole situation. But Shinsou made sure to hold your hand throughout the whole thing, reassuring you that you weren’t alone. Once he had ensured that you had gotten all settled in, he left you in the doctors’ care, promising to visit you soon. He turned to leave, but turned back to you rather suddenly, a thought occurring to him. You were in your new room, avoiding his gaze.

           “Hey, do you have someone you can ask to bring you some of your clothes and stuff?” Truth be told, Shinsou was hoping that you would answer negatively. After all, it wasn’t any friends or family who had saved you, it was him. And this entire time, not one of them had texted or called you, which Shinsou saw when you handed in your phone during check-in.

           “No, not really,” you mumbled. Nodding seriously, Shinsou took your hand in his again, enjoying the feeling of your skin against his.

           “If you want, I could bring you some of your stuff tomorrow. If you’d be comfortable with that.”

           “Yeah, if it’s not any trouble,” you answered quietly.

           “Of course it’s not.” After writing down your address and a list of some of the things you wanted with you, you walked him out, getting a nurse to grab him the house key you had handed in earlier.

           “Okay, so I’ll be by tomorrow to drop your stuff off, sound good?” You nodded in response, and Shinsou gave your hand a squeeze, unsure if a hug would be appropriate or not, before turning to leave. Before he could though, you leapt on him, engulfing him tightly in your arms.

           “Thank you,” you whispered into his ear.

           After that day, Shinsou quickly became a fixture in your life. Not only did he stop by the very next day to bring you your things, but he also came every Visitor’s Day after that. Each time he came, he would bring you something, usually something small that he knew would make you smile. Books, sweets, once he even brought you a radio. The two of you grew extremely close, telling each other your whole life stories. Shinsou told you all about his battle with depression, and you eventually gave him the fully story behind that night. But you talked about more cheerful things too. You told him funny stories from your childhood, and he told you everything about his time at UA. With each visit, Shinsou felt his love for you grow. But there was a darker side to his love too.

           “Hey,” Shinsou said the figure walking in front of him. The man turned, and Shinsou had to hold back the urge to just hit him then and there. The man was another patient there, one that you had seemed to be growing fond of. Shinsou knew that you saw your fellow patient simply as a friend, how could you feel otherwise when Shinsou was there? But your new friend was a pest, distracting you from healing and more importantly, distracting you from Shinsou. Every time you mentioned him, Shinsou felt his stomach clench in rage, and he had finally figured out what he should do. As he approached the man, he reassured himself that he was doing the right thing. After all, he had promised to protect you.

           “Hey man, what’s up?”

           “So, I did some digging into your records,” Shinsou began, wanting to get straight to the point, “and it seems like you pissed off quite a few of the wrong people before coming here.”

           “How did you—no one is supposed to know about that.”

           “I’m a hero,” Shinsou replied slyly. “I can find out whatever the hell I want.”

           “What the fuck do you want?”

           “Well, what I want is for you to leave Y/N alone. I want you to stop talking to her, to stop distracting her. You’re not what she needs right now.”

           “Oh, and you are?”

           “Yes, I am. So either you leave her alone, or I let your location slip to some less than savory characters, and I can only imagine what they’ll do to you once they find you.” The man was quiet for a moment, trying to process the situation through his shock.

           “Okay,” he acquiesced.

           “Good. Just do what you’re told and keep quiet about this little agreement, and you’ll have nothing to worry about.” After that little conversation, Shinsou watched you even more carefully, trying to make sure that you weren’t about to replace him with anyone else. He needn’t have worried though.

           On the day that you were finally released, Shinsou took you out to one of your favorite restaurants to celebrate. The two of you were having a great time, joking around and enjoying being somewhere new together. When the meal was almost over though, Shinsou grew quiet. Looking at you, he realized just how scared he was now that you were out of the hospital. Now that you were back in the world, what if the two of you drifted apart? What if you decided that you didn’t need him anymore? Mind whipping through all of these horrible possibilities, Shinsou decided to do something to make sure that could never happen.

           “Can I ask you something?”

           “Of course,” you answered, smiling sweetly at him.

           “Well, I know that our relationship isn’t exactly a typical one. But I—I love you so much, and I don’t want to let go of that. So, I was wondering, would you ever consider getting married? To me?” You stayed silent for a minute, looking down at your plate, and Shinsou felt his stomach twist in fear. When you looked back up at him though, you were smiling brightly. There were tears in your eyes, and they brought him back to the night you two had met, proving to Shinsou how far you had come and how much you needed him.

           “Yes, I would.” At your answer, Shinsou couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, not that he wanted to. He took your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. After he had paid for dinner, he drove you back to his place, leg bouncing slightly in nervousness. If you noticed though, you didn’t say anything. Instead, you let him lead you into his house, excited to see it after all of this time. Once he had brought you inside, Shinsou gave you a quick tour before stopping in front of a closed door.

           “So, what I want to show you in here, it might come as kind of a shock. But I need you to see this.” With that, he opened the door, letting you step inside. Once he turned on the light, you let out a quiet gasp. It was a small spare room, but it was completely full. Specifically, it was full of you. Pictures of you, things from your home, old school and medical records covered the place. Shinsou let you look around for a bit, knowing you would need a minute to process all of it. And in all honesty, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to speak at the moment. He was so scared, so scared that you would freak out and leave him. But when you had agreed to marry him earlier that night, he knew that he needed to do this. He couldn’t have you living in the dark for the rest of your lives together. But as he waited for you to say something, Shinsou wondered if he had been too naïve.

           “Oh, wow,” you finally said.

           “I know that this is a lot,” Shinsou sighed, “and I understand if you’re mad at me. I love you more than anything, more than anyone in this world has ever loved anyone before. I would never do anything to hurt you, you’re my whole life. And I just thought that if we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, you should know that. If you still want to,” he added, unsure of what he would do if you changed your mind. Turning to him, you took his hand and squeezed it tightly.

           “Of course I still want to,” you answered sincerely. “Actually, I kinda already guessed about this side of you. But anyway, you’re the one who saved me that night. I owe you my life, and beyond that, I love you. I love you more than anything.” When you gave him your answer, Shinsou stayed still for a moment. Scanning your face for any hidden doubt, Shinsou smiled softly. Then, leaning forward, he met his lips with yours, thankful that you would finally be his.

[tiramisu-translations]

Prologue + Chapter 1-1

Prologue

It might be a bit cliche, but let’s start with a self introduction. My name is Ham Dani, seventeen years old. Right now It is just ten days before I start high school. 

I was born in a normal household, with normal looks, and normal personalities. It’s so normal that you wonder how much of a normal girl I can be.

At least… up until the age of fourteen, that is.

What happened to my life after fourteen you ask? 

That is really, really terrible...ah, I cannot explain it all within one sentence. 

There are other backstories I need to mention first, before even explaining what happened. By chance, have you heard of web novels? On the internet, there used to be a popular ongoing series with a male protagonist who is an heir of chaebol¹, always skips class and causes trouble around town. Yet still manages to rank number one in studies, and also have a look that does not lose to a celebrity. Along with female protagonist who lives a normal life and is poor.

You might be a bit taken aback by this sudden topic I’ve mentioned, however if I were to explain my life, I cannot not mention about this very plot. Really.

Chapter 1: The Heroine? She lives next door.

2007 March 2nd was my middle school entrance ceremony. Just the day before, I could not sleep because I was filled with half worry and half excitement, so I’ve decided to read a book. I was reading until the point where my eyes started to close, and when I opened my eyes back up the daylight filled my vision. I got up slowly with a bed hair, while the book I was reading last night was placed above my head.

I got out to the kitchen and ate breakfast my mom made me. After the meal, I washed my face then brushed my teeth, and washed my hair. Until then, it was still a normal everyday morning. While I was having a peaceful morning, I became speechless as soon as I stood in front of my closet and stared at the bright white uniform that hung by the door from head to toe.

 Huh? I squinted my eyes. I rubbed my eyes clear and looked at the uniform again. Nothing changed. This time I tried banging my head against the wall and stared back at my closet. Still nothing. 

What is this? I held my uniform and sank into deep thought. The more I stared at this uniform, it reminded me of a hospital uniform from a mental ward. Bright white jacket with bright white skirt. The vest was light beige, but that did not comfort me in anyway. If I wore this uniform all buttoned up, then I would look just as white and bright as this uniform would be. 

One the bright side, this was not our school uniform. Our school uniform is just plain brown. 

After pondering about this uniform, I asked my mom.

“Mom, where is my school uniform?”

“What?”

My mom came by my room door after finishing up the dishes. I asked her again as I waved the white uniform in the air. 

“Mom, this is not our school’s uniform! Where is my uniform?”

“What are you talking about? We had that tailored a week ago. That is your school uniform!”

“Huh?”

“What?”

A moment of awkwardness passed. Then my mom slapped my back as she left the room, thinking that I was just joking around. If it was the usual, I would have shouted when she slapped my back, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I blanklessly stared at the white uniform. 

Wait, hold on. I went into my thoughts again. The uniform was glowing bright as if it was reflecting the sunlight from my room. 

Are you saying this is our school’s uniform? And I have to wear this? This extravagant uniform that is hard to digest when general people wear? 

I had a sudden feeling that it was going to be a long first day of school. I crimpled my face as I wore the uniform. However, this isn’t where my bad luck ends. This was only the beginning of my bad luck and three years forwards. . 

I stepped out of my apartment door and became startled. There was an unfamiliar girl standing right in front of the doorway. If I opened the door any harder, the girl and the door would of collided. Why in the world is she standing so close to the door. I placed my hands above my beating heart and turned my attention to her. As soon I took a look at the girl, my jaw dropped. 

She was really pretty. Really, really pretty. Having a girl this pretty so close up was for the first time in my life. 

Her skin was white and pale as if you can almost see the veins underneath. Her long black hair  is so straight as if you drew a fine line down with a ruler, softly rested down to her waist. A purplish hue glowed as sunlight reflected on her black hair. Sunlight passing through her eyes also gave a purple hue, and the places which sunlight did not reflect were jet black. 

Her plump lips glossed and her small nose stood tall. Just staring at her face looked as if she was glowing. 

For a moment I forgot the fact that I was on my way to school. When I came back to my senses, the unfamiliar girl was also staring right back at me. Ah, it was rude of me to stare at her on this first impression!

Never seen her before, I wonder if she just moved in? I thought. Anyways, a girl this pretty living next door to me, I wish we get along. She looks like she is around my age too. I hope I didn’t give her any weird first impression for staring at her.

 By the look of it, she does not seem to be displeased so far. With her clear eyes, she was just staring back at me. Should I greet first? It was that moment when I was about to pull my hand out for a handshake.

The girl smiled brightly and grabbed my hand. This… is so forward? I thought, then.

“Dani, we’re going to be late. Let’s go.”

“...?”

Even her voice was pretty… wait a minute! 

What? I was so startled I stared at her hands, holding mine. Without any hesitation, the girl dragged me towards the elevator. Wait, What’s going on! I shook her hands off and the girl stared back with her unwavering clear eyes. I asked.

“Wait, what were you doing?”

Out of the blue she calls me by my name, even though we never met before, then drags me with her. What is she doing? However, the girl became more surprised than I was. She asked.

“What do you mean? We’re going to school!”

“That is obvious, but why am I going with you?”

“What?”

After the question, the girl made an uncomfortable face then shut her mouth. She slightly furrowed her eyebrows. 

With an awkwardness in the air, I then noticed her uniform was the same as mine. Even in this dark hallway where light does not reflect well, the uniform was still so bright it would hurt your eyes. Near the chest there was even her name tag. I read her name tag in my head. It was the first time I heard this name.

Ban Yeo Ryung looked with sorrow in her eyes then slowly reached her hands out to grab mine again. Then she spoke. 

“Okay, I know what you want to say, but first let’s go to school.” 

What do you mean you know. ‘I have no idea what is going on right now’ is what I wanted to say, but because her eye said with much sincerity I couldn’t say anything. Looking at her gaze made me think as if I lost my memories, or it made me feel like as if I am the one playing bad jokes on her. 

In silence we walked alongside with some distance between us. Even after getting off the elevator, we kept walking in silence. After walking some distance away from the apartment, the air seems to loosen up a bit. I then started to look around my surroundings. 

This is a strange occurrence. In my 13 years of living in this town, I’ve never seen this kind of extravagant uniform. However, as promised, the crowd of new students were weaning this white uniform. This did not make any sense.

Without caution, male students gazed around the surroundings and suddenly walked alongside my pace. Then they stared at Ban Yeo Ryung and became stiff. I felt startled and just kept shifting my gaze side to side.

Because it was early spring, the early morning was slightly chill. The morning ray reflected on Ban Yeo Ryung’s white forehead. The lights were hanging along her round tip of her nose, and the end of her eyelashes which were slightly pointing down.

No matter how much you look at her, the fascination of her beauty did become any less. She had bit depressed looked in her face. It might be my fault. However, even her sad expression was pretty. People who are walking by us kept staring at Ban Yeo Ryung as if they are possessed. I somewhat understood that feeling. 

As I stared at Ban Yeo Ryung, she suddenly stared back. Then she took a look around her surroundings and cringed a bit. 

“Hey Dani.”

“Hmm?”

“Can we walk while we link our arms?”

She spoke as looked anxious and looked around the people she was surrounded by. She felt uncomfortable by the attention. The gaze of people who were walking alongside us. They were all directed towards Ban Yeo Ryung. 

I was hesitant, but I placed my arms over hers. Ban Yeo Ryung then made a slight sile and linked her arms with mine and started to walk forward. I felt as I became her guardian, and it was not a bad feeling.

The distance to the school were getting closer. I somewhat remember the appearance of the school building because I went there during our class arrangements. Just like any other Middle School, it was slightly run down, but did not look too bad. It was good enough to just go to class and eat school meals. Just that kind of everyday grey school building. 

It was then when I lifted my head while in my thoughts. Faraway under the blue sky, there was the school building standing tall. Huh? I furrowed my brow. I lived and grew up in this town for 13 years and I have never seen that kind of school before. The school which was 5 storeys tall looked as if there was a main building and separately an annex building. The annex building was covered with glass walls and looked as if it was a fancy department store. No way that’s a school building. However, as I walked closer to the distance, it just became more clear. The wall that surrounded the school grounds were made up clean brown bricks. Then I saw the nameplate that was at the front of the school. 

Ji Jon² Middle School.

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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chaebol

Ji Jon (지존) (至尊) - It mean ‘the best’

[Next: Chapter 1-2]

[trainwreck-in-glitter]

WHAT EUPHORIA GETS RIGHT ABOUT MENTAL ILLNESS:

the high fucking highs: EG (“when I feel good I think it’ll last forever, but it doesn’t” at the Halloween party when rues attempted to kiss jules who rejects her again) I can’t relate to rues manic episode, since I don’t have bipolar but her jittery display of chain-smoking, obsessive thoughts, sleep deprivation, numbing the pain with coffee and taking more steps than she needs to captured the obsessive side of OCD very well, as well as the: COUNTING. I’ve had to repeat numbers in my head over and over and watching rue just start hysterically crying as a child during trying to complete that compulsion fucken’ sent me because I’d never seen an accurate nuanced way of this shown on television. I loved that her OCD wasn’t reduced to cleaning obsessively (EX’ Emma from Glee) even though many people struggle with OCD compulsions of that kind it’s a bit of an overused trope almost like a laughing track in sitcoms, and usually doesn’t serve the characters development in any purpose having their OCD solely exist for neurotypical characters to make sarcastic jokes about.

the l-o-w fucking lows: EX’ rue being glued to her bed for two days unable to engage with anyone or even get up to fucking piss resulting in a painful difficult to watch ¿UTI¿ scene. At a time I experienced severe intrusive thoughts I neglected taking care of myself so much that my hair formed dreadlocks and took hours to brush knots all out.

pushing everyone away: EX’ (I mean just look at the first gif, as well as how rue loses it at Lexi when she tries to check in on her.) while people struggling with any kind of mental illness have a tendency to isolate (espesh in cases of severe depression/mood disorders) however it’s not always aggressive sometimes it’s quiet silence in your room for a week and a half feeling completely immobilised (like with Jules during rues own depressive, she unknowningky sinks into one herself to the extent where her dad is concerned).

feeling like a burden: whether it’s because of your mental illness, low self image or like rue your addiction issues impacting those around you, rue confesses this to Lexi who in true Howard fashion holds her and tries to affirm that she’s nothing like that. Often feeling like your own problems are too heavy for anyone to bear or understand adds to the hopelessness and potentially it could be one of the biggest roadblocks to anyone’s recovery particularly Rue’s

being heavily affected by external factors, more so than normal: like social aspects of your life EX’ (Rue’s codependency on Jules, and Jules’ search for affirmation in sexual relationships, Rue’s nerves upon returning to school particularly hit me (I had a three week hospitalisation and received treatment that kept me off school frequently, and the responses from peers was right on). when noticed again Maddy tells Rue herself she thought she was dead and another friend in her car shouts for rue to “get in Casper!”. Things like school, relationships, daily tasks and functioning can feel a million time harder when you’re battling your own head, the way Euphoria demonstrates this is so raw and realistic it really hit home for me. This becomes even more heightened when people are dealing with trauma/grief ex’ (rue still carrying the grief of her dad and wearing his hoodie frequently and maddy going on a bender taking molly at the carnival forgetting to eat for two days after nate assaults her resulting in her having to be rushed into emergency where they find the marks).

addiction and the feeling of needing to escape your own head: rue will take around about any drug just to temporarily forget her own anxieties, she’s willing to lie (in drug tests by using her sober friends pee), and fight tooth and nail even if it’s against the people she loves/cares about eg: her family, fezco, etc). her addictive personality is made apparent by her obsessive behaviours, codependency with Jules, hyperfixations (watching 22 hours of love island straight) and then again in her drug use. zendaya does an amazing job at selling this all, the way her face slowly sinks from the depths of depression into what looks like she’s gotten a relieving breath of air conveys what exactly she’s getting out of this. with any addiction whether it’s substance abuse, sex addiction, eating disorders, skin picking disorders, etc there’s a need to escape but there’s also a sense of safety/reprieve from what’s making you need that escape. for Rue who is heavily characterised by her own self-blame eg: being scared of people she loves being mad at her like in that scene with Jules, the way she cried when she saw her mother and sister sleeping beside her in hospital when she woke up from her overdose, and in one of earliest narrations where she states “if I could be a different person I would, not because I want it but because they want it” and even asks Jules after she admits to being in love with her if she wishes she was different and Jules responded in the negative. she seems to want to dissociate herself because she feels the weight of her as a whole is too much for anyone and will only be disappointing. it’s sordidly relatable for anyone with low self esteem and as a rue stan the candidness can make the scenes hard to watch.

to recover or sink: rue says herself in narration that after rehab she had no intention of staying clean and for the first few episodes or so she was using to the point where she almost had an overdose in front of very traumatised Jules who then sets an ultimatum that in order for them to maintain their “friendship” rue needs to stop using and rue agrees almost immediately. the look of guilt and shame on her face as she cuddles into Jules who is still shocked and upset saying to rue “I’ve had enough traumatic shit in my life, I’m not trying to be best friends with someone who’s trying to kill themselves”. rue remains sober but clings to Jules almost in replacement, most of rues innocent crush was well innocent and very high school realistic in the way that everything feels heightened. and for a while rue is at her happiest, her best friend since childhood even saying to Jules “it’s because of you” which fairly overwhelms her because being somebody’s sole reason for recovery isn’t long term manageable OR healthy for either party. expanding on this the blame Jules gets for Rue’s relapse is a way we’re perpetuating that their codependent dynamic wasn’t detrimental to either of them, which is wrong. Jules felt immense pressure which in turn tainted her relationship with Rue, and Rue was readily giving more to a relationship where the other person wasn’t ready to reciprocate. Jules and Rue ultimately have a beautiful dynamic together and I’d love to see more of them in season 2 but I’d like it to be in some time when they’ve both explored and identified what they’re both wanting. Because I refusE to settle for anything less than #Kethan after the finale. anywho this all meant Rues hinted relapse in the finale had an inevitable quality to it, because she wasn’t changing because she wanted it but because they did. I feel that one line perfectly captures exactly what would have led to that relapse, from personal experience I tried to actively recover from an eating disorder to please my family but quickly relapsed because ultimately challenging thoughts that have been in your head for so long JUST FOR other people stops being rewarding too quickly because as much as they may want to be an active support system they don’t have the access to rewire your brain. I challenged my meal plan but not the thoughts telling me I was disgusting. Rue still felt like a burden, she never challenged that only the drug use. it would be amazing to see Rue in therapy or even just actively attempting self care and explaining how and why that might feel so hard to someone struggling. I think Euphoria this season has set up a perfect segway for the second season, and so far they have managed to portray the complexities of being a teenager with a mental illness in glitter while keeping it relatable and not being exploitative. I think after seeing Rues chronic struggle it would be really cool to see a character representing what recovery actually looks like when it comes from the right place, having that positive representation of trying to be proactive while struggling and still having questions would be a new arc for Rue and it would really show her growth however after the city incident only time will tell 😪

[simptasia]

hc questions 5, 6, 7, 26, 44 & 47 for any or all of the science team members if you want? :)

oh bless!! thank you!! i’ll go with My Beloved Three, as usual, the sci trio

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

my hcs on this have wobbled over time but overall i imagine dan, char and miles are all like, fairly, neat. tho they all have a tendency to leave papers around

and miles doesn’t make the bed as much. cuz imagining miles napping in rumpled quilts is a very cute mental image. hair disheveled

i think a good term for whats going on with dan and char is Organized Chaos. they’re both scientists (and a musician) for heck’s sake. it doesn’t look like they know what they’re doing but they do. but ur not gonna walk into their house(s) and be like “ugh gross what the fuck”. it’s nice. dan tends to make the bed

and i imagine dan keeps The Rat Room (yes, you heard me) immaculate because you reeeeeeally want that area to be well cared for

as for personal, lets get this out of the way, none of them are yucky. but dan is showering the least, just due to absent mindedness and hyperfixation. like ya really get into a project and then suddenly oh fuck i need a shower. but thats relative. he’s not a stinky gross boy. i imagine miles washes the most because like, he has body piercings and those GOTTA be cleaned every day, especially the downstairs one. miles values his dick, he don’t want an infection

also its amazing how much more you shower/bathe when you have a partner. or in this case, two partners. in general and for sexy purposes. hell yeah

well thats enough of me picturing these three showering, moving on

Eating habits and sample daily menu

its odd how often i’ve pictured these people eating together

dan: eats the least (and for once that isn’t a skinny joke, he could eat cake every day and he’d still be like that) because for the most part he doesn’t have much of an appetite. he eats what he needs, with random bursts of being really hungry (it’s a neurodivergent thing). i imagine he has a extra fondness for pasta and can put a surprising amount of it away when he wants to. tho typically for ease, he’ll stick to noodles. he takes his coffee mild and decaf. i hc him as a vegetarian due to not being able to process meat. his body also cannot handle alcohol and the one time he tried it he needed to be hospitalized. his ice cream preference is vanilla with chocolate sprinkles. or honeycomb. favourite vegetable is capsicum (which he’d call a bell pepper because he’s american), favourite fruit is pineapple. on that note he likes pineapple pizza. overall he eats simple but isn’t against trying new things. he has a very neutral disposition towards food

char: of the trio, i define charlotte as the Loud Passionate One so obviously being a big eater goes with that, likes a big breakfast (eggs, sausages, sometimes french toast!), sometimes skips lunch when she’s working at the museum due to focus, has a ravenous sweet tooth (i haven’t been subtle that i’ve made her ADORE chocolate but in general i see her liking sweet things), she can handle eating less tho because she’s gone on plenty of expeditions and such. so i think she eats a lot under normal circumstances because, like, she can. i don’t think i need to tell you what her ice cream or starbucks preferences are, do i? takes her coffee with three sugars, two coffees and creamy. likes mochas and hot chocolates too. with marshmallows. naturally, her fave kind of chocolate is galaxy because she is an English Woman. another fave of hers is cadbury’s creme eggs. but lest you think Good Lord Sapphire This Woman’s Entire Body Is A Sugar Molecule, don’t worry she does eat well. like veggies, fruits, meats, she’s fine. of meats, she has a fondness for fish (i have no further information, im terrible with fish. but she’s a pom, so...). favourite fruit is pear, favourite vegetable is peas. likes a bacardi, or rum and coke

miles: he eats a “normal” amount but he’s a grazer. which means, not so much Set Meal eating than eating/snacking thru out the day. he takes his coffee black, no surprise, but with sugar! see, its a metaphor. for him. likes fried eggs and hash browns. his fave food is very cheap mac and cheese. i think in general he really likes cheese. he doesn’t have complicated tastes, like, he grew up poor. he likes seafood (in particular fish tacos) but not lobster as he discovered when he got cashed up. he likes salty food but likes sweets too, in particular i can imagine him snacking on m&ms, skittles, gummi bears. little things. doesn’t have a fave vegetable because he doesn’t care enough, to him veggies are things to eat so you won’t die. doesn’t hate him but isn’t excited to eat ‘em. fave ice cream is mint choc. he’ll drink whatever (except for vodka) but is used to beer. thinks pineapple on pizza is an abomination, espech since he really likes pizza otherwise. i consider him a food opportunist, like, oh theres food here? yoink. or like, oh hey, if everybody else is eating, i’ll have whatever’s going on

....i feel like whenever i write hcs about these guys my brain takes on their tone. like, that was a lot of short, eh whatever, sentences for miles there

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

dan:

- reading (really depends on how you define Wasting Time). also he composes music and when he was alive, that was considered wasting time (ugh)

- sometimes even just doing hobbies or work or whatever, even then, he tends to have this feeling of never doing enough due to his Perfectly Healthy And Supportive Upbringing [seethes] so uhhhh basically, anxiety? like this was a dude raised to think anything other than his work was a waste of time. it didn’t exactly work but a decent amount of that Pressure has to still sit with him

char:

- watching tv, espech star trek

- not a waste of time if you’re enjoying yourself

miles:

- card and board games (weren’t expecting that, were ya? i’m not saying that's his Fave Thing To Do, but he considers that a good chill out thing to do. something to do when ur bored but you don’t feel like watching tv or having sex)

- “it’s something to do”

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

dan:

for original lifetime dan, it was Do Science, Make Mom Proud (tiny voice: and maybe spend the rest of my life with charlotte. if i’m lucky. maybe. please? love?) cuz i imagine dan, although very focussed on the future, actually doesn’t think/care about HIS future. i just don’t think he cares about himself enough

limbo dan is like Make Music, Love Charlotte. which is fair. and then Love Miles on top of that. so yeah, just wants to be a good musician and husband. and one day, father. with char actually in his life in this world, thats def on his mind. he won’t bring it up tho, he’ll wait for her to mention it :3

(dan’s canon contingency plan for things not working out is hydrogen bomb)

char:

alive char, like, ADVENTURE! ISLAND! SOLVE MYSTERIES! that makes it sound like she’s a fucking scooby doo character. i mean, her Goal was to find the island and find out what the fucky duck is going on. she did that. and overall his goals seem like adventure/career orientated. i hc that this version of char never intended on getting married or having kids. she wasn’t Against the ideas and she’s certainly had romances but she was more thinking of other things. (that and i think deep down char thought nobody would ever wanna marry her)

in limboverse There Is No Mystery but she still has her great job(s), that is she works at a museum and i think she goes on expeditions sometimes. so theres that, she’s got the great career. really, her Plan for the future in this world is live the live she couldn’t before. she (and dan!) died young so they’re gonna like, actively adore each other and get married and have kids. and also miles is there. ha, that sounded so rude. she loves miles too. (besties/fuck buddies turned Hey You Wanna Join Me And Dan’s Relationship and miles like... yeah sure)

miles:

step one: get money to fill gaping hole of sadness in chest

step two: ????

step three: die

and even my limbo miles whomst i’ve put with dan and char doesn’t have any plans for the future, besides like, do his job and maybe become a dad again (context: i hc that miles had two kids with richard when he was alive). so he’s still chilling but without the depressing ache of loneliness and bitterness

so basically long story short for all of them (in limboverse): Love & Family

Superstitions or views on the occult?

ohooo i like this one

dan: didn’t grow up believing in magic and such (which is super ironic because his mother is a fucking other) but he has a very open mind. i think he’ll believe it if he’s thrust into the situation. it’s interesting really, dan is known as the science guy and that's great but he’s super fucking accepting of not science shit. tho of course, he’s not seeing the island time travel as magic but science. but more importantly, he regards miles’ powers with zero doubt or questioning. he doesn’t even seem confused, he is absolutely on board with miles being able to talk to dead people. this all implies miles told him off screen and dan believes him

so basically he’ll accept whatever is presented to him as true

which honestly, is what a good scientist is like. the trope of the scientist character who is ultra non believing of the supernatural, even when they’re seeing it before their eyes, is annoying. like, you know the ones? the ones who get angry about it. the overly skeptical scientist. hate that. dan is not that

and his character arc includes embracing free will over destiny so there's that

char: she’s not superstitious and doesn’t believe in magic or the supernatural at all. tho thrown into bizarre situations she’s like ???? but has to accept it. and she KNOWS something is up with the island. she knows its different. i just mean, under normal circumstances she’d regard magic stuff as funny nonsense. i hc that char, in living life, doesn’t believe miles can speak to the dead. really fucking weird this isn’t addressed in the show but hahaaaa they wasted char! anyways and like, if presented with the concept that dan’s brain damage is being healed by the island, she’d look confused, say thats impossible but she’d think on it

what i’m saying is she’ll rule out magic concepts at first, on reflex. but would grow to accept them, especially with stuff she knows/has repressed

she doesn’t believe in ghosts, psychics, visions, magic healing and all those exist in her world, so it’s all a matter of experience

miles: WELL WHADDYA THINK

actually it’s funny. miles has magic powers but he’s 0% superstitious and i imagine outside of his own powers, he really doesn’t believe in the occult. i hc that until he personally proved otherwise, he grew up thinking he was mentally ill. and once he realised it was true, thought he was some kind of freak

and he’s incredulous when he finds out hurley has powers too. tho miles, being miles, does roll with the punches a lot in the show, he’s skeptical when it comes to hurley's power. and i find that interesting. also i fucking love how when hurley describes his power, miles says “thats not how it works”, like ???? babe???

but overall his attitude on the island is like “well. this is happening”

i do think thru his life, despite his power, he doesn’t believe in All Magic or occult or whatever. i also hc that he attracted those kind of people who are REALLY into astrology and auras and stuff like that and he found them exasperating. (i think he’d be a lot more okay with it if it was claire who was talking about astrology and palm reading with him. he’d be endeared when its her)

and i think he thinks other psychics he’s met or seen on tv are straight up bullshit. he can believe he has it but he’s skeptical of other people. just assumes they’re scammers. hell, he was a scammer. who just happened to have the power. he was like “well i have this, i may as well get some use outta it”

oh and in limboverse, they all kinda have to accept their situation. and they take it with ease due to appreciating getting happier lives

How do they express love?

a dan who loves you will pet your face and look at you like ur his entire reason to live. a char who loves you will squeak at your jokes and will never once let you feel bad about yourself. a miles who loves you is sorry he isn’t better at this stuff but he really is trying... sure we can cuddle if you wanna, that’s cool v///v

the dan and char we saw in the show was them holding back and i find that very amusing because they were HEART EYES AS FUCK for each other and so affectionate and so soft hearted, like oh my gosh. canon show dan/char is them when they’re pining... when they’re not even a couple (yet, damn it)

imagine them at full power

i figured it out, dan/char couldn’t be an Official Couple because then jeremy davies and rebecca mader would have destroyed us all, especially me

anyways. they’re both very protective of each other. they... they touch each other a lot. like a lot for people who aren’t dating and whomst don’t think the other one loves them. like char is surprised when dan says he loves her. that fucking astonishes me. HE’S NOT SUBTLE. char are you okay???

dan is more open about the love than char, seeing as he said it. and double downed on it. char i feel was holding back for different reasons than dan. dan was holding back (fucking barely) because of eloise’s Love Will Only Bring Pain upbringing, which’d give somebody a serious complex. so he was adverse to actually pursuing a relationship AND i figure he thought “she wouldn’t wanna be with me anyways”. but char i imagine, a deep seated insecurity and need to be defensive, but also! dan was like REALLY mentally unwell before the island. and that's the dan that char knows (and loves) but she’d feel guilty if she pursued anything with him. like she’s taking advantage of a brain damaged person

ah fuck i went on a big thing about why they didn’t become a couple instead of like.... the question. how do they express love? like they did in the show. smiles, touches, longing gazes, protectiveness. they would die for each other

as for miles, how does he express love? Not Well. at first

whoever is the first person he fell in love with (i imagine richard), he was not good at... being open about that. i don’t think miles is good with love. lived his life pretty detached/bitter about the concept, which i imagine is due to having cynicism about life and death. everybody you love is gonna die, so why bother? (his mom dying hit him pretty hard) so uhhh its gonna be... baby steps

slowly becoming more open about liking somebody, becoming more affectionate, more... uh, couple-y (and later throuple-y). it’d take time and he will always be miles, but hey, he gets there. he’ll still always have his snark but he won’t be a Genuine Asshole to people he loves. heck, i imagine he’ll be downright soft in the right situation. and he can be gentle and kind. he’s a salty boy not a cunt

but i digress. basically he’s a little “yeah, yeah, i love you too, shut up” about it but he does have that soft gooey center. basically those who know him, and love him, know his true heart. it’s just a part of being miles “defensive walls” straume

feels love (and even that takes him a while to realise, cuz he hasn’t been a romantic relationship kinda guy, most of his life his relationships have been a Just Sex thing), not Great at like... Doing Love, you know what i mean? but like once he’s used to it, he can be quite a tender little pudding cup, actually

[davidjjohnston3]

I am mad at my biological father... People in Milwaukee have strong spirits but they don't test or discern from whence these spirits come (Satan); they have a kind of 'anti-a'ga'pe' that wants to send people to Hell.  I finally got fed up and started cursing or at least confuting in my head and heart, wishing there would be terrorized for messing with me / my soul.  I want them to be chastened.  In what universe is it OK to antagonize someone's soul rather than build them up / edify?  It's Babylon America: commerce is king, pornography is the supreme teacher(?), media is religion, movie-theaters are temples.  All this time my 'father-in-law' was trying to teach me the American way of lying to the civil authority and medical professionals... A while back I took stock of 'our' old family home and realized in some ways my biological parents are not that bad.  I told my biological father as much and he got even more mad / contemptuous of me. Do I not assess the man properly? Reddit got mad at me for saying 'social form' and some Christian on Twitter tried to 'nope(?!..=|)' me for saying I prayed Sec. Pompeo will be President.  'No room in the Kingdom for phony Christians.'  What's phony about defending the faith worldwide?   Paul Washer of HeartCry Ministries extols the authority of the African father and the son kneeling before him but Caucasian American dad-son relationships are not that way in my experience.  Once I bowed to my dad but it didn't mean much.  Once he bowed to me after my (near)-suicide-attempt in Korea and that did mean.. Anti-racism seemed like an important concept to me but then I thought there are so many people who just wanna get stuff and if I met Ibrim X. Kendi in real life he's probably be cordial enough but not hesitate to unlease looters and rioters against me for his vision of the greater good not to say communist-disintegrationist-chaoticist utopia.   Everyone in Milwaukee seemed to be mad at me a while back since the story of me in Korea at the high school was not 100% storybook.  'Oh David James Johnston he fell in love with his 16-17-year-old student, but realized they are being left behind or the Korean War is really terrible and they're all in danger up there then some things happened with the faculty and he tried to kill himself.'  That is not totally inaccurate but I wasn't 100% the depressive melancholy young prince over the last 9 years.  I had some ambitions and I studied a lot and I also had bad habits like smoking. I got a short-sleeved white polo shirt at the department store and lost a bit more weight.  I am around 5'11 165 I would guess.  I really have to make sense of my cardiac condition although hopefully it was acute / idiopathic from the Pfizer vaccine.  What scares me is that I had a foreaugury or prophecy(?) of it in 2016 when I felt something like a powdery liquid running down behind my breastbone at the same time as when I was walking around Lake Park in terror of Koreans from the past coming to kill me, angel soldiers, 'the stars throwing down their tears,' the tiger of wrath, and also, feeling like God was feeding me something without having to eat. I still haven't read all of Blake's 'America: A Prophecy.'

* The psychiatrist whom I respect offered or 'ordered' me Prozac last week and it made me think.  I feel almost like the Boomers saw Millennial children as having no souls.  My parents wanted to send me to Hell.  My mother always used to speak about 'Rosemary's Baby' and when I was young I ran around with a red cape in a strawberry patch.  My mother told me this when I was in the mental hospital in 2013, afraid of the color red and not wanting to tear my chicken sandwich since I thought that it was metonymic(?) for tearing the Scripture rather than swallowing / appreciating it whole.   'We Boomers worked hard, stopped the ['totally causeless not trying to help anyone'] Vietnam War, Civil Rights, moreover weathered the traumas of JFK, MLK, RFK assassinations; ergo we earned the right to treat our daughters as sex-slaves and fire out our sons in order the better to take advantage of our neighbors' daughters whilst also amusing ourselves by medicating and psychologizing our kids rather than loving them and tending / nurturing / ministering to their souls.'   I didn't take the Prozac but I did think of (Ms. / Artist / [Singer]) Kim Taeyeon - 'Love in Color' is my favorite song of hers which makes me think about abortion-culture in a way and how 'too many choices' can destroy or over-modulate the distance or scuff and wear down the love in a relationship - and bipolar disorder.  I was diagnosed with bipolar in 2012 and suffered manic symptoms for most of my childhood.  I felt in the hospital that one possible 'aetiology' or origin / backstory of bipolar is knowing that people out there want to kill you; or even, damn your soul to perdition / Hell / everlasting eternal conscious torment for displeasing them or going against their norms / expectations. My diagnosis was later jacked up to schizoaffective / bipolar schizoaffective, then nearly 'crossed the ionosphere' into schizophrenia, and is now back to schizoaffective thanks to the wonderful, integrity- and probity-filled psychiatrist, who was also the only person telling the truth and not being a corporatist tank-driving-vehicular-manslaughterer at my commitment hearing where Father in Law lied to a district judge and the justice system treated me like a second-class system.  The ONLY person whose yes was yes and no was no. I still think sometimes about 'the condition of fiction.'  I wish I could develop my more scholarly ideals sometimes rather than writing in this 'free' style as I don't really like freedom I like formality and rules. I miss [].  I used to see so many colors and I saw this person in my mind's eye / Spirit when I met her online; but yesterday I felt like I just saw 'dark red.'

*

My brother is really rich (from Data Science)... I need to mend fences with him... I feel as if over the years I might've had mixed motives in 'taking him under my wing.'  We had a bad relationship when I was young and I even stole money from him a couple of times.  I also tried to catch him looking at pornography online rather than rebuke or chastise or plead with him not to, for courting death and failure.  I just wanted to embarrass / shame him. I helped him get a job shortly after the Great Recession and I guess some part of me falsely believed he owed me a favor for that. I sent him many books over the years. After my initial diagnosis of a possibly disabling mental disorder my mother told me he had said that I could live with him if I needed help but that no longer seems a possibility - in fact he said, 'I never said that.'  I was worried since I'm weak.  Hopefully God willing I can get back to where I was a couple of months ago and actually execute sth like the description of the educational administrative job that I was offered. I came to a point in my life lately where I no longer know whether something is destiny.  When I took the HS job in Korea - maybe the biggest decision of my life - I was confident.  But in the last couple of months has been a tempest or fog of war or I simply made so many decisions I don't recognize myself completely.   I want to work on 'Leaving Babylon' or 'Leaving Milwaukee' or 'Leaving America.'  There are or seem to be good Christians in Milwaukee but why live in Babylon - commercial empire worshipping all kinds of false prophetesses, porneia, objects, death, child-rape, abortion, post-partum abortion, automobiles, meals, brands, money / Mammon and other 'stuff' Pastor Timothy Keller calls 'Counterfeit Gods' (to say too little since they're actually often demons from Hell)... I'm not sure how to write it without penning distracting trash that would give wannabe writers bad habits and make naive readers think they know more than they do. My net worth is about 2,000 dollars but I want to give it away just because I'm mad.  I thought about selling my Lenovo X-1 laptop since it's Chinese Communist poison / curse, I know it's hacked by Huawei or whoever through a nano(?)chip, Father in Law tracks with AI... I heard the new Samsung smaller notebooks have around a 17-hour battery-life.

Milwaukee's Child Protective Services appear to be some kind of CCP-derived 'metaphor-joke.'  Amber Alert a child has been kidnapped in either a silver Kia or a Chevy Impala.  You can mount a plate-reading AI-camera on a 50-dollar drone easily...

I'm applying to a job in Korea.  I have no idea if I'll get in.  It is in my favorite neighborhood, and I liked the video of their staff. This would be a 'redemption-arc' for me.  'I am so exciting.'   I don't know if it can be. I listened to a few minutes of 'Inferno' by C. Cho.  Masterpiece.   Did I ever pay dues like a BigLaw junior associate?  Was I ever fast-tracked?   Career-decisions are difficult.  I have literal rejection-demons, I think, or uncertainty-demons.  Maybe it is Belial himself: sensuality plus intellectual abnegation.  Like I want to pretend the Spirit isn't there.   Other people also suffer disappointment-demons, I feel.  Loss-demons.   Understanding others can be challenging, and the fun of it, moreover, is overrated for some people.  IDK if I can ever. And too, some people, once you understand them - when they realize you understand them - become shameless.  They get more seared-conscience than ever, like the only reason they were ever acting good was to save / maintain face.  'Buyaolian.'   In past I tried to be all things to all men but lately I ended up trying to be 'Chinese mistress' to someone in a bad way.  I had already tried 'Japanese daughter, daughter-in-a-box.'  I don't know why I don't try 'son' except it makes him fake more than usual, that I know of. I felt praised like a daughter when I got praised; although maybe it is just me. 'Hello Kitty is a girl,' Said the Sanrio person. I looked at our family cat Ariel the other day and thought, 'my adult daughter Yves from LOONA.'   He used to look like a manly lion, like Jesus even, the Lion of Judah. Cats are feminine. I would get a cat but I just want to teach and write. This cat seems at peace; he no longer overeats nor conversely is hyperthyroidal and thin / 'dried out.' I miss the cat Pukah from down the way, who was fat and 'crepitant' in her voice-sound.  I took care of her for pay and bought some Audiobooks with the 'loot' or 'lucre.'

I honestly have a theory about Koreanness I don't like to share called 'Han Death Runes' that says some people see Koreans - women and girls - and just want to rape and beat and kill them.  They just do.  Japanese soldiers / officers / the entire government did.  Doubtless Chinese did before that.  Korean men did too.  Caucasian men do now.  Other people look at babies and want to kill them - not a joke, empirical Science has recorded it; Saint Augustine some 1600 years ago developed the category of Original Sin.

For a time I was convinced that ShowerThoughts on Tumblr was the Korean girl whom I attempted to save from attempted sex-trafficking by implying she should work hard in tenth grade and learn about [AI, IT]... 

I am interested in helping orphans and other young people; today in lieu of the Lead Teacher offer I missed out on I applied to some Assistant jobs at Christian private and charter schools and was impressed with the humaneness of the management-questions on the online hiring-assessment.  Nonetheless, ‘Blessed Are the Peacemakers,’ and the world will need I think / believe for somebody to prove that it is possible to take care of young people who don’t have good parents such as through a better orphanage-system someday.  At least, this is kind of what I dream and daydream about.  I think Saint Paul would talk more about older women helping younger women to be good mothers, however, or ‘teaching’ them, whatever that means.  

The pro-life cause as this political cartoon long ago pointed out is supposed to be in favor of life far beyond the emergence in to this world as a defenseless eight-pound baby.  

*

I feel lately as if I ‘waged a war for peace’ and ended up as the only casualty.  I don’t mean to aggrandize myself.  I strengthened my enemies and all I got out of it was a clarified love.  I hope / wish that this constitutes suffering and not just punishment before Moses for being a bad teacher with abominable taste in student clientele, and also forget to send off graduates with a graceful hail and blessing, maybe a final exhortation and prayer, and let them be they.

[genderrise3-blog]

Thoughts about Mental Health and a call for community

Observations/ Reflections

by Jenn P.  |   on July 9th, 2018  | 

So…how are you? You doing ok? Hanging in there?

Things are tough right now, aren’t they? Tense. Tiring. Overwhelming. Scary.

The American political climate is beyond divisive at this point; it’s hostile and turbulent. Even the 4th of July felt a little different this year, didn’t it? I look around and it feels like people are having a harder time than usual. I know it to be true because of my job.

Anyway, if you’re reading this– I hope you are doing okay and taking care of yourself.

****

I’m late to discuss it, but I’m still feeling sad about Anthony Bourdain’s death. He was more than a chef, a traveler, a reporter, a TV personality, an author– he was a cultural anthropologist–opening windows to worlds most of us will never see. He introduced us not to the fanciest places around the globe, but the authentic spots run by real working people, and he was always a joy and a wonder to watch. He seemed like the kind of person who didn’t waste a second of life, even in the midst of what we can only assume was immeasurable pain.

It’s been interesting how his and Kate Spade’s deaths by suicide have opened up a much-needed conversation about mental health. Anthony Bourdain certainly inspired me to be a bolder traveler, eater and cook, but it’s in my professional work where I’ve felt his greatest impact.

Anthony Bourdain demonstrated a lot of the qualities found in a really good therapist; he was extraordinarily open-minded, completely nonjudgmental, empathic, down-to-earth, respectful of cultural norms and practices, naturally curious and one hell of a good listener. He never pulled away from people who were different than him; he moved toward them, pulled up a stool at the table and said, “Teach me”.

Sharing a meal with someone is an intimate act; it’s a way we connect, bond and share with others. Food, to me, has always felt like a universal love language. No matter where we are or where we grew up, we all have memories associated with food and how it connects to our families, our cultures and ourselves.  And that was always the take-away message I got from Bourdain’s programs. Watching him try exotic international cuisine was intriguing and seductive, but it always seemed like a metaphor for the real point he was trying to make.

We’re all connected.

Sorry if that’s a little woo-woo for ya, but after ten years of community-based social work, I know it in my bones to be true. Over the years I’ve had conversations with hundreds of people who are by nearly every measure different than myself, and the experience has changed my life. There have been people who walked in my office you’d think I’d have nothing in common with– people with cultural or educational or financial backgrounds that are completely opposite of mine, people with histories dealing drugs, or working in sex industries, or gang involvement– and yet–we always ALWAYS find similarities in the ways that we think or feel.

It’s not because I’m some enlightened, revolutionary person who can talk to anyone or just naturally get along with everyone. I’m not and I don’t. It’s because all people fundamentally want the same things out of life– something to do, someone to love, a sense of purpose, a feeling of safety. We’re all so much more similar than we are different. It’s been proven to me literally hundreds and hundreds of times.

In therapy, the connection doesn’t always happen right away. Some people are harder to engage in treatment than others, and like Bourdain, many times my way in has been with food. My friends and family all know I’m obsessed with food, and so do the majority of my clients at this point. If someone is having a particularly difficult time getting started in therapy, I’ll often ask my favorite back-pocket question: “How would you describe dinner at your house growing up?” because it opens up an entire world to discover. Who was at the table? Who was missing? Was there a table? What did your family eat? Who passed down the recipes? What is the culture that influenced the dishes? Who made the meal? Who served it? Was there enough?

Like Bourdain said (in his Parts Unknown episode on Queens)– when someone shows you what they eat, they’re showing you who they are, where they come from, what makes them happy.

Several of my clients shared their feelings about the two suicides in their sessions. One person scheduled an emergency visit because she found them so triggering. Recent violent events and the U.S.’s divisive political climate also have people anxious, disheartened and upset (myself included). One client very articulately expressed his worries for the future– that he’s disturbed by what he described as “a shift away from the community”, that people feel more isolated and alone, and aren’t engaging with one another kindly the way they should.

Then he said something that I think all the time: “People aren’t able to see how connected they really are, so they disconnect out of fear.”

Isn’t that so true?

***

I’m trying to find my voice in the bigger conversation about mental health. I’ve seen a ton of posts the last few weeks about reaching out for help, calling suicide-prevention hotlines, finding a psychiatrist or therapist, dropping the stigma and finding mental health services. This will likely not be a huge problem if you have private insurance, but if you don’t– if you have Medicaid or Medicare or will have to cover the costs on a sliding scale–pick up the phone and start dialing because let me tell you, these services are getting harder and harder for people to find, and it scares me. As a mental health professional, I don’t worry as much about stigma limiting people from finding treatment. I worry about the availability of services.

I work in a community mental health clinic and we are packed to the rafters. We have nearly 50 therapists on board, and need way more hands on deck. We do not have enough office space to accommodate our current patients; we often joke about needing to build another floor. The intake line never stops ringing. I have a roster of almost 65 people, frequently do ten sessions a day and am asked every week to squeeze in more. Plenty of clinics have closed (my previous counseling center closed down after 30 years when the building they were in went co-op). Many facilities have wait lists of two weeks, three weeks, a month. Our clinic finds space right away for everyone who calls for an appointment, but our staff is stretched tight. Most skilled therapists eventually go into private practice because you can determine your own pace and the pay is better. A month ago I stepped down from my role as a supervisor because keeping a watchful eye on my own clients while also being peripherally responsible for my seven supervisees’ massive caseloads was truly stressing me out.

We are in the midst of an enormous opioid crisis– people are literally dying trying to manage their pain–but just try to get someone into a detox. There is no “holding a bed” or “making a referral” for that process (not if they have Medicaid, anyway). You send them to the hospital at the crack of dawn because beds are first-come, first-served, and even then, there’s a good chance there isn’t one available. Try again tomorrow!

Hospitals are so full they sometimes release patients who are still manic. If clients relapse or decompensate, I say a prayer and amp up our session visits, knowing it could be months before I can effectively refer them to a higher level of treatment. Many times individuals who require intensive psychiatric care find themselves homeless or in prison. There are not enough long-term psychiatric treatment options available. The biggest psychiatric hospitals in this country are our jails.

And I’m talking about New York City. We have more mental health professionals and more resources than anyone. I cannot begin to fathom what it’s like to find services in small towns. It’s not nearly enough. It’s a very, very big problem.

Well, super!!! Thanks Jenn, for that uplifting message! Now what are we supposed to do?

Here are a few things:

ADVOCATE FOR REFORM: Admittedly, in social work school I was always more interested in clinical practice than policy, but now I see just how critical it is to see things from the macro perspective, not just the micro (I sound soooo social-worky right now)

*Join Mental Health America’s Advocacy Network to receive email alerts about upcoming national campaigns to protect America’s mental health through legislative advocacy.

* Connect with NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness, which provides mental health support to millions and leads important awareness campaigns like the #StigmaFree pledge and advocacy and lobbying efforts to help promote mental well-being across the nation.

GET INFORMED. There are so many amazing resources available on the internet providing coping tools and general information about mental illness.

*The Mighty: The Mighty is a terrific digital health community created to empower and connect people facing health challenges and disabilities. Their articles are informative and help decrease stigma around physical and mental illnesses.

*Mantherapy: Mantherapy uses a heavy dose of humor to help men learn skills for coping with trauma, depression, anxiety, anger and stress. This is a really wonderful resource.

*Jen_Wellness on Instagram: My grad school bestie has an amaaaaazing instagram account (that all my friends and family are now hooked on) where she shares insightful, helpful and beautifully written posts to help people gain important skills for grounding themselves and coping with life’s stressors. This is an account that should have a million followers.

*Resources when you can’t afford therapy

GET INVOLVED. Volunteer. Go to community-based events. So many people are so isolated. Volunteer at a senior center– especially one for LGBT seniors who are less likely to have children. Adopt a veteran, who might be isolated or in a hospital.

SEEK OUT COMMUNITY:  The highlight of my week is Wednesday from 12-1pm, when I run a support group for isolated adults. Everyone started out feeling anxious and uncomfortable talking to one another and for months it felt awkward as hell. But nearly three years in, members frequently call the group their “second family”. I try to teach them coping skills, but nowadays they’re too busy telling each other dirty jokes, planning lunch outings and howling with laughter to listen to me. Things get real and completely raw in that room, and I can’t express how powerful it is to watch them support, encourage, amuse and empower one another. People need each other. Check in with your people, meet new people, engage with people.

There’s a new yoga studio in my neighborhood that I keep meaning to check out called the Happie House, where they host free community potluck dinners every Friday night. How cool is that? Wouldn’t it be great if more businesses or even individuals pulled together events like this?

Can’t find it locally? Try checking in with The Big White Wall to connect with others virtually.

BE KIND TO EACH OTHER: Give others the benefit of the doubt. Reach out. Call. Hug. Shake hands. Make eye contact. When you’re checking out at the grocery store, take out your headphones and get off your phone, for fuck’s sake. Seems like no big deal, but I think maybe it is. We’re not seeing one another anymore. We’re all here together; let’s act like it.

Wave to your neighbors. Learn the name of the person who sells you your daily coffee.  Take care of yourself. Take care of others. Use your big strong heart to pour love on those around you and I’ll keep trying to do the same.

Jenn P.

30-something psychotherapist. Loves cooking, hosting parties, exploring new places. Texan by birth. New Yorker by choice. Likes to tell little stories. Pull up a chair; I'll tell you one.

Source: http://muchtomydelight.com/2018/07/thoughts-about-mental-health-and-a-call-for-community.html

[parkspring4-blog]

Thoughts about Mental Health and a call for community

Observations/ Reflections

by Jenn P.  |   on July 9th, 2018  | 

So…how are you? You doing ok? Hanging in there?

Things are tough right now, aren’t they? Tense. Tiring. Overwhelming. Scary.

The American political climate is beyond divisive at this point; it’s hostile and turbulent. Even the 4th of July felt a little different this year, didn’t it? I look around and it feels like people are having a harder time than usual. I know it to be true because of my job.

Anyway, if you’re reading this– I hope you are doing okay and taking care of yourself.

****

I’m late to discuss it, but I’m still feeling sad about Anthony Bourdain’s death. He was more than a chef, a traveler, a reporter, a TV personality, an author– he was a cultural anthropologist–opening windows to worlds most of us will never see. He introduced us not to the fanciest places around the globe, but the authentic spots run by real working people, and he was always a joy and a wonder to watch. He seemed like the kind of person who didn’t waste a second of life, even in the midst of what we can only assume was immeasurable pain.

It’s been interesting how his and Kate Spade’s deaths by suicide have opened up a much-needed conversation about mental health. Anthony Bourdain certainly inspired me to be a bolder traveler, eater and cook, but it’s in my professional work where I’ve felt his greatest impact.

Anthony Bourdain demonstrated a lot of the qualities found in a really good therapist; he was extraordinarily open-minded, completely nonjudgmental, empathic, down-to-earth, respectful of cultural norms and practices, naturally curious and one hell of a good listener. He never pulled away from people who were different than him; he moved toward them, pulled up a stool at the table and said, “Teach me”.

Sharing a meal with someone is an intimate act; it’s a way we connect, bond and share with others. Food, to me, has always felt like a universal love language. No matter where we are or where we grew up, we all have memories associated with food and how it connects to our families, our cultures and ourselves.  And that was always the take-away message I got from Bourdain’s programs. Watching him try exotic international cuisine was intriguing and seductive, but it always seemed like a metaphor for the real point he was trying to make.

We’re all connected.

Sorry if that’s a little woo-woo for ya, but after ten years of community-based social work, I know it in my bones to be true. Over the years I’ve had conversations with hundreds of people who are by nearly every measure different than myself, and the experience has changed my life. There have been people who walked in my office you’d think I’d have nothing in common with– people with cultural or educational or financial backgrounds that are completely opposite of mine, people with histories dealing drugs, or working in sex industries, or gang involvement– and yet–we always ALWAYS find similarities in the ways that we think or feel.

It’s not because I’m some enlightened, revolutionary person who can talk to anyone or just naturally get along with everyone. I’m not and I don’t. It’s because all people fundamentally want the same things out of life– something to do, someone to love, a sense of purpose, a feeling of safety. We’re all so much more similar than we are different. It’s been proven to me literally hundreds and hundreds of times.

In therapy, the connection doesn’t always happen right away. Some people are harder to engage in treatment than others, and like Bourdain, many times my way in has been with food. My friends and family all know I’m obsessed with food, and so do the majority of my clients at this point. If someone is having a particularly difficult time getting started in therapy, I’ll often ask my favorite back-pocket question: “How would you describe dinner at your house growing up?” because it opens up an entire world to discover. Who was at the table? Who was missing? Was there a table? What did your family eat? Who passed down the recipes? What is the culture that influenced the dishes? Who made the meal? Who served it? Was there enough?

Like Bourdain said (in his Parts Unknown episode on Queens)– when someone shows you what they eat, they’re showing you who they are, where they come from, what makes them happy.

Several of my clients shared their feelings about the two suicides in their sessions. One person scheduled an emergency visit because she found them so triggering. Recent violent events and the U.S.’s divisive political climate also have people anxious, disheartened and upset (myself included). One client very articulately expressed his worries for the future– that he’s disturbed by what he described as “a shift away from the community”, that people feel more isolated and alone, and aren’t engaging with one another kindly the way they should.

Then he said something that I think all the time: “People aren’t able to see how connected they really are, so they disconnect out of fear.”

Isn’t that so true?

***

I’m trying to find my voice in the bigger conversation about mental health. I’ve seen a ton of posts the last few weeks about reaching out for help, calling suicide-prevention hotlines, finding a psychiatrist or therapist, dropping the stigma and finding mental health services. This will likely not be a huge problem if you have private insurance, but if you don’t– if you have Medicaid or Medicare or will have to cover the costs on a sliding scale–pick up the phone and start dialing because let me tell you, these services are getting harder and harder for people to find, and it scares me. As a mental health professional, I don’t worry as much about stigma limiting people from finding treatment. I worry about the availability of services.

I work in a community mental health clinic and we are packed to the rafters. We have nearly 50 therapists on board, and need way more hands on deck. We do not have enough office space to accommodate our current patients; we often joke about needing to build another floor. The intake line never stops ringing. I have a roster of almost 65 people, frequently do ten sessions a day and am asked every week to squeeze in more. Plenty of clinics have closed (my previous counseling center closed down after 30 years when the building they were in went co-op). Many facilities have wait lists of two weeks, three weeks, a month. Our clinic finds space right away for everyone who calls for an appointment, but our staff is stretched tight. Most skilled therapists eventually go into private practice because you can determine your own pace and the pay is better. A month ago I stepped down from my role as a supervisor because keeping a watchful eye on my own clients while also being peripherally responsible for my seven supervisees’ massive caseloads was truly stressing me out.

We are in the midst of an enormous opioid crisis– people are literally dying trying to manage their pain–but just try to get someone into a detox. There is no “holding a bed” or “making a referral” for that process (not if they have Medicaid, anyway). You send them to the hospital at the crack of dawn because beds are first-come, first-served, and even then, there’s a good chance there isn’t one available. Try again tomorrow!

Hospitals are so full they sometimes release patients who are still manic. If clients relapse or decompensate, I say a prayer and amp up our session visits, knowing it could be months before I can effectively refer them to a higher level of treatment. Many times individuals who require intensive psychiatric care find themselves homeless or in prison. There are not enough long-term psychiatric treatment options available. The biggest psychiatric hospitals in this country are our jails.

And I’m talking about New York City. We have more mental health professionals and more resources than anyone. I cannot begin to fathom what it’s like to find services in small towns. It’s not nearly enough. It’s a very, very big problem.

Well, super!!! Thanks Jenn, for that uplifting message! Now what are we supposed to do?

Here are a few things:

ADVOCATE FOR REFORM: Admittedly, in social work school I was always more interested in clinical practice than policy, but now I see just how critical it is to see things from the macro perspective, not just the micro (I sound soooo social-worky right now)

*Join Mental Health America’s Advocacy Network to receive email alerts about upcoming national campaigns to protect America’s mental health through legislative advocacy.

* Connect with NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness, which provides mental health support to millions and leads important awareness campaigns like the #StigmaFree pledge and advocacy and lobbying efforts to help promote mental well-being across the nation.

GET INFORMED. There are so many amazing resources available on the internet providing coping tools and general information about mental illness.

*The Mighty: The Mighty is a terrific digital health community created to empower and connect people facing health challenges and disabilities. Their articles are informative and help decrease stigma around physical and mental illnesses.

*Mantherapy: Mantherapy uses a heavy dose of humor to help men learn skills for coping with trauma, depression, anxiety, anger and stress. This is a really wonderful resource.

*Jen_Wellness on Instagram: My grad school bestie has an amaaaaazing instagram account (that all my friends and family are now hooked on) where she shares insightful, helpful and beautifully written posts to help people gain important skills for grounding themselves and coping with life’s stressors. This is an account that should have a million followers.

*Resources when you can’t afford therapy

GET INVOLVED. Volunteer. Go to community-based events. So many people are so isolated. Volunteer at a senior center– especially one for LGBT seniors who are less likely to have children. Adopt a veteran, who might be isolated or in a hospital.

SEEK OUT COMMUNITY:  The highlight of my week is Wednesday from 12-1pm, when I run a support group for isolated adults. Everyone started out feeling anxious and uncomfortable talking to one another and for months it felt awkward as hell. But nearly three years in, members frequently call the group their “second family”. I try to teach them coping skills, but nowadays they’re too busy telling each other dirty jokes, planning lunch outings and howling with laughter to listen to me. Things get real and completely raw in that room, and I can’t express how powerful it is to watch them support, encourage, amuse and empower one another. People need each other. Check in with your people, meet new people, engage with people.

There’s a new yoga studio in my neighborhood that I keep meaning to check out called the Happie House, where they host free community potluck dinners every Friday night. How cool is that? Wouldn’t it be great if more businesses or even individuals pulled together events like this?

Can’t find it locally? Try checking in with The Big White Wall to connect with others virtually.

BE KIND TO EACH OTHER: Give others the benefit of the doubt. Reach out. Call. Hug. Shake hands. Make eye contact. When you’re checking out at the grocery store, take out your headphones and get off your phone, for fuck’s sake. Seems like no big deal, but I think maybe it is. We’re not seeing one another anymore. We’re all here together; let’s act like it.

Wave to your neighbors. Learn the name of the person who sells you your daily coffee.  Take care of yourself. Take care of others. Use your big strong heart to pour love on those around you and I’ll keep trying to do the same.

Jenn P.

30-something psychotherapist. Loves cooking, hosting parties, exploring new places. Texan by birth. New Yorker by choice. Likes to tell little stories. Pull up a chair; I'll tell you one.

Source: http://muchtomydelight.com/2018/07/thoughts-about-mental-health-and-a-call-for-community.html

[wheneverythingisgray]

I want to open up about this past year, in the context of my life, for the first time. I want to truly open up, without holding back any of the details. However, I know that I can’t do that. I can’t do that because I’m going to share this publicly, and to be honest there’s a lot of things that go on in my head that I can’t even admit to myself, let alone people that I actually know. But, If you’re reading this please know that this is a good thing. As dark as some of my thoughts may seem, as bad as things look, sharing my feelings is a good sign. It means that I’m willing to talk about it. And, if you choose to read this please know that I am not asking for advice. Please do not tell me to go to a counselor, even if you mean the best by it. Please keep in mind that these are my personal thoughts that I am choosing to share because I want to get them out for my own sake. 

Now that that’s been said, if family members are reading this, I want you to know that I don’t blame any of you for this. Every story has more than one side, and your stories do as well. I’m just telling things from my perspective. If you choose to read this and you know me personally, I would prefer that you use your discretion in bringing this up to me. It’s hard enough to type it out, let alone talk about it in person or under interrogation by people that I know.

Now then, I think I can start.

A lot of you already know that I’ve had a bit of a rough upbringing. I moved a lot, went a few years living without my parents around, had a lot of responsibilities thrust on me as a child, etc. I know what you’re thinking, even if you don’t want to admit it...that people have had it worse. People have lost their parents. I know this. But try to imagine a kid who’s already genetically predisposed to mental illness and addiction who’s essentially alone at 12-13, who’s been left by both of her parents, and who has been ripped out of the only home she knew for the past 10 years. Imagine being 6-7 years old and having a classmate draw a picture of you being shot by a laser, throwing up, and dying. Imagine having boys ask you out as a joke or on a dare. Imagine that causing so much trauma that even now when someone compliments you or asks you on a date you wonder if it’s a joke. It’s a lot for a fucking child to deal with. And then to top it off, I’ve been told that it’s not real bullying because I wasn’t physically harmed. But emotional harm can sting just as bad.

I finally got out of that. I got to live with one of my parents. I went to a decent school where I wasn’t bullied. And then that parent relapsed and started to drink again. And then that parent was gone again and I was, essentially, alone again. While that parent was in rehab I was living with their partner, someone who I had known since I was a kid. But... they were hardly ever home. I was 14-15 years old and I was alone, constantly. I’d spend hours in my room by myself. We’d use coupons to get McDonalds for our meals, or we’d go to the food bank. There’s nothing wrong with needing help, everyone would say, and I know that there isn’t. I wasn’t ashamed at it. I was scared. I was scared of why we had to live on a week to week basis. And I was lonely. So I started to hurt myself.

Long story short, I ended up going to a boarding school. I received a diagnosis of major depression and help with my mental illness. I was started on medication. I was hospitalized briefly for suicidal thoughts, but that experience really helped me and when I came out of the hospital I felt better than I had in a long time. But I was told that I couldn’t tell any of my friends why I was in the hospital. I had to tell them I was sick. None of them could know that I was depressed and suicidal. Of course, I told some of them anyways, but imagine how that felt? Imagine being told that your illness was a dirty secret that you had to keep hidden. Now there were some reasonable thoughts behind this rule, such as not wanting to trigger other people. However, the fact that I couldn’t tell even my closest friends? That made me feel like I should be ashamed.

And then I was better. For awhile. Until an adult at the school made my life a living hell. I wish he could read this so he knew just what he did to me. He thought he was helping me by giving me a hard time. What he doesn’t know is that his emotional abuse triggered me into relapsing. And yes, that’s what it was, Mister. It was emotional abuse. You told me I was self-absorbed and that I didn’t think about anyone but myself, just like the little voice inside my head told me. You told me that I used my depression as an excuse, just like that voice did. You yelled at me until I cried and started to hyperventilate. Even when I tried so hard to do good, you didn’t care about my intention. And then when you broke me down into a sobbing mess you wouldn’t even let me call my father. No, you took me into your office and criticized me some more and then wouldn’t let me call him unless you were there listening to the conversation. Then there was my journal, you know, the one that I used to write letters back and forth with my boyfriend? You overheard me having an anxiety attack about how it had been taken by you, so what did you do? You called me into your office and flipped through our private conversations to teach me a lesson about sharing secrets with boys. Did you know that those secrets I was worried you would read were about my self-harm? Did you know that those fucking secrets were me opening up to my first love about how much I hated myself? Did you know how TERRIFIED you made me to ever write down my thoughts? One time, after you “disciplined me” I went to clean my room and ended up climbing into my wardrobe and shutting the door so that I could sit in the quiet dark by myself for a little while. One time I scratched my legs, arms, and stomach until I was red and raw. 

You might sit there and pat your back and think that you did good for all those girls, but you did not do good for me. You abused me. Why do you think I never came back to visit you? I came back once and hardly spoke at all because just being in that house gave me a stomach ache and made me shake. To this fucking day I think of YOUR voice when I start to hate myself. I think of all of the things you said to me. 

I don’t blame anyone for this illness I have, but I do blame you for abusing your position of power over me. 

Once I left that house, things were good for awhile. I’ve always had ups and downs, but never any really low points...until this past year.

This year I lost two of the most important people in my life. I lost a mother figure to cancer and it tore me apart. But I also lost one of my biological parents to their addiction, in a sense. They’re alive and sober now, but this past year they haven’t been themself. Between all the drinking and coping with their grief at home, I haven’t had much time to focus on my own feelings. So I’ve bottled them up. But here it goes:

I feel sick when I think about you saying you would disown me. I know you were drunk, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

I feel sick when I think about the fact that I wasn’t there for my mother figure in her last few days. I avoided it because I was scared, but she was always there for me and I wasn’t there for her.

I feel sick when I think about the fact you called me the weak one- that I’m the weak daughter. 

I feel sad because I feel like I’ve lost bonds that used to help me through my darkest times. 

And I’m sad because I can’t just be honest and cry without being told that I’m not trying hard enough because I’m not seeking counseling. 

And I’m fucking sad because I can’t even be completely open here because I’m afraid of what people will say.

I shake when I’m anxious now. My entire fucking body shakes. 

I am so drained. Half of the time I just want to get up and leave. I just want to go somewhere else and disconnect from everybody in my life (save a few close friends). And to be honest? I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m going to do once I graduate. I’m going to get some money together and I’m going to take a flight somewhere else and just start fucking walking. Because I’ve seen people work all of their lives and never get a damn thing from it. I’ve seen some of the best people go through the worst things and it’s not fucking fair, but that’s just how it is, right? So why do we keep sticking to this routine like it’s going to change anything? So why should I stay and get a job in this place I don’t like so that I can gain skills to do another job that I don’t like until I have the experience to do a job I sort of like, only to realize that once I’m there all I have left is to keep doing the same thing for the rest of my life? Is this cycle of being drained and then moderately happy all I have to look forward to? I don’t think so. I don’t hope so. 

This year doesn’t have a light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. Things are still shit. But I also learned this year that life makes me unhappy enough as it is, so there’s no point in making myself unhappy too. I switched my major because I realized that I was forcing myself to do something I thought was practical even though I hated it. I won’t force myself to live a life I hate either. Back in that school I learned that you have to “fake it to make it”, but now I see that’s just bullshit. We tell ourselves that but then we go our whole lives and we never stop faking it. I faked it through high school, I tried to fake it through a major I hated, but I won’t do that for the rest of my life. I’m just going to make it. I don’t know how, but I will. 

Funny how something that started off so negatively can end so positively. I only hope my life follows the same pattern.

[petewright]

Can I Have a Future Worth Getting Excited About?

Can I have a future with getting excited about? Perhaps you find yourself thinking about the future every so often at the moment - dreaming about life post COVID-19? We all have hopes for the future and by the same token we all have fears and anxieties.

How would you fill in the blank in this sentence: The future is _____________? 

Perhaps some of the common responses would be ‘uncertain, scary, unknown, in God's hands…or even the future is what you make it.’ The truth is that thinking about the future can be a little bit depressing - we live in precarious and fragile times and it often feels like no-one really knows what is going to happen next; everyone is groping for the wall and so the future can feel very much up in the air. 

Against that backdrop, I want to suggest that if you are a Christian then your future is incredibly bright. The hope of Christianity is that you DO have a future worth getting excited about. Specifically, the Bible teaches that if you have Jesus, then your future is your own resurrection like His.

One of the amazing truths of the gospel is that God holds out before us a future that only Jesus deserves. In the gospel - you don’t have to deserve your future - Jesus has done all of the deserving FOR you. And so Jesus offers us a future that nothing in this world can destroy; He offers us a future both that this world cannot give us and one that this world cannot take away from us. The Christian life, then, is as big, glorious, rugged, durable and immortal as the resurrection of Jesus. 

In Luke 24 we get a glimpse into what our future, resurrected selves will be like and as such gives us the hope of an exciting future.  

Context here - this is after the resurrection of Jesus. The 11 disciples remaining are in Jerusalem and they are terrified - their leader has been brutally and publicly executed and they’re worried that they might be next. Some of them have seen the empty tomb at this point but none of them have seen the risen Jesus and so they don’t really know exactly what is going on. Jesus meanwhile has appeared to two of his wider group of followers on the Emmaus Road - and they in turn have now told the 11 that Jesus really has risen from the dead. 

So put yourself for a moment in the shoes of these 11 men. Just over a week earlier they entered Jerusalem as a group of 13 - Jesus was very much alive, Judas was still part of the group - all eating together, joking together, praying together. A week later, you have witnessed the death of your master and you have become aware of the death of Judas. It makes you wonder how these guys would finish that sentence: The future is __________ (pretty bleak here it seems). 

A few things to observe from these verses. Notice first of all the reality of the resurrection. In v36 Luke very clearly points out that it is the real Jesus standing there in their midst. They are not hallucinating - it is Jesus HIMSELF who is there. Luke, the one who records all of this for us, is a doctor by trade - he has researched these things meticulously for us, he is not just making it all up. There is no sense in the text that the disciples are imagining things here - Jesus really had been dead and now he really is alive and standing before them. If you’re not yet a Christian then this is one of the key truths about the Christian faith that you have to come to terms with - the central claim of the New Testament is that resurrection of Jesus is the foundation upon which Christianity stands or falls. Luke here is absolutely clear about the reality of the resurrection of Jesus.   

Also - notice that Jesus isn’t mad at his disciples. What’s his greeting in v36? It’s ‘Peace be with you.’ So here is the resurrected Christ standing before them - He is not physically harmed, nor is he psychologically damaged at the emotional betrayal he has experienced. HE is at peace. He doesn’t come to give them an earful, He doesn’t come to give them their comeuppance, He doesn’t even come to give them feedback on their performance as disciples! He comes to bring them HIS peace. Maybe you believe that Jesus would despise you or reject you or at the very least be disappointed in you; give you some areas for improvement, perhaps. That isn’t what we see here. Rather, the real, risen Jesus comes to you and He offers you His peace. He is not out to make you feel guilty about your past; He is not out to deal with you reluctantly, He is not out to scold you. He is here offering you His peace.

If we are in Christ - if we have accepted the peace that He offers to us - then we can have a future worth getting excited about.

// His newness is your future

The New Testament writers are at great pains to show us the magnitude and importance of the resurrection of Jesus - it is the crescendo to which the gospels are all building and it is the central focus of the ministry of the early Church. And the NT writers want us to think about and understand the significance of the resurrection because it is THE HOPE of the Christian life. 

As we read the NT we are meant to see that Jesus is the prototype of a new humanity. In 1 Corinthians 15:20 Paul talks about Him as being the first fruits of a new creation. He is nothing less than a new Adam, heading up a new human race that God is recreating out of our deadness; and this new human race will live and work and play and rule in a new creation forever. 

So here is the resurrected Jesus - immortal, sinless, full of glory, completely indestructible. If we are in Christ and if He is the prototype of a new humanity - if He is the first fruits of a new creation - then what we see to be true of him will also one day be true of us. The bible says elsewhere in 1 John 3:2: 

Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.

What an incredible thought - we will see the risen Jesus but not only will we see Him we will be like Him. Now we will not be divine - we won’t be like Him in that sense - but we will become immortal, sinless, glorious and indestructible. 

His newness is YOUR FUTURE. Imagine an immortal, sinless, glorious and indestructible you. If you’re in Christ then this is what God has in store for your future - He has not made you for mediocrity. However, in the new creation, nothing about you will be mediocre. You will be magnificent; because God has created you for eternal, resurrected magnificence. 

Lets think of some of the implications of this; about why this means we can have a future worth getting excited about… 

Imagine a future you where you are sinless; a future you with all of the sin and selfishness completely rinsed out of you. Imagine a future you that is never angry or short tempered. Imagine a future you that is never rude or insensitive. Imagine a future you without any sexual lusts; a future you that is never greedy for more money and more stuff; a future you that is never lazy; a future you that never lies; a future you that is never paralysed by guilt and shame.  

Or what about a future without pain and suffering. Imagine a world in which you are incapable of suffering. Imagine a future you with no pain when you go to bed at night or wake up in the morning. Imagine a future you with no pandemics, no cancerous cells, no more having to organise your life around hospital appointments, no more counting out the tablets every meal time. Imagine a world with no more death - no more unexpected phone calls or messages at all hours of the night, no more long goodbyes, no more funerals to go to and no more graves to visit. Imagine a future you that never struggles with your mental health; no more trips to the GP or counselling sessions, no more battles with depression, no more having to cover up the scars on your arms, no more of the darkness of just wrestling with your own thoughts.

 Imagine a future where your relationships are completely perfect. No tension when you walk into the office or staff room. No sick to your stomach feeling when you know you’re going to see a certain person. No more sleepless nights worrying about what you have said or what was left unsaid. No more arguments, no more fights, no more abuse, no more awkwardness and perhaps best of all no more loneliness. 

Imagine a future you free from anxiety. It’s interesting in the gospel accounts Jesus feels the anxiety and stress of this world before his death. He weeps at the tomb of Lazarus, he sweats blood in the garden of Gethsemane - his soul is trouble to the point of death. He feels the intensity of life in this fallen world. But after the resurrection there is no hint of any such anxiety. He is stress free, poised and calm even in the midst of ongoing volatility and uncertainty.

The point is that because of Jesus’ resurrection we have a future that is absolutely worth getting excited about. 

Perhaps you’re really struggling at the moment. Life is hard and there might be any number of reasons as to why you are feeling the brunt of that in these days. If you’re a Christian then please be encouraged by this picture in Luke 24 - know that your current troubles are momentary and that because of Jesus your future is incredibly bright. And if you’re struggling and you’re not a Christian - then the risen Jesus says to you that this future can actually be your future. 

So how do we attain it?

// How to have this future

Again Luke 24 gives us the answer to this question. I find it striking here what Jesus is eager to show the disciples. They are startled and frightened and v38 Jesus says to them: 

“Why are you troubled, and why do doubts rise in your minds? 39 Look at my hands and my feet. It is I myself! Touch me and see; a ghost does not have flesh and bones, as you see I have.”

  We need to see that Jesus is not asking us to follow his example so that we can enjoy the new creation. He is not waiting for us to prove to him that we are good followers before telling us that we have a future worth getting excited about. He shows us his scars. And in doing so he shows us that He has made a way for us to have this future we have been thinking about. He bore in his body on the cross the punishment that we deserve for our sins and betrayal and those scars prove to us that He really does love us at our absolute worst. And so he invites us to look at his hands and then to reach out with the empty hands of faith and lay hold of Him and have him for ourselves. As we do that, we can have with the hope of a glorious and amazing exciting future that is very much worth getting excited about.

[little-earth-mother]

Aftershocks (Birth Trauma + Postpartum Depression)

Disclaimer. I speak a lot in this piece about Freddy’s father. I think it’s important that I am transparent about what happened and the way I felt at that time, but I don’t blame him for this time period. People can change, and if given the chance, they do. If you have followed my life for a while, you know that I have not shared almost any of this story publicly. In fact, I lied about a lot of it. I lied about the support I received. I did not speak on how challenging being in the NICU with Freddy was for me. I did not share the details of my postpartum depression. But there are people who will be able to relate to this story, and for that reason (and for my own closure), I need to share it honestly.

My son’s birth was almost fairytale quality, from a physical point of view.

I had him at a birthing center, with a midwife and a doula, and he was born in the water. Labor for him was something I felt totally capable of handling, and I even cracked a joke while he was crowning. (I sang Burning Ring of Fire. Everyone laughed. Thanks, I’ll be here all week.)

My partner at the time was struggling with some emotional things. Sober for three years, temptation and a lack of self-love were plaguing him.

He slept through a large part of my 15 hour labor, in a bed in the same room.

When Freddy was being born, he burst into tears, overwhelmed with guilt that we were “bringing a child into this fucked up world.” I was still stuck in an old pattern of never speaking my needs, and I remember being upset in that moment, that after the lack of support all the attention was being drawn to him in this moment of total life change for both of us.

Freddy was born, and we got into bed to rest. His breathing was not slowing down, so we decided to keep an eye on that. It isn’t uncommon for some babies to take just a little bit longer to slow down.

In order to be discharged from the birthing center, I would need to get out of bed and urinate and before I could leave. I got up and walked the (incredibly short) walk to the bathroom. My ears started to ring. My midwives were right along side me the whole time. I sat down on the toilet, and heard my midwife calling my name. I felt like I couldn’t answer. It was challenging to breathe. I started to see tunnel vision, which - side note - if it’s never happened to you, it truly does look like tunnels, ha. My midwife asked me if I was about to pass out. It was all I could do to let out a feeble “yes” from my lips, and as I was going out, I heard my midwife tell the assistant midwife to grab the peppermint oil.

I was out for mere seconds, and I came to smelling peppermint. That’s interesting, because they hadn’t had time to go get it. My brain was like, “Oh, peppermint? Yeah we know what that smells like. Initiate placebo!!!”

Plus side to passing out on the toilet? I peed while I was passed out, and avoided the apparently very painful first postpartum piss.

I tried to stand up, but felt myself becoming weak again. I laid down on the bathroom floor, unable to get up. My mother had gone to pick up my postpartum meal (mac + cheese from Noodles), and I ate that. I drank a metric fuckton of water. It was maybe 45 minutes? I tried to get up again, and once again my heart started beating wildly in my chest, and I began to fade. This time, I laid on the floor weeping. My midwives let me know that Freddy’s breathing had not slowed down, and it had become clear that he would need to transfer to the hospital. “And so do you.”

I was horrified.

I went with a birthing center for a lot of reasons. One of them certainly being that hospitals make me very uncomfortable. I read Ina May Gaskin’s book Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth, and that was it. I was confident that I didn’t want any drugs. I knew I wanted a water birth. I made an enormous playlist filled with music I loved and that I knew would help distract me. I believed that I could mentally “stay above” the pain of the contractions. So then, to get through the birth only to have to be transferred to the hospital? And not only me, but my child as well? My brand new child that I had hardly had time to acquaint myself with? My eyes are filled with tears right now, so I’m sure you can guess how that made me feel. Afraid. Unequipped to handle it. And like a failure. How could I not get up off the floor? How could I not go to my child?

Two ambulances came. Freddy’s father rode with him in one. Then some men came into the bathroom and lifted me onto a stretcher. One of the gentlemen was about my age, and was very in tune with my emotional state. He got down on my level and asked me if this was my first ride in an ambulance. “Yes.” He promised he would be with me every step of the way, and that the ride to the hospital was just a quick 5 minutes. I appreciated his kindness. The feeling behind his words was comforting, and it calmed me enough that I didn’t burst out into tears at that moment.

I have no memory of actually being in the ambulance. Nor of getting off. My next memories are possibly not in order. I don’t remember what came first, or second. Or third. It is a blur.

I was in the hospital, in a room with a male doctor who had an attitude. He clearly thought going with a birthing center wasn’t an awesome idea. He was throwing around terms like pulmonary embolism (blood clot in the lung) seemingly just to frighten me.  

Freddy’s father asked if it was okay that he went home. He was feeling tired and feeling like there was nothing he could do at the hospital. I said yes. I did not feel yes. I should have told him to stay.

I was with my midwife. She is an actual angel - she didn’t need to stay at the hospital as long as she did, but she did. I was in a wheelchair because I still could not stand without nearing pass-out. She hugged me and comforted me as my brand new baby had to get a lumbar puncture. Up until that point I hadn’t cried, but I dissolved into tears. I was so worried. And so confused. I had hardly seen him since we arrived at the hospital.

They had found fluid in his lungs and wanted to rule out some things. He went to the NICU and I went to a separate room overnight for intravenous fluids, food, and observation. If all went well, I would be discharged the following day, and could stay in the room with Freddy.

There was nothing wrong with me.

In wondering and exploring since then, I have come up with the following possible conclusions:

My body simply takes longer to recover from large physical events. This would make sense, because I am super sensitive to even the most basic of painkillers. My body is a very precise ecosystem.

The undeniable connection between mother and baby. Something was not right with my baby, so my body started to act up to try to draw attention to that. We were synched.

The next day, I was able to be in Freddy’s room. I stayed there for his duration in the NICU. I don’t remember how long we had to stay, but it was somewhere between one week and two. That, too, is mostly a blur. I remember that he was hooked up to so many things, and the nurses would bring him to me to breastfeed. I was terrified to take him from one breast and move him over to the other. Some of the nurses were not patient about that.

A friend set up a Meal Train for me. I was alone at the hospital, and I think if she hadn’t done that, I likely wouldn’t have eaten. I was devoid. I was not in my body.

I know that we were discharged. I saw the photos. I remember the drive home because Freddy’s father was riddled with anxiety about the carseat being right - because it was snowing.

I remember being home, holding Freddy in the rocking chair, watching The Muppet Christmas Carol on repeat. My favorite movie.

I remember sleeping alone with him in the bedroom.

I was getting a maximum of two hours of sleep a night. And I wasn’t myself. During the daytime, I was able to mostly be fine. I think? It’s like a chunk of time is missing from my life. A month where I was not actually cognizant of anything that was happening, save for a few moments here and there. I see myself in pictures from that time, and I see that I was alive, and I was smiling, and Freddy was there and looked very cute and sweet. But I don’t actually remember it.

I remember that he used to like to be rocked quickly. He liked that well into toddlerhood. I also remember being in the dark bedroom with a child who hadn’t slept for hours and a me who hadn’t slept at all. I had just clicked back into reality after I had been rocking him too quickly and too hard. I was mortified to know that I had been doing this - to see for a second just how much I was on the verge of being a danger to my own child. I sobbed and apologized to this tiny, clearly afraid little being. And to feel all at once so detached from him and so much love for him - it was so confusing. I felt an intense desire to protect and provide, but also an overwhelming feeling of “this child doesn’t belong to me. Does he?”

My saving grace came in the form of a visit from my mother, about a month after Freddy was born. She took one look at me and told me that I was coming home with her. It was mid-December. I agreed to go. I was expecting some kind of expression of sadness from my partner at the time - after all, his new little family would be away for the Christmas holiday. But instead, he told me he was looking forward to a chance to finally sleep. I did not say a word.

I stayed with my mother for several weeks. She took Freddy and made me/let me sleep. The more I caught up on sleep, the more I remembered who I was. I got into a more consistent breastfeeding + self-feeding schedule. I climbed back out with her help, and I was very lucky to have her visit and know me well enough to know I wasn’t well.

I wasn’t able to feel truly, actually bonded to my son until maybe 5 months.

I spent a lot of time riddled with guilt over those lost weeks. All that my son had to endure from moment one until he was a few months old - in some way, emotionally, he had to be affected. He is in play therapy right now, because I refuse to be anything but proactive about his mental and emotional health. I am fiercely loving and affirming of his existence and how wanted he is.

Know the signs of postpartum depression and postpartum psychosis. I have bolded the ones I experienced.

Postpartum depression signs and symptoms may include:

Depressed mood or severe mood swings

Excessive crying

Difficulty bonding with your baby

Withdrawing from family and friends

Loss of appetite or eating much more than usual

Inability to sleep (insomnia) or sleeping too much

Overwhelming fatigue or loss of energy

Reduced interest and pleasure in activities you used to enjoy

Intense irritability and anger

Fear that you're not a good mother

Hopelessness

Feelings of worthlessness, shame, guilt or inadequacy

Diminished ability to think clearly, concentrate or make decisions

Restlessness

Severe anxiety and panic attacks

Thoughts of harming yourself or your baby

Recurrent thoughts of death or suicide

Postpartum psychosis

With postpartum psychosis — a rare condition that typically develops within the first week after delivery — the signs and symptoms are severe. Signs and symptoms may include:

Confusion and disorientation

Obsessive thoughts about your baby

Hallucinations and delusions

Sleep disturbances

Excessive energy and agitation

Paranoia

Attempts to harm yourself or your baby

Another thing to note: new fathers can also experience postpartum depression.

“Fathers who are young, have a history of depression, experience relationship problems or are struggling financially are most at risk of postpartum depression. Postpartum depression in fathers ― sometimes called paternal postpartum depression ― can have the same negative effect on partner relationships and child development as postpartum depression in mothers can.”

(source for medical info)

I didn’t know I had postpartum depression.

I didn’t know what to look for, or that I even should have been looking for something. At every postpartum check I affirmed that I was fine, when I was anything but. If you take anything from this post, please check on those in your life that have had children.

[buttercreamfrostedmurdercake]

I’m stuck in a cycle of anxiety, pain and depression...

I’m venting about my severe mental illness, feel free to skip. I’m just trying to express my frustration at the moment. (TW: self-harm, drug use, suicidal thoughts)

I need my diazepam (aka Valium) to fight panic attacks on bad days. It keeps me from pacing until I have blisters on my feet, picking and plucking until I’m bleeding, mutilating myself with nail clippers, scissors and razor blades. Combined with a muscle relaxer, it’s especially effective at keeping me slow and comfortable in bed until the trigger or hormone spike or whatever passes (basically a chemical restraint). I voluntarily drug myself into a useless blob at least once a week to keep from harming myself or inflicting my issues on my caretaker (mom) more than necessary.

But the side effects make things even worse. I get vertigo, so I’m nauseous and dizzy just sitting here typing - walking is a bitch and trying to clean or cook is a joke - I spend hours or days without food because I can’t manage the process of assembling a meal without getting so dizzy I pass out/fall down and can’t get off the ground unaided). I get sound sensitivity that is so bad it’s difficult to describe to people who haven’t experienced it (anyone with migraines - it’s that sound sensitivity) and it ‘s so painful I cry and it furthers my anxiety. I basically live in gun-range ear muffs, including while I sleep. Sometimes I use ear plugs and muffs which hurts in its own way, but nothing like a bad sound day. Just talking or chewing something with a crunch hurts from the noise inside my own head. 

It’s depressing being stuck in a dark, low-stimulation space, alone, with no one to talk to and even the clicking of the keyboard or chewing gum is physically painful. It affects my executive functioning, my balance and my reaction times so I can’t drive or go for walks. I’m stuck in my house and can’t even interact with my pets because of the noise that they naturally make.

There’s also some evidence that the substance itself (benzos) could be furthering my depression. But I haven’t found anything else that works the same that isn’t illegal. Cannabis has recently been legalized in my state and very very very low doses of THC with lots of CBD helps soothe me without triggering my anxiety, but it doesn’t touch my panic attacks or help depression (and there’s evidence it could be making me worse too - yay).

But you know what does work? Opioids. I’ve taken them on and off for almost 20 years and learned in the beginning that I was self-medicating my mental illness into something functional. The valium affects my brain like alcohol does (GABA A/B), so that really is just repeating my stint as a functional alcoholic (not addicted, but needing to drink each night to get through the next day - once I quit that job I stopped drinking without an issue). But not one single anti-depression med has helped me function, let alone with so few side effects like tramadol or hydrocodone. Zoloft literally ruined my life and changed my personality, Welbutrin put me in a mental hospital and gave me a whole host of new phobias about ordinary objects, and the others either made me destructively anxious or endlessly sleepy while killing my will to do anything but cry.

I spent almost 5 years succeeding in college (full-time 3.5gpa with part-time work that I won awards for) fighting back against my illness because of the availability of pharma-quality low-dose opioids. But I lost my trusted supplier and my whole world fell apart. Not because I was addicted, the withdrawals were over in a few days and I didn’t crave the pills, but having them felt the same as having my thyroid supplements - I’m a real person on them, I can get out of bed and face the world without suffocating under a wet blanket of mental and physical exhaustion.

I’ve spent the last 5 years locked in my home, losing against the effects of my illness. Now with the addiction-panic, I can’t even talk to my psych about what I experienced to see if there’s an alternative for people like me. And I sure as hell can’t afford a cycle of ketamine treatments, let alone a trial one (don’t let the miracle stories fool you, the studies are saying it’s a temporary effect on mood, you need repeated applications - though the LSD trial are very promising especially for PTSD and cPTSD). 

I’ve honestly, truly, thought about picking up street heroin as an alternative. You can smoke it and, even if it’s adulterated, you’ll nod off before you get a lethal dose. After 5 years of being housebound with bouts of bedbound from my illness, after losing every single person in my life besides my mom, I would trade being a functional addict for being this - lonely, atrophied, dangerously uncoordinated, confused, always nauseous, pathetically terrified of open doors at night, voices in other rooms, and the door bell - thing that I am right now in a heartbeat.

Luckily (unluckily, who the fuck knows?), I’m so unbelievably poor and without resources that I couldn’t afford a single dime bag, even if I could find a dealer and drive there and back.

I hate my life so bad some days. I hate my life most days if I could handle thinking about it. I definitely hate my life today. I fought back against being suicidal because of my mom. So now she gets a drugged up blog who reads reddit/tumbr/ao3 in bed as their only daily activities, but at least I’m not hurting her or anyone else. I was going to have family, a career, a garden and a little writing hobby. But that’s all gone now, and there’s now way to get it back in my current state. When she’s gone, if things aren’t any different, I doubt I’ll survive it.

I want to get better. I would prefer to do it on my own. But hell, if prohibition ended, I would be popping percs and going out to meet with old friends an get a job and everything. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be better than this.