#and I can’t afford to sustain myself much less someone else

[ghostickle]

Love having to help hold everyone else’s lives together but the second I’m struggling and need help then I’m too needy and being a problem

[how2spell-sandwhich]

6, 7, 16, 19 for the aro asks

6. what are your favorite parts of being aro? being aro, and knowing that i am aro, gives me the freedom to live my life and be myself. there are phenomena in life, like marriage, lifelong commitment, kids, living with another person, etc, that i want no part of and never have. being aro helps me to understand that i can exercise autonomy in my life by saying no, by choosing not to take part in those things if they’ll just make my life sadder, to allow my life to be my own and not someone else’s. the allos tend to get paired off, and i used to live in fear that one day my life would be me coming home to a husband and kids, because that’s the pattern i see in people most often. being aro and knowing it means i don’t have to submit to that. i have a friend who was once terrified that the friend group would abandon each other once we’ve all paired off, not knowing that two of us would find out we’re aro. i didn’t understand it at the time, because i kinda just thought my experience was standard and i was none the wiser that there was a whole ass other kind of attraction that i don’t even experience, i kinda thought that what i was experiencing was romantic attraction, but it wasn’t - it was mostly just caring about people, because of the amatonormative nonsense with people equating love to romance i got it mixed up, and no more than twice, it was sexual attraction. but that’s not the point. being aro allows me to experience fuller human relationships, because i have no desire to skedaddle away from any other kind of relationship in favor of a romance. it allows me to live my life to the fullest, and it’s who i am, and i think that’s what i like the most.

7. my least favorite part of being aromantic? the societal pressure to marry. you get massive raises at work just for being married. you pay less in taxes. supermarkets don’t sell fresh food in servings for one, they sell it in packages to feed a family, and if you’re only feeding yourself, you can’t afford it because it costs so much to buy that much food. people in charge of housing prefer couples and charge less rent to couples. being single has been made to be inaccessible, and it truly is a social issue. also, sometimes, i wish i could experience a desire for romance, so that i can marry a rich person and just not have to deal with being a servant to capitalism, which is what my family wants for me, because they know my physical health will never hold up for a 30-40 hour workweek and no one involved wants to see me sustain the physical damage my parents did. i’m aro but i’m also a disabled person trying to survive, and constantly being told i won’t have to fight tooth and nail for the right to life if i just go marry into the upper or upper middle class makes it hard, especially when they tell me that the secret reason they sent me to college and helped pay for it was so i could marry. why anyone would go into student debt to acquire a partner is beyond me, and if that was the reason to be there i wouldn’t have gone.

16. my views on romance? i’m romance repulsed but not romance negative. like, if it makes you happy, and your partner is decent, i’m happy for you. but i don’t want it in my life, it sounds miserable and annoying.

19. is there a song that’s very aromantic to me? i have been Looking for one if you’ve found one Please let me know

[defyinggod]

SUSTAINABILITY HACKS THAT ANYONE CAN DO EASILY

- stop using paper towels. buy a swedish dishcloth instead and/or un-paper towels or just cut up old clothing to make rags if you can’t afford to buy those

- stop purchasing most cleaning products! i rarely buy cleaning products anymore. what i do is i dilute 3 parts water and 1 part white vinegar and use that to clean most of my surfaces and floors and even the sink, toilet, and shower! i usually put that in a spray bottle and it makes life easier

- stop buying most things new, unless its absolutely essential: things like toothbrush, socks, and underwear usually have to be bought new and my advice for you is choose a more sustainable option meaning maybe invest in higher quality socks and undergarments that last longer, buy from a company that uses sustainable materials and pays their workers a living wage, etc. Bamboo toothbrushes are also an option, they are much better for the earth. but the most important thing is to use what you already have first!

- buy things in bulk when/if possible. for example, i buy bar shampoo and conditioner as well as bar dish soap from a specific company i adore online. what i do is i usually stock up on these items and buy multiple at once to last me 6 months - 1 year instead of ordering multiple times continuously. buying things in bulk is often also cheaper -- especially items that are non perishable! it is less packaging waste a lot of the time and can be used to refill your containers for certain items. 

- if you need something specific, check facebook marketplace, thrift shops, depop, ebay, and see if you can find it secondhand first. even buying something brand new from a sustainable company isn’t always the most sustainable option. using something already made that someone else doesn’t need anymore is more sustainable than buying a brand new one

- do things digitally! send online invites, submit hw online (if its an option), buy digital copies of books instead of hardcopies, find required textbook PDFs online instead of buying the physical copy

- buy secondhand gifts! again, through thrift-shops or online, avoid one time gifts like balloons, maybe get a secondhand book from an online website or the thrift shop, if you know they collect (x) items, find them online if you can! or maybe they would appreciate a belt? perhaps a watch, or an antique clock? or even a nice pair of wool socks!

-invest in a bidet attachment. these can be attached to your current toilet and are around $40 online, and then you may even be able to install them yourself if you look at youtube videos (its not hard at all) or hire someone to install them! saves so much toilet paper

- FIX THINGS. REPAIR ITEMS AND CLOTHING. don’t throw things out when they’re broken or ripped. try fixing them first

- recycle your (worthless) electronics, you can do this at bestbuy, microcenter, and other places. things like smart watches that are dead, old/broken phones and computers, cords, reusable batteries etc. make sure to call ahead and ask if they will take that certain item -- my microcenter store takes everything except for very old monitors and tvs and lithium batteries

- SELL YOUR CLOTHES/OTHER ITEMS! did you know most of the things donated at thrift shops end up in a landfill anyway? if you have stuff worth selling, you should sell them! if they aren’t worth selling, try seeing if a friend or family member would like them for free. posting on fb marketplace for free can also work -- sometimes people will come pick it up on the same day! if all else fails, repurpose it into a rag for cleaning or something else!

- buy less overall. this is one sure way to be more sustainable. i care about each and every single item that i own and before buying something else, i ask myself if i truly would want it or if its just an impulse buy. i’ve gotten to the point now after many years where upwards of 50% of my closet is thrifted/secondhand, but this did not happen overnight! 

[authoressofdarkness]

Under the Covers (Chapter 1)

“Do you really think there’s any way I’ll be able to be incognito for any amount of time? Aren’t you worried my ego will feel neglected from going unrecognized so long? Maybe I’ll blow my cover because I’m too desperate for attention.” “You’re not going to be going undercover. You’re going to be assisting our undercover agent.”

AO3 

Someone tell me why I do these things. I swear. Blame @itfeelssogoodmrstark. Now I’ve gotta go work on finals goddamnit-

Narcissistic.

“We need your help, Stark.”

“And why would I help you?”

Self-destructive.

“Because we need you to. And you want these assholes off the street just as bad as we do. You’re the only one in the position to make this mission happen.”

“I’m the only person you consider expendable, you mean. I put myself in danger all the time, so it’s okay for you to do it, too, right?”

Doesn’t play well with others.

“That’s not what I said.”

“And yet that’s what you meant.”

A heavy sigh on the other end. “Hear whatever you’d like, I’m not going to argue with you. I need to know if you’re willing to do this or not, because you’ll need to meet your partner-“

“Partner? I thought I was too volatile to work with others. Besides, Iron Man doesn’t need a partner.”

“Well, we don’t need you as Iron Man. We need you as Tony Stark.”

Compulsive.

“And yet I remember hearing the exact opposite a few months ago. Funny how that works,” he snarks.

“What you do in that tin can isn’t what I need right now. We need something more subtle.”

“Subtle? What about me is subtle? Agent Romanov is the epitome of subtle. Even fooled me. Try her.”

Another sigh, then: “Not that subtle. We need the built-in status and resources that you have as your… distinguished self. That’s key to this mission, as is the partner. Now if you’re gonna ask questions, can you at least come in and debrief in person so I’m not wasting more of all of our time?”

And he has more questions, so he agrees. He’s nothing if not nosy. And it’ll be fun to string Fury along just long enough to get on his nerves even if he decides not to consult on this particular mission.

Consult, of course. That’s his job. He’s too much of a mess to be an Avenger. And that’s fine with him. He likes flying solo, doing things on his own terms, most of the time.

But he has agreed to consult on some cases. Partially because he owes Fury, and he doesn’t like owing people. He’d worked hard to get out of the debt of owing people after everything that happened with Obie. But he couldn’t deny Fury had saved his ass with the whole pallidum poisoning thing. He’d likely have died if left on his own.

And, well, partially because… yeah, maybe he has a bit of a hero complex. But something bothers him too much now about standing off to the side in any serious situation.

And these mutant drugs going around were certainly a serious situation. But he didn’t understand why blasting the drug lord to hell wasn’t going to be enough to handle it.

“So what’s the big idea, Fury?” he asks, a few hours later, as the elder man finally enters the conference room -- where they’d left him waiting for way longer than strictly necessary, he’s sure. “I don’t understand what the big hoopla is. Do you really think there’s any way I’ll be able to be incognito for any amount of time? Aren’t you worried my ego will feel neglected from going unrecognized so long? Maybe I’ll blow my cover because I’m too desperate for attention.” He bats his eyes at him, pulling a mock-sad face.

Fury doesn’t look amused. He drops a file down on the table in front of him. “You’re not going to be going undercover. You’re going to be assisting our undercover agent.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to do anything yet, so careful with all those orders, cyclops.” Tony sits up, dropping the facade in favor of reaching for the file. “What is this?”

“Case overview. Read it.”

“I already know as much about it as you do.” It’s true; he’d already been looking into this particular problem on his own before Fury had contacted him to ask him about consulting. Course, the fact that their interests were overlapping was about the only thing he knew so far, aside from what he’d figured out on his own, but Fury didn’t need to know that.

“Just read it, Stark.”

Tony does. He skims the file, frowning a little as he reads. Maybe they knew a bit more than he did, then.

The head of the operation, from what they could tell, was one Quentin Beck. Or at least, he was the highest part of the food chain that they knew of for now.

He was the man that Tony had landed on, as well. But SHIELD had more on the inner workings than he did. Some of the stock houses, the loading areas, some of the runners involved in the operation. More information about where Beck stayed, what social circles he ran in. He used to be a special effects coordinator, apparently, before he was swept into the life of crime. He had a background in technology and biochemical engineering. Interesting.  

His profile was even more interesting. It looked oddly similar to his, in some ways. Narcissist. Compulsive. Playboy. Doesn’t play well with others. Likes to be the center of attention. Craves power.

“Interesting profile. Let me guess, Romanov wrote it too?” Tony deadpans.

Fury narrows his good eye at him, taking the file back. “Ha-ha. Believe it or not, the similarities in your personalities are part of why we need you.”

“Why? You want me to make friends with him?”

Fury shakes his head. “Beck likes power. He craves attention. He’s smart, he’s sly, and he’s worked years to get to where he is in the food chain. He sees our agents coming from a mile away every time we try to send someone in. He knows who the moles are as soon as they poke their heads out. Two weeks ago, one of our agents went in as a fake buyer and never returned. We can’t afford to keep going like this. We’re getting nothing. We’re losing our people and countless more are dying in the streets because of the shit he’s selling.”

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.” Tony tilts his head. “I can’t go undercover. You don’t want me to go undercover, you don’t want me to be friends with him. Am I supposed to be your next buyer? You think he’d buy that? Or do you want me to offer him something? Because I don’t sell weapons anymore, Fury. Not even for you.”

“No weapons. Nothing like that.” Fury pauses. “The long and short is, right now, Beck is untouchable. We can’t get anyone in to get any information and no one is rolling, even the few we’ve managed to get ahold of. He’s funneling his drug money through legitimate businesses, so there’s no proof. He’s covering his tracks well. But he does have one weakness.” Fury pulls a photo out of the file and slaps it on the desk in front of him.

Tony’s eyes drop to it instinctively, and he feels his mouth go dry. It’s a boy -- a pretty boy. Springy, messy curls, Bambi eyes, pouty lips, the whole nine yards. The photo is just a headshot, but he has a feeling that he’s just as lithe and pretty the rest of the way down as he is from the top.

But he’s also young. Obviously young. Mid-twenties, at the most, although he’s struggling to believe that he’s even that old.

He forces himself to swallow, lifting his eyes back to Fury. “Is that his kid?”

Fury barks out a laugh. “No. Not his kid.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not yet.”

That’s enough to jolt him back to his senses. Tony refocuses, raising an eyebrow. “Yet?” He doesn’t like the sound of this already.

“This is where your similarities come in handy, Stark.” Fury picks up the photo. “Beck has a penchant for pretty young things. Particularly taken pretty young things.”

“That’s sick.”

“That feeds his ego. He likes seducing them. He likes to play sugar daddy for them -- drugs or clothes or money or whatever it is they want in exchange for them making him look good and feel powerful. It’s a game to him. But he only likes high-quality things. The more powerful the men he takes them from, the better.”

“So?”

“So… we need to give him someone powerful to take him from.”

It hits him like a ton of bricks.

This is where your similarities come in handy.

Playboy.

“You can’t be serious. How old is he, twelve? I mean, really-”

“He’s twenty-three-”

“-he’s practically still in diapers. Probably still in school. Forcing him to play lap dog to someone like Beck is just… wrong.”

Fury sighs. “No one is forcing him to do anything, Stark. He knows what’s involved in the mission. I assure you no one will be making him do anything he doesn’t want to do. And he’s not still in diapers. He has a Bachelor’s in Biochemistry and is working on his Master’s.”

Tony blinks. “At twenty-three?”

“It happens. Look at you.”

Look at you.

Yeah, sure, but he’s never met anyone else near close to his level. And look at the amount of emotional damage he sustained from it.

“Fair,” is all he says aloud. “But he’s got so much potential. Surely he’s got better — less dangerous, less dehumanizing — offers. What’s he doing mixed up with SHIELD?”

“That’s for he and I to know and you to not worry about,” Fury says shortly. “All we need from you is to cohabitate and pretend to be together long enough to get Peter inside and for us to see this mission through. Are you going to do it or not?”

“Hold on, back up a sec. Cohabitate? You’re gonna make the poor kid move in with me, too?” Not that he has any qualms about giving the kid a place to live, per se — God knows he has more than enough for both of them. The space, the money, the resources. But that means he actually has to live with him.

He hasn’t had a partner in ages, one night stand or otherwise. Since his capture, he’s plagued by nightmares too much to sleep like a normal person, and letting anyone see the arc reactor or get that close to him, physically, in general is just one big no.

He and Pepper had tried, but there was just too much between them. She had a company to run. He was busy being Iron Man. They had barely seen each other. And when they had seen each other, it was always just… fighting about something or the other. That he was too reckless. That he was too isolated. That he didn’t trust her, that he needed therapy, that the way he lives is unhealthy, that he missed this or that meeting, that he drinks too much, that he just hid too much stuff.  

She wanted to change him, and he couldn’t let her do it. He wasn’t ready. And part of him knows it’s stupid, unsustainable, unhealthy. But he’s not ready to face it all either. He still cares about her, of course, and she’s still the CEO of Stark Industries, and doing a damn good job at it. But the likelihood there’ll ever be a future there is slim to none. He knows that now.

Fury’s voice snaps him back to the present. “It has to look serious, Stark. He can’t just be a fling. Beck won’t take interest in that. We’ve already laid the groundwork for making him move in and making the whole shebang look believable. Now you just need to do your part. Let him stay with you at least a few nights a week, make a few public appearances together, and let him do his job. No one is saying you actually have to sleep with him -- although I admit I hadn’t expected you to seem so turned off from the idea.”

Tony doesn’t dignify that with an answer. “Are you sure this is the only option? Why can’t I just blast him into next week? Or you send Romanov in with her sweet talking to… I don’t know, poison his drink or something?”

Fury sighs. “We need to know what he knows. We need to know more about where the drugs are coming from. How. Why. Who’s involved. Everything. We only get one chance at this, Stark. You know how it works. He’s the highest person we know of that we have a chance of reaching. If he slips away, we’ll have to start over. We lose all our leads. More people die. This could give us everything we need to know. But he has to come to us. And the only way to get him to do that is bait.” He sets the picture back down on the table, jamming his finger into the middle of the kid’s forehead. “He’s fully prepared to do whatever it takes to do so. Are you, hero?”

Hero. It’s not said scathingly, exactly, but it’s clearly a challenge, all the same. A muscle in Tony’s jaw jumps before he forcefully unclenches it, letting out a breath. “So do I get to get his name before he moves in with me, or…?”

Fury smirks. He turns back to face the door he’d come through, raising his voice. “Parker!”

A moment later, the door opens again. This time, it’s the kid from the picture who enters.

He looks even more baby-faced in person. And yeah, he’s definitely just as lithe and gorgeous as Tony had imagined he would be. Great. Good to know.

He approaches the table they’re sitting at with short, fast strides, hands gripping the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder. He was already packed. They certainly banked on him saying yes, didn’t they?

He comes to a stop beside Fury, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stands there. “Hi!” he chirrups. “I’m Peter. Peter Parker. Big fan, by the way.”

Aaaand he’s a fanboy too. This just gets better and better.

“Tony Stark. But you knew that, I suppose.” He looks pointedly at Fury. “You’re going to send him undercover? You sure about this?” He just seems so… pure. Happy and outgoing and young and probably way, way too naive to be mixed up with SHIELD’s shenanigans.

“As sure as I was the first three times you asked.” Fury fixes him with one of his looks. “Are you gonna take him home or not?”

Take him home. Like he’s a puppy or something. Jesus.

Though puppy certainly wasn’t what Peter is thinking, if the way his cheeks color slightly is any indication. This kid is going to be the death of him, isn’t he?

“Yeah, I suppose so.” He stands, pushing the thoughts away. “You ready, kid?”

“All set, Mr. Stark.” Peter starts to make his way around the table, and Tony turns towards the door.

“You can’t do that,” Fury says, stopping them both in their tracks. “You’re gonna blow cover before you even establish it.”

Tony turns back to face him, exasperated. “We haven’t even left yet!”

“And you’re calling each other by formalities, walking with six feet of space between you, and letting him carry his own bag. Really, you’re not off to a great start.”

“What do you want me to do, hold his hand and shower him with kisses? We literally just met.”

Fury rolls his eye. “I know this is going to be hard for you, but don’t be so dramatic. You have to act like a normal, healthy couple. You don’t have to make out on the street, but you could walk beside the kid, for God’s sake.”

“I’m not normal or healthy anything. You should know that -- isn’t that what your agent said?”

Fury ignores him, standing up. He looks at Peter. “Better control your boyfriend, kid, before he blows your cover. I’ll call you when we’ve got a place for you to start.” With that, he turns on his heel and leaves.

They both stare at him as he leaves. It’s silent for a long moment before Peter turns around to face him, color still lingering slightly in his cheeks. “So, uh… ready to go, Mr.- uh… Tony?”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go, kid.” Tony lets out a breath and heads for the door, but at a slower pace this time, letting Peter fall into step with him. He opens the door for him, then follows him out and leads the way back to his car. This… this is going to be something, but he isn’t sure if fun is the right word for it.

What had he just gotten himself into?

Let me know if you want to be tagged! 

[revalise]

After the Sun [M] | 01

Pairing: Chrollo Lucilfer x Fem. OC

Genre: Romance and eventual smut

Rating: M

Words: 2500+

Notes: Huge thanks to Sky @pixiewombat for beta reading this chapter! 

All characters are humans unless otherwise stated in their description. Hence, Zazan is human in the story.

Masterlist | Prologue | 02

Chrollo Lucilfer gets everything he wants, when he wants-even if it means undergoing extreme measures. Nothing bothered him, until an aphrodite, Astra Gerber, appeared one night and stole from the infamous thief. In return that Chrollo doesn’t report her, he strikes a deal. But it could be more than what Astra bargained for. 

BOLD

“What do you mean your necklace was stolen?” Pakunoda eyed Chrollo carefully as he sat behind his desk at his penthouse, looking over the magnificent, illuminating lights of Yorknew City, while she stood in front of him.

“It just was stolen,” he deadpanned.

Pakunoda clicked her tongue. There was no way someone could steal from Chrollo—a bandit himself, and a good one at that.

She thought to herself for a moment. ‘Is he planning to steal the poor girl’s hatsu?’

Once, he had charmed the pants off of a girl who could write fortunes and stole her ability. Despite his obvious antics, he wasn’t found out, thanks to the girl’s inexperience. But when he managed to get a hold of how it should be done, he started doing it again and again. 

Pakunoda didn’t complain. Chrollo’s Bandit’s Secret was a trump card, not only for him, but for the rest of the group. When Chrollo noticed the drastic advantage the ‘strategy’ gave him, he started using it more often. To him, it felt like a shortcut.

And who would expect someone so sophisticated and pretty-boy looking?

She sighed and put the folder down on his desk.

Chrollo had asked Pakunoda to find the girl who had stolen his necklace. He remained vague about it, but knowing Chrollo, it might be something extremely important. 

He looked over the files, silently reading their contents, taking them in just as he consumed  knowledge from his ancient books. His fingers traced the letters of the name written in bold on one of the pages.

ASTRA BEATRIZ GERBER

Pakunoda gazed at him with suspicion. Meddling with this girl could endanger the nature of the group. She was nowhere near a simple girl, alright. The girl spelled trouble.

She was the illegitimate child of an acknowledged former lawyer, Martin Gerber, before he took over the Gerber family dynasty.  

This information wasn’t exactly kept a secret. It was silent gossip within the small circle of socialites and elites. Illegitimate children weren’t news to the circle. Three out of five families in the circle had a case of their own. But it so happened that the Gerber family was known to be conservative—faithful to their betrothed, or as painted by the media.

Nevertheless, it only took that mistake to have the head of the family, Rod Gerber,  wavering in his trust in Martin. To his dismay, this almost cost him the whole dynasty. Fortunately, Rod was a good man, unlike his son. To secure his position in becoming the next successor as the eldest, Martin had to keep the child and take her as his own.

It shamed Martin to do so, keeping an illegitimate of his own accord. Though his wife was noticeably against it, she had to agree if she wanted to be the wife of the very powerful man. Cleverly, she argued that it would bring discomfort to her family if the child were to live in the same house as them. Rod then agreed that Martin would just have to sustain the needs of the child in the mother’s care.

Chrollo took all of the information  in, almost feeling bad for the girl, if  it weren’t for his own experiences.  

The same thought as Pakunoda had crossed his mind. Her father had connections in law. If Chrollo, say for example, met the girl’s father and he decided to look deeper into Chrollo and his background, it wouldn’t really be a problem. The group knew how to cut their ties. They eliminated those who had seen them. But if worse came to worst, this could have blown the group’s cover. 

The Phantom Troupe weren’t regular thieves. They were thieves with intellect that calculated their every movement. Before they acted on anything, Chrollo, who had a personal philosophy of theological dualism - the balance between good and evil - that influenced his decisions, would first weigh his options. His actions were always calculated.

It was not that they feared the law or the man himself, but the Phantom Troupe managed to blend in with the crowd, no one knew of who they were. And the group loved being free despite the criminality they commit.

From the moment he first laid his eyes on her, he knew she was trouble.

But none of the information stopped him.

***

Zazan promised Astra dinner. But it was way past dinner, and the staff of the three-star Michelin restaurant she had booked kept going back and forth, assisting and asking for her order, which she refused to give until her aunt arrived.

Her aunt, Zazan, was her father, Martin’s, little sister. For all her life, she was her mother figure. Zazan always had her back whenever her father didn’t. Her aunt loved designer and luxury items, and was a designer herself. Hence, her love for luxury and designer.

To state it simply, Astra was given to her aunt after she lived with her dad for two years when her mother died. She was only six then.

She remembers how much scorn she received from Martin’s legitimate family, and how she was treated as less than a freeloader, being an illegitimate child. Not once did her father defend her from them.

After all, she was a nobody, aside from the Gerber blood running through her veins.

Astra, at four, never spoke with anyone, not even the maids that served the family in their mansion. She remained quiet, hiding inside her room, but doing everything she was told—even standing for hours, with no food and water, beside the silver knight decorations in the hallway of their house because her older half-sister told her to. She ignored the numbing sensation in her knees until a helper saw her.

That was, until Zazan returned to the city and took interest in the meek, little girl she once was. And for the first time in two years, she spoke and her voice sounded hoarse. Her words were: “Can I come with you?”

From then on, Zazan took her as her own. Martin had no objections, nor did his family. In fact, the situation was in their favor. In his father’s eyes, as long as Astra wasn’t disobedient or brought problems—more than she already had, being an illegitimate—upon the family, it’d be fine.  

However, it seemed Astra grew up to be a spitting image of Zazan’s personality. Astra grew bolder, braver, and stronger, all because she had Zazan to look up to. But Astra wasn’t nice on a daily basis. She was nowhere near a saint.

“May I take your order, miss?” a smiling boy, who looked a few years younger than Astra, came to assist her. But a girl, wearing the same uniform as him, came to them, gripping his arm.

“Sorry, miss.” The staff leaned in closer to the boy’s ear to whisper, “I’ve been trying to take her order. She’s waiting for someone, but I think she got stood up.”

“Oh...” the boy muttered “Too bad, she actually looks pretty.”

He turned his attention to Astra, about to apologize, when she interrupted him.

Astra laced her fingers together, her elbows on the table, and rested her head on her hands. With a sarcastic tone, she said, “If you’re going to talk shit about me, consider doing it somewhere else where I can’t hear you.”

“S-sorry, miss…” the staff muttered, afraid. All of their customers had power, because only the rich could afford the place. They feared they could lose their jobs. Most of all, they knew who Astra was. They knew of her influence.

“But thanks for complimenting my looks.” Astra flashed a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “Get me some champagne.”

They scurried to give her what she wanted, too obvious in wanting to leave her sight.

Astra leaned on her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. She clicked her tongue in impatience. For once, she regretted asking for champagne. She felt the urge to leave. To elites like her, hunger didn’t come, anyway; she’d still have a lot of food at home. She could leave before they gave her champagne, and leave cash three times the bill, but her pride made her stay.

And she hated to admit it, but she really needed to see her aunt. She needed someone.

She needed someone to hold her at times she felt like slipping away.

As Astra waited impatiently, a man sat at the opposite end of the table. It happened so quickly, she didn’t have the time to process it. The man looked studly in his crisp suit. He wore a white shirt underneath, topped with a dark blazer and slacks.

“I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” He asked in his most polite tone while he pulled at the opening of his blazer.

Her eyebrows shot up and she clicked her tongue, but she tried to maintain her composure. After all, it was a restaurant for the high-class. Manners above all.

“Sorry, you must have the wrong table.”

The man chuckled. “Oh, have you forgotten about me, miss? Allow me to reintroduce myself,” he grinned, “I’m the man you stole from a few nights ago.”

For a moment, perplexity was etched on her face, ‘Bitch, which one?’ 

Yes, the man looked a little familiar, but with the amount of people she was acquainted with, it was hard to keep track of the long list. 

“Oh, I see,” she said plainly. “I must’ve stolen from you when I was drunk.” 

Astra leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. She whispered, “You see, I have a habit of doing those when I’m drunk.” She flashed her sultry smile. 

Her hands reached for her fuchsia devotion bag made of python skin. It featured an exclusive bejeweled personalized heart closure, inspired by the techniques of fine jewelry, which etched her initials in it.

ABG

Astra clicked her tongue when her eyes met her initials on her bag. She laughed inwardly at how she sent it back to Italy when her initials weren’t in bold.

“How much was it? I could pay for it right now.”

The way the man grinned at her assured her that it’s done for. Game over. She wins. Whatever she did, she got away with it. Not because of her pull and connections, but because of her charm. And she knew it. She grinned at this. 

“Actually,” the man began, “I have other things in mind.”

“Oh,” Astra had a knowing smirk. She knew of what the man could possibly ask. It was no different. He was no different from all the other men she’d met before. ‘A night, perhaps?’

“Let’s hear it,” she said sultrily. 

It was the man’s turn to lean closer and rest his elbows on the table. He laced his hands together and flashed a smile. “I was thinking of jail time.”

Her hypocritical smile dropped. She was rendered shaken. Just as quick as the change in her mood, the sourness and bitterness of being embarrassed in front of the mysterious man in front of her, she showed her true colors. 

‘Where the fuck is my champagne?’ she thought.

Her back rested on her chair and she crossed her arms. “Name?” her tone was as rude as it could get. 

“Now we’re talking,” the man chuckled, and he rested his back on his chair as well. “Chrollo Lucilfer. I believe I already told you that. I’m hurt you forgot about me so easily.”

Astra didn’t reciprocate the demeanor Chrollo was showing. While Chrollo looked composed and polite, Astra, on the other hand, was irking in anger. 

“What do you want?” she spat, so rudely you wouldn’t think that it was the same woman who had been flashing sultry and inviting smiles.

“Nothing much, actually,” he grinned but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll discuss the matter, and I promise you it’d be done with.”

If it were only a few minutes ago, she would have gone with him at that very moment. She would’ve taken him to some backroom and let them do their business. But it was different now. 

To her, it seemed like the man didn’t want any physical relationships. He was danger, nothing else. 

“And if I refuse?” 

“Your scandalous actions will not only be known by your father, Martin Gerber, but your little circle as well,” he replied.

“I’m impressed. You’ve done your research about me,” she scoffed. 

One of the staff who assisted her earlier appeared with champagne in her hands. She kept her head down, but kept a shy smile and gave continuous glances toward Chrollo as she poured the liquid into their respective glass.

“Thanks, miss,” Chrollo flashed the girl a sweet smile. 

Astra could have sworn she saw the girl almost curtsy at that. She rolled her eyes. 

When the girl left, Astra arched her brow. Chrollo on the other hand, ignored her demeanor. “Shall I order you some real food?” 

He was about to call the staff again, but Astra stopped him. “I’m not hungry.”

For a moment, Astra almost regretted her actions because Chrollo might be hungry. But if it’d be the same staff who keep annoying her with how they tried to get the man’s attention, forget it. 

‘What is with this restaurant anyway? Why are they always the same people?’

Once the foam settled on her champagne, she drank it quickly, picked up her bag, and stood up. When she looked over at Chrollo, who still sat on his seat gazing at her, she scoffed. “I’m coming with you. Wait for me outside in a moment.”

“You’ve said that before,” he replied, reminiscing to when she said the exact thing when they met the other night, and then she was gone with his St. Peter’s cross necklace.

“You seriously have something on me. Do you think I’ll run away from you?” Astra argued. “Besides, you’ve done your research on me. So I expect you to appear wherever I am.”

“I don’t believe you,” Chrollo stood up. “Wherever you’re going, I’ll come with you.”

Astra rolled her eyes. If she didn’t have something, it would obviously be his trust. And she had to get it no matter what, if she wanted to get out of the situation quickly.

She turned on her heel and Chrollo followed closely behind her. Suddenly, something rang from Chrollo’s pocket when they stepped out of the restaurant and into the lobby of the luxury hotel. Astra turned her attention to it and then to his eyes looking back at hers. 

“Go,” she nodded at him in a dismissive manner. “I promise I won’t leave.”

Chrollo eyed her carefully, weighing the sincerity of her words, to which she responded with widening her eyes at him. There was a faint smile in Chrollo’s face before he finally took his phone out and turned his back on her. 

Astra lightly shook her head. She didn’t notice, but there was a small smile on her face as well. And just as if the timing couldn’t be more perfect, someone she knew all too well appeared in front of her, looking down at her, mocking her.

“Dad…” she whispered.  

[cinnamonheartburn]

Genuine question from just a rando stumbling trough tags. Do you feel like minimalism in general is something to be sceptical about or do you see some sort of value in minimalism that is more about keeping stuff you actually enjoy instead of just getting stuff for the sake of having.....stuff? Like.... I do like the idea of being more cautious with my purchases and making do and not impulse buying and not keeping stuff I don't like and I also don't .... Hate the completly minimalist apartment looks... But like... Also completly aware that so much of this is just another way of rich people circle jerk and not sustainable and nobody would do it if the things you are supposed to make do with are like out of style oak desks that are so out of style and doesn't look cute in a shabby chic way, this movement wouldn't be half as popular. (Also not ignoring the minimalist room setups but there HAS to be a PS5 or a flat tv like hhhfnfn)

Hey anon!

Leaving the aesthetics aside because I do think that's a matter of personal taste, I'll focus on the "morality" of minimalism.

The core concept of surrounding yourself with fewer, more impactful choices, and being more conscious of what you are purchasing are absolutely a good thing that everyone should learn.

But that is not minimalism. That's being frugal and mindful, and both of those should be embraced.

Minimalism, however, is a classist fallacy.

It's a trend that starts not with "consume less", as it claims to, but with "get rid of what you have".

... Which is a trap!

Minimalism doesn't believe in having backups or keeping your old version of something in case the current one breaks.

Minimalism doesn't believe in keeping that toolbox in your closet; just keep the Phillips screwdriver and the hammer, when do you need more? Until something does happen and you either need to buy the thing you used to have. Again.

Minimalism doesn't believe in having different appliances in your kitchen... until you need them. Then, it's "get this thing that can do it all for 5 times the price! it's so small, perfect for your space!

People who are financially comfortable will grumble at the expense but can pull it off. For people who are financially struggling, it's a slap in the face.

I grew up in poverty. Single mom on disability, relying on soup kitchens and rocking the "all-you-can-fit-in-this-garbage-bag-for-5$" thrift store sales fashion. Back then, decluttering meant turning clothes that don't fit or are full of holes into dish rags or quilts, depending on the state of the fabric. It meant if we by some stroke of luck could afford to buy supplies in bulk, it came with the added benefit of having a side-table made of boxes while we went through it.

Getting rid of what we didn't need wasn't possible, because we never knew when we would actually come to need it.

Nowadays I'm well-off, or at least not struggling. I give in to excess expenses and have to remind myself to be conscious of what I buy and to curate my surroundings. But minimalism still leaves me queasy, because it entirely relies on having the excess income to afford replacing something on a whim or paying for the convenience of having someone else do something for you.

Then there's what brands do with the minimalist appeal: They sell us products that cost them less -- less materials, and of lower quality due to the ever increasing prices of said materials -- at an insane markup entirely due to the "luxury" appeal of an all-white, delicate wide space.

They don't even have to bother to make it last -- just pretend that it's premium and durable, and by the time it breaks, the mindset is already to replace it with another all-white, fragile, even more marked-up piece of non-descript furniture as prices drag forever up, making non-minimalist items that use more material even less affordable in the process. And it's all we can get, because our tiny apartments can barely fit anything more anyway.

A racket of materials in the costume of a conscious consumer, basically.

Anyway... It's past midnight and I'm too tired to also rant about the mental toll of erasing every trace of living in one's surroundings, but there's also that.

Either way, nothing wrong with loving wide, sparsely-decorated spaces with touches of chosen personality showing through, or an all-ivory wardrobe. Personally, the aesthetic has grown stale to me, but it's perfectly fair to enjoy it.

Anyway. I'd like to see frugal an recycled stuff become as big a movement, but it's unlikely if brands can't make a profit on it. Oh well.

[wingedweasel]

Would you rather...

Sorry for the super long post, but...

So my eyes were i a hostage situation with Twitter earlier, and I noticed a bunch of people posting things like ‘would you rather have $X or $Y?’ where x is an extremely huge amount and Y is a comically smaller amount. One was along the lines of ‘would you rather have one billion dollars all at once or 15 cents every day?’ The point of these is to bring up the idea of passive income and how it’s better to have steady income over large lump sums.

However, when it’s these comically small amounts, it would be better to have the lump sum. There was one that offered one million vs one dollar every day. Ummm, the million...? Every time. I’d choose the lump sum. Sure if it’s something like one million vs 10,000 every month, then okay, yeah, the parsed out payments would be better. I mean, yeah, it would take 10 years to get the same amount, but you would be getting more in the long run. Also, in these hypotheticals, there is no end date, so taking the monthly payment would be better since you could assume that you would keep getting the payments until you die. 

But - and this is the thing that got me questioning if I was missing something - why would anyone take the super small amount? If it was $1 a day, rounding all months to have 30 days, then you’d only be getting 360 a year, 3600 in 10 years. Why would anyone want that compared to having the lump sum of 1 million? 

What could you even do in that situation anyway? We’ve all seen those commercials “With $1 a day, you could save the life of a child/animal” uh...but I wouldn’t be spending $1 a day. I’d have to pay a large amount, that  yes, technically comes out to $1 a day, but I wouldn’t be getting a daily charge of $1. Getting $1 a day wouldn’t help anyone. As I said before, that’s less than 1000 a year. Even if it was somehow able to pass along to your descendants, it would take 2-3 of your descendants’ lifetimes to get to 1 million. And this is all assuming that you never touch any of that money in all of these lifetimes. 

I’m sorry, but no. That’s not gonna work for me. Especially if it’s something stupid like 15 cents a day. No, gimme the lump sum and I’d show you that I could make more with that lump sum than any low daily amount. 

This piggy backs off my belief of ‘sort yourself out before trying to sort other people out.’ This stems from having to grow up watching the people around me run themselves ragged trying to help others out of financial binds while they didn’t have the funds to do. I’d usually get the shaft because of that, and any financial decisions I had to make - when I was actually able to make them - had to go through this kind of tiered system and rank what I wanted to do over the wants (not needs) of other people. It sucked, still does since I’m still stuck in this system because of the decisions of other people’s past mistakes and temper tantrums. But yeah, that’s why I believe that a person should help themselves before they help others. I get that this comes off as selfish or egocentric, very ‘me first’ Americanism, and on one hand it is, but it doesn’t mean I (and the hypothetical others) don’t give to the poor or help others when they need it. It just means that I don’t think it’s good for you when you are guilted (or tricked depending on how you look at it) into opening a credit card to a tire shop when you don’t even have a license so that your sister can get her car fixed even though she has a very well paid job, but for some reason can’t afford to pay her bills and continues to not learn from her past mistakes by spending all her money as soon as she gets paid, constantly going on trips to Vegas, and seems to be always doing some money spending activity every weekend. 

Why are you asking if this was something that happened to me? What ever gave you that idea?

Anyway, getting back on tract of proving the lump sum is better: First, obviously, I’d pay off my debts. For me, I’m fortunate enough that it isn’t a massive amount, still a lot, but not hundreds of thousands. I won’t have to worry about a huge amount that I have to pay every month and not have to decide which bill gets the late fee this time. School loans, credit cards, not so much debits but a few people have gifted me various amounts to help pay my tuition, so I’d want to pay them back. I don’t have to because they were gifts, but I feel guilty that I had to ask them for money. 

Next, I would sort out my living situation. I would move to a better neighborhood in which I would buy a house there. I would also take the time to learn to drive and buy a car. I would have to outfit my new home, and while that can take a good chunk of money, second hand stores, Craigslist and the castaways from friends would help with a lot of that. I’d need to outfit almost everything because I would not be living with anyone else except my fur babies. In this fantasy, I’m saying fuck everyone else, I’m moving far far away from my family of leeches and never seeing seeing them again. I might send birthday/holiday cards/gifts to the ones I kinda get on with like my nieces and the one uncle that is actually a decent person, but everyone else can piss right the fuck off. They took advantage of me whenever I had money - more often when I didn’t have money and somehow managed to squeeze everything out of me then - so why should I help them when I have money now? Harsh? Absolutely. Petty? As fuck. 

After that, I’d invest. Obviously. If the point of the would you rather was to teach about the benefits of sustained constant income, then investing is the best way to do that. Investing in companies that have a history of doing well. Having a diverse portfolio is something that I’ve heard wealthy people talk about, so if one investment doesn’t pan out, I wouldn’t lose everything. Sounds...sound. I’d also take the time to invest in me. I’d finally be able to afford the hobbies and skills that I couldn’t before. I’d take back up with music and be able to afford lessons. I do better when someone is beside me telling me what I’m doing wrong and showing me how to do it correctly. Ex, I tried learning Japanese outside of a class setting and just couldn’t wrap my head around the basic sentence structure: XはYです. For some reason, my brain couldn’t figure out that x and y were nouns and it basically translates to X is Y. My brain freaked out, and I just couldn’t. However, day 1 of class, the figurative lightbulb went off and went “oh.” and laughed for a solid 10 minuets as soon as I got home. Musical instruments are the same way. I’ve tried to lear guitar and violin several times, but all without an instructor. Can’t do it. Hiring a personal trainer would be helpful as well. Getting someone to kick me in the butt about my fitness would go a long way in helping me reach my goals. Language tutors as well. I’ve maxed out my ability to learn at the community collage I take classes at, even though it’s been over 10 years since I took those classes, but I passed them so they’ve said screw you. While technically I could do all these things for free - there are various websites, YT tutorials, and Duolingo - like I said, I need that live teacher/student interaction for it to click. 

Finally, as I said above, help yourself before you help others, so now that I’ve helped myself, I can now start helping others. Not my family. Fuck them. However, there are friends that have helped me so much over the years, and now that there is money that I can actually use - remember those investments? They’d have started to see returns by now - I can now start ‘paying’ them back for all that they did. It may not always be money that they would give, just being a shoulder to cry on meant more than anything at times so they’d deserve something as compensation for putting up with my issues. However, because I would now be in a good place. I could literally afford to go ‘here, here is a little something to show how much you mean to me and as a small step in saying thank you for all that you did.’ I could also now go, ‘I see you are struggling, so here is something that you can use to help get out of the bad situation.’ This was - and still is - something that made me feel so guilty that I couldn’t do when I was younger. I’d see a friend need something - or even just really want, we were kids after all - but I sometimes couldn’t even spare a dollar to help them. Helping others also means gifting to charity. I have always wanted to be able to donate to charities, to give money to panhandlers - I don’t care some of them use the money for drugs or alcohol, the small amount who do do that shouldn’t cause you to not give to those who don’t - remember those commercials from before? Even if some of the charities suck major ass, there are some really good ones that I would love to be a donor. I could afford to be a Patron member for certain YTers, I could donate to small Twitch streamers. Kickstarters and GoFundMes would see my name on the donor list. Animal shelters and children’s hospitals; after school programs and community centers; friends and neighbors. I could do so much.

But it certainly wouldn’t happen if I received $1 a day. 

[rotationalsymmetry]

Living with CFS/ME overview (your mileage may vary):

Doctors: can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. Do your own research if you can, if you can tell something is bad for you don’t do it, and if your doctor doesn’t believe anything is wrong with you get a new one (if at all possible.) Don’t expect perfect understanding, do deal with your feelings outside of appointments and not during them, do have clear requests as much as possible. Do expect competence: not dismissiveness, not ignoring what you say, not failing to do relevant lab tests. Write stuff down, before and after. If possible, have someone else come with you to appointments (especially if you have serious brain fog issues and/or are the sort of person doctors tend to not take seriously.) With emails, some doctors will only answer one question per email, so if you have five questions that means writing five separate emails. Don’t be afraid to be pushy, as long as you’re pushing for something the doctor can actually give you.

Getting stuff done. You can’t. At least, not as much. Do you need help with: housework, shopping, childcare, filing for benefits? Personal hygiene? Figure out how to get what you can and learn to live without what you can’t. Delegate as much as possible. Whatever weird feels you have about accepting help, figure out how to set them aside and accept help anyways.

Other people: in my experience most people will take your lead. If you tell them you’re not sure what’s going on or aren’t sure what to do about it, you will get more suggestions and advice than you know what to do with. If you want sympathy, you might get that (or you might get unwanted advice — sometimes saying explicitly what you want helps.) If you talk about your illness like a totally routine thing that you’ve totally got, the advice and general “oh shit I want to help but don’t know how” goes away. In my experience.

On that note: it’s OK and a good idea to tell people explicitly what you want from them. “If we’re going on vacation together I need a place to stay with no stairs.” “What would really help is if someone could run groceries once a week for me or pay for delivery.” “I could really use help from someone who knows how to read scientific articles.” “I could really use some patience and understanding about sometimes having to cancel plans at the last minute.” “I need a therapist who’s worked with people with chronic illness before.” Whatever.

Fuck exercise. Or rather: stretchy gentle exercise can be fine/good, strength exercises that you can do without raising your heart rate might be fine; anything that raises your heart rate is much higher risk. Walking is appropriate exercise for people with CFS, just be careful to not overdo it. (I am not joking.) Personally, I do a lot of yoga, but I’m not exactly doing sun salutations. It’s yin yoga and restorative yoga and a small amount of strength exercises. And...pranayama. Exercise for people with CFS/ME doesn’t look the same way as it does for people without it. That thing where it’s good for healthy people to take the stairs and this and that? Not for you. Be lazy. Do things the lowest energy way possible.

PEM and pacing: it’s all about the activity intolerance. Sometimes you run out of steam right away, sometimes it happens two days later. If your body says “stop” it means it; if it gives you a green light it might be lying. If you’re getting some days that feel almost normal and some days when sitting upright is a Herculean task, chances are if you do a lot less and try to do approximately the same amount of stuff each day, you’ll figure out what your sustainable “energy envelope” is. Or how many spoons you have, if you prefer that metaphor. And, most likely, you’ll end up with way fewer “can’t sit up” days.

Breaking things up means you can do more with less consequence. Eg: wash dishes until the first hint of feeling tired, take a break and sit or lie down for five minutes, then keep going. Pushing past the point you feel tired is risky.

In particular, in some situations you may be excited or stressed enough to not notice when you’re tired, so sometimes it makes sense to plan breaks rather than relying on the self awareness approach. When I play games with my partner, for instance, we set a timer for half an hour.

Adaptive equipment and behaviors: I use a folding stool in my everyday life and a wheelchair (provided by the airport) if I have to travel by plane. At one point I figured out how to wash dishes in a plastic basin sitting down (although, paper plates are an option too.) My partner and I leave a couple cooking pots on the stove and the things I use most often on the counter, since digging up a pot from the floor level cabinet that’s full of pots is much more tiring than the pot already being where I want it. In general, stuff above shoulder level or below waist level is significantly harder to get to. If showering standing is tiring, get a shower chair. Some grocery stores have motor scooters that can be used by disabled customers (that means you.) Grabbers can help with things like when a sock falls on the floor and you don’t want to have to bend to pick it up. If your walking is very limited, but you have someone who can push you around, a rolling walker with a seat may be more affordable than a wheelchair.

How to get your doctor to prescribe you a wheelchair so that your insurance will cover it: your doctor is worried you’ll lose mobility due to walking less, so if you actually want a wheelchair so that you can get outside and do more stuff for longer, focus on that. Ditto for a scooter. I’ve found writing a comprehensive list of what I can’t do or can only do with great difficulty, and handing the list to my doctor, is significantly more effective for getting taken seriously than mentioning one or two limitations and expecting the doctor to be able to extrapolate. Make it easy for them to do what you want them to. (Sorry if this sounds manipulative. My experience is that if you come in assuming your doctor will just give you what you need as long as you’re up front and trust them, you’re going to be sadly disappointed. I was not like this before I got CFS and spent months practically begging doctors to take me seriously.)

Taking naps or non-sleeping lying-down rests during the day might help. Yoga nidra, progressive muscular relaxation, or some sort of guided visualization can help with relaxation. You can also just lie there and let your mind wander, but if your mind tends to wander to sad or worrying sorts of places then you should give it something to do. One note of caution: if you’re near your limit you might feel more tired after a rest, that doesn’t mean the rest was bad for you but it does mean you gave the tired a chance to catch up with you. I do think the benefit comes as much from doing it regularly over time as from any one rest by itself though. (I can’t do anything on time, so for me “regularly” means “to within about two hours, most of the time.”)

On that note: your feelings matter. Stress and extreme emotions can take as much out of you as grocery shopping or a two hour zoom call. So...therapy if possible, self help books, doing things that help you feel calm and put things in perspective. You might need new coping strategies if your old ones take too much energy.

Some people with CFS have more energy/activity tolerance/spoons in the morning and less late in the day, others like me are the opposite. I couldn’t find my pattern when my energy levels were swinging wildly from day to day, but eventually when I got things more leveled off I figured it out. If this is the case for you, planning hard stuff for your best time of day and light stuff for your worst times is a good idea. For instance, I shower in the evenings rather than the mornings.

Once you’ve gotten your symptoms to more or less level off, if you get to that point, you can try very, very gradually expanding your activity levels. When I say gradually, I mean gradually, and be ready to go back to less activity any time things get worse again.

Thing is: if you don’t use all your energy, it does seem to sort of build up a “reserve” so you can bounce back from expected or unexpected stressors (illness, travel, etc.) But when your reserve runs out, it takes much longer to recover. So, there’s something to be said for not going at 100%.

In particular, don’t try to go back to 100% too quickly after one of those stressors, like a cold or (sigh, speaking from experience) a cross-country move, even if you feel like you can. Where 100% means using all of your spoons/energy envelope, not functioning at 100% of what a healthy person can do.

Plan ahead of time how you’re going to handle special occasions like holidays, a visiting friend or relative, or travel. “If the movie theater is too loud I will have to leave” etc. When I got married, I planned when and where I was going to take rests, and planned absolutely nothing for the days after. (Interestingly: I did better afterwards than I thought I would, even though I got major brain fog during the reception. Apparently the stress before the wedding was messing me up more than all the activity and socializing at the wedding itself.) We went on our honeymoon a full month later — even a relatively restful trip is still more tiring for me than staying home.

Get advice from multiple sources. This list is aimed at, well, basically myself and anyone with similar symptoms. I’m not addressing pain because that’s not one of my symptoms, but if it’s one of yours you should absolutely get advice from people who experience pain. Likewise, I’m not housebound so I’ve got limited advice there. I don’t have kids, so I don’t have much in the way of parenting advice, and I’m not working so I don’t have “how to handle a job when you have CFS” advice. Oh, and I’m in the United States, what you can expect the government, schools, businesses etc to do for you can vary considerably by country.

A lot of this comes from this website and backed up by my own experience. They have lots of easy to read articles and success stories, and email-based “classes” (think structured support group, not like college class) on living with CFS/ME or fibromyalgia. They don’t get money from promoting supplements or whatever, which is a thing I look for as a sign of integrity. (Not that supplements can’t help, but if someone is getting money from saying they do it’s harder to trust if they’re being fully honest.) There’s also groups on FB and I’m sure other places that are well suited for asking questions and getting advice. There’s books, both on the disease itself and possible treatments (mostly highly speculative and/or alternative) like Living Well with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia, and on the “how do I live like this?” side of things, like How To Be Sick. Point is: you don’t have to go it alone.

Postscript: recovery. The odds that you will get somewhat better are pretty good. The odds that you will make a full recovery, given the current knowledge about CFS/ME, are low. I know that doesn’t feel good if you’re newly diagnosed (side note: you don’t need officiant diagnosis to start assuming that you’ve probably got CFS and looking for resources, I didn’t, official diagnosis can take a while.) I know when you’re new to this, all you want is to return to normal. (And you might; some people do.) Here’s the thing though: even if you don’t get back to normal, it’s not always going to feel this bad. What feels bad isn’t mostly the state you’re in, it’s mostly change: improvement feels good, getting worse feels bad. If you level off or get a bit better (super likely) and start comparing your current state to your low point, rather than when before you got sick, you’ll start to feel better again. It’s the adjustment period that’s rough, more than the illness itself.

It’s grief, it’s loss: grieving the life you had and the future you hoped for, and the way people respond to that is similar in many ways to how people respond to losing a loved one. Therapy might help, religious guidance if applicable to you might help (if not, perhaps consider this a good time for a deep dive into philosophy, or some form of creative self-expression like drawing or writing poetry); whatever you do, be aware that this is a huge thing to have to come face to face with, and it’s normal to struggle with it. (And: it’s not always going to feel this bad.)

It’s possible to have CFS/ME, and have a good life. It’s possible to have CFS/ME and have many sources of joy and delight and excitement and satisfaction and connection. It’s possible to have CFS/ME and have a deep sense of purpose and meaning, even if your old sources of purpose and meaning are no longer available. It’s possible to live well.

[violetsystems]

#personal

As promised, I am projecting less frustration this morning.  I think maybe just because the rhythm of things in my life.  I read that ritual during the pandemic has been a reliable coping mechanism for many.  I have very small rituals.  I get a bowl of Yukejang from down the street on Sundays.  Same order.  Same price.  I tap it into a spreadsheet somewhere in the cloud and plan around it.  All the way back in September, I chiseled out a budget for myself to figure out how to weather out this situation.  The situation as it is continues to morph and shift towards the edges of chaos.  This is why I try to keep things normal through planning and maybe a little ritual.  I’ve been writing the same three paragraphs here for too many years for me to count.  There are actually people out there who get what I’m saying.  Sometimes people just like to read them.  Other people just like to skim them.  But these rituals kind of keep the element of control over your life in focus.  Some rituals can go a little overboard.  And sometimes some pandemics can go longer than a year.  I try to plan for the future all the same without having much to go on.  I know that a vaccine needs to happen first.  At this point I won’t see that until earliest June.  I’ve been seeing jobs in my salary range but nothing I want to spend the rest of my life doing.  I’ve made enough money by myself this year to worry about paying taxes.  But it isn’t something I really feel is sustainable.  And this is where thoughts start to spiral out of control.  Which is what brings me back to rituals.  I make it through week to week in probably one of the most bullshit situations by looking forward to things.  Broadcasting on Fridays is fun even if nobody watches it live.  I’ve learned that creating content for output is more important than worrying about the results.  For all the intelligent words I write, a lot of the things that come out of my actual mouth on the fly are incredibly stupid and funny to me.  I like that that brings me down to earth somehow.  Because most of the time I’m wondering if I’m even visible to the naked eye.  You can fade away into your own self doubt even if you seem the most confident and together person.  This can happen because the world ceaselessly throws shade.  People don’t want you to succeed because it complicates things.  Doesn’t fit into whatever plan or main questline you haven’t been briefed on.  These days I’ve grown less sensitive to suggestion.  I follow my own path and rules no matter what feelings it evokes.  And yes I feel a sense of dread more often than not.  I feel actual mental pain quite often.  And that pain doesn’t come from inside of me or the result of things I do other than work out or ride my bike.  The pain is the pressure from society to put it all on you.  People out there are just as confused, lost and fearful.  To have some sort of closure or something to blame lifts that temporarily.  It’s not always true.  Paranoia and isolation does that to people.  Even to me.  So I like to focus on the sacred parts of my life that I’ve kept to myself.  And ritual keeps me in a predictable mood.  That you keep going on week to week because you’ve created space that you and you alone value.  

Sometimes other people value it too.  And that gets tricky to manage.  It isn’t really in my best interest to be at odds with society all the time.  I am a loner mostly because I grew up an only child.  But I’ve become a lot less sensitive as a result of whatever crucible of destiny I’ve been forged in.  I think sometimes when you walk the path of ritual, it’s easy to stay in your lane.  For me, for all these years I’ve been doing pretty much the same exact thing in real life often.  Mostly to not cause anyone cognitive dissonance enough to fuck with me.  Society is a nightmare anywhere you are it seems.  Chicago can be batshit insane.  It makes me project that like a mirror sometimes when I’m exhausted.  And the things that keep me going aren’t always there front and center to hold my hand.  I’m tough enough at this point to take it.  But it’s a lot of disappointment to live with.  The ritual of having a salaried job working with people who seemed pretty much like they were your friends was disrupted by all this a year ago.  I got ghosted.  I never really understood why.  Over the months, I blamed myself over and over again.  And then I started to realize people were hopelessly locked within themselves.  They couldn’t communicate anything meaningful so they just decided to let it go entirely.  Or I did.  Communication to me over the years is funny.  Sometimes people say the most to me without saying any words.  If you walk away from a job after twenty years and everyone you work with pretends you never existed that’s a message.  The opposite is true.  If you wake up every morning to cryptic interactions on your phone that probably means something too.  If you write three paragraphs every week for three years on the internet to nobody in particular, it’s true somebody will read it.  Maybe somebody will even have the reading comprehension to enjoy it.  The ritual of it is pretty sacred to me.  I think people know me well enough to realize I err on the side of authenticity.  I don’t like to betray the things that keep me going.  I know how it feels to be betrayed.  It sounds so cold saying that.  But I’m sure we all know it to a certain degree.  Some people get so abandoned that they have no choice but to move forward.  And how you keep yourself moving at a regular pace in these times is anybody’s guess.  Sanctuary is something more than ritual.  It’s a space where you feel safe enough to protect the things that keep you alive.  A safe spot to pursue your life, liberty and happiness despite the world’s encroaching bullshit around you.  After years of pacing the streets here people have varying opinions of me and my rituals.  It’s not the most ideal situation by far.  But if anyone knows anything about maintaining sanctuary in one of the world’s most in your face cities, it is me.  I’ve been to New York enough to know.  Chicago is some sort of nightmare zone mix of both coasts.  It’s also still fairly affordable to live.  It’s also fairly free enough to go about your business with more than a few stares.  People are bored, hungry, and anxious.  People are looking for rituals and ideas for their own.  And sometimes people cross the line of sanctuary and the holy ground gets smaller.  I can’t even take out my trash without a dirty look sometimes.  And I have to manage it just the same.  When I shut the door and mutter to myself about politics and the government or whatever, nobody comes knocking.  Or I’m over it quick enough so nobody does.  Kind of like here.  The good news is spring is here.  I can open up the windows and listen to music alone.  I can continue to work on my search for meaningful employment wherever that may take me.  I honestly think after all this time someone has better ideas on where I belong.  

That somebody has most always had to be me.  I had to take the initiative in this entire situation.  And it’s become something else entirely.  I build rituals around that.  Some outdated rituals I retire.  Kind of like how I was.  I used to travel to New York every couple of months before this all went to shit.  I think I may go back this summer for a few days.  I don’t really have a solid answer for the future in my head.  I’ve had more time to enjoy things.  I spend way more time learning how to block in Tekken and it actually becomes a whole new game.  I could be harassing people in public and on the internet but I’d rather just keep to myself.  I am lonely just like anyone would be in this situation.  But people communicate with me just the same.  And it’s on me to value it enough to interpret whether it’s worth my time.  I keep hearing the president proclaim that July will mark our independence from the virus.  It’s ironic.  I was let go two days before the fourth last year.  Still nursing those wounds as you would expect.  Simply because there’s no closure.  No acknowledgement of anything.  And this is what I’ve had to read into.  I’m on my own in this.  And then again I’m not.  I’ve led myself through an absolute shit show daily.  And I’ve maintained sanctuary enough to keep doing it.  The rituals and sacred things I hold dear are protected by the reputations I uphold.  The moral capital I reserve is the real hard work.  Because often I would like nothing other than to go apeshit in the face of all this misunderstanding and hallucinatory bullshit.  It’s like being a celebrity and a pariah at the same time.  Banging your head against the wall trying to read into everybody’s sudden interest in whatever it is you represent in real time.  I don’t really know what people want from me at all.  And in some ways it doesn’t matter here in America.  This is what I’ve come to realize in some respects about freedom.  It’s complex, messy and not easily managed efficiently.  And yet no other country in the world has this many layers to navigate.  If you hold your ground long enough, nobody dares cross the line.  I mean nobody.  For as funny, sardonic and self deprecating as I can be, people are still ultimately scared shitless of me.  I’ve grown to understand that and work on that as best I can in a bullshit situation.  And through that I’ve found that staying true to the things you love and care about require meditation.  Self awareness and self care are the only weapons to guide you through a process that is meant to break your individual will.  I could blame capitalism.  I could blame the government.  I could unite and tear down the very fabric of society that has kept me invisible and be forgotten all over again.  And then I realize both sides are to blame mostly because nobody is really talking to anyone.  Entire political parties acting like they meet you eye to eye on the street when everyone has their head slung down low at every moment of the day.  And I’m not exactly interested in inviting more people into my life to violate my already questionable boundaries of privacy.  Rituals give us the focus to concentrate on the things that really matter to us.  Maybe they help us define what is sacred to us.  If people respect that the sanctuary grows.  If people challenge, question or hijack the narrative, you write them out of the story.  It’s definitely easier to control the pen when nobody is on your back to tell you how to write your dreams.  I wholeheartedly want that for everybody.  A real sanctuary for people to be themselves.  It’s not easy to manage.  But where ever I end up I know want thing is true.  I will always keep things sacred when it comes to you. <3 Tim

[insipid-drivel]

I’ve hit the financial rock-bottom, am overdrawn and in debt, and I need help

Hi everyone,

I would post about this on my facebook instead of tumblr if I could, but my current situation is... not good, and I desperately don’t want certain people (namely my mother) finding out that I’m in trouble.

Today I started a GoFundMe with a goal of $1000, but achieving as little as $31 would be enough to at least pull me out of debt with my bank. I will include the story of what’s happened and what’s going on in a readmore in this post for anyone not interested in viewing the fundraiser page.

If you can/would prefer to help via paypal instead, my paypal is minister.salvoni@gmail.com.

Prefer to use Ko-Fi? Here’s my new page!

Sharing this post would also be a huge help, since I can’t use a bigger platform like facebook for visibility without risking being caught by the wrong people.

tl;dr: I am hilariously disabled, uneducated, unemployable, and my only source of money and support comes from “gifts” from my mother, who refuses to so much as grant me a tiny allowance so I can buy my own food and pay for my own prescriptions and doctor visits. Instead of providing me with the bare minimum I need in cash, she insists upon paying for my necessities herself, which makes every grocery store, pharmacy, and doctor visit nothing but humiliating because I need “my mommy” to come up to the counter and pay for me when I wish she would just wire me the money I need so I can look somewhat like an adult and pay for things with my own credit card with my own bank account. Now, due to an accident, I’m overdrawn with my bank and horrified to the point of an emotional breakdown at the prospect of telling her I need bailing out.

Here’s the whole story from my GoFundMe:

I've been chronically ill, suicidal, and disabled my entire life and have been forced to continually live off the good will of my family - primarily my mother. I'm an abuse survivor, a former child-bride, and totally dependent on "gifts" and handouts from my mother to survive. I suffer from severe depression, anxiety, panic, and PTSD-related disorders due to a highly-abusive childhood and an abusive marriage I entered into when I was only 16 with an abusive and mentally-unstable British man 10 years my senior. For most of my life, I have also struggled with suicidal ideation and the occasional attempt. I am so stricken by my psychiatric illnesses stemming from my experiences of chronic abuse that I live nearly 24/7 bedridden in a dark room to keep my various spells and episodes of paralyzing fear, nervous vomiting, suicidal urges, and executive dysfunction (the inability to perform basic tasks due to a psychological disconnection in the brain) as contained and controlled as possible. My host of psychiatric disorders has rendered me so paralyzed that it takes me an extraordinary amount of effort and energy to so much as brush my teeth. Not only have my disabilities prevented me from acquiring any kind of regular employment, but my underage marriage also resulted in me dropping out of high school and never graduating or acquiring a GED. My only solace and skill that I can argue I've acquired over the years has been in creative writing, but I'm still too overwhelmed by anxiety and nervous panic to attempt publishing any of my work for profit, despite having written the manuscripts for multiple books I (frankly hopelessly) dream of someday publishing. I am currently 27 and still covered by my mother's health insurance thanks to a state mandate that allows me to be continuously covered by my parent's insurance so long as I have a doctor to regularly confirm that I am disabled and unable to afford other insurance. This isn't a posting asking for help on that subject. I currently have access to medical care, but years of therapy and a battery of medications have yet to help me become more confident and independent. Currently, my only source of money comes from small, irregular installments of cash to my bank account from my mother who would rather buy the groceries/supplies I need herself than provide me with any kind of sustained "allowance". As you may be able to imagine, one of the reasons I stay locked away and hidden is because of the mortification and shame I feel whenever I try to go out with her and have to watch her pay for everything I need herself. Even if I were able, I can't go anywhere without her or someone else with money to pay for things for me, and it only serves to reinforce how much of a constant waste of time, space, and money I am. Unfortunately, I've recently become overdrawn and owe over $30 in bank fees alone, and I'm currently frozen with terror at the prospect of telling my mom or any other loved ones and risk facing being berated and chided over what was ostensibly an accident. Until recently, I was able to just barely afford a $15/mo game subscription to occupy my days in isolation, but began to run out of money and was forced to cancel it. However, the parent company of the game still extracted one last $15 payment despite the cancellation, which was more money than I had to my name and has put me in debt. Raising even as little as $31 would be enough to put me out of debt, but I set the goal of this gofundme at the default $1000 in the quiet hope that I might actually reach it and have a little bit of extra money hidden away so I can afford to order my own groceries and pay for my own prescriptions myself for at least a little while. It would do wonders with helping me feel less like a parasite living off the good will of my mother, despite how I've turned to ostensibly begging the internet for help. I would rather beg for the donations of strangers than be reduced to tears and panicked vomiting by being lectured (read: yelled at) by my mom; the thought of which already has me on the verge of a breakdown as I write this. Any amount of help would be a blessing. Every penny would help to inch me away from a total nervous breakdown. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I know there are plenty of people using gofundme that are in much more dire situations than I am now, but this really is my last gasp at digging myself out of trouble in a way that won't make my present living situation harder than it already is.

[neuroqueercrafting]

Hi! I just found this blog now bc of the amazing goose thing you made and i saw that you sell stuff on etsy: I've literally just set up my own etsy shop today selling some embroidered patches among other things, and i was just wondering how much you usually sell yours for/how much time roughly they take to make? Getting real insecure about pricing stuff correctly :// Your embroidery looks great! I've only just started embroidering and it's cool to see other people's stuff for inspo!

Hi there, anon! buckle up for a longer answer than you probably actually want haha because i have a tendency to over-talk whoops

It’s so cool you’ve started up your own shop and are getting into embroidery!! Sewing is such a fun thing to do and as someone who can’t draw/paint/etc. very well at all there’s something really special about embroidery; like, it’s so nice having a creative outlet that i’m able to keep improving at, and sharing it with others makes it even more rewarding!

As to figuring out how much to sell your work for: that is the question, isn’t it. My etsy store has actually been on “vacation” since….gosh, since early May or something. But i intend to start it up again very soon, by the end of November at the latest, and i plan on increasing my prices from what they were before i went on hiatus.

So many of us who sell homemade products tend to underprice, with the worry that if we actually calculate a more “fair” price people will claim it’s way too expensive. The kind of complaint i fear would be something like: “A patch that got mass produced by a machine is 5 bucks; why would i pay 30 bucks for your patch where the text isn’t even perfectly centered?”

i personally sew really slowly, so like, that goose hoop art? took me probably at least 10 hours total, and it’s not even that detailed! So if i were to want to pay myself, say, 8 bucks per hour of work put in + include the price of the hoop and fabric and stuff, i’d have to sell that thing for over $85. …which i doubt anyone would be willing to pay.

@bawdyembroidery​ put it better than i can in this post:

“…Let’s say this whole process took me 10 hours from start to finish… If I charge a minimum of $35 for a piece at this rate, I’m getting paid $3.50 an hour. If I charged per hour at a rate which I think I deserve based on my skill, I would never sell anything because the cost would be astronomical…”

Bawdyembroidery is at a skill level i’ve yet to reach, so if they can’t get customers to buy their stuff at a price high enough for them to be making even minimum wage profit, i have no hope! Alas!

_________

What i’m hoping this conveys to you is that it can be really hard to figure out that somewhat-happy medium between:

charging an amount that’s fair to you based on the time and resources your poured into the piece, and

charging an amount that customers are willing to pay.

Different artists determine different prices for their art, with different reasons behind those prices -- and that’s legitimate! We don’t all have to come to the same conclusions about how we want to price our stuff.

i hope that in reading this you can let go of some of your insecurity about pricing stuff correctly because the thing is, there is no one “correct price” for a handmade piece. It’s about finding a price that works for you, a price that leaves you feeling like your time and skill are being respected while still succeeding in getting you the number of customers you’re hoping to get.

________

i recommend asking other sellers their reasoning behind their prices too so you’re not only getting one viewpoint! But below i’ll talk a little about the reasoning behind my own work’s prices.

Before taking a break from selling, i was selling patches at a roughly “$2 or $3 per hour of work” price. That’s really low. My personal reasoning for keeping the prices low:

my patches aren’t perfect. That’s okay because they’re homemade; they’re not meant to be uniform or pristine! But even with that being true, i’m not at a skill level yet where i’m churning out pieces i’m completely content with very often; if i were charging higher prices i have a feeling i’d end up throwing out any patches i deemed “not good enough” and starting over because “the customer paid so much, i can’t give them this garbage!!” …and then i’d be pouring like 20 hours into a single patch instead of like 3 or 4. So that just would not be sustainable haha. Does that make sense sorta? i think this reason is probably more a me thing than a real legitimate concern aha

my patches are mostly focused around pride in being part of a marginalized group or around solidarity for that group (examples: “protect and celebrate trans women,” “proudly autistic,” “God is queer”). Keeping these patches at a lower price means that as many folks as possible can afford them, which is important to me because i love the idea that i’m giving people a chance to show off pride that not many other products out there give them!

i don’t personally sell my embroidery to survive. the money i make by selling my stuff goes into my “donations + fun” money – it’s money i use to occasionally treat myself and/or donate to people’s gofundmes. i’m not using the money i make on etsy to afford my groceries or gas money, and therefore i can afford to sell at lower prices than other artists might. i know that’s a privilege over the sellers who rely on the money they make to pay rent and the like.

when working on an item someone ordered, i’m usually watching a tv show or listening to a lecture or podcast at the same time. i’m not pouring 100% of my focus into making the item, so i don’t mind earning less per hour than i would working at, say, a restaurant where i wouldn’t be able to watch tv while doing my work.

Again, the above are my personal reasons for how i’ve calculated item prices in the past; you may find some of those reasons also ring true for you, and some don’t. It’s subjective.

And as i mentioned earlier, i plan on raising my prices when i reopen my etsy. i used to sell my work at a price that amounts to roughly $2.50-$3.50 per hour it takes; i plan on seeing whether folks will still buy the patches if i raise that to around $6 per hour of my labor. And if the answer is no, perhaps i’ll lower them again.

After all, your prices don’t have to be set in stone. You can experiment a bit, and tweak the prices over your first couple months based on how much folks seem willing to pay, you know?

Also, you don’t have to explain to the customer what algorithm you used to calculate price! The various patches i sell are not all priced equally -- the ones i kinda get sick of making i’ll price a little higher than the ones i really like making.It’s your art! You get to decide! :)

i’m not sure any of this actually helps you all the much. But what i want to say is that you have a right to set whatever prices seem good to you. You have to weigh various positives and negatives while knowing that unfortunately, in our current culture where most customers don’t realize that handmade stuff does and should cost more than they might expect, you’re probably not going to land on a price that perfectly reflects both how much your work is worth and how much a customer will realistically pay. 

Best of luck to you!

__________

If anyone else who sells their own sewing/knitting/art wants to weigh in, that would be great! I think we all come to different conclusions about how to price our stuff and multiple views are worth hearing.

[rivkahstudies]

hi! i was the anthropology anon aha That sounds super interesting! I'm glad you were able to factor in all your favorite interests into your major/minor ♡ do you have any advice for narrowing your major? Or figuring it out in general? I feel like I'm just not in touch with myself and welp, I have to declare a major soon. Sorry for ranting! I hope you're taking care. I would love to hear more about your major and minor. Sending lots of love 😘☺

hi anthro nonnie! ♡ I think that’s a tough one. There’s a lot of debate between “do what you love” and “do what will make you the money to live.” and I literally can’t fault either because I don’t want to do something I hate for the rest of my life, but I also really want to live in relative stability. Not rich, just stable. 

So I think it’s a good idea to make a list of things you love, and things you are passionate about/want to change in the world, and see how deeply your passion for them goes, and if you can market them. I think you can do most things if you market them hard enough. And that means having good public speaking skills, being able to interview well and sell yourself well, etc!

For instance, I love art very much. It was a hobby that used to consume me. I almost majored in it, but then I decided that I didn’t want the difficulty of trying to make a living out of it to take my joy of it away. I do it a lot less now, but I don’t regret my decision.

Also, some things you can’t plan out--they just come to you! I majored in linguistic anthro with no idea of exactly what I wanted to do with it, just that I loved languages and cultures. Then I had a conversation with a friend I had made in my uni dining hall about how he had been here for 12 years but his mother was still back in Puerto Rico with various health conditions, unwilling to leave her family to come and get proper medical help (which he couldn’t afford anyway) because the US really doesn’t treat PR well despite it being a territory. His friend behind the counter with him, who was African American, said his mother had died from insufficient care despite everything he did to fight for her.

It made me so, so, so angry. And it’s weird, admitting that my desire to be an interpreter is partially fueled by anger, but I think it’s anger with a cause. I’m white, and while I am part of other minority groups, I can often hide the ways I stick out because of my whiteness (except being a woman, I can’t hide that). I do have white privilege and while I’m still learning what it means to be a proper ally to marginalized groups outside of my own, I want to recognize it, be responsible about it, and also use it to help. I speak English natively, and I love languages, and I hate the linguistic, ethnic, racial discrimination that immigrants go through (and citizens, but my anthro focus is on immigration laws and treatment of immigrants), and I want to be someone who helps makes their voices louder and stops people from speaking over them. And I also want them to get equal treatment in hospitals and courtrooms. (I can’t decide if I want to specialize in medical or legal interpreting yet if you haven’t noticed...)

So anyway tl;dr: you gotta find what you’re passionate about and what can sustain you. you’re probably going to have to work hard. Even doctors and lawyers don’t make money just by going down that path--they work their asses off, go through a lot of stress and debt, and a lot of schooling. So if you’re passionate about that, it’s going to be so much easier to get through the hard parts. If you’re not, trust me, there’s other ways to make money. It is important, I won’t discount it, but being passionate about whatever you go into is important too.

ALSO tl;dr 2: make a list/write about it. It’s hard to feel “in touch with yourself” if you don’t take time to process your thoughts.

I hope this helped nonnie? Please feel free to ask me again if you want to bounce ideas off of me or need something else clarified! 

[dhominis]

Update on my meatspace existence! CW for parents and disordered eating and general neuroticism. Things are pretty great.

I’m happy.

Social-wise, I am not where I’d like to be but I am slowly getting more and more social contact. (It’s... not enough, not by a long shot, but fairly okay for someone who’s been in a new city for like three months. Especially at my general level of social competence. The ideal setup involves more or less constant interaction with people, far more physical contact -- I need to live in a house with like five or six friends who are smart and excited about things and also really like physical contact.) I have a friend with whom I can hike and talk about cool pathogens. I’m probably LARPing with an cool epidemiologist and her LARP group pretty soon, which is nerd shit and also increased social competence and also running around in the woods -- perfect. I have been doing various social things. (Went to a kink social thing and a cute girl hit on me. It was great -- I don’t think she meant it as a serious expression of interest but I’m generally really ecstatic about people flirting with me. Also got great hugs.) Life is getting better.

Plans for the future seem more and more clear -- flexible, but there are viable paths to outcomes I want. Current most viable path: being an ICU nurse. I think I am going to be a really good ICU nurse; people who are familiar with my general personality concur. I am smart and competent and compassionate but not high-automatic-empathy enough that it’ll interfere with my functioning, I automatically think of things in terms of feedback within systems, I need to be active and under stress, I’m pretty high-conscientiousness with adequate caffeine intake and expect further improvement once I get either real ADHD meds or modafinil, I’ll be so good at this.

(I can handle stress, I can handle pressure. I cannot handle not being under pressure. A high-pressure job that occupies a lot of my time is more or less necessary; I am like a neurotic border collie that can’t self-motivate, I will always find things to do, if they’re not imposed from outside those things will be e.g. having pointless anxiety about things that really don’t merit anxiety.)

Be an ICU nurse for a few years. Donate ten percent. It’s worth figuring out whether “reducing medical error via checklists” is a viably high-impact thing; more likely I’ll end up working in the ICU until I stop being a high-stress traumatized adolescent, then go to CRNA school and make ridiculous CRNA salary and donate like $100k/year or something absolutely ridiculous like that.

Also when I moved out here I was very much thinking “yeah I’m gonna just work as much as I need to pay my bills and not think about school and just relax so much” and three months later I’m pulling stupid overtime and figuring out the best way to fast-track my nursing degree. (Depends on how much transfer credit Shitty Online College is willing to give me, but likely the best way to do it will be to finish my BS online while working full-time and then go to an accelerated RN program; that’d be only one full year of in-person school. And then just be a nurse.)

I applied to Shitty Online College today; in a few weeks they’ll tell me how much transfer credit they’ll give me. It might be a viable option, and if that’s the case I’ll work full-time and finish my BS and apply for the one-year RN for 2021. Even if it’s not a viable option I’ll need anat/phys to get into nursing school and it’ll be a lot cheaper to do the self-study CLEP-adjacent test-out thing the shitty online college offers.

...I don’t know how to self-motivate. I don’t know how to self-study. This is a thing I have to learn but also I don’t know how to learn. Offers of peer-pressure coworking are so welcome, guys.

I have been in overtime every week since the first week. I am comfortably middle-class, have been living on about $1200 a month, am saving over half my income. I am in a really good position to do everything I want to! Like, within a few years I’d be able to buy a house were I not instead funneling all my income into education.

It has occurred to me that being non-disabled in certain important ways is a large part of why I’m okay. It’s... not intuitive to think of myself like that; I couldn’t handwrite enough for any reasonable goal until 2017 (a few legible sentences and that’s it for the day!), couldn’t make decisions based on my long-term ability to walk. There is less pain now. I am able to walk the mile and a half to and from work; I don’t need an apartment that’s right next to my workplace, I don’t need a car. I can hang out in a room full of loud alarms going off constantly and also make phone calls constantly and have people’s lives dependent on my ability to cope with this (this is my current job, I fucking love it).

Eating still has not been good (see post, CW for various ~food issues~). I’d hoped that the change of environment and commitment to exposing myself to unpleasant things e.g. eating would be useful, and there have been really substantial improvements (haven’t vomited since I left $homestate, I think I’ve at least maintained my weight, there’s only been one day I didn’t eat at all) but it’s... still requiring sustained effort. (You may notice that I am not yet great at sustained self-directed effort.) I’ll figure it out. Getting adequate therapy is a priority.

I could afford full-time Soylent. This is not an option I’m seriously considering in the near term but it is very comforting to know that there is another option. It’s likely that after e.g. a year of effort and therapy food will become intrinsically motivating again -- it’s been less than a year since my food issues became seriously harmful, after all, and recovery is likely. But even if that doesn’t happen, even if solid food is horrible forever, I have an option besides “do a thing that is seriously aversive every day several times a day for the rest of my life” and “don’t eat and subsequently be unable to function because I don’t eat.”

What else --

I had planned to maintain contact with my parents after leaving, since it’s important to them; this is no longer a viable plan. Every seriously unpleasant mental state since I left has either been “eating is unpleasant” or “I talked to my parents and this is Not Good.” It’s... relevant that every time this has happened, it’s been substantially less bad than literally every day I’d lived with my parents. Possibly I do not have a good understanding of what is a reasonable amount of distress to put myself in. I am still learning this and it’s okay.

So. Not talking to them. It feels good and free and safe. I almost think I should miss them -- it feels disrespectful for my reactions to be universally positive. Mostly this is not distressing because oh my god this is awesome I don’t have to interact with them unless I specifically choose to.

Also, now I am responsible for adult things like meal prep and cleaning and health insurance and finding a therapist and getting my in-state driver’s license and, uh, getting an ADHD eval. I have been putting off going to the DMV and I just... I have to go to the DMV. This will suck a bunch for a very short period of time and then I will have an in-state driver’s license and also will laugh at myself for not having done this two months ago.

(figuring things out and becoming more competent -- intrinsically motivating, for me. it’s a good trait to have.)

[fizzingwizard]

Just venting about work...

At my job, we are supposed to have an hour break and an hour of prep. An hour break is generous and an hour prep is woefully inadequate, so prep bleeds into break all the time. I’ve never taken an hour break. It’s usually 10 or 15 min, 30 when I can.

However, our schedule changes daily and this break/prep time is NOT consecutive. It’s 15 min off duty here, 30 min off there, etc. Which makes getting anything done during that down time really difficult - as soon as you set up, it’s time to break down. Then you have to do it again later when your next off duty block shows up.

We are also perpetually understaffed. Most schools in our company have at least 2 of my type of class divided by age level, and at least two, but usually three, teachers per class. My school? Has 1 class of combined ages (complicating things immensely!) with three teachers, one of whom works 10-7, one who is part time and works 9:30-3, and then me, who works 9-5. This means that there are times of day when I am the only teacher of my age group around, or my coworker is, so there’s no choice but to put us on the duty schedule during those times. In other words, those are popular break times for other teachers, but we have to be on duty because there’s no one else. (It also means there’s no one to share the load for school event planning so I’m a leader for every, single. event. 1 hour of prep a day during which I have to prep, grading, cleaning, organizing, lesson planning, prop making, and event planning... HOW??)

And on top of that, I have never to my memory actually had a full 2 hours prep/break time on my schedule. Never. The longest is 1 hr 45, which is close - but that’s rare. On a regular day, it’s 1.5 hrs, or 1 hour 15 min. On days when another teacher calls out sick and we can’t get a sub, or on days when we have parent meetings or after school classes, and I have to pick up the slack, I might have 1 hour.

And on top of the top of that - meetings run long, the teacher supposed to take over for your shift before you go on break is late, etc, all these things add up and... for example, yesterday I was off literally 40 min the entire day. 10 min in the morning (was supposed to be 15, meeting ran long), 15 in the afternoon (was supposed to be 30 but the teacher who made the scheduled goofed and no one was available to cover a 30 min block, so me and another teacher split it), and 15 min in the afternoon (again was supposed to be 30 but the teachers supposed to take over my duty showed up 15 min late because her class had run long).

And that’s the end of a week of days just like that - only one day this week did I have a normal off duty schedule, and three times during the week I was on duty for 2 hours non stop in the afternoon (a shift that is not coveted!)

Whether normal or crunch time, I am on my feet all day. My legs ache so much at the end of the day. I look after really young kids who need a lot of supervision, and if I so much as look away to sneeze at the wrong time, it could spell disaster. It’s really hard sometimes. I joke that right now I’m working harder at this job than at any other yet getting paid the least of any job I’ve had - but it’s not really a joke. That is the situation. In spite of that, I like this job soooo much more than my others. I am an involved teacher and have a close daily relationship with all my kids. I love that I’m the one who can calm them down. I love joking and playing with them. I love planning our activities and lessons. If you asked me even a couple years ago whether I’d ever want to teach this age long term, I’d have said no. Now, I’m finding it so fulfilling every day.

As you might imagine, I work overtime a lot. TBH, I should be doing it even more, for better quality. But I also have 1.5 hour commute that is sometimes 2 hours especially in the evening, and I tend to pass out after dinner so. I find it difficult to feel like I’m not already working really hard. But there’s always something left to do. It drives me crazy. I worried that it was just me, but my coworkers as well are feeling this way.

We were told that we were going to get a new teacher to help with the burden. They were supposed to come in September... then October... now it’s mid-Sep and we have heard absolutely nothing. They should be showing up for training if they’re going to start in October. We area all extremely skeptical. My personal take is, the company didn’t budget for hiring new teachers during the year at all... we have another teacher going on maternity leave so she needs a replacement, and our situation might be tight, but it’s not as impossible as not having a teacher at all. So that’s how things stand at the moment.

So that’s all stressful but mostly exhausting. I feel like the stress is a lot less than it was when I started the job (thank goodness) and that gives me confidence. But what I really need is to cut down on the exhaustion. I want to spend more time with my bf on the weekends but I tend to drag myself out to see him because I’m so tired. I want to go on hikes but my feet hurt every day. I’ve always been a homebody and an introvert so it’s not like I was super active before, but I definitely did more on my own volition, and most of all, I wasn’t so damn tired. (I mean, I’m also not 20 anymore x’D gotta factor that in too...)

Anyway, as bad as I feel sometimes... I also feel like I can’t complain. Because my schedule probably isn’t as bad as some others. For example, my Japanese coworkers are required to work an hour longer than me. I believe they also get paid less (paid less for more work - international teachers in Japan, this is very often the case for your Japanese coworkers! It was like that at my previous job as well. I don’t know what the reason is - they work a lot of overtime too that they don’t get paid for - they do sometimes get sizable bonuses that some say make up for the salary difference but... idk, it’s all sketchy and weird). So if I complain about my salary, it feels selfish, even though the salary I’m getting is barely sustainable for me as someone who lives alone with no dependents. And if I complain about the amount of time I work or the amount of responsibilities I have, there are people with more of both. Even if coworkers would agree with me, I feel like it’s only gonna make me look weak if I voice my complaints.

Things I love about my job - all the things I mentioned before about my students, as well as the fact that my coworkers are upbeat and team players and very helpful. We all support each other a lot. There’s no brow-beating if you have to stay home sick. It sucks - it does - because of being understaffed, but no one talks badly about you like in some other jobs I’ve had here in Japan. We don’t get sick leave, but at least people understand that sickness is a thing that happens. Generally I feel respected and like I can respect my coworkers. And I feel like everyone really cares about the kids and wants to give them a great school experience. We’re not just coasting by. It’s helped me to think a lot about the importance of work culture. I feel encouraged and inspired to do more for my students because others around me are doing the same with theirs. It’s so different from the eikaiwa where no one really gave a damn about anything. (Except the managers, about money.)

That’s why I don’t want to leave. I wish I could go into every detail because there are sooo many other things driving me up the wall every day that seem like they should never have happened or should be high on the to-fix list... but the to-fix list is extremely long. And it means something to me that, in spite of all that, I still like it here and want to stay. Like, that means something’s going very right, in spite of all the wrong.

And adulthood really is just being tired all the time, I think that’s true for all adults unless you’re just really blessed with an abundance of energy. Caffeine is popular for a reason. It is the hardest pill for me to swallow because everyone seems to expect me to have all these interesting things to say and I’m like, “I just work, eat, and sleep... "

We had a part-time worker in the spring who unfortunately quit. While she was there things were sooo much more manageable. Just one part time worker... If my job could just give us that, I would be so much happier. But it seems like asking too much. I wish I had a coworker to talk to and share opinions but I’m worried about that being seen as weak or selfish thing. You never know what they’ll say at a performance review. (Not that we get those. When you can’t afford to hire anyone new, you can’t really afford to fire over small things either.)

Bah!

[whatareyoulikeincapslock]

Portland, LA

“You look like you’ve shit your pants” says Michelle, a middle aged woman from Glen Roy, who I’ve met over breakfast bagels. She’s on a whirlwind tour with her friend, and scoffs at my hiking stories. My back is seizing worse than ever today and I find that stretching out my hip flexors seem to give me less relief than previous days. I’m starting to think I may have strained a ligament in my back now. I haven’t had a proper bed in three weeks, a spring loaded mattress or a lower plastic bunk bed has been the best case scenario, amongst hammocks and dirt and sleeping bags and couches.

I make my way on the metro to the airport after giving the reception the wine I don’t want anymore. I haven’t wanted to drink since waking up in the Fart Princesses bed. I can’t sit still on the metro as my hips keep tightening and my legs are vibrating pain, so I stand and make all sorts of weird stretches until I get to the terminal, where a man sees me stretching my hips out on the floor in the boarding lounge. He asks me if I have a running injury, and I tell him I’ve hiked 100k in two weeks. He says he’s run 200k: he’s an ultra marathon runner. I’ve read a few books on ultra marathons and I think it’s incredibly hardcore and super impressive. He is well over 60 and looking after his grandkids, and the guy is fitter than anything. He’s done two 100k runs in two weeks, and the last one took him ten hours, which is so impressive I nearly fall off my chair, except that I’m already on the floor stretching into pigeon pose.

By the time I get on the plane my back is radiating pain down my legs and I’m starting to worry.

I meet a 75 year old woman in the seat next to me who comments on my one Portland souvenir: a sweater that says “body by pastrami” that I am planning on wearing til its rags. Especially since ironically, I’ve probably lost some weight out here, though I haven’t properly checked. I also haven’t eaten any pastrami, but that’s beside the point.

I’ve been thinking deeply about sobriety again after yesterday’s discussion with chris. I started to talk about the book “this naked mind” by Annie grace, and how society is governed so much by alcoholcentricity that it is saturated to the point of external validation being completely biased.

We spoke about his friend who has a drinking problem and how the neural pathways can suffer a degeneration so severe that you can’t come back from it. And it occurred to me whilst I was preaching this that I had been black out twice in two days and it was the first time I had a bender like that in while. I didn’t feel guilty about it, but it made me worry about the injuries I’d sustained and whether that would have been different if I hadn’t drank. I would surmise that yes, considering that alcohol in vast amounts or even small ones can affect muscle recovery. I wonder what my capacity to hike would be if I was not sinking well above my average units of alcohol. The man who does ultra marathons had inspired me to start running again, but I know I can’t do it if I’m drinking, not in the capacity that I’m allowing myself to. Maybe not at all, whilst I train and build my body to overcome large distances.

Renee said that Muay Thai had helped her discover something she didn’t want to drink for, and I could see that, and feel that, when I was hiking. I would purposely not drink or only drink a bit before a hike the next day. But as soon as I had recovery time I would go Wild with it.

I think about Nathalie often on this trip because I’m still so pissed off at her reaction to me, but I realise lately that I have to let it go because otherwise it will prove to be cancerous for me and my propensity to be defiant and then just drink because someone tells me I can’t, which makes me understand why they try to break down your ego and humble you in AA. Because some people really don’t like being told what to do, to the point where they will do things they don’t even want to, to prove a point. And I’m one of them, which makes me want to shatter my ego to slivers and throw it out to the universe.

So much of this trip has me confronting the ridiculousness of my pride and ego. Somewhere recently I managed to pick up some large amount of insecurity, that has completely blown out my ego. I have become more sensitive lately, to my distaste, and I don’t quite know how to fix it.

I wonder if it had something to do with my time at refresh, and whether James not believing I had filled my capacity at any point had me wearing myself so thin that I blew out on feeling unworthy. Also, my penchance for unavailable men, which has me clinging to the narrative that I am too much, and not able to be loved, and unsure of how to love in an adequate way.

So much of this year has made me realise how much of a child I still am, and I wonder if we ever really get it together, or if we cover it with husbands and children and study and distractions large enough to identify ourselves by so we don’t have to face our lack of growth.

It is a slow process, realising you don’t know anything and then attempting to wrangle the beast that is a life that is constantly in transit.

And hiking mountains makes you completely aware of how insignificant and tiny you are in the grand scheme of things. I wonder what I can do in my life to influence the people around me enough to ensure that my name is said in reference to joy or insight after I am dead.

I wonder how far reaching kindness is, and I wonder if I have been kind enough lately, and I wonder if that is why I have felt my ego rising up to meet me with such aggressive fervour.

I keep hitting the left side of my body, cuts on my knees, restubbing my toe a million times a day because I have no toenail and I’m sleeping on a top bunk so low that I keep sitting up and smacking my head on the ceiling and then smacking my toe following that. My body is covered in bruises from hiking, clumsiness and drunkenness. The hike has left me with small scratches all over my feet that are stinging constantly. I still want to hike the Hollywood sign though. It will be the last hike of the trip and I think, a great place to end.

I listen to Halsey and G-Eazy on the plane and think about publicly being obsessed with someone to the point of making music talking about dying with them and then breaking up in the public eye.

I wonder if they then just refuse to play that song in their tours again, probably.

It makes me think about infatuation and love and how flawed we all are. Love seems uncomfortable, sacrificial. Infatuation is great, I wonder if it continues to come around in long term relationships if you try hard enough, and what those steps are. I guess that life is a series of storms you weather together, like they say. I wonder how often in love that you actually like each other, and how often you wish for something else, and whether it’s really worth it or just something we dreamed up because were animals that need to procreate and loneliness is debilitating. And whether fear of dying alone and unsupported plays a starring role in the perception of a relationship over the years. And then I think, tomorrow I could fall off a cliff and then I would never have to worry about shit like this, and maybe that’s the most comforting thing I have thought all morning.

The lady sitting next to me tells me about how her kids took her to Alaska for her 75th birthday, and whether it makes all the diarrhoea, sickness and relentless verbal slinging matches that occur when you spawn worth it. Whether it’s worth being told you are hated and being terrified of losing them to illness and accidents and hospital visits and mental health. Whether it’s worth the bills and the school and the bail outs and the disagreements. A trip through the wilderness that you could have afforded anyway, but maybe you would spend the time feeling so desperately lonely that your heart is the size of the moon, and the only thing that makes a life worth it is the notion, if not the reality, of love that is unconditional.

As I leave the plane, the lady next to me tells me her name is Pat.

She looks at me from the seat as I’m standing in the isle, fiddling with the strap of my bag.

“I’m envious”, she says.

I laugh, but the words curl themselves into my rib cage, and I wonder if they’re true.

[myvoicenottheoneyougiveme]

Preach.

It's my fault I'm being stalked. It's my fault there is a psycho trying to undo every aspect of my life. It's my fault.

It's my fault. It's my fault that these games are being played. It's my fault that socially someone is destroying my life. It's my fault that on a whim, this psycho...

It's my fault. It's somethign I'm failing to do or be. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault "this" is happening to me.

It's my fault. Preach.

It's my fault that the right to discretion, that the very fabric of social bonding is being rended, that the concept of trust, that the act of a door that opens outward not one that's kicked inward.... it's my fault. What's happening to me is my fault.

It's my fault. It's my fault.

It's my fault.

I just need to be more this or be more that or be less this. It's my fault. What's happening to me, the consequences of it, but regardless of the consequences....

I said don't touch me. I said, here no further. I said hands off. I said what makes human bonds is choice. I said that what makes trust, makes connection, is choice.

But you kick the door down.

Like an animal on a leash thrown naked onto a stage...

it's my fault.

It's my fault.

Tell me it's my fault. Tell me that what's happening to me is my fault.

I just need to be raped so I can get used to it. "Get used to it" "Get over it"

It's my fault. It's my fault.

Tell me again

I said “no”. But the trauma of it all, my reaction to it, it’s my fault.

SHHH SHHHH SHHHHH, just let it happen... Don’t be a baby. Just need “exposure”. Just need to build “immunity”.

It’s not traumatic. It’s not traumatic. How it makes me feel, what it does to me, that’s my problem, it’s my problem. It’s my fault.

It’s my fault “this” is happening.

Tell me again, it’s my fault.

Preach at me. Tell me again

Edit:

In the face of yesterday’s attempt at induced conversation, mother/whoever, I checked your argument with the reality of narcissistic abuse.

So long as a person’s relationships with others, so long as a person’s life is being held hostage, swallowed up and consumed by, so long as you are using your target’s support network against them, to collapse on them, to be the antithesis of solid ground, to gaslight... but simply, so long as you are holding his relationships with others, with everyone ever, hostage, then good luck on your little sonny boy [Seth in this induced conversation] extricating himself from his “toxic” relationship with high probabilities of success.

Speaking for myself- reputation, regard of others, friendships, just the whole of a life, those people’s opinions are only part of the equation. Pleasing, pleasing the world on whole, not being hated, not being an object of wrath, that’s only part of the equation for the codependent. Only part. The codependent and the narcissist have the same wound after all, it’s just that the narcissist has it so much worse. That’s why in cold empathy (in other words understanding but not feeling the effects) the narcissistic person is so damned good at punching their target’s/love object’s buttons.

The regard of anyone else, the desire to not be hated or rejected, that’s only one part of the equation for the codependent.

The poorly named “codependent” or in other cases “empath” is responding to the suffering (real or false suffering) of their narcissistic partner. The “poor me”s and anger and frustration but especially her perceived pain, --the idea of abandoning her is more than he can stand.

Even with “better sense” to override everything his heart is telling him, if he can’t shut the door on--can’t immunize himself to--what she herself is feeling and thinking about all of this and about him, -if he can’t shut the door on her pain, and he won’t likely be able to, because he’s already self-deprecating to a fault, already taking the world on his shoulders, already feeling responsible for thigns that are not his to own, already such a damned good beast of burden, -if he can’t shut the door on “the suffering girl” which he sees through the lens of the faith he has in her, of what he projects onto her, of what may or may not really be there but has so much to do with what’s already inside of him,

--if he can’t shut the door on that inner voice of guilt, true genuine guilt, true genuine bleeding for the person he believes in this part of himself, this feeling illogical irrational part of himself, true bleeding for this person he’s letting fall, letting down... he’s causing the pain as far as he’s concerned. He’s everything wrong with the world as far as he’s concerned. Even if everyone else is making him feel that way, he already feels that way.

Between the inside and the out, CRUSHED. Flattened. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t, desperation increasing, desperation, hopelessness, a double-bind. Melting heart and mind. A blurring between the real and the perceived--the felt. “Heart cooks brain”.

In the face of narcissistic abuse, this person will fail and fail and fail and fail and fail... to get away. If we’re talking about the same person here, cause I don’t regard Seth in this way, obviously. But this was your induced conversation. If he’s a stand-in for me and my “crimes” of not being able to walk away all those years ago, then I check your argument with the realities of narcissistic abuse.

Now, I’ve elaborated on just why such a person would be so susceptible. Not everyone can be trapped by, can be controlled by, can be manipulated by this person. It takes a special kind of someone, lacking certain resources of self, to fall prey to “this” kind of thing.

...But the present, “this” here right now is something else, something for which no amount of guidance or me altering myself or my course can fix. At the point of criminality, at the point that it’s come “this” far, the last thing the victim or target needs to be telling themselves is how if only they were more this or less that or did this or did that. The last thing the victim of harassment and stalking is supposed to be doing is blaming themselves for it happening to them.

It’s not on me to make “this” stop.

It isn’t my fault that it’s happening, and its perpetuation happens with or without me. 

The real story ended 7+ years ago ...but you had other plans. And here we are. Tell me again, that I just need to do or be more this and less that and it will go away. Tell me again, that being stalked beyond stalking, beyond harassment, beyond abuse, is my fault or my responsibility to own.

Tell me again that what’s happening to me rests on me. The part I played in “this” thing’s perpetuation was resolved 7+ years ago. “This” escalation in response to my ability to shut the door on you and keep it shut, isn’t my responsibility and I’ve done more than enough to end it however fruitlessly for the last several years.

This next step for me is my last... if this doesn’t work, then I don’t know what. If I fail this time to create space, to create separation, if after everything I’ve done to extricate myself from your reach has failed, and even after choosing a life totally devoid of all means of access to me, you still break in... I thought “air-gapped” and lacking all wireless components would be enough to shut the door on you. This next step, internal power source, not tied to any grid, removed from everything out and away in the wilderness, if this doesn’t shut the door on you, then I don’t know what will. I know it’s physically impossible at this point, unless you’re using some frequency beyond the range of my scanner to move data in and out. I know it’s physically impossible now. You’d have to follow me out there, and you’d have to do it without a hardline. They make jammers. That could be a next step, but my point is, I’m running out of things to try, psycho stalker.

I can’t live “this” way.

If I succeed, and this lifestyle becomes sustainable for me, you know I’m never coming back, mother. The greatest harm lies with you for the part you’ve played in “this”. You should have been the last person on earth, to ever do these things to me. But, if you haven’t shown me what you’re really made of through all of “this”.

I can’t live “this” way.

Edit: What’s more, as though I even needed to spell it out, gaslighting and it’s associated denial of reality is said to be the most destructive form of emotional abuse. But you’re not just denying reality and having your way with me, you’re stalking, you’re stalking and manipulating and toying with, and you’re using others to help you. Gaslighting and flying monkeys the primary weapons of narcissistic abuse--of the narcissist. By your actions I name you, by your actions. Not by your “reasons” as you bend and twist and distort and manipulate and masterfully manage your image in the eyes of those you conscript/absorb, but by your actions and your dismissal of the consequences to me and the trampling of my boundaries.

By your actions I name you. You name yourself by your actions. It’s that simple.

Edit: Even if you are possibly delusional over your reflection (the grandiose version is quite blind, has blinded themselves) you’re not stupid.

You’re simply doing what nets you the biggest reaction. If that means playing saint and forcing your “grace” onto me seemingly deaf to everything I couldn’t spell out any clearer if I tried, then that’s what you’ll do. It also affords you an opportunity to reframe yourself in contrast to me. If I get pushy or aggravated by your assaults, you will take any of what you can to the bank as though I had no right to be angry with you or any of “this”. You will take that to the bank as some kind of proof of what’s wrong with me, cause you are after all, such a saint. Who could deny you? I mean you’re just “helping” after all, what the hell is wrong with this guy?

And on and on it goes.