#and i'm down to the last two pills of the first prescription and the second one has to run all the way to the last week of october

[pollyna]

I just hope this fucking month will be done soon because I can't anymore with it. It felt like fifteen months long instead of the normal 31 days long.

[terramous]

maybe i'm just too messed up to succeed

fandom: agatha all along word count: 9.6k title: hospital bracelet - sober haha jk jk unless bad things happen bingo - stitches !! suicide attempt, hallucinations, disordered eating, self harm, medication !! AO3

William is sitting cross-legged in his bed, the soft blue blanket twisted around his ankles when the nurse comes in. He didn’t get much sleep, unable to make the shift between his plush twin bed at home and the shockingly thin and narrow hospital cot. If this is what every night in the psych ward is going to be like he fears he may have made a mistake by agreeing to stay for two weeks.

No school, no parents, no pressure. 

At least he hopes. 

“Good morning, I’m Daphne” the nurse says with a smile far too wide for how ragged and bone-tired William feels. “How are you today?” 

“Good,” he lies. He’s gotten used to lying, it’s one of the few things he remembered how to do since before the crash. Lying to his parents, lying to doctors, lying to teachers, hell, even lying to the damn dog. 

“How did you sleep?” 

He cringes involuntarily. “Not great,” he admits, his eyes downcast. 

The nurse–Daphne–smiles again. “Yeah, most everyone struggles the first few days. Not much funding in the mental health sector. Pathetic mattresses and pillows better suited as bookends.” 

That pulls a soft chuckle from William, one that surprises him but disappears as quickly as it came on. 

“I have your medication,” she holds up one hand that is gripping a tiny paper cup. Something rattles inside and she hands it to him. 

There’s two white pills nestled in the bottom of the cup. One is bigger but both are familiar. 

The bigger one is his antidepressant: Sertraline, 100mg. He’s been on it for a few weeks now, he started it when his parents dragged him to a follow-up appointment with his regular doctor and brought up how miserable and downtrodden he seemed to be in the month since the crash. So he left that appointment, signed prescription in hand and the pharmacy traded it for a bottle of pills. 

The smaller pill is the one he’s only been on for the past three days while he was in the hospital: Lorazepam, 0.5mg. It was for his anxiety, just something to take the edge off so that he didn’t feel like his fear would stop his heart every second of the day. So far it’s been pretty effective. 

He tips the cup and both pills fall onto his tongue and he washes them down with the stale cup of water from his bedside. The pills leave a lingering bitter aftertaste on his tongue from where they started to dissolve, he grimaces and takes another swig of water, emptying the cup. 

“Have you noticed any potential side effects from your medication?” Daphne asks, pulling a clipboard seemingly out of nowhere. William really needed to start paying more attention to his surroundings. There’s a bag with about a million pockets sitting on the end of his bed, maybe it came from there. 

Shaking his head, he replies, “nope.” 

“Well, that’s good,” she says. “Is it alright if I change your bandage and check on your wound?”

“Sure.” He offers his injured left arm to her and wonders if he comes across as rude and disinterested but Daphne doesn’t seem to let it dampen her pep. 

She pulls the bag of pockets further up the bed and starts unzipping it in a multitude of places. Pulling out packets of white printed with bright greens and blues and even one a dull red, she sets to work. She pulls the clip off of the bandage and unravels it until she gets down to the patch of gauze. Unlike yesterday it isn’t speckled in blood that has seeped through, which is good news William guesses. 

Peeling back the pad Daphne doesn’t say anything but the silence doesn’t last. 

“He’s so young. How does this even happen?”

William blinks hard, as if he can will away her thoughts. He wants to kick up a fuss and bite back at her inner monologue. I was in a car crash and lost my memories. I still can’t remember anything before waking up covered in blood in the backseat with my mom and her frantic eyes and desperate pleas for me to stay awake. I keep my parents awake at night worrying about me, they think I don’t know but I can hear their thoughts. I scared them and I continue to do so with every day that passes that I don’t remember. I don’t think I’ll ever remember. 

The wound on his wrist is jagged and stands out stark against the pale skin. It’s a deep red, crusted with dried blood and held together with six stitches. He remembers sitting in the waiting room of the hospital with a tea towel wrapped around his wrist and his parents sitting deathly still beside him. They were thinking a mix of anger and worry and sadness and it was the exact thing he was trying to gain reprieve from. 

Regret pangs in his chest and he smothers it. 

He looks away from the wound and focuses on the sheets as he tries to tune out the constant buzz of Daphne’s thoughts. Lots of empathy and compassion and worry. Always worry.

Apparently getting away from his parents doesn’t mean getting away from the worry. 

“All done!” Daphne chirps and William looks up. She’s redressed and rebandaged his wrist and he didn’t even notice her do it, too focused on her thoughts and his own bubbling emotions. 

“Thanks,” he says with a smile. It’s completely manufactured and not in the least bit sincere but Daphne mirrors him with a wider one. 

“You are most welcome. Breakfast is in 15 minutes, I hope to see you out there.” 

And with that she is gone and William is alone again. He is getting used to being alone.

🏰

William sits by himself at a table in the far corner of the room. It is rickety and plastic and probably folds away. The surface is white and puckered like a ceiling in a house that desperately needs to be ripped down for asbestos contamination. He wishes he wore longer sleeves to protect his arms from the texture as he rests his elbows on the table. 

His tray is no more miserable than what he had in the ward of the hospital but it’s just as unappetizing. The same dry and scrambled eggs he remembers from after the crash, when he first heard the voices, cold toast cut into soldiers sans even a smear of butter, an apple juice box and a banana. At least it is really hard to mess up a banana. 

He sits and stares at the yellow fruit for a few moments before conceding and picking it up and unpeeling it. 

As he is about to take a bite someone slams their tray down across from him and sits with a heavy sigh. It’s a girl, she looks a bit older than him, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Her hair is too dark of a black for her features, it’s almost just a very dark blue. She has a bright green streak in the front that cements William’s theory that it’s all dyed. She’s wearing a shirt as dark as her hair and from what he can see through the table across the front in big white letters it says “LOVE WILL TEAR US APART”. 

The material of the shirt almost seems to swallow her, that’s when William notices that she is unusually thin. Which pairs with the single plastic bottle on her tray: “Ensure” the label says. 

She doesn’t speak to him and just opens the bottle, sitting there and sipping it occasionally as she eyes William. He tries his best to avoid her curious gaze and piercing blue eyes. 

Finishing his banana in silence, William picks up his plastic fork and starts poking tentatively at his eggs. 

“Not to sound more anorexic than I am but that just looks pathetic,” his table partner says. 

Looking up at her, he can’t help but to feel a little sheepish but he cracks a smile. It is perhaps the most genuine one since the crash, this girl doesn’t expect him to be anything. He loves his parents but they keep expecting him to remember, to be the same as he was, but he never is. “It kinda is…” 

“What’s your name?” she asks, setting her bottle down with a firm tap.

He sets down his fork, misery eggs forgotten. “William,” he says. 

She nods. “I’m Vanessa.” 

“Are–” he pauses, “are those any good?” he asks, gesturing towards her tray. 

Vanessa cringes. “Not at all but–” she picks up the bottle and rocks it side to side like a boat on the waves and takes a swig “–calories.” 

With a sympathetic grimace, William turns his attention back to his sad meal. It’s going to be a long two weeks. Conceding, he picks up the apple juice and pokes the straw into it. At least pre-packaged things don’t appear to have come out of whatever the opposite of a microwave is. He’s not sure if he wants to find out what that is.

Again, Vanessa is the one who speaks. She’s a lot more talkative than William expected anyone in here would be. “You look pretty young, how old are you?” 

“Thirteen.” 

It’s Vanessa’s turn to grimace. “Yikes, being thirteen is like hell on Earth.” 

“No argument from me,” he says. He has no frame of reference for any other age but he would be willing to bet money that thirteen is going to be the one that chalks up as the worst of his life. 

“I’m sixteen, my birthday’s in a week and I’m going to spend it in here. Yippee for me, don’t you think?” she asks, leaning forward and propping her chin on her hands. 

Well that sucks. “What about your parents?” William asks.

“It’s a Tuesday and my dad can’t get off work to drive all the way up here. It’s three hours each way. I don’t think they love me enough to do that more than once a month.” 

“I’m sure they do,” he says. Things are just so complicated when it comes to hospital stays and your parents having to go about their lives as if there isn’t a war waging behind closed doors. “How long have you been here”?

Vanessa laughs a little, it’s a mix between an exhale and a choke. “I was supposed to be here for three weeks but it’s been–” she counts on her fingers and holds up seven. 

His two weeks are starting to look a lot less manageable now. What if he doesn’t get better? Will he have to stay here forever? 

He doesn’t get to think on it for long before his table partner speaks again.

Like a cliche prison scene she asks “So, what’re you in for?” 

William lifts up his wrist to show her the bandage and the bulk of the gauze pad underneath it. It’s surprising she hasn’t picked up on it already. Well, maybe she did but didn’t say anything, although she doesn’t seem like the kind of girl to hold her tongue.

She hums thoughtfully. “Been there. Self harm or–” she mimes slitting her own throat with her thumb and makes a choking noise. 

“The latter.” 

“Ah, gotcha.” 

After poking around at his eggs and toast a bit more, even tentatively nibbling the corner of one of the toast pieces, William decides against eating them and maintains that a banana and juice will be enough to hold him over until lunch. Vanessa finishes her drink and demonstrates to the watchful nurse that it’s empty by tipping the bottle upside down and letting the single remaining drop fall out and hit the bare tray. 

She gets up and stalks off, black hair swishing like a curtain in the breeze, her tray and empty bottle the only evidence that she was there at all. William sets his fork down, finally content to give up on breakfast.

🏰

Group therapy is next on the agenda. It makes dread curl in William’s gut like something alive, a snake around a clutch of soft-shelled eggs. 

He sits on a chair and tries to make himself as small as possible. 

“Today we have a new friend,” the staff member–Richard–says as he gestures to William who looks at him like a deer caught in headlights. Richard is probably only about thirty with cropped short black hair speckled with grey hairs at his temples, rectangular glasses with thick black frames, and a clipboard in his lap. He smiles gently and wiggles his eyebrows when he makes eye contact with William. “William, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?” 

His tongue is drier than a desert and he can’t seem to find any words. “Hi, uh, I’m William.” Idiot. Tell them something they don’t know. “I’m thirteen and I have a dog named Greg.” 

“What kind of things do you like? Music? Movies?” Richard prods, still smiling. Everyone who works here smiles too much, it’s unnerving. 

“I- I don’t know,” he says in a small voice. He’s not even sure if anyone hears him but Richard nods encouragingly. He thinks of the posters in his room. “Alice in Wonderland, Houdini, I guess.” 

He didn’t really like those things, at least not anymore. But it’s a good enough answer and less complicated than “I forgot everything about me and I have no interests or passions”.

This elicits a laugh from Richard, a hearty and warm chuckle. “Not what I’d expect from kids these days but it’s nice to know that some of you have good taste.” 

It was a joke but William can’t help but feel like he’s done something wrong. 

Shifting his eyes down he stares and the white and grey flecked pattern of the linoleum under his black vans with the laces removed. Safety, the staff member had said when he was first transferred up to the hospital’s psych ward, they never gave him his laces back. 

He doesn’t speak and eventually the attention is shifted from him. Chatter builds up and he is forgotten again but that doesn’t mean that everyone has stopped thinking about him. 

“Those bandages. He slit his wrists.”

“He seems fine, he's probably just faking it for attention.” 

The voices are impossible to ignore but he just tries to make himself shrink and maybe they’ll slide right past him. They don’t, they just seem to get louder. 

“Too young to have any real problems.” 

“He’s wasting a bed that could be used for someone who needs it.” 

He carefully and quietly slides his hands up his body until they are covering his ears. They don’t make a difference when it comes to the voices but it makes him feel better. He screws his eyes shut and blocks out the horrible fluorescent lights and penetrating gazes. 

“He’s not sick enough to be here.” 

“Rich parents paid for inpatient so they don’t have to deal with teenage hysterics.” 

Eventually the cacophony of voices just blends together, he can’t pick out any individual phrases, just pieces of thoughts at a time. Faker, cutter, pathetic. It never stops. 

It never stops. 

It never–

There’s a tap on his knee. 

He opens his eyes to see Vanessa kneeling in front of him, looking up with wide blue eyes. They are so pale, almost grey, everything in this place is grey. She reaches up and pulls one hand away from his ear. It doesn’t instantly get noisier or more overwhelming, no one speaks but their thoughts are plenty loud. 

“What’s going on?” she asks, gentle this time and without the thin veil of sarcasm and irony everything she said at breakfast was bathed in. 

“It’s too loud.”

Her brows furrow. “What’s too loud?” 

He taps on his temple with his shaking index finger. “The voices,” he whispers.

Something in her expression shatters. Her fingers encircle his wrist, her hands are cold and it’s a nice change from his entire body that feels like it’s on fire. Maybe he’s running a fever. Maybe he’s burning from the inside out. 

She turns away from him and says something he doesn’t catch but the next thing he knows is that she’s pulling him to his feet and dragging him out of the room. She doesn’t speak even as they trail through the building and up to the rooms.

Stopping still, she turns to him. From this angle he can see that he���s a good three inches taller than her but nowhere near as intimidating. “Where’s your room?”

He actually looks around for the first time in ages and zeroes in on his door. “W. Kaplan” the little sign on the wall next to the handle says. 

“There.”

“Wonderful,” Vanessa starts moving, still dragging William along. She pushes the door open and they both sink into the darkness. “We can hide in here.” 

Neither of them move to turn the light on, content with just whatever the hallway could spare through the gap in the door frame. It’s nice, even a bit peaceful. Vanessa lets go of him and he sits on his bed. He made it before he left for breakfast. “Made” is a strong word, he just straightened up the pillow and folded the blanket at the end of the bed. 

It creaks under his weight but Vanessa joins him on it, folding her legs and resting her hands in her lap. 

“Are we going to get in trouble?” he asks after a few beats of silence. 

That makes Vanessa laugh. “No way. It’s your first day and you’re kinda mentally ill. I hate to break it to you but this is probably expected.”

“Oh…” William drops his eyes to his jeans. Pale blue and acid wash. 

“It’s okay,” Vanessa hurriedly supplies. “I think I cried constantly for my first three days here. If that makes you feel better, comparatively you’ve got it in the bag.”

He laughs a little. “Yeah, it helps.” 

That makes her smile. “So, what do you actually like? Alice in Wonderland is a bit basic but still a good choice.” 

🏰

He doesn’t leave his room even when Vanessa eventually departs with a promise that he can find her in the art room. Free time seems like such a weird allotment of time in a place with no obligations. He got to bail on group therapy so even that wasn’t mandatory. 

Not that he was used to much structure. 

After finally being discharged from the hospital post-crash he spent two weeks at home with his parents taking alternate days off to stay with him. It was all about adjusting to the amnesia and making sure that he wasn’t alone. Under the worried reproachful gaze of his father or submerged in the twinkling tears unshed by his mother. 

When he went back to school it was like waking from a nightmare only to find that it was a dream and that waking was the nightmare. He didn’t remember anyone, he couldn’t focus on his classes over the constant buzzing of voices only he could hear, hell, he even had to quit the band because he couldn’t figure out how to play the oboe. He had once been a prodigy. 

How do you even grieve someone you know but can’t remember?

It was this kind of thing that piled and piled up until he was smothered by it, choking on everyone else’s memories and expectations. His parents waited for him to remember but he only got worse, miserable and unsure of everything. 

So he spends his free time sitting in the corner of his room with his back pressed up against the walls and his knees pulled to his throat. He fiddles with a small plastic hourglass his dad gave him, tipping it back and forth and watching the sand empty and fill. 

This too, shall pass.

🏰

For lunch Vanessa is already waiting for him at the same table they had breakfast at. She smiles and waves him over. 

With a little burst of energy that adds a little bounce to his step, William crosses the room towards his new friend. He slides his tray of food across the surface of the table, it makes a soft rumble as the smooth hard plastic moves over the textured surface, and he sits down. 

Vanessa once again just has a bottle on her tray but she seems content. 

On the other hand, William has a tray full of things only slightly less miserable than what he had for breakfast. A sandwich that seems promising until he takes a bite and gets a mouthful of mostly bread and mayo. Yuck. The actual contents of the sandwich appear to him as he peels it apart: a single leaf of lettuce that is browning at the edges and approximately three pieces of shredded carrot. Perhaps the vegetarian meal plan was not the best idea but if the vegetables were this repulsive he could only imagine the disaster that would be if they served him meat. 

At least there’s orange slices. Maybe he could live off of fruit and things that came individually wrapped. Like the bag of chips in a dark green packet, salt and vinegar. He could live off of those too, fried potatoes are an essential food group. There’s also a milk carton that he doesn’t dare touch, he might be in a psychiatric facility but is anyone actually crazy enough to drink plain milk? He finds himself envying Vanessa’s strawberry Ensure. 

“I missed you during free time,” she says. “Are you feeling better?” 

He nods, the voices are much quieter now, easier to manage although they are still present. He can mostly ignore them. Being in bigger spaces helps, elevators are hell. “Yeah, thank you.”

“Does that happen a lot?” she asks. She doesn’t clarify what she’s referring to but William knows.

Pausing, he mulls over his answer, feeling the weight of the words between his teeth and tongue. “Kinda? It’s worse around people but most of the time I can hear something.”

“It’s almost like you can read minds,” she jokes, pointing a finger at him. “Wait, wait, wait- read my mind!” 

He sighs. “I don’t read minds.”

“It would be pretty cool if you did,” she hums, taking another mouthful of her drink. 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Picking a thin shred of carrot out of his massacred sandwich, he brings it to his mouth. He chews thoughtfully before swallowing and speaking again. 

“What can we do around here for entertainment?” he asks.

“Therapy, art, writing, talking, more therapy, exercise. Not a whole lot.”

“No reading?” 

“Nope,” she replies. “The only books you can read are ones you brought with you or whatever you can get your visitors to bring.”

“Damn,” he mumbles. “I wish I brought a book with me.”

At his words, Vanessa gets a glint in her eye that can only be described as evil. “I’ve amassed quite the collection. I’ll bring you one of mine.” 

“Really? Thanks.”

Vanessa smiles at him like a snake looking at a mouse. “I’ve taken it upon myself to keep your brain from melting out of boredom while you’re here. I’m just looking out for you so you don’t pass the time by slamming your head into the wall.” 

William winces at just the thought of that. “Ouch.”

“You’re not going to lose your mind on my watch,” she says with a grin. “You’re my prodigy and I’m going to show you how to survive inpatient.” 

They are interrupted by a nurse coming to their table, holding out another paper cup of pills. This time when William takes it, there’s a single white circle nestled in the bottom. Lorazepam. 

Vanessa holds up her fingers in a substitute crucifix, fending him off as if he were a vampire. “Afternoon meds? Ooh you’re crazy crazy.”

William rolls his eyes before knocking back the pill and washing them down with the milk. Which is probably the worst thing that has ever happened to him. Amnesia doesn’t even come close. He shoots her a halfhearted glare. “Wrong religion.”

He sets the empty cup down on the table and satisfied that he took his medication, the nurse disappears from beside him. Leaving the two of them in their own world again. Vanessa happily picks up with more chatter, mostly about two patients she’s utterly convinced are banging, ignoring the improbabilty of it all in such a well-monitored unit. Nothing William can say deters her from her theories however.

🏰

William shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He’s really regretting choosing the chair with the metal frame and stiff arms, he feels like a caged animal. He should have sat in the plush leather seat in the corner. He may have sunk into the cushions never to emerge again but he is starting to think he’d prefer that. 

This office is new to him but the psychiatrist sitting across from him is not. Dr Ahmer looks down his nose and through his spectacles at William. He looks curious if not a bit sympathetic but William squirms under his gaze. This is the third time he’s met with Dr Ahmer and he’s not sure how he feels about the other man. 

On one hand he seems to genuinely care about William’s struggle but on the other hand something in the way he talks makes him think he’s not sick enough to be here. 

The previous two times he’d met with the doctor it had been in his room in the hospital’s psych ward where he’d been stranded against his will for seventy-two hours. The staff there seemed a lot more outwardly hostile towards him than they did in the unit. At least the people here acted like they actually wanted him to get better.

Their first meeting was a long one. The doctor asked a plethora of questions and asked William to describe everything he had been going through. By the end of their well-over an hour long session, William had counted every sheet of paper he had filled with notes. Three. Front and back.

He looks at the walls, donned with posters about mental health and general concerns. Rheumatic fever, schizophrenia, depression, the flu, bipolar disorder, type one and type two. He eyes up the chart that shows waves between mania and depression and at their peaks what they classify as. There’s a poster underneath it that says in big letters “ARE YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW STRUGGLING WITH ADDICTION?” 

“So, William, how have you been since our last appointment?” 

“I-” he wipes the sweat off of his palms and onto his jeans in a long drawn out motion “I’m not sure.” 

“That’s okay,” Dr Ahmer says, clicking his pen on and off. It grates against William’s nerves, he grits his teeth and clenches his fists before releasing the tension with a deep breath. See? He was learning something. “You mentioned to the ED staff that you were hearing voices, has there been any recurrence since I last saw you?” 

Yesterday morning. 9:00am. William had been chopping his toast into smaller and smaller pieces all the while ignoring the pressing gaze of his psychiatrist. “Yes.” 

“Can you tell me about them?” 

He wants to say no, to keep this secret guarded behind his teeth, but he knows he needs to talk about it. “They’re almost always there but I can kinda ignore them. They got really bad at group, I had to leave.” 

“What kind of things were they saying?” 

“They were- um,” he can’t quite figure out the words. There’s a whole world between hearing the voices and repeating them. His fear chokes him and he almost can’t breathe. “They were calling me names and stuff.” 

“Names?”

“Yeah, like, uh,” he swallows thickly, “faker, cutter.”

He looks up from his lap when he hears Dr Ahmer’s pen scratching on his notepad. William wonders what he’s writing. Maybe “this kid is utterly ridiculous and completely beyond help” or “teenage boy lies to psychiatrist to get out of school” something like what the voices at group were saying. 

There’s about thirty seconds where neither of them speak before the psychiatrist puts his pen down. “I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, “that sounds awful.” 

That was not what William was expecting. He was anticipating being laughed out of the office with points and jeers because he was willingly admitting that he was crazy. He was taken aback at the doctor’s seemingly genuine empathy for him and what he was going through. 

“Have you had any thoughts about harming yourself?” 

“When?” William asks. 

Dr Ahmer offers him a half-smile. It reminds him of his dad and takes the edge off of his building anxiety. “Let’s start small, how about in the last twenty-four hours?” 

He shakes his head. “No.” 

Which is a miracle because he’s certain it’s been a constant companion in the past two months. But he guesses that without external pressure or expectations he doesn’t have the urge. It’s a nice change.

He taps against the bandage on his wrist, suddenly reminded of it’s presence with an itch he can’t reach. The doctor watches him carefully. 

“I’m concerned about your voices,” Dr Ahmer says after careful deliberation. “Would you be open to trying medication to see if that helps?” 

With a tentative nod, William speaks, “sure.” 

“I’m not going to touch your current medication, just add something on top of it. What we’re going to try is called an atypical antipsychotic, they work to reduce or in some cases even eliminate symptoms of psychosis, which is what I think your voices might be caused by.

“There are three main ones I prescribe, you have full choice over which one you start with. They’re Aripiprazole, Risperidone and Olanzapine. Aripiprazole is the mildest and the one I most often start people off with, you take it in the morning and it might make it hard to get to sleep at night. It has the least chance of causing weight gain as a side effect.

“The next option is Risperidone. I try to avoid prescribing it long term in adolescents because it may have some unwanted side effects if taken for a while but it is incredibly effective. Aside from that the negative side effects most typically are dizziness, drowsiness and heightened anxiety.” 

The idea of more anxiety makes William’s stomach flip. He immediately shakes his head. 

Dr Ahmer notes this and scribbles something down. “Finally there is Olanzapine. It is the strongest of the three but also the most likely to cause weight gain and over-sedation. You would take it at night, it might make you sleep more or have a harder time waking up in the morning.” 

He mulls it over for a second, pulling the thoughts back and forth like a tide upon the sand. The doctor waits patiently as he thinks. 

“I think I’d like to try Olanzapine,” he finally says after careful deliberation. 

“Okay, we can do that. I’ll start you out on a small dose of five milligrams and titrate it up over the course of your stay here. I will arrange with the nursing staff to have you start it tonight with your PM medications.” 

William smiles, it’s not a joyous one but more of an expression of relief and gratitude. Maybe this would help. “Thank you.”

🏰

Running his fingers back and forth across the surface of his jeans, he wishes there was a loose thread he could pull until the denim unravelled. But the rules for his clothes were that there were no rips or tears. 

He is back in the waiting room, in the chair right outside the door of Dr Ahmer’s office. He is waiting to meet his therapist, a woman he doesn’t yet know the name of and is utterly terrified to meet. So he is ritualistically running his hands up and down his thighs, clenching and unclenching his hands, counting each breath on his fingers. 

Everyone else in the waiting room had filtered into their respective appointments. William glances at the clock on the wall, three minutes past the hour. He was beginning to feel like someone was playing a prank on him, making him sit here for the entire allotted time of therapy just to watch him squirm. 

Finally a door opens and shuts softly. He glances up and there is a woman standing there with a folder in her arms. 

She’s probably as tall as William with chin-length blonde hair and shiny gold rims on her glasses. She’s visibly pregnant, it can’t be many weeks until she goes on maternity leave but William figures he won’t be around that long anyway. She wears a soft lilac chunky knit cardigan over a black and white spotted dress that reaches her ankles. 

“You must be William,” she says. Her voice is soft, kind, and she walks over to him. “I’m Olivia.” She extends a hand and he tentatively shakes it. 

He doesn’t speak but that doesn’t seem to bother her. 

“I’m sorry for being late, the trek down here from my office is sometimes much longer than I anticipate,” she apologises with a laugh, ruffling her short hair with the hand that doesn’t hold her binder. “Why don’t you follow me and we can get started?” 

With a nod, William gets to his feet and quietly trails after her. Down a corridor filled with many doors with paper timetables hanging on them. They walk until they get to one that says “2:00-3:00pm – Olivia”. 

It wasn’t the office she had mentioned, just a small room with a window and a few chairs. 

Apprehensive, William wasn’t sure which seat to choose, as if there was an obviously incorrect choice that came with picking the one by the window or the one in the corner. 

“Sit wherever you want,” Olivia said with a sweeping gesture. 

He bites his lip and sets his sight on the chair next to the window. It has cushions in a deep shade of cobalt and through the window he can see the parking lot. Cars of all colours lined up like ducks in a row. 

Olivia sits across from him and crosses her legs at her ankles. Her shoes are navy blue leather, probably faux, with thick white stitching and laces tied into a neat bow. William trains his eyes on them to avoid making eye contact. She seems plenty nice but the vulnerability of this whole ordeal makes his chest squeeze painfully. 

“How are you doing?” she asks. William listens to the soft rustling of her opening the binder and pulling a pen out of the pocket on the inside, preparing to start her notes, but he doesn’t lift his gaze from her shoes. 

“I’m okay,” he says, still not lifting his head. He’s probably being rude but also she’s paid to deal with him no matter how weird and cagey he is. 

“How are you adjusting to the ward?” 

William looks up at that question, just for a flash but he meets her eyes. Blue. He looks back down. “I guess it’s alright.” 

Oliva taps the end of her pen on the still blank sheet of paper. “How was your appointment with the psychiatrist?” 

“It was good,” William mumbles, returning to running his palms along his thighs. “I’m starting a new medication tonight. To help with,” he gestures vaguely at his head, “the voices.” 

As he looks up he catches the tail end of Olivia nodding thoughtfully before she moves to write a short sentence down. “Which medication is that?” 

“Olanzapine.” 

More writing. “It may take a few weeks for anything to change but I hope it helps.” 

“Thanks.” 

Neither of them speak for a few moments. Olivia clicks her pen on and off a few times, it grates on William’s nerves but he doesn’t speak. “I was reading your file earlier and it mentioned that you attempted to take your own life. Do you want to tell me more about that?” 

William tucks his bandaged arm behind his back, as if she wouldn’t have noticed it already. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he says.

Unbidden, flash memories. The sting. The blood, running down his skin in rivulets soaking into the hem of his shirt and dropping onto his sheets. The look on his parents’ faces when he walked down the hall and knocked on their bedroom door in the middle of the night, a trail of scarlet on the carpet behind him.

“That’s okay, we can talk about something else. How about you tell me some more about how you were feeling leading up to your admission?” 

William swallows the lump in his throat. “I just, I was kinda miserable, I think.” 

“In what way?” she asks.

“I couldn’t get out of bed,” he says with a shaky exhale. “Everything was just too much. The voices made it impossible to even breathe.” 

“And how were your parents through all of this?” 

His ears burn. Shame. “They tried to be understanding but I could tell they were running out of patience. I know they love me but I didn’t always make it easy.”

“You’re their child, it is not your job to make things easy for them.”

That eases some of the ache in his chest. He doesn’t entirely believe her but it’s nice to talk to someone who is in his corner and no one else’s. He’d tried talking to the guidance counsellor at his school but she was useless. When he talked about the pressing urge to just not be here anymore, she had met his turmoil with dismissal and blame. She told him that her granddaughter had been born blind and without legs and she still smiled regardless so she couldn’t understand how a kid with all his facilities intact and a loving home life could ever want to die. 

Her words had just mad everything worse, made him feel guilty for emotions he had no control over. 

But Olivia didn’t seem to be like that, he looked up and she was watching him but not with judgmental or hostile eyes, just an earnest expression and a soft crease between her eyebrows. 

“Would you consider journaling?” she asks after a few moments of empty air. 

“Journaling?” he parrots, confused. 

“Yes, it might help you to write down your thoughts and feelings as you’re having them. We could always go over the ones you’re willing to share in our next session.” 

That didn’t sound entirely awful. “Okay,” he says with a nod. 

🏰

The next session of free time is one that William actually participates in instead of hiding away in his room. He sits out in the garden with Vanessa, hands empty while she intently scrawls away in a sketchbook. It’s a small book, with a black cover littered in stickers, overlapping so much that he can’t make out a single design. 

He just tilts his head back, closing his eyes and letting the breeze roll over his face. 

The fresh air helps, it’s a much needed break from the stiff air of the clinic. Out here he can hear a plane flying overhead and a sparrow in the tree he’s sitting under. 

Opening his eyes again he looks over at the open sketchbook and the piece his friend is meticulously drawing, running her pens over and over again to create thicker, bolder lines. This page is home to a drawing of a woman, with big spiked hair and distinct makeup. 

“Who is she?” he asks. 

Vanessa’s pen stills and she looks up at him. “Siouxsie Sioux.” 

William pauses, confused. “That’s a boring name.” 

“Not when you spell it properly.” 

That is no less cryptic. “Is she an actress, or…?” 

Vanessa gasps with mock offense, a hand splayed over her chest. “She’s a musician, singer of Siouxsie and the Banshees.”

“Right,” William could probably have pieced that together with the band name alone. 

“If we were allowed phones in here I would play you Forever or This Unrest or-” she gasps, sitting up straighter and burning holes in William with the intensity in her eyes. “Scarecrow! It would change your life. You have to promise me when you get out of here that you’ll look up ‘Siouxsie and the Banshees’. S-I-O-U-X-S-I-E–” 

“Okay,” he interrupts her spelling bee. 

“Promise!” she says, pointing a finger at him.

“I promise,” he amends, holding up his hands in surrender.

Vanessa places a hand on William’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “I am going to make you goth if it kills me.” 

That makes William laugh, eyeliner, chains and black clothes, that would never be him. “I believe you.” 

🏰

By the time the nurse calls the two of them inside for an afternoon snack, William is much more relaxed than he thinks he can ever remember being. Not that two months is a whole lot to compare it to. 

He helps Vanessa pack up her art stuff and turn her pens in to the nurse’s station before following her back to the cafeteria where everyone else seems to have beat them to lining up. The two of them file into the end of the line and bicker back and forth while they wait. 

It takes a few short minutes for them to reach the front but by then all the pre-packaged granola bars and cookies that the others had walked away with, there’s a few sad and neglected packets of pretzels left. Jokes on everyone else, pretzels are bomb.

William once again follows Vanessa to sit at the table that has become theirs over the course of half a day, as soon as he sits she is already rambling about something else that she deems crucial information for him to learn while he’s here. 

🏰

He crosses out yet another line of his journal. The one he only just got from the nurse’s station but  he already has a page and a half of crossed over and scribbled out words because everything he writes just sounds like utter nonsense. “I wish I could remember.” Boring. “Maybe it would be easier if I just died that day.” Cringe. “I don’t know what anyone could possibly do that would help.” Whiny. 

Thinking closer to the crash one of his mother’s thoughts sticks out to him “I just want my son back,” she had thought. If she knew he could hear her she never would have thought it but she did and it lived rent free in the back of his mind, always there to remind him that he wasn’t quite right. 

He writes the thought down on the paper before striking it through like all the others, he doesn’t want to think about it. 

His frustrations at every thought he has are interrupted by a soft two knocks on his door. They’re too quiet to be the nurse, also from what he has learnt they knock merely out of courtesy before opening the door and less to gain permission for entry.

So he folds the journal shut and sets the pen down. He wishes he had a desk in his room but it was pretty bare. A bed, a chair and a set of cabinets with the doors removed with spare blankets and everything he could fit in a duffel and bring with him. 

He crosses the small room and opens the door. To reveal Vanessa standing in the corridor brandishing a novel like a weapon. 

“What’s this?” 

“As promised,” she says as she hands it to him. “A novel.”

Taking it, William examines the cover. Frankenstein. Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. He recognises the title at least, not that it is a book he would find lying around at home. “Horror?” he asks. 

Vanessa nods, “and sci-fi. She pioneered both genres at the age of 19 she really was incredible.” 

“Cool,” he says, running a finger along the spine. The cover is worn and split on the corners, well-loved and much re-read. 

“She also lost her virginity on her mother’s grave,” Vanessa adds, excited.

William is stunned for a moment. “That’s certainly–”

“Iconic? I know,” she interrupts, grinning widely. Only for her smile to quickly fall and her eyes to blow up into saucers. “Wait–You’re like twelve. Do not tell anyone, especially your parents, that people are talking to you about sex in the psych ward.” 

That makes William laugh. He hasn’t felt this light in a long time. “I won’t, I promise.”

They eventually make their way to what William is now affectionately calling his “emotional support corner” and he comfortably slots himself into it. Vanessa sits on the floor a few feet away, her back also pressed to the wall. 

Silence is like their third friend, one that doesn’t speak or think or hold beliefs about them based on their pasts or lack thereof. They enjoy each other’s quiet company, Vanessa weaving small braids into the front of her hair only to immediately unpull them, rinse and repeat. 

William retrieves his journal from the edge of his bed and continues trying to write in it. One sentence. Crossed out. Another. He scribbles over it so hard that the tip of the ballpoint pen rips through the paper and ink is scratched onto the next page. With an angry huff he throws the journal and pen onto the linoleum. 

“I think I’m over journaling,” he admits, his teeth grit. It was a dumb idea in the first place so he blames Olivia. Even though she seemed like she genuinely wanted to help. 

“Haven’t you just started?” Vanessa asks. 

Another huff, this time more frustrated than angry. Ah, the intricacies of teenage emotion. “It’s dumb and I hate it.” 

“Big words,” she says, leaning over to pick up his discarded pen. “Can I have this?” 

He eyes her curiously for a second before sighing, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sure.” 

She pockets the pen in one slick motion and as soon as it’s out of eyesight William forgets all about it.

Picking up the book she’d given him, William flicked through the pages, feeling the air on his face and breathing in the subtle smell of an book. Paper and imagination, something about it was relaxing. 

“What do you like so much about this?” he asks, completely oblivious to any of the plot of the story. 

Vanessa shrugs. “Even though Frankenstein was a horrible father to the creature, I like to think that life means something, especially when it is created so meticulously and with such care. Even if it is not nurtured it can be beautiful.” 

“Hm,” he hums thoughtfully. “I like that. I’ll start it later.” 

That makes Vanessa smile. “Good, you’ll love it.” 

Conversation dissolves into meaningless back and forth questions and answers, queries and humour. Time ticks by but it doesn’t drag, maybe he can actually make it through this admission, maybe he will find something that makes his miserable life a little more bearable. 

His own end of the conversation tapers off as he loses himself in thought but Vanessa happily chatters on. So far he hasn’t seen her so much as look at any of the other patients so he wonders if she had been alone for the past seven weeks, until a miserable preteen sat at the breakfast table with his miserable plate of miserable scrambled eggs. 

When there’s a reprieve in Vanessa’s rambling, William takes his opportunity to ask the question that was burning on his tongue. 

“Have you ever died?” William asks. It’s sudden and he’s not entirely sure why the words left his mouth. Normal people don’t ask questions like that but he thinks it’s been thoroughly proven in the past two months that he is nothing close to normal. 

Vanessa looks a little surprised at the outburst but she runs a hand through her dark hair and speaks, “once.” 

“What happened?”

“My parents were out at my dad’s work dinner and I took everything in the medicine cabinet.” William looks across at her but her eyes are firmly trained on the floor. “Sleeping pills, blood pressure meds, you name it, I took it. My parents got home and I was dead on the bathroom floor. My mum did CPR until the paramedics came. I was in a coma for two days and in the psych ward for three weeks.” William can’t help but imagine if it had been him, in the upstairs bathroom of his house, lying on the soft pink bath mat, traumatising his mother. He’s not sure if he could do that to her, but also not entirely sure he wouldn’t. “How about you?” 

William’s breath stutters in his throat but he manages to swallow it. “Car crash. About two months ago. I stopped breathing and when I started again I had no idea who I was or what was going on. I still don’t.” 

“Geez, you make my life sound like a sitcom,” Vanessa admits with a laugh. She unfolds her legs, stretching one out across the floor. “So what do you remember?” 

William shrugs. “Absolutely nothing. I died the day of my bar mitzvah and I can’t remember a single word in Hebrew. I think that upset my parents, they told me I spent so long memorising everything but I just,” he snaps his fingers “forgot.” 

“That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” William says. He laments a bit, still unable to grasp how he pulled the short straw. According to his parents he did everything right, worked hard at school, was nice to people, helped out wherever he could. And now he was in a psych unit miles away from his parents with a bandaged wrist and a cocktail of medication to keep him from losing the plot.

Hopefully something here helps, even if he doesn’t remember he would like to cope.

🏰

Dinner is another sad meal, he’s beginning to think they don’t serve meals here unless they had the potential of worsening a patient’s condition. He had been holding out hope that dinner would be better than breakfast and lunch but he stares down at a sad little mix of unseasoned steamed vegetables and a frankly pathetic portion of cold rise. They claim it’s a stir fry but he has many doubts.

At least there is dessert. He does get prepacked vanilla ice cream as well as a custard, the only think they’re missing is sprinkles. His drink this time is a boring bottle of water–boring. 

For the first time that day Vanessa doesn’t just have a bottle on her tray, her meal a mirror image of William’s own. 

“Ugh, if they’re going to serve me real food they should at least try to make it edible,” Vanessa groans. 

“No argument from me,” he says, skipping past the ‘stir fry’ and peeling his container of ice cream open. 

Vanessa watches him carefully as he takes a scoop. “You better be careful about your eating habits or they’ll start yelling at you for leaving a grain of rice on your plate.” 

He pauses, confused. “What do you mean?” 

“Picky eating is basically disordered to them. So watch your back or eat your food.” 

With a fresh wave of paranoia, William swaps his spoon for a fork and a limp little green bean. He bites into it and although his expectations were astronomically low, he is still disappointed. 

🏰

After painstakingly finishing his dinner, William follows Vanessa and a bunch of the other patients into a small room with two sofas and a TV. Vanessa slips away from his side to happily flop on the brown leather couch with peeling corners. 

She pats the space next to her. 

“What’s this for?” William asks as he sits, his brows pinched together in confusion. 

She grins. “Movie night is every night here. Unless you’re boring and want to do another session of group or free time. The movies aren’t the greatest but they’re better than more therapy.” 

William can’t see a fault in her logic. 

Everyone sits and no one moves, nothing changes. 

“Now we wait for the staff to bring the box of DVDs, it could take thirty seconds or fifteen minutes, the mystery of it adds to the fun.” 

Other patients chatter among themselves but Vanessa ignores all of them to talk to the thirteen year old amnesiac she appears to have adopted. “So while we wait, how about a round of twenty questions?” 

That seems dangerous but William agrees anyway. 

“Me first,” Vanessa says quickly although no one was racing to beat her. “What would be the first thing you would do when you get out of here?” 

That one stumps William and he has to think for a bit. All he knows outside of the hospital is a frankly miserable life where he doesn’t remember or enjoy anything. “I dunno,” he says, “maybe just eat some good food? 

“Boo,” Vanessa replies, sticking out her tongue. “That’s boring.” 

William shrugs. “It’s all I could think of.” 

“Fair enough,” she says with a sigh. “Your turn, ask me any question your burning heart desires.” 

“Uh, what would you do if you could get out of here?”

She lightly smacks William on the shoulder. “Hey! No repeat questions.” 

“Indulge me?” he tries. 

With a huff, she leans back and crosses her arms, pale eyes judging. “I would go to a record store. Spend an astronomical amount of money on the Best of Depeche Mode vinyl. I deserve it.” 

“That doesn’t sound any more exciting than what I said,” William argues, suddenly defensive of his dreams about a banh mi. 

“It’s culture,” she presses, drawing out the last syllable for emphasis. “I got Violator with my first ever paycheck it’s important for my soul.” 

William is not quite sure what any of the things she’s referencing are but he nods sagely anyway. The door to the TV room creaks open and a staff member walks in with his arms full of a quite frankly gigantic cardboard box that is overflowing with DVDs. 

“My turn!” Vanessa butts in, drawing his attention away from the box and back to her. “What’s your favourite movie?”

“I- I’m not sure.” 

“Well, we’re going to figure it out. We have two weeks.” She stands up from the couch and walks towards where the box was sat down. “It’s William’s turn to pick the movie!” she declares before kneeling down next to the stash of movies and beckoning Wiliam over. 

There’s a chorus of disgruntled mumbling but no one seems particularly offended by her decision so William tentatively gets up and joins her on the floor. Vanessa digs through the cases, pulling out random options that she thinks he might like. 

“The Lion King?” she asks, holding up the DVD. 

“Absolutely not,” someone behind him says loudly and Vanessa just sighs and puts it back in the box. 

“Some people haven’t gotten over what happened to Mufasa,” she says, disappointed. 

“What happens to Mufasa?” William asks. 

With a tragic sigh, Vanessa just looks at him. “Oh you poor amnesiac baby, you’re going to have a hard time when you watch that movie. Not tonight though,” she adds quickly. “I know you said Alice in Wonderland when we were in group but the caterpillar gives me the heebie jeebies.” 

After many potential candidates are held up and added to a small pile in front of William he is forced to choose between four discs. Remembering the poster on his wall, and figurines past him had amassed he picks The Wizard of Oz. It seems like a safe choice and Vanessa nods approvingly as she picks it up and puts the disc in the DVD player. 

“The production may have been a shitshow but it’s a good movie.”

🏰

After taking his bedtime meds, his first dose of something to quiet the voices in his head, William climbs into his bed eagerly gripping the book Vanessa had lent him. He was in dire need of entertainment, the movie he had picked out was good but it didn’t draw him in quite like he expected it to given its strong presence in the room decorated by a pre-amnesia him. Sometimes when he thought about the person he was meant to be he felt like a stranger in his place. 

Maybe that’s why his parents always seemed so sad when they looked at him. 

Hopefully they would be less sad by the time they visit him. Next Wednesday, after today only a week to wait. 

He’d successfully survived his first day in the psych ward. 

One down, thirteen to go. 

He thumbs through the first few pages of the book until he hits the first title. 

Letter 1. 

To Mrs. Saville, England

St. Petersburg, Dec 11th, 17—

The story sucks him in, it’s different to everything else he’s come into contact with since losing his memory and maybe since it’s something his parents haven’t been able to regulate or limit, there is something special about it. His parents meant well but they could be a tad overbearing at times. 

He only gets to about halfway through the second letter before he is hit with this unimaginable wave of exhaustion, one that makes every movement laborious and fills his limbs with cement. Even blinking is challenging, slow and like pushing a boulder up a staircase. 

It’s more exhaustion than he expected from the medication but it’s the only thing he could think would be causing this. It becomes more of a mission to hold his head up with every passing second and he eventually concedes and decides to go to sleep. 

He’s not sure if he manages to put the book away or if he falls asleep on the open pages, further wrinkling the spine of Vanessa’s book.

[mika-monster]

it's getting harder as time goes on

not sure what to do.

i could make plans, but i'm running out of ideas.

the jobs i've had for years now have all been worse and worse, paying just bits more than the last. all with cruel upsetting nihilism, and increasing dysfunctionality. shitty jobs are one thing. jobs that barely work are another. i don't know how my current job is functioning and it makes me really afraid.

my wife has a good job finally after years. finally. we moved cities to the next county over, sharing with two roommates to find cheaper rent. now i'm preparing to quit my current job with a second interview lined up, after signing up for union work that may come far in the future, i feel this is something more than a failure to launch. i feel like whatever is going on, the whole system is crumbling.

there are so many people around me so close to losing jobs and homes and with little to no access to forward movement. i feel my generation is totally fucked and the generation under me barely has the safety of its caretakers. i've been having really terrible dreams lately. its the stress of my job. its the stress of not being able to imagine a future.

depression is hard to push back. i have medications that help. i have people around me that can...? ??? the comforts i used to seek are very very far away. it is hard to find things enjoyable. i can't remember what to do when i have time to relax, time to myself. i literally cannot remember what to look for online. which book to read. i want to enjoy something.

i've been keeping myself busy by cleaning. scheduling events with other people. making sure i'm not by myself. brother's birthday dinner tomorrow. music show gift tomorrow (trying to contact a friend involved but she hasn't responded about it). other friend at the river sunday. then. then i quit monday after work, or tuesday morning depending on if negligent manager responds to my emails or shows up at all.

i'm really frightened and have been doing my best to not smoke weed or become an alcoholic or take any more pills than my prescription. i want to do all those things so fucking badly. i will quit my job first instead of damaging myself.

i'm really frightened and sad and want to lay down for a week and not talk to anyone. please.

[cakesexuality]

Hi, I'm at 15mg of Abilify!! (Plus 300mg of Wellbutrin XL and 10mg of Sinequan)

I first tried it in 2018 when I was having some fatigue that we thought was depression/psychosis, but it turned out to be a physical issue so we were taking away my dopamine for no reason and I overspent my money as a result

I went back on it in 2023 after being unhappy with Seroquel for a while and after Latuda turned out to be a complete no

My ADHD temporarily got worse when I first went on Abilify the second time, both bc of the Abilify itself and bc I stopped my Wellbutrin while I made the switch from Seroquel to Abilify

I was more productive but also more restless, so I was doing more but couldn't stay on task for more than a couple minutes

I had this frequent urge to be doing something with my mouth?? Which some people have misunderstood as an involuntary movement, but it was more like I had to be eating or chewing gum or flossing or brushing my teeth

Adding Wellbutrin back in settled me down

My psychosis is a lot better on Abilify... Seroquel helped my psychosis too but I had a worse experience on Seroquel than on Abilify and Latuda actually made my psychosis slightly worse (it helped my mood but I had auditory hallucinations)

I also feel more stable with my moods on Abilify... I used to get what I called the post-Seroquel sillies and the post-Seroquel sads where it would wear off and I'd get either energetic and giddy or distressed and upset

Abilify doesn't knock me out at night like Seroquel did, so I take Sinequan to help with sleep maintenance

Abilify does make me tired throughout the day but it gets better if I find something to stimulate my brain, like music or crafts

Feeling sleepy in the day is actually a two-way issue bc my depression can make me more tired and Abilify gives me more energy in those instances... I remember around the time of my surgery in October, I was having an issue with being tired all the time and that was when we went up to 15mg from 10mg

Weight gain/loss (no specific numbers) and eating disorder discussion under the cut

I have gained some weight in the last few months and the only other times I've been this weight were in my mid-teens when my metabolism shut down from an eating disorder and then in my early/mid-20s when I was on too much Seroquel, so that's how I know something is wrong, but idk if this is bc of Abilify or if it's from another medication I'm on, a birth control pill called Alysena

I've been in a light ED relapse the last few weeks and I do have a fear I'll cut back on my dose (causing an episode) bc of this, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it, I guess 🤷‍♀️

I'm going to be asking my GP about the weight gain when I see her in June, but I think I can wait until July when I meet my new psychiatrist if my GP isn't comfortable doing anything about it... my GP didn't originally want to give me Abilify and told me my options were Seroquel, Latuda, or nothing, but I got so desperate to get off of Seroquel that I went to a walk-in clinic and got a prescription for Abilify there bc I didn't want to wait until someone else could prescribe it

I have two tags where I talk about this more, #convince yourself (psychosis tag) and #speaking of not well adjusted (general mental health tag), which you can check out to learn further about my experiences, or my ask box and DMs are open!!

do you take abilify? I’ve been asking my doctor about changing and put me on it. but i worry about side effects. would you mind sharing your experience on them?

Yup, i take Abilify 5 mg. I actually made a post already about my own experience with it which I wanted to link to you but tumblr’s search function is ass so I couldn’t find it. But I’m happy to make another post about it.

(CW for mentions of weight)

I started at 5 mg two years ago, then it got bumped up to 10, then 15 over the course of a year. Now im back down to 5 mg as I’ve been pretty stable these last few months.

When I first started abilify I noticed it made me more chill, and a bit lightheaded at first (that went away after a few days of taking it.)

Abilify helped not only with psychosis but with my mood. I wasn’t as irritable/excitable as before and I think my personality mellowed out a lot. I kind of miss my old self though.

I haven’t really had any horrible side effects on Abilify, unlike previous APs I’ve taken like Zyprexa and Risperdal. The most I’ve felt on abilify is increased tiredness/chillness, which is why I’m instructed to take it at night.

According to my psychiatrist, Abilify is the least likely antipsychotic to cause weight gain, and the least likely to cause elevated A1C levels. Regardless, I gained a significant amount of weight on the meds, and I developed prediabetes. However, I have no way of knowing if the meds actually caused this or if there were other factors involved, so take this with a grain of salt.

And just as a reminder, I’m not a medical professional and I’m not trying to give medical advice. Everything I’ve written is all based on my own personal experiences with this medication. You may have a completely different experience. Everyone is different, and while some people swear by abilify and say that it saved their life, others will say it’s the worst medication they’ve ever taken. Listen to your body, be mindful of your mood/behaviors, and let your doctor know if you experience any complications while on it. Wishing you the best of luck.

[snifflesthemouse]

I'm still rather new to Tumblr. While I've clearly displayed my ability to post my ramblings, I'm still figuring out the other various features of this platform. For the sake of reference, I have posted a screenshot below.

While I completely agree with @youhavebeenmarkled that it's grossly inappropriate to suggest Catherine, the future Queen Consort, is a drug addict... I want to add to the discussion and further develop why the concept of Catherine microdosing heroin is entirely ignorant.

@youhavebeenmarkled mentions several excellent points as to why the concept is ridiculous; from genetics to muscle tone and more. But there's deeper reasons why this idea of Catherine being on heroin is so far from the truth and reality, it's out of this world. Some could even argue it sounds like a page from a Hollywood script.

Before I get started, though, I want (and need) to stress a few things. I am in no way shaming anyone. As I've shared in the past, I am the last person in the universe qualified to pass judgement on anything or anyone. My posts are simply my perspectives, my opinions. I look at facts in the public domain, and with my own knowledge and life experience, I form my thoughts.

Please remember while you read this, I am not looking down on anyone. I am not bragging about knowing what drug addiction is or is not. I am only sharing some insights with you, the reader, on what real life heroin addiction is like. My only goal is giving insight.

I am not proud of my past, and I am not condoning it. Nor should you. Accountability is how I stay clean. Please do not feel like I am suggesting non-addicts are ignorant or "square". Not knowing or understanding heroin addiction is a blessing. It's a good thing to be in the dark about certain things because it means you're smarter than people like me.

Be proud of the fact you don't automatically see why these blind items are total nonsense from the start. And if you aren't proud of yourself, just know I am proud AF of you. For those of you like myself who have been through the hell of addiction, remember we do recover. With all that being said, let's get going.

You see, anyone with firsthand experience or knowledge of true heroin addiction would automatically know these rumors are absolutely ridiculous. Why? Because heroin addiction doesn't work that way.

Now don't get me wrong. The world is filled with functioning closet addicts. I myself was a functioning closet addict for years before the world was any the wiser. The key point, though, is the world did eventually get wiser.

Heroin addiction usually starts out in one of a few ways. Most Americans addicted to heroin became that way because of prescription painkillers. For example, I first got addicted to pain pills. When the pain pills became impossible to get, I took what I could get that was the closest equivalent. That was heroin.

But some people start using heroin because they did some at a party with friends. Or they have a loved one addicted and wanted to see what the fuss was all about. Some people are hooked on other drugs, like cocaine or ecstasy, and their usual dealer offers a free sample of the latest batch of heroin. There's a saying among addicts; "The first one's free."

Dealers know they can increase their profitability if they can get established clients addicted to other products they traffic. But these are just a few examples of how people get started using heroin. Very rarely does anyone start out on heroin simply because they want to stay thin. Contrary to the popular belief known to many as "heroin chic" that came from supermodels in the mid 80s and 90s.

Heroin is what addicts refer to as a euphoria narcotic. It has a euphoric effect, and it is sometimes called a "downer". Cocaine, crack cocaine, methamphetamine, or amphetamines are called "uppers" or "speeders" because they stimulate the brain and give energy. While heroin can have that affect on people, it is not the traditional go-to for illicit weight management.

In other words, if Catherine really did use microdosing (a concept I will debunk in a moment), her first, best choice would be a stimulant like cocaine because it's much more effective at appetite suppression and providing energy. Heroin wouldn't be the first, best choice for many reasons.

Because of its nature, heroin is highly addictive. Most users begin snorting the drug in powder form. Within seconds to a minute, the substance enters the bloodstream and hits the brain. The brain then releases endorphins that travel the rewards pathway in the brain. The first time one uses heroin is the highest they will ever feel from using. Every subsequent dose releases less and less endorphins in the brain. This is why recovering addicts talk about chasing their sobriety like they chased their first high. This is also why microdosing is an almost-impossible behavior.

Microdosing means taking tiny, small amounts over time. Meaning that you only use the minimum amount to achieve the effect you desire. But the problem is, your brain becomes physically dependent on the substance over time. Every time an addict uses, the brain gets more dependent on that substance to function. So, while a non-addict's brain has no issues with their brain producing endorphins, an addict's brain does. This is why heroin is so addictive.

Eventually, a heroin addict's brain will become so reliant on heroin to produce endorphins, the addict will become entirely dependent. This is also known as becoming hooked. When the addict doesn't have the minimum amount of heroin the body is accustomed to, or depending upon, the addict will start withdrawal. This is often called being "dope sick" or "detoxing".

Detoxing or being dope sick is the driving force behind addicts staying addicts. Being dope sick is the biggest fear of an addict. So much so, the fear of detoxing is enough to drive otherwise good, decent human beings to doing absolutely whatever it takes to avoid detoxing. Stealing from loved ones, manipulating innocent bystanders, lying, cheating, robbing, selling your body... are the half of it.

Being dope sick is like having the worst flu of your life times a million. You will vomit, have uncontrollable diarrhea, and your body will hurt worse than anything you could ever imagine. If you detox for more than a day, you will begin to feel like your insides are shaking, burning, and pulling apart inside. You can't sleep. You can't eat. You can't get out of bed. You miss work and lose your job (if you still have one at this point). You get desperate before this point, and you get carnal after this point.

Your brain and entire body becomes dependent on this substance to function subpar. Without this substance, everything begins to stop working properly. Depending on exactly how much you use normally, your withdrawal can become life threatening. You can have seizures, strokes, or even go into cardiac arrest. Hopefully you can see by now why I say the concept of microdosing is ridiculous.

To be able to micro dose would require the self control and willpower of a super human. This reminds me of an article I once read about a college professor who advocated for drug use. He claimed he wasn't addicted, had control of his drug use, and was a productive member of society. He said he'd use heroin like others drink after a long day of work. Yet, he's been using it for over a decade. Yet, he experienced detoxing. That professor is a prime example of an addict in denial. But I digress...

My points are this:

1. Heroin wouldn't be the first choice for weight control or appetite suppression; cocaine or stimulants like meth or ritalin would be.

2. Microdosing is an almost-impossible method of drug use because the body gets hooked quickly. Which means the dose will only increase in amount in order to have the same effects over time.

3. Heroin causes an addiction that results in serious, life threatening withdrawal that drives even the nicest person to doing the worst of the worst.

4. Heroin addiction, even in small amounts, takes no time to invade and overtake one's life. It literally only takes one time to get hooked. It literally takes no time to destroy everything.

Oh, and one more thing before I put a sock in it... at the height of my active addiction, I was using around 2 grams a day to feel normal. I spent at minimum $200 a day on heroin. Sometimes even more. When I started out, I was only using a tenth or less. It takes 10 of those to make a gram. So within two months of starting, I went from doing one tenth to needing 20 of those tenths just to feel normal and function. All the while, I never got smaller than 150 pounds.

I know it sounds terrible, but I would lament over how unfair it was. I was doing all this heroin, and I was still thick AF. I would literally joke to fellow addicts I would use with how it was total bullshit. How was it I was using 2 grams a day and still a size 12 or 14? That's how sick I was in my disease. Which is my final point.

Not everyone on heroin is "heroin chic" skinny. The effort, will power, and self control it would take to "microdose" would be far greater than what it would take to control one's diet and exercise. Plus it would be much cheaper to hire a trainer than employ a drug dealer.

I hope this very long, detailed, winded post gives better insight to the deeper reasons the blind item is so dumb. I also hope it gives insight to the real life of heroin addiction. My goal was, and is, to provide real examples to the blind item's absurdity. If I can help people better understand heroin addiction, potentially deterring someone from ever touching it or even a loved one learning something that could help someone they know struggling with addiction... well that would be a bonus.

P.S. If you or a loved one you know is struggling with addiction, there is help out there. If you have any questions or just need someone to listen, please feel free to message me. I will do my best to help. I've been there. They say the only way to keep your sobriety is by giving it away... I have plenty to give. Be forewarned, though, I am unapologetically blunt and honest to a fault. I mean no harm, but I will not sugar coat anything.

[swordandquill]

Title: Winter Break

Fandom: Leverage

Summary: The team find themselves snowed in in a little town in the middle of nowhere.

Ch 2: Fussing - Nate has to choose between supervising a shopping spree or supervising a grumpy hitter. He definitely chooses the lesser evil.

Author’s Note: I still don’t know where this story is going or when the next update will be. 

Many, many thanks to @whumpybliss for beta reading this chapter!

You can go here to read this on AO3 instead.

"I know what you're trying to do."

Eliot's glare was less impressive than usual, but Nate still would have bet his money on him. Not that he wouldn't always bet on Eliot, and with things much more valuable to him than money.

"Trying to get you to eat saltines, so you don't throw up when you take the prescription strength anti-inflammatories I know you have in your bag?" Nate waved the open sleeve of crackers in front of the hitter.

"Stop fussing," Eliot snapped and snatched the sleeve out of Nate's hand.

Now that Parker had pointed it out, Nate could clearly see Eliot was favoring his left arm. Or, possibly because Parker had pointed it out, Eliot was putting less effort into hiding it.

"They shouldn't be in there alone," Eliot pulled a few crackers out of the sleeve and shoved it back at Nate.

"They're not alone," Nate swapped the sleeve for a water bottle from the grocery bag at his feet, "they have each other. We might be living off of orange soda and Trix for the next two weeks, but I think they'll get each other out of the store in one piece."

Eliot gave him a dubious look but refrained from talking with his mouth full.

"Anyway, I'm listening," Nate tapped the comm he had slipped into his ear.

"Where's my…?" Eliot frowned and tried to reach behind the seat for his bag, wincing hard at the twisting motion.

"Stop it," Nate thumped his side lightly with the back of his hand, "I've got them. Parker hasn't managed to convince Sophie that Froot Loops are both a vegetable and a fruit. Sophie is giving her tips on being persuasive, and Hardison doesn't know the difference between a zucchini and a cucumber, but one of them has made it into the basket."

"How have they made it this far without dying of malnutrition?" Eliot let his head flop back against the headrest.

"Cereal is fortified," Nate said dryly and poked Eliot with the water bottle, "which bag are your meds in?"

"It can wait until we get to the cabin," Eliot grabbed the offending bottle away without opening his eyes.

Nate didn't have to wrangle an injured Eliot often. Most of the time, he was more than capable of managing his own injuries. When he wasn't, Nate usually let Parker take the lead in poking and prodding while he helped Hardison track down whatever medical help their hitter needed.

Parker needed to burn off some energy, though, and Nate would rather supervise a cranky Eliot than his team on a shopping spree. He had trailed Eliot through the first aid aisle, listened to him mutter over spices and knives on the baking aisle, and then dragged him back to the van with saltines and water bottles in hand.

"Just take the anti-inflammatory," Nate argued, "it won't make you drowsy, and the longer you wait, the less well they'll work."

"Stop. Fussing." Eliot growled, somehow managing to drink his water angrily. Nate was always impressed by how Eliot could make the most mundane tasks look threatening. Luckily for him and the rest of the team, Nate was not easily intimidated.

"Just for the sake of argument..." Nate started.

"No," Eliot said flatly.

"We're stuck in the car until Hardison picks a shampoo. Humor me," Nate ignored Hardison's protests over the comm about his sensitive scalp.

"They need to hurry," Eliot groused, 'the snow is getting worse."

"Right," Nate agreed and held the sleeve of saltines out to Eliot again. He was disproportionately pleased when the hitter grabbed a few more without protest, "so let's just say there really is some shadowy figure waiting behind the curtain to get us…"

Eliot raised an eyebrow at that, probably cross-checking his mental list of people who matched that description, but Nate ignored him.

"And they orchestrated stranding the five us in this specific tiny town, in the middle of nowhere, by waiting until we were both split up on five different planes, and there was a massive storm front to force our flights here…"

"Look, I know…" Eliot rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Which is possible," Nate continued to ignore him, "highly unlikely, but possible. After all, shady figures are usually good at seizing opportunity when they see it. So let's say all of that is true. What's their next move? Where do they expect us to be?"

Eliot frowned before reluctantly admitting, "They expect us to be stranded, at the airport or one of the hotels."

"Right," Nate nodded, "and even if they somehow anticipated us renting a summer house, it would be almost impossible to control which summer house we rented. Hardison must have skimmed through a half dozen search pages worth before we went after this one."

Eliot's frown deepened as he worked the problem and thought how he would have managed something like this from the other side. Nate let him be for a minute because he was still eating crackers while he thought, seemingly without noticing.

"There are ways they could stack the deck in their favor," he finally said slowly. "Knowing what we would want in a place to lay low, making it available even though it looked unavailable, monitoring Hardison for the search criteria he was using, then populating it with multiple properties that they have control of."

"Possible," Nate conceded, "ridiculously elaborate and unnecessarily complicated, but possible."

"So, one of your plans, basically," Eliot snorted.

"I don't have the patience to wait on mother nature," Nate let the jab slide, "my point is, the best thing we can do in this situation is not be where we're most likely to be. The rest, we'll just have to deal with as it comes."

"I know that. It's just…" Eliot just looked worn out now, tired of having to run through every scenario and possibility for every given moment.

Nate had figured out fairly early on that Eliot's paranoia was rooted in both a lot of experience and a lot of trauma. It meant they would be idiots to ignore him when he said something was wrong (and Nate had, unfortunately, been that idiot on more than one occasion, although he tried not to be these days), but they also needed to be a second check on those things for him sometimes, because he could always work his way around to those perceived threats being possible, even if they weren't probable.

It had gotten a lot better over the years, and the team had gotten better at finding ways to help him deal with it when it did come up. There was never a perfect solution, but they were more than happy to settle for an imperfect one if it made things at least a little better.

"And we'll deal with everything a lot better if you just take your diclofenac," Nate cut him off again, "so what bag is it in?"

"Duffel," Eliot conceded defeat finally, "they really do need to hurry."

"I know," Nate turned around and started sifting through the bags they had tossed into the third row of seats, "they're almost done."

Parker had been sitting in the back row, and she had rearranged the luggage that hadn't fit in the trunk to make a nest of sorts for herself around the middle seat. Nate had to practically crawl over the back of the middle row to reach Eliot's duffel bag, and he only felt a little bad for messing up her carefully crafted arrangement.

Eliot carried prescription meds with him and had for as long as Nate had known him. He had worried at first about the bottle of oxi that was always packed in the hitter's personal medkit. In hindsight, he could see the hypocrisy of constantly watching Eliot for signs of opioid addiction while simultaneously getting blackout drunk on a regular basis.

It had only taken a couple months for that concern to shift from Eliot taking too many painkillers to getting Eliot to take them at all. Two years in, and Nate had been worrying about why Eliot felt like jobs would leave him in enough pain on a regular enough basis that he would need to always have that level of painkiller with him. These days, Eliot and meds were mostly a bargaining act, a give and take informed by context and where Eliot's head was at at the given moment.

Oxi made him disoriented and dizzy; he wouldn't take it if he didn't feel safe. Diclofenac made him nauseous if he didn't take it with food (sometimes even when he did). Of the two problems, that was the easier one to solve.

Nate finally managed to find Eliot's duffel bag and pulled the medkit out, tossing the bag back in the pile of luggage for Parker to rearrange and poke through to her heart's content once they got back to the van.

"You want one or two?" Nate opened the kit and sorted through the neatly labeled bottles.

"Just one," Eliot was slumped back against the headrest again, eyes closed.

"You're out of Zofran," Nate shook the empty bottle.

"I gave the last of it to Sophie when we hit that patch of turbulence on the way in for the job," Eliot said dismissively, "it's fine. I'll refill it later."

Nate handed the pill and another water bottle over to Eliot, then texted Parker and asked her to get a bottle of Zofran from the pharmacy. A little thievery would do her good after 8 hours on a plane.

Eliot took the pill, and the van went comfortably quiet aside from the rest of the team's chatter in Nate's ear. It was surprisingly relaxing to listen in on them doing something as mundane as arguing over pasta sauce and gummy frog brands. They were on the comms a lot, but during jobs, there was a certain amount of tension, the constant need to be assessing and reassessing everything that happened.

Nate didn't care what kind of pasta sauce they got, and he didn't like gummy frogs, but it was nice just to sit back and listen to them be together.

There was suddenly weight against his shoulder, and Nate held still as Eliot gradually slumped more heavily against him, eyes closed and breath even. Nate waited until he was sure he was settled before shifting to get an arm around him and stop him from sliding down too far. Eliot fidgeted in his sleep for a moment, then relaxed with a soft sigh.

It wasn't that unusual for Eliot to sleep around them, but after how keyed up he had been at the airport, having him resting solid and relaxed against his side felt like winning.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty-Five

Table of Content or Part Thirty-Four

View chapter on wattpad here

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Happy birthday to Nikki Sixx who is aging like wine. I'm so proud of how far he has come and here's to another 61 years and an eternity more🖤

Warning(s): Explicit language, Mentions of drug abuse, Abuse

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"Alright, assholes, shut up and listen for two minutes." Doc tells us in the airport we wait in line at customs. "We're gonna be here in Japan for a week. Japan is not like it is back home. You can't act like you don't have any sense. They will lock your asses up in a heart beat. Do you understand?" He warns Tommy, Nikki, Vince and Mick. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Daddy." Nikki sarcastically lets out, smacking his gum.

"Hey, wise ass, I don't need your comments, alright? I'm being serious, guys." Doc tells them.

"We got it, Doc. You don't have to worry about anything, bud." Tommy assures him, sincerely.

It was our first time in Japan and I've got to say, it's personally my favorite place ever.

The fans were extremely polite, and all of them had enthusiastic, wide smiles...my favorite part was that the girls actually respected the fact that Nikki's wife was with him, and didn't try to screw him in front of me like audacious rats in other places tried to.

They would just smile shyly and introduce themselves to us, and then get a picture with the guys.

If I had a dime for every time Fred has had to keep me from assaulting someone for grabbing Nikki's crotch in front of me, trying to shove their tongues down his throat, give them hotel room numbers to meet them in, etc. I would have been rich enough to afford Nikki's $3,500 a day on heroin.

Groupies were insane.

And I don't mean I saw these girls attempt this stuff from a distance.

I mean, I'd be standing right next to him, the girls would introduce themselves to me, then go on to grope Nikki before he could say a word about how it was nice to meet them.

In the midst of trying to get me on the ground before I could throw a punch, the girls would run off, and Nikki would always say "sorry, babe" and mean it.

He stopped apologizing when he stopped caring.

"...And we need blow." Tommy says to Sparkie, who's about to go on the hunt for a drug dealer in town for the guys, and I roll my eyes.

"Doc told you guys to behave because they don't tolerate bull crap here." I remind him and he and Sparkie look at me, and Nikki's grabbing at my waist and pulling me to sit on his leg before taking a swig of Jack, his striped outfit and bright, over the top makeup is the complete opposite of their Shout at the Devil era.

"What Doc doesn't know won't hurt him, Viv." Tommy says it like it's common sense. "Hey, Vinny, what do you want from a dealer?" Tommy asks him, a sharpness to his voice, and Nikki laughs.

I don't find their bullshit funny.

Vince just rolls his eyes and drinks his water with no reply.

Vince was on court mandated sobriety. And was being tortured by Nikki and even Tommy. They would offer him things they knew he couldn't have and then would play it off like they forgot.

They would have him pass them their drugs, pour them their drinks and count out how many pills they had left.

It ticked me off seeing Tommy go that fucking low all because he and Nikki were so close.

He even started being a little disrespectful to me whenever Nikki was.

Nikki's leg is shaking a little, despite him throwing back alcohol and I look over my shoulder at him.

"Are you okay?" I mouth so the others won't hear it, and Nikki nods, but I know he's full of it.

"On in five, guys, c'mon!" Doc calls out from the other side of the door and I pat Nikki's other leg and stand up, grabbing his hand and pulling him up.

We step out and head to the stage, and Nikki's turning to give me one last kiss before going on.

When he pulls away, my hands are quickly taking my crucifix off and reaching up to fasten it around his neck and it ironically overlaps with his pentagram necklace.

"For good luck." I explain and he gives me a little closed mouth smile and gives me a quick peck on the lips before following Tommy, Vince and Mick.

By the time they got off stage, Nikki was growing pale, and sweating, and not just because he was running around on stage.

Nikki had gone over 48 hours without heroin. Alcohol could keep his tremors to mere, barely noticeable shakes, but didn't do very much for his sweating and sickness.

The guys didn't know he was that deep into heroin, yet, so he didn't want to tell them it was making him that ill without it or they would realize he was further down the hole than they expected.

So, what did I do? I covered for him.

"He thinks he might have food poisoning." I explain to Tommy and Vince as they stand outside of mine and Nikki's room.

"Well, is he alright?" Tommy asks me.

"He'll be okay. He just doesn't feel like going out." I assure him.

"Alright, we gotta go." Vince nudges him.

"Tell him I hope he feels better." Tommy says.

"I will. You guys be careful."

"We will, goodnight."

"Goodnight." I reply and shut the door, hearing Nikki groaning in the bathroom.

The door's locked, and I sigh out in frustration.

"Nikki, open the door." I tell him calmly.

"Fuck off, Viv." He tells me for the hundredth time tonight.

"Open the door or I'm telling Doc." I threaten him, even though it's a complete lie.

"Tell him I want a divorce while you're at it." He snaps.

I don't say anything for a moment, and hear him sigh out, before he unlocks the door.

I step in, seeing him soaked in sweat, pale, the smell of vomit is potent and I try to keep a calm demeanor as he grips the side of the tub to help himself stand up. 

He nearly falls, tremors spazzing through his body, but I'm quick to nestle under his arm and help him stay up.

"I just need some Jack." He tells me. "It'll help."

He doesn't sound like Nikki.

He sounds like a defeated child.

"Nikki, I don't think—"

"Okay, Viv, now isn't the time for your bullshit. Get me some Jack." He orders desperately, nearly pleading.

I get him on the bed, starting to tug his boots off, before pulling his shirt over his head, and unbuckling his belt.

"Never thought...I'd ever say this...but the last thing...on my mind right...now is...fucking around." He takes heavy breaths, squeezing his eyes closed and groaning when I get his pants off.

"Yes, because seeing my husband in so much pain really turns me on." I sarcastically let out.

"I'm cold." He tells me, his hand gripping mine.

I pull the bed covers over his naked body, glancing at my necklace he's still wearing.

"I'll get you some Jack." I say, stepping to the phone on the bedside table and ordering his necessity.

I turn back to face him once I'm done, and he's curled up and shivering, and he's kicked the blankets off of him.

"Nikki?" I ask, furrowing my brows.

"I'm hot." He cracks out, shot eyes looking at me, teeth chattering together despite his tight jaw and wet, black hair clings to his soaked skin that seems to be turning transparent.

That moment I realized I was married to a junkie, and Nikki realized he had become the very thing he had been in denial of becoming.

Neither of us said a word to one another about our revelations.

The alcohol and pills they managed to score kept Nikki's roaring withdrawals at bay and allowed him to play his illness off as the flu throughout the rest of the Japan tour, and the second we got home, he was phoning every dealer he could get a hold of.

One I had never met before, Jason, was the first one to come to his aid and it didn't take me long to come to the conclusion I would inevitably have to kill that motherfucker to keep him away from my husband.

He just wanted our money, laying out an elaborate display of everything from cheap tar to clean China White, cocaine, and a pharmacy of prescription pills.

I always left to "go to the store" anytime Jason came over.

Once I was practically having a full on emotional affair, I would go find Duff but before any feelings for him emerged, I would just drive my car around the corner of the street going by the house, pull into the driveway of a half-way burnt down house, and cry. 

My husband, my Nikki, was destroying himself from the inside out, and the more I tried to do help him get better, the worse he got.

Every time I prayed for him, his demons would hold tighter to his legs and keep him shackled in place with a needle and lies that weighed him down and made him feel the need to do the only thing that made him happy, even if only temporarily.

By the end of '87, I was exhausted. I had been screaming, crying, pleading, for years for someone to do something, for someone to threaten the band, threaten them individually, get them off the road, at least try to start a conversation addressing their obvious addictions...

But they were making everyone above them money. That's all that mattered.

I was screaming into a void, and nobody could hear me. Well, they could...they were just ignoring me which was even worse.

I don't know how the hell I managed to face the same thing with Duff and his band years later.

I step into the house once Jason is gone, seeing Nikki by the fireplace, laying on the carpet, and I go to lay beside him.

We've been back from Japan a few days, and they're suppose to be preparing for their U.S. tour starting in a couple weeks.

Nikki's been in heroin land ever since we have gotten home.

And I've been in my own personal hell, being that I just added a third picture to my dead baby drawer as of yesterday.

I would go to a doctor to see if there's something wrong with me to prompt not ever making it past week twelve, but Nikki would find out somehow, someway. I've already risked enough as it is by going to the obstetrician.

"Babe," I nudge him and he opens his eyes just enough to show his pinpointed pupils, and he hums a little. "I gotta go get Tansy from the airport."

"Mmkay." He mumbles, and I force myself not to cry, remembering how miserable he was in Japan, and now we've gotten back and he's back to square one. 

Was it really square one if he never wanted to move to square two in the first place?

Tansy gets into my car, wearing what I'm assuming she wore when they taped her interview with David Letterman hours ago, while a security guard puts her stuff in the trunk.

"Well." I say, looking at her as she lays her head against the back of her seat and looks at me from behind her sunglasses. "How did the interview go?" I ask and she tugs off her heels.

"I don't know." She tells me and I furrow my brows. "The bits and pieces I remember were great." She sounds like she's about to cry.

"Were you...?" I trail off and she moves her fingers under the blacked out lenses and sniffles. "Babe, it's not anything to cry about."

I grab at her hand as she starts crying even more.

"I bombed it, Viv." She says with certainty.

"Tansy, if you don't even remember it, how do you know for sure you did a bad job?"

"You know how I act when I'm fucked up."

"I also know, by the grace of God, somehow, someway, you manage to differentiate between a setting you need to be more composed in, and a setting you can be wild in. Even when you are stoned out of your mind. I have seen you do it." I assure her. "It's really freaking creepy."

My comment has her chuckling a little and she wipes at her tears again. 

"It will be okay. I am sure you did great. And if you didn't you can just do what I do when I'm not acting normal and blame it on Mötley Crüe." 

None of us, not even Tansy herself, knew why or how she scored an interview with David Letterman, but we were all proud of her nonetheless, even if she couldn't remember much of it.

"Sparkie said Japan went good." Tansy says after we're driving for a couple minutes.

"Yeah."

"Thank you for letting him go. I know you aren't the biggest fan of him." She adds.

"I didn't let him go. The guys insisted he went because they needed someone to find them drugs." I state.

"Point is, he went. And he had fun. So thank you." She replies.

"I only tolerate him because I love you." I tell her.

"I know, and I—" she presses a quick kiss to the back of my hand. "—love you, too."

I rub my lips together and get an idea.

"Would you be up for a girl's night?" I ask.

"What do you have in mind?" She asks and I raise my brows. 

In hindsight, it was probably a bad decision to introduce Tansy to Guns N' Roses while she was still addicted to drugs and alcohol, because all it did was create toxic friendships that thrived on the struggles of everyone involved.

Tansy was very easily influenced by other people, but I figured if she had survived that long being friends with Nikki, Tommy and Vince, she would be just fine around Duff, Axl, Izzy, Steven and Slash.

Tansy and I make our way through the crowd, hand in hand, lacing through people and eager groupies.

She's heard me talk about them every now and then but now she has the opportunity to see what the hype is about.

The Troubadour is packed out, and a sense of pride swells in my chest.

"They must be good." Tansy comments, glancing around. 

Normally at least one person would have already asked for her autograph or a picture of her, but everyone is too distracted by the anticipation of the band that's been tearing up and down the strip ever since Nikki, Tommy, Vince and Mick set the bar so high. 

They're not even onstage yet, before all lights in the place shut down, and  Axl let's out one of his infamous screams that somehow mimics a melodic siren. 

The crowd goes quiet for a split second before realizing it's him, then they start screaming, clapping, stomping their feet. 

The lights come back on to reveal Axl, Duff, Izzy, Slash and Steven, picking up into the fast paced rhythm of "Anything Goes." 

With teased hair, heavy glam-rock influenced outfits and makeup, mixed with their sound, it's safe to say there isn't one dry vagina around...including Tansy, who's eyes don't leave the singing red head for the rest of the night.

Back stage is crowded, but Tansy and I manage to be the first females in their dressing room by the time their set is completely finished.

She's already broken into their Jack and Vodka stash, guzzling from both bottles simultaneously, and I look at her like she's crazy because I know it's got to hurt her throat.

"What?" She asks me, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"You are a crazy person." I state just as the door opens, revealing Slash and Steven first, girls under each arm.

"Hey, Viv!" Steven pipes, smiling widely and Slash looks confused for a moment before realizing the blur standing before him is indeed Vivian.

"Hey, Viv." He repeats what Steven said.

Steven does a double-take really quick, seeing Tansy, his hand patting at Slash as he stands, starstruck. It's a domino effect.

First Steven, second Slash, third Duff, then Izzy and lastly, Axl.

Except Steven, Slash, Duff and Axl are frozen because Tansy Lyn is standing before them. I'm sure Izzy appreciates her beauty and participation in Playboy for the last four years, but he's more worried about her breaking into their alcohol. 

"Man, that's Tansy Lyn." Steven states.

"Drinking our booze." Izzy adds and Tansy guiltily puts it back where she got it, smiling.

"Hi." She says to them, and they immediately pretend they weren't just remembering what her naked body looks like.

Steven, as always, is the first to make himself known to a beautiful girl, extending his hand to her. 

"I'm Steven." He tells her.

Slash is shyly hiding behind his curly hair the best he can as Steven puts an arm around him.

"This is Slash." He adds. 

"The grubby fingered alcoholic is Izzy." I tell her as he lights a cigarette. 

"Read this grubby finger, Viv." Izzy states blankly, flipping me off and I hold back a laugh.

"I'm Duff." Duff introduces himself next, and Tansy has to look up so high, her head is tipped completely back before shaking his hand.

Axl doesn't introduce himself, he just stands and stares at her for a moment, black sunglasses blocking our eyes from his.

"Axl." Is all he says before grabbing the bottle of Jack, grabbing one of the girls Steven and Slash walked in with, and leaving.

"He's not an asshole seventy-five percent of the time." I try to defend him against her as she looks like her feelings have been hurt slightly. 

"But when he is an asshole, just avoid him for a few hours and stay out of his way." Duff scoffs out, grabbing the bottle of vodka.

They all knew that piece of advice too well.

Not entirely sure how we ended up back at mine and Nikki's house, but Nikki wasn't home, and probably wasn't going to be home until early morning, so Duff, Steven and Tansy were all in my house.

"If you break a mirror, you buy it!" I call out to Steven and Tansy as Duff and I have our legs dangling in the pool water, hearing something breaking inside the house through the open french doors that lead into the kitchen.

Duff blows smoke out of his nose, laughing at Tansy and Steven calling back, "We didn't!" 

"Jesus." I mumble, grinning to myself and Duff joins in with me, laughing harder at me as "Get Down Tonight" starts blaring through the speakers in the house.

Tansy has officially met her match. 

"I'm glad they get along." Duff says smoothly.

"They both like weed and the same music taste. Seems like a beautiful friendship to me." I shrug and he smiles. 

There's a pause in the air, and he keeps looking at me. 

"What?"

"There's dancing trophies in your house." He tells me and I raise my brows, remembering the day Nikki had demanded my hard earned proof of years dedicated to such a difficult art form, be put on display on a shelf right next to his awards for Gold and Platinum records.

"Yeah? I told you I use to be a dancer." I reply.

"I thought you meant you were a stripper." He confesses and I widen my eyes, elbowing him gently.

"No!" 

"Well, I'm sorry! You're married to a rock guy, you said you use to be a dancer, rockers and strippers go hand-in-hand. It's, like, written in stone or whatever." He tells me. 

"Oh my gosh, Duff." I rub my face and he finishes his cigarette before pulling out another one. 

"So, why don't you do it anymore?" He asks and I think for a second and lick my lips.

"It just wasn't really..." I trail off and he furrows his brows. "...I guess after over a decade of dancing, after graduating, it just  wasn't my thing anymore. I just moved onto bigger and better stuff." 

"What's your thing now, then?" It's obvious he doesn't buy my explanation.

"Being Nikki Sixx's wife." I admit and an odd silence falls over us. 

"You gave up school--Julliard--and dance, only to be known as somebody's wife?" 

"Well, damn, Duff, when you say it like that..." I try not to be hurt because I know he doesn't mean any ill will from it and he immediately starts apologizing. 

"I didn't mean it like that." He tells me. "It's just a waste of talent if you never utilize it anymore. You can't just be dependent on being Nikki's wife, Viv. You need your own thing." 

I wanted to tell him I couldn't afford to be anything but Nikki's wife, or else I'd lose everything.

Nikki's home sooner than I expect as I get ready for bed.

Steven, Tansy and Duff are all asleep on the living room floor, and Nikki comes into our bathroom to splash water on his face.

"The fuck is in our house?" He asks me and I raise my brows.

"Why're you home this early?"

"Jason's coming over." He tells me. "And he's bringing his girlfriend."

"Umm, baby, it would be nice for my friends not to wake up and be met with a drug dealer naming off poisons like an auctioneer."

"Tell them to fuck off." He mumbles, digging through his pockets of the clothes he was wearing yesterday. "Have you seen the check?" He asks me and I raise my brows.

"The check from the label for the Japan tour?" I ask and he nods. "You asked me to cash it yesterday and I did."

"Okay, so where did you put it?"

I step to my top drawer and hand him the stack of cash and he starts thumbing through it, his brows furrowing when he stops halfway through.

"The check was for $150,000, Viv. Where's the rest?" He snaps and I cross my arms.

"You said put 20% in savings and told me I could give 10% to tithes." I remind him, and he looks like he is going to murder me.

"You gave fifteen fucking thousand dollars to a church?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!" He seeths, his face twisting angrily.

"You told me I could Nikki." I try not to get upset. "I asked you and you said—"

"—I said 'yes' because I was fucked up and wasn't thinking, Viv!" He yells, throwing the pile of cash across the room, causing bills to fly everywhere. "And that's exactly why you waited until you knew I couldn't pay attention to care enough about what you were saying because you knew I would laugh in your face if I were sober!" He accuses me.

"Is it so bad if your money goes to something other than drugs?" I stupidly ask him.

He's lunging at me, grabbing my wrists, and pinning me to the bed while screaming in my face.

"That's my fucking money! Mine! How I want to spend it is my fucking business, Vivian!" He shakes me, and I can no longer hold back tears. "You're gonna go tomorrow to that fucking shit hole and tell those fallacious bastards you need that $15,000 back!"

"Nikki, I already told them it was their's." I try to explain, shaking my head a little, sobbing so thickly I'm not even sure he can understand me.

"You'll get my fucking money back or I'll give you something to fucking whine about." He threatens darkly.

He shoves himself off of me and storms out of the house, slamming the front door.

I go to make sure he didn't wake Tans, Stevie, or Duff up, but to my horror, Tansy and Steven are sound asleep while I hear the door slam a second time and realize Duff followed Nikki out.

[peacefulrestvalley]

A Terrible Idea

Fandom: Shall We Date? Love Tangle

Summary:  

Four knocks on the door to the captain's quarters was all the warning he had before Rami loudly shouted from the other side, "HEY CORNELIUS, OPEN UP!" and then kicked the door once.

Rami and Cornelius share a drink one night aboard the Starling Kaleido where many things are said, but nothing is as important as what is left unsaid.

Notes:  Inspired by Cornelius's Vicious story in the spin-off Personalities as well as @northernscruffycat's commentary on Rami and Cornelius's main routes because, believe it or not, I would not have put the two together without reading both of these. This piece can be implied to have occurred in the Vicious Personality timeline before the Starling Kaleido docks and he narrowly avoids being shanked by MC (who is referred to in this story as her default name, Julia Darwin).

Four knocks on the door to the captain's quarters was all the warning he had before Rami loudly shouted from the other side, "HEY CORNELIUS, OPEN UP!" and then kicked the door once.

Unlike a certain someone, Cornelius had been actually working even as late in the night as it was, busy checking weather reports and comparing them to the Starling Kaleido's course one more time before heading off to sleep.  However, Rami's hopeful intrusion had him lunging toward the door in a mad race to put an end to the loud voice that could, and most certainly would, draw the attention of a guest out for a midnight stroll - or worse, a staff member.  He swung the door open with surprising force and came face to face with Rami holding up two glasses and an unbearably bright grin.

"Hey, yo-"

"Get inside!"

Cornelius pulled him by the arm into his quarters and then shut the door behind them in a decidedly more delicate manner than how it was opened.  "Honestly," he began what Rami knew would be a tirade out of embarrassment, "you could have done anything else in the world to get my attention but that.  You know your pounding and hollering is going to draw attention, and especially so late at night you know it's going to be the wrong type of attention.  You kn--"

"But would I have gotten your attention?" Rami interrupted with his grin still plastered on as he set the glasses down on a table and began to rummage through what he knew to be the liquor cabinet.  To Cornelius's disbelief, he brought out a bottle of vodka immediately and continued to search.

The answer was no, and Cornelius knew they both were aware of it so he decided to drop the subject.  Instead, he remarked, "Did you really bring your own drinkware?  Surely you know I have my own you can use..."

"No, no, look at them," Rami responded, eyes still scanning the cabinet.  He seemed to be weighing his options.  "Hey, you got any juice?"

"There's orange juice...and I believe some cranberry juice left as well."

Rami laughed as the information delighted him.  "You drinking on the waters after all?  Nobody drinks cranberry juice alone without alcohol."

Rolling his eyes, Cornelius returned as he moved to inspect the glasses, "No, it's been leftover since the last time you had one of your...visits."

"Oh," he said as he paused with a bottle of peach schnapps in hand, "oh yeah!"  He set it on the table with the vodka and glasses.  "Man, I hope it's not expired..."

"I haven't looked."  It was a dry acknowledgment as if he hadn't cared at all, though that wasn't the case.  No, if Cornelius genuinely hadn't cared it's doubtful he would have recalled it in the first place.  "Look," he continued, "I know you want to drink, but I've got an early morning tomorrow with a busy day, and--"

Rami's interruption came as he went to the small kitchen and brought out both juices, "You're always busy.  ...Did you look at the glasses?  I got them at the last port of call.  There's one for me and one for you.  Choose whichever one is your favorite."

"Really..."  Both glasses were rather kitschy and borderline obscene so he picked up the least offensive of the two, a highball glass with a regional slogan and pair of scantily covered breasts on one side.  "I suppose this one.  If anyone peeks inside my cupboard I can at least laugh it off."

"You don't like the prescription one that implies you're an alcoholic?"

Once again, and certainly not for the last time that night, Cornelius rolled his eyes.  "Not in the least bit."

"Well, I thought it was funny."

"You're also a terrible person."

He wasn't, but Rami laughed all the same.  "Anyway," he implored, "just have one drink with me.  I know you've got an early morning but one drink won't kill ya.  It'll get you to sleep faster.  See, I'm saving you, I'm--"

"One," he cut off, emphasizing his self-imposed rule.  "So, what are you making?"

"Sex on the Beach."

"You know that's a terrible idea."

And Rami laughed hard enough that Cornelius feared the engineer or someone would overhear.  It was a laugh that wouldn't nearly have been as funny if it weren't for prior experience.  "A...terribly delicious idea," he finally spat out.

Once again, the captain rolled his eyes and suppressed a laugh that otherwise may have been difficult to contain.  Composure was a hard thing to come by at times but damn if he didn't try.

He didn't say anything but Rami went right to work with a shaker and practiced motions.  Both cranberry and orange juice were doled out in equal parts and presented in both boobs and pill glasses for their enjoyment, and Rami took the initiative and held out his glass for Cornelius to clink against in a toast: "To never having sex on the beach again."

"...What?" was his response accompanied by a laugh while Rami downed half his cocktail at once.  Of course, Cornelius would be slower with his, choosing to savor the concoction as it was the only one he would have, and took a sip to appraise the adventurer's work.  "Mm, not bad.  Definitely better than the real thing."  He raised an eyebrow, though, when Rami polluted his with a bit more vodka.

For once it was Rami's turn to roll his eyes but neither of them spoke about it.  Instead, he sat down leisurely and kicked up his feet onto the large dining table, precisely because he knew how much it irritated his companion, and gave a large, satisfied sigh: "This is the life, isn't it?"  

It wasn't, and both of them knew it, but once again it would be one of the many things between them that were left unsaid.

"You act as if you don't have an upcoming lecture."

"Well, it's not now," Rami retorted, waving his hand in an exaggerated motion. "I mean, it's not even tomorrow!  You're too serious."

"On the ship?  Yes, of course, I am.  I have to be," came Cornelius's dull response, as if it was a standard reply to a common complaint between the two - which it was.

Rami immediately went into a double finger gun gesture and teased suggestively, "But Cornelius on land...  I mean work hard, play hard, am I right?"

"...Not anymore, I suppose."  In a certain sense, it was true for many reasons, but when Rami's expression fell he added, "Just because all my time on land is devoted to her."

"That's still playing hard! Don't make it sound like you're miserable ashore."

"Sorry, that wasn't my intention. It's bliss, honestly."

As Rami finished his glass and went to work on fixing himself another, he blurted seemingly out of the blue as if it was naturally the right time and level of mutual inebriation for such a thing: 

"So...you gonna marry her?"

Cornelius paused briefly but answered in the same intonation as talking about the weather, "Probably."

Immediately Rami set a bottle down on the table louder than it needed to be and shook the shakers more robustly this time.  "Probably?  ...Cornelius, she is the best damn thing to ever happen to you, and if your life with her isn't kittens and rainbows then I will marry her and be happy instead!"  

It was a strange threat but Cornelius only looked at his glass, half-empty with sex on the beach as its only memory.  "You're reading too much into things," he began and tried to hide how desperately he wanted Rami off his back for this topic; one drink just wasn't enough for that.  "I love her so much, but it's been a long day - and tomorrow's going to be longer.  Honestly, I'm thinking about the ship and my passengers right now, not the ring I want you to help me design for her..."

This was the first Rami had heard of this obvious distraction, but he nodded because that was respectable.  It was understandable.  Also, he was included.  Rami stuck his index finger out at the captain before he polished off half his second cocktail and prophesied, "...And she's gonna fucking love it."  

He may or may not have pre-gamed coming to the captain's quarters.

Cornelius knew which it was.

"So," Rami began as he sat comfortably back down, "how is Julia?  How are the animals?  Her job?  Her life?  You know, I text her these things to get a conversation going and all she answers is fine."

Cornelius definitely knew which it was.  

"Honestly, she thinks her life pales in comparison to your adventures, so that may be where your lukewarm responses stem from with her."

He pointed his finger repeatedly but had no response because the finger had done all the talking - he knew it, he was just so damn remarkable and was certainly not being edged out of wonderful friendship with Cornelius's partner.  

Rami finished his drink once again with a certain finality: he was distracted; he was placated; it was done - until he was sober, that is, and wrapped up planning his lecture when the tide would have room to wash back in with its evidence of other lives lived.  He certainly wasn't looking forward to that, the anxious thoughts and energy with little constructive outlet until the next adventure at a port of call.  Without the many planned activities aboard the ship, there would be little holding him back from jumping off and taking his chances in the ocean; at least the danger would be fun, very much unlike this quiet, subtle sense of hazard they faced together.

Even though the captain successfully bottled up all his tension to the point where most people would mistake that it wasn't even there, Rami wasn't most people.  He watched Cornelius finish his cocktail in appreciative silence but saw past the seemingly relaxed composure and knew it for what it was - restraint.  

...But of course, they both had their ways of releasing the pressure.

"Hey," Rami spoke up again, "you make a drink this time."

"No seriously, just one drink was more than enough.  As I said, I've got an early morning ahead of me tomorrow, and--"

"--I'm not talking about for you," he interrupted. "I mean for me!"

Despite his objections as a captain, he knew that if Rami wanted another drink then he was going to get another drink regardless of what anyone else said, so he didn't waste much time weighing whether or not he should oblige his request.  "Hmm, I only know vodka tonic..."

Instantly Rami shot it down.  "Boring."

"...Well, what if I made a new drink for you?"

"A brand-new, never-before-seen Captain Cruz cocktail for me?" he exclaimed, and Captain Cruz wasn't sure if he was poking fun at his expense or not. "...DEAL!" 

Cornelius didn't know the full terms or conditions, but a deal was a deal and he started to mull over his options in the liquor cabinet.  Of course, he wouldn't lose to Rami's practiced taste even if he had no idea how to go about doing so, and the pleasantly warm sensation of alcohol did nothing to hinder his competitive confidence.  "Let's see," he thought aloud, "we just had Sex on the Beach, so..."

"Sex on the Boat?"

Cornelius paused because while he was certain that Rami was joking, he was uncertain that it wasn't a real thing.  "Is that even in here?" he asked and handed him a bartender's recipe book.

"Hold on, let me check," Rami responded and began to leaf through the pages.

"Look for something with vodka if it's not," Cornelius instructed as he set out a few liqueurs as options before digging back into the cabinet. "I don't want you getting sicker than you're already going to be tomorrow just because you switched liquors."

It was a suggestion based on experience but of course, Rami ignored all that.  "Hey, there's one called Buttery Nipple..."

"Let me see the recipe," he commanded and grabbed the book for himself but then Rami batted it out of his hands to the floor, stepping on it for good effect.

"That's cheating."

"Well, what was in it?"

"...Nipples."

The subsequent eye-roll was almost audible.  "And, let me guess, butter?"

"You know that's a terrible idea."

"You're a terrible idea."

Rami laughed aloud, enjoying the sound of Cornelius's stifled snicker and the clinks the bottles made when he put most of them back into the liquor cabinet as if he had been struck with inspiration.  

"You've come up with something," he noted dryly.

"I have," he agreed with equal parts dryness.

While watching Cornelius pour, shake, and strain whatever cocktail he was making for him, Rami struggled to keep up and identify if this was actually based on a real drink or if he was just putting whatever the hell he thought of in there and using him as a guinea pig.  Either way, he was curious and shot the captain an eager grin as soon as he slid the finished concoction over.

"Voila, the Captain's Special."

"How original," Rami remarked and swirled the drink vaguely around after taking a sniff.  It seemed all right, and he didn't identify anything particularly strange while he watched him make it, but he also knew that it was amateur hour over in the captain's quarters that night, special or no special.  "No name like Bottom Deck or I'm Gonna Throw You Overboard Rami?"

"I'd need a salted cream for that last one so maybe next time," Cornelius responded wryly as he cracked a smile.  "Now are you going to drink up or what?"

Rami's eyes twinkled as he swung his arm away in an exaggerated gesture and said, "Now did I hear that right?  Our fearless leader, the ordinarily extraordinary Captain Cruz, is-"  His hand knocked into Cornelius's empty glass but did little else but send it sailing an inch away. "-encouraging me, the ruggedly handsome and dashing explorer, to drink MORE?  As in-"

"I can send you back to your cabin and pour this down the drain, you know."

"-MORE than this incredibly good-looking traverser of the lands and sea has already--"

Cornelius grabbed Rami's errant hand before it knocked into anything else and commanded, "Oh just drink already!"  He pushed the hand with the cocktail close to Rami's face before both of them laughed, a small spill being a minor casualty.

Finally, he drank that damn drink, draining it about halfway before pausing with a pensive expression.  If he minded that Cornelius's hand still laid atop his on the table then he didn't show it.

"Well?" Cornelius prompted as he gave a slight squeeze, clearly anticipating a review on his spontaneous creation.  

Rami took a few appreciative seconds before asking vaguely, "You seriously just made this up and haven't tried it yourself?"

"What does that mean?  Of course I did." He was impatient. "Do you like it or not?"

"Try it."

Cornelius shook his head.  "No, I'm done drinking for the night.  This one was all for you."

"All for me," he mused and ran his thumb alongside Cornelius's finger.  At this stage of things, neither of them minded the contact, but it was always a question of how much pressure Rami needed to apply for the restraints to loosen further.  "You know, once I finish this you'll have never known how it tasted - a fleeting moment of history, forever gone..."

"I'm fine with that," Cornelius answered, "as long as you tell me what you think."

There was a beat of silence in which Rami decidedly did not tell him what he thought.

"So it's good, bad...?"

He downed the rest of the drink and declared as he set the drink down on the table with finality, "Gone."

Cornelius's eyes narrowed in response and he attempted his best intimidating and interrogative stare.

While it worked on everyone else aboard the ship, Rami just brought his free palm up and shrugged in a manner specifically designed to be as grating as possible.

Whatever additional chip he added to break open the crack in Cornelius's walls this time had worked: in a sudden and almost violent manner, Cornelius grabbed the front of Rami's shirt with his free hand and crushed his lips against his, pressing his tongue to part through without preamble.

Rami went with it as a rudderless boat rolled with the waves, carrying itself further out on the sea's whim.  That is to say, he parted his mouth and let Cornelius's tongue slide in to gather as much as he desired.  Their fingers intertwined and Rami freed a soft moan, thankful he didn't have to wonder how much longer he had to prod anymore to transition to this eventual part of the night.

It was an intense but not particularly long kiss as the captain did part from those adventuring lips, although keeping in a breath's vicinity.  "...Not bad," he concluded, watching Rami gaze at his lips with some measure of satisfaction as he touched his jaw tenderly.  "Not bad if I say so myself."

Rami gave an impish grunt in disagreement and added, "You can do better."

"Then let me do that tonight."

"You mean let me do you?"

When they would later finish acting out the unspoken feelings between them and Rami would unsuccessfully attempt to sweet-talk his way into staying 'til dawn, it would be the last time Cornelius rolled his eyes that night.  But until then, Cornelius gave one more eye roll and answered with another passionate, unrestrained kiss.

...If only just to shut him up.

[lovemychoices]

W.I.P Sunday Wednesday. What day?

Thanks @desiree-0816 @annekebbphotography @thecordoniandiaries for the tag. I know I suck at keeping up with these things. Between work and my social life right now everything is just HECTIC and will probably stay that way until after the new years Chinese New Year. No promises when all of these will be out but like hopefully within this month?

BEFORE THERE WAS YOU (TRR AU) LIAM X MC X LEO

Leo was just outside the stables working on his motorcycle shirtless, when Eve happened to pass by. She paused on her feet, her eyes gazed at his perfectly toned body, how it glistens under the afternoon sun. Damn those Rys brothers and their greek god bodies. She swallows hard before clearing her throat.

“Is that a Harley Street Rod?”

Leo stopped at what he was doing to look over his shoulder. “Good eye, you have one of these two?”

“I’m more of a Ducati person but this is pretty sweet too.”

Leo tosses the wrench into the toolbox next to him and gets up. He takes the towel on his bike and wipes the sweat off his face and body before tossing it back on his shoulder.

“Yeah I have one of those too. But the street rod is more cross country friendly. Don’t you agree?”

He grinned

Her eyes widened and her mouth slightly opened as he stood there in front of her. Stop staring at his abs you IDIOT! Eve quick shook her head moving her attention from his body to his face. “I uh.. Yeah.. Totally agree.” She stutters.”

“So how are you liking the country side of Cordonia so far?”

Eve shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t really been outside of applewood manor since we got here. Between the seasonal events and ethics class from Bertrand, Liam always being busy. There never was the right time to go exploring.”

“I’m pretty free now, I could show you around?”

PLAYING WITH FIRE (ROD AU) COLT X MC

“Mind telling me what’s this?” Riya asked holding up an orange pill bottle. “What do you even need Oxycodone for?”

“Omg.. Did you just go through my stuff without my permission?!” She retorted, her hands balling into a fist. “You have no right to do that Riya.”

“I was short on cash and looked through you purse to borrow some. Maybe it’s a good thing I did or who knows how long your drug addiction was going to continue.” She xxxxxxx. “Is that why you’ve been so chill the past few months? Because you’ve been using? What else have you been using? Heroin? Cocaine?”

“I’m not a drug addict if that’s what you’re implying, I only use them when I go to parties or when I’m feeling stressed out.” She folds her arms her with her eyes downcast. “And for the record I don’t do heroin or cocaine. I’m mostly on prescription pill and occasionally Molly.”

“Kaela how could you be so stupid?! Grieving is one thing but this?!”

“Don’t talk to me like you know what it’s like to feel grief. I tried to grieve him, Riya. Trust me I've got grieving down to a science at this point. But every time I let it sink in that I'm never gonna see you again, I feel like I'm gonna die.” She whimpered. “I— I want to die!

“You can’t say things like that Kaela.”

“And why not? It’s the truth! I can’t do this anymore.. I’m sorry.. I need to go somewhere.” She said taking her purse from the counter and storms out of the apartment, Riya chasing her shortly after into the parking lot “Kaela where are you going, you can’t do this you need help. Just talk to me please!” She pleaded reaching to take her hand but Kaela

“Omg! Riya can you like not!” She belted as she pushed Riya’s hand away. “Just leave me alone!” She quickly gets into her car and drives away while Riya watches her from behind.

ALWAYS BE MY DRIVE (ROD AU) Colt x MC x Logan

Spring 2012

After dinner and some cake Colt and Emma got ready to head to the mall. They were at foyer about to leave when Emma remembered something. “Colt, wait I almost forgot. Wait here for a minute.” She said and hurried up the stairs coming back a few seconds later with a baby blue colored gift bag in her hand. “Happy birthday Colt, I hope you like it.” She beamed, handing the gift bag.

“Emma, you really didn’t have to give me anything.”

“Of course I do, it’s your thirteenth birthday. You’ve officially entered the teen zone and you deserve something special to remember it by.”

Colt smiled, he opened the bag and took out navy blue colored polaroid camera. “This is…”

“You don’t like?”

“What? No.. I was going to say this is the best gift I have so far. Thank you Em.” He said pulling her into a hug. They pulled a part a moment later Colt gave her curious look. “How did you know I wanted one of these?”

Emma chuckled. “You know by now not to underestimate how well I know you Colt Kaneko.”

“I guess I should know better by now huh?” He grinned. He looked down at the camera in his hand and had an idea. “Hey Em, smile at the camera won’t you? You’ll be the first official photo I take with it.”

She gave her best smile and he clicked on the button, a polaroid photo came out of the camera. Colt gently shook the picture to let it dry, a few seconds later he looked at the picture and smiled. “How do I look?” She asked. “You look perfect.” He replied and showed her the picture, she smiled then tiptoes up to kiss him on the cheek. “C'mon let’s go before the mall closes.”

THE LOST PRINCE (TRR x TRH AU) Liam x MC

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Riley asked leaning against the door frame with her arms folded as she watched her husband packed his clothes into a suitcase. “I don’t understand why cant send Hakim like you always do?”

Liam puts the last of his clothing and zipped his luggage shut before turning to his wife. “ Because they wanted to meet with me personally and nobody else. Besides ...” He turned and sauntered toward Riley placing his hands on her shoulder, placing a kiss on her forehead. “I need you here to look after things while I’m gone, especially since we’re expecting visitors from Auvernal in a few days.”

Riley gave a forced smile, ever since she mentioned about the whole surrogate thing he has been acting a little differently, like there was something he was hiding from her. She was beginning to think he was doubting her as his wife. “If I must.”

“I promise to bring you a box of cronuts from your favourite shop in New York.”

“Make that two boxes.” She grinned and tiptoed to kiss him on the lips. Not having a clue about the secret her husband was keeping from her, that he wasn’t going to New York for a diplomatic meeting but was traveling to LA instead to meet with the son he never knew he had.

*************************************************

Coming Soon

LEGACIES (MODERN DAY D&D AU)

Reign impatiently taps her foot on the carpet of the taxi, the traffic approaching Madison Avenue was a nightmare. It was already 0930am, she had less than 30 minutes to get to her interview and she wasn’t going to make it at this rate. OMG. I’m never going to make it at this rate! Time for plan B. “Excuse me, how far is it from here to Foredale Consolidated?”

“Three blocks..”

Three blocks? I can make it. “Here keep the change.” She said handing the driver a 20 dollar bill before bolting out of the yellow cab.

You can do this Reign, you’ve ran marathons before. Not in heels but if that lady in Jurassic World can do it, so can you! Two blocks.. pfft.. childsplay.

A little while later Reign finally reaches the opposite road of Foredale consolidated. She bends down, both hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. “I… made it..” she pants, straightening back up a while later, trying to compose herself. “Just a little bit more.” My feet is going to kill me after this.

She was so focused on getting to the building didn't look twice before crossing the road and almost gets hit by a town car. BEEP! BEEP! The driver honks at her. “Sorry! Sorry!” She apologize raising both hands up before continuing to walk towards Foredale Consolidated in a fast pace.

*************************************************Whatcha working on? @client-327 @lovehugsandcandy @furiouscloddonutpeanut @flowerpowell @princess-geek @zaffrenotes @brightpinkpeppercorn @hellospunkiebrewster @whenyourheartskipsabeat @ao719 @jessiembruno @emceesynonymroll

[f0reverchanging]

Okay, info dump time!

Okay. There's a lot. Like, enough that I may (probably) split this up into two sections. Maybe. I dunno. To preface this, nothing bad happened! I'm good, healthy, have a good life, phenomenal friends, and while I may not be thrilled with everything in my life right now, I'm not going to complain. So, I'll try to go in chronological order.

I don't remember if I said anything about this, but my best friend came back from overseas and that was, honestly, life changing. I love her, and I owe her so much that I'll never be able to repay, and I'm so unbelievably lucky to have a friend like her.

With that information out there, I was having a bit of a hard time a while back, what with seasonal depression, catching covid, crazy amounts of stress at work, cash flow issues, and on top of everything else, I'm in the middle of second puberty. Well, one day we were texting while I was feeling exceptionally shitty, and the topic of me being single still, why, if/when I'll be ready to date, etc. (it was a lot more tactful and caring than I've made it sound), so I yolo'd and came out to her. And it went well! We talked about that for probably the next 48 hours and it relieved so much stress that I felt like a normal human being for the first time in months.

All of that was also a week or so before my 30th birthday.

Ugh. I'm 30 now.

I definitely feel older, that's for sure.

My birthday was also wonderful and I loved every minute of it.

Mm, maybe I don't have near as much to write down as I thought. I mean, things were kind of a blur there for a while. COVID really did a number on me, but my work was great and paid me for the whole week while I laid at home in bed, and even gave me a $50 (I think?) doordash giftcard. Another random tidbit about the last few months is my car... problems. Hopefully not serious problems, but we'll see. Just Empty Every Pocket.

Okay, it's getting late so I'll make the rest kinda quick. Insurance is dumb. Pharmacies are also dumb. Lab testing and billing for is a pain in my ass.

And all of this for my T to be at 13 whatevergrams per whateverliters, and my E to be...! Well below female range (59 whatevergrams per whateverliters). RIP.

I'm switching to injections, but that's been kind of a ride. Call my doctor after ONE prescription (spiro) hit the pharmacy but my other (estradiol valerate) didn't. They told me the pharmacy was backordered and we decided to send it to another one instead. Which never happened. How do I know? Because 2 business days later, I called the first pharmacy and they said,

"I see we have a second prescription here that was submitted a few days ago.. hmm, this isn't something we generally keep on hand, so I'll have to order it. It should be here tomorrow."

AHHHH. Why wasn't it ordered the day the other prescription was filled?! I don't understand!

Oh, oh! Also, I was kind of freaked out that my spiro (200mg/daily) was listed as costing me $99, but I figured it was another insurance issue (fuck you generic insurance company). Nope, not an insurance problem, I read it right, $99.

"But... I have a coupon." "Oh, okay! Let me see if it works."

/checks the account, makes a funny face, applies a random GoodRx coupon to the bill.

"That brings your total down to $21."

"Okay!" /wipes sweat

Then she brings out the fucking BIGGEST pill bottle I have ever seen. I swear to god this thing is huge.

Turns out, I am now the proud owner of THREE MONTHS WORTH of spiro, all for the low, low price of $21.

I fucking paid $18 for ONE month's worth, last month! I've also requested 60-90 day refills, but no! Insurance said no! But now? HELLO?

I'm kind of afraid I'll end up getting a 3 month supply of E as well, but it gives me hope that the $127 price tag could be, uh, a lot less.

That's enough for now.

頑張って、Ｊ－ちゃん。

おやすみなさい。 ps - no suicidal ideations in a long time.

[thetrashthatsmilesback]

Was I blind and deaf and dumb I didn’t know how bad it had become Or how to save you (because I'm basic and part of me hurt me emotionally)

This is a character study of the relationship between Larry and Connor. Its towards the beginning of Connor's junior year, and is a lead up to what is implied to be his first attempt. This is really dark, so please be safe.

Warnings: f slur suicidal ideation psycho used as a slur sociopath used as a slur referenced abuse drug addiction referenced self harm referenced suicide attempt

This is cross posted to AO3 here x.

This is canon compliant, but since its pre-canon it could be considered a prequel to Connor lives AUs

I also took the idea of Connor's middle name being Lawrence from @Ch-ch-ch-ch-cherrybomb as they are my biggest writing inspiration.

Larry Murphy had never been able to bond with his son. Connor was complicated, and a total mama’s boy through and through. Their interests didn’t coincide, their social lives were complete opposites, and while Larry’s masculinity was hard to doubt, Connor had always been a bit… prissy. Of course Larry cared for and loved his son, he just wasn’t sure how to generally interact with him in any way. After their fight last night he wanted to try and fix the bond that had been lost somewhere along the way.

“Connor, where were you last night?”

“Out.”

“Out where? Your mom’s sleeping meds were also missing. I want to see them now, and I want every pill that should be in the bottle to be in the bottle.” Connor scoffed, shaking his head. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, rimmed with red. There were long fading tear tracks going down his cheeks. His hair had obviously gone at least a week without being washed.

“Yea… I don’t think you’ll be too pleased if you want all of the pills in the bottle. There’s maybe,” he looked at the ceiling in thought, “half? Yeah. Half a bottle left.” He nodded with his lips pursed before speaking again. “Although, I ran into some kid and he made a joke that wasn’t at my expense and I was able to-” Larry finally cut the brunet boy off.

“Half the bottle is left? Did you overdose? How did you not pass out? Where were you?” Connor rolled his eyes, only the blue and brown one visible from behind his curtain of hair.

“Jeez, I didn’t take them all. Like you said, they’re mom’s prescription.” Larry could feel his jaw tensing.

“Well you shouldn’t have taken any. I want the bottle back right now Connor Lawrence Murphy.” The boy pushed his chair out from the table.

“Fine!” He huffed before running up the staircase. About five minutes later he came back down with a small orange bottle with the name Cynthia Murphy written across its label. He handed it to the redheaded woman, and sat back down. His plate had barely been touched.

“Connor, sweetie, you really shouldn’t take anything that isn’t prescribed to you.” She reached out to run her hand over his hair but he jerked away making a strangled noise.

“So, Zoe, how’s school been this week?”  The younger Murphy made a small non-committal sound before looking up.

“My teachers have been trying to cram a lot in before Thanksgiving Break, but for the most part it's okay. I got the solo in the jazz band concert again. You are coming right?” She looked up, hopeful.

“Of course Zoe! We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Zoe’s hair was in a ponytail, fully showing off the vibrant indigo streaks running through it like lightning.

“Well… I mean, you missed it last year.” Suddenly there was an intensity in the air that could be cut with a knife.

The year before, during the Thanksgiving jazz band performance, Connor had been home alone. During it he went out to get high, but ended up passing out and being found by a young mom and her two kids in a park. Cynthia had missed most of the concert due to being in the emergency room with her sobering son.

“That won’t happen again this year dear. I promise, we’ll be there.” Her look was tight, like a wound coil, but she managed to smile at her daughter. It was in moments like these that Larry truly loved his wife. She’d do anything to keep the family together.

“What about you Connor, how’s school been for you?” As soon as the question left his mouth, he knew he had made a mistake. The evening hadn’t been perfect, definitely tense, with fairly terse answers, but asking this question was like cocking a loaded gun. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zoe pull her legs up to her chest in a defensive pose. Cynthia began, as imperceptible as possible, to move all of the cutlery away from Connor. His son, for the second time this meal, looked up through the curtain of that damn hair.

“I-uh- it’s been… fine?” He could see Connor clenching his fist into his palm, but for some reason decided to push.

“Has it really?” Connor nodded, looking down at the table. Zoe shot a glance in between Larry and Connor, and readied herself to dart from the room. “Because I got an interesting call from your latin teacher. She said you haven’t been to class in two weeks.”

“Not now Larry, Connor has been feeling sick. We can discuss this later.” Cynthia’s tone was soft but commanding. It was obvious she was demanding her husband to not push their son further. The one in question simply lowered his head more, face completely concealed by hair, and muttered a low ‘fucking bitch’ below his breath.

“No Cynthia. I doubt he’s been sick for two weeks. In fact, the only class that i haven’t been informed of your missing has been English. Where are you during the day Connor?”

“I’ve been out.”

“Where?”

“Larry not right now.”

“God does it even fucking matter?” Connor’s head shot up, and Larry could see the tears forming in his son’s eyes. He’s not high then. He would be yelling by now if he were, the red was simply from crying. For some reason he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He was sick of this, this shit that Connor would pull. He’d do anything to get out of class, even fake stomach aches and claim that the people there made him want to throw up. Larry remembered being a teenager, he was similar to Connor - skipping class to go behind the school and smoke cigarettes with the rest of the jocks. He knew Connor wasn’t actually sick, he just wanted to go feed his oxy addiction.

“It does matter. You need to go to class Connor. You can’t live on our couch forever.” Connor stood up abruptly, causing Zoe to finally dart out of the room, slamming her door shut and driving the lock home.

“You sound like my fucking counselor! You can’t keep failing Connor!” he was sneering in a voice that was definitely nothing like his counselor’s. “English isn’t a viable degree Connor! Your math grades are too fucking low Connor! Don’t you want to graduate? Do you really think that your parents want to be stuck with you for the rest of your fucking life? Do you honestly think, that anyone would want to support a fucking piece of shit like you?” He smashed a glass as he said the last one, tears flowing down his angular cheeks, and gasps falling out of his mouth. Cynthia stood up and began to walk towards him, but Connor backed away from her. “God, do you honestly think I don’t fucking know I’m on the verge of dropping out? Do you honestly think that I don’t know I’m throwing everything away? I can’t fucking do this any fucking more! You’re my parents! You’re supposed to hold me and tell me it’ll be okay and help me lay out my fucking options but you don’t fucking care! No one fucking cares! No one fucking listens when I say that I can’t fucking stand that place! I can’t go in without people making school shooter jokes, or cowering, or shoving shit into my locker, or telling me to just fucking kill myself as if I don’t already fucking want to!” He was full out sobbing now, his hand cut up from the broken glass.

“Connor, oh Connor. You don-”

“Yes! I fucking do. I just fucking want to be fucking dead. I can’t fucking take this any fucking more.” Cynthia walked up to their now hyperventilating son and walked him over to the couch where she held him.

Later that night Larry and Cynthia got into a fight about whether Connor meant what he said or not. Larry just couldn’t accept that his son was honestly suicidal - it had to be for attention. A way to get more drugs to get high off of. Cynthia had argued back that he couldn’t be lying. That this isn’t the first time their son has told them that he wants to die.

He came back out of his reverie in front of the banged up door of his sixteen year old son. The door was banged up, covered in dents and scratches from nights when Connor had come home too drunk or high to even open the door. He reached up and knocked softly, calling out “Connor? I want to come in.” He cracked open the door to see his oldest lying on the bed reading. He was totally engrossed, headphones on, knees at his chest, head buried into the pages so deep that only his eyes - visibly alight with excitement - and a light blush across his cheeks were visible.

Larry stood there a moment, staring at the boy. His hair was getting relatively long, reaching to about his mid neck in length. His jacket - something that Cynthia had picked up from the consignment shop that looked like it belonged with a dressier shirt than what Connor usually paired it with - was rolled up to his elbows revealing a scattering of scars. They made Larry sick to his stomach. Connor had self harmed on and off since the end of sixth grade, and although most of the cuts were so faded you couldn’t even see where they were, the newer ones were a dark red. His shirt was disheveled and had rid up to expose a small portion of stomach, also littered with the dark lines.  His legs were bent supporting the relatively thick book resting on them, in black ripped skinny jeans covered in white and blue paint.

Larry cleared his throat and finally Connor looked up, the light clearing from his eyes to be replaced with a blank stare. “Hey, wha-what are you reading?” Connor looked down at his book, back up at his dad, and then at the book again.

“Its-” his voice was hoarse, desperately needing to be cleared, “It’s War and Peace? Like… the book by Leo Tolstoy?” When Larry said nothing, simply moving closer to his son to attempt to talk, he flushed and continued. “There’s, a um, there’s a musical in previews about it. So I uh, decided to read it.” Larry nodded and sat at the edge of the dark bed.

“You like musicals? I always thought you were more into rock bands.”

“I like both.” So far this was going better than expected. Connor had opened up about his book and taste in music without it becoming a screaming match.

“Why don’t you put on a musical for me then?” Connor looked up at him suspiciously. “I’m trying to bond with you Connor. I want you to feel safe here.” Connor simply looked down again, before carefully opening his bedside table’s drawer. Larry paled and felt sick at what was inside. It was lined with various bags of pills, powders, and weed. Some were obviously painkillers, others were sleeping pills, and some he didn’t want to know what they were.

“My drug issues aren’t exactly secret.” Connor murmured while grabbing his phone out from underneath a bag of light blue powder. He probably felt that this was an excuse for blatantly showing it off to Larry. “Can you just… can you not tell mom? I don’t want her to worry. Like, I know I’m a dick, but I’m not that much of a self centered ass.”

“She’s already worried Connor. Every night when you don’t get home until two, three in the morning - if at all, she’s worried. Every time you come home drunk or high, or come to breakfast hungover, she’s worried. When those damn scars are on display, she’s worried. Last night when you said you wanted to kill yourself, you made her worried.” Connor looked up at him, his eyes hard.

“Is that really why you’re in here? To make me feel guilty? Are you going to record this as well? Hahaha,” his sarcastic laugh was cold and bitter, “How fucking funny is this! Connor Lawrence Murphy feels bad! He’s not a total sociopath after fucking all! Lets all laugh at his drug addiction while he has a fucking breakdown!” His face had grown cold, hands clenching at the book.

“Connor, that’s not why I’m here. Why would I want to show off my own son’s tantrums?” Larry’s voice had risen, he felt it himself. This wasn’t what he wanted, he had wanted to try. “Wait, Connor,” He had taken a deep breath while his son curled himself even more into a ball, “I didn’t mean it like that. Why do you think I’d record you?”

“Zoe would.”

“Your sister wouldn’t Connor.”

“Look me in the eye and say that.” At this Connor looked up and made eye contact. Those peculiar eyes with brown speckling the left sea of blue. Neither Cynthia nor Larry knew where the heterochromia came from, both of them being blue eyed. When Connor’s eye first started darkening Larry had assumed that Cynthia had cheated on him. When she denied it, half in tears, he decided to just leave it alone.

“Connor, I don’t want to do this right now.”

“You can’t can you?”

“Connor-”

“Do you know what they call me at school?” Larry looked back at his son again, raising an eyebrow.

“Psycho Connor, Crazy Connor, Connor the School Shooter, bomber, fucking serial killer. They film me and then put it on the internet. They call me fag and sociopath and revolting, they tell me to kill myself before I kill one of them. I just wanted to know that someone could guarantee that they didn’t believe that about me.” Connor looked up through his curtain of hair. “I’m abusive to Zoe. I’m awful to mom, mom who lets me do whatever. And then to you, I egg you on. I’m an ass. You treat me like a criminal, and I give you every reason to.” Connor looked back down at his legs, biting his bottom lip. “Can you go?”

“Connor I-”

“I just want you to go!” His voice raised, eyes full of tears, face flushing a dark red. Larry did leave at that, and he pretended he didn’t hear the broken sobs. He pretended he had never seen the drawer of drugs. He pretended the scars, and paranoia, and slurs weren’t parts of his son.

Larry had never understood his son, but the next morning when they found him in a pool of his own vomit, an empty pill bottle in his hand, he wished more than anything that he had tried harder.

[quousque]

so uh.....Hi I'm almost 15 and I think I have add, and in the summer break I'll be tested and I wanted to know if medication would really help me focus, because I also heard that people "feel like zombies" when they take it and I was worried that might happen. Do you take meds?

I do take meds! I definitely recommend trying them, and I wish I’d started them as young as you! The hard part is finding the right medication and dose for you. Everyone processes drugs differently, so you might have to try a few different dosages before you find one that works for you. Generally, a doctor will prescribe you a low dose, and have you track your symptoms, and steadily increase the dose until the negative side effects outweigh the benefits, and then stepping back to the previous dose. 

When people get the ‘zombie’ effect, it’s generally because their dose is too high. What ‘too high’ is is different for everyone- for instance, my body processes drugs really quickly, so the amount of adderall I take in a day is more than twice what my brother takes.

One thing my doctor explained to me when I started meds, is that they are like glasses. You need glasses to focus, and you need meds to focus. When you wake up, you put on your glasses, and you take your meds, and when you go to bed, you take your glasses off and your meds wear off. Once the meds wear off, there’s really no lingering effects. You don’t build up any drugs in your system, so if you do take way too much one day (which can happen, if you forget you’ve already taken your pill and take a second one), you might feel out of whack for a few hours, but once it wears off it’s gone. Another way that meds are like glasses is that they don’t cure your symptoms, they just help for a while. You can’t take meds for a few years and then stop and expect your adhd symptoms to stay away. When you want to focus, you take your meds, and when they wear off, it’s gone. 

Things I can do when on meds that I have a lot of trouble with when I don’t take them: reading a book for a long time (unless it’s one I’m really interested in), watching a movie or a show without getting up and pacing every few minutes, clean my room, drive a car safely, writing a story or essay, planning projects, and just generally being able to do the same thing for a while without constantly switching tasks. The first time I took adderall, I sat down and wrote for four hours straight (four hours was how long that particular dosage lasted me). I had literally never been able to do that before. I’d always write a sentence or two- maybe a paragraph max- and then go browse the internet or do something else, because I just couldn’t make myself keep writing. But with medication, I can just sit down and write. It really is amazing. 

So basically, ADHD meds are very safe, have been around for decades, and have consistently good results when prescribed correctly. Scary-sounding side effects go away as soon as your meds wear off, and are a sign that either the dose is wrong or you should try a different type of medication. I would recommend getting a prescription from an ADHD specialist, because they will be well-versed in how to help you find the proper dose.

I hope this helps! 

[meloromantics]

A while ago, I think you mentioned that you have an IUD. Would you mind sharing how your experience has been? With all the uncertainty regarding the ACA, I'm considering getting an IUD but I hear a lot of horror stories so I'd like to know what you think. Thank you for your time!

sorry i’m late to this!! but yes totally!!

i have had my mirena IUD since april 2014 and love love love love love it. here’s what my experience was like:

i knew that i wanted one that spring, so i made an appt with the UF women’s health clinic to get a checkup and schedule an insertion. the doctor called me a poor lil bunny when i told her how bad my periods were and she told me i was gonna love the mirena.

at that checkup they tested me for a few STDs [gonorrhea and chlamydia] and told me to call them when my next period started to schedule the insertion. they schedule on your period so that your cervix is a bit more relaxed! they also wrote me a prescription for two misopristol[sp?] tablets which i was to insert vaginally 24 hrs before my appointment for further….relaxation. [i had to have some dumb talk with my pharmacist about why i needed misopristol because apparently it can be used as an abortifacient, but once they saw i only needed 2 it was pretty quick.]

my tests came back and i called them on the first day of my period, then i was scheduled for a few days after that [a friday afternoon, where i would have 2.5 days without classes or other obligations]. 24 hours before i did my pill insertion [they came out mostly whole in my cup right before the appt so i am convinced this did something between little and nothing at all]. they also advised me to take 2 OTC pain meds of choice a few hrs before so i chose extra strength tylenol PM abt 2 hrs before 

then was the insertion!! i took my menstrual cup out in the bathroom and sat down naked from the waist down. a very nice nurse held my hand and asked me about my classes as the doctor first measured me, then inserted the IUD. the ceiling had several Hunky Dude™ magazine cutouts that were about 6 yrs out of date and the biggest one was johnny depp as sweeney todd and the second biggest was tim tebow, who looks like one of the thumb men from spy kids. real hot stuff.

not gonna lie, the measurement and insertion were SEVEN OF THE MOST BLINDINGLY PAINFUL SECONDS OF MY LIFE, kind of like a white hot pain icicle entering a place you did not know could be entered. but it was only a few seconds!! by the time the shock of WOW THAT’S WORSE THAN I THOUGHT was over, the IUD was in me and the doc was trimming the strings.

for about a week after i could not insert anything at all into the vagina and could not submerge myself in water. this was absolutely terrible because i was still on my period and had to use a pad for the first time in like, 6 years, and also because when you introduce a hard plastic body into a very powerful muscle [the uterus] that muscle spends a whole two and a half weeks cramping around it trying to figure out what the hell it is. the first day or so was pretty bad cramping, so i just racked out on tylenol PM and watched SVU. after that it was no worse than a regular period, it just lasted about two weeks. during that time i was also bleeding similar to the way i did on the last day or two of a period—light but brown and kind of clotty.

after about two weeks i checked my strings to make sure they were in place and got permission from my doc to keep using my menstrual cup

for about a month or two after the insertion i wore panty liners to catch any weird spotting, but didn’t have too much

since then [april 2014!!!] i have had like, two and a half real periods, and like 3 times a year i get a ghost period where i cramp for an afternoon and my uterus puts out a puff of dust in response. i get a lot more mucus discharge than i used to but it is very benign if slightly horrifying at times [one time she coughed up a golf ball sized snot onto some toilet paper but only once!!].

it has on the whole been a very lovely experience and i strongly recommend it to anyone considering—i convinced my kid sister and some gr8 lady friends to get them too and they love theirs!!