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thethirdfrogbrother · 3 months ago

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A Short Simon Snow Character Analysis:

"Simon needed time. He needed care. He still startled at bright lights and sudden noises. And prolonged eye contact. He'd get jumpy when we were alone together." (Any Way The Wind Blows pg 85)

"On the worst days, on the even worse nights, I used to think about all the bad things that have happened to Simon– just the ones I know about. And then I'd wonder about all the terrible things that have happened to him that I DON'T know about. Twenty years of bad things. How long would it take for those painful memories to die back?" (Any Way The Wind Blows pg 86)

Simon is genuinely one of the saddest chosen ones I've ever read about, and I feel like its ignored by the fandom a lot. Like the book series is always portrayed as funny and light hearted and it is sometimes but at the root it's sad and heart wrenching. However, it's also really creative and has a tone of parallels and connections and like the whole concept of the chosen one fulfilling his purpose and no longer being needed anymore isn't used often. A lot of the times the Chosen one's issues aren't even addressed at ALL its just "Oh he went through a lot as a child but the bad guy is dead now and he got the girl (or guy) so it's fine, he's happy"

Simon was used by everyone his whole life. The Mage, the rest if the world of mages, even Penny and Agatha a bit too, (which Penny realizes and admits in AWTWB). Simon was left as a child at an orphanage where we really don't know much about his life, because he doesn't know much either. In Wayward Son, Simon talks to his therapist about not remembering a lot before he was 11 and she says the brain blocks out things that have traumatized or hurt us in the past. When Simon is 11 and comes to Watford, he speaks so little the teachers have to give him private lessons, and when that doesn't work he gets a speech therapist. A few other details a are given as well such as how Simon jumped from orphanages and Foster homes. All these allow us to infer that he didn't have a good childhood, and stuff probably happened to him.

The Mage becomes Simon's only father figure, and even then Simon says he never felt like a father. The Mage treated Simon like a weapon, and even lied to him about being his father. The Mage could have made things much easier for himself by raising Simon, but he chose to just leave him till he was 11 because he didn't feel like raising his own kid. "Maybe it's part of what the Mage did to me. He said he got me wrong, that I was a cracked vessel. I can't hold on to anything good." (AWTWB pg 65) the Mage only payed attention to Simon when it benefited him. Simon was an object to him, and if you remember in Carry On, it was obvious to literally everyone but Simon, who didn't want to believe he was being manipulated. It turned him into a killing machine.

Often times I feel as if the fandom portrays Simon as some talkative goofball, but that's completely ignoring his character. Simon says in Carry On that he doesn't think because in the end he just does what people tell him too. But that's not true. He does think, all the time, he just pushes away the stuff he doesn't want to think about, thinking about other things to muffle out these unwanted thoughts. Baz also says in Carry On that most conversations with Simon are just Simon shrugging. We feel as though Simon talks a lot because when it's his POV he's always rambling, but this is because Simon has a strong inner monolouge.

Simon had no adult figures in his life to lean on. Every character had someone, despite their maybe complex relationships. Baz has Fiona, and the two are close despite the tension and arguing. Penny has her mom and dad, despite their differences, they all love each other a ton. And Agatha has her parents, who do care about her. Simon never has a firm foundation. Not the Mage, Penny's mom barley likes him, Agatha's family only treats him well because he's the chosen one and dating Agatha, and Baz's family straight up despises him. Everyone else also has friends to lean on too, once you get later into the series. Agatha has a Ginger and even Penny, Penny has Baz and Shepard, Baz has Dev and Niall whom he chooses to sort of ghost, but also Penny. And they all have Simon. But I couldn't help but notice that whenever Simon tried to communicate, he was shut down.

Simon is bad at communicating. They all address this multiple times. But it's the fact that his friends don't even have faith that he'll survive. Multiple times from all POVS it talks about how everyone expected Simon to die, and they're all talking about how they would feel and how it affects them knowing that, but no one ever asked Simon. And Simon is aware of this too, but he just once again ignores it. No one wants a hero who's scared to die for his cause. Simon is shit at communication, but he has his own ways of showing that at least something IS wrong, that Penny and Baz have learned how to read, yet ignore when it's not convenient. Baz and Penny take Simon on a trip out to America, but it wasn't about Simon. Penny had ulterior motives, to see Micah and Agatha. Then the whole situation happened there, and though obviously Baz had nothing going on with Lamb, it clearly made Simon insecure and upset. But Baz just gets annoyed at him for it instead of trying to figure out the root of the issue.

A scene that always irked me in WS is the one where Simon comes back with his hair cut, after months of neglecting it because of his depression. And Baz says nothing, because he's too busy feeling sorry for himself. This may have seemed like a small thing but Simon literally couldn't leave the couch, for almost a year. His self hatred and issues were so bad he couldn't get up. So he finally makes this step, cutting his hair, trying to get better...and Baz basically ignores it.

Another thing is the end if WS when they're on the beach. Simon is trying to say how he feels, in his own way. That he isn't good enough for Baz, Baz should find someone else. And Baz just shuts him down, like he always does. Like he always does when Simon tries to communicate his feelings about being the chosen one, and what happened with the Mage. Then they get back to England, and Baz just acts like nothing happened. Simon shouldn't have ignored all his texts, and shouldn't have moved out leaving just a note, but he doesn't know how to communicate. No one taught him how to do this, all he knows is he needs to figure his shit out and no one currently in that situation, was really helping him.

I see a lot of people hating on AWTWB because Simon and Baz break up, because their relationship is admittedly toxic, and then get together the next day. But I think it makes perfect sense. They both love each other so so much, and they have an unhealthy attachment. Often with toxic relationships, especially when we love each other and want them to work out, we keep coming back in hopes of fixing things. Both boys have severe abandonment issues, and they don't want to loose each other.

I also see people hating on WS and AWTWB because Baz and Simon aren't all happy. Like legit, that is why I see those books getting the most hate. But it makes sense. People's pasts have an effect on them and how they behave. Simon killed the only father figure really he'd ever had. And he still doesn't understand the extent of abuse said man put him through. Simon doesn't know how to put himself first. Like when they're fighting the vampire's in WS, and simon is on the brink of death, he STILL stands up because that's what people have expected him to do all his life. Baz wants everything to be okay and happy and ignore their issues, because that's what they've done his whole life in his family, ignoring problems like him being a vampire. And what Simon desperately needs is to approach his, but he doesn't know how deep his issues run, except that he's a broken, fucked up, mess. He has ptsd, depression, and anxiety, and doesn't know how to help himself.

Overall, Simon's character holds a complexity that often times I see ignored. The story is romantic, and cute. I love Snowbaz as much as the next person. But you can't fully appreciate the story until you actually understand the depth of the characters, especially starting with Simon Snow.

Thank you, have a nice day <3

#this ended up being way longer than i thought #i just needed to rant #anyways AWTWB is killing me rn #simon snow series #simon snow trilogy #simon snow #carry on #wayward son #any way the wind blows #baz pitch #snowbaz #gay books #gay boys

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winters8child · 21 days ago

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It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 111

“So, how was your week in Louisiana?” my therapist asked after I mentioned that I went there to escape for a bit. I hadn’t told her that part of the problem I was trying to escape had followed me there. Nor did I mention that I made the unwise decision to sleep with him—repeatedly—during our stay.

I blushed at the memories of the nights we fell into bed "just to sleep," only to end up lost in one another. I had tried not to think, not to worry, for once—just to enjoy the feel of his fingers on my skin, the press of his lips against mine. We didn’t talk about what we were or what we were doing. We just did.

"It was great, actually," I replied with a nod, careful not to delve into specifics.

“Have you talked to James since then? Were you able to clear the air?” she asked, smiling gently.

We did many things, but none of it really cleared the air, I thought to myself. Still, I nodded. “We kind of did.” She smiled, though I wasn’t sure if she entirely believed me.

"Is it easier being in the house by yourself again? Or does he stay with you?" she asked, squinting slightly as if trying to read between the lines.

He wasn’t staying with me. I couldn’t bring myself to have sex with him in the house—Steve's house, our house. Instead, I went to Bucky’s apartment in Brooklyn whenever I could. But I never stayed the night. I’d always return to my own apartment to sleep. On the nights we had sex, I avoided going back to the house… I felt too dirty. I tried not to dwell on that feeling.

“No, he’s back at his place... but I’m okay with that,” I replied with a shrug. “I switch between the house and the apartment.”

She jotted something down and nodded thoughtfully. “How are you feeling overall? It’s been six months since your husband’s passing. How are you coping with those emotions?”

I’m fucking his best friend shot through my mind like a lightning bolt. I looked down, my shame creeping up like a heavy weight pressing on my chest. As if she could sense it, my disgust with myself lingered in the air between us.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My throat tightened, and I felt paralyzed by the weight of what I couldn't say. She frowned slightly, her expression softening with sympathy.

“Six months isn’t a long time,” she said gently. “Everyone processes grief in their own way. There’s no right timeline.”

I looked down at my hands, my fingers fidgeting with the edges of my bitten nails as I fought to swallow the knot forming in my throat. The therapist nodded thoughtfully, her pen pausing on the notepad. "Distraction is a common way of coping, especially when the pain feels too heavy to face directly. But eventually, those feelings catch up to us. Have you thought about what you might be avoiding?"

Her question hit too close to home. I avoided Bucky’s eyes every time I left his apartment. I avoided Steve’s voice in my head telling me what I was doing was wrong. I avoided the empty feeling that followed after every time Bucky and I were together as if I was betraying them both—one because he was gone, the other because I wasn’t really there.

"I don’t know," I lied, looking down at my hands again.

The silence stretched between us, and I could feel the therapist watching me closely. I hated how much she could read through me, how her questions pulled at threads I’d rather leave unraveled.

"It’s okay not to have all the answers right now," she finally said, her voice gentle. "Grief, loss, and even guilt—it’s all messy and complicated. But running from it won’t make it disappear. Maybe it’s time to start confronting those feelings, one at a time, at your own pace."

I swallowed hard, my fingers still fidgeting. I wanted to tell her that I was scared, that confronting any of it would mean dealing with the truth I didn’t want to face: that Steve was gone, and no matter what I did, nothing would bring him back. That sleeping with Bucky wasn’t filling the emptiness inside me—it was just making it worse. But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, I nodded, knowing she expected some kind of response.

"Take your time with it," she continued, her voice soft but firm. "There’s no rush, and you don’t have to do it all alone." She looked at me meaningfully, as if waiting for me to admit something.

But I didn’t. I wasn’t ready to share what was really going on, to admit to her—or myself—that the mess I was in was of my own making.

She glanced at the clock behind me, then gave me an understanding smile. "Until next week," she said softly, signaling the end of the session. I nodded, gathered my things, and headed out the door, feeling a mix of relief and lingering unease.

I drove straight to Bucky’s place, my mind buzzing with unfinished thoughts. When I knocked, he opened the door with his usual warmth, pulling me into a hug, the kind that made me feel like I could breathe again, if only for a moment.

"Come in," he said, leading me inside. The contrast between the brisk fall air outside and the coziness of his apartment was striking. I rubbed my hands together, trying to shake off the lingering chill of the season.

I sat on the couch as he disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, I heard him rummaging, probably getting me something to drink, like he always did.

As Bucky returned with a mug of tea, I glanced around his apartment. It was simple and unadorned, yet it felt like a refuge compared to the house I couldn’t bear to stay in. Being here, away from the weight of Steve’s memory, felt easier.

“Thanks,” I murmured, accepting the tea. Our fingers brushed briefly, and the warmth from his touch lingered longer than the heat of the mug. He sat beside me, close but giving me space, his quiet presence comforting in a way I couldn’t put into words.

“So,” he started gently, “how’d the session go?”

I took a sip, letting the warmth spread through me as I mulled over the question. “It was fine,” I answered vaguely, not ready to dive into the depths of my session.

He nodded without pressing me for more, and that was the thing about Bucky—his silence invited me to speak, but he never forced it. I put the mug down and rubbed my hands together, feeling the weight of what I wasn’t saying.

We were venturing into dangerous territory. We had never talked about what we were, and I wouldn’t know where to begin if we did. The thought of confronting my feelings felt overwhelming, so I did what I had been doing for the past few weeks: I distracted myself.

I reached for his face, hesitating for just a moment before pressing my lips to his. As the kiss deepened, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer. He shifted me onto his lap, his hands stroking my back, igniting a warmth that spread through me like wildfire.

I held his face in my hands, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my palms as I pressed my lips against his. The kiss was tentative at first, just a gentle brushing of our mouths, but soon turned fervent as I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Bucky's hands found their way to my back, fingers slipping beneath my shirt and brushing against my skin, sending a thrill coursing through me.

As I ground against him, I could feel the heat radiating from his body, the soft fabric of his sweatpants barely concealing the growing hardness beneath. A low moan escaped his lips, vibrating against mine and igniting a hunger deep within me. I deepened the kiss, tilting my head to capture his mouth fully, my tongue sliding against his, exploring the familiar contours.

Bucky responded instinctively, his hands gripping my waist and pressing me closer. The warmth of his body enveloped me as I shifted my weight, my hips moving rhythmically against him.

He pulled back, panting softly, his breath warm against my skin as he reached for my shirt. With a swift motion, he tossed it aside, leaving me exposed to the cool air. A shiver coursed through me as his hands glided over my back, exploring the curve of my spine before deftly unclasping my bra. The fabric slipped away, and I felt a rush of exhilaration as my nipples hardened against the chill.

He held me securely, lifting me effortlessly as he rose from the couch. His lips met mine in a heated kiss, the door closing behind us with a soft click. The world outside seemed to fade away. When he dropped me onto the bed, the cool silk against my skin sent a shiver through me, contrasting the warmth that flooded my body as I watched him undress. His shirt and sweatpants fell to the floor in swift movements, his gaze never leaving mine.

Before I could catch my breath, he was on me again, making quick work of my jeans and panties, peeling them away with practiced hands. My pulse quickened as he knelt before me, gripping my hips firmly and pulling me to the edge of the bed. His eyes locked onto mine, filled with intent, his breath warm against my skin as he leaned closer.

He gently spread my legs, his movements slow and deliberate, teasing me with the heat of his gaze. His lips found the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, trailing soft kisses that made my body tense with anticipation. I instinctively bucked my hips, silently pleading for more, needing him to focus on the place where I craved his touch the most.

He paused, sensing my impatience, a smirk playing on his lips as he continued his languid pace, deliberately avoiding the one spot that ached for his attention. Each kiss, each gentle brush of his lips against my skin, only heightened the anticipation, leaving me breathless and yearning.

His tongue flicked over my folds in a teasing swipe, just enough to send a jolt through me. My moan slipped out involuntarily, and he smiled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on me. He hooked my legs over his broad shoulders, positioning me just right as he finally focused on my most sensitive spot, his tongue swirling and pressing with an intensity that made me whimper.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from him, the sight of his head between my legs, completely absorbed in giving me pleasure. His mouth worked expertly, licking and sucking, and I watched, breathless, as one of his hands slid down to stroke his hard length, adding to the heated intimacy of the moment. The combination of sensations overwhelmed me, my body responding to every movement, every sound, every touch.

I clenched the sheets tightly, my hips moving instinctively against his face as the pressure inside me built rapidly. Sensing how close I was, he increased his pace, the soft hum of his breath against me sending waves of pleasure through my body. Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, he pushed me back onto the bed, his grip firm yet careful.

Without breaking his rhythm, he slid his fingers inside me, each thrust deep and deliberate, perfectly timed with the movements of his tongue. The added sensation sent me spiraling. My back arched as the tension unraveled in a sudden, overwhelming release, my whole body trembling as I was pulled over the edge.

I barely had a moment to catch my breath before he flipped me onto my knees, moving with an urgency that left me breathless. His hands gripped my hips tightly as he positioned himself behind me, the head of his length teasing before driving into me in one fluid motion. I gasped at the sudden fullness, every nerve ending igniting from the sensation.

He pulled out just as quickly, only to thrust back in, harder this time, setting a relentless pace. Each stroke was deeper than the last, and my body responded instinctively, pressing back into him as his grip tightened. The air around us was filled with the sound of our bodies colliding, every movement more intense than the one before.

His grip on my hips tightened as his thrusts grew erratic, each one harder and more desperate than the last. I felt myself clench around him, the sensation becoming almost too much to handle. His breathing was ragged, and I could hear his low grunts with every movement. Just when I thought the pleasure couldn't intensify, his hand reached down to rub my clit, sending waves of sensation coursing through me, making it impossible to hold back any longer. My body arched in response, caught between his firm grasp and the overwhelming pleasure building inside me.

He came with a loud grunt, and the sound of him losing control was all it took to send me spiraling over the edge. My body shuddered, the intensity of it leaving me breathless as he leaned over, planting soft kisses along my back while he gently pulled out. A moment of silence passed, just the two of us catching our breath before he reached for a towel from the nightstand and carefully cleaned me up. Then, without a word, he disappeared into the bathroom.

I quickly picked up my clothes, ready to head back to the living room to gather the rest when Bucky returned from the bathroom. His expression shifted the moment he saw me half-dressed, disappointment flickering across his face.

"Why don’t you stay the night for once?" he asked, his voice tentative, almost nervous.

I had never stayed the night before, and I didn’t think it was a good idea. It felt too intimate, too much like something serious rather than a distraction.

"I don’t think—" I began, but he interrupted me.

"I sleep better when you’re here," he confessed, his tone soft, almost sad. "I know what this is," he said, gesturing between us. "But it would be nice… not to have nightmares, just for one night." There was a quiet pleading in his voice, and it tugged at me.

I sighed, feeling a weight settle in my chest. How could I say no to that? It felt unfair, but then again, I wasn’t treating him fairly either.

"Okay," I nodded, giving in. What could be the worst that could happen? I thought, trying to reassure myself.

But the way his face lit up with a bright, relieved smile gave me a pretty clear idea.

Next Chapter

#sebastian stan #bucky barnes #marvel #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #the avengers #fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader

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ros3ybabe · 1 year ago

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Daily Check-in - August 7th, 2023 🎀

So, it's been an emotional last two weeks. Mental illness is never a fun thing. I slipped off from taking my meds and as a result became inconsistent with my goals and daily routines. I felt powerless to myself. I stayed in bed as much as possible, cried constantly, and had no energy for even the simplest of tasks.

But, I'm feeling better, and I even accomplished some of my goals/daily habits today! I managed to begin taking my meds again, and am still in contact with my therapist. I'm bound to have rough days, rough weeks, and even rough months. I just remind myself that it's okay to feel these rough moments for what they are, but to not let it make me spiral or keep me held down. I believe in my ability to care for myself, and listen to my current needs when I am in a depressive state as I have been. There's nothing wrong with low energy days. There's nothing wrong with needing a break. There's nothing wrong with taking care of yourself. 🩷

🩷 What I Ate Today:

Breakfast - Was not feeling it today but needed to eat for my medication, so I had three hashbrown patties with some ketchup. And, of course, a cup of coffee.

Lunch - A delicious turkey and cheddar lunchable with one serving of lightly salted cashews. The lighter the lunch, the less tired I am when I get off my lunch break.

Dinner - I ordered some domino's pizza and cheesy bread because I was craving it, only ate 2 slices of both but it was sooo good and now I have leftovers!

Snacks - One cup of coffee after I got off work and a few bites of Ben and Jerry's Half Baked ice cream, which is currently my favorite ice cream.

Water ~ not enough, I made the mistake of forgetting a reusable water bottle when I went to work, so I didn't really start drinking water until like, 10am.

It's not my cleanest, healthiest, or best eating day, but I'm happy that I listened to what I wanted. Not every day will be like this, and that's okay. Moderation and balance are key <3

🩷 Workouts - Pilate Abs

Again, I love this one to start of my ab day! arts easy enough for my little plus sized self to accomplish and makes me feel proud for even attempting thus video and completing a workout!

I also love this one by Madeleine as well, her workout videos honestly just click with me and I am here for it! This one wasn't completed fully as I have a bit of trouble completing plank exercises, but as I continue to build strength and better my form, I know I'll get to a point where they will become easier

🩷 Habits I Accomplished Today -

Made my bed

Morning workout

Morning and Night Skincare

Morning guided journal

For my first day back on routine I'd say this is a win! Being able to complete any of my goals and habits for the day is definitely a good thing, and I'm proud of myself for accomplishing what I have today.

🩷 Song of the Day: Cake - ITZY

SHAKE IT SHAKE SHAKE IT SHAKE BUSS IT UP BUSS IT UP

My girl Yuna did so good in this song, and all of their outfits are cute and the energy is there and they all look so happy and this song makes me want to get up and dance. I may or may not be trying to learn Yuna's lil dance part....it's so satisfying to watch!!

That's all for today! Pretty proud of the way things have gone, and hopeful that tomorrow will also be a nice day for me. It feels good to be posting again!! I missed this <3

Til tomorrow, lovelies!!

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whatislovevavy · 1 year ago

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WC: 4.4k

Synopsis: An exploration of why Bucky decided to cut his hair

AN: This has been in my Google Drive for about two years and finally got around/had the motivation to finish this. This piece was technically my first ever piece of fanfiction I ever wrote. My writing mostly pertains to Top Gun and Top Gun Maverick so this was a nice little brain break from that. I thought I'd include the original author's note I put together, having never written fanfiction at the time, just for nostalgic sake and if anyone wants to know just how new to this I was lol. Also this divider is not mine and I was unable to tag the account that made it since it was deleted. This work will be posted on my side blog @sophs-writing-nook.

Original Author’s Note: Hello everyone :) This is the first fanfiction I’ve ever written and I really hope you guys like it because I’m a bit nervous about it. I’ve had this idea since I saw the first promotions for the Falcon and Winter Soldier series and didn't really do anything about it for a variety of reasons. I haven’t seen a lot of fics exploring this concept so I decided to write this on a camping trip in my notes app where I didn’t have reception so I apologize if there is bad grammar, spelling errors, etc. If there happens to be a similarity to another fic, it is purely coincidence and I don’t intend to plagiarize anyone. Please let me know if it does appear I have. I have a lot of respect for fanfic writers and don’t want to disrespect anyone and steal anyone’s work unintentionally.

Warnings: Blood, Trauma (PTSD), sadness with some bittersweet moments sprinkled in, supportive Sam because that’s a warning in itself.

None of these characters are mine. Read at your own discretion.

Bucky had tried finding a routine after coming back: Get up by 7, go on a run make breakfast, try to keep in touch with his friends he had made since coming back, try a new recipe, maybe try online dating, catch up on what he missed the past 70 years, try to forgive himself for all the atrocities he didn't have a choice in committing, make dinner, shower, and sleep by 9.

That's what his therapist, Darlene, told him to do at least.

She wanted him to write in a journal the names of the people and families he wanted to make amends with, things he wanted to explore and try out, and good things he remembered before he was the Winter Soldier.

Darlene had kept encouraging him to keep referring to the Winter Soldier as if he were his own separate person, and not affiliated with James Buchanan Barnes.

It helped a bit with passing the blame, but not by much. He, naturally, chose the last remnant of Steve he had- his journal- to hold these thoughts.

Steve saw the best in him when he couldn't.

He made an effort to try and forgive himself for everything he did, for Steve’s sake.

Why Steve had left him, he didn't fully understand.

It didn't make the "forgiving himself" part any easier.

If his lifelong friend, who had been with him through thick and thin, decided to leave him now in this time of his broken, mutilated life, what did that say about him?

Was he wrong about him?

Did he truly believe he was worth being fixed and forgiven?

There were small moments of hope that he could be fixed, but they were few and far inbetween.

His nightmares had gotten worse.

If Darlene would ask, he’d tell her, “no, they haven't", "they've stopped", or "I haven't had one for a while.” Bullshit excuses that anybody who saw the dark circles under his eyes wouldn't believe. Darlene knew he was lying and would try to reassure him that their space was safe and it would help him to get his nightmares out in the open.

He didn't think so.

This woman didn't know what it was like to have the same horrific scenarios play out in his mind every time he went to sleep.

To see himself killing innocent people like he was in the backseat of his mind.

The blood.

Their faces, some close friends and others strangers.

Their pleas and calls for mercy were what always broke him.

He was forced again and again to witness himself taking their lives and couldn't do anything to stop himself. Forced to use any part of himself for Hydra.

Nothing was spared.

He felt unforgivable, these nightmares were a sign of the Winter Soldier still being in his head, buried and ready if Hydra got their hands on him again.

He was tired of fighting and worrying, only wanting lasting peace and a full night's rest.

He had started renting an apartment in downtown Brooklyn near where his family had lived during the 40's. It was near the church cemetery his mother, father and sister, Rebecca, were buried. They were placed in the row closest to the street behind the church his family frequented during his youth.

His parents had passed from old age when he was imprisoned by Hydra.

A small part of him was thankful for that.

They never had to learn that their son had done such horrible things.

They lived with the good memories of him.

His sister had passed during the time half the population was gone, the Blip people called it, from Alzheimer's. He visited her once before, but she was in the late stages, and was a shell of who he remembered growing up.

His little sister Rebecca, whom he protected, opened jars for, teased, and made sure the boys she liked would be good to her, was now unable to remember him. He was told she passed peacefully in her sleep a few months after he disappeared.

Darlene thought that buying an apartment so close to his family's resting place might be overwhelming for him, but he wanted to be close to them and the memories he had.

The apartment consisted of a basic floor plan; kitchen, bathroom with a shower and bath, living room, bedroom, closet. However, he only used the kitchen, bathroom, and living room.

He didn't have many things when he moved in, and didn't feel he needed all the space allotted to him.

He had invested in a modest tv set, a microwave, blender, and a camping mat, courtesy of Sam's encouragement.

He had tried sleeping on a mattress, but he felt that he was going to sink through into the floor with how soft and marshmallow-like it felt. He always slept on the floor with a few blankets and sheets.

Sam had the same experience when he came back from Afghanistan.

Sam had tried to help him adjust to things since coming back, and had done a lot for him, including to help him find his apartment and encourage him to try new things.

There were times he had trouble getting out of his headspace to return Sam's calls and initiate with his friend. Darlene had been saying that for a person who allegedly had no one left, he seemed to have a safety net in Sam. She pushed him to call someone other than her and initiate with him. It was another case where he felt she didn't fully understand how difficult it was for him to build relationships, and "get his nightmares out in the open" since coming back.

He had gotten home late that night from the store, buying ingredients to make a recipe Darlene recommended: chicken tikka masala, he thought she called it.

He was amazed at the amount of change he had missed, especially from a grocery store. His family would boil everything with what minimal spices were available, other than the usual salt and pepper. He found solace in trying new recipes and exposing himself to the technological wonders of the 21st century, including learning how to use a DVD player and the iPhone he recently bought. He tried online dating but found it was too overwhelming and made him feel like a fish out of water. Asking people on dates and seeking relationships came easily to him when he was younger before the war, but everything felt so different now.

He felt so different and foreign to himself. His arm. His mind. He felt like a shell of the person he was before the Winter Soldier.

His groceries were unloaded into the fridge and he started to prepare his dinner. He placed a bowl on the counter for mixing chicken marinade and marinating the soon to be cooked slices of chicken. The chicken slices were placed into a pan on a low heat to begin cooking. They wouldn't take long since they only had to cook halfway through initially. He gathered the spices for the marinade.

The soft smells of turmeric, ginger, cumin, and garam masala reminded him of the evenings he spent helping his mother cook during the summer. His mother would rummage together some cash every once in a while to buy a few sachets of spices from the local grocery. It was an indulgence she took part in that, compared to now, seemed simple and less of an everyday luxury.

Sure, the spices she would bring home were more mild and less "exotic" than what he had available to him now, but it was the familiar memory of being taught to cook and the soft smells of his mother's cooking.

His conscience told him to use the spices sparingly despite himself being confronted with a substantially sized grocery aisle complete with spices from almost every corner of the world a mere few hours ago.

Maybe it was his upbringing during the Great Depression and watching his parents worry about where the next paycheck would come from.

Or maybe it was his instinct telling him this small semblance of peace he had found in his Brooklyn apartment would be snatched away, and that he needed to savor every new experience in stride.

Because if he let himself enjoy them too much, it would make the snatching that much more painful.

He couldn't decide.

He finished the marinade and would have to wait an hour or two to start the sauce and cook the chicken. He placed it in the fridge and made his way to the bathroom for a shower.

The warm water felt nice on his warped, scarred flesh around his arm on his left side. The area would often become sore and plagued by knots. Sam recommended warm showers, aloe vera, a massage and spa place nearby, and Advil. The thought of people he didn't know touching his scarred flesh made him feel nervous, so the rest of his suggestions were his go to.

His scar tissue and long hair were the last physical mark of Hydra on him.

He was thankful he didn't have to see the red star that had branded him for so many years when he looked in the mirror anymore, since leaving Wakanda.

But there was still his hair.

His hair that had blood, dirt and grime stained into it for his 70 years of service. No matter how many times he showered, he knew the blood would never leave his hair or his hands. His mind would drift through waves of hopelessness in quiet moments like these more often than not.

He dried himself off with a soft towel, changed into a pair of boxers, and began to gingerly apply aloe vera to the junction where his arm met his shoulder. His shoulder was still a bit sensitive after all these years despite the enhanced healing from the serum. Shuri theorized it was because the metal cavity of his arm continuously tore through the underlying tissue. She was able to remove the bits and pieces of metal embedded in his shoulder. His arm was in the healing process, but it would take a while after years of damage even with the serum. After he finished rubbing in the aloe vera, He put on a dark t-shirt and made his way back into the kitchen to finish the sauce.

He carefully prepared the onions, garlic, and spices for the sauce the way his mother taught him to.

He couldn't help but think about how his parents and sister would have loved to have tried this recipe with him.

He could almost hear his mother's voice in his head telling him to "cut the onions a bit smaller" or "don't let the garlic and onions burn in the pan".

Rebecca's eagerness to try the sauce prematurely with a perfected pout and whines of protest when denied so.

His father's quiet yet strong presence at the kitchen table reading the daily paper and soft scolding of his sister.

Steve drawing in his journal at the dinner table on evenings when Sarah Rogers would be working late at the hospital.

The radio softly playing in the background as a soothing ambiance.

The kitchen window opened to let the aroma of the Barnes’ family dinner wander through the back alley of the apartment building, and let in the sounds of the neighbors' soft conversations, clothes oscillating in the wind on the clothes line, and car engines humming as people made their way home at dusk.

All qualities of his family's evening routine and upbringing he longed for, but took for granted in his youth.

The stark smell of overcooked onions brought him back to the task at hand, pulling him from his thoughts but leaving his buildup of emotions he felt were about to rupture. He added the heavy cream, spices, brown sugar, and let them stir with the marinated onions and garlic. He felt tears start to form in his eyes. Letting the sauce thicken, he turned the pan onto a low heat, and added the marinated chicken to finish cooking.

He placed the spatula down on the counter top with a shaky hand, placing his hands on the counter to support himself as he let out a shaky breath, blinking away tears that formed in the corners of his eyes.

God, he wished they were here with him. Steve. His mom. His dad. Rebecca.

He wished he had somebody who knew him before the Winter Soldier that could help him to pick up the broken pieces of himself and to become the person he was again.

He wished he could have said goodbye to his parents, Rebecca, and that Steve hadn't left him.

He wished he could've held his parents one last time before they passed, met the man that Rebecca fell in love with and had a family with, and fought harder for Steve to stay with him and help pick up the pieces.

All things that he couldn't do anything about now.

He wiped his tears away and returned to stirring his chicken masala. Thoughts of his family blending with the thoughts of his recipe like the spices and heavy cream in his pan as a cope. Darlene had mentioned that the recipe goes best with garlic buttered rice or naan, so he had bought ingredients for both, but opted for the naan. He turned on the oven, placed some naan from the store on a baking sheet, and into the oven before returning to stirring the contents of the pan.

He remembered Sam wanted to come over and check in on how he was settling into his apartment, sometime the next day. Maybe he would want to try some of his dish.

"Initiate, take small steps to initiate". This counted as initiating, right? He hoped so.

His chicken masala was well blended and deemed done. His naan close behind. He placed a bowl and plate on the counter, served up his recipe and naan, and sat down at his two person dinner table, and prepared to eat. Darlene had told him that making a makeshift taco with the naan tasted good if he opted to not make the garlic butter rice. He took his first bite and let himself experience each incredible flavor.

He would definitely be making this recipe again.

Maybe he could make a batch for Sam.

It would be a small way to return the favor.

He made his way through his dinner, and would start heading to bed soon. It was almost 9 anyway. Shuri told him that consistent good sleep would also help him heal mentally along with his therapy and the treatment she provided.

He made a mental note to try making the garlic butter rice, thank Darlene for the recipe, and ask her if she had any more favorite recipes he should try during his next session.

He brought his dishes to the sink, moved to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and shed himself of his shirt. Sleeping shirtless was normal for him both during the war and after getting the serum, finding that he would warm up easily and end up tossing and turning in the night.

His escalated body heat helped him to survive the frigid Siberian winters during his imprisonment, but not the mild to warm summer nights in Brooklyn.

Laying on the hardwood floor with the lights out left him with his thoughts. He remembered the nights he and Steve spent laying on couch cushions on the living room floor of his parents apartment.

The nights he and his sister would read The Hobbit under the covers of his bed when they were younger, while their parents thought they were sleeping.

He liked to sleep with the TV on at a low volume and the window opened so he wouldn't be lost in his thoughts for too long.

He didn't have as much trouble falling asleep as before. Darlene told him to take deep breaths while resting his eyes and had gotten better at it since seeing her.

Breathe in for 5 seconds, exhale for 10, and repeat till he felt calm enough to drift to sleep.

He steadily awoke hours later, feeling warm and groggy.

It was quiet.

The TV was off and the window was shut.

He was none the wiser in his hindered state of being as he lifted himself off of the floor and trudged to the bathroom, the soft sound of his bare feet pattering on the wood floor like rain drops on a window, encompassing his apartment in a soft echo.

He turned on the soft bathroom light and twisted the cold faucet on, leaned down and scooped cold water in his hand, and poured it on his face. Supporting himself by his forearms, he closed his eyes and relished in the feeling of cold on his face and cascading down his neck.

The water felt warmer now and had a distinct iron smell to it.

He opened his eyes and was met with his hands drenched in blood. Blood flowing into the sink from the tap.

He slowly turned to meet his reflection. Met with the cold, dark, blank eyes of the Winter Soldier. The blood stained leather vest, black muzzle, and the long brunette hair stained black from blood falling over his face.

He was there with him, as clear as day.

He felt a stark and deep rooted sense of fear awaken and burrow itself in his chest as he quickly retreated from the sink, pressing himself against the opposing wall. Eyes wide and breathing heavy, he felt the walls of the bathroom constricting him.

The Winter Soldier reached out his metal arm, severing the separation between the mirror and his bathroom, and brought it down onto the counter top with a resounding crack, small remnants of the cheap countertop tumbling to the floor. He lunged for the door and twisted the knob but it wouldn't budge. Desperately, he tried to break down the door, knuckles bleeding and eyes teary. He could feel the Winter Soldier getting closer to him and was too terrified to turn back and face him. He broke through the door with a splitting crack, splinters in his hands. Awaiting on the other side was a long dimly lit corridor lined with bars and cold concrete walls.

His heart stopped.

He knew this corridor.

He would always know this corridor.

He didn't want to go forward, but he had no choice. Breaking into a sprint, not looking back and praying he didn't trip over himself, he felt a sudden, strong grip on his leg, pulling him backwards. Landing on the hard concrete with a groan and turning himself to face his captor: Two dark, army clad figures awaited him. He shuffled away from them as fast as he could but couldn't get to his feet fast enough to avoid being dragged to by his feet towards the bathroom. His screams echoing off the walls, and hands burning from friction against the cement floor at his attempts to escape their grasp.

He couldn't believe what was happening, he thought he was free from Hydra.

Free from these corridors.

Free from the chair.

He felt his nails fruitlessly catching on the small ridges of the cement floor as he was mercilessly dragged. The hallway enclosed in darkness behind him and the bathroom light ahead of him, serving as a beacon of pain and suffering.

He was left on the bathroom floor, shaking and crying, accentuated by the sound of the slamming of a steel door. His teary eyes searched for the figures but found none. Instead, his eyes landed on the dull gleam of the worn metal frame in his bathtub, tinged with small droplets of blood, smoothed down edges, and strained leather straps.

If he wasn't sobbing before, he was now. He felt so trapped, his heart beating out of his chest; his lungs made of tin, unable to expand.

His shaking frame was folded on the floor by the bathroom door. A few moments of silence flooded by the drops of his sink tap and his attempts to catch his breath.

Abruptly, a handful of his hair was grabbed, his body dragged to the chair as he let out seethes of pain and cries.

He was held down in the chair as he was strapped in by faceless, dark army figures. Soft whispers and murmurs of pleas for mercy and forgiveness settled around him, originating from every vent and faucet in his bathroom, nestled their way to his ears.

They grew louder and droned out the sound of leather going through buckles and the mechanical "wrrrrr" of the head plates assembling towards the top of the chair.

He struggled and screamed, but it was no use.

Trapped in the chair, no chance of escape; Limited by his mind and not his body.

He anxiously waited and dreaded for the excruciating pain of electricity to course through his body, to hear the words Hydra spent so much time and care to drill into his mind.

But both never came.

He awoke with a startle, eyes wide, body and blanket soaked with sweat, lungs gasping for breath.

His window open, letting in his neighbors everyday routine squeeze into his apartment.

The TV on a low volume, playing auctions for nic-nacs and heirlooms people didn't find use for. All drowned out by his racing thoughts and attempts at breathing.

The blanket pooled around his waist as he shifted to lean against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to focus on his breathing.

He needed his hair gone.

Like a wounded animal, he made his way to the bathroom with shaky breaths and uneasy strides. He flipped the bathroom light on, feverishly opening and closing drawers to find what he needed most.

A pair of scissors.

A raspy sigh left his lips as his hands met the plastic frame of the twin bladed tool.

His eyes shifted from his reflection to his hold on the scissors.

Carefully, he brought his metal hand to his hair, extending one of his many locks of hair.

His eyes drifted from the lock of hair to the metal blades that almost fully encased it.

Snip.

He watched as the lock frayed till it was severed completely, feeling the freed lock in his hand and watching it fall to the counter.

A sigh of relief left his lips as tears pricked his eyes as he met his reflection in the mirror.

Snip.

His tears were flowing fully down his cheeks as almost the entirety of his left side was covered in frayed, unevenly cut hair.

He gingerly ran his flesh hand along his head, relishing in the short tufts of hair, and began repeating the same frenzied cutting on the other side of his head, and towards the back

If the tears weren’t flowing before, they were now.

He placed the scissors onto the hair ridden counter with a clang, keeping his relieved gaze on himself, feeling his chest wrack with sobs, body slowly crumbling against the sink and to the floor.

He had never felt such relief in his life.

His hands ran over the chopped hair, savoring the uneven patched of hair, his head laying back to rest against the wood cabinet below his sink, eyes fluttering shut.

Muffled knocks softly rose his mind from the depths of sleep.

He let his eyes adjust to the bathroom light, feeling his neck ache from how he slept against the drawers of the cabinet.

Sam.

He rose up to his feet with a groan, trudging to his front door.

His front door opened with a click.

“Hey, man-woah.”

He rose his eyes to meet Sam’s wide ones, giving him a small smile, “Hi, Sam.”

Sam swallowed.

“Late night hack job, huh?”

He gave Sam a tight-lipped smile, nodding.

Sam’s lip quirked.

“I, um, I made something for you if you’d like to try it.”

Sam watched as he rubbed the back of his neck with his flesh hand.

He moved from the door, leaving it open for Sam to come in.

Sam carefully stepped into his apartment, taking in the rumple of blankets on the livingroom floor.

“It’s chicken tikka masala, my therapist recommended it.”

Sam took the plastic container he held out for him.

“Thanks for this…We should go get you a haircut. You can’t be walking around Brooklyn looking like you had a blender cut your hair.”

His lip quirked, nodding.

After a few minutes, he met him back at the front door in jeans, a t-shirt, and his bomber jacket, and glove.

“Ready to go?”

He wordlessly nodded, closing, and locking the door behind them.

—

“Alright, what do you think?”

The hairdresser adjusted his chair so he could see himself fully in the mirror.

He could feel his eyes glaze over.

His previously poorly chopped locks were no where to be found, replaced by almost buzzed cut hair with a bit of length towards the top. Barely enough for anyone to get a good grip in.

“It’s perfect, thank you Melissa,” he muttered to the woman that gave him a kind smile in return.

He tried to hand the man at the cashier station some cash, but Sam interjected with his card.

He looked at Sam with slight bewilderment.

“You’ll cover me next time.”

His lip quirked, as Sam nudged his shoulder as they made their way to the exit.

He stopped in front of a window for a store on the way back to his apartment, seeing his reflection in the storefront.

And for once, he didn’t have a deeprooted distaste or fear of what he saw.

It almost made him cry.

He needed this.

His long hair gone. The last remnant of his time in Siberia, of the shackles that held his mind down under water like an anchor, gone.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

Sam stopped a few paces ahead of him.

“You wanna stop in?”

Sam’s voice broke him from his trance.

He gave Sam a small smile.

“No, just taking it all in.”

Sam gave him a comforting smile as he caught up with him.

They continued on to his apartment to give Sam some of his chicken tikka masala, running his hand through his hair periodically with a smile on his face.

#bucky barnes #marvel mcu #bucky barnes angst #sam wilson #winter soldier #mcu fanfiction #mcu #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes

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mdhwrites · 1 year ago

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If Marcy met Andrias again in the timeskip, how do you think their interaction would go?

Honestly, that's very much so a dealer's choice sort of thing. That's not even a bad thing. Part of why I think the Amphibia fandom has felt like it's stayed alive better post its finale than TOH's, especially without resorting to mostly writing about OCs in one way or another, is that the cast is dynamic enough by the end for a plethora of options. Sasha will always have her manipulative lessons of old but how does that mix with her as a therapist? Does she fear them? Use them when not on the job? How do those experiences dictate how she helps her clients? Or maybe even use those manipulative tactics on her clients to force them into corners that require them to be honest with themselves in order to grow. And those are only all of the positive sides of ONE element of Sasha growing into a more mature version of herself.

Marcy is similar, despite how little we get of her in the show. She already had so much promise and such complicated feelings about relationships that it's a good question how she sees others now. Is she happy about her community around her webcomic, freely interacting with them and sharing their love? Does she think they see her as a commodity and lives in fear of the day she presents an idea they dislike and they vanish? Much like she probably feared her friends would do if she ever pushed too hard with her interests? Or does she keep them at arm's length, just focusing on the creation of her comic and interacting with her community as she needs to but keeping them out of her mind mostly?

And this is all preamble to the point that how she reunites with Andrias is kind of dealer's choice. Not just with Marcy but also with Andrias. After all, while he obviously should feel guilty and remorseful, those are painful emotions that manifest in a lot of different ways. Does he try to seek forgiveness from her? Does he believe forgiveness is possible? Does he avoid her, even if assured that she holds no ill will towards him, because he believes himself to truly hurt Marcy too much? After all, what he did was reprehensible and he knew how terrible it was the entire time. Not only that but time obviously eroded Andrias to the point where much of the evil he'd committed was almost easy for him. If not as simple as breathing at times. Do you ever trust yourself with that again, let alone if Marcy IS willing to forgive?

(Petty sidenote: THAT is how you write a character who has the right to believe they shouldn't get involved no matter what. By having them have actively chosen wrong in the past and done so all too easily and so they don't know if they can trust themselves. That they themselves don't know if they won't fall into temptation again because they have shown themselves to be weak before.)

And again: IF Marcy is willing to forgive. Marcy never went through the same arcs that Anne and Sasha did. While she has a kind enough heart to be forgiving by her base nature, she might not be willing to do so for this. That might even be what Andrias would prefer. He practically comforted himself through believing Lief had given up on him after all because it made his evil easier to do. If Marcy hates him, his self imposed exile and hermitage that the end hints he's gone on to do will feel all the more justified and correct to him.

Or maybe they're not on the same wavelength and Marcy is furious at him and that catches him off guard. That Marcy has grown up so independent and better equipped to defend herself makes her all the angrier at him when he was still expecting young Master Marcy who might accept his apology and want to hear about what he's learned in her absence. Maybe she is willing to forgive him but he actually gets enraged at that? Instead of avoiding her, in fact playing the bad guy briefly again to explicitly see about trying to make the lesson he thinks she should have learned stick. That not everyone can be good. Let alone him.

The way Amphibia ends is ripe with questions like this that a series post time skip could easily draw upon. Hell, if they were okay with retconning the ending, we only see Amphibia couple years after the events of the show, not the full ten so we could pull in the girls as older teenagers or just barely 18 for a second visit. It would still be different than the full ten years version of them and seeing them inbetween their fully mature adult counterparts and them at 13 trying to handle what the lessons they learned mean for themselves could be neat.

I do want to make something clear though: I consider all this open space, all this stuff they could do in the future a STRENGTH of the ending. The ending itself is still very powerful and great for the series itself and I wouldn't want them to have tried to touch on these complexities and muddy the water or the like. Not only that but having these questions less highlights flaws with the ending and more to me highlights the strength of the character writing. That we can ask such large questions about how a scene like that would go down, the fact that a definitive answer is close to impossible without more details on the older selves, is GREAT for fanfic writers, comic creators, etc.

It also will continue to make my eye twitch since even with me wanting to do monster themed stories for Amphibia and knowing all this potential space exists, my brain STILL won't let me just dive in. *sigh*

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

#amphibia #marcy wu #king andrias

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bluejaysandblackbats · 6 months ago

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Honor in Crisis

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, NTT, Titans, JLI, Arrowfam, Flashfam, GL Corps, Infinity Inc

Summary: Every chapter will focus on one character specifically and then I'll update their statuses in order.

This is a no powers au/fix-it fic for Heroes in Crisis. I wanted to focus on the characters and their healing. I decided that'd be easier to put some of these characters in a fic like this and work on it more from a real-world perspective. I DO want to say that I do not believe healing is linear so don't plan on a clear-cut happy ending. I'd say (and idk for sure) we're gonna eventually get a bittersweet ending for certain characters but nothing tragic.

Chapters: 2/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Kole Weathers, Lilith Clay, Michael Carter, Michelle Carter, Rani Carter, Grant Emerson, Roy Harper, Grant Wilson, Joseph Wilson, Thaddeus Thawne, Bart Allen, Helen Claiborne, President Thawne, Todd Rice, Alan Scott (DCU), Damon Matthews

Relationship(s): Damon Matthews/Todd Rice

Additional Tags: No Powers AU, Canon Divergent AU, Fix-It Fic, Angst, TW // Eating Disorder Mention (please be kind this one was the toughest for me to write personally)

Chapter Two: Watercolor (Kole Weather's POV)

Kole's fingers were stained from the watercolor, but it didn't bother her. Her mind was elsewhere. She took her palm and wiped her forehead, staining her temple. She wiped her hands on a paper towel and picked up the pack of oil pastels. She was startled by the sound of someone knocking a brush washer off the table. "Fuck," they cursed. Kole dropped her oil pastel on the table and got up from the table. She left the room, and a nurse followed her out.

"Kole, is everything alright?" the nurse asked. Kole nodded even though she was trembling from head to toe. The nurse gave Kole a little distance, which she was grateful for, and she closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders back.

Kole was already on edge, and she just wanted to take that as a sign and cancel her plans. She didn't really want her friend to see her. Kole tried to hide the worst of the disorder from her friends, but things had gotten so bad. Kole couldn't remember what happened clearly, but she could recall sobbing because she'd lost clumps of her hair. Never mind the tachycardia and muscle spasms Kole experienced on the floor in the dressing room. She nearly died. That was the last time her friends saw her. That was the image they must've carried in their heads when they thought about her. It happened two months ago, but they hadn't seen her since then.

Kole feared that it'd be too much pressure. She imagined that they'd poke and prod her with all the wrong questions or treat her differently because of what happened. The guilt consumed her. Wasn't that enough? Had the circumstances been different, she would've slipped and refused to eat or hurt herself to stop the panic. Her therapist insisted that it was expected for her to want to self-sabotage in high-stress conditions. At least that's what she remembered. The nurse returned and whispered Kole's name. She snapped back to the present time, and the nurse asked, "Are you ready to go back in?"

Kole nodded. "Yes, sorry," she whispered as she followed the nurse back inside. She sat down in her spot and went back to her art piece. When it was time to move on, Kole went to the cafeteria, and she was met by a friend who immediately lit up upon seeing her.

"I'm so happy to see you," Lilith whispered, "I missed you."

Kole didn't know how to react, but she wrapped her arms around Lilith. Lilith got in line with Kole, and they got dinner together. Kole led Lilith to her usual table, and a nurse sat down next to her. Lilith sat across from her. Kole's hands shook as she looked down at her plate. It wasn't until she heard Lilith's spoon hit the bowl that she looked up. "Can I tell you something? Sister-to-sister?" Lilith questioned as she glanced up at Kole. Kole was relieved to hear that Lilith still considered her a sister. Kole nodded. "I know I'm the first person to come visit, and I know this might seem overwhelming, but I'm grateful that you let me come. I also want you to know that I don't want to rush you."

"Thanks, Lil," Kole mumbled. She meant it.

She started eating, and Lilith started rambling about how a showcase she was in. It didn't bother Kole to hear about it. In fact, she'd been excited to get back to dancing. That was one of the things she had to look forward to. "Sorry, Kole... I'm just so nervous," Lilith chuckled.

"No, it's okay. I was actually—. I was looking forward to dancing with you again," Kole whispered. She tensed, waiting for Lilith to speak. Kole wondered if Lilith would try to let her down easily. She wondered if Lilith would say she wasn't ready yet.

"There's nothing that I'd want more," Lilith replied. They both went back to eating, and for just a moment, Kole forgot where she was. Dinner was surprisingly good for once. Lilith and Kole met eyes while they were chewing, and Kole chuckled. "What?" Lilith laughed.

"This wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," Kole replied after swallowing her food. Lilith smiled at her. Lilith took a sip of her water and smiled.

"Good," Lilith whispered.

Lilith was so good to her despite the issues Kole had with Lilith's mother. They both had problems with her, but that's what made them sisters. After they finished eating dinner, Lilith said her goodbyes, and Kole grabbed her hand. "You'll come back, won't you?" Kole asked. Lilith smiled and embraced her.

"I will," Lilith whispered, "Just let me know when."

As soon as Lilith was gone, Kole felt an emptiness inside herself. She lounged on the couch watching tv. She glanced over at the young man on the other end of the sofa as he mouthed the words to the tv show's episode silently to himself. His hands were burned, and so were parts of his neck and face. "Is this your favorite show?" Kole asked. He shook his head.

"No, I was on set when this was filmed," he replied. Kole looked back at the tv, and he whispered, "He's gone... He's gone to be with the lord," in sync with the tv.

Kole smiled. She thought it was funny that the young man always did that. She sometimes liked to watch the other patients. Things could be dreary, but seeing people smiling and laughing was pleasant. It made her think that she could be happy. Really happy.

She hugged her knees as she sat on the couch and dozed off in front of the tv. She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep, but someone woke her up in time for their group to reflect on their goals. Kole rushed to her usual seat, and she took a deep breath. She was hesitant to share, but she always forced herself to. Four people went before her, and when it came to her, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I had dinner with my friend today. She came here and sat in with me... I wanted to hurt myself, so I wouldn't have to see her... But I had fun. I didn't think I would, but I did," Kole whispered. She didn't look up for fear of making eye contact with a specific person in the group.

"So you want to be applauded for what? Not slipping?" a young man in the group asked.

"Dude!" someone chastised him. "Kole, personally, I wish I was ready to have meals with my family."

"Thank you, but it's okay. No one owes me any recognition. I'm just—. I'm proud of myself, and I didn't want to be ashamed of my anxieties," Kole clarified. Standing up for herself. She proudly smiled as she looked down at her lap. It was a good end to a difficult day.

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saintmeghanmarkle · 11 months ago

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What would you say to Harry? by u/Economy-Alfalfa-2241

What would you say to Harry? So, in a hypothetical world where we all have an opinion, what would you say to Dimbo if you could? Or Meghan? Or the kids?I'm going to do my annual nice because I'm running out of year soooo...Don't get me wrong, I *despise* his behaviour. He can't even begin to comprehend the wider ramifications, we should have reeled him in and chloroformed him if necessary, don't even get me started on Ghastlywife etc etc. But ahead of all that - which I would shout a lot, repeatedly, later. So just for now and probably for ever, "*you can always go home.*Yes, it will be embarrassing. Yes, you will have to eat Humble Pie with a heavy slosh of Mortified Custard and yes, it's all a bit bigger than family. But when you've thunked your thunkings, taken your accountabilities and sorried your sorries, a heartfelt regret voiced to one gets you absolution from the whole. We don't want to dislike you, we really don't. It's so much easier when we're not up the snotter with the RF; most of us like to hold you in a kind of benevolent ignorance and you must admit, it's a good deal. And yes, you have a LOT to rebuild but again, goodwill really does grease the bearings.Harry. Ask Siri to help with the big words, but they don't really matter. The words that matter are:You can always come home.And that goes for anyone - if you understand this, you'll understand why. "Spare" should never have been published because its a voyeuristic nosy around in someone else's mind that might've slipped its gimbals . That's nothing to do with Americans being more open or whatever bollox he's been led to believe cos I don't for one minute think any one of you would think it appropriate outside your closest friends ears or those of your therapist. How Harry went from conservative to vomiting up every second of every injustice for the entire world is...worrying (any psych people in here?)But I think Scobie's new shlockfest slammed the door for him. Or he may think it has. Some - well, most - of his slights were over such minutiae that I think they're maybe misperceptions rather than memories, and the obvious culprit is depression. He really does seem to have this bleak outlook that the distorted lens of depression casts across everything; every memory, every occasion, every event. But Scobie's book really removes any of what little nuance that remained after the rest of the whining and it draws a line much harder than any Harry has wanted to so far. It just seems like an aggressive move whereas Harry really relies on the passive-aggressive, he receives offences that haven't been sent. But if you get to the point where you can't see a way forward you always have to know there's a way back. I think I might be at the point of worrying about whether he knows that.I dunno. Praps I've been boiled too long and am going soft, but it's hard enough to do the accountability thing for any reason. It's hard to realise your perceptions were skewed, your memory the faulty one. So if it's hard when it's just a family who want to forgive and don't really see much to forgive anyway.....imagine what it's like thinking a whole country is against you. Yeeesh.On the other hand, it'll be that country paying so you can concentrate on screwing your head on straight with no teensy little worries like the mortgage or which box you left the kids in (dammit! I was determined to be snark-free. Huh!) so there's that. Swings n roundabouts. post link: https://ift.tt/y7Ogbs5 author: Economy-Alfalfa-2241 submitted: December 11, 2023 at 08:42PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

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sidhewrites · 10 months ago

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do you have tips on learning how to do that with your thoughts when all you want to do is hate yourself

regarding this post

So this is coming with a couple disclaimers:

This may not work for everyone, because everyone is different and there's no panacea for mental health

i'm not an authority, i just worked with a DBT therapist for 5 years and did my best for after that.

this method isn't necessarily meant to stop your thought spirals or feeling like shit. I'm giving this advice from the perspective of just wanting to make it bearable and allow you to get to the other side unscathed

This will not work right away. It sucks. I hate that it takes time and effort, but it does. It's a skill you have to build up. It took me literal years to get it to work and I promise you're worth the time it takes to figure it out as well.

Finally, ask for external validation whenever you need it. Friends, family, positivity blogs, r/congratslikeimfive anywhere. This is hard! You're doing a hard thing. And you deserve to have people on your side while you do it.

But start with knowing logically that these thoughts are not the truth. They're not you, they're not reality, they're just the chemicals in your brain and thought patterns making you feel like shit. It may feel real, but it's not, I promise. You aren't a terrible person, your friends don't hate you, and your cat would not be better off starving on the streets covered in fleas. It'll take a while to believe this, but tell yourself until it feels true. Fake it till you make it. It takes time for it to really sink in, but it will.

Addendum: turns out i have a lot to say so it's going under a cut

Your job is to start with stopping things from spiraling to the bottom. Whether that means slowing it down, stopping it, or bringing it back up -- it just depends the situation in the moment and your skill with coping methods.

SAY STOP: You can use a couple of skills that may or may not work for you. Sometimes it's just physically stopping whatever movements you're doing, holding your hands out, saying the word stop. When I get caught in an indecision spiral where I want to do everything at once (put the dishes away, pick up the towel, stop the timer on my phone, etc etc etc), I physically make myself stand still, hold my palms outward like I'm telling someone else to stop, and think "Stop."

It lets me reset and make an order of operations in my head and manage things. It might work with some things but not with others. Like saying stop won't make my self-hatred spiral help, but you gotta try anyway to figure out what works and what doesn't.

GIVE IT A NAME: For me personally, it's easier to separate myself from these emotions than it is to say "No, I'm wrong, I shouldn't be thinking this way, I'm stupid for feeling this way." Because in the moment it doesn't feel wrong, even when it is demonstrably false, and can make you spiral further down.

You can use a name that's funny, that's meaningful, whatever. I chose clarence because it's fun to say "Fuck off, clarence." Clarence is wrong. Clarence is stupid for thinking this way. I'm amazing.

Find some way to talk about these spirals in a way as if they're an entirely different entity than yourself, and then tell them to leave you alone. Again, it won't stop the spirals from happening, but it will make it easier to suffer through until you're able to come down from your emotional distress.

TELL YOURSELF YOU'RE AMAZING.

I don't care if it feels wrong, or like a lie. I am telling you, as someone who went through major depressive disorder with no coping skills, you're amazing. You've gotten through this much, and you deserve good things.

Find concrete facts about yourself so you can argue with your Clarence. He thinks you suck? Well you're really good at making pancakes and your friends love your jokes and you have the best taste in shoes, so Clarence can fuck right off because he's wrong.

If you can't find it on your own...

ASK FOR HELP

Tell the people in your life. I'll say to my friends Clarence is being a bitch about XYZ" and they hype me up and talk about how wrong he is and point out things they like.

You might feel like they're wrong. You might feel like they're lying to make you feel better.

That's not true. That's just Clarence being a bitch and telling you lies. Your friends love you, and they love you enough to tell you how great they think you are.

DISTRACT YOURSELF

Make sure it's something that you like. No doomscrolling, nothing to make you angry, nothing to make you hopeless. It doesn't have to be positive or funny, but it has to get your mind off things. A movie, tv, a video game, whatever. It'll help get your mind out of the spiral and get on with your life. It'll feel shitty and awful until you get out of that hole, and the hole will always be there to trip into, but you'll know it's not true. It's just some shitty dude who lives in your head trying to be a shit and get in the way of how amazing you are.

Anecdote: I was having a self hatred spiral and feeling like daisy would be better off on the streets than she is in my house. Meanwhile she's across the room looking like the happiest girl in the world. I literally took a picture because it was so funny how BLATANTLY FALSE my emotions were in the moment. Look at her. I love her.

#Ask #Anonymous #mental health

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pocketsedition · 10 months ago

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just for you to know i looked through your blog for a solid 10 minutes just to be sure you're the right person and i'm still not sure lmfao

a n y w a y

just wanted to thank you for one (technically two) of your jjk fics, from the series lovely., and wow, i'm not really a comment-person, so here i am on tumblr and just an anon

but, yeah, boys. (and yours., but boys. is so.). long story short, i suffer from depression and i'm not here for any empathy for that, the fic just slapped me in the face with a "you can have depression and still live" and it worked so much better than any person i've ever talked to about that (i love everything my therapist tries, but it's not the same as reading it)

so yeah, thank you for writing this fic, because even if i had to take a break to cry before continuing the fic, it makes me believe so much that i can and will live

it's been weeks i read it, and i still think about it regularly, and it helps me go through daily life a bit easier

with the hope that i did not send an ask to the wrong guy,

have a great whatever-current-time-it-is-in-your-timezone o/

IT IS ME it is me you found the right person this is the demons. ill do my best to respond but also im currently at the most boring shift of my life ever after wakign up at 6am 😔😔 so if it's all gibberish apologies.

im. SO glad you like boys. so much. bro the insanity that went into writing that (like three too many snow days that school year LMAO). yeah the depression was !! yeah!! i was like "hm i struggle with these issues, what shall i do 🤔🤔🤔" and write what i know ended up being the answer

this is just.. oh this is so sweet bro 😭😭 thank you so much im so glad it touched someone else and im glad it helps knowing you can get through it like HDHDJEN it really started out as a joke idea i tossed around but (obviously) it ended up being something so much longer and like the people that have said that they loved it 🫶🫶 you guys are on my mind every day. all the time. thank you so much 🫂🫂

#asks #THIS IS ACTUALLY SO SWEET i have so many thoughts #like ou my god this is the BEST thing to wake up to before i dread my life (work)#🫶🫶 thank you sm #my fics

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conniesrockstargf · 11 months ago

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Y'know...this morning i was reading a fanfic and it made me stop and think about my career choice. For context, it was a jjk fanfic about Gojo coming back as a cursed spirit to watch over the kids (was sobbing at 8 inna morning). And it made me realize why I'm so attached to the adults of JJK, mainly Nanami and Gojo.

They advocate for the children. That is shown throughout the whole show and manga. It made me think of how i chose my career choice out of suffering lmfao. By that i mean, i almost killed myself at 16 then decided it wasn't that serious and then went "damn there's prolly other kids in the world who feel like this, imma be the one to help". Enter me wanting to become a child/teen therapist.

Nowadays there's so much pressure on the youth to grow up and mature and the elders are so contradictory about it because they complain about the kids being "too grown and not acting their age" but force ridiculous expectations and roles upon them. They get mad when the youth bends under said forces and become the products of the environments forced onto them and they get mad when the youth decides better and can see what's wrong with the elders vision.

I'm 19 years old, an older sister of 8 younger pups and 1 older brother. The urge to care for people has been deeply ingrained in me from the time i breathed out my first scream. I've been through shit that I've had to get through on my own. Whether it's against societal norms, familial norms, racial norms or whatever other bullshit has been created to simplify our existence, I've been fighting since i can remember and i will continue to fight until I can't anymore. I want to leave behind a legacy of fighters and dreamers and believers. Whether they're my own flesh and blood or those I've adopted (figuratively and literally) as my own, I don't want the youth to suffer anymore, they go through enough. Why do we insist on making them fight? They're babies for the sake of the universe, they don't NEED to fight anything. They just need to play, and ask their silly questions, and eat all the junk food they can stuff in their lil mouths and enjoy their time because it just passes so quick and before you know it... they're in college and driving and working big time jobs.

Gosh it's so scary out here. I just wanna make this world a safer and easier place for the youth, afterall they are our future. And if I can't make this place better, I'd like to be the one to show them how or how to get to the places that are safer.

Being young is a curse in itself. You're very vulnerable from the time you leave the womb, and you are constantly vulnerable from that moment on. People take advantage of that vulnerability. You're small and naive and new to everything. There are people who will help you along the path, leaving rocks for you to follow along to help you further out into an easier circle, and then there are those who will purposely lead you astray to hurt you.

We truly live in a time, where the youth should be the main priority. They have so much potential, so much power in their little hands!!

Please, protect the youth!

#archive of the eccentric ⚰️#hobiesrockstargf #conniesrockstargf #Donnie's archive: a stop on the train of thought 💭🚂#i really needed to get that out #I'm sure most of it doesn't make sense and correctly lead into each other but idc #please protect the youth

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 2 years ago

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TW for repressed memories, CSA (not graphic), self harm mention

Mostly looking for reassurance/validation, advice also would be nice.

After wondering for a few years if I have repressed childhood trauma and sometimes getting hyperfixated on the subject and doing a lot of research and asking for advice, I think I'm finally starting to accept the reality that it's... very likely I do have repressed trauma. I don't have anyone to talk to about this, at least no one who really gets it, and can't afford professional help at the moment so I just wanted to vent a little. I'm still struggling with a lot of self doubt because I've been manipulated a lot in life and I guess I see myself as "easily manipulated" so I keep thinking, what if I just tricked my own brain into feeling very bad about a part of my childhood that I have no memory of just because I was sick a few times and that's all I remember, and I subconsciously feel like the other traumatizing stuff I went through in life "wasn't enough"? But then like, if I was making it up why would I keep coming back to this subject? Can you really trick yourself into having such intense feelings? There are lots of other little signs too.

And I'm angry my parents never noticed. At first my parents not knowing I was being abused in daycare was a big factor that made me doubt my repressed memories. I thought there was no way they really just didn't know. But then again, they clearly thought there was something wrong with me because they were convinced I had autism based on how I acted as a child and as a teenager (I don't have autism, I'm just really quiet around them because they're emotionally abusive and they don't get that lol). They never knew I was depressed as a teenager or that I self harmed. They missed so many things about me. They put so much faith in anyone who is religious, of course they wouldn't doubt a religious daycare worker. And I'm almost certain if I tried to tell them now about my repressed memories, they wouldn't believe me.

I'm angry that I had my childhood stolen from me. I mourn the person I could've been. I'm so sad for my child self for having to grow up with disturbing thoughts and symptoms but unable to talk to anyone about it because of shame, because I didn't want to be a bad Christian.

I don't know what to do now. I've been told the first step is to just allow myself to feel these emotions instead of suppressing them out of fear I'm just making it all up, so I'm trying my best to do that now. I wish I could afford therapy, but then again knowing myself, I would be scared to open up to a therapist about this anyway. It's so much easier to just vent about it online.

If you could, do you have any free online resources that could help me? I'm not sure where to go from here, but I want to heal. It's taken me 21 years to figure this out. I know trying to recall repressed memories on your own can be dangerous so I'm not doing that, but I'd appreciate any advice on how to deal with everything after figuring out you have repressed memories because it all just feels like so much right now.

Hi anon,

I'm so sorry about what you've been through.

First of all, please know you're not alone in the way you feel towards your potentially repressed memories. I've seen various asks of other people questioning the validity of their repressed memories.

A sign of repressed memories is an intense negative emotion, such as disgust, grief, fear, anger, sadness, etc. Something you may find helpful is to ask yourself, if you think you're making it up, what purpose is it serving then? What would you be getting out of making it up that you couldn't get otherwise? The thing is that "making it up" is an active choice, and so, if you're unsure, then it's likely that you're not making it up. I can definitely see how your experience with manipulation may be influencing your doubts.

To speak to feeling like what you've been through "wasn't enough", trauma is not necessarily defined by what happened, instead it is defined by whether or not you deemed it traumatic. This is largely because people are so different (environment, genetics, resilience, other factors) that one particular event could be traumatizing for one person but not for the other, meaning that there is no objective measurement of what is traumatic enough. If it was traumatizing for you, then it's trauma.

Your anger is justified, both towards your parents and towards how your childhood felt stolen from you. I can see how your parents' obliviousness to what was happening at daycare shaped how you perceive your own experiences there. I also hear how your parents seemed to miss a lot of red flags or misattribute them to autism. I can also see how being raised Christian made you feel isolated in terms of verbalizing what you were going through.

I think allowing yourself to feel your emotions without judgment is important, but I don't know that it's the first step necessarily. I've been healing from my trauma for about 8 years now and I've only just begun allowing myself to feel my emotions. I think the steps can be a little different for everyone, but I also think that it can be dangerous to your mental health to fully feel intense emotions related to your trauma without the mediation of a mental health professional.

I would say that the first step is to acknowledge what happened, but I also want to emphasize that there is no rush. Just ride out the stages of grief, and move past each stage at your own pace. You have more time to heal than you may think. Allowing yourself to take the next step when you're ready to do so is paramount.

This article says that some things you could try is journaling, meditation, art, yoga, or therapy (although I know that's not really an option for you right now), but other somatic modalities.

Ultimately, it's important to be gentile and patient with yourself as you process these experiences and heal. Be sure to practice self care, whether that's taking care of your hygiene or treating yourself.

If anyone else has any comments or suggestions, feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#trauma talks #mod bun #tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw sh #tw self harm #tw emotional abuse #tw csa #tw sa #tw religious abuse

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elitheaceofalltrades · 1 year ago

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You find them by accident.

It's 2:13 in the morning and you'd been woken up by yelling. The family on the 3rd floor was having another argument, which is fine for the most part (it's not, but you can put on your headphones and shut your balcony door) but you've had the worst day, went to bed with a migraine and it's two o'clock in the fucking morning. You head is still pounding as you stumble towards your balcony door and the movement is making you nauseous.

Even four floors up you can hear the Smith girl yelling about how "you're not my dad". When she'd first come to live with her mother and stepfather, the building had either been sympathetic or apathetic. She'd just lost her father, had to move to the other side of the country, and in the middle of second semester as well. It made sense that she'd have problems adjusting. Six months later, there's no more sympathy, not for her anyways. Most are counting down the days until lease renewal comes up. It's sad that the Smiths are going to lose their apartment after living here nine years, but no one can take the screaming anymore. There'd been multiple calls to the police and child services and at this point it'd be easier if there was abuse present (not that abuse is ever easy, but it's hard to know that as dysfunctional as the Smiths are, the parents are actually doing their best). There's nothing wrong though, at least not on the parents' part. They got the girl a therapist, they go to family therapy, they don't demand too much of her (they hardly demand anything really, too worried about making things worse) but grief is a funny thing in a teenager and she doesn't want therapy or help or to make things work, she just wants her dad. (You feel for her; to lose a parent so young, to see it happen, it would fuck up anyone but she's destroying herself and everything she has left).

The screaming gets louder when you open the door of your balcony, and your head spins slightly as you grab the railing. Apparently, she doesn't appreciate being grounded, despite the fact that she apparently fucked up and lost her chance for summer school so now she has to repeat the year. It seems like even the teachers have gotten tired (you've met one or both Smith in the elevator, called to school for behavioural problems). Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and yell out "SHUT THE FUCK UP! IT'S TWO IN THE FUCKING MORNING! BE HAPPY YOU DIDN'T GET EXPELLED! RUIN YOUR LIFE ON YOUR OWN TIME, NOT WHEN PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!". The silence that follows rings in your ears, broken only by your nausea catching up to you, causing you to throw up over the railing and into the street below. Slumping down to sit with your back to the railing, you hope it didn't land on anyone but you're too busy taking deep breaths to not throw up again to care too much.

It's because of this - the ringing in your ears, the curling in your stomach, the pounding in your head - that you almost miss it. There's a faint giggle, so soft that if it wasn't for your migraine enhanced hearing you probably wouldn't have heard. Opening your eyes, and looking through the blurriness of your vision, you see what can only be a migraine-induced hallucination. There's really no other explanation for the tiny human with wings perched on the wilted stem of the half-dead chrysanthemums on your balcony table. The apparition waves and you wiggle your fingers back (delirium is no excuse for bad manners) before crawling into your living room, shutting the door and passing out.

In the morning, between the confusion over why you're on the floor, the aches from sleeping on said floor and the horrid taste of sick in your mouth, you almost forget all about your hallucination. You catch sight of your half-dead plant, remembering a giggle. You've never believed in the magical and fantastical but in between your typical "migraine day" routine, you drop some water and apple slices into the pot before going about your day.

You find a fairy living in your “garden”: a half-dead pot of chrysanthemums on your 7th floor balcony.

#hobbies #hobby blog #writing #creative writing #writing prompt #writing fiction #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writers and poets #writer #prompt #fic prompt #ace of all trades #short fiction #short #one shot

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yuga2000 · 3 months ago

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I honestly just don't what to say, what to do, or how I should proceed from here, but I saw the nurse practitioner today and she said that the therapist I saw must not have thought that I had ADHD. She said that she diagnosed me with major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, social anxiety disorder, and PTSD. These are all diagnosis I've had before I went to her, and have been medicated for for years. She didn't change any of my medicines, but she added an antipsychotic that I'm not going to name. She said she didn't think I was psychotic, but she thinks it will help if added to the medicine I'm already on where she can't up the dose where I'm already on the highest dose. I asked her about all the symptoms that lead to me believing that I had ADHD and all she really said about it was that I have mood swings and that sometimes MDD can cause loss of concentration and memory loss. All I wanted was answers, but I still feel like enough isn't being done. She said if I still had a hard time concentrating the next time I saw her in a month she'd put me on medication for mood swings or something like that, but she didn't want to put me on two new medications at once.

Sometimes it's hard for me to tell if these doctors I'm seeing really care about me at all. I mean, yeah, maybe they're right, but then again maybe they're wrong. Maybe they just don't care or maybe they don't want to give me a diagnosis because I'm a woman. Maybe, at the end of the day, it's easier just to give me a medication and call it a job well done. I don't know. I couldn't tell you. I can't say that I have a certain diagnosis or not because I'm not a doctor, but I can tell you that my gut feeling tells me that something is wrong. Whether that means the doctors don't care or it means that I know that these symptoms that I'm experiencing are not normal and I don't think it's just a side effect of depression. I just feel like there's something else going on. It's my body and my mind and I think I know it better than anyone else, even if they did attend a expensive school for years on end. There's so many stories of there being something wrong with patients and them telling the doctor's "Hey, something's not right." only to be ignored. So many stories of patients having to try so many doctors, getting the wrong treatments, getting the wrong diagnosis, or maybe not one at all, and suffering because of it.

I never really listed my symptoms here, mostly because I was just too tired to think about it or type it all out. Sometimes because I tried and it got too overwhelming and I would just burst out into tear, screaming into the void for someone to pleas help me. that it was all too much, all too overwhelming for one person to handle, but here I am so better get it over with.

Have a hard time holding still or staying in one spot for too long

Need something constantly stimulating

Needs more than one activity at a time or else I get distracted

Occasional uncontrollable ticks

Hard time sleeping at night

Uncontrollable racing thoughts

Gets distracted easily

Jumps from one hyperfixation to the next

Likes something for a time period anywhere from one week to one month (Typically) before getting bored and stopping it suddenly

Repetitive noise bother me (Chewing, coughing, laughing, and in extreme occasions, talking)

I stim when I feel strong emotions (Mainly hand flapping, jumping, steppies, leg kicking if I’m sitting)

I have to organize. It’s typically me sorting things by color, but if you check out my closet it’s a whole different level of crazy. I’ll sort it by article of clothing, and every article of clothing is sorted by color. So it’ll be like red sweaters, orange sweaters, yellow sweaters, green sweaters, blue sweaters, purple sweaters, brown/tan sweaters, white sweaters, black sweaters, multicolor sweaters, then it would go on to red hoodies, orange hoodies, ect.)

There's definitely more, but I can't think with my mind racing like this. I'm just so stressed and so overwhelmed. This isn't the first time I brought up potentially having ADHD to a therapist. The first time I was just told I'm hyperactive. Honestly, I'm exhausted and defeated, so I think I'll leave it at this for now. When I go back to college in a few weeks I'll talk to the therapist that they have on campus about my symptoms, but that's all I really have to say for now.

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stardust-in-my-mind-blog · 4 months ago

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some dialogue can only be in script

do you want to know what the worst part of all this is

like the worst part beyond the emotional shit

like the logical worst part

I let you fucking kill me slowly screaming

for over five years and I tolerated it

mostly because I'd dealt with far worse than you

and also because I didn't want to leave my kid

your insecurity battered me emotionally and spiritually

so you could keep believing in your family's dysfunction

which will come out anyways when they die

once you kill your parents from the gods they are

make them fragile and mortal and fucking broken

it's easier to love and accept them and understand

why they made you feel how they did when they were you

like orphaned children who have to pretend they are loved

just because their parents have a title and a role

society desperately accepts and needs to believe is sacred

but mother isn't any more sacred than father

they did their best but they fucked you up in ways too

no matter how many fancy Christmases you had

or trips around the world and all the little checks

and lists that say what a good parent is

and people believe loyalty is not saying anything

even when the way they look and treat you

makes you so fucking disgusted inside

beyond hurt and beyond anger

just fucking disgusted enough to spit

I once heard the best dad joke out there

the strongest man you know is an eldest daughter

please know that this relationship ended with you

being an abuser and refusing to see it

and please know your perspective is valid

but its value is only to yourself

because I've documented every fucking thing

in rainbow colors and illustration that was my emotional blood

I bleed emotionally into every journal as you just

stabbed me and stabbed me with your indifference

when I would cry you looked at me with loathing

when I would have a success your envy would show

the random hostility was so confusing

but it happened after you became a therapist

and your ego just couldn't handle the fact

that privilege and education doesn't beat experience

and I was just the little woman that stayed at home

with three kids that I gave a childhood I was never given

love and compassion and emotional availability

even when there was no food or money in the bank

that your own fucking mom couldn't give because

she was being so deeply and critically emotionally abused

by your anxious don draper of a father who literally

went deaf and refused to learn sign language

so that he didn't have to see what anyone said or needed

and you fucking killed my spirit and blamed me for it

so you didn't have to see or think about any of it

that's okay I did it for you and wrote your dad poetry

and a six page manifesto conversation with ai

about what a critical dad does and why it ends up hurting

the future partner of his son but unlike the wife

of your dad I'm the bitch who will never keep my mouth shut

especially when I'm being slandered and devalued

by someone who has so much less self control than me

said it was my trauma talking or found a way to dismiss

and avoid any expression I made about my experience

if it wasn't happy or pleasant or what you approved of

your preferences changed after you got that job

you fucking said it yourself that they changed

we had a real nice midlife crisis together

and you'd never been poor and I'd never been seen

and I learned how to fucking cope and change

and you decided to suck the life out of me

critical and arrogant and you even made fun of me

for how I had to put my hands behind my back

when I was around you because I was so scared

of being told I was doing something wrong

and when my hands were behind my back

I would imagine Daniel in the cave of lions

bringing King Nebuchadnezzar to his knees

and you were on your fucking knees crying about

bearing witness to your own monstrosities

meanwhile we didn't have money for years

I was forced to be resourceful and manage my own panic

when every time you told me there was money

and I'd do the shopping and swipe the card

and there wasn't and it was so embarrassing every time

there wasn't because you didn't want to look at it

or manage it or figure anything out

just tell me it had something to do with my spending it

and then I needed to entertain kids without a car

so I gave them a summer raising rabbits and gardening

and singing and became mary fucking poppins

and you complained I didn't clean the house enough

you told me you had standards for your partner

and I could never quite seem to meet them

you told me my ex was a better parent than me

when you're the one who pulled me out of the water

when he did the same fucking shit you began to do

and here's the real rub, my friend

my ex is a better parent than me right now

I am disconnected and I am unfocused and I am realizing

just how much damage someone can do

when they pretend the other person isn't allowed

to have the experience and feelings that they do

you erased me from the narrative but still

expected me to meet your new preferences and standards

still needed me more than ever because you

never actually learned how to take care of yourself

and you've regressed back to a teenager

well now I'm a teenager too and I was meaner then

while you give all your emotional empathy to clients

and refuse to respect or honor anything I do

I don't regret taking myself out of the professional world

I don't regret devoting myself completely

to the role of caretaking my own children

with my efforts I gave them everything of me that I could

and once I'm out of here I'll be able to do it again

but you're gonna have to learn a whole lot of new skills

because my over-functioning in the relationship

comes from the autism that you refused to acknowledge

for over a year while citing that you were a therapist

but really you're just someone that knew if you accepted

my experience you'd have to admit you were meeting a need

exploiting a person with a past of trauma that you knew

in fact isn't that what we bonded over at the beginning

you actually started using the same quotes my ex used

and then would say that I just wanted to make comparisons

no I was listening to a fucking cover and I never liked the song

I lost nothing but the illusion of a man who made my oldest

son feel like in his family he no longer belonged

just like my dad felt when his mother remarried and forgot him

he used to call himself the red headed stepchild

and I fucking became that archetype just to fuck with fate

your disgraceful treatment may have infected my heart and spirit

but you only poisoned me and I was still limping away

my integrity and sense of justice and spite the only things

getting me through the day sometimes but here's the thing

they were still better than yours at full strength

so that means that you failed at killing me

you tried for four years and you still couldn't even finish

divinity had to bring in a real executioner to finally

murder all the sick and twisted parts of me suffering

I saw the silver of his blade and moaned hallelujah

when his dagger plunged into my heart so deep

I couldn't even tell which one of ours was beating

my angel of shadow then took me into his arms

kissed my cheek and slit my throat while giving me

a new name to call myself and this new hope

the end of this marriage will not return me to the name

given to me by a father that never protected me

or a name a man used as leverage to cripple me

for not being carved into his expectations

this name will be my own and you will hear it

as an oncoming storm that will change your fucking life

and not in the ways I promised or the vows we made

the universe even had to outsource my own murder

because you weren't man enough to do it

and I was man enough to die

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