#and my dr— who has been my GP my whole life —didn’t care too much when I told him (tho added it to my file)

[organized-chaotic-disaster]

Hm. Having a conversation with one of my best friends about how I’m extremely burnt out (both with regular burnout and autistic burnout) and then the next day dealing with something at work that only contributes to that (staying later at work than I’m scheduled to) (last minute changes in how I expect things to go = upset autistic me) and THEN having a coworker say “I just expect this to happen every week :) “ when THEY’RE also scheduled to be off earlier, only making me more annoyed bc you don’t Get It uh. Really says something doesn’t it?

[notmrskennedy]

Professor, pt2

A/N - here’s part two to my little prequels - it’s the last one I’ve got written, but just know that they definitely fall in love later in my head. It’s just that the ‘in love’ part turned into Friendliness so there’s that. Thanks for sticking around bc y’all make my days

Summary - A certain professor makes another unexpected appearance and friend? 

W/C - 2.6k 

Warnings - there’s a brief stint of depression and a bit of swearing i’m sure (but what’s new)

----

Nearly 50 hours of no sleep later and Spencer Reid is sure he’s hallucinating. He knows that the hallucinations come later, that it takes more like seven or eight days to get that bad. But he’s tired and hadn’t slept on the plane and there’s no amount of coffee that’ll convince him he’s awake enough to think the scene in front of him is real. 

Because there you are, arguing with an FBI agent. While in handcuffs. He notes the darker hair and the new style and the impossible amount of dirt you’re covered in. What a weird thing to hallucinate after a bone chilling case. He hasn’t seen you in three years—by all accounts, he should’ve forgotten your face already. 

“I heard she got caught shipping body parts,” Emily says, appearing next to Spencer. She’s more put together, having passed out for the four hour flight. Her hair’s tied up and she’s got airplane coffee in her hands. He wonders if this is any more real before he hears you shouting from him. 

“Thank God,” you call, trying to wiggle out of the man’s hold, “Dr. Reid! Tell them I’m not crazy.”

He hesitantly leans over to Emily. “This is real, right?”

“Yep.”

“I’m not going to sleep tonight, am I?”

“Nope.”

“See you on Monday, Emily.”

“See you then, Reid.”

And he’s trudging forward, waving at the other agent while stifling a yawn. He forces his eyes open and checks his watch. 2:37 AM. Is he going to catch the Metro? Or is he sleeping on Hotch’s couch again? 

The pleading in your eyes says Hotch’s couch and he doesn’t argue.

“Hey, Kazinsky,” he yawns, stopping a full two feet from you and your inhumanly large captor. “What’s the—what’s the charge?”

Kazinsky shakes his head, not daring to let you any slack. You’re bouncing on your toes, trying to contain yourself. He gets it. It’s not everyday you get arrested. He hopes. But ever forgetful of the whole being arrested bit, you keep jerking to move the hair out of your face. Kazinsky takes it as trying to escape and jerks back harder. 

“We picked this one up for transporting illegal…stuff, Doc,” Kazinsky mutters with half a shiver. “Thought I signed up for white collar, mail fraud type stuff. Not unpacking human remains type stuff.” 

Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose. Scrubs his hands over his face. Takes one more long look at you, obviously losing your mind. He knows a lot can change over three years, but you never seemed the ‘illegally transporting dead people’ type. Until he remembers your fun fact from that lecture all those years ago. 

“What happened?” he sighs.

All too tired for this bullshit, he wishes he could force the story out faster, but your face just keeps contorting with the story you’re so obviously trying to spin for both of them. You try to pull out of Kazinsky’s gorilla grip again, and Spencer notices the way Kazinsky winces every time you pull. Something wrong with his wrist?

“Dr. Reid,” you finally begin, “I was in Guatemala, studying these mummies we found in a cave. One of the bodies just needed further examining and so I was just shipping it back because it’s not like I can stuff a two thousand year old body in my carryon.”

All Spencer can do is raise half an exhausted eyebrow that prompts you further, red tinting your cheeks. 

“Look, I’ve been trying to tell Mr. Man Hands over here that I’ve got the paperwork in my bag, but after our little disagreement, I’ve been arrested.”

“Disagreement?” Kazinsky snorts. “You tried to dislocate my wrist!”

“Well, I can’t help it if you don’t announce yourself before grabbing me.”

Whatever desperation and pleading you’ve had, you’ve thrown out the window to stare down Kazinsky. Spencer has a new appreciation for the fact that he’d been wrong all those years ago. You aren’t fragile. You’re as strong as a femur bone with all of the—probably justified—anger of a bull towards a matador. 

But you turn back to Spencer and your gaze softens. Melts into the young professor he met all those years ago. He’s gotten over his crush—he’s definitely in love with Maeve—but you’re objectively beautiful. Despite the self-cut, terribly choppy bangs, or the light dusting of brown dirt that you’ve covered in. You’re pleading for his help, he knows it, but he just wants to go home. 

He’s reminded he’s better than walking away and ends up giving Kazinsky a tired sigh. “I’ll take her off your hands for you, Kazinsky.”

He wonders vaguely what Maeve will think of this when he calls her in 24 hours. He wonders if she’ll appreciate the gesture he’s made for an old acquaintance. No matter what though, he knows she’ll gasp and giggle and say something like ‘oh those anthropologists! Such a funny sort. At least it’s a better science than geology!’ and they’ll laugh together like old lovers. 

Kazinsky drops you in Spencer’s lap and runs. Human remains could be the BAU’s problem for all he cared. He liked mail fraud. 

Once Kazinsky’s out of sight, Spencer pulls the handcuff keys from his pockets and pulls the cuffs off of you. You breathe out a thankful sigh, trying to rub the future bruises away. You turn back to face him, tucking your hair back behind your ear, studying him through your lashes. He can’t be bothered to notice anything much more about you. He’s dead on his feet. 

The hand you place on his elbow jolts him away. Your eyebrows scrunch and he swallows at the concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m just—we’ve been working an abduction case. 48 hours non-stop—“

He yawns again and you can’t help but mirror. “Did you know that chimpanzees and dogs are also empathetic yawners?” 

He smirks. “I did know that. Seriously though y/n, what’s up with the body?”

“I promise it isn’t illegal,” you rush out, just to receive a raised eyebrow. “The Institute I’m working for made some kind of deal with the Guatemalan government that I’m not really privy to, but I’m the only one qualified to handle the remains. Plus, I’ve got a reputation for being found with body parts so its—it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

He sighs again. He wants to tell you it sounds worse. That it sounds like you’re stealing on behalf of the Institute. That they’re doing what museums always do—pilfer and loot. But you sigh and hang your head and don’t exhibit one sign that you’re trying to trick him. Sure, you might’ve lied a bit about manhandling Kazinsky, but you sure as hell seem like a doctor just trying to do her job. 

“Look, call my boss. He’s waiting for me anyway. I’m sure the paperwork just got lost or customs is just as stupid as I think they are.”

Spencer nods. He pulls his phone out and punches in the number you rattle off. In ten seconds he’s speaking with Dr. Russel Bailey, head of the anthropology department at the Institute. There’s a quick relay of ‘yes, she’s authorised to have the body’ and ‘no, please don’t arrest her’ and ‘we’ll sort this out in the morning’. 

And once he’s hung up, you’ve already got your car keys out. “Do you need a ride home or anything?” you ask and quickly tack on, “I’m just trying to say thank you. Promise I’m not creepy.”

Spencer laughs and nods and drags his feet after you. He does need a ride home because he knows he’ll fall asleep on the metro. You talk incessantly about your trip to Guatemala on the walk down to your car, and he knows he should be listening. But he can’t. He’s too busy moving one foot in front of the other. 

And by the time you’ve punched his address into the GPS, he’s fast asleep, softly snoring. 

#

Maeve was dead. Maeve was dead. Maeve was dead. 

Nothing else really matters now, Spencer thinks on repeat. She was the only good thing I had and now she’s gone. Maybe I don’t even matter. 

There’s brief moments between this line of thinking where he can listen to the three dozen voicemails he gets left everyday. Telling him that they’re there for him. Telling him it’ll be okay. Telling him it was okay to grieve. 

Was it grieving if he just wants to melt into nothingness? To die without actually killing himself?

It’s during one of these brief moments that he gets the voicemail he’s accidentally been craving. He doesn’t want to want it. He doesn’t want to want anything. He wants to melt and starve and wither until no one thinks about him ever again. Because she’s not here and he can’t for the life of him figure out why he wants you. 

You’ve been gone. Researching your way through the Sacred Valley in Peru, making nice with the locals and scavenging bones like an angelic vulture. You’ve been there for the last month and can’t possibly know about Maeve’s death—it takes him another hour to get back to thinking about you. It’s still September, he thinks, and you’re supposed to come back around now. At the end of the month, he’s supposed to pick you up from the airport. 

Because after saving you from an arrest, you’ve been exchanging noncommittal letters and phone calls. He’s got a thin stack of photos that you’ve sent from your trip. But you aren’t Maeve. You never were. You never will be. 

He doesn’t know why he wants you to call him, but he does. 

Maybe it’s because you’re new, you aren’t tarnished by the history of Spencer Reid. Maybe it’s because you’re the only one who doesn’t treat him like he’s labelled: fragile, handle with care!

He listens and your voicemail is a sort of sing song. “Hola Spencer! I’m calling from some Peruvian payphone. I should be in the states in a little over 24 hours. I’ll call when I land. Hasta mañana.” 

 The next voicemail comes with: “Finally got back to the apartment. I didn’t think I’d miss the sound of guinea pigs running around. Weird. Anyway, call me when you can.”

And the third: “Spencer, seriously, why aren’t you picking up? I’m not going to have to break in, am I? Call me back.”

Culminating with: “Reid, I swear to fucking god. If I find you dead in that goddamn apartment, I’ll beat your body so bad you won’t make it the fucking afterlife.”

There’s a knock. One he won’t answer. One he doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t want the pity or the advice or the dejectedness. He wants to float down a river and drown. 

The knock becomes a little more insistent. And now there’s voices attached. He can make out JJ’s voice, “He’s—he’s going to be okay. He’ll come back out when he’s ready.” Following is who he thinks is Penelope, though if it is, she’s far too quiet. One set of feet retreat. He can see the shadow from a pair of shoes and he wonders why Penelope is staying so long. Maybe she’s brought another basket. 

There’s one more knock—probably to ensure he’s not coming to the door—before a jiggle to the knob. And swearing. And jostling. And squirming. And pop. There’s a distinct swinging open of the door and a pair of boots tapping over his hardwood. 

Maybe this is how he dies. Miserable. Covered in snot and tears. Slippers half on. Depressed on the couch. 

“God, you idiot,” a voice breathes, pausing to take in the disarray. He vaguely remembers redecorating—throwing everything everywhere. The feet become more impatient and frantic and heavier. His doors all open and close and he can’t bother to correct the burglar. He’s right here, waiting, patiently waiting, for this intruder to kill him. 

A fantastic way to die. He wonders if you’ll want to look at his bones. You’ve mentioned wanting to. 

“Sound off, Reid,” you command. He knows its you. No one else could replicate that tremble in your lips, the break rolling off your tongue. 

“Y/n,” he croaks and he wonders how long ago was the last time he spoke. 

Light streams in as you flick open the curtains, bites into his skin with a hiss. You take in his disheveled state with no apprehension. Like you’ve expected this. Like you have no pity to give him. Maybe this is why he wanted you to call. 

“You broke in,” he mumbles and you shake your head. 

“I wouldn’t have to,” you begin to yell, just to lower your voice and grit your teeth, “if you would’ve fucking answered the door.” 

You always say there’s a time and place for everything. There’s nothing to top the word ‘fuck’ and he knows that you’re beyond angry. Beyond concerned. Beyond terrified for him. 

“What happened, Spencer?” you whisper, moving to sit down on the floor in front of him. You’re close enough he can smell your perfume, see the pleading look in your eyes. There’s no pity. If he could find the words, he couldn’t thank you enough. 

He could reach out and hold your hand, but that seems too far. Too much. So he swallows down the tears and whispers back, “Maeve died, y/n. She died because I let her.”

“Stop it,” you order. You’ve got a hard set in your eyes, the kind that he last saw when you stared down Kazinsky. “Stop that right now. You can’t stop the world from spinning, Spencer. You can’t stop the sun from coming up. You can’t stop what you don’t know to. I might not know all the details, but I know you. You’re a diligent man and I wouldn’t expect you to do anything less than everything for the woman you love.”

You place a delicate hand on the couch next to his and you sum everything up very gracefully. “Hindsight is a bitch, don’t let it make you hers.”

He can’t stop the twitch of a smile. Can’t stop the crack of happiness that bleeds out because you’ve decided to be so ridiculously you. No one’s ever called him diligent before and seems more fitting than fragile.

“She’s still dead,” he settles on and makes the bold move to slide his fingers under yours. It feels like such a betrayal to Maeve—is he supposed to touch another woman when he couldn’t even touch the love of his life?

You just squeeze his fingers, warm and present and decidedly alive. “Yeah. She is. You’re welcome to wallow for as long as you want, but you need to eat. We’ll see if I can remember how to cook with modern appliances.”

Your smile is contagious enough that a fleeting smile reaches his eyes. You pat his hand and stand. “I’m going to the store, and taking a key this time. I promise I’ll be back. I’m stickier than a public indecency charge.”

You chuckle for the both of them and carefully make your way out of the apartment. He listens as you take a key and tries his best to psych himself into a fit of hunger. It isn’t until you’re singing in Spanish, something sizzling on the stove, that he realises that the pain in his gut is the hunger, and not just misery. That he should probably get up for at least a minute. Just to satisfy the curiosity of what that smell is. 

Maeve would’ve liked you, he decides. Maeve would’ve really liked you. 

And it’s the first peaceful thought he’s had in weeks. 

[artificialqueens]

Powerless Part 8 (Branjie) - athena2

A/N: Thank you to everyone that’s still reading! I’ve finally fed the children some fluff after all this angst! This chapter has so much fluff it lowkey made me wish I could draw so I could draw some parts of it. Thank you so, so much to @youre-a-kite, for your support and amazing feedback with this. I would appreciate and love any comments or feedback you have!

Brooke has been asleep for three days.

The doctors at the base removed the bullets from her abdomen and thigh. They found and removed a GPS tracking chip in her left shoulder after Vanessa mentioned it. They controlled the bleeding, stitched her up, put her on antibiotics. She’s hooked up to monitors, her life reduced to lines and beeps and numbers, and her chest rises gently, but she still won’t wake up.

Vanessa shivers as she remembers holding Brooke in her arms as the blood gushed out of her and her breathing got faint and her eyes slid shut and didn’t open again.

No one knows what the latest shot from the lab might do to her. Vanessa’s ears shut down at Silk’s long-ass explanation of the drug and its possible effects, and all she got out of it is the worry currently buzzing inside her.

She’s taking a break from the crime-fighting and part of her is relieved. She honestly doesn’t care if the world goes to shit when the world did this to Brooke. Let the burden of protecting it make someone else’s shoulders tense. She spends every second next to her bed, chatting about everything and nothing for Brooke’s deaf ears, her own form of whistling in the dark, so Brooke doesn’t wake up alone. A’Keria stole Silk’s prized comfy chair for her to sit in, both of them acting appropriately puzzled and innocent when Silk chucked a soda bottle across her office in anger and led a witch hunt, complete with pitchfork, for the thief.

She’s dozing in the chair, which is truly worth anything Silk could do with that plastic pitchfork, forcing her eyes back open because every time they close she sees Brooke bleeding in her arms, only this time Vanessa didn’t get her to base fast enough. She ignores her heavy limbs and tells herself she’s fine, that she’s used to little (or no) sleep, and this way she’s guaranteed to be awake for Brooke.

“Vanessa?” A’Keria patters across the floor. “Silk wants to talk to you. It’s important.”

“But Brooke-”

“It’ll only be a few minutes.” A’Keria is apologetic, and Vanessa understands there’s not a question involved.

She huffs and puffs her way to Silk’s office like a middle-aged white lady whose coupon was expired.

“This better be good.” She crosses her arms and digs her heels into the ground.

“Vanjie, we can’t find anything on Brooke.” There’s a tone to Silk’s voice that Vanessa doesn’t like.

“What are you trying to say?”

“It’s just a little…suspicious.” Silk ticks points off on her fingers, and Vanessa knows she’s been sitting on this a while. “She wakes up in the lab with no memory. She said the lab ‘helped’ people like her, but where are they? She never mentioned anyone else, and there’s only a few costumed villains in this city. We can’t find anything about this lab, and don’t you think it’s weird they’re not looking for her? We found one recent report of a plane that crashed in an ice storm, but she’s not on the flight manifest. Facial recognition got nothing. Not to mention all we have to go on is a first name–”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t get her social security number when she was bleeding to death in front of me!”

“Vanessa,” Silk tries. “I’m just saying, how do we know she was on the plane? What if that’s another lie the lab fed her and told her to use when someone questioned her? How do we know everything she told us wasn’t just lies they made her believe?”

Vanessa’s stomach churns. She doesn’t like what Silk is implying, but she has to admit it could be possible.

“Are you saying we can’t trust her?”

“All I’m saying is I haven’t made it this long in the game by believing everything I hear.”

She thinks of Brooke sleeping in her arms, gulping hot chocolate like a little kid, smiling like she was afraid to. The way Brooke’s eyes fought through their shadows of pain and lit up like the sun when she remembered her name. That Brooke would never lie to her. But if she didn’t know she was lying…

Vanessa distracts herself with the plane diagram on Silk’s computer screen.

“How many people were on the plane?”

“Sixty, all with some ballet company.”

“How many does it hold?”

“Sixty-one.”

“But you don’t think that’s suspicious?” Vanessa demands. “One empty seat. What if it was Brooke’s? She said they took her from the crash. What if they deleted her records? The whole plane went down, and with the record gone, no one would know she was there! That empty seat was Brooke, it has to be.”

“The plane crashed last March,” A’Keria cuts in. “Frost appeared eight months ago, at the end of November. They could have kept her there, training her, making sure their drugs worked, before they set her out. It fits with the time frame,” she concludes and Vanessa could kiss her.

She can tell they’ve swayed Silk, or at least given her some doubts, which is sometimes the best you can hope for.

“Keep looking. Please, Silk, I…I love her.” It’s the first time she’s told anyone else, and any doubt she might have had is gone as the words leave her. She loves Brooke, and she doesn’t care who knows it.

Vanessa speeds back to Brooke’s room, trying not to be disappointed when she’s still asleep. She’d had some overly hopeful fantasy that Brooke would be wide awake and ready for another kiss when she got back.

She drops a careful kiss on Brooke’s forehead. “Please wake up, Brooke,” she whispers. She nestles into the chair, praying she won’t fall asleep, but she does. —

Vanessa shoots awake in the semi-darkness, wall clock reading 6:17. She’s unsure if it’s morning or night until a shaft of morning sun breaks through the window and punches her in the face. She gets up to close the curtains when Brooke’s finger twitches.

Brooke’s eyelids are fluttering, breath quickening, and Vanessa’s heart leaps when those green eyes meet hers for the first time in four days.

“Where…” Brooke rasps. Her eyes flit around in fear, and Vanessa understands at once. Waking up in a strange bed with no memory of how she got there…

She repositions herself so Brooke can see her. “You’re not at the lab, I promise. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

Brooke looks wearily at her, fingers fumbling at the IV. “No, you wanna leave that in, okay?” Vanessa takes her hand before she does any damage to herself. “That’s helping you, I don’t know doctor shit, but it’s okay.”

“V-Vanessa?” she asks, voice sounding like she’s had a cocktail of gravel and broken glass, breathing still ragged.

“It’s me. I’m here. You’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt you.” She gives Brooke’s hand a light squeeze and grabs a water bottle from the nightstand. “You want some?”

Brooke nods and Vanessa holds it to her mouth while she sips slowly, breaths calming.

“Do you remember what happened?” She knows she has to call a doctor, but it’s been four lonely days and Vanessa just needs to hear Brooke’s voice, needs to see that she’s okay.

“I…my name. My name is Brooke.”

“That’s right,” Vanessa lays encouragement over her desperation. “Anything else?”

Her eyebrows knit together in concentration, but she seems dazed, and there’s a glassy, far-off look in her eyes making Vanessa’s chest tight with worry. She’s about to press the call button when Brooke’s shoulders heave.

“I remember he hurt me and I…I…”

“Oh, Brooke,” she soothes. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Vanessa blinks back tears, her heart sinking. She doesn’t know how she was naive enough to think Brooke would wake up with a perfect memory and her trauma wiped clean. Brooke will need help to get through what the lab did to her, she knows that.

“Vanessa, I don’t feel good,” Brooke says quietly, lowering her head.

“I’m gonna get someone to check on you, alright? I should’ve called sooner, I’m sorry. Does anything hurt?”

She shakes her head. “It’s too hot.”

Vanessa has Silk and a doctor in the room in seconds. Brooke flinches away and curls in on herself when she sees the doctor, breath catching in her throat and soft whimpers falling from her lips as she trembles.

“It’s okay, she won’t hurt you. I’ll be right here with you the whole time. I got you, I promise.” Vanessa squeezes her hand tighter and Brooke grips back like Vanessa is her lifeline.

“I trust you,” Brooke replies, an echo of days and several lifetimes ago, and Vanessa’s heart lightens.

“Heart rate’s a little elevated,” Dr. O’Hara explains the monitors for Vanessa’s benefit as she pulls a thermometer from under Brooke’s tongue.

“99.7,” she announces, shooting a glance at Silk that Vanessa can’t read.

“That’s not too high, right?” Vanessa asks hopefully.

Then Silk informs her that Brooke’s normal temperature is 95.6, and Vanessa allows herself to panic. —

“There’s no infection. Doctor thinks it’s a residual effect of the drug. It’s like it needs to burn through her system before it’s gone. Her bloodwork is different from the first sample we took, so this must be a new formula. Probably why she’s reacting to it like this,” Silk explains as Vanessa applies an ice pack to Brooke’s forehead.

She nodded off just after Silk left this morning and has been asleep since, drenched in sweat and mumbling unintelligibly as the number on the new monitor rises steadily, currently hovering around 102.

“I think it should pass in a few days,” A’Keria muses. “When she talked to us, she said the drugs made her feel weird at first, which is why she was so out of it when she fought you. Then she would sleep, which she’s been doing. This is the rest of it. Since she went every week, I’m figuring this’ll wear off by Sunday.”

“She’ll get through it. She can take higher temperatures because of her powers like you can, Vanj,” Silk pats her shoulder in a rare display of comfort.

It’s nice to think this could all be over soon, but that still means days of sitting here uselessly, watching Brooke thrash around and sweat and futilely putting ice packs on her.

Shooting fire out of her hands has never seemed so stupid.

She is powerless. —

A’Keria was right. The fever starts to break Saturday afternoon, hours after it hit 105 and A’Keria had to drag Vanessa away from Brooke’s bed while the doctors put ice on her.

By that night she’s back at safe levels, and it’s another waiting game. Vanessa wears out the tile floor wondering how much Brooke remembers and is still up when Brooke coughs awake, instantly holding water to her lips and gripping her shoulder comfortingly.

“Vanessa, I remember something else,” Brooke says once she’s able to talk.

“What is it?”

“I love you.”

Vanessa leans down as Brooke stretches up and their lips meet after what feels like years. Brooke’s lips are cool and yet Vanessa melts at their touch. She shivers with delight as Brooke’s hand roams down her spine. Brooke is here, she’s alive, and whatever happens, they’re together. She perches on the edge of the mattress and lays her hand on Brooke’s chest, feels her heart race with excitement beneath her touch.

They’re interrupted a few minutes later when Brooke’s heart monitor goes off. —

Brooke is released Tuesday night, and Vanessa takes her to the safe house Silk set up for them. A’Keria even went to their apartments and stocked the cozy space with their own stuff, and Vanessa collapses onto her familiar brown couch with a sigh.

Brooke stands in the doorway, picking at her nails.

“Hey, you wanna sit down? Or we could go to bed if you’re tired,” she offers. Brooke is like a skittish animal, eyes darting around nervously, and Vanessa keeps her voice low and even.

“Um, bed is okay. Can I get changed?”

“Of course you can. A’Keria brought your clothes, they’re in the second room down the hall.”

Vanessa changes into her own pajamas and raids the kitchen, drooling at A’Keria’s chip selection.

Brooke comes back in gray pajama shorts and a white T-shirt, and again Vanessa marvels at how much smaller and more vulnerable she looks when she’s not in her suit.

“Anything you want to eat?” Vanessa asks as she rips open a bag of chips.

Brooke shakes her head.

“How about toast? You really should eat something,” Vanessa insists lightly. Brooke has lost weight, not just over the past week but in the months since they first met, and Vanessa can feel Brooke’s ribs whenever she rubs her back.

“C-Can I have hot chocolate too?”

“You can have all the hot chocolate you want.”

Brooke eats her toast while Vanessa crunches on chips. They’re in her bed that A’Keria had moved in (she conveniently only had time to bring one bed, not that either of them has complained) and it’s so much like that night Vanessa is half-expecting the lab to burst in and take Brooke away from her again. She forces the thought away. They’re safe now. The silence is comfortable, and peaceful, and Vanessa lets out a breath she’s been holding for well over a week, feels the tension slowly dissolve from her limbs. On Friday they’re meeting with Silk to indulge her love of “debriefing”, but they had the next two days to themselves, and Vanessa could be content with this for two days, maybe even for her whole life.

“You doing okay, Brooke? Anything you need?”

“No, I’m good. Um, Vanessa?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, but are we…what are we? Like, you know…”

Vanessa’s been asking herself that same question, and she honestly doesn’t know the answer. She’s still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she is in bed with a woman she would’ve happily punched in the face a month ago.

“I know what you mean. We can be whatever we want to be. If you want to go slow, get to know each other better, we can do that. If you want to go fast, we can do that too. I love you, Brooke, and I’m comfortable doing this either way.”

“I love you too,” Brooke breathes. “I think…I think I want to go slow.”

“Then we’ll go slow. Take it a day at a time. We don’t need all the answers right now. We’ll do what feels right, okay?”

Brooke nods, stifling a yawn.

“Get some sleep, Brooke. We can talk more tomorrow.”

Brooke nods again, burying her head in the pillow. She’s asleep in minutes, and Vanessa puts her chip bowl on the bedside table (you never knew when a midnight craving would hit) and quickly follows suit. It’s been a long day.

She feels like she’s barely closed her eyes when a shout lurches her awake. Brooke is thrashing around beside her, asking someone to please stop hurting her, and Vanessa places a cautious hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay. You’re not there. It’s just a dream.” she repeats softly until Brooke bolts up in the bed, panting, shirt damp with sweat, cheeks wet with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“No, Brooke, don’t apologize. It’s okay.” She holds Brooke to her chest, puts the blonde’s head on her shoulder until her breathing becomes steady again. She falls back to sleep with her arms wrapped securely around Brooke, ready to fight her nightmares away. —

They live the next two days like royalty, laying in bed and eating chips, taking breaks for soft, salty-lipped kisses. It’s not until she’s in bed with Brooke, their legs tangled together, Brooke laughing at something she said, that Vanessa realizes she wasn’t entirely happy before. She wasn’t miserable, exactly, but she knows she hasn’t cared for another person, or for herself, really, since before the fire.

Now that the drug is out of her system, Brooke’s head is a little clearer, and between her glimpses of memory and Vanessa filling in the blanks, she is able to reconstruct the night before the lab’s ambush.

Vanessa remembers every second of that night, the image of Brooke beside her and the softness of Brooke’s hair as she ran her fingers through it permanently engraved in her brain. She knows Brooke is still a little fuzzy on some of the details, but she also knows that Brooke still loves her, and she lets it be enough for now.

The debriefing goes on far too long, in Vanessa’s opinion, and Silk has a mile-long list with Brooke’s answers to her questions, which probably aren’t as helpful as she hoped.

Brooke was allowed on one floor of the building. She only interacted with the doctor and the General. She doesn’t know anyone’s real names. She never saw other people there. She knows there was snow on the ground when her plane crashed and that the leaves had changed colors when she started doing her missions.

The legal issues are taken care of. Under the Superhero Protection Act, Brooke was within her rights to defend herself against the General and the doctor, even though Brooke, who has her knees up to her chest the whole time, goes rigid in her chair and keeps muttering I’m bad as they explain this. She didn’t sleep at all last night, and Vanessa hopes seeing Dr. West on Monday can help her.

Dr. West–Nina–used to be a superhero herself, West Wind, back in the day, but retired to practice psychiatry and spend time with her wife. She’s dealt with cases similar to Brooke’s and A’Keria had recommended her, knowing she’d be gentle enough for Brooke.

Vanessa runs her thumb over Brooke’s hand. Things are going to get better for them. She knows it. —

Vanessa wakes up to an empty bed and the scent of vanilla wafting through the apartment, which means Brooke had a nightmare. She’s taken up baking when she can’t get back to sleep after. She says it helps calm her, and gives her instructions to follow, which she likes. She’s gotten better the past few weeks, and Vanessa smiles as she remembers the disastrous first attempt when the smoke alarm woke her at 3am and she had to defrost their stove after Brooke panicked and shot ice at it so it didn’t catch on fire.

There’s vanilla cupcakes on cooling racks, and even though Brooke has deep purple bags under her eyes and her cuticles are chewed up, Vanessa waits to mention it.

“Cupcakes, huh? She fancy. You stepping up in the baking world, boo.”

Brooke’s smile doesn’t meet her eyes.

“Did you have another nightmare?”

Brooke’s face falls. “Yeah. I’ve been out here since 4,” she admits.

Guilt washes over her as she realizes that she slept through it, that Brooke had to deal with it alone, but that could mean the nightmare wasn’t intense enough to wake her, which is hopeful.

“You know you can wake me when it happens. You don’t have to suffer alone,” she puts on her concerned voice, making sure to never yell at Brooke or make her feel bad for this.

“I bother you almost every night. I wanted to let you sleep.”

Vanessa goes quiet. She knows Brooke has been working on this with Nina. Trying to understand that she’s not a burden and she’s not a bad person for asking for help. She also knows that, even though Brooke is doing a lot better with the therapy, the lab’s cuts run far too deep to be healed so quickly.

“Well, let’s try one of these cupcakes,” she puts on a smile and stuffs one into her mouth. —

“Vanessa?”

“Yeah?”

“So, Nina said it might be good for me, but I wanted to ask you, um…”

“What is it, baby?”

“Do you think maybe we could get a kitty?”

“Of course we can. I’ve always wanted a cat, actually. We can go to the shelter tomorrow if you want.” —

A colorful ball of fluff masquerading as a cat paws at the front of his cage when Brooke walks by. The shelter worker lets him out, and he immediately latches onto Brooke’s leg. She sits on the floor and reaches out a hand, then hesitates, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she looks at Vanessa questioningly.

“Oh, you can pet him,” the worker thankfully supplies before Vanessa has to explain that Brooke is still used to asking permission for everything she does.

She strokes his fur tentatively, smiling as the cat begins to purr.

“I think he likes you,” the worker says. “His name’s Henry. He was brought in with another cat, and they’re kinda friends now. This here is Apollo,” he explains, opening another cage for a gray cat to strut out. This one also nuzzles against Brooke, who pets a cat with each hand and grins in a way Vanessa has never seen.

“They like me,” she whispers incredulously.

Vanessa smiles at the worker. “We’ll take them both.” —

The next month passes by both slowly and quickly. The days seem long and indistinguishable when living them, but when Vanessa looks back at the end of the month, she sees how much things have changed, how different every day has been leading up to now.

Brooke is understandably wary of taking medication, and Nina says they can ease into the idea later if needed, but even just being away from the lab, going to therapy, and taking care of herself is working wonders. She makes it through the night once, then twice. She eats more. She talks beyond just answering questions. The skin around her nails begins to heal.

She still has her bad days. Still has nightmares, still says I’m sorry more than one person should, still calls herself bad for things she’s done. But when they finally have a Sunday where Brooke doesn’t jump out of bed and scramble to go to her appointment, Vanessa cries tears of joy in the bathroom.

And Brooke is making her better too. She goes to her own session with Nina. She starts to think about her mom more, and even talks about her. She digs the memories up from where she’s buried them and lets them see the sun. Nina mentions that helping at the animal shelter might aid Brooke’s progress, and Vanessa goes with her because she’s not quite ready to do something like that alone yet. She institutes Sunday brunch, which her mom did when she was a kid, and she creates her own sort of family, Silk the grumpy uncle who yelled on holidays and A’Keria the cool aunt that always got you the good presents.

They take things slow, like Brooke asked for. They talk for hours at night, Brooke listening intently to stories about Vanessa’s family, helping alleviate some of the ache. They cook dinner together, and Brooke massages her shoulders, and she eases Brooke into sleep with gentle neck kisses and holds her through the nightmares. Vanessa’s never taken a relationship this slow. Usually she ran through them like a blaze, the heat and passion consuming her while the flames grew, and if she happened to make a few girlfriends (or buildings) crumble from her heat, so be it.

But Brooke is a cold winter snow, a slow and quiet chill fiercely penetrating through your heavy coat and bulky layers of clothing straight to your heart, taking your breath away if you weren’t used to it.

Vanessa hasn’t felt this kind of joy, this pure bliss, in years, and she knows Brooke feels the same way. Which only makes it that much worse when Silk corners her with an idea one day.

“Vanjie, I have a plan but we’re gonna need Brooke. Frost, really,” Silk begins.

“I have a bad feeling about this, but what is it?”

“Well, I think we need to destroy the lab. If you and Brooke went in together, we could get records, information, we can get those doctors in custody and make sure there’s no building to return to. So they don’t do to someone else what they did to Brooke.”

Vanessa runs a hand through her hair, mind already weighing the dangers of this. “What makes you think she would want to go back there? Do you really think she should go back?”

“That’s up to her. We could really use her knowledge on this. Doctor says she’s okay physically, but I don’t want her health at risk, and if her or Nina don’t think she’s ready, we can wait. Just ask her.”

And Vanessa says she will, but the days go by and she still hasn’t. Brooke has been doing so well. The nightmares have been less violent, and she’s happy. They’re both happy. Will bringing this up ruin it all? Steal her happiness, make her get bad again? How can she even ask Brooke to go back there?

Over two weeks later, when Silk brings it up again, Vanessa knows she has to ask. But that night Brooke has a nightmare so bad she shoves Vanessa off her and it takes her torturous seconds to realize she’s not the doctor, she’s not trying to hurt her. Brooke’s tears soak into her shirt, Vanessa’s heart rips in two, and she knows the question won’t make it past her lips. —

She is able to keep the question secret, planting it down deep and ignoring it in favor of Brooke’s safety and contentment, but all it takes is one moment, at a godforsaken debriefing, for it to break through the dirt, demanding an answer.

“So, Brooke, what do you think of the plan?”

“Silk,” Vanessa hisses, but it’s too late.

“What plan?”

Vanessa sighs as Silk ducks out of the line of fire. “Brooke, Silk wants to infiltrate the lab and destroy it. I was supposed to tell you, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Brooke sounds hurt and Vanessa never wants to hurt her.

“Brooke-”

“C-Can we talk about it later?” she asks, and Vanessa nods.

“Okay. Um, Silk, I want to hear about this plan. Please.”

Silk never passes up an opportunity to lecture, and Vanessa gets herself comfy before she starts. Silk should really pass out snacks if she wants people to pay attention for this long.

Brooke’s face is blank and unreadable as Silk drones. She nods once it’s done, eyes downcast and bottom lip between her teeth. She lifts her head up when she’s ready, and Vanessa isn’t sure what she wants Brooke to say, but she’ll support her either way.

“I want to do this. Let’s bring down the lab.”

[hiitsmereallyme]

From sept 29:

Tried to post to Habitica, but got error, probably because too long.

Hello whoever sees this. First posting. I dont know what this will accomplish but it feels right. I just need to express myself somewhere to someone.

Content Note: extreme emotions, despair, indirect mentions of suicide ( as to avoid it).

Always been anxious and depressed since 11 yrs old. Old story, and boring- I’m 37 in 2 months. It basically ruined my entire life. College dropout. Live with the folks, never worked, no friends (not even online- I’m afraid of that too, ha!), afraid to go to the mailbox. I’m Used to it though, you know?

Then ... 6 mos ago it changed, got worse. Panic attacks that now contained despair mixed with the terror. and out of control screaming and hyperventilating for hours. The feeling of it was: I just saw my whole family brutally murdered and I’m next... Out of Nowhere this came to me. Maybe due to meds.

Then my psych dumped me because my case was too complicated for him to handle. Whatever. He was just sick of me probably. Didn’t set me up with anyone else first, just left me to find someone new in this wasteland of crappy or absent mental health care. So my meds were drastically changed again. So I lose the energy to do anything besides lay on the couch all day watching tv, now hysterically panicking every day. Going to the bathroom feels like Mount Everest, and everything else is abandoned.

Talk to some new psychiatrists. One refuses me outright because of the heavy meds the previous guy had me on. Okay. Next two don’t do shit for me other than changing my ssri. And then taking me cold turkey off my benzo of 8 yrs. So... not very helpful I’d say. Luckily my GP stepped in to get me the benzo, and referred me to yet another psych.

And I talk to that man in 4 hours. It’s 5 am now. I spent the last 13 hours researching, making 14 pages of notes in preparation. Lists of past meds tried (27), symptoms, history, questions, pleas for help, and potential treatment options. I was driven by a force to make these notes, as though my life depended on it. A superstition that if I made this orderly, very thorough stack of papers, and if I made it just right, that he will hear me and help me. Help me to fight to stay alive.

I need help so desperately. I don’t want to die. My niece (though they are non-binary), Gray, suffers with similar issues, along with gender dysphoria and parental abuse, and I lover her more than anything. They are 13 yrs old and brilliant and kind and suffering greatly. We had a deep talk yesterday, for hours, about our struggles, and how we fight them. I have to stay here for them. I will not add that trauma to their psyche. Also my Dad and my cat (Mr. Jakob the Shrimpy Faced, Duke of Kitty Town).

If this guy today (in 3 hrs now) won’t help, then it’s just on to the next one. I won’t give up, not without fighting as hard as I can. Which involves a lot of just... staying alive, on the couch, crying, going full nuts in my brain, just so I can get to tomorrow. Hoping beyond hope that I will get some better tools to fight with. Sharpening the few I do have. Existing this way for weeks and months (goddess forbid years!), getting to the next appointment. Endless cycles of hope and disappointment.

I even got a brain MRI to rule out, well, those kinds of things. And blood tests. Everything there was perfect, and that was sad to hear, as those things can sometimes be fixed. It still might be organic though, who knows? But I’ll still try to fix it anyway, hold it together with some ugly duct tape, looking for any better solution, and begging doctors to at least try to help me.

Logic tells me I should have slept rather than obsessing over notes (I make a new set for each appointment... adding, recategorizing, etc. and defamiliarizing myself with my own confusing screwed up case - I’m just now recognizing this may not be healthy). And then I should have slept rather than writing all this to strangers on a phone app. But logic lost today, my instincts said: “I’m so alone, so lost, and I need to tell somebody!”

And it’s ok if no one reads it ( I know it must be huge by now). tl;dr if I ever saw it. I feel a little better though now. I expressed my Hope and my will to survive and search endlessly for healing. I told the world who I love and live for. And the telling of it reminded and reinforced those things for me.

Thank you, so much for letting me say these things out loud. And so many things too.

I wish all of you a decent day, or night. And good luck in fighting your own monsters.

[carli-in-the-morning]

NOTE - Hi, yes, Cho here. So um, this is an oc for a good friend of mine, Nich’s story on AO3 called Trying Through The Trauma. It's a DEH thing, and it is so so so good. Omfg. So good. I'm on my phone, so I can't really link it (I don't trust myself to try) but GO CHECK IT OUT. I cannot recommend it enough. Nich is @bbcotaku here, so SHOW THEM SOME LOVE. Also um...this isn't really good and I'm not too proud but just...aaaaahh, here. Full Name: Carly Faustine Etta Cannel Nicknames: Firecracker, Firefly, C.F., E.C., Sparks, Steam, Ashes, Luciole, Froid(The list goes on, a majority of them being said by Baylee) Age: 14 Birthday: May 5 Birthplace: The Bronx Sexual Orientation: Demiromantic Ace Social Status: Loner, she just doesn’t like people, and only really hangs around her roommate. Not a lot of people have even heard her willingly talk. She very much an introvert. Posture: Slouched, head down, usually looks disapproving or just simply scowls, folded arms, nose stuffed in a book, etc. Just, general vibe of “Go Away”. Also, this totally doesn't fit here, but I make my own rules, but she’s bald. Her hair was burnt off, which is why one eyebrow is totally not there. The eyelashes on that eye are also not there. Mental Illness: Depression Drug: Prozac Emotions: Just generally grumpy and not wanting to be wherever she is. Way of speaking: Gruffly in as few words as possible, very throaty and husky. Swears like every other sentence. Vocal chords are clearly damaged. Family: Sarah Cannell - Overworked waitress and mother, Richard “Rickie” Herleif Cannell - Engineer and father, and Celestina “Tina” Cannell - Adopted younger sister, in Fourth Grade, Valentine - Siamese cat Roommate: Baylee Gina Ruskin - Bubble powers Likes: The sight of rain on glass, the smell of lavender and vanilla, owls, being alone in her room, gray days where the world just looks muted and peaceful, her cat back at home, her little sister Celestina, reading, beach sand, the cold, hoodies that cover her hands, sucking on ice, drawing and getting charcoal on her fingers, scented candles, and thunder Dislikes: Snow, wearing short sleeved tops or tank tops without something to cover her arms, shorts, the texture of wool, when her hair dries as a curly and fluffy mess, ignorant people, know-it-alls, athletic things, holding hands or even brushing hands with people, lemonade, spicy food, seafood, loud rooms, her mother and most of the people in The Ward(primarily nurses and doctors) Habits: Fidgets with wig when nervous or uncomfortable, washes her hands more than the average person, subconsciously chews on her wig when deeply thinking, hums when working, leaves things unfinished, falls asleep at midnight, thinks too much into things, and she doesn’t really speak her mind too much unless she’s forced to Strengths: Keeping her “cool” when it comes to her fire. Her fire is a Honed power, however, given the fact that she isn’t exactly as happy as a lot of Patients, there are times when she’s gone full out Agni Kai Azula from pure anger. Though, that’s only happened like three or four times, because she is rather disciplined with her power. Given the fact that pyrokinesis is commonly known for being destructive when the user is angry, it requires a certain discipline and restraint. Unconscious, emotion-influenced, impulsive, or reckless use of this power can be catastrophic, and she knows that. So, she actually does put forth a lot of effort in Power Control, because she doesn’t want to hurt others like she hurt herself. Even if her own harm was an accident that she couldn't have prevented in the moment, that doesn’t change the deadly factor of what her powers are. Fire. Another strength that Carly possesses is writing. Albeit a small one that she doesn’t use as much anymore, it is a strength nonetheless. She just has a certain way with words and a gift for description. Weakness: Carly is rather blunt, indifferent, and at times has been described to be callous. As previously stated, she has had cases of absolute fury, but beyond that she tends to keep her emotions inside her head. Everything else about her is blank, and she intends to keep it that way. Her GP isn’t exactly as nice as Dr. Sherman, but her GP is nice enough. Nice enough that Carly does somewhat open up during one-on-one therapy. Open up enough to say a few things about her home life. She hasn’t said much, but she’s described little important things to her. Like her cat Valentine, her sister, and little things like that. Little things that made her happy back home. Abilities: Carly is Pyrokinetic in a lot of ways that you would know Pyrokinetics. She can light herself on fire, burn things, melt things, and etc. A lot of the time, her fire is triggered by strong emotions, however she is learning to make herself angry or sad enough to turn it on at will. Though, when her emotions aren’t strong enough to actually create a flame, steam or smoke will be in the place of fire, usually with the flames themselves following soon after. When she cries, her tears tend to just sizzle away into steam because her heightened emotion causes her skin’s heat to increase; even if she is already ignited, her tears still steam away. Steam is a general indication of Carly being sad, overwhelmed, or scared, whilst smoke is an indication of frustration, annoyance, or anger. Fears: Due to her mother previously yelling at her for wanting to be a Patient with powers, going as far to call them freaks, Carly has developed a strong fear of hurting anybody close to her, namely Tina. Tina means the world to her and she could never imagine hurting her, but now with her fire powers, she is terrified to ever go near her again because what if she hurt Tina enough to kill her? Because of that, she finds it difficult to let anyone close to her, because she doesn’t want to have that much love for anyone else since she would then be afraid to hurt anyone. Carly is also very very terrified of bugs. ────── Personality ────── Carly used to be a very bubbly, bright girl for a good majority of her childhood. She didn’t get to see many kids, as she was homeschooled, so she was very close to her family. Especially Tina. Tina and her were the best of friends, closer than close. Carly looked up to her mother, wanting to be exactly like her. Her father was her hero. She was just the definition of a “child-like youth” in the beginning of her life. However, right around the time where she was seven and a half, her mother said things that scared her. She was always praised when she was younger, then her mother suddenly dumped out thoughts and words about how Carly could grow into a failure in her eyes. Since she had gone basically her whole life with endless love and support, it scared Carly to think of the fact that it could all be ripped away if she got powers. So, she started to emotionally tuck into a little ball. She became meek and soft spoken, often just saying yes to questions or saying that she was fine when she didn’t feel such. She would say she was only tired, but that wasn’t true. She was tired, yes, but that wasn’t all. Her reaction times were slowed, she was disinterested in a lot of things, she shied away from her mother or any conversation, she couldn’t remember things as well, and she had a hard time making decisions. A lot of the bright, energetic girl that she was changed. Carly kept her joy and light deep deep down in her because she was afraid. She didn’t want her mother to hate her if she got powers, in fact she was scared of the idea of even remotely getting any powers. When she eventually went to public school, she would stay in the back of her class and draw or write. She stopped paying attention and caring. All she could think about was that her mother hated her, or at least Carly thought she did. Her father wasn’t as fun as he used to be, in fact, he barely talked to his family anymore. Celestina was the only person that Carly felt safe and calm around, she was all she had left as it seemed. And then when she got her powers, Carly changed again. She constantly thought about her mom calling Patients freaks, and now she was one. She was a freak. Her meek, quiet shell hardened. Now it is a quiet and annoyed shell. The only person who could keep her talking for more than ten seconds a piece is her roommate. Carly doesn’t keep many people close, except her sister and possibly Baylee. Though, nobody really knows why she tolerates the loud girl, and neither does she. ────── History ────── Carly Cannell was born in the Bronx on Arlington Avenue. Her childhood was fine, average even. She had a sister, a mother, and a father. She didn’t live with divorced parents, though her little sister was adopted, but Celestina was loved as much as any biological sister. They were happy, all of them. The community they lived in was extraordinarily nice, but of course there were always going to be the “rough boys” and “snobby girls”, though that was a given. Though, Carly was home schooled for most of her life with her mother as her teacher. Beyond that, her childhood wasn’t awful. But, as she grew out of the small innocence of being extremely young, Carly knew more. She picked things up. Saw more, heard more. She could see that her mother was overworked and stressed with teaching her children, that her dad wasn’t always strong and funny, and that her sister was very clearly going to be bullied if they went into public school. She didn’t quite understand it all at first, but she did within a few months. It wasn’t awful though, Carly helped out around the house as much as possible, she let her father’s pride stay intact by pretending that she didn’t know that he felt guilty for his wife’s stress, and she made sure that her sister knew she was loved. Life wasn’t hard, wasn’t easy. It was average. Her street always held a small bonfire cookout to kick off every summer, which was the one time when the two Cannell daughters got to socialize, though they kind of got brushed off and ignored. But, it was where she learned about the people with powers. The people who went through enough trauma that their bodies adapted some power. She had overheard some mothers, hers included, talking about the possibility that their children might develop these powers. At first, Carly was confused given the fact that she was only seven at the time. Weren’t powers and superheroes fake? Apparently not, because they sounded serious. Later that night, when stars decorated the sky and the bonfire gave everything an orangey glow, the small seven-year-old skipped up to her mother. She asked about the conversation that she heard from earlier. Even when she was being bathed in the orange glow, Sarah’s face paled to an obvious milky white. Begrudgingly, she did explain what Carly had heard. Sarah explained that powers aren’t fiction, that they’re real and very controversial. Some of it went over the young brunette’s head, but for the most part, she did understand. Kind of, it was confusing, but there wasn’t one lie in her mother’s words. Later on, when the fire had been turned to nothing but smoke and embers, her parents helped with packing up tables and benches as much as they could. The two Cannell daughters stayed sat under a tree. Celestina was three at the time, sleeping in her sister’s lap. Though Carly knew that her sister was unconscious and wouldn’t hear her, she found herself excitedly explaining everything that her mother told her. Her mother meant it as a careful warning, but she saw it as a possibility of greatness. For the next year, Carly kept doing reckless things that she hoped would get her her powers, only for her mother to realize such and yell at her. Once she started to yell at her for how wrong it was to actually want powers, she didn’t stop for hours. All of her fears about having her daughter become a “freak” came out. That day would be very heavily influential to Carly. A girl who was once very kind, loving, and full of life became timid, meek, and afraid. At first she was afraid of disappointing her mother, but then it grew into her being afraid of herself. Deep down, she knew there was something abnormal and freakish in her, and she was terrified of what it was. It became obvious to Richard that his eldest daughter was not okay at all, that she wasn’t ever going to be who she was. But, he didn’t know what to do. With this feeling of failure, Richard fell into a drinking problem. He never did anything bad when he was drunk, just stayed in the basement, the place where he worked. Slowly, Carly’s family was unraveling. The summer right after Carly turned nine, only her and her mother went to the cookout. Richard was too drunk to be bothered and Celestina was sick, which left Carly and Sarah. At some point during the cookout, when the bonfire had been lit up, a few boys decided to mess with Carly. Just last year, she had moved to a public school so her mother could get a job, and almost instantly got picked on for being silent. These boys were among the many who bothered her. They had intended to push her into the dirt, but they underestimated their strength. Instead, she was pushed into the fire. For a very short moment, the boys laughed, but then Carly started to scream. Her agonized screeching got the attention of everyone there. At first, Sarah thought it was just another stunt to try and get powers, then she noticed the boys running with panic and guilt. And then Sarah desperately yelled for someone to do something, since they had all been watching without knowing what to do. Then the screaming stopped, and everyone thought she died. Sarah, distraught at the idea of losing her daughter, demanded the fire be put out so they could see. And it was, only for everyone to see Carly lying unconscious against the now soggy wood, but she was still on fire. A bright, large fire swirled up into the almost night from her clothes and her skin. She had fire powers. Carly escaped with burns scattered across her body from the initial fire and had been out cold for a week. When she woke up, they had to explain what really happened, because she genuinely thought that she had died. Once they explained that she had been coated in enough fire that the bonfire didn’t impact her anymore, she started to panic and feel sick. Freak. That one word hammered the inside of her skull. She was a freak now. Her family would hate her. She wouldn’t get to see Tina again. Freak. Freak. Freak. By the time that she got out of the hospital for her burns, which would leave permanent scars, she had developed a depression. All that she could think of is that the world would be better off without a freak like her. Freaks like her got thrown into the middle of Arizona. And that’s where she was headed a few days after the hospital realised her. She was going from one hospital to another. To The Ward. (The trip took like…a kinda long time(going off of actual bus times, that’s two days)

[groovystrawberryrebel]

All Birds Have Anxiety

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1785921827/     

Life as a bird can be stressful! From worrying about airplanes, windows, and getting enough worms to eat, it is clear that birds can be anxious beings. Through a light-touch, quizzical depiction of bird behaviour,All Birds Have Anxiety uses colourful images and astute explanations to explore with gentle humour what it means to live with anxiety day-to-day, and how to begin to deal with it. Following the style of the best-selling All Cats Have Asperger Syndrome and All Dogs Have ADHD, wonderful colour photographs express the complex and difficult ideas related to anxiety disorder in an easy-to-understand way. This simple yet profound book validates the deeper everyday experiences of anxiety, provides an empathic understanding of the many symptoms associated with anxiety, and offers compassionate suggestions for change. 

The combination of understanding and gentle humour make this the ideal introduction to anxiety disorder for those diagnosed with this condition, their family and friends and those generally interested in understanding anxiety.

Why I wrote it...

This book has been eight years in the making... well, it grew in the back of my mind over that time anyway. In 2009, when All Dogs Have ADHD came out, a psychologist who had helped me research ADHD urged me to write next about anxiety. "A huge portion of my patients, both adults and children have some sort of anxiety related issue," he said. He even suggested that I use birds to explain it. At the time I knew nothing about anxiety and had no personal experience with it, so I didn't pursue the concept. Jump forward eight years and during that time, I have encountered numerous people with a whole variety of anxiety issues. I have seen adults crippled with it and know children gasping for breath because of it. It disrupts lives, as many cannot manage regular school or office hours. It strains friendships and hurts families. As I began to research more for this book, I knew that I wanted to deal with two main issues. First, it was vital to explain how debilitating an anxiety disorder can be. It is far too easy to dismiss symptoms by believing they can't be too bad, 'as everyone gets anxious sometimes'. Anxiety Disorders are NOT just being a bit anxious. So I spend a lot of time trying to get the reader to have empathy for the extent of the problem. But I also wanted this to be an optimistic book. Anxiety does not have to rule a person's life forever and there are many proven and tried techniques and steps that can be used to alleviate the worst of the symptoms. I have included as many of them as I could, hoping that through them, the reader can find joy when facing the future. As an Anxiety Disorder is often found alongside other difficulties, All Birds Have Anxiety is printed in the dyslexie font that has been designed with every letter unique so that when the letters are flipped or rotated they do not blur with other letters. For a person with dyslexia, this can help alleviate one extra stress in their lives. In brief, I pray that All Birds Have Anxiety will bring understanding and hope to the millions of people worldwide who struggle daily with various Anxiety Disorders.

Reviews

"Whilst anxiety is a normal and universally experienced emotion, problems with anxiety are becoming increasingly common in children. Anxiety affects many aspects of children's functioning. Children who experience excessive anxiety find it more difficult to learn, and they feel uncomfortable socially. Anxiety can take the fun out of childhood. In the book, All Birds Have Anxiety, Kathy Hoopmann creatively communicates in a developmentally appropriate way information about anxiety, how it affects people and most importantly what can be done to manage it. Using beautiful pictures and carefully crafted words, All Birds Have Anxiety is an excellent book that will enable adults to discuss anxiety with children and together develop better strategies to cope with this difficult emotion."

-Associate Professor James Scott, Child and Adolescent Psychiatrist at the University of Queensland Centre for Clinical Research

" With their mix of words and pictures Kathy Hoopmann's books have always put a smile on my face even as they've explained complex and sometimes scary issues in terms any child can understand. All Cat's Have Asperger Syndrome made autism relatable to thousands of children. Her new book on anxiety promises to do the same for a much more common condition that all of us know, and many of us live with."

- John Elder Robison, NY Times Bestselling author, Look Me in the Eye and Switched On; Neurodiversity Scholar, The College of William & Mary

" Kathy's wonderful book is a powerful educational resource for parents and teachers alike. This book normalises the experience of anxiety, it explains how worry happens and how it affects us, but it also gives hope on how to overcome worry, stress, and fear. It helps children and adults overcome self-doubt and life challenges. The beautiful images are carefully selected, displaying common emotions amongst all living beings. I strongly recommend this fun book to children of all ages, educators and parents."

- Dr Paula Barrett, International Author of the Friends Resilience Programs, www.friendsresilience.org

" Once again, I am in awe of Kathy's ability to make the seemingly complicated, simple and accessible for all. Anxiety runs deep in our society - sometimes emerging as a pattern, and impacting on a negative way in our classrooms, home places and work places. All Birds Have Anxiety is a wonderfully engaging resource that reminds us how to recognise the symptoms of anxiety in ourselves and others. She provides practical advice on how to acknowledge and deal with this emotion effectively. Not only will this book benefit the children that access it, but so too will it remind the adults in their lives of effective strategies that we can employ for ourselves and model for the children in our care. I will be recommending this resource as part of an intervention strategy to be implemented by parents, teachers and therapists of children that are facing challenges in managing anxiety. So too will I recommend it for use as part of a pro-active approach to promoting and maintaining positive mental health in our schools."

-Gráinne Boyle, Educational Psychologist and Director of The Innovation Hub, Dubai

Where you can buy it… www.kathyhoopmann.com

Worldwide:

www.jkp.com www.amazon.co.uk www.amazon.com www.bookdepository.com

In Australia:

www.footprint.com.au www.fishpond.com.au

[the-mira-life-project-mtf]

Just Saw My New Doctor (My MtF~H.R.T. Journey)

     So, today is the day I have been waiting for, for about one month when I finally got the nerve to call Virginia Mason and enroll into their care. Finding a doctor who is willing to help you throughout your transition is as easy as panning for gold. You might strike in rich and get lucky, but you also might only find pyrite! I got lucky, as Dr. Worth wasn’t accepting any more patients (except transgender patients) and I had a crazy early morning appointment at her clinic

     I arrived about 40 minutes too early and relaxed in my car as I read through my Facebook pages. When the moment came, I went inside, clueless as to where I am going. I would soon learn that Virginia Mason is not like any doctors office I’ve ever been in. You check-in at the front counter and they give you a clipboard with paperwork and a GPS tracker. You are given a room number to go find and there you wait for your appointment.

     I met with the CNA as she took my vitals and input my health history into the computer. I wasn’t sure how she would take to me being transgender. Due to having seen the worst of people (when it comes to being trans-female), I now always expect to be attacked and most of the time I just wish to hide. But my promise to my family was that I would no longer hide. Surprisingly, she didn’t even seem phased at my trans-nature and just went along with the enrollment. If anything caught her attention, it would have been my end-stage lung disease due to cystic fibrosis.

     I was blessed to have no the need to worry and was free to be myself. I wasn’t certain if I was going to adapt here quite well. It had its shares of negatives and positives. I was just blessed to be a patient...almost did not happen as my medical card was written for my previous provider, Dr. Leverett; however, I am almost certain he would not be entertained in learning I was transgender.

     When Dr. Worth came in, I held forth my judgment as she introduced herself and immediately went into a quick review of my history. “I was reading that you have cystic fibrosis and are transgender...which proper pronouns do you prefer?”

     “Either, I don’t mind either one at this moment.” I answer.

     “So your fluid? Or primarily female?” she asked, curious.

     Luckily I have had time to figure this all out as I smile, “Gender fluid, but leaning towards primarily female.” I state as I personally can not believe how far I have come on my journey.

     “Are you thinking of surgery?”

     I nod my head, “Oh, yes. I would like to have facial feminization done first and then surgery to properly correct my organs.” I bluntly state.

     “How soon would you like to do this?” she asks “As soon as possibly, a year?”

     “I am fully aware that my facial features certain cause much stress for me. Possibly the root of my dysphoria. Having it done as soon as possible might be for the best.” I state as I had plans to have it done in 2020 or 2021; wont hurt to get the ball rolling.

     “I will send a referral for you to see doctor Alexandra Schmidek; she has done a few of my patients facial surgeries in the past; and-or I can have you see Dr. Nuara; but Dr. Schmidek might be best as she can also do your implants later down the line if you like.” I wasn’t much for implants, but if it was covered by my medical and helps me fit in, then it would be necessary. “Also, we have laser hair removal...it is slowly being phased into being medically necessary; but if we write the referral with enough detail, we might be able to get in covered.” “By the way, how has your hormone levels been?”

     “About equal.” I state as I explain. “The testosterone is about 140 and the estrogen is about 130...been difficult getting the testosterone down.”

     “Well, with your metabolic condition, you might not be absorbing the estradiol properly, have you ever been placed on patches?” Dr. Worth wonders.

     “At the beginning, however, the physician considered it a costly direction. They never considered the metabolic disorder...and neither have I...” as I wonder if my CF could be limiting my intake of estradiol.

     “Well, I’ll send you down to lab for a blood draw to see what level your hormones are at and if the T is still to high, I might switch you over to the patches for awhile or increase your oral dose.” I nod as it sounds like a good idea. “As for the referral, I’ll send it over today,” I was shocked...I wasn’t expecting facial surgery in my future, this quick! Hell, I don’t even know if I could even afford it! You see, facial surgery isn’t exactly covered by insurance. But I have a plan to cover the cost. “Probably expect a call from them before our next appointment.” she looks at the computer and continues. “I am curious, why Mira?” as she lets me explain.

     “It best matches my personality!” I say, so happy to finally go by the name Mira. “It means happiness, wonder, ocean, depths, limits, sea...” I say, knowing there are many more definitions...I just have not remembered them. “I have been going by the name Mira since I was 7!”

     “Can you spell it please?” Dr. Worth asks as I see the spelling: Mirah on the paper; thinking, ‘Well, that is a new one!’

     “M.I.R.A.” I spell, letter for letter.

     “Mira...that is very pretty! I like it.” Dr. Worth says as she looks back at me.

     “It is, I plan to legally change to it in July...”

     “Oh!” Dr. Worth says with a smile. “Make it all official. Well, when we see one another again in July, well work on switching the name in our records and help you with changing your gender markers.” She repossessions as it is apparent that she is comfortable, whereas I am still anxious. “So, typically, with the majority of transgender individuals; we see them on a yearly or so basis, but I prefer my patients not to see me as their transgender doctor, but their primary doctor...I know how important it is to look at the transgender body as a whole, from the equipment you already possess to the changes you are to endure. Personally, as a mother to a transgender son, I think it is important...mostly in your case with your current health conditions.”

     “That was what I was going for...someone who can manage my transgender care and my overall care...glad to hear we are on the same page.” I comment, cheerfully.

     “Okay, so we’ll plan to see you back in July and every three months as I want to get to know you better and talk about what Dr. Schmidek considered. We will consult and follow-up after your surgeries here. And try to bring down that T to the 50s.” she remarks as she makes some final notes and we shake hands.

     Although hard to admit...I think Dr. Leverett just got out-bid for my continuing health as she is willing to help me with my transformation...already having a consult going out. The very idea that I might have a whole new face by Fall of this year is surreal! However, like anything, I doubt it is ever that easy!

     When I got home (prior to writing this), I decided to call my insurance company and have them change my local doctor that I seen since 2010 to Dr. Worth’s clinic almost 55 miles away! With a new life, and a new direction...I think she will make a terrific physician for Mira Carleen!

     I look forward to sharing more insight over the years!

[swearronchanel]

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER 6.07

AHHH OMG, I was out all day & Actually MISSED the NEW episode like wtfff?!!? it was TOrture!! & I literally had to delete twitter and Tumblr off my phone because the devil himself would’ve tempted me lmfao😭 I love spoilers but not when everyone has seen the episode but me! it’s okay though I had some rum chata to distract me lol, which is just rum and horchata which is the Hispanic version of Horlicks so, At least I was in the CtM Spirit 🙃

Anyway I’m finally getting to watch it so here we go ..

shit I’m so nervous and I haven’t pressed play

why is my heart beating so fast omg

i usually skip the intro but I’m legit not ready

PHYLLIS !! 💕

damn Vanessa already hinting at what’s to come

Baby Susan so precious omg!!

No lie one of the prettiest babies I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen lots of ugly babies and lots of cute babies, I’m qualified to judge.

“Courage and resilience will matter most of all” 😭😭ahh omg

My spirit animal and campion Phyllis deserves nothing but the best I’m not ready to see her hurt

SHELAGH GETTING EXAMINED 😭😭💕💕 MY HEART IS BURSTING & her belly is so big omg!

CRYING SHE STILL CANT BELIEVE ITS HAPPENING ME EITHER BBY 😭 like holy shit I’m still not over it.

But I’m going to binge series 6 with my mother when I’m home Saturday and can’t wait for her to watch because she wanted to see shelagh have a baby & also she doesn’t know what tf has happened 😭😭😂 it’s been a crazy series! She will be s h o o k

“I know I’m just not a very relaxed sort of person” SAME but BBY RELAX 😭💕

LOL I WOULDNT HAVE READ IT EITHER

That was a cute moment with Babs and Shelagh!! But still wish it was w/ Trixie though 🙁 also it didn’t seem like a “heart to heart”? was it supposed to or was I expecting too much

Aw Rhoda 💔

what a ignorant ass teacher though, I’ll  FIGHT HER REAL QUICK

BOY OR GIRL??? I REALLY WANT TO KNOW UGH WHAT IS BABY TURNER??!

ugh Shelagh and Patrick’s faces 😫 I hope they don’t feel guilty for having a baby

But also why does shelagh have to keep wearing the same things lol, I feel cheated of all the cute maternity looks she could’ve served instead

“Having to explain” poor Mrs Antoine UGH THAT MAKES ME SO ANGRY, THERE’S NOTHING TO BE EXPLAINED   I’m mixed, Hispanic and white not black and white but still my dad is tan & we’ve been places where people have given my parents the dirtiest looks and have heard a nasty comment or two & it BOILS MY BLOOD

Omg the Antoine boys are precious

TRIXIE 😍😍 my bby looks good!

PHYLLIS IN TROUSERS HELL YES

UM VALARIE CAN U NOT BE RACIST

I swear if she says anything more I’ll lose my shit

“No one can really choose who they fall in love with” BLESS U DEELS

Bless Phyllis for making sure those cubs don’t grow up to be as ignorant as their parents

“I surmise the puller of teeth is intended to admire it” SISTER MJ IS A GEM

LOL SISTER J WANTS HIM TO COME THROUGH

SISTER WINIFRED WITH ANOTHER PRICELESS FACE IM DEAD

A bassoon? Lmaoo what the actual fuck Tim

Oh it’s for girls ofc LOL give him a girlfriend already, I’d get such a kick out of it. & Patrick could make another dad joke and say like take a lesson from me I legit beat God over a woman’s heart

The Mullucks fam 😭

Patrick with Susan omg aww

Trixie looking like a b a b e I’m dead 😍

“You’ll look like you’re trying to hard” DELIA HAHA OMG SHE GETS LIKE ONE MIN OF SCREEN TIME BUT SHE ALWAYS HAS GOOD LINES

I need Trixie’s everything, no joke. HOW

But I’m dying my hair blonder this week don’t play

Ah my bby shelagh again 😍💕

I feel so sorry for Patrick like this wasn’t your fault

LMAO SISTER WINIFRED CANT CONCENTRATE IN COMPLINE  SHE IS ANNOYINGLY PRECIOUS

She’s scared to take her driving test aw 😂😂 same like I have my permit but I’m scared to fail the actual driving test

“Oh I have a soft spot for the Antoines” PHYLLIS TIENE UN GRAN COROZON 😭

Omg Mr and Mrs Antoine are so cute too, dios te bendiga 😰

Christopher being a flake wtf no me gusta

Sister W is in on the drama like Sister B was, am I right??

LMAO HER RUN

Prosthetics are so wild, my abuelo has a prosthetic leg and I was so interested when he first got it. But also I’m going to hell for being evil because I joke around way too much when he’s extra senile

“People call my kids hair frizzy, but I think it’s beautiful” MY HEART😭💔 literally my mom was the same with me. Defensive over my curls - even tho my hair is frizzy sometimes😭

The song though, took me a second to process but that’s my bby shelagh’s song ?? Ummm wut

lol sister Winifred hella late, let me guess this will make her want to drive?

this prosthetic place is so great wow omg

damn it Bernie

PHYLLIS LOVES THIS FAMILY AND I LOVE THEM ALL OMG 😭😭

GET THE RUM ! or I will lol

ah never mind

LOL SISTER W AGAIN & PHYLLIS SHAKING HER HEAD

the question is, does/has sister Winifred drink/drank ? she seems like a light weight

fuck is this when it’s gonna happen

I’M NOT READY DAMN IT

damn Bernie..

UGH MY HEART IS RACING IM SO ANXIOUS AND SCARED AHJXKWLXM

HOLY SHIT OMGGGG

THAT WAS SO HARD AHH OMGG

IM FUCKING SCREAMING

Phyllis is in shock o h m y g o d

I can’t process this either

OMG I CANT DEAL

PHYLLIS IS SOBBING, IM SOBBING WTFFFF OMGG 😭😰😰😰💔💔💔

MY FUCKING HEART

I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO OMG

AW SISTER W ASWELL UGH WTF I SHOULDNT FEEL SO MUCH

LMAO OMG THANK U FOR COMIC RELIF

TIM SUCKS LMAO stick to the damn piano boy

PATRICK AND SHELAGH GIGGLING OMG MY HEART IS OKAY NOW 😭😭💕💕

SHELAGH AND PATRICK BEING SO CUTE IM CRYING

DAMN THALIDOMIDE

DAMN THAT CAR UGH  

DAMN IT ALL

LOW FUCKING BLOW BERNIE THAT WAS NOT HER FAULT

BABS TRYING TO COMFORT PHYLLIS  IM CRYING AGAIN

SHE IS SO HURT, I AM SO HURT, IM A BLOODY MESS OF TEARS. IM SOBER AND SAD NOW & THERE’S MASCARA In MY CONTACT LENS & MY 3yr OLD GREMLIN LITTLE COUSIN IS KICKING ME (lol he’s laying next to me)

AND CARRIE CRYING NOW OMGGG NO LENNY WONT DIE STOP

“That lovely gp of yours” lol does everyone have a crush on Dr Turner but me? Lol don’t come @ me pls I’m sorry I know people love him 😭😭 Im here for Christopher and Tom But He is handsome, just in an older man way Lmaoo guess it’s cause he could be my dad 😂 lol he’s older than my dad

I’d take him as a sugar daddy real quick though. I need my tuition paid and he is so sweet😏 😭😂

So it was a scarf, hmm I thought trixie was gonna find like stockings or something

“Not Hermès but something very like it” lol how does Trixie know what Hermès feels like on a nurses salary?

Valarie is on my nerves & she’s had like 2 mins of screen time Lmaoo I’ve liked her until this episode. I hope they don’t ruin her for me

“But I’m a member of the institute of advanced motorists”  UGH PHYLLIS IS A GEM WHO DOES NOT DESERVE THIS !! SHE IS THERE FOR EVERYONE ALWAYS, SHE ALWAYS DOES GOOD WHY MUST THIS HAPPEN TO HER?

Aw Sister Winifred

Oh Rhoda 💔💔she’s such a great mother

MY HEART, THEY WERE WALKING AWAY FROM BEING TEASED

BLAME THE RACISTS, IT IS ALWAYS A VALID BLAME

YES PHYLLIS IS A GOOD WOMAN! 😭😭

Tom trying to comfort Phyllis😭😭

“You’re fond of your meat, and our views on God and His existence are divergent to say the least, but we both follow vocations…. so if you caused harm to someone else, even inadvertently would it not make you question what everything in your life has come to stand for?” I’m c r y i n g

“I, a rational woman, have no one to question but myself” 😭💔

IM REALLY HURT

“Sometimes cheering people on the sidelines doesn’t help”

my bby killing it 😍

Why you being a flake Christopher? go ahead man tell her about your kid

BRUH YOU DONT TELL HER LIKE THAT LMAO

he’s divorced ah, thought it was out of wedlock. I don’t care though haha

NO DRINKS FOR TRIXIE, TELL HIM BBY.. in your own time of course 💕

BABY SUSAN SO PRECIOUS

Fred brought her car ugh And Phyllis is still so hurt as am I 💔

This lady is so sweet! I hope she and Rhoda become friends right now

DID SHE TAKE DISTIVAL TOO?

lol wait where are the Turners I miss them??

“.. and the words ‘Nonnatus house this is not a midwife speaking’ are most unlikely to reassure the caller” SISTER MJ!

YES SHE DID OMG. I need them to be best friends omg 💔😭

“Nothing was said, nothing was done” 💔💔

PHYLLIS LOOKING AT THE CAR

SISTER MJ IS GOING WITH HER MY HEART OMG

my heart my heart

aw the mullucks'😭 ofc IT WASNT YOUR FAULT!

SISTER MJ IS A GEM 💕😭 & PHYLLIS IS JUMPING BACK IN

TWO GEMS 😭💕 but also if this was the birth they meant that sister MJ was involved in ill be lowkey sad, but we shall see next week if she’s randomly with Shelagh when she delivers

Trixie serving more looks 😍

Aw my bby 💔does she tell him about her alcoholism at the end of this ?

Also what are we guessing about Valarie rn?? she has a secret? tragic backstory to be unlocked? what ? She gay?

Aw the mulluks’s again! All so sweet💕 & YES LYDIA BE FRIENDS

ugh Christopher looks good af😍 and that car yes

YES TRIXIE 😍 my girl looking good as well

SHE TOLD HIM 😭 IM CRYING IM SO PROUD 😭😭💕💕WHY DO I FEEL SO PROUD FOR A FICTIONAL CHARACTER??! I love her

Oh shit Patsy’s dad is dead. I assumed that was coming

Phyllis reassuring Delia awww

PHYLLIS BACK AT THE CUBS 😭 MY CHAMPION AND SPIRIT ANIMAL BOUNCING BACK

Lenny’s speech omg brb crying

The support group for thalidomide victims omg my heart

I was cryin before and now I’m crying more for this Irish lady

Omg side side side note there was this cute old interracial couple that seem like my parents in 20yrs in JFK yesterday that were so precious and sweet and we’re talking to me the whole time waiting at the gate & then there was this sweet Irish couple who were confused about the time difference and I helped them out and then when we landed they helped me out looking for my bag so now I have much more faith in humanity because usually the people in NYC airports are angry new yorkers who don’t care lol like me (jk)

“There’s no rule of life so simple or so true ..” 😭😢💔💖

Thank u Vanessa I’m so emotional, show me next week 

Bonus: next week

OMG PHYLLIS HUGGING SHELAGH OMGGG. I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED TO SEE THIS

PHYLLIS BETTER DELIVER THE BABY I KNOW I WANTED TRIXIE BUT IT DOESNT SEEN LIKELY AND SO INEED PHYLLIS (sister J too ofc?! She was barely in this past episode)

MY BBY SHELAGH’S TUMMY IS SO BIG IN HER UNIFORM OMG SHE’S SO PRECIOUS I LOVE HER I MISSED HER THIS PAST EPISODE

BUT OH MY GOD BABY TURNER IS COMING HOLY SHIT THIS IS HAPPENING THIS IS NOT A DRILL

HERE COMES THE PILL READY OR NOT #LETSGETIT1962

Lol oh shoot I didn’t take mine yesterday or today brb

AW DELIA

WHAT IS SIGNIFICANT ABOUT BABS SLEEPING I NEED TO KNOW

Lol idk why but even though I like Tom and Babs their relationship just doesn’t do anything for me😂😂 like I don’t give a shit? They’re cute but idk it doesn’t cut it. Like they’re just there and I’m like “aw ok”

OMG I CANT WAIT WHAT WILL HAPPEN ?! I NEED ANSWERS

I will die next week. For real. 

[fitnesswomenshealth-blog]

Breast cancer things every woman needs to know... by a breast surgeon who's had it twice

New Post has been published on https://cialiscom.org/breast-cancer-things-every-woman-needs-to-know-by-a-breast-surgeon-whos-had-it-twice.html

Breast cancer things every woman needs to know... by a breast surgeon who's had it twice

Fearful but hopeful: Dr Liz O’Riordan, who was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2015

I in no way for just one second imagined it would be me. And, statistically, it shouldn’t have been. When I was identified with breast cancer in 2015, I was 40 and fitter than I’d ever been, with no historical past of the ailment in my household.

In addition to, I was a specialist breast surgeon, the female who sits on the doctor’s facet of the desk breaking bad news and prescribing surgical treatment and chemotherapy, not the individual sobbing and angry on the other aspect. But there I was.

I experienced every little thing to are living for, my latest relationship to my spouse Dermot, now 54, a fellow surgeon and, potentially, parenthood.

When I wasn’t running on breast cancer sufferers at Ipswich Hospitals NHS Believe in, I liked walking my puppies, using my bike, baking sourdough bread and the audio of birdsong in my Suffolk back garden.

I’d experienced cysts in my breasts right before so when I noticed a new lump in my still left breast, I was not especially nervous. I only received it checked out since my mum, who was a nurse, told me to.

The mammogram was typical. The ultrasound scan wasn’t. The radiologist and I were being wanting at the screen with each other when we noticed the very same big black mass: most cancers. A subsequent biopsy would identify it as a blended ductal and lobular cancer which was huge and intense.

Usually I drip-feed people the aspects I believe they require at a time I imagine they can cope. In a heartbeat nevertheless, I knew all that lay ahead for me: a mastectomy, chemotherapy, the devastation about to be unleashed on my overall body, my marriage, my family members and my profession. Ultimately, I recognized what it was like to have cancer and not just to be an pro in it.

Suitable there, in that clinic area, I flicked a swap in my head and turned off my inner thoughts, to secure myself and my cherished ones.

But later on, my feelings retained surging to the surface area, and I built sense of them in terms. I commenced to weblog about my practical experience, signing up for a club no 1 wishes to belong to: cancer individuals who notify the reality about the ailment with honesty, heat and wit.

The amazing Rachael Bland was yet another member. The BBC news presenter who co-hosted the groundbreaking podcast You, Me And The Large C, died last 7 days.

I have recognised Rachael considering that her prognosis in 2016 – I’d been blogging for a 12 months about my most cancers and she bought in touch by way of Twitter inquiring for assistance about cure alternatives and clinical trials.

BBC newsreader Rachael Bland, pictured with her son Freddie, died aged 40 adhering to an inspirational two-yr public fight with most cancers

Her legacy is enormous. Rachael and her two co-hosts have made conversing about cancer normal – specifically for younger females who however want to have exciting, search excellent and stay their life to the fullest.

It is with this intention that I have penned a ebook with Professor Trisha Greenhalgh, a GP who was identified at the similar time as me, aimed at women like us and also males – due to the fact they get it much too – with breast most cancers.

Our mission is to convey to women of all ages all the items we want we’d recognized at the get started: the things I do notify lots of of my people now that I know what it is like to be in their sneakers.

It will be printed at the stop of this month, as I recover from an operation to clear away my ovaries.

In Could a regime assessment of what I imagined was scar tissue confirmed that my cancer had returned in which my breast experienced been.

Soon after an operation to get rid of it and a lot more radiotherapy, I need to get a unique sort of hormone-blocking medicine. In get for the drug to perform correctly, I will need to cease my personal generation of the woman intercourse hormone oestrogen, created by the ovaries, which is why I’m acquiring them taken off.

I am shocked and frightened, but it’s continue to treatable and with any luck , curable. And at least this time, I know so a lot more than I did in 2015. With all this in brain, below are 10 factors I believe all breast cancer clients need to know…

Don’t be ‘brave’

My husband and I were continue to determining whether or not to have young children when I was identified. But for younger females, chemo delivers on an early menopause and with it, infertility. When this hit me, I broke down, grieving for the little one we would in no way have. A further time I was so nervous driving from the clinic wherever I was the expert to an appointment of my very own, that I virtually threw up in the automobile.

You really do not have to place on a brave experience, and it’s superior to offer with these adverse emotions openly. Experience bleak, indignant, frightened or self-pitying is not likely to make you any considerably less likely to get better. But if these feelings turn into mind-boggling, you can seek out help from your GP or your professional group. The similar goes for actual physical soreness inquire for all the relief you need.

You can keep your determine

These days the greater part of women with breast most cancers do not have a mastectomy, involving the surgical elimination of the whole breast. Surgeons can complete a lumpectomy, removing up to a fifth of the breast and reshaping it to give a very good beauty consequence. They have perfected the artwork of hiding scars close to a nipple and borrowing fatty tissue from your facet to fill in the gap still left by the cancer.

Very significant breasts can also be lowered. Women do have options. You can nonetheless glance superior naked, in a bra, or with dresses on.

DR ELLIE CANNON: All doctors need to be this frank

As a revered breast surgeon, then a breast cancer patient, Liz has a exclusive viewpoint that no physician ever imagines they’ll have.

Of system, you never want to have cancer to take care of it. But I’ve adopted her journey on social media – during which she has charted the arduous procedure she’s undergone – and her assistance is spot-on.

As a GP who routinely sees clients with minimal illnesses who have worried them selves half to dying by Googling their signs, it’s reassuring to know commentators like Liz are out there giving reasonable, personalized suggestions that people today truly will need, from an informed placement.

Breast cancer treatment is superior right now than it at any time was, with client-particular therapies and pretty very good survival costs.

But as the tragic demise of Rachael Bland regrettably illustrates, women of all ages nevertheless die of this condition, and nonetheless have to confront traumatic encounters this sort of as infertility and disfiguring surgical treatment.

It is so critical that all medical doctors chat frankly about the actual aspects of most cancers remedy, in the way that Liz does.

It is crucial to offer truthfully with difficulties these types of as intercourse, infertility and demise which even numerous medical doctors truly feel awkward broaching.

I believe Liz’s web site and book should really be obligatory reading – for healthcare experts also.

If you do have to have a mastectomy, which I did since my most cancers was huge and I have small breasts, you can have a reconstruction utilizing an implant or your have tissue.

I made the decision to have a reconstruction. I didn’t want to improve the way I costume. Due to the fact I am trim, I did not have adequate pores and skin and body fat to choose from in other places, so I experienced an implant.

These are operations I do myself on a typical foundation and as soon as, I would have admired my handiwork, telling girls they experienced healed well.

But I now know there is far more to it than the way they appear. The breast skin is numb, and the implant is chilly. Most women are delighted with the way they seem but it’s Alright if you are not Okay, and medical doctors require to be open to that.

I had to have my implant eradicated when my most cancers arrived back. I’m now flat and scarred on a single side – a ‘uni-boober’. Absolutely nothing prepares you for how you appear devoid of your breast. I’m even now coming to phrases with it.

You may well not have to have chemo…

Only a third of men and women with breast most cancers will need to have chemotherapy. It is usually presented if you are youthful, or your cancer is big or has unfold to your lymph nodes. Most women of all ages will only need an procedure to get rid of the cancer, most likely adopted by radiotherapy. If their cancer is sensitive to oestrogen, they’ll be specified anti-oestrogen tablets as properly. We know that for these girls, their chances of recurrence are no larger devoid of chemo than with it, so there is no have to have to give it.

But you are going to cope if you do

Breast cancer chemotherapy is presented in cycles of 1 to a few weeks, and requires five months in total. You commit only a couple hours in medical center.

I was offered chemo due to the fact of my age and the dimensions of my cancer. It’s manageable, and there are coping tactics.

If you eliminate your hair, treat you to a shave in a Turkish barber’s store or consult with YouTube for great techniques to wear a head scarf.

At initial I hated becoming bald but did not want to use a wig. As a substitute I purchased some intense new glasses in the hope people today would appear at them as a substitute.

You have to have to consume a lot, but water tastes awful so use squash. Have some Vaseline helpful for the inside of your nose, which will crack and dry.

If you have insomnia – a side effect of the steroid medication you are given – online message boards are great, as there is always someone else awake at 3am.

I also found out items your doctor does not tell you, these as that your pubic hair falls out very first – so you get a cost-free Brazilian wax on the NHS!

Dr Google can be valuable

I utilised to inform all my clients not to Google breast cancer. I naively thought I could give them all the facts they wanted.

But it’s the very first matter I did when I acquired my biopsy consequence, and I’m an qualified. Some of what you will uncover online will be terrifying and inaccurate. But we stay in a digital age, so it’s unattainable to disregard it. Appear for secure, welcoming internet sites and applications that are authorised by the significant cancer charities or affiliated to the NHS.

Two apps seriously served me. Just one was the Macmillan My Organiser app, which is fantastic for running your life all through chemo, keeping up with drugs, appointments and monitoring aspect effects. The Breast Most cancers Care BECCA application is also fantastic and options mini web site posts from many others who have absent via it.

Do not conclude your sex daily life

Several women answer to a most cancers prognosis by contemplating their husbands must divorce them in favour of a person healthy. I did. It is a misplaced sense of guilt for putting them by the ordeal with you.

You might have to cope with an altered human body picture and a procedure-induced menopause, but never let cancer get absent your actual physical link.

Chemotherapy, ovarian suppression and hormone remedy can trigger fast menopause or worsen present menopausal indications these as slipping oestrogen amounts.

Oestrogen is a purely natural lubricant and without having it, everything dries up, but your intercourse life doesn’t have to. There are products and solutions that can help: lubricants like ‘Yes’ and little dilators and toys. I advise ladies to fill a minimal bag with the previously mentioned to continue to keep beside the bed. Companions may well want aid as well, and it’s crucial to chat about things.

Really do not be like 1 woman I know of who requested if was harmless to have intercourse all through chemo for the reason that she was scared she’d poison her partner.

Disregard snake oil

As a physician, I had no concept what a massive marketplace there is out there preying on the vulnerable. As a individual I acquired a glimpse of it, but actually, if turmeric and alkaline diet plans experienced been scientifically confirmed to remedy you, you’d get them on the NHS. For totally free. There is, on the other hand, evidence that exercising helps with exhaustion and lowers the facet effects of chemo, so test to walk every day or do some gentle yoga, accomplishing a lot more on great days if you can. It will give you religion in your overall body once again. I bought back again to triathlon schooling as shortly as I could.

Most cancers can occur back

Quite a few individuals do not realise their cancer can occur back again, even immediately after 20 decades, and that when it does, it simply cannot be healed. I am not in that predicament. My most cancers is a local recurrence of my most important most cancers it hasn’t spread somewhere else. You could possibly not be informed what the indications of secondary breast most cancers are when it will come back again in your mind, lungs, liver or brain. So get any new symptom, this kind of as a cough, bone pain, head aches or vomiting, that final for over a month checked out by your medical doctor.

Hope for the greatest…

… but strategy for the worst. Right now, the majority of women of all ages diagnosed with breast most cancers will reside extensive and wholesome lives and die of a thing else.

But we will have to not ignore that 30 British women of all ages die each and every working day from it. When treatments fail, you require to know whether you want to die at household or in a hospice, system your funeral and get your affairs in purchase.

One of the most difficult points for me to do was to create a will and discuss my funeral preparations with my partner. It took my neighborhood recurrence for us to finally face it, but you will come to feel calmer when you do.

You are not a selection

My likelihood of being alive in ten many years is 60 for each cent. I could be in the 6 out of ten individuals in my condition who endure or the 4 out of 10 who die, but these numbers are only estimates based on trials at the very least a decade outdated. New therapies are staying formulated all the time. You are not able to dwell each individual working day as if it is your final.

Retain a jar of joy

This is an concept borrowed from geriatric professional Dr Kate Granger, who died of most cancers in 2016. Each time some thing superior transpires, publish it on a card and put it in a jar. Financial institution the pleasure. When you have a negative day, go to the jar and read through a few of the entries. Withdraw what is on deposit. It performs, I promise.

The Comprehensive Tutorial To Breast Most cancers: How To Really feel Empowered And Just take Management, by Prof Trisha Greenhalgh and Dr Liz O’Riordan, is released by Vermilion. Out there to pre-buy now at amazon.co.united kingdom, £14.99.

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[scentedstarfishtheorist]

All Birds Have Anxiety

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1785921827/     

Life as a bird can be stressful! From worrying about airplanes, windows, and getting enough worms to eat, it is clear that birds can be anxious beings. Through a light-touch, quizzical depiction of bird behaviour,All Birds Have Anxiety uses colourful images and astute explanations to explore with gentle humour what it means to live with anxiety day-to-day, and how to begin to deal with it. Following the style of the best-selling All Cats Have Asperger Syndrome and All Dogs Have ADHD, wonderful colour photographs express the complex and difficult ideas related to anxiety disorder in an easy-to-understand way. This simple yet profound book validates the deeper everyday experiences of anxiety, provides an empathic understanding of the many symptoms associated with anxiety, and offers compassionate suggestions for change. 

The combination of understanding and gentle humour make this the ideal introduction to anxiety disorder for those diagnosed with this condition, their family and friends and those generally interested in understanding anxiety.

Why I wrote it...

This book has been eight years in the making... well, it grew in the back of my mind over that time anyway. In 2009, when All Dogs Have ADHD came out, a psychologist who had helped me research ADHD urged me to write next about anxiety. "A huge portion of my patients, both adults and children have some sort of anxiety related issue," he said. He even suggested that I use birds to explain it. At the time I knew nothing about anxiety and had no personal experience with it, so I didn't pursue the concept. Jump forward eight years and during that time, I have encountered numerous people with a whole variety of anxiety issues. I have seen adults crippled with it and know children gasping for breath because of it. It disrupts lives, as many cannot manage regular school or office hours. It strains friendships and hurts families. As I began to research more for this book, I knew that I wanted to deal with two main issues. First, it was vital to explain how debilitating an anxiety disorder can be. It is far too easy to dismiss symptoms by believing they can't be too bad, 'as everyone gets anxious sometimes'. Anxiety Disorders are NOT just being a bit anxious. So I spend a lot of time trying to get the reader to have empathy for the extent of the problem. But I also wanted this to be an optimistic book. Anxiety does not have to rule a person's life forever and there are many proven and tried techniques and steps that can be used to alleviate the worst of the symptoms. I have included as many of them as I could, hoping that through them, the reader can find joy when facing the future. As an Anxiety Disorder is often found alongside other difficulties, All Birds Have Anxiety is printed in the dyslexie font that has been designed with every letter unique so that when the letters are flipped or rotated they do not blur with other letters. For a person with dyslexia, this can help alleviate one extra stress in their lives. In brief, I pray that All Birds Have Anxiety will bring understanding and hope to the millions of people worldwide who struggle daily with various Anxiety Disorders.

Reviews

"Whilst anxiety is a normal and universally experienced emotion, problems with anxiety are becoming increasingly common in children. Anxiety affects many aspects of children's functioning. Children who experience excessive anxiety find it more difficult to learn, and they feel uncomfortable socially. Anxiety can take the fun out of childhood. In the book, All Birds Have Anxiety, Kathy Hoopmann creatively communicates in a developmentally appropriate way information about anxiety, how it affects people and most importantly what can be done to manage it. Using beautiful pictures and carefully crafted words, All Birds Have Anxiety is an excellent book that will enable adults to discuss anxiety with children and together develop better strategies to cope with this difficult emotion."

-Associate Professor James Scott, Child and Adolescent Psychiatrist at the University of Queensland Centre for Clinical Research

" With their mix of words and pictures Kathy Hoopmann's books have always put a smile on my face even as they've explained complex and sometimes scary issues in terms any child can understand. All Cat's Have Asperger Syndrome made autism relatable to thousands of children. Her new book on anxiety promises to do the same for a much more common condition that all of us know, and many of us live with."

- John Elder Robison, NY Times Bestselling author, Look Me in the Eye and Switched On; Neurodiversity Scholar, The College of William & Mary

" Kathy's wonderful book is a powerful educational resource for parents and teachers alike. This book normalises the experience of anxiety, it explains how worry happens and how it affects us, but it also gives hope on how to overcome worry, stress, and fear. It helps children and adults overcome self-doubt and life challenges. The beautiful images are carefully selected, displaying common emotions amongst all living beings. I strongly recommend this fun book to children of all ages, educators and parents."

- Dr Paula Barrett, International Author of the Friends Resilience Programs, www.friendsresilience.org

" Once again, I am in awe of Kathy's ability to make the seemingly complicated, simple and accessible for all. Anxiety runs deep in our society - sometimes emerging as a pattern, and impacting on a negative way in our classrooms, home places and work places. All Birds Have Anxiety is a wonderfully engaging resource that reminds us how to recognise the symptoms of anxiety in ourselves and others. She provides practical advice on how to acknowledge and deal with this emotion effectively. Not only will this book benefit the children that access it, but so too will it remind the adults in their lives of effective strategies that we can employ for ourselves and model for the children in our care. I will be recommending this resource as part of an intervention strategy to be implemented by parents, teachers and therapists of children that are facing challenges in managing anxiety. So too will I recommend it for use as part of a pro-active approach to promoting and maintaining positive mental health in our schools."

-Gráinne Boyle, Educational Psychologist and Director of The Innovation Hub, Dubai

Where you can buy it… www.kathyhoopmann.com

Worldwide:

www.jkp.com www.amazon.co.uk www.amazon.com www.bookdepository.com

In Australia:

www.footprint.com.au www.fishpond.com.au

[eichy815]

^URS 182 YR AATK & B3

Most of us remember the Pokémon GO! trend from the Summer of 2016. Thousands upon thousands of mobile phone users took to the streets, using the GPS-like app while trudging up and down their cities’ streets in search of fictional monsters.  I vividly remember looking out my window one afternoon – and seeing a mob of teenagers frolicking across my front lawn, cell phones in hand.

It was at that moment when I realized how out-of-control our mobile phone culture has grown.

I limit my texting to only important forms of correspondence.  My cell phone plan doesn’t include Internet service.  While, on occasion, I long for the instant gratification of such perks, I remind myself a majority of time that I’m better off without it.

This is not to say that technology is without merit.  I’ve had quite a few productive Skype conversations during my time on this planet.  And instant-messaging through Facebook can quite often be a godsend...especially in light of the reality that humans have not yet realized the dawn of teleportation technology.

I always maintain that if people want to be held hostage to their texting addictions, that is their choice.  For me, on the other hand, it isn’t conducive to my daily habits or my mindset.  But beyond my own hang-ups:  it represents the fractionalization of our society in a myriad of ways that could have odious repercussions down the road.  At a time when we need to be doing everything we possibly can to turn around our record-low national morale, communicating predominantly through a cluster of key clicks isn’t a path we should embrace.

First, there’s the issue of common etiquette.  Texting is something I will do mainly out of necessity.  But in terms of interpersonal communication:  it’s rude.

I recall going out on a blind date with a guy, approximately eight years ago.  I would estimate that he’d spent at least 30% of our time in the restaurant with his eyes glued to his cell phone, texting.  Now, you may assume that perhaps he was simply a self-centered individual.  Or maybe I was just a boring dinner companion, and I didn’t really warrant his time and energy.  But when you’re on a date with someone – be it platonic or remotely romantic – you should at least *TRY* to give your companion as much of your full attention as possible.

Clearly, whatever he was texting about wasn’t some dire emergency...since he didn’t high-tail it out of the bistro, leaving me with the check.  But his semi-ambivalence over engaging in interpersonal conversation with me didn’t net him a second date.

There’s a reason why teachers and college professors ask students to turn off or mute their cell phones upon entering the classroom.  There’s a reason why doctor’s offices discourage mobile phone usage as patients wait to see their health care provider.  And there’s a reason why more and more areas of the United  States are banning phone use while driving.

This leads me into my second point:  excessive texting decreases your attention span.  Not only are you trying to have a conversation utilizing a minimal amount of alphanumerical characters; you are also doing so while trying to juggle umpteen other mundane activities throughout your daily routine.  Grocery shopping, exercise, reading, operating motor vehicles, crossing the street – any of these tasks are optimally accomplished without the distraction of a mini-teleprompter in the palm of one’s hand.

Don’t complain if you trip and fall while clicking those cell phone keys.  Don’t act all doe-eyed and apologetic if it causes you to physically collide with someone else...or if you end up getting hit by a bus.  

Going along with this philosophy:  the distraction that texting creates – in the long run – will further erode your awareness levels.  One of the reasons why I minimize my own use of texting is because a series of characters tells me next to nothing about someone’s body language or intonation.  Staring at a screen wears down my ability to recognize shapes, colors, or movements.

Hell, my eyes are already glazing over just thinking about it right now...

Another drawback to text messages would be their tendency to discourage critical thought.  Abridging your brainstorms into a half-limerick or some glorified haiku really causes your grasp of language and description to deteriorate.  We spend so much time trying to "get the gist of” what someone else might be saying that we’ll totally miss important subtext.  Failure to analyze these nuances of another person’s linguistic choices may have more dire effects than what one would initially assume.

Let’s take a rather outlandish-but-entirely-conceivable example.  Suppose that Matilda asks you to pick up some items for her at the supermarket.  One of those items, which she has handwritten amid a somewhat lengthy list of culinary necessities, is:

A twelve-pack of Candlestick Farms chocolate-chunk brownies WITHOUT coconut

Yes, that’s a lot of words for what might seem like one measly little supermarket item.  But if you weren’t already familiar with the product, you wouldn’t necessarily know that Candlestick Farms (a fictitious snack food company, which I’ve invented in my head solely for the purpose of this article) puts out four different varieties of its “chocolate-chunk” brownies:  one with peanuts, one with coconut shavings, one with swirled toffee, and one that’s “classic” with no extras.

If Matilda had gotten lazy and sent you a text that described this product as:

12-pck Candlestick brownies

...then you might have just randomly picked up any one of its four varieties.  And you may not have realized that Matilda was deathly allergic to coconut.  And, if she hadn’t even noticed the coconut ingredient listed on the packaging, she could end up having an allergic reaction minutes after popping it into her mouth.

But hey, you can always just text for an ambulance as she’s gasping for air, right?

Granted, this *is* a rather extreme and convoluted example.  But it goes to show that we don’t always see disasters coming in life.  And, often, those disasters could have been prevented had someone just paid a little more attention to detail.  

In this same vein, another thing that irks me about the text messaging phenomenon is how it enhances the “dumbing-down” of our culture.  Not only does it condition us to lose sight of details, and, eventually, outright ignore them – but it normalizes such a practice.

This discussion tapestry reminds me of the classic 1988 movie Heathers – which has a television remake slated for debut sometime in 2018 on Spike TV (soon-to-be “The Paramount Network”).  Essentially, it examines a social bubble through a satirical narrative whereupon self-appointed “alphas” seek to gain high school notoriety via a combination of peer pressure, vanity prayers, hate crimes, faking suicides, and snarky one-liners.

Such a “culture” elicits the elitist, Mean Girls-esque social-shaming that can end up translating over to texting culture (and, by extension, online culture as a whole).  It’s one thing for you to use more neutral or upbeat abbreviations such as LOL (“Laughing Out Loud”) or GTG (“Got to Go...”) – but if you become too complacent, this variety of shorthand can be misused and taken too far.

Examples:  SMH (“Shaking My Head”) can be turned into a passive-aggressive method of denigrating or belittling someone’s actions...without taking very much accountability for your own perspective as to how or why you’re challenging them.

Alternately, tl;dr (a shorthand symbol accusing someone of being too long-winded) implies that expedience is somehow preferable to clarity in communication.  You might be using it to berate or make fun of someone for writing a lengthy piece...when, in fact, there could be extremely valid reasons necessitating lengthier content, in some circumstances.

As a cautionary tale of sorts, overdependence on text messaging opens you up to identity theft.  I don’t do online banking via cell phone (or even on a traditional desktop computer).  I never store stuff in “the cloud.”  In fact, I would never use a mobile phone app or a feature that ever required me to enter any password or personal information.  I just don’t trust the nannies of cyberspace to protect me from hackers...to whom we’re already vulnerable enough when using a desktop or a laptop.

Finally, all of these points cohesively illustrate how the texting culture – when overused and abused – ultimately weakens communities.  It reduces the human face that should preferably accompany these interactions.  It denigrates our emotions and life philosophies to a measly string of letters and numbers.  But worst of all:  it desensitizes the world to make exploitation easier for those who seek to take advantage of the most naive and trusting souls amongst us.

I’m not saying that texting should be illegal, or even frowned upon per se.  We all make our choices, and decide how much discretion to use with any privilege in life.  But shaming those of us who choose NOT to participate in it harkens back to the age-old biblical divides that separated the Hebrews from the Canaanites.  

[imspardagus]

The Prodigal Father

A cry of inarticulate anguish for what we have done.

   In a land not far from our own, and in a time not so remote as to be forgotten, a young man went to his father. “Father,” he said, “On this, your farm, I was born and here I passed my childhood. But now I am nearly a man and it is time to take my place in the World.”

 The young man’s father barely raised his head from the paper he was reading, sprawled on the couch. “You have everything you need here. There is nothing but misery and squalor and evil, cutthroats and mad murderers in the rest of the World – see here, it says so.” And he tapped the sheet of newsprint in his hand. “Why would you want to be anywhere else?”

 “But, Father,” said the son, “I have friends on the neighbouring farms who are inviting me to go with them and learn about the World so that we can take our place and make our contribution.”

 “Our neighbours are not our friends,” said the father, “Because of them, I have to pay my farmhands and can no longer whip them when they complain. Because of them, I can no longer water the milk of my own cows before I sell it. Because of them I can no longer release the slurry into the river. Because of this, they grow rich selling their produce and I cannot sell mine.”

 “But, Father,” said the son, “If I go and learn their ways, and bring what I learn back to you, we can take our place in the market alongside them and make as much as they.”

 “You are a mere boy,” said the father with a sneer, “You think that profit comes from quality. Profit comes from bearing down on cost. And cost and quality are enemies. No, we are better off on our own. You shall not go to join your friends.”

 “Then, Father, teach me your ways that I may support you.”

 “Teach you? And how will you pay me for this teaching? All that I have learned has made me what I am. Do you think I should pass it on to you for nothing?”

 “But Father, if you do not teach me, how will I run the farm when you are too infirm to do it?”

 “You will not run the farm, for I have surrendered the title to a travelling salesman in fine wines.”

 “Then, Father, give me a share of the wines and I shall take it to the market and make our fortune.”

 “There is no wine. I have drunk it.”

 “Then, Father, if I have nothing to sell in the market, how shall I keep you in your old age?”

 “You will keep me by your labours, for have I not also sold you into bondage, as was my right and mandate? For you and your birthright were always mine to dispose of.”

 Seeing for the first time the enormity of his fate, the young man swooned and fell to the floor, cracking his head on the table. His father looked briefly and without compassion at the youth, prone and bleeding.

 “And do not think I have bandages to fix you up. I sold them for a box of cigars to the man who bought your sister.”

My sister was born in 1949. I followed in 1951. We were among the first beneficiaries of our parents’ generation’s determination that the legacy of two brutal world wars would be a new order of societal improvement and peace: that the World should be made a better place to live for all its people.

My sister took all the childish ailments of the time – chickenpox, measles, bronchitis, whooping cough – in her stride. I didn’t. Dr Murphy was a frequent attender at our house. Dr Murphy, our NHS GP, always there for us, at any hour. And free. Like the prescriptions, like the glasses that my spiralling myopia required to be changed every 6 months for 10 years. Like the free dentistry. Like the free inoculations. And free school milk and school dinners. And free school books. And free…

And our Nan, her ulcerated legs needing daily attention, she didn’t suffer the same fate as her husband, the grandfather we never knew except from photographs because he died of TB in 1936 when Dad was just 16, abruptly ending Dad’s education because, with no welfare support, his income was needed to keep the home. Just 12 short years further down the line, the probability is that Granddad would have survived and, even if he hadn’t, there would have been a safety net to catch the family.

Our parents had been a part of the humane revolution that started to build during the war and gathered an unstoppable momentum soon after. They had met in Blackpool in 1946, where each had been re-assigned after the war to work on the newly emerging Welfare State. My mother, eldest of eight children of a Sheffield railway porter and his wife, raised by a maiden aunt in Nottingham and given an enlightened education she could never have enjoyed in the hard, cold pre-war poverty of that cramped Sheffield home. My father, only child of an embittered widow, without a qualification to his name but risen through his own intelligence and efforts from trainee bank clerk to civil servant.

They were a part of a great civilising movement, though few in it would have thought to put it that way. These survivors of 30 years of hell didn’t stop to bicker over who was more left or right, didn’t huffily withdraw their co-operation from the task in hand because of ideological differences. They just worked together for a better life for all. And within a few short years they achieved it.

Through their efforts, my generation and the next and the next were blessed. It wasn’t just the NHS or the promise of cradle to grave financial support. All over the country, council housing started to replace slums, state education gave us all a chance to lift ourselves out of ignorance. Further education became a possibility for the many, not the pampered few.

Politicians across the board understood that poverty and ill-health, which so often run hand in hand, were a brake on economic success and that, in a landscape of increasing technological complexity, education was an essential investment if we were to hold our own as a modern trading country. It made sense. Reason and humanity, going hand in hand, as Adam Smith had said they should to forge the wealth of a nation.

Every town had a library, every person had easy access to health care. Schools, colleges, universities, hospitals and whole towns were built. Telecommunications were rolled out, roads laid out fit for heavy transport, railways and buses moved people around, gas, electricity and clean water were supplied as a basic necessity.

It wasn’t free, of course. It had to be paid for. But taxes spread the burden across the nation and most people thought that was fair, partly because politicians and the media talked responsibly about the national interest and serving the nation, partly because we were still so close to the harshness of the world that had gone before and we could see the improvement in our lives.

No, this is not “Golden Age” thinking. There was a lot of residual poverty, a lot of hardship still, a lot of sweat and strain: and there was a lot of ugly thinking that was still ingrained – widespread and easy racism, sexism, homophobia and anti-semitism. It would be absurd to think that all that was wrong could be transformed over night as if a fairy wand had been waved. But the direction of travel was, for a time, progressive, new ideas were taking hold and for a while the spirit of reconstruction held.

Yes, for a while it held. But success carried the seeds of its own destruction. What my parent’s generation had been through was traumatic. And in the aftermath, instead of a land flowing with milk and honey, they were asked to endure genuine austerity (not the fake, cynical austerity of the present day designed to make the rich richer and to keep the poor in poverty and discontent but the austerity needed to pay for the restoration of all that had been destroyed and for the building of a brighter future). But technology, enterprise and industrial modernisation had combined to produce more houses, more innovations and devices, more cars, washing machines, televisions. All this produce was worthless if it could not be sold. It needed a market. And a market needed customers, consumers, in ever-increasing numbers.

For centuries, for most of human history, ordinary people had owned very little. They could afford little but they had needed very little for their constrained lives. The manufacturers and investors of new Britain had to change all that or they would soon be broke. So people had to be taught that they needed what they had never had before, or what only the rich and privileged had enjoyed. They had to be taught avarice and dissatisfaction, on a massive scale. The message had to shift from “to each according to his needs” to “you are what you own and what you covet”. And to succeed in this endeavour, the new religion of Consumerism had to break down their seriousness.

My parents and their parents had slogged through their lives. They and most people like them survived, more than lived. If they were lucky, there would be moments of celebration, occasional rewards for which they were expected to be grateful. If they borrowed it was to stave off destitution, not to acquire fripperies. If they took time off it was to recuperate and to build their strength for the drudgery ahead. This, prudence, was how they had been taught life was to be led (how it still is for most of the people on this planet). Consumerism, to succeed, had to push prudence out of the limelight and move indulgence to centre stage.

Prime Minister Harold MacMillan warned them “You’ve never had it so good.” And yes it was a warning. But his message was misheard against the seductive dance music blaring from the Tannoys.

So, now, just beyond the edge of their half-constructed utopia, a fairground opened, big, bright and brash and extravagantly attired ring-masters, amid of a parade of tumblers and clowns, called to them through loudhailers “Put down your tools, tear off your overalls, be done with toil. Come and indulge yourselves. It is your right. You have a right to be happy. You have earned it.” And they went, and were dazzled and intoxicated by the lights and colours and the noise. Who wouldn’t be?

Everything was done to make people feel that this flimsy, gaudy world of cosmetic pleasure and damn tomorrow was sustainable. Remember, just don’t click the heels, and you’ll never need to go home. At the same time, everything was being done to denigrate and devalue those who clung to sobriety and reflection. Everything had to be “fun”. Hedonism became a philosophy: Sodom for Gomorrah we die.

And I believe it was then, around the early sixties that parents lost the grip on the hands of their children and with it the sense of what it was all supposed to be for. And we wandered off alone to be importuned with sweets from greasy strangers, drinking in the sleazy patter from the slick bunco booth artists as if it were gospel. It sounded good and without our parents’ warning words we knew no better.

In the fairground, fashion and the cosmetic ousted utility and substance. Worrying about the future was for losers. All was for the best in this, the best of all possible worlds (paradoxically a world continually shifting in order to remain the same). For those who wanted the intellectual version, issues and causes were now available in all sizes, to be put on and cast aside like miniskirts and loon pants. For our parents, erudition became a glossy large format photo-edition for the coffee table or five minutes of late night pretentious punditry from self-consciously groomed and preening presenters. And for us, the TV generation, learning and information was increasingly fed to us from plastic bowls via plastic spoons, served up with flashy images and music, bland and  mashed up and gently warmed through so that we did’t have to chew hard on the issues.

The producers of this diet of froth and flim-flam were making more money than they had dreamt of but there was a threat to it: satisfaction. If, even for a moment, people felt comfortable with what they had, continual consumption, needed to keep the tills ringing, would falter, and collapse would surely follow. Growth was the only game in town. Only two things could keep the game in play. Customers had to be made to feel insecure; and then they had to be told what it would require to reassure themselves. And this must be repeated over and over.

Luckily, the invention of mass media provided the perfect tool for the job. There had always been advertising but now it took on a viral, insidious and monstrous form. Every medium, newspapers, cinema, television, was co-opted to convince my parents, and my own generation that our lifestyle, as soon as we had bought it, was already past its sell-by date and could be salvaged and enhanced only by this or that new acquisition. And lest we might have time to pause and question this message, television, with its new ubiquity, harnessed celebrity and bombarded us with an infinite amount of vacuous content that held our attention for the briefest of moments before moving us on to the next advert break. 

We were flattered, like Pinocchio by the oily Thespian, like the magpie by the wily fox. Under the ceaseless deluge of stuff, ingratiating stuff, we became accepting of what was put before us, choosing, or thinking we were choosing, only the identity of our preferred purveyor of images and accepting without question his or her pre-packaged self-evident truths. And so we became what Consumerism required of us, malleable, persuadable, compliant consumers.  

It was then that, pressed and pressed into wanting more and newer things, borrowing money we could not afford to repay to add to our personal stores of status conferring possessions, we started to resent the burden of those who needed our support: and, encouraged by those who wanted our money for themselves, it was then that we started to see our taxes as an imposition, an oppressive interference with what was ours and should be ours to spend. And so the stage was set for the tragedy that became the killing of the post-war project.

This is the world we now inhabit. Duped daily by rogues and charlatans in the pay of the plutocrats whose fortunes we have made out of our own impoverishment, but, like heroin addicts, equally convinced that we are in control of our habit, we sell our present and our future for another fix of blissful distraction. Like all addicts, we make enemies of those who tell us we have got it wrong. How can we have? This feels right, doesn’t it. And if it doesn’t, isn’t it all someone else’s fault? The saboteurs, the naysayers, the doom-mongers, the bleeding’ heart liberals. It will all come right if only… if only… if only all those other people will stop making demands on us, stop reminding us of the need to be decent.

Our politicians have learned from Consumerism’s conjured success. Where once they sought to govern in what they perceived to be the interests of the nation, and accepted the burden of responsibility and the prospect of blame that came with it, now their product is pure image, soundbite, designed to bring them power, influence and fandom at no cost to their consciences, conflicted interests or careers. In hock and in thrall to the same plutocrat owners of the media, and now, in addition, to the new oligarchs of IT (TV’s heir) that invasively directs our lives, they no longer preach prudence except to the poorest among us, who have nothing else; they no longer care to attend to the national interest, preferring to claim illusory mandates to insult our intelligence while they hand sackfuls of our money out of the Treasury window to economic rapists not worthy of the term kleptocrat, more in the nature of artful dodgers. They have their tickets on the gravy train out of here, or think they have. All they will have to do is to say, as others have said before them, “We were only obeying orders”. Orders from us, the disordered, the misinformed, the manipulated.

And our children? So far from protecting them, as was our duty, we have sold their birthright over and over.

If only we could hear the message coming down from our own history, calling on our decency and self-respect, “Time to leave the fairground and get back to work. There is a nation to rebuild”.