#but maybe id rather suffer with a “double life” than give up this part of me that makes me so damn happy

[v1xv4p0rub]

I hate this. I don't want a romantic relationship or situationship or anything like that- I just want a friend I can platonically flirt with (and be flirted with) in a way that seems romantic but isn't. Give me the comfort of recognizing that I'm not ostracized and can have people interested in me just like most of my other friends without the pressure of having to reciprocate anything.

Call me a pretty boy, tell me you love me, make some flirty comment and tease me when I get embarrassed by it, hold me, hold me

[impalementation]

spike, angel, buffy & romanticism: part 4

part 1: “When you kiss me I want to die”: Angel and the high school seasons

part 2: “Love isn’t brains, children”: Enter Spike as the id

part 3: “Something effulgent”: Season five and the construction of Spike the romantic

* 

“But I can’t fool myself. Or Spike, for some reason.”: Buffy and Spike as a blended self

Before I get into seasons six and seven, it’s worth asking: why would the show do all of this? Why would it spend all of this time developing a supporting villain and joke id character? Why would it give him a romantic arc? I see people say that the writers only gave Spike these storylines because he was popular or they wanted to keep him around, but even that being the case, there was no need to give him the specific arc that they did. It’s more than possible to read meaning into the story that they chose from the array of possible options. 

Here is the thing about the id. It’s not actually something separate from you. It’s not a ravenous monster you can blame your weaknesses on while remaining pure and dignified. The id is part of you. The immediate and enduring appeal of Spike is, I suspect, strongly influenced by the fact that the things the id wants are so very human and sympathetic. His foibles and mistakes are often painfully familiar, even exaggerated through vampirism as they are. In fact, it’s precisely because Spike is allowed to show a full range of reactions to love, because the writing is under less pressure for him to do the “right” or dignified thing, that he can at times be compelling in ways other characters can’t. If Spike just did nasty things, his appeal wouldn’t be much more complicated than the appeal of Angelus, who people tend to like as a villain or storyline rather than as a relatable character. But Spike doesn’t want to dismember nuns or construct elaborate murder tableaux. He wants familiar things like love, identity and meaning, even if the ways he goes about getting them can reflect people’s worst impulses. 

Which brings us to Buffy, and Buffy’s story about growing up. Buffy is Buffy’s show, which means that every writing choice tends to revolve around her arc in one way or another. And this goes for Spike’s storyline even more than most. In the final three seasons of the show, the writing finally engages with how inextricable the id--and all of its impulsive, inarticulate romantic desires--really is from a person’s self. So instead of keeping Spike at a comfortable distance, both Buffy and the writing begin to take him seriously. They begin to invite him in.

Starting in season five, it’s telling how frequently Buffy herself projects on Spike, rather than just the writing setting them up as mirrors. She tells him that he’s the “only one strong enough” to protect her family, and later assigns Dawn specifically to his protection. In “Spiral” she describes him as “the only one besides me that has any chance of protecting Dawn.” This is a very intimate role that she otherwise only assigns to herself (and which is not really based on pure practicality, considering that she’ll later describe Willow as her “big gun”--yet never gives Willow the task of protecting Dawn). She tells him that he cannot love, which is the thing she fears most about herself. Her protests that Spike is a vampire, and thus cannot express or want human things like love, mirror her lamentations that as the Slayer, she cannot have a normal life.

From the Gilliland Gothic double essay:

More than any of her other lovers, Buffy and Spike overlap one another so often that at times their character arcs become nearly indistinguishable. With Angel, Buffy traveled a parallel path in attempting to master self-control. With Riley, her journey ultimately took her in the opposite direction. With Spike, Buffy’s journey is most closely shadowed, in that her interactions with him in many ways can be seen as metaphors for her feelings about herself.

So now Spike is multiple things. On the one hand, he’s the soulless id he’s been since season two. His vampiric behavior represents a morally uninhibited way of reacting to romantic frustrations, among other things. But on the other hand, his vampirism now also marks him as like Buffy, not merely her opposite.* Nor is he only her mirror in the realm of romantic love. The part of him that is a vampire is the part of him that is supernatural (ie, Romantically larger-than-life), that sets him apart from regular people, and dictates how he can and cannot behave. Just like Buffy’s slayerness. His vampirism is what makes him capable of protecting Dawn, while also making him (supposedly, according to Buffy) incapable of human feeling--again, just like Buffy’s slayerness. Instead of Buffy’s Slayer side being aligned with Angelus, who was an unmitigated evil, it becomes aligned with Spike, who is something more complicated. 

*(Though it must be noted that this was a process that began in season four, with the show aligning Spike with the Scoobies by making him a victim of the Initiative. Spike being supernatural suddenly marks him as non-normative, just like the Scoobies, in contrast to the institutional conformity that the Initiative represents. The evolution towards treating the Romantic supernatural as something positive and associated with identity plays a key role in transitioning the show to the more complicated attitudes of the last three seasons.)

This shift in the show’s attitudes towards the id affects how Spike is used. In “Blood Ties” for example, Spike assists Dawn in breaking into the Magic Shop and in “Forever” he helps Dawn resurrect her and Buffy’s mother. In both cases, Spike could be read as embodying impulsive behavior that Buffy is supposed to be better than. Yet both cases specifically involve Spike helping Dawn, who is repeatedly portrayed as Buffy’s human side. As Buffy says in “The Gift”: “[Dawn]’s more than [my sister]. She’s me. The monks made her out of me. [...] Dawn is a part of me. The only part that I--”. In other words, Buffy’s id becomes closely tied to her humanity, even going so far as to become its safeguard. “Blood Ties” ends with Buffy affirming her connection to Dawn, which Spike’s rule-breaking directly enabled, and “Forever” ends with Buffy acknowledging how desperately she wants her mother back too, and becoming closer to Dawn as a result. (Compare to “Lovers Walk”, where Buffy acknowledging her id results in her breaking away from Angel, not drawing closer to anyone). Or in “Intervention”, Spike building the Buffybot directly parallels Buffy’s own anxieties about what she thinks she should be. She thinks she’s losing her ability to love, and that effusive fakery is her only recourse (as she said in “I Was Made to Love You”: “Maybe I could change. [...] I could spend less time slaying, I could laugh at his jokes. I mean men like that right? The joke laughing at?”), a fear that even has some merit, given that her friends cannot tell her and the bot apart. Instead of Buffy and Spike having separate arcs in the episode, Spike learning the difference between real and fake dovetails with Buffy’s own relationship to her realness and fakeness. It turns out that neither of them want a bot version of Buffy. They want real emotion, things like sacrifice and heartfelt gratitude. If even Buffy’s id would let itself be killed for Dawn, then maybe she has nothing to fear from herself. Maybe there is some beauty in the emotional part of her nature that she thinks she must repress.

In other words, part of the writing (and Buffy) fully engaging with romanticism and the id, means engaging with the ways they can be bad and good. There’s this weird thing that happens with Spike as soon as he falls in love with Buffy, where suddenly his actions are more uncomfortable, and to many, off-putting, because their object is Buffy (instead of another vampire like Harmony or Drusilla, who either enjoy the same vampiric things he does, or the audience might be inclined to see as a moral nonentity regardless). His comic id quality becomes somewhat darker and more serious, almost like the way Angel’s early season two darkness becomes more serious after he loses his soul. But at the same time, Spike’s actions are also more intriguing, sympathetic, and even noble...because their object is Buffy. It makes no sense that a soulless vampire should not only fall in love with the Slayer, but genuinely attempt to transform himself into someone worthy of her love. And yet that’s exactly what Buffy inspires him to do. By loving Buffy Spike’s dual nature, and the dual nature of his romanticism, is thrown into relief: it’s something that can be selfish and creepy, yes, but also something that hints at the idea that real romanticism does exist. Something worth feeling romantically about does exist. Thus the writing can at once criticize, say, the way the chivalric mindset conflates love and suffering, while also suggesting that there are kinds of love it’s worth being transformed by. (Meanwhile, Spike’s fumbling bewilderment over how to love Buffy, and what the rules of loving people correctly even are, creates a human middle ground between monstrousness and heroism). By leaning into the way that Buffy and Spike have been used as mirrors for three seasons, and introducing the mythology-bending idea of Spike being in love with Buffy, the writing is able to fully engage with this complicated, contradictory nature of love and romance.

All of which is to say. Spike becomes a potential love interest, and is given a convoluted inner conflict between monstrousness, humanity and heroism, in precisely the season in which Buffy begins to reckon with her own inner conflict between her darker impulses, her human reality, and her supernatural role. It’s no coincidence that season five opens with Dracula, an icon of romantic vampire mythology, tempting Buffy with darkness and promising her insight into her nature. Or that a vampire kidnaps Dawn--again, her human half--in the next episode. Or that the season’s antagonist is a super-strong blonde woman who wants to destroy Dawn instead of protect her. Or that she says goodbye to Riley, the boyfriend who embodied her hopes for a more normative way of being (notice how Riley is progressively destabilized by everything non-normative about Buffy’s life, and provokes those anxieties Buffy expresses in “I Was Made to Love You”). Over and over in season five, Buffy fears that her Slayer half is cold, destructive, and otherwise dangerous. That these Romantic things like gods and vampires have it in for Buffy’s vulnerable humanity. Yet Buffy’s vampire id simultaneously gives lie to these fears by proving itself capable of heroism and genuine human feeling.

In other words, Spike becomes a potential love interest in a season that treats the Romantic--ie the grand and mythical--as something more than just an attractive lie to be disabused of. Rather, the question that season five seems to posit to me, and which will not be fully answered until the end of season seven, is this: once you do clear away the attractive lies, once you accept the hard realities, once you’ve seen the darkest underbellies, what are the things that are left that are truly grand and beautiful? What are the stories that are really worth telling, and the heroes that are really worth having?

And the show asks and answers these questions on both a very personal level, and a more meta, systemic level. On the personal level, Buffy and Spike are forced to confront their illusions not just about the world, but about themselves. They are made to ask themselves what constitutes a heroic role or a demonic weakness, versus basic, unromantic humanity. And on the meta level, the show asks questions about our expectations for how both love stories and chosen hero stories are supposed to go.

part 5: “Everything used to be so clear”: Season six and the agony of the real

[dynyamight]

bkdk … 12 ? ༼ つ ◕◡◕ ༽つ

12. “I think we need to talk."

The moment Bakugou opened the gym doors, and smelled rain in the air, he knew he had to book it back to the dorms.

Slamming his feet on the pavement floor, he forces himself to run out. His muscles ache all over, and his arms barely want to stay up, pumping at his side. But, he rather try and make his way to his room dry, than have a downpour soak him to his bones.

By the time he reaches to the safe, dry front steps of the dorm building, the rain finally begins. Lightly, the drops splatter slowly to the ground.

Catching his breath, Bakugou stops by the rails, holding onto one side as his muscles cramp. His thighs are burning, and his arms want to fall off entirely. But, he let's his mind focus on the pain.

He's had a rough fucking week, and for once, his mind was elsewhere.

“It’s starting to rain now, isn’t it.”

Bakugou jolts, quickly facing up to that familiar voice. That voice that haunts his dreams, ingrained deep into his mind. That voice that makes his heart race just a little quicker. That voice, from the one and only.

That forgetful nerd.

“Ah, sorry! I didn’t mean to spook you.’ Midoriya says quickly, offering an apologetic smile. He’s sitting on the front porch, holding onto a book close to his chest. “You probably thought you were the only one out here, right?”

“..You don’t have to apologize.” He breathes out. Despite the haywire of his nerves, exploding his insides, the words roll off his tongue easily. It's oddly the same phrase he's used each time they've met. "S'not like you personally screwed me over."

"Ah, my bad—"

"What did I just say."

“I—" Midoriya weakly chuckles, shaking his curls. "I guess I can't help it. I promise I won't forget.”

No matter how many times Bakugou hears that, it always sounds so genuine, so real. Rather than an empty promise. "I'll hold you to it, Deku." He mutters, regardless.

"What does that—" A light shines through Midoriya's gaze, and immediately he smiles. "Wait, you know what. I swear that's not the first time someone has said that to me. Deku."

Chills run down Bakugou’s spine. That's never happened. He's never slipped up. Fuck. “..Really?”

“Yeah, it sounds so familiar. But, I don’t remember exactly where I've heard it before.”

Both disappointment and relief flood his whole entire body. He doesn’t know what he would do if Midoriya would remember all his terrible attempts, though a part of him did yearn for recognition.

However, maybe it was for the best. Give them a fresh start, every time. Fucking hip hip hurray.

Hell, maybe this was the world's way of sending him all the karma that he has built up. It decided to pick the one person he deeply cares about, and make both of them suffer.

Bakugou looks back at the book Midoriya held, something in his mind reminding him about one of the first talks since the incident. “Is that Catch-22?” Bakugou asks, pointing it out.

It takes a moment for the question to visibly register through Midoriya's brain. But, when it does, Bakugou can tell by the way Midoriya’s eyes widen and the wide grin on his face that grows, “You've read it?”

“Nah, just heard about it. A lot.” He doesn’t need to explain himself further.

Leaving his seat off the bench, Midoriya rushes up to Bakugou’s face, eagerly leaning in. “I highly recommend it! It’s a literature masterpiece, the best of its genre!”

For a moment, Midoriya looks up to Bakugou’s gaze, eyes bright in interest. However, the next second, he looks away, with a feeble laugh as he scratches the side of his head nervously. “In my humble, personal opinion, of course..”

“What does it even mean?” Bakugou asks instead, holding tight to their conversation. He refuses to let it go for even a second. “Catch-22.”

“Oh. Uhh, the best way I can describe it,” Midoriya lifts his chin in thought. His gaze drifts up, as if he was wracking through his brain like it were a couple of shelves, “is that it's a dilemma from which someone cannot escape from, because of a set of contradictory rules.”

Bakugou scoffs. “Give an example. I’m too fucking tired to decipher whatever the fuck you just said.”

“Okay, okay!" Midoriya laughs, "It’s like job applications. How can you gain any experience for a job, unless you get a job that gives you experience?”

“Like, how in order to apply for a loan, you have to prove to the bank that you don’t need one?”

“Yes! Exactly that.”

“That shit has a name?”

“They’re hard to find, but even in everyday life, we can find ourselves in our own catch-22’s without realizing it! Isn’t that crazy? For all we know, life itself could be one!” Midoriya rambles, growing louder and louder, to the point Bakugou swears he can hear his voice echo.

Though, Bakugou doesn’t mind. This alone is possibly the most Midoriya has said to him, with all encounters combined.

Surprisingly, a blush forms over Midoriya’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean to babble on like that.”

“How do you get someone to remember you,” Bakugou starts, before he can stop himself from asking, “when they keep forgetting who you are every time?”

Midoriya stares.

Quickly, Bakugou coughs, “Ain't that a catch-22?”

For a small moment, all he can hear is the rain, pattering down the pavement around them. But, then, Midoriya hums, tilting his head, lips pursed. “Yeah, it most definitely is. Though, I've never heard of that one, before.”

"Yeah well," Bakugou shoves his sweating hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “That’s the fucking dumpster fire I’m in.”

“With all respect, does your person have medical reasons why they keep forgetting?” Midoriya asks slowly, immediate concern filling his expression.

“Not that I know of." Bakugou admits, "But, I wouldn’t put it past them. Or, they might be plain stupid.”

“That's rude!" However, the accusation sounds fairly weak, when Midoriya's chuckling.

He feels the corners of his lips upturning. "What's 'rude' is the damn bastard not remembering anything, other than random, trivial shit." Bakugou huffs. "Which changes, daily."

"And, you say nothing works? Not even telling them?"

"Yeah. 'Cause they'll fucking forget the next day."

"Have they ever wrote about you?”

Bakugou does a double take. When did Midoriya ever— “Wrote about me?”

Nodding, Midoriya gestures behind him, to the backpack beside the bench. “Personally, I've been using lots of sticky notes, planners, and journals to jot down things I need to remember.”

“Again, my memory's a bit distorted, so in order to tell my future self what I need to know, I write it out for me to read, the next day. Maybe that’ll work for your person?”

Writing. So that the next Midoriya can read it and remember. “..Would it work, if I wrote it?"

Midoriya furrows his brows. "I think it would be better if the person wrote it out for themselves. You know, so that it helps to jog their memory."

Suppressing the immediate heart drop he feels in the pit of his stomach, Bakugou exhales a big sigh. "There's a lot of shit the fucker needs to remember. His purpose. His quirk. His dream. Lots of important shit."

"Why not start with you?" Midoriya smiles, reassuringly. "They're bound to have a diary entry all about you."

Immediately, Bakugou's irked. "I ain't writing material."

"I think you are. Good writing material." Midoriya confesses, never letting that dopey, wobbly smile drop, "I don't know your name, but everything about you is unforgettable, to say the least. I bet even someone like me will recognize you next time."

But, you don't. Bakugou thinks, feeling the tug at his heart tighten, choking him from the inside. You never do.

From the pocket of his gym shorts, Bakugou starts feeling his phone vibrate, before it rings. Despite that, Midoriya's jump causes him to be just as startled.

Rubbing a hand to his neck, Midoriya weakly chuckles, "Sad. We were just starting to get to know each other."

Bakugou doesn't respond.

'ALL MIGHT.' The caller ID states in bold letters.

"I gotta go." Bakugou states firmly, holding tightly around his phone. "I need to take this call."

Midoriya's smile fades, but quickly it's picked up. "Yeah, no worries. I've probably been keeping you outside for too long."

Bakugou curtly nods, "You have."

And yet, even when the ringing persists, loudly telling him to walk away, leave, he stays. Because, Midoriya just looks like he doesn't want him to go.

He doesn't want to go, either.

"I never got your name." Midoriya mentions quietly.

Why would I give it, if you won't even remember?

Yet, that freckled, doey eyed face Midoriya's got never brings out the rationale, spiteful side of him out. Because, no matter how many times he has to say it, he'll do it again, and again. In a heartbeat.

"Just call me Kacchan."

Visibly, Midoriya's taken aback. Though, with the phone call on its last few rings, he finally steps off to the side, giving Bakugou space to walk.

"I'll see you around then," Midoriya waves off to him, "Kacchan."

A personal hell. Bakugou's living his personal hell.

When he walks inside the dorm building, the emotions suddenly hit him hard. Every day, he has to keep putting up with this crap.

Midoriya greeting him, talking to him, and saying goodbye, like a damn fucking stranger.

It kills him, eating away at his brain, knowing Midoriya's unable to look at him, and see nothing, but a stranger staring back.

When looking at Midoriya meant the world to him.

With a swift thumb swipe, Bakugou slides the phone call open. He clears his throat. "What now old man."

"I think we need to talk." All Might's voice crackles. "Privately. The sooner, the better. It's about the quirk that's been affecting young Midoriya."

His entire body tenses, halting him still. "..What about it.."

All Might sighs, long and tired. "The authorities found some intel about the culprit behind the memory loss. And, well.."

"Well, what?" Bakugou snaps.

"Midoriya's in deeper trouble, than we thought."

[ma-gic-gay]

It took a few too many hours to take care of the Florence situation, but he was confident that she would be happier in her room at the long term care facility than she would be at a safehouse.

He was much less confident with what would happen next. On the one hand, he knew that Cyrus knew that Carly had taken his mother - as much as he loves her, she needs to start thinking her plans through before she ends up dead - and that she was the reason he was alive. On the other, Florence had remained unharmed and been returned within ten hours. That doesn't erase what had happened; kidnappings are always a terrible, traumatic thing and not in his worst moment had he hoped to kidnap someone or, worse, have someone get kidnapped, but it did make it a bit easier for him to sleep at night.

In short, she was pretty much the biggest target at the moment. An even bigger one than him, which seemed impossible maybe fifteen hours ago.

Yet another reason having her in Port Charles was something he'd been concerned to do. Even though she swore she'd stay at home, she'd promised the same thing before his meeting with Cyrus earlier and that was a promise she didn't end up keeping.

Maybe this time, though, since Josslyn was home with her, she'd stay home.

That would explain the fifty seven voicemails he has from her and at least one hundred texts. It was honestly less than he had been expecting, mainly because she had been incredibly worried he'd get killed, moreso than normal.

Probably because not even an hour before he left, Cyrus had tried to kill him. It definitely didn't have anything to do with last night.

Right?

He shakes his head to get that out of his head; it's been a long night and probably why he's thinking about it. Willing himself to think of anything else, his mind wanders as he drives, thinking of the possible kidnapping targets.

Maybe thinking about last night will be a better alternative.

Glancing at the clock, he realizes that it's almost time for a call from a hopefully still at home Carly.

"Like clockwork," he chuckles, answering the phone. "Everything okay on the home front?"

A laugh he instantly notices as Cyrus's leaves his phone speaker. Quickly checking the caller ID, it's Carly. "Well, Mr. Morgan, I'm not doing well right now, considering your organization took my mother. Though I suppose your question wasn't directed towards me."

No shit, he thinks, containing his anger and quickly switching to a business tone, "I already told you, I don't have your mother. What the hell are you doing with Carly?"

Chuckling evilly again, Cyrus says, "I'm just spending some time with Mrs. Corinthos, Mr. Morgan. Calm down."

He's dead. The second that Jason gets back in town and sees his stupid, ponytail clad body, he will die. And if he puts a hand on her-

Focusing on the call instead of the growing anger in his blood, he asks, "Where is she and what have you done with her?"

"She's being taken care of very well, don't worry. In fact, I think that she'd agree I'm being quite a polite host, especially given the fact she had my mother kidnapped."

Maybe he should torture him before he kills him, that sounds appealing. Very appealing.

"I actually just looked into it and your mother is at her care facility. So tell me where Carly is, now," the former assassin demands.

Killing him looks more and more appealing by the second and making it as painful as possible does too. He deserves it for doing anything to Carly. Where exactly will kill him the fastest and make it painful? Maybe being shot in several places at the same time would help.

Clearly enjoying this Cyrus continues, "Is she? Well, I received a call earlier that she had been checked out of there."

"They must've been wrong."

"Well, still, I think she's getting even more delightful as time goes on. In fact, I'm finding her to be quite beautiful. What do you think, Mr. Morgan? Should I seduce and make love to her?"

Anger is the only emotion he feels right now, combined with disgust at the thought of that. "I wouldn't recommend it."

"And why is that?"

To lie or tell the truth, that is the question. The answer is lie. "She's a terrible lover. Absolutely terrible. Believe me, I'd know. We were involved at a certain time and I'm not sure anyone should have to go through that."

"You two have been quite close in the year since her husband passed. Are you sure you don't just want her for yourself?"

This sleazebag is going to be in hell when Jason finds him, he swears on his life. "Yes, I'm sure. Now, where is she?"

Chuckling again, he says, "Mr. Morgan, I'm not stupid. You think that since you've returned my mother, I'll return your friend in exchange for her. But, you see, Mrs. Corinthos isn't just someone you can take as you please. I'm truly seeing her beauty in this light and I find her to be quite intriguing. Perhaps I'll go against your advice-"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Now, last time I'm asking, where is Carly?"

"Why don't I let her tell you yourself?" Cyrus offers before handing the phone over to who he can imagine is the blonde. A scream is emitted in the background, probably from a gag or something.

The second he lays his eyes on him, that man is dead.

"Jason?" A scared Carly asks. "Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm right here Carly. Can you tell me where you are right now?"

"You remember that little room above Jake's, where we got our start? I miss that room sometimes. Especially now that the Floating Rib isn't even really a working building."

"So do I. It was plain and undecorated. Now, where are you?"

"I love you and my kids, you know that, right?"

"Yes, yes I do. You know I love you. Are you okay?"

"No one else will probably ever be in that room again. Kinda sad, don't you think? I kinda like that we'll be part of the last people to be there, but I think it's a damn shame that room won't get better use out of it." Carly continues, clearly not getting his point.

Wait. The room above Jake's. That's where she's being held! She's been giving hints. God, sometimes he thinks she's do dumb but others she's practically a genius.

"Has he laid a hand on you?"

"Yeah," she says and his blood boils. This bastard is going to die, just for thinking about doing this.

"I'm going to go down memory lane," Jason says, changing the topic but hoping she'll read his signal. "Drive around some spots I used to go. I'll be home to check on the kids in twenty minutes."

"Have fun with that journey, Mr. Morgan," Cyrus says, having taken the phone from a surprisingly silent Carly. "In the meantime, I'm going to tell you what to do to get her back. You will meet me at Pier 57 at noon tomorrow. Until then, I think that the two of us are going to be spending some quality time together."

"You so much as lay a hand on her-"

"I'm going to advise you to stop speaking if you ever want to see her alive again," Cyrus chuckles. "Goodbye, Mr. Morgan."

Just like that, the phone is hung up and the call ended. "Fuck!" Jason screams, driving faster.

He's got to get to her and fast. She doesn't have much time before Cyrus rapes her and he'll be damned if he lets her go through that. Not if he can stop it, and he knows he can.

After all, if there's one thing his men have told him that he remembers, it's that Cyrus suffers from erectile dysfunction. If he had to pick one dude who would never be able to get it up in their life, without a doubt, he'd pick that sleazebag in a heartbeat. Especially now, given the situation his best friend is in.

He can make it there in ten minutes if he breaks a few traffic rules.

Fuck traffic laws; he's got to go save her, he thinks as he speeds up, taking every turn too fast and going straight through at all the stop signs and red lights.

It's a minor miracle he doesn't get a ticket as he pulls into the parking lot of the Floating Rib, which has been abandoned ever since the explosion that sent Lulu into a coma and killed Dev and Dustin.

Deadly explosions don't exactly appeal to buyers.

Gun drawn and loaded, he finally realizes that there is no plan here. Call the cops? No, then Cyrus gets to walk away alive and this son of a bitch needs to die.

Kill him and then call the cops? Not a bad idea, especially with Carly as a witness. She's not a perjurer, no one would ever accuse her of that. Especially when she's newly traumatized from a kidnapping. Besides, it's self defense. But bullets can ricochet and she could be killed or comatose. Whatever happens, it could be really bad.

Fuck.

Going in without a plan is the best option and that scares him more than anything he's ever faced.

Bounding silently up the stairs, he kicks in the door and sees an almost nude, terrified Carly and the sight of an aroused Cyrus. Fuck. Guess those erectile dysfunction pills work for him.

A sparkle appears in his eyes when Cyrus realizes he's there. "Mr. Morgan, how kind of you to join us. Though, I don't believe you were expecting this."

Bastard. He deserves to be killed, the most painful death one can ever suffer. Acting as though he's a fucking host of a party, not a kidnapper who's about to rape his best friend. How many other women has he done this to?

The thought of it makes his blood boil. "I'm only gonna say this once, get away from her and you might live."

"Was that a threat?"

"It was a promise."

"Mr. Morgan, Mrs. Corinthos and I are having a moment here and you're being rather rude, intruding upon it."

Carly's been suspiciously quiet this whole time. She's planning an escape, he can feel it. No use trying to explain how he can feel it, but he can.

That's new.

Refocusing his attention to the ponytail clad piece of shit in front of her, he says, "You two aren't, because she's most certainly not into this. I know what she looks like when she is and let me tell you, that's not what she looks like right now."

"Ah yes, your past. Well, her face may have changed."

"From last night?"

With the mobster stunned enough to do a minor double take, Carly kicks him right in the balls. That's gotta hurt, especially considering that he's got his dick out and everything.

Jason snaps into action, undoing the handcuffs she's in and removing the duct tape, wincing when she screams in pain. That hurts his heart.

"I was right with my suspicions, wasn't I? Mr. Morgan, what are your feelings towards Mrs. Corinthos?"

"None of your fucking business," he answers, kicking Cyrus in the balls himself as he calls the cops. That felt good. Not as good as killing him would, but it does give a rush of dopamine. "I'm above the Floating Rib, in the little apartment with a kidnapped Carly Corinthos and her kidnapper and attempted rapist Cyrus Renault."

"An officer is being dispatched there and will arrive in five minutes, sir. What is your name?"

"Jason Morgan."

"Well, Mr. Morgan, can you stay at the scene with Mrs. Corinthos?"

"Trust me, I'm not leaving until this son of a bitch is behind bars on death row," he growls at the operator. For someone who's normally so good at controlling his emotions, right now it's all he can do to not pull the trigger and take him out himself. His walls have fallen as his best friend softly cries next to him, minorly breaking his heart.

"I wouldn't count on that, Mr. Morgan," Cyrus snickers, "after all, I could just kill you two."

"The dispatch is going to be there in under one minute now, sir."

"Cyrus, if you so much as grab that gun and point it at me, I can kill you out of self defense. So I guess if you've got a death wish you could grab your weapon," Jason counters him.

"PCPD! Put down all weapons!" Chase shouts. Of course he's the lead detective.

"Up here!" Jason shouts and he finds the staircase before walking into the room.

"Mr. Renault, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?" Chase asks, cuffing him.

"Damn you, Morgan," Cyrus says before another cop escorts him out and into a cruiser. Thank god, he was afraid if he saw his stupid, smirking face one more time, it would be the last thing that Cyrus ever did.

"Mrs. Corinthos, can we bring you and Mr. Morgan down to the station and have you two recount what happened tonight with Cyrus?"

Words don't leave her mouth, a sob does. Jason pulls her gently out of the chair and into a tight embrace, for his benefit as much as hers. "She's in no shape to be giving you the details."

"Mr. Morgan, it's better if she tells us what happened sooner rather than later."

"I'll do it," she agrees, though she's still visibly shaking in his arms. "If Jason's there, I'll do it."

Pressing a kiss to the side of her head, he agrees, "I'll be there."

Attempting to inform then they can't, Chase says, "You can't actually be in the interrogation room together; it's a very rare occurrence and not one I'm sure I can get permission from the commissioner to have right now."

Glaring daggers in his direction, Jason informs him, "You heard Carly's terms. If you want her to tell you what happened, I'm going to be there."

Finally giving in, Chase agrees to let them go in his car before leaving to call Jordan.

"Do you think you can stand?"

"No."

"We're getting you to the hospital then," Jason declares. "Detective!"

"Yes, Mr. Morgan?"

"I'm taking her to the hospital to get checked out before the police station."

"Could we question you two at the hospital? It's really important we get your testimony before Cyrus's. He's smart enough to ask for a lawyer and we'll do our best to have one take their time, but it's possible if she goes to the hospital she could end up giving it second."

"Do you feel up to getting questioned at the hospital?" Jason asks the sobbing woman, feeling a combination of emotions he can't push away.

"I guess," she agrees uncertainly. "You'll still be there, right?"

"Of course. I'm not leaving your side unless you tell me to," he reminds her. "Ambulance or my car?"

"Oh god, not an ambulance. I don't need all that fanfare," she groans.

"Okay. Detective, will you meet us at the hospital?" Jason asks to his own chagrin. He can't believe this dude has the audacity to ask a woman recently traumatized by an attempted rape and kidnapping to tell him what happened in detail.

Chase nods and leaves the two alone again, offering a tissue to the sobbing blonde in Jason's arms.

Scoffing, Carly takes the tissue and resumes her sobbing. "I was so, so scared you wouldn't get here in time and he'd kill me. I know, I broke the only rule, but in my defense, I had to work and I got taken there."

"I'm sorry I didn't get here quicker," he says, "and that you feel like you're to blame for this. You're not. Cyrus, that sick son of a bitch, is the only one to blame."

"You told me to not go out!"

"I didn't think he'd move in so fast... If I had, I never would've left the house."

"Hey, you are not to blame for this."

"Neither are you."

"Yes, yes I am. He-he kissed me, Jason. He started making out with me, and he hit me when I didn't kiss him back and when I said no. That's when I got the duct tape to my mouth."

To be continued when I can write this and not feel like crying (aka after I watch the Sharkboy and Lavagirl movies because they're BOTH on Netflix now and that's pretty fucking cool.)

@ryleighjosephine

[wolfenm-marveling]

There are three big reasons I have not and don’t want to see Endgame ....

For one, I wrote a lengthy article about that will run in June at Sequential Tart (I'll update this post with the link when it goes live *EDIT* Here it is: The Subject of Character Death, Revisited - http://www.sequentialtart.com/article.php?id=3362 ). The other two, I'll talk about here; they involve Steve and Bucky.

I know what you’re thinking: Wolfie, how can you form an opinion on a movie you haven't seen? Well, I do have mental health issues (undiagnosed and untreated because I have no insurance or job, yay), so when the film was released in China, I found someone to spoil me so that I might make an informed decision as to whether or not I could *handle* seeing it, given some worries I had (and especially since 3 hours without a bathroom break was not going to work for me or my companion). I determined from that convo that it would be a Very Bad Idea for me to see the film.

Even seeing the constant posts about it  -- especially ones that called it a  “beautiful” or “perfect” end, etc. -- was triggering anxiety and mental anguish / circular thoughts (admittedly in part because there were similarly “bad” things happening in other fandoms of mine -- it was too much at once). And I'm STILL having massive issues with circular thoughts about it.

This essay isn't meant to tell anyone they’re wrong about how they perceive / feel about the film, BUT, while I know I shouldn't care what other people think, the sitch still makes me feel how I feel: frankly, a bit disturbed that people are loving things that are making me so awful. I feel like I've stepped into some sort of Bizarro world -- like I'm somehow in the wrong universe. It’s very distressing. (I mean ... they call it mental *illness* for as reason, right?)

In this franchise where I once found such great joy, I now find little more than anguish. It’s actually been making me physically ill to see the posts -- or to look on my massive Marvel collection; I've had to box much of it away for now. Hopefully some day I can enjoy it again. (I can't exactly stop using my $60 Captain America backpack I begged for, for my birthday, though. :/)

I find that when my thoughts get like this (like I'm on a runaway train that keeps revisiting the same stations), the only thing that helps even a little is to sort out my thoughts on the page -- even if I’ve done it before, as I have with this in the comments section of friends posts. (You may have seen other people express similar thoughts, too.)  And really, I don't want to rain on my friend’s parades, so I figure I’ll post it in my own space, and then if people ask me my thoughts, I can just point them here. And hopefully this post will help others who are similarly struggling (I know there are at least a few).

As for the old chestnut “It’s just a story/ a fictional character”, well, for one thing, let me repeat: mentally ill here. If I could control how I feel, I wouldn’t BE mentally ill. But also, I'm a writer who feels writing is a sacred calling, so when I feel a story is badly told, I tend to take it personally. Yes, I know my opinion is not the be-all, end all -- if you think it’s a good story, yay for you. Me, I feel betrayed by this story in a way I have rarely felt before (the other biggest instance having happened the week before the film's release, so double-whammy, yay).

Warning: if you read any further, I assume you either saw Endgame or don’t care about Spoilers.

(*edited to add* If you need some solace too, check out @antiendgame to find other people who are upset.)

The first upsetting points for me were the Noble Deaths (and, in Loki’s case, lack of resurrection) -- I hate that trope with the fire of a thousand suns. But that’s what I wrote the article on (including how 2012 Loki’s escape doesn't make me feel any better), so no more on that here.

Now, let me preface the rest of this by saying no, I wasn’t expecting a romantic presentation of Stucky. And as hard as I ship them fanon-wise, I don’t actually hate Steggy -- I adore Peggy in her own right (and like the idea of them  being a threesome with Bucky).

What I DO hate is that Steve abandoned Bucky for her.

Aside from Steve’s moral compass, Bucky was the impetus behind pretty much *everything* Steve did in his trilogy. He found the missing soldiers because Bucky was amongst them. Bucky’s death broke him -- and finding him again in Winter Soldier seemed to give Steve, who was clearly depressed, new life. Despite Sam insisting Bucky was Gone, Steve wouldn't kill Bucky to save the world. And in Civil War, Steve fought other dear friends, and was willing to throw away his own freedom, to protect his best friend. So how the FUCK is them being *separated pretty much forevermore* a satisfactory end to that story???????

TL;DR, the Captain America movies were about the repeated separation and reunion of Steve and Bucky … and yet we barely got to SEE them together before Steve said sayonara to the man he’d been best friends with for over a for over a decade, to go be with a woman he’d known for about a year. 

A woman who’d already had a family without him.

Yeah, we can say her family still exists in the original timeline -- but I have seen soooo many different explanations of how the time sitch works out, it’s not even funny.

Really, that’s the third reason I don't want to see the movie: I HATE time paradox, and this movie sounds riddled with it. Also, as I understand it, the writers and the Russos are saying different things, with the Russos saying it’s a different timeline (which apparently Steve would be going *back* to after the shield pass, for some reason, and yeah, that bothered me, that he didnl't even give his best friend that momento, and sent their last onscreen moments together talking to SAM), and the writers saying no, the alternate timelines were only a thing when the Stones were in play. So yeah, Steve could spend the rest of his life with Bucky then ... but that means he also would have erased Peggy’s family (and maybe her work). Unless he was the man she married all along.

Either way, it would mean that Steve let Bucky suffer, and let HYDRA infiltrate SHIELD, neither being things I could see him doing.

And if it IS a branched-off timeline, I LOATHE that time theory, because it means NOTHING WE DO MATTERS. There’s always a version of us that’s our worst selves, and people who suffer because of it. That’s hella depressing. (Even if it would explain why I feel like I'm in the wrong world.)

At any rate, the ONLY end I really wanted was to see Steve and Bucky get to be together, no matter how -- “just friends” would have been fine. It was literally the thing I wanted most in the whole damn MCU franchise (aside from seeing Loki be redeemed and then fight alongside the Avengers. *sigh* At least I didn't have high hopes there ...). I would rather Steve had taken Bucky back in time WITH him, even if Steve still married Peggy; time paradox issues aside, I could have lived with that -- yes, even if it meant we didn’t get The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. (And honestly, how much am I supposed to look forward to that anyway, when Sam has been such an *inexplicably* uncompassionate asshole to Bucky in WS and CW? A guy who runs meetings for people with PTSD holds a grudge against a guy who was brutally mind-raped? It's like they made him OOC for the lolz!)

As for “Oh, but Bucky knew and he was okay with it!”

Uh, if he was okay with it, it's just because the writers *wrote* him that way for their own convenience, so they could do this ending. I have been besties with someone most of our lives. We broke up a few times, but we managed to keep finding our way back to each other. We don't live in the same state, so we rarely see each other, but at least we DO sometimes, and we write each other. If this person said they were going to go live somewhere with no way to communicate with me ever again, so they could be with someone they loved, of course I wouldn't want to say don't leave, because I'd want them to be happy, and wouldn't want to stand in the way … but that doesn't mean I'd be “okay”. in the slightest. And I wouldn't WANT other people I care about to go through such pain, much less think it beautiful to watch.

Plus, as I always say, this is fiction -- I don't need *that much* “reality” in my escapism. Temporary angst is my bread-and-butter -- it’s cathartic -- but I need a happy ending to be the payoff. To me, A TRULY happy ending for Steve -- and the one that would have been the best payoff for the narrative we’ve spent a decade watching -- would have been for him to not have to choose between the two people he loved most.

Edited 5/11/19 to add: For all those who are all “Oh, they’re just friends, they aren't gay”, I am more or less fine with sexual Stucky staying fanon; they still love each other platonically, are SOULMATES, ACCORDING TO THE SCREENWRITERS THEMSELVES (Christopher Markus and Steve McFeely), who wrote this as part of the intro to the graphic novel Captain America: White - “…Of course, this is still a rollicking adventure tale, and no adventure is complete without a love story. And yes, these books have one – the longest, most tortured one in Marvel history, in fact. We’re talking about Steve and Bucky, without smirking or innuendo or raised eyebrows. Platonic though the relationship may be, from the meet cute to the tragic separation, their bond has all the elements of a classic romance.  These two men love each other – as any pair of friends who faced exclusion, combat, inhumanity, and death would. Their bond stretches across half the twentieth century. The loss of it gnaws at Steve throughout the modern day, and it slices his heart in half when the Winter Soldier rears his tormented, homicidal head. Just as Jeph and Tim’s earlier Daredevil: Yellow, Spider-Man: Blue, and Hulk: Gray all dealt with the major love interests in the heroes’ lives, so too does Captain America: White. Steve and Bucky are each others’ soulmate, if you will, because no one on Earth understands what either of them has been through as well as the other does. The book deals deftly with the strengths and weaknesses that relationship engenders. As the Red Skull himself says to Bucky, “The captain has a … ‘soft spot’ for you. A spot I intend to put a bullet through this very evening.” Soldiers fight for their country. They fight for themselves. They fight for each other. And sometimes they die for these things, too.  The ones who don’t carry the memory of the ones who did for the rest of their days. Steve Rogers is no different.”

So he's gonna leave his soulmate (no matter the nature of their love) behind forever? FUCK THAT NOISE. I am completely baffled ow two writers who see Steve and Bucky that way would go on to give them that ending.

And retouching the whole for Bucky “knows and is okay” thing, the Russos also said that Bucky is too damaged still to be Captain America. Uh, THAT DOESN’T SOUND LIKE THEY REALLY THINK HE’S OKAY.

[mohammed123872]

ID:123872

course: MASS2620

Name of the course: ISSUES IN MEDIA

Date:31/5/2020

Words:1493

#MASS2620_20

#NOMAJOR

Introduction: When we read the history of old nations and the kind of life they lived, we will see how much they suffered just to send messages from the city to another city or between kingdoms and the risk the messenger will face just to deliver that message. Books excited in the past and it was the only way of mass communication, and kings took good care of books because they the effect of one book on the entire nation. From each book, there was only one copy or maybe more than one with religious books. 

And one day Johann Gutenberg was prone and he changed the future of the books and humanity. 

My material: 

Since Johann Gutenberg invented the printer and the world in continuous development. Through printers, we were able to manufacture newspapers and books, which was the first mass communication tool. Then the telegraph appeared, and then radio and television, which played a big part in the twentieth century in the First and Second World Wars.

The first use of media  was the telegraph and radio in the First and Second World

War for the purpose of sensitizing the enemies and delivering information towards the military bases, but after these technologies entered people homes,   people used them to listen to news about the war

After coming into view of the most famous and important media outlet, which is television, it became very extremely important in the war against the Soviet Union, and through television, the United States was able to win over the Soviet Union.

 The use of lying and misinformation was extremely important to accomplishing victory in the war.

Usually, ، lying over and over in media are for a clearly particular interest. Either it is in the government interest to lie through media or for the benefit of the people. Media maybe will lie for the benefit of the personal interest of its owner.

In fact, there are two educated guesses that talk about whether media should lie and when it should lie.

The first guess says that media must tell people everything, and this is the first function of media, but the truth sometimes leads to wars, disasters, and rebel plans inside the country, and the reason for all this may be a (mistake in understanding) of what media reported, or maybe because of the presence of spies inside The state used this news to carry out a secret and successful plan against the government.

The second educated guess is the opposite of the first educated guess, which says that the media should not tell people everything. However, even this educated guess may come from problems such as a lack of confidence in all kinds of media. If media hides a piece of particular news, it would have benefited the people, people would lose their faith in that media tool and know that there is a mistake in the government, even the frequent lies sometimes lead to problems inside a state because the people demand their right to know.

If the right thing is that, the media should study the people completely so that it knows whom the audience is dealing with. The risk is based on the public's mind, and the speech must be simple and not contain complicated words. Not all people have been educated, and not all people are smart.

What we understand is that media must lie in order to accomplish some interests, whether for the people or the government. Therefore, when we see any media outlets that present any kind of lying in events and news, this is due to the desire of media person who writes the news.

Let us not forget that media people are also human beings and they have strong emotions and needs that they want to satisfy, and everyone has a desire towards a certain side, and for this reason, only a lot of channels, magazine, And radio channels appeared and each one expresses its bias towards a certain side so we can see that there is a TV channel that stands with the Labor Party, another that stands against them and there are channels from a party Conservative, etc…

And if we want to criticize the desires that media tend to or more correctly the writers of the news in that media, then these desires that they have when they put inside the method of reporting the news so that the news is in favor of that desire, this called a lie. The effect of the people's desire in the news may not be Meant or maybe that radio channel was designed for the owner's interests and there are other facts or conditions that surround someone that lead to the news being affected by the individual.

These are the type of bias:

Bias by the commission

Bias by mistake (where something was left out),

Bias by story selection and etc…

All errors and lies that we may distinguish from others in media can be traced and expose the truth with the help of means of knowledge and critical thinking or as we call it searching for the truth. This is something that all people should try to do against newspapers, web sites, and TV. The Internet and books have become widely available, and any information can be traced with great ease, but the problem is that most people tend to believe everything that is said in media rather than searching and making sure the news is true on their own. Maybe it is good at some point for people to be having no knowledge and do not know the truth, but it is also good for someone to know the truth because change always starts from the truth.

The effect that we have due to the desires we have, can be controlled if we think about giving up to the professional media ethics, which gives us greater believability with the public and makes the news goal without any biases or personal opinions, and that is what the word media should refer to. Media is a carrier of the news, not its maker, and media is very goal and does not select words at the expense of the news to distort and fake it. If media people committed to the professional ethics of media then media will be able to communicate its message to the people and the message will affect on (community in a good way and its knowledge, and this is what makes new generations understand their rights and what they must to do for their communities. 

Singers, athletes, writers, fashion models, and actors all of them have a great affect on their communities.

People see them as a good example to follow. But the love of fame and following the Example of famous people became the main concern of people, so they started photographing Personal photos and publishing them on Instagram, Twitter, and other social media.  The Disease of fame begins to spread widely among people, so the person claims to be an Expert in a field and begins spreading (stories that may or may not be true) and wrong practices. In addition, for the benefit of fame, many people started pretending to be famous people in every detail of their lives, and some started to take stupid behavior only to get people's attention.

This understanding of what it means to be famous is very wrong. Fame is to be a good example so that people will follow you, and fame does not mean that you become an expert in a field other than yours. Fame does not allow you to cast your judgments on people. In fact, fame is a great responsibility because whatever action you do, you will become the people's talk and People will not forget what you said or what you did. There are many taxes for being famous. As media will begin to interfere in the affairs of your private life. So the correct use of famousness especially in social media is to count to one thousand before each behavior you are about to do in front of your camera. 

                                                                                                     

Analysis

 

Everyone entering the media should be aware of the size of responsibility for him.  It is not required that the person should be working in the field of media. Once you attract the attention of the media to you, you should know that you have become accountable to a large number of people for your actions and words. And I can summarize what I want to say in:

 Every media man or celebrity must respect the minds of people.  It means not underestimating them, offering lies or half-truths, or claiming idealism in front of people.

Conclusion:

In the end, we should know that the media is a double-edged sword and it is you who determines how to use it, and your use of the media reflects your mentality and your way of thinking.

[badcowboy69]

Homeward Bound part 2

I’m passionate about this story line as it is re-uniting my courier six, Travis Blackfox with his parents.  I like this chapter and hope y’all will too.  As always this features my courier Travis and his boyfriend Riley who belongs to @zoey-and-dakota      I know you’re gonna like this one ;)  

Part one can be found here     Put under the cut due to length.  Questions and comments are always welcome.

Travis lay peacefully on his back staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Feeling Riley’s fingers sifting over the black hairs on his chest, Travis closed his eyes and let out a satisfied hum.  His mind was swirling with a mixture of emotions ranging from anxious to euphoric.  Hours earlier when Riley returned Travis’ missing wallet and old courier ID it was offered one last time to drive him to Arizona to find his parents.  He agreed.  Since then Travis’ thoughts were going a mile a minute and he couldn’t focus.  However, like Riley had also offered, a hearty meal, a few glasses of whiskey, and some pretty amazing intimacy more than calmed Travis beyond the point of orgasmic bliss.

Lifting his hand, Travis placed it over Riley’s arm and affectionately rubbed it. “You know,” he contentedly sighed.  “Never thought this was even ever gonna happen.  I don’t even think I’d be doing this without you.  I mean, I had so many years to do it and even had a means to get there with my motorcycle, but I never even let it cross my mind.”  He shifted his position and looked at his lover and gave a nervous grin.  “This ain’t gonna be easy.  I avoided it for so long and now it’s gonna happen.  Don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“Well, hopefully it’s not going to be bad,” Riley replied gently as he scooted closer and snuggled against his partner.  “There’s no rush in this, please don’t think there is.  I want you to take your time and go at your own pace.”

“Yeah…” Travis trailed off and closed his eyes letting himself get lost in Riley’s touch and warmth.  “I...I wanna do this, Riles.  Sooner the better.  Already got the route and maps situated...next thing I think I should do is tell House and inform Arcade I’m gonna be gone for a while.  After that... I think I’ll be needing more whiskey and sex.”

Riley chuckled and nipped at Travis’ earlobe playfully.  “And I’ll be more than happy to satisfy you in both of those things.  Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Travis shook his head and gave Riley a light kiss on the lips.  “Naw...not now really.  The only thing I can suggest is maybe if you wanna see if ED-E or Rex need any maintenance before we go.  We’ll take the dog with us...ED-E can stay here with Arcade as always.” “Hah, and we both know how much he loves that!” Riley chimed.  Arcade was known for his dislike towards the little Enclave tech eyebot since the Enclave was part of Arcade’s roots...roots he was previously ashamed of having.  However, not too long ago, ED-E helped save the doctor’s life by shooting down a pack of nightstalkers to which Arcade was grateful.  Since then he had a better attitude for the little robot, but it still didn’t stop him from being snarky every now and then.

“He’ll get over it,” Travis grunted flatly as he gently slipped from Riley’s embrace and grabbed his black boxer shorts, pulling them on.  “And if not, that’s too dang bad.  He’s the only one I trust to watch over the place when I ain’t here and gets paid well for it anyways.  Shit, I ain’t that fond of those Securitrons, but I deal with ‘em.  Small thing to suffer with considering all the stuff I got.”

Riley gave a yawn and stretched while sitting up scratching his head.  “If you ask me, he puts up a fuss to get a rise out of that robot.  I may not understand the beeping, but to me it’s almost like Arcade and ED-E have an Abbott and Costello sort of relationship.  Straight man and funny man.”

“Hah, you mean gay man and funny man don’t you?” Travis snickered and quickly found himself being twacked with Riley’s shirt.  “I hope this meeting with House won’t take too long,” Travis continued as tossed the shirt back then climbed into his jeans.

“I can go with you if that would make things easier,” Riley offered gently as he looked around for his own pants which were hastily discarded somewhere when they had started their bedroom rendezvous.

“Gosh no!  You know how much he loves talking to you.  We’ll be up there all night!  I wanna tell him what’s going on and get outta there right quick before he starts badgering me with idjit questions.”  It was obvious by the tone of his voice, Travis was starting to get frustrated again.  

Riley sighed, went to his man and put his hands on his shoulders.  “Do whatever you need to do.  Like I told you, there is no rush in going to Arizona.”  He placed a light, lingering kiss on Travis’ lips then pressed their brows together.  “Whenever you’re ready…”

“Need to go, Riles,” Travis interrupted.  “This has been on my mind for too many years and I might as well face it already while I have the desire.”

“Sounds good to me.  While you’re talking to House, would you like me to radio Arcade and inform him?  Will that help any?”  Travis nodded against him and Riley hugged him closer as he sifted his fingers through his black hair.  “Then it’s settled.  Good luck with your discussion with House and I’ll be anxiously awaiting your return and hear what happened.”  Giving Travis one more kiss, Riley released him and called to Rex.  As the cyberdog padded into the bedroom, Riley gave his partner a wink.  “You’ll do just fine.”

Travis twitched his moustache and gave a crooked grin while he grabbed his cowboy hat and shoved it down on his head.  Taking a deep, calming breath, he next strode towards the elevator to start the next part of his journey towards finding his family.  About half an hour later Travis returned and found Riley shining up ED-E with a cloth and polishing cream in the guest bedroom.  Rex was laying peacefully at his side with his metal parts glistening as well.  Even the plastic dome of his brain case sparkled and seemed to have a brighter than normal blue glow.

“Wow, lookit how pretty you are!” Travis exclaimed seeing the dog who quickly jumped to his feet wagging his tail furiously at the compliment.  ED-E began beeping and chirping in complaint under the polishing cloth making Travis laugh.  “You’re looking pretty spiffy yourself, pard.”

“So, did things go well?” Riley asked while setting the cloth down and tightening one of ED-E’s antennas which had somehow gotten loose.

“Yeah.  He was right happy for me if you can believe that one.  He asked if I needed a Securitron to go with us or anything, but I told him we’ll be fine.  He reminded me of you a little in this...all excited for me and wished me luck.” Travis flopped down on the couch and began kicking off his boots.  Rex trotted over to him and sat at his side, touching him with his paw demanding to be petted.

“People will be excited for you, Travis.  This is a big deal in more ways than one if you think about it.  You will not only be reconnecting with a life you lost, but giving a life back to two people who no doubt feel they lost their son forever.” The courier sighed and leaned his elbows on his knees as his shoulders slumped.  “I reckon...but it’s gonna be a one way street.  They’ll be all happy getting me back and stuff, but I still won’t have a clue who the fuck they are.”

Riley gave ED-E a pat to know he was done being fussed with and the little robot floated up and flew towards Travis beeping in concern.  Taking a place by Travis’ side, Riley put his arm around his shoulders.  “I know it’s all going to be very awkward, but maybe something there will jar your memory.  I know it’s all gone, but there might be a small something still lingering you don’t even realize.  You did tell me that you remember being on that round up at Big Circle and that was quite a few years before you became a courier.  If you remember that event, maybe you can remember something regarding your childhood or parents,” he suggested hopefully.

Travis snorted and shook his head.  “Didja ever notice that all the memories I have left weren’t involving time spent at home?  Almost all the travels I had as a courier for example.  I mean I can remember certain areas and actual deliveries, but yet I don’t remember actually being home ever.  I really doubt I was hiking around the territories all those years and never went home.  ”

Chewing his lower lip, Riley considered what Travis told him.  It made sense now.  If Travis’ childhood memories were obliterated then anything pertaining to his home would be gone while other things like travel would remain.  “Well...regardless...this is a very brave and bold move on your part and I’m proud of you for finally wanting to partake in it.”  Feeling a shudder go through his partner, Riley shifted the conversation in another direction.  “By the way I radioed Arcade.  He said he’ll be ready whenever you need his assistance.  According to him things have been rather dull at the fort and he said he could use the small get away.”

Travis smiled slightly and nodded.  “Good to hear.  This was all the easy stuff, though.  Still got lots more to prepare.  I know you said ‘take your time,’ but I really want to do this while I have the motivation.  Trust me, as easy as it was to avoid it after all this time it’ll be just as easy to toss it back to the side.  Don’t let me do that, Riles.  Help me continue forward and face this already.”

“You have my word.”

In the days ahead, Travis continued to get ready for his journey to Arizona to try and locate his family.  During that time both he and Riley tinkered with their car and gathered supplies needed for a trip such as this.  It was decided in case the entire trip was a bust for whatever reason, they would camp out in that territory for a while and explore.  That being said, they doubled up on important things like ammo, gun repair kits, stimpacks, and bottles of water.  Travis also made sure their tent and bedrolls were in good condition just in case something hindered them in their travel or, worse yet, the ranch didn’t exist and they needed a place to take shelter.  There was also the possibility of Travis’ parents either being deceased or wanting nothing to do with him, but that was something that both Travis and Riley didn’t even want to consider.

When all necessary preparations were finally completed, they went over them one last time to make sure nothing was overlooked.  Although this wasn’t Travis and Riley’s first trip anywhere, it was the longest they would be taking with the car.  It was unknown how it would handle the distance so having ample supplies was crucial.  Once everything was checked and prepared to Travis’ satisfaction it was decided that they would leave at the end of the week.  

The day before they were to head out came swiftly and for the most part Travis was calm and even joking around.  However as the day progressed, his mood slowly began to deteriorate.  After lunch they began to pack their supplies and their duffle bags of clothes in the car.  It only took a few hours, but Travis kept fretting over every little detail hoping they had everything they could possibly need.  With the fall of evening, it was suggested they get to sleep a bit earlier than usual so they could be well rested for the journey.  Having a few drinks and some close time helped ease Travis’ nerves for the most part.  It was evident he was anxious now that the trip was going to happen in a few hours.  Still, Riley did his best to relax him and it worked for the most part as it wasn’t much longer until the courier found himself sound asleep in his lover’s arms.

It seemed as if Travis had just closed his eyes when he found himself awake and laying in bed not daring to move.  Today was the day!  He was finally going to make the trip home to Arizona to find his past and his parents.  Turning over seeking warmth and comfort from Riley he was taken aback that the bed was empty.  Furrowing his brow, he sat up while rubbing the back of his neck and yawning.  “Riles?”

“In here!” came the reply from the kitchen.

Hearing the voice, Travis pushed himself out of bed and tiredly shuffled his lanky frame into the kitchen.  Riley was at the counter pouring himself a cup of coffee and offered one to his partner.  Travis nodded while pulling out a chair at the table.  “Why...why didn’t you wake me up?” he yawned, taking the steaming cup.  As he put it to his lips he paused for a moment and looked up to his man.  “Come to think of it, why you up before me?  Gotta be a world record or something!”

Riley chuckled and took a seat next to his groggy partner.  “I couldn’t sleep.  This is exciting for me too, Travis.  Getting to drive somewhere outside of the Mojave...seeing new sights...help you find some of your past…” he trailed off when he saw Travis staring down at his coffee.  “Are you sure you are up for this?  Like I told you earlier this week we don’t have to go if you’re not ready for it.”

“I’m fine, Riles.  Reckon I’m kinda in shock maybe?  Scared?  Dunno…”  He took a sip of his coffee and plinked his fingers against the cup.  “What...what if they don’t care I’m back?  What if we had a bad relationship and they were glad I vanished?  What if my finding them is the worst thing they could ask for?”

“And what if the clouds were made of cotton candy.  Travis, no ‘what if’ logic, please.  You can’t worry about things like that.  It’ll only upset you more.  Thinking things like that only serve to bring a person down.  Stay focused on the positives.  You’re a great guy and have accomplished great things.  If they hate you that’s their problem and they’ll truly be missing out.”

After having a good filling meal, Riley cleaned up while Travis made his final checks around the Presidential Suite.  On time as usual, the intercom buzzed indicating that Arcade has arrived to see them off and get any further instructions on his duties while Travis was away.  Grabbing a bottle of whiskey and bag of jalapenos, Travis announced he was satisfied and ready to head out.  Riley embraced him and tenderly kissed his neck stating how proud he is of him and to stay strong.  Heading down the elevator to the casino they met Arcade and together the trio, cyberdog and eyebot headed down to the sub-basement where the car was stored.

Opening the back car door Travis gave a whistle to Rex who enthusiastically jumped inside, barking excitedly and wagging his tail furiously.  Riley gave the car the once over before he shook Arcade’s hand and thanked him for all the help.  The doctor said it was no problem, but they’d have to make it up to him later for having to babysitting ED-E.  

The robot gave out a series of beeps and angry clicks making Travis laugh.  “He said feeling’s mutual and I owe HIM for babysitting you.”

Arcade chuckled and swatted at the robot while trying to hide the smile forming on his lips.  “If he thinks he’s going to attempt to put a diaper on my bottom and a bottle in my mouth he’s got another thing coming.”

Travis smirked.  Riley was right with the Abbott and Costello comparison without a doubt.  Giving Arcade a hearty handshake in thanks for his assistance, Travis climbed into the car next to Riley.  The car started and an anxious shudder surged through Travis from his head all the way down to his toes.  “Thanks again, pard.  See y’all later!”

“Ready?” Riley asked as he put the car in gear.  Travis gave a nod in response and Riley slowly drove the car out of the room and towards the tunnel that would lead them to the outside world.  As they waited for the Vault door to open, Travis felt another shudder go through him.  Saying he was nervous was an understatement, but that feeling was in competition with the excitement that was building in him just the same.

Once the door was finally open, Riley drove out into the brightness of the morning Mojave sun.  Travis squinted his eyes until they adjusted then gave a wave to the securitron on duty at the door.  He felt Riley’s hand on his knee and with a beep of the horn, the car pulled out towards the first mile of their journey.

For the first few miles the asphalt they traveled upon was in decent condition.  It had the typical cracks and holes, but nothing that caused much trouble.  The further they got from the city the more it became challenging and a few times Riley had to divert their path to off road for a while.  He drove at a modest speed, but still the bumps and roughness jarred he and Travis.  Rex even whined in protest.  Travis grumbled about the tires on this thing and wished they had tried to replace them with the more all terrain type the NCR uses on their vehicles.  Riley agreed, but also stated that hindsight was 20/20.  There was nothing they could do about it now and had to simply make it work the best they can.

About midway to their destination, Riley pulled to the side of the road and parked by an abandoned gas station.  Travis started a fire and the couple enjoyed a small lunch of cowboy stew and had a few drinks to top it all off.  As they relaxed in the cool shade of the building, Rex busied himself sniffing around the new territory and chasing a few geckos he spotted.  At length, Travis poked around the gas station looking for anything to salvage while Riley cleaned up and kicked sand over the fire.  Travis whistled for Rex and they all piled up back into the car to continue on their way.

Now that they were fed and well rested the last leg of their journey went by rather quickly.  It wasn’t long before they found themselves stopped in front of a large wooden roadsign with faded white lettering that stated Welcome to Hackberry.  Enjoy y’all’s stay!  

Riley glanced over to Travis and saw him staring intently at the sign while drumming his fingers on the window frame of the door.  Placing a hand on Travis’ knee, Riley asked, “How are you feeling?  Do you want to stop here for a little while and consider a few things or are you ready?” “A’yup...I’m fine...let’s do this,” he replied while covering Riley’s hand with his and entwining their fingers together.  Rex barked in agreement making Travis chuckle nervously.   “Well, reckon since the dog says it’s ok…” he drifted off, but Riley didn’t question and let Travis to his thoughts.

They drove for about half a mile down the dusty road until they came to a very small town.  A few of the buildings were repurposed into new establishments such as the pre-war gas station which had a new sign proclaiming it sold scrap and tools.  Right next to it was a general store with a large cement eagle near the side of the road.  It had a makeshift sign in its talons stating the place was now open for business.  All sorts of hand crafted wooden windmills and glass wind chimes were set up along the side, spinning and chiming in the gentle breeze.

Parking the car here got him a strange look from Travis.  “Gonna buy a windmill?” the courier asked with a crooked grin.

“Maybe, but more importantly we might as well find out exactly where we’re going.  Your pip-boy got us to town, but apparently can’t find the ranch according to you.  Asking someone will certainly get us going in the right direction.  Plus it will also give us that final answer if the ranch is still even in existence.” “Ain’t going in,” Travis muttered while slouching against the seat and concentrating on petting his cyberdog.  “For all I know my parents own this thing and I don’t wanna see them this way.  Unprepared I mean.  I hope that makes sense.” Riley nodded in understanding.  “Yes.  What a shock for them to see you waltz through the door after all these years.  It’s all good.  I’ll be right back.  Do you want anything?”  Travis shook his head no and Riley leaned over and kissed his partner lovingly on the cheek.  Shutting off the motor he exited the vehicle and disappeared into the store.  It wasn’t long until Riley returned with a satisfied smile on his face, a small bag in one hand and a wind chime made of blue glass in the other.  “Well, one thing for sure these folks around here are quite friendly.”  He handed the bag to Travis then gently set the chimes in the back seat.

As Riley started the car, Travis looked into the bag.  A weary smile appeared on his lips as he discovered the bag to be filled with a few jalapenos.  “Dang, these are beauts!” he exclaimed as he pulled a large, dark green pepper out of the bag, examined it then took a big bite.  “Hmmmm wow!”

Riley chuckled.  “If you like that you’re going to like where it came from even more.  When I asked about the ranch the store keep knew all about it and gushed about how they have the best corn and jalapeno peppers around.  He also told me to ask a fella named Dante about his moonshine.  I’m going to assume Dante might be your father’s name, but maybe a brother or simply a ranch hand.” Travis shrugged and devoured the rest of the pepper.  “Dante can be their dog’s name for all I care.  These are great jalapenos!  Got just enough kick to make me sweat without being too uncomfortable.”

“I’m glad I got them for you then!  Anyway, the clerk said the ranch is about ten miles from here.  He said there’s a lot of ranches out this way all with their own sort of offerings including a fruit tree farm.  It’s not a hugely populated community and one that doesn’t get many outsiders coming to visit like it did centuries ago.  In pre-war times, Route 66 was a very big deal.  You could travel from Chicago to Los Angeles, California just by using this one road.  As a result the route became a cute little attraction with shops setting up that offered unique collectables for the area.  There were lots of diners and themed hotels as well as plenty of tourist traps.  Those were places set up to entice travelers to stop and stay a while spending money as they offered interesting and sometimes tacky experiences.  ‘The World’s Largest Balls of Yarn’ for example.”

Travis snickered, “Ain’t nothing like taking a trip out somewheres to view big balls.”

The remark earned the courier a playful punch in the arm.  Riley was glad to see Travis was still in good spirits even though he could pick up the tension emanating from him.  To help keep Travis as jovial and distracted, Riley continued to educate him about Route 66.  As a result of the fun history lesson the remaining ten miles went fast.  It wasn’t long until they drove alongside a wooden fence that went on as far as the eye could see.  Pulling up to the entrance made up of two vertical wooden beams with a horizontal one across the top is where Riley stopped the car.

“The D in T,” Riley remarked in amusement as he looked up at four tree branches bent and shaped into the letters D and T merged together on top of the wooden entryway.  “I’m going to assume the D probably stands for Dante.”

“Or dummy,” Travis grunted, suddenly squirming in his seat while digging another pepper out of the bag.  Placing the stem between his teeth he groped under the seat looking for the bottle of whiskey they brought.  He felt incredible butterflies in his stomach and he wanted something to calm them down and fast.  

Riley frowned and grabbed his partner’s wrist pulling him from the bottle.  “I really don’t think it’d be appropriate for your parents to smell booze on your breath right now.  I know you’re nervous, but maybe...I can offer something else to help remedy that before we drive in?”  Riley placed his hand on Travis’ thigh and slid it up towards his groin.  Travis copied Riley’s previous action and grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Yeah, like cum breath’s any better than whiskey breath,” he smriked.  

“Touche,” Riley responded with a chuckle.  “Well...if you’re ready?  Shall we continue forward through the gate?”  He watched Travis as he took a careful chomp of his jalapeno and nodded almost unsure.  Riley hesitated for a moment and when Travis turned to give him a ‘come on already’ look is when he put the car in gear and slowly drove down the long dirt road leading to the ranch house.

The entire scene spread out in front of Travis like a slow motion dream.  The place wasn’t entirely desert as there were plenty of pine trees around and a few scrub bushes and cactus.  He could see a large barn off to the right side of the house as well as what appeared to be a corral.  Plots of crops could be seen to the left, their greenery a stark contrast to the browns of the land.  However, nothing registered familiar with him as he stared at the landscape.  He could be looking at the barren wasteland for all it mattered.

Feeling Riley’s hand on his knee snapped him out of his fog and he turned to see his lover smiling gently at him.  “Why’d we stop here?”  Travis asked as his blue eyes continued to scan the area.  

“Call it security of sorts.”  Riley had parked next to a large tree which was near the house, but far enough back and obstructing view to the passengers in the car.  “Like we earlier discussed, I’ll head up and find out if who lives here really are your parents.  I’ll tell them about you and see how it goes.  I mean, it’s been almost ten years since you vanished from their lives.  Seeing you before they’re ready to understand what all has happened might be too shocking for them.  I want to brace them into this as it’s not something that should be rushed.  Chances are they’re going to be in disbelief.  Or maybe your relationship with them before the shooting ordeal wasn’t exactly good either.  I don’t want to subject either you or your parents to something unpleasant.  Does any of this make sense?”

“I reckon...just...let’s get this over with,” Travis said dismissively while chewing on his lower lip.

Riley leaned against him and gave an affectionate kiss while stroking the whiskers of Travis’ goatee.  He turned Travis’ head to face him, gave a more few tender kisses and pressed their brows together.  “It’ll be ok.  Everything will work out how it should.” As Riley stepped out of the car, he smoothed his shirt and adjusted his rolled up sleeves.  Travis leaned over the seat, arched an eyebrow and mustered up a crooked grin.  “I still say you’re not dressed right for this, Riles.  You don’t know ranch people like I do.  You need to tuck in that shirt and wear my hat.” “I really don’t think those small details will make much of a difference.  Besides, it’s all in the attitude and how one presents themselves.  Wish me luck.”  He closed the door with a wink and headed down the little path made up of gravel leading to the house.  As he climbed the stairs he noticed two chairs near a small table with empty beer bottles scattered on it.  A bench swing was on the other side of the porch and various flowering plants were in clay pots along the floor.  Typical country, he thought and gave a firm, but gentle knock on the battered screen door.  He put his hands in his pockets and waited feeling a little anxious himself, but he was certain it was nothing like Travis was going through.

Moments later he heard fast, heavy boot stomps echoing through the house.  A tall figure clad entirely in black and wearing a cowboy hat loomed in the doorway and drawled, “Yeah...whatchu want?”

Riley couldn’t believe his eyes.  The man was about his height and very lanky, but what stunned him into silence was the fact it was almost like he was looking about twenty years into the future as to what Travis would look like.  The man had raven black shoulder-length hair pulled back into a ponytail.  His moustache was thin as were the hairs on his chin and jawline.  Narrowed crystal blue eyes stared suspiciously at him through the screen and they only narrowed more seeing Riley wasn’t answering.  “You deaf, pard?” “Umm….no...Well, hello.  Is this the Blackfox residence?”  

“A’yup.  Who’re you?” the man drawled not taking his eyes off of Riley.  His stare finally broke as he looked Riley up and down and his scowl deepened.  “All fancy dressed like.  You one of those useless Children of the Atom dumbfucks? If’n ya are best go on and git before I put one between your eyes and help you go meet your idjit maker.”

Riley felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face.  This man was certainly rough.  If he was like this to strangers Riley only feared what he might be like to Travis.  It was obvious he wasn’t very friendly and probably not the best family man either.   

“Dante Blackfox!  Are you harassing visitors again?” an agitated woman’s voice came from somewhere inside the house.  

The tall man flinched and sighed while his thin shoulders slumped.  “No, love...ain’t harassing no one.  Just makin’ sure he ain’t one of those zealot assholes here to preach his fairy tale bullshit.”

“Well…” the woman began as she seemed to materialize at Dante’s side, wrapping her arms around him.  “How will you know what he wants if you keep antagonizing him?”  

Riley couldn’t help but smile seeing the scowl suddenly vanish from Dante’s face and the look of endearment that appeared instead as he looked down at his wife.  “Mebbe I keep messin’ with him so’s I can get a rise outta you.  I know what happens when you get all hot and bothered.” She uttered a mock gasp and gave him a shove.  “You just quit and mind your manners!  Look at what you did, you got that poor fella all flustered now.” Leaning up she gave her man a fast kiss then diverted her attention to Riley who was looking slightly embarrassed over their banter.  “Well, howdy there, mister.  What brings you around?  Come to buy some stock or whiskey?  Hell, do you want to try some of the whiskey first before you buy it?”  The woman seemed nice enough and more of what Riley expected with the country hospitality.  She was a few inches shorter than Dante and had long, flowing blonde hair that went down to the small of her back.  She also had the bluest of eyes that shined merrily and a warm smile which in turn helped Riley become a little more at ease.  

“No.  None of that...I’m...I’ve actually got some possible news,” Riley slowly began, still unsure how to bring up the reason behind the visit.  “My name is Riley White and I’m looking for Mister and Missus Blackfox.  Would you fine folks be them by any chance?”

“A’yup, that we are,” Dante replied as he pushed open the screen door to extend his hand in friendship.  “As you heard shrieked, my name is Dante and this here’s my wife, Tracy.  Sorry again ‘bout earlier.  I ain’t generally like that, but seein’ how yer dressed and all...well...let’s just say I knew you ain't from ‘round here.” Riley mustered up a smile and shook Dante’s hand then did the same for his wife.  “No harm done.”  He paused for a moment, his mind searching for the right words about Travis.  It was funny, but on the way he here practiced a scenario over and over in his mind on how to handle the situation.  Now that it was finally happening it was as if he lost all train of thought.  Figuring he would do worse beating around the bush as Dante didn’t seem the type to fuck around with, Riley felt the best approach was to simply ask, but as delicately as possible.

“I traveled a long way today...all the way from New Vegas in fact.”

“New Vegas, huh?”  Looking over Riley’s shoulder, Dante caught a glimpse of the front grill of the car poking out from behind the tree.  “Looks like yer more than a fancy pants with those clothes.  Got yerself a car do ya now?  You some big city casino owner or somethin’, Riley?”

“No.  Actually, the car…” he drifted off knowing that if he mentioned big stuff concerning Travis it would make a mess out of the situation.  Rubbing the back of his neck and taking a deep breath, Riley pushed forward and boldly chimed, “The reason I came all this way is... I need to ask is if you have a son named Travis?”

At the mention of his name, Tracy’s expression changed to that of sorrow and she clutched her husband’s arm tightly.  “He was our son.  Last we heard he never made one of his deliveries back in ‘81.  Travis told us he’d be gone a few weeks in Nevada.  Had some small deliveries to make then some big secret one he was excited about.  That was the last we heard from him.”  She cast her gaze to the ground and sadly shook her head.  “We radioed the Mojave Express in town countless times ‘til they finally got fed up and told us if they hear anything they’d let us know.  Fine thing to tell parents worried about their boy.”

Dante snorted in disgust as he wrapped his arms around his wife.  “Ain’t been easy on us.  When we got his last pay sent here we figured that was it...they done gave up lookin’ for him and declared him dead.”  Cocking his head slightly to the side, Dante narrowed his eyes and focused his piercing gaze on Riley.  “Ain’t never heard no more about him ‘til you mentioned his name just now.  Whatchu tryin’ to find out, Riley White?  If yer lookin’ for our son yer quite a few years way too late.  You one of his courier friends?”

Riley adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.  “No, that I’m not, but I am one of his friends...been his friend for a few years now.”  He paused seeing the wide-eyed look Tracy gave him as well as the dangerous glare Dante shot.  Holding up a hand defensively Riley continued.  “You see, Mr. and Mrs. Blackfox, your son did get fatally shot in 2281.  However, he was fortunately saved and brought back to the land of the living by a doctor in the town of Goodsprings, Nevada.  I probably shouldn’t tell you many more details than that as I think it’s best for him to tell you folks himself.  Take my word, Travis is alive.” Tracy gasped and covered her hand with her mouth while stepping away from Dante in disbelief.  She began frantically looking around the porch in hopes Travis was hiding someplace.  “Please, mister, you ain’t fooling?  You’ve seen my Travis…where is...” she began, but was interrupted by her husband who now stood a few menacing inches away from Riley.

“Lissen, mister, if this is yer idea of a joke yer gonna be driving that fancy car back to Vegas with a bullet in yer ass!” Dante snarled gave Riley a hard poke in the shoulder.

Riley flinched and took a careful and slow step backwards.  “Please, trust me and believe what I say.  He is here with me, but he stayed behind in the car in case this wasn’t the place he was searching for.  I do have to tell you something very crucial, however.  What caused his demise also caused him serious memory loss.  He states he can’t remember anything before he became a courier and even during that career choice he only has certain memories in tact.  He has no recollection of you folks or his childhood.  His only link to home was his Mojave Express ID badge.  He was very afraid to come here because he doesn't remember his past.  Besides that he is very much alive and healthy. ”

“Y-you ain’t teasing me are you?,” the woman whispered between her fingers, tears glistening in her eyes.  Seeing Riley shake his head no is when those tears released and streamed down her cheeks.  “Please, bring him to me...to us.”

Nervously Riley glanced towards Dante almost as if asking for approval to get Travis.  The cowboy stared hard at him as if searching for any hint of a lie or jest, his crystal blue eyes boring through the redhead.  After a few long uncomfortable seconds, Dante finally nodded and stepped back to once again gather his wife in his arms.

Letting go the breath he was holding, Riley stepped off the porch and hastily made his way down the path and around the tree to the car.  Leaning down to the passenger window he said to a wide-eyed Travis.  “Well, this is it.  This is your home and the folks I just talked to are indeed your parents.  They’re nice people from what I gather and are really distraught about losing you.  They want nothing more than to know you are really alive.  I did warn them about your memory loss, but it didn’t seem to phase them as much as knowing you’re alive.  Are you ready?  They’re waiting for you.”

Travis looked up at him with concern registered on his face mixed in with some fear.  Riley placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and lightly traced his ear with his fingers.  “It’s ok to be nervous or scared,” he soothed.  “This is a big moment for you...and for them, but you know I am right here at your side during all of this.  If it gets too overwhelming don’t be afraid to step back.”

Taking a deep breath, Travis pushed the car door open and stood.  He stretched his arms over his head then leaned down to absently pet Rex who bounded out of the car and began sniffing at the ground.  Travis got lost in thought for a moment before righting himself and adjusting his cowboy hat.  Squaring his jaw he managed a crooked smile and shut the car door.  “A’yup...well...reckon I’m as ready as I’m gonna be.”

Riley gave him a supportive smile before leaning close to give him a light kiss on the lips.  Wordlessly he took him by the hand and together the couple headed up the gravel path towards the house with Rex bounding excitedly ahead of them leading the way.

To be continued.....

[castlehead]

a squint through the unsettled dusts of understanding,

     This universe, which is uncomfortable with beings, sees us as,

even if through the most sentimental lens, still makes us all out to be these dumbhead people going still further down to these dramatic, mostly futile, depths: a job, a family,                                    happiness: and say if

that perception the universe has of us is -portent- enough to tell us we are doomed to sink to the bottom, past the final reason to live,

especially if without a solacing god; or, we are doomed to assimilate into the rest of nonbeing: say if that: well, with us recently so combative towards our original weakness, what’s more doom?                                   I speak of course of the tree of knowledge: see,

people thinking -the news- and, really, all info, as some sinful lie, and meant as a disorientation, created by those whose job, to them, is the abandonment of faith, really only means we are us by us abandoned, and you and I abandoning

the cold abstract otherness of truth     for the warmth of certainty in suspicion.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Suspicion of some important thing we had ignored, had not noticed, all this time. Like the world being flat or something. We are born

from parents already invested in their prior unease, obsessed with only facts as support their politics, then, one or another new friction

follows, to outlast that. Causing seeds of new, perhaps, more fashionable angers to saw and grumble as they are sown, in generations, for generations, all of it

running its crude wire through all generations: people wrack their brains, or don’t: but all of them still out to do this useless        thing: to figure out, once

and for all, what’s in the atom of a thing nobody noticed, eventually just giving up with that wild

goose and confessing belief in conspiracy theories and stuff to prove a similarly-nuanced and similarly-subtle cosmic power be the one                                              of their particular rationale, though it be not cosmic,

just the trappings of an open mind that conceal a closed mind.

. . . . . . . . . . .

                            Financial losses almost had you out the window this year, and almost falling with you, who were one of the good ones, the

contemporary whispering, as you understood it, of some dissociatingly mortal irony we harbor, as humans. Well, your chance to verbalize it is this.

An irate voice, your solving-sense rings in there, in your head, makes you think that we search and

search, eventually we even picking through the false parts of who we are for some clarity, like, through truth’s                                               desiderata, for something

lying in the lie that is flesh and symbol of the flesh at once, yet to be found not in any place in the bible, no,                                        and not until way beyond the final stage

of a massive airborne ignorance-virus that            will sweep the nation faster than a fad, disappear

like a poetic gnosis in the face of an immovable atom; not until the proverbial Ides of March for our ignorance passes will your god be discovered, by you, then hailed

by everybody just then as as true a symbol as the bible: made in America, yet for who

we are, the world is, as much as any sacred text; more so than the obsession with politics and beefs

with inherited social strife. For the Self, which helms so much of social justice, is a fiction, which is why it is so often dissected by those humans of such a philosophical leaning as exalts the reductio

ad absurdum: watch: culture assumes the guise of a brain, critical thinking skills, etc.,

and yet only relents to checking those shy, small, brainless corner-parts of cosmos one

never thinks of to check for the unbelievable shit later, having thought that in time these will         betray their spot and fuck it, be, without regard to them, culture, finding.

. . . . . . . . . . .

will see; equivalently now as a hundred years before or after, though, just with more facts that bring us there: to the same place, identifying

a meaning for existence matured finally beyond glorifying and degrading this or that for being then or now, when it’s all the passing of sepulchres and rotting of giants. It is not ugly but leaves an ugly wound. One thinks of gripping fingernails                                                                       into flesh, and helpless you and

I are to mending the perfectly good name we give to what is before our eyes, calling it Reality according to a reflex,                                                 thinking each time an iconoclast calls it not

that they really can’t do that, or else must be suffering unreality around the clock, which would be truly maddening!                                The iconoclast says they will be

the final commentary, like, will sum up the problem at least, will address this silly matter of the heavens, leave the rest of everybody for the eons after to just twiddle their thumbs

waiting for a proven afterlife: or proven none at all: all the while, these iconoclasts are choked by the same politics that choked their devout parents: we are all contrarian offal actually and pinpoint

where we are least like those we love, as if this signaled intelligence, as if this anxiety

to disobey did not have one listening if, if done, it must forsake reasonableness and clear

intention, when we all know, we all listen, we’re out to self-cut that natal cord. We as youngsters imagine -individuality- some magic in the chest, to be much desired by the lungs if one should breathe properly, in this day and age,

. . . . . . . . . . .

                           and see it an eternal in miniature: we are most for the individual none of us are because we think it

the most special; are beings, and thus not the god, yet not all not god, for a god if to be at all is in the width

and volume of itself, and people are a sliver of that if not the whole cake without being

able to realize we are! We, we scoff at our mutant bones of chalk, scold our humanity

  for not detailing so assiduous a record of lightning as the lightning itself; of each peal of a sort of

this aural flash of light as seen scoped one night, or spied, us in the bushes maybe,

wanting there be more to it than that when our own embarrassed words end

                up describing nature’s exact equation!, and we, concocting storms of logic of a beyond:

accurate descriptions of places we could not see without never having existed, and then we are the

valleys lit up a moment, by storm, a stark fork of lightning, a brief light thrown upon trees                                   so that they appear to be

tall skeletons chattering a meaning nature cannot get, but demonstrates to us: we may

see it right and then think our records of it wrong when poring over them later. Nature

is our only source-text for such meaning in spectacle. Or it is by us perceived a magnificent blur, this aggravated universe aggravated at our ignoring its gift of otherness it gave to us: but god takes all the credit for

that one. I have a feeling the universe is out there, there, upon the rainy, forgotten fields, telling us that we are wasted in pursuing                        thoughts about god, who is its

friend; hell, the vastness of the universe alone hints at a creator that doesn’t really

care about us, without the universe itself needing to say anything. We are, in fact, but a surfeit of their needless recollections, god’s,                                                                     and left to disperse to oblivion,

governed by some trickling entropy, like the way miscellaneous disgusting juice condensing all

at the bottom of a trash bag trickles into a pool on the floor. God sure is something

people follow, but is no shepherd, rather an equanimity, a sane fairness but at a level none of us can fathom, and of a sanity as would call each person’s human sanity into question, even the most level or most drab

of us. This makes sense, as we all like to take part in what is fair, besides assholes and the selfish. The image of dawn gets added like a spackle over the storm that is over this everlovingly fake

                                             field I have made for you: what is surely early-onset senility, to double

in later years, has me losing focus, and all of sudden, new music thunders its own                            persuasion, different from the lightning and the rain, that

I do not realize is the very dawn I witness, and I end up relating the music to something more obscure than what is before my eyes. Yet still I try to

find some link in this to my humanity, even a broad one, and daftly draft charming lines for charm’s sake: about how god might weather a meeting

with me, or perhaps you is the better for that -I am he who is unobservant,       yet makes himself no servant to anything

he cannot rightly see, thinking what he rightly sees the thing observed,    like dawning day, by other people. This is his individuality.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Yet as if that could be, only, all that mattered, or what polished a vision of brass fully back to clarity! A vision, poetic, about all                                                           the fidelities a soul has!

But I just guessed and guessed, wracked my brains                                 to find concretions, to find facts in spite

of politics, the bread, and smeared with butter of a both: of an answer or idiom satisfied

                          at last. Iconoclast- what, tell me, practical scientist of levels, polishes the brass

and with luck, gets it back brand-spanking-fucking new all the time, or rather, why do you do it, when perfection itself

grows unfashionable by the day; by our youthful ironies, is seen the withered novelty, sitting alone, sterilized by an aesthetic of interior design that favors

embellishment, or in other words, making up        for something, with its purplish fading facades and wainscot.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The old house of a wealthy dead man approaching foreclosure. An end to human history in its demolishing, or rather the history of a human, depending on what you want to symbolize. Regrets

and more antique regrets get erased: flattened beneath bestial pave of a parking lot: that patch of real estate where this some old house was, and was more than just a man, because at one time Nature.

It was a man-entire, that house, even just one, and, to be a man-entire in another thing, remaining a thing not the man, is to make better her crux,

is to portray her, portray man, that is, as an idiom, a summing-up of into a whole of grandest-grey synecdoche, grey                                            as Whitman’s shining beard; portray her as god.

. . . . . . . . . . .

And: the combining of that, with a human effort for life so powerful it knows its way forsworn untouched by anyone not so effortful,                          this mixture to be true as anything

that can be so forsworn by lesser after-gods the rest are, in simply being people,

true people. God colludes in secret with the political sway of the day, researches selling-points on how to install the perfect epiphany in people, all to get in our       favor, all so as to shift a little

the idiom of the man-entire over somewhere closer within a more mortal niche, this time: god is just like us, but just

confusing enough for me to confuse -them- with cosmic niches, for example, the universe: and then, the greatness

cannot be assumed, because not able to be verified, nor god get caught and debased if actually playing a part in this, caught in the contorted

echo-chambers where only ourselves, as mortal people, can be our limited selves, can be no one else and at no other

time can be. Life, its succession of images of storm, is like a distinguishing harp played for not all of the moments,

. . . . . . . . . . .

but for blessings we do not recognize but that take us from one moment to the next one, that take us to the funny res

we like to be, because we only can sometimes, and which we equivocally call god when we think we can, yet call god in a music that we, scoffing and humble, say is only blindly

combing its way through broad discontented marshes. Struggling to be free of hairy discontent. Let me deny

                              not dignity to the wafting music here that my overcoming a bloody falling led me to write, overcoming gravity,

though, and this not entirely a glad trade, losing some coverter self I had valued before: but it was too specified to live in anything      but words of confusion, even to me:

. . . . . . . . . . .

like something as had snipped away at humanity like a head of hair, like the way thinning rain upon my nice                 shed’s rough roof, atom

by atom, eases off on its needing me search for some more proof of that distinctive residence I feel in my head, always, wherever it be, and replaces that with its own more believable,

therapeutic reality: a residence, a shed, I feel it someplace in reality’s between, it becomes

                           an ontology of overtures, either for the entertainment of god or for us, a brief pause in rational thought with fugue and stutter, before a symphony commences

                 of a between that is even more between, and our concocted gods concocted from wherever it goes from thence, the symphony; and us, to feed on the glaucous-sheened distraction

in the meanwhile, whether it be finance or faux pas or friendliness towards the bagel guy at the corner of your street: they are all forgeries of self that we forget

are forgeries, that is, until there is nothing left of self but its essentials to doubt and which nobody can doubt, without losing themselves in a kind of death of pneuma.

The rest is for woad to overgrow upon, thriving on that stale need for identity, for politicking the self; at least I know for certain I am a space like that. A space

                for old tractors to spill into disrepair. A field of thunder forgetting itself, a maul in a stump.

Concretions from an older reality: a radio marked with green rust, not to be saved.                                              Our savior was never: but that’s a good thing.

[artificialqueens]

I Was Happier With You Ch.3 (Trixya)- Doll Parts

A/N: Guysss omg. I told myself when I started this fic that I would be happy if it got 5 notes, and you guys have been breaking 20 and it’s awesome. Thank you guys so much for each and every one of you reading. I have a sideblog that I’ve been reblogging fics I read to if anyone wants to follow: tracysficblg.

This chapter is all about our favorite Barbie. We’re getting close to reconciliation!

And Andi is wonderful as always. Me and my wife are basically the reason she’s gotten into the RPDR fandom so she’s fresh. We’re working our way through the show slowly but we’re getting there. She hasn’t seen season 7 yet but still beta’s the fuck out of my stuff. She’s the real MVP.

Trixie looked at her phone for the first time in a week. Ignoring reality had gone far enough and she knew if she didn’t respond to her friends they were going to bust down her door.

27 Unread Messages

8 Missed Calls

3 Voicemails

Unsurprisingly enough, most of her notifications were from Kim. None of them were from Katya. She wasn’t surprised but it still stung. She started with her missed calls and voicemails. Two voicemails were from Kim and the other from Violet. Trixie got a sinking feeling and had a good idea what Violet’s said, so she started with the first of the two from Kim.

“Trixie will you please answer the phone. I know what you’re doing and you need to stop this. You’re going to have to talk to us eventually. Stop wallowing and talk to me. Of anyone you know you can talk to me.”

Pulling her phone away from her ear she clicked the next voicemail, her heart pounding. Kim knew her inside and out, enough to know Trixie wanted her space but cared enough to tell her to get out of her head. She should listen to Kim more.

“Trixie it’s Kim again. Starting to wonder if you’re dead or not. I hope you’re doing better now that it’s been a few days. If you’re still alive I would appreciate a call back.”

When the recording ended she hit call back. While the phone rang she walked to the living room and curled up into the corner of the couch. Two rings later the phone answered, muffled noise before Kim’s voice came through the speaker. “Well if it isn’t life in plastic herself. I see your not dead in a ditch.”

Trixie rolled her eyes and huffed.  “Id rather be dead in a ditch if we’re being honest. Do you want to talk about this on the phone or are you coming over?” She looked around the room and took in how messy she had let the place get into during her week of isolation. Deciding on where to start first, she stood up and moved into the kitchen to start cleaning.

“I think I’ll come over. I’m assuming you haven’t had any human contact in awhile so I will grace you with my presence.” Her and Trixie both giggled.

“Just get over here so I can tell you just how big of a fuck up I am.” There was the jingle of car keys through the speaker and a door shutting.

“Be there in about 20. See you soon.” Trixie said goodbye and set off throughout the place speed cleaning as much as she could. After a few minuets she remembered she had a message from Violet she still hadn’t listened to.

There was an angry huff at the beginning before Violets voice came through the speaker. “If you don’t fix this, Trixie Mattel, I swear I’m going to murder you. Fucking fix it.”

Katya was the reason her and Violet were friends. They had been mutual friends of other friends in their group. When her and Katya got together, Katya set them up on double dates with Violet and Pearl all the time. Getting to know the two of them on a more personal level had been great. Pearl and Trixie had been friends before all of them had paired off so she already knew her pretty well. She had enjoyed getting to know the other girl on a more personal level. Violet was a lot nicer than she let on, Trixie had figured out after a few date nights, she kept up a front to establish dominance over her life.

She hoped Violet wasn’t mad at her enough for their friendship to suffer. She really liked the other girl and didn’t want her messy breakup to effect her friendships. Problem was most of her friends were also Katya’s friends. They were bound to see each other at some point. Maybe she should talk to Katya soon and fix things.  

There was a knock on her door that pulled her out of her thoughts. When she opened the door, Kim was waiting with a big pan of dirt cake in her arms. Trixie burst into laughter and pulled Kim into a hug, trying not to smush the pan between them.

“I’m so glad you love food because I need this.” She scooped the pan out of her friends arms and moved it to the kitchen.

“If you don’t answer your phone for at least half a week and I finally get invited over you best believe we’re going to be here long enough to need food.”

Trixie turned around and pulled Kim into a real hug. They stayed like that until Trixie’s shoulders started to sag and Kim could hear tiny sniffles coming from the other girl.

“I lost her Kim.” Her voice was watery and Kim knew she was crying at this point. “I lost her and it’s all my fault. Trixie’s shoulders shook and Kim pulled her closer as the other broke down in her arms.

They stood there for awhile, Kim rubbing circles into Trixie’s back. When the crying started to lessen Kim walked her over to the couch before going into the kitchen and fixing them both a plate of the cake she had brought. She heard Trixie give a small chuckle. Kim believed food could fix just about anything. Mostly the talking that happened over the food, but she wasn’t going to give her secret away.

“I’m not sure this is a problem food can fix this time.” Kim looked over her shoulder with a smirk.

“You underestimate my powers.” She licked the cake that was stuck to her spoon before bringing both of their plates back to the couch. She passed Trixie her plate and turned to face her, crossing her legs underneath her,

“Ok give me the T, cause I don’t really know whats going on to help fix it.”

Trixie shoved a huge bite of cake in her mouth, the small smile she made covered in whipped cream and cake crumbs. She loved Kim and was thankful she brought one of her favorite treats to cheer her up. Once she finished chewing and cleared her throat she began to explain exactly what had happened. Her freaking out about falling in love with Katya too soon, thinking she could play it cool by going back to friends, how Katya had reacted, and how once everything was said and done she finally realized exactly how stupid she had been.

“Is this why I can’t keep a girlfriend? I fall too fast?”

Kim sat there silent for a moment. Thinking over everything the other girl had told her. Finally she moved both of their empty plates and scooted closer to Trixie, placing her hand on her knee.

“I won’t lie, I think you handled the situation awfully. You have a problem with talking about you’re real feelings and end up dancing around them. This wasn’t the time to lie about how you feel. Judging by how you said Katya reacted, it sounds like she has the same feelings as you.”

Trixie was looking at her lap and chewing on her bottom lip. Kim gave her knee a light squeeze, getting her to look up at her.

“Also, your ex’s were kind of cunty so lets not compare them to Katya and the matter at hand.” Trixie’s nose wrinked at the statement before shrugging her shoulders and nodding in agreement.

“So I should definitely talk to Katya.”

“Duh. You need to be straight with her.”

Trixie burst into laughter, one of her screams making Kim slap her knee.

“You know what I mean! Go be lesbians with her. Just talk to her. Really talk to her, not throw your walls up and spew some shit about ‘Let’s be friends’. What were you thinking Trixie?”

Trixie’s face fell again, the joy from the innuendo gone.

“I don’t know now that I think about it. It seemed like a rational idea to begin with. I just don’t want to loose her, you know? And here I am, lost without her.” She looked around the room, not wanting to meet Kim’s eyes. “I really love her. I saw the rest of my life with her.” She turned back to Kim. “It’s fucking scary.” Kim nodded.

“It is, but what if Katya saw the rest of her life with you as well?” They sat there in silence while Trixie processed everything that had been said and the best plan of action.

“I’m gonna call her, ok?” Kim nodded and Trixie went into her bedroom and closed the door. Her finger hovered above Katya’s name. She took a deep breath and pressed call. She held her breath the first two rings, by the third though she knew Katya wasn’t going to answer. The third ring went by and the call went to voicemail. Taking a deep breath she decided to leave a message.

“Hey Katya, it’s Trixie. You probably know that already. Hey, uh, I just wanted to see if you would talk to me. I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to but I need to talk to you. Explain myself and apologize. I was a complete bitch and I don’t blame you if you never want to see me again. But please let me talk to you one last time. If you decide after that to never talk to me again it’s fine. I need to tell you-”

The phone beeped letting her know she had used up all the time to leave a message. She sighed and put her phone down on the bed and went back out to the living room. Kim was eating another plate of cake and watching youtube, trying to give Trixie privacy and not listen to the call.

“Well?”

“It went to voicemail. I’m not surprised. If I was her I wouldn’t want to talk to me either.”

“Give her some time. Do you want to go out? You’ve been in here for god knows how long. Don’t you have cabin fever?” Trixie laughed and shook her head.

“I’d rather stay in and watch trash tv and cuddle to be honest. Want to stay the night?”

So they stayed in, ordering takeout and switching between multiple reality shows before they abandoned the tv completely. They curled up in Trixie’s bed, Kim resting her head on Trixie’s leg while Trixie strummed nonsense on her guitar and Kim caught up on her beauty blogs she followed on youtube.

“Hey Kim?” Trixie stopped the strings with her hand softly and Kim rolled over to face her.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For everything. I’m glad I have you to call me out on my shit.” Kim brought her had up to frame her face under her chin.

“Of course. You know I’ll clock you in a heartbeat.” Trixie shoved her shoulder and rolled over to put her guitar on its stand next to the bed.

“Hate you.”

“Aww Trixie, you know you love me!”

[emlydunstan]

Not Crazy: How I Overcame My Double Standard About Taking Psychiatric Medication

I’m walking up Lexington Avenue towards the subway on a cold Manhattan winter day from my psychiatrist’s office. It’s a route I’ve walked for five years, at varying frequencies, depending on the intensity of my mental health issues.My doctor is warm and nurturing with a great sense of humor, and I always walk out her door with a smile on my face. But once I hit the street, my mood can quickly shift: frustrated that I need yet another medicine to achieve some semblance of normalcy or disappointed in myself that I can’t cope. I scan the faces of the crowds in busy Midtown. Can they tell I’m crazy? Do they see some vacant look in my eyes I can’t see? Or, conversely, I wonder about them: is she, that pulled-together woman over there, also buoyed by a bevy of psychiatric meds?When I started an anti-depressant four years ago, I immediately started calling it my “crazy pill.” I want to say that’s just because I have a self-deprecating sense of humor, but that’s not the whole truth. Deep down, I thought it was because I was crazy.But this time leaving her office was different. My doctor used the words “in recovery,” (probably not the first time she used the phrase) and something inside me shifted. Of course I’m in recovery. I suffered myriad traumas last year: losing my mom, my job, needing to give up my dog, and, hey, let’s throw a summer fling breakup in there for fun. Needing to take medicine to recover from emotional trauma should be the same as if I had been in a car accident and needed painkillers…right?The word recovery resonated with me, and I finally internalized this: depression is a very real condition, and my doctor is treating me for it. I’ve written that depression can be like an emotional cancer—entirely pervasive and something that may go away. Or it may worsen.On the outside, I pen essays, like this one, where I tell others that they should treat depression and other mental illness just as if it were any other disease. That it shouldn’t hold stigma. And I meant it…for them.But why the double standard? Why would I be proud, even, to hear a friend was taking care of her health and taking antidepressants—but think that it made me crazy?“Women hold themselves to this standard where we’re supposed to be ‘perfect,’” says Dr. Carly Snyder, a Manhattan-based psychiatrist. “We all have our own image of what that should be, and it doesn’t involve taking an antidepressant.”In our culture, memes abound about wine being “mommy juice,” yet “there’s still stigma in trying to feel better in an appropriate way,” Snyder says. “’I’m seeking treatment for an anxiety disorder or depression’ becomes seen as ‘I couldn’t hack it on my own.’”For me, I see others dealing with grief or job loss “better” than me, and I wonder what’s wrong with me. I’m doing all the “right” things: I ran the NYC Marathon (my seventh marathon) last year, I picked up personal training and yoga teaching certifications this year, and I have tried every last wellness trend known to woman in hopes that crystals, or maybe hypnosis, will be my magic bullet.“We are in a really positive wellness kick right now [societally], and there’s a sense of ‘I didn’t do enough to help my mental health issues,’” says Snyder. Yet, “if someone were struggling with another disorder, a physical disorder, people wouldn’t say not to take care of it. Running is not going to get you out of a major depressive episode.” I constantly joke that if running a marathon isn’t enough to cure a depressive episode, maybe I just need to run an ultramarathon, but I know that’s not actually the answer.But while a 50K isn’t the answer, it is important to care for our bodies to care for our brains, says Snyder. (In case you forgot—your brain is a part of your body!) “It’s important to give one’s self the leeway to not feel OK and realize it’s a process to feel better.” People with depression tend to see the world in black and white, and if you wake up every day and say: “I’ll feel better today,” then as soon as you don’t, it becomes a bad day, according to both Snyder and my own experience. “There has to be room for disappointment and some gray area—and allowance for time of healing. It’s not going to happen overnight in the presence of significant illness and trauma.” She likens it to a bad bruise: it can come on quickly but take a long time to go away.If you’re already depressed though, that still sounds bleak. You want immediate gratification, right? Of course you do. Here’s the thing: we have control, and we’re not failures for having depression and anxiety. (Take a minute and write that down or say it out loud. Let it really sink in.)You don’t have to let your mood disorder dictate your self-worth or how you see the world—things I was guilty of. I identified myself as a depressed person, I threw my hands up in the air and blamed depression for my behavior. Snyder says that “when we are depressed, we deprive ourselves: I don’t deserve to feel better, I don’t need to feel better. There’s this bleakness that comes in. You know in your heart that this is not what it feels like to live in your day-to-day life, but it becomes harder to see a way out.”But you win, she says, by taking control—by going to therapy, by going to a psychiatrist, by not listening to that voice in your head that says you don’t deserve it.And although I’ve been treated for years—through therapy, medication, hospitalization and myriad holistic approaches, some legit, some snake oil—it was only on that cold day that I finally internalized it, that I really believed I deserved to feel better, and that depression was an actual diagnosis I had that needed to be treated. I saw my psychiatrist as a partner in my recovery, rather than someone who held all the power to cure me via her prescription pad.This realization took some of the power from the disease and allowed me to (eventually) reframe subsequent flares as just that, something that might happen to anyone with a chronic illness.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://www.thefix.com/not-crazy-how-i-overcame-my-double-standard-about-taking-psychiatric-medication

[alexdmorgan30]

Not Crazy: How I Overcame My Double Standard About Taking Psychiatric Medication

I’m walking up Lexington Avenue towards the subway on a cold Manhattan winter day from my psychiatrist’s office. It’s a route I’ve walked for five years, at varying frequencies, depending on the intensity of my mental health issues.My doctor is warm and nurturing with a great sense of humor, and I always walk out her door with a smile on my face. But once I hit the street, my mood can quickly shift: frustrated that I need yet another medicine to achieve some semblance of normalcy or disappointed in myself that I can’t cope. I scan the faces of the crowds in busy Midtown. Can they tell I’m crazy? Do they see some vacant look in my eyes I can’t see? Or, conversely, I wonder about them: is she, that pulled-together woman over there, also buoyed by a bevy of psychiatric meds?When I started an anti-depressant four years ago, I immediately started calling it my “crazy pill.” I want to say that’s just because I have a self-deprecating sense of humor, but that’s not the whole truth. Deep down, I thought it was because I was crazy.But this time leaving her office was different. My doctor used the words “in recovery,” (probably not the first time she used the phrase) and something inside me shifted. Of course I’m in recovery. I suffered myriad traumas last year: losing my mom, my job, needing to give up my dog, and, hey, let’s throw a summer fling breakup in there for fun. Needing to take medicine to recover from emotional trauma should be the same as if I had been in a car accident and needed painkillers…right?The word recovery resonated with me, and I finally internalized this: depression is a very real condition, and my doctor is treating me for it. I’ve written that depression can be like an emotional cancer—entirely pervasive and something that may go away. Or it may worsen.On the outside, I pen essays, like this one, where I tell others that they should treat depression and other mental illness just as if it were any other disease. That it shouldn’t hold stigma. And I meant it…for them.But why the double standard? Why would I be proud, even, to hear a friend was taking care of her health and taking antidepressants—but think that it made me crazy?“Women hold themselves to this standard where we’re supposed to be ‘perfect,’” says Dr. Carly Snyder, a Manhattan-based psychiatrist. “We all have our own image of what that should be, and it doesn’t involve taking an antidepressant.”In our culture, memes abound about wine being “mommy juice,” yet “there’s still stigma in trying to feel better in an appropriate way,” Snyder says. “’I’m seeking treatment for an anxiety disorder or depression’ becomes seen as ‘I couldn’t hack it on my own.’”For me, I see others dealing with grief or job loss “better” than me, and I wonder what’s wrong with me. I’m doing all the “right” things: I ran the NYC Marathon (my seventh marathon) last year, I picked up personal training and yoga teaching certifications this year, and I have tried every last wellness trend known to woman in hopes that crystals, or maybe hypnosis, will be my magic bullet.“We are in a really positive wellness kick right now [societally], and there’s a sense of ‘I didn’t do enough to help my mental health issues,’” says Snyder. Yet, “if someone were struggling with another disorder, a physical disorder, people wouldn’t say not to take care of it. Running is not going to get you out of a major depressive episode.” I constantly joke that if running a marathon isn’t enough to cure a depressive episode, maybe I just need to run an ultramarathon, but I know that’s not actually the answer.But while a 50K isn’t the answer, it is important to care for our bodies to care for our brains, says Snyder. (In case you forgot—your brain is a part of your body!) “It’s important to give one’s self the leeway to not feel OK and realize it’s a process to feel better.” People with depression tend to see the world in black and white, and if you wake up every day and say: “I’ll feel better today,” then as soon as you don’t, it becomes a bad day, according to both Snyder and my own experience. “There has to be room for disappointment and some gray area—and allowance for time of healing. It’s not going to happen overnight in the presence of significant illness and trauma.” She likens it to a bad bruise: it can come on quickly but take a long time to go away.If you’re already depressed though, that still sounds bleak. You want immediate gratification, right? Of course you do. Here’s the thing: we have control, and we’re not failures for having depression and anxiety. (Take a minute and write that down or say it out loud. Let it really sink in.)You don’t have to let your mood disorder dictate your self-worth or how you see the world—things I was guilty of. I identified myself as a depressed person, I threw my hands up in the air and blamed depression for my behavior. Snyder says that “when we are depressed, we deprive ourselves: I don’t deserve to feel better, I don’t need to feel better. There’s this bleakness that comes in. You know in your heart that this is not what it feels like to live in your day-to-day life, but it becomes harder to see a way out.”But you win, she says, by taking control—by going to therapy, by going to a psychiatrist, by not listening to that voice in your head that says you don’t deserve it.And although I’ve been treated for years—through therapy, medication, hospitalization and myriad holistic approaches, some legit, some snake oil—it was only on that cold day that I finally internalized it, that I really believed I deserved to feel better, and that depression was an actual diagnosis I had that needed to be treated. I saw my psychiatrist as a partner in my recovery, rather than someone who held all the power to cure me via her prescription pad.This realization took some of the power from the disease and allowed me to (eventually) reframe subsequent flares as just that, something that might happen to anyone with a chronic illness.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 http://bit.ly/2HizZe6

[bobbiejwray]

How to Heal Your Emotional Self in Addiction Treatment

When people arrive at the doorstep of surrender and they are contemplating the leap into addiction recovery, they are very often quite battered emotionally.

This is because they have been medicating their negative emotions with drugs or alcohol for quite some time.

Also, as they have gone deeper and deeper into their addiction, they have had to make a greater and greater effort at justification and rationalization. So they are telling themselves a story in their mind so that they can feel okay about their excessive drug or alcohol intake.

This narrative that they are telling themselves in order to justify their addiction takes a huge toll on them emotionally. Why?

Because it directly lowers the self esteem. The addict or alcoholic knows, deep down, that this is not who they really are, and this is not how they were meant to be in life.

They know that there is a better, healthier, and happier version of themselves inside somewhere. They know that they are not supposed to be allowing their addiction to run rampant and destroy their life. They know that there must be a better way, and that they should ask for help.

Every addict feels this kind of emotional pain inside on some level. Every alcoholic has some amount of emotional disturbance based on their excessive drinking and the consequences that it creates. We feel guilty because of the selfish nature of our addiction, yet we feel powerless to stop it. We don’t want to be selfish, but we also do not want to go without our drug of choice. Hence we feel trapped, and our emotions are at war with each other, shifting between “I hate myself and the fact that I drink or use so selfishly” to “if other people had my life they would drink or use too, and it is my right to do what I want, so why do I feel so guilty?”

This battle of emotions can rage on for years or even decades until the alcoholic or drug addict finally surrenders and lands in treatment.

Once in treatment, the addict must slowly start to rebuild their life and try to restore their emotions to a stable condition.

This is best done in a 28 day inpatient treatment program. Sure, there are certainly alternatives to this path, but I would argue that going to inpatient treatment gives you the most advantages in terms of remaining clean and sober and actually healing your emotional wounds.

Part of the process is to simply buckle down, stop drinking and taking drugs, and establish a foundation of abstinence in your life. That is what going to rehab helps with more than anything. But also, part of the process is to start unpacking some of that emotional baggage and figuring out how to forgive yourself and how to forgive other people that have wronged you.

You will find that you really cannot forgive other people until you learn how to forgive yourself first. And if you fail to do these two things then you are either going to carry resentments or you are going to resent yourself and suffer from low self esteem. Both of these conditions will eventually lead to relapse, so it is important that–after getting clean and sober in early recovery–that you actually do the work and start to talk about your issues and problems.

At some point, you have to grow up and try to fix the relationships in your life. This is what early recovery is all about–taking personal responsibility and doing what is right, no matter how uncomfortable it may be making you feel.

Much of our emotional discomfort comes from the fact that we are hiding and avoiding rather than facing our fear and our discomfort.

When you choose to live with personal responsibility in recovery, you are making the choice to face your fears and to do the right thing even though it will cause you some short term discomfort.

As addicts and alcoholics, we are wired differently. We sought out short term pleasure in our drug of choice even though it led to unhappiness in the long run. In spite of the unhappiness we doubled down and tried to seek more and more pleasure to make up for this deficit. It did not work and we became ever more miserable in our addiction.

In recovery, we need to learn from this mistake and apply it to other life lessons as well. We can run away from our anxiety or fear, we can run away from confrontation or anger, but then the emotions just simmer inside of us and threaten to cause relapse in the end.

The solution is to face everything, to face the anxiety, to face the confrontation, to face our problems and our issues.

That may sound overwhelming and you may be arguing that facing all of your problems and issues head on could cause you to relapse. That is a valid concern, and I hear you loud and clear.

However, recovery is a “we” program for a reason–you can enlist the help of treatment centers, AA and NA, a sponsor in those programs, a therapist that you see every week, and so on. You have an army of people in addiction recovery who are willing to help you, as long as you reach out and ask for that help.

Recovering addicts and alcoholics will do whatever they can do in order to help you in a way that is healthy and proactive (no enabling). But you have to reach out and ask. You have to call the rehab center before you can get started on this new journey. You have to walk into the AA meeting and pull up a chair before you can start making new friends in that fellowship.

You are going to have to put yourself out there a bit and maybe even become a bit vulnerable in order to reap the rewards of recovery.

In our addiction we shut down, we closed ourselves off, we dug in our heels against any sort of changes. We had our drug of choice and that was all we needed, thank you very much. That is how close mindedness and denial works.

In recovery we must do the opposite. We must open ourselves up to the possibility that there is a better way, that we can learn from advice and suggestions, that we can build positive habits that will lead us to a better life. We seek feedback and advice from our peers in AA, from our sponsor, and from our therapist in order to learn and start practicing the habits that will lead us to a better life in recovery.

Our emotional life will slowly get better as we keep taking advice and practicing the principles of a recovery program.

Take it slow, give yourself a break, and recognize that this will take time. You did not get sick overnight, and you won’t get entirely well overnight. Baby steps will get you to this new life in recovery as long as you are consistent with it. Good luck!

The post How to Heal Your Emotional Self in Addiction Treatment appeared first on Spiritual River Addiction Help.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241842 http://ift.tt/2tU6nNo

[violetsgallant]

How to Heal Your Emotional Self in Addiction Treatment

When people arrive at the doorstep of surrender and they are contemplating the leap into addiction recovery, they are very often quite battered emotionally.

This is because they have been medicating their negative emotions with drugs or alcohol for quite some time.

Also, as they have gone deeper and deeper into their addiction, they have had to make a greater and greater effort at justification and rationalization. So they are telling themselves a story in their mind so that they can feel okay about their excessive drug or alcohol intake.

This narrative that they are telling themselves in order to justify their addiction takes a huge toll on them emotionally. Why?

Because it directly lowers the self esteem. The addict or alcoholic knows, deep down, that this is not who they really are, and this is not how they were meant to be in life.

They know that there is a better, healthier, and happier version of themselves inside somewhere. They know that they are not supposed to be allowing their addiction to run rampant and destroy their life. They know that there must be a better way, and that they should ask for help.

Every addict feels this kind of emotional pain inside on some level. Every alcoholic has some amount of emotional disturbance based on their excessive drinking and the consequences that it creates. We feel guilty because of the selfish nature of our addiction, yet we feel powerless to stop it. We don’t want to be selfish, but we also do not want to go without our drug of choice. Hence we feel trapped, and our emotions are at war with each other, shifting between “I hate myself and the fact that I drink or use so selfishly” to “if other people had my life they would drink or use too, and it is my right to do what I want, so why do I feel so guilty?”

This battle of emotions can rage on for years or even decades until the alcoholic or drug addict finally surrenders and lands in treatment.

Once in treatment, the addict must slowly start to rebuild their life and try to restore their emotions to a stable condition.

This is best done in a 28 day inpatient treatment program. Sure, there are certainly alternatives to this path, but I would argue that going to inpatient treatment gives you the most advantages in terms of remaining clean and sober and actually healing your emotional wounds.

Part of the process is to simply buckle down, stop drinking and taking drugs, and establish a foundation of abstinence in your life. That is what going to rehab helps with more than anything. But also, part of the process is to start unpacking some of that emotional baggage and figuring out how to forgive yourself and how to forgive other people that have wronged you.

You will find that you really cannot forgive other people until you learn how to forgive yourself first. And if you fail to do these two things then you are either going to carry resentments or you are going to resent yourself and suffer from low self esteem. Both of these conditions will eventually lead to relapse, so it is important that–after getting clean and sober in early recovery–that you actually do the work and start to talk about your issues and problems.

At some point, you have to grow up and try to fix the relationships in your life. This is what early recovery is all about–taking personal responsibility and doing what is right, no matter how uncomfortable it may be making you feel.

Much of our emotional discomfort comes from the fact that we are hiding and avoiding rather than facing our fear and our discomfort.

When you choose to live with personal responsibility in recovery, you are making the choice to face your fears and to do the right thing even though it will cause you some short term discomfort.

As addicts and alcoholics, we are wired differently. We sought out short term pleasure in our drug of choice even though it led to unhappiness in the long run. In spite of the unhappiness we doubled down and tried to seek more and more pleasure to make up for this deficit. It did not work and we became ever more miserable in our addiction.

In recovery, we need to learn from this mistake and apply it to other life lessons as well. We can run away from our anxiety or fear, we can run away from confrontation or anger, but then the emotions just simmer inside of us and threaten to cause relapse in the end.

The solution is to face everything, to face the anxiety, to face the confrontation, to face our problems and our issues.

That may sound overwhelming and you may be arguing that facing all of your problems and issues head on could cause you to relapse. That is a valid concern, and I hear you loud and clear.

However, recovery is a “we” program for a reason–you can enlist the help of treatment centers, AA and NA, a sponsor in those programs, a therapist that you see every week, and so on. You have an army of people in addiction recovery who are willing to help you, as long as you reach out and ask for that help.

Recovering addicts and alcoholics will do whatever they can do in order to help you in a way that is healthy and proactive (no enabling). But you have to reach out and ask. You have to call the rehab center before you can get started on this new journey. You have to walk into the AA meeting and pull up a chair before you can start making new friends in that fellowship.

You are going to have to put yourself out there a bit and maybe even become a bit vulnerable in order to reap the rewards of recovery.

In our addiction we shut down, we closed ourselves off, we dug in our heels against any sort of changes. We had our drug of choice and that was all we needed, thank you very much. That is how close mindedness and denial works.

In recovery we must do the opposite. We must open ourselves up to the possibility that there is a better way, that we can learn from advice and suggestions, that we can build positive habits that will lead us to a better life. We seek feedback and advice from our peers in AA, from our sponsor, and from our therapist in order to learn and start practicing the habits that will lead us to a better life in recovery.

Our emotional life will slowly get better as we keep taking advice and practicing the principles of a recovery program.

Take it slow, give yourself a break, and recognize that this will take time. You did not get sick overnight, and you won’t get entirely well overnight. Baby steps will get you to this new life in recovery as long as you are consistent with it. Good luck!

The post How to Heal Your Emotional Self in Addiction Treatment appeared first on Spiritual River Addiction Help.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241844 http://ift.tt/2tU6nNo

[jaylazoey]

How to Heal Your Emotional Self in Addiction Treatment

When people arrive at the doorstep of surrender and they are contemplating the leap into addiction recovery, they are very often quite battered emotionally.

This is because they have been medicating their negative emotions with drugs or alcohol for quite some time.

Also, as they have gone deeper and deeper into their addiction, they have had to make a greater and greater effort at justification and rationalization. So they are telling themselves a story in their mind so that they can feel okay about their excessive drug or alcohol intake.

This narrative that they are telling themselves in order to justify their addiction takes a huge toll on them emotionally. Why?

Because it directly lowers the self esteem. The addict or alcoholic knows, deep down, that this is not who they really are, and this is not how they were meant to be in life.

They know that there is a better, healthier, and happier version of themselves inside somewhere. They know that they are not supposed to be allowing their addiction to run rampant and destroy their life. They know that there must be a better way, and that they should ask for help.

Every addict feels this kind of emotional pain inside on some level. Every alcoholic has some amount of emotional disturbance based on their excessive drinking and the consequences that it creates. We feel guilty because of the selfish nature of our addiction, yet we feel powerless to stop it. We don’t want to be selfish, but we also do not want to go without our drug of choice. Hence we feel trapped, and our emotions are at war with each other, shifting between “I hate myself and the fact that I drink or use so selfishly” to “if other people had my life they would drink or use too, and it is my right to do what I want, so why do I feel so guilty?”

This battle of emotions can rage on for years or even decades until the alcoholic or drug addict finally surrenders and lands in treatment.

Once in treatment, the addict must slowly start to rebuild their life and try to restore their emotions to a stable condition.

This is best done in a 28 day inpatient treatment program. Sure, there are certainly alternatives to this path, but I would argue that going to inpatient treatment gives you the most advantages in terms of remaining clean and sober and actually healing your emotional wounds.

Part of the process is to simply buckle down, stop drinking and taking drugs, and establish a foundation of abstinence in your life. That is what going to rehab helps with more than anything. But also, part of the process is to start unpacking some of that emotional baggage and figuring out how to forgive yourself and how to forgive other people that have wronged you.

You will find that you really cannot forgive other people until you learn how to forgive yourself first. And if you fail to do these two things then you are either going to carry resentments or you are going to resent yourself and suffer from low self esteem. Both of these conditions will eventually lead to relapse, so it is important that–after getting clean and sober in early recovery–that you actually do the work and start to talk about your issues and problems.

At some point, you have to grow up and try to fix the relationships in your life. This is what early recovery is all about–taking personal responsibility and doing what is right, no matter how uncomfortable it may be making you feel.

Much of our emotional discomfort comes from the fact that we are hiding and avoiding rather than facing our fear and our discomfort.

When you choose to live with personal responsibility in recovery, you are making the choice to face your fears and to do the right thing even though it will cause you some short term discomfort.

As addicts and alcoholics, we are wired differently. We sought out short term pleasure in our drug of choice even though it led to unhappiness in the long run. In spite of the unhappiness we doubled down and tried to seek more and more pleasure to make up for this deficit. It did not work and we became ever more miserable in our addiction.

In recovery, we need to learn from this mistake and apply it to other life lessons as well. We can run away from our anxiety or fear, we can run away from confrontation or anger, but then the emotions just simmer inside of us and threaten to cause relapse in the end.

The solution is to face everything, to face the anxiety, to face the confrontation, to face our problems and our issues.

That may sound overwhelming and you may be arguing that facing all of your problems and issues head on could cause you to relapse. That is a valid concern, and I hear you loud and clear.

However, recovery is a “we” program for a reason–you can enlist the help of treatment centers, AA and NA, a sponsor in those programs, a therapist that you see every week, and so on. You have an army of people in addiction recovery who are willing to help you, as long as you reach out and ask for that help.

Recovering addicts and alcoholics will do whatever they can do in order to help you in a way that is healthy and proactive (no enabling). But you have to reach out and ask. You have to call the rehab center before you can get started on this new journey. You have to walk into the AA meeting and pull up a chair before you can start making new friends in that fellowship.

You are going to have to put yourself out there a bit and maybe even become a bit vulnerable in order to reap the rewards of recovery.

In our addiction we shut down, we closed ourselves off, we dug in our heels against any sort of changes. We had our drug of choice and that was all we needed, thank you very much. That is how close mindedness and denial works.

In recovery we must do the opposite. We must open ourselves up to the possibility that there is a better way, that we can learn from advice and suggestions, that we can build positive habits that will lead us to a better life. We seek feedback and advice from our peers in AA, from our sponsor, and from our therapist in order to learn and start practicing the habits that will lead us to a better life in recovery.

Our emotional life will slowly get better as we keep taking advice and practicing the principles of a recovery program.

Take it slow, give yourself a break, and recognize that this will take time. You did not get sick overnight, and you won’t get entirely well overnight. Baby steps will get you to this new life in recovery as long as you are consistent with it. Good luck!

The post How to Heal Your Emotional Self in Addiction Treatment appeared first on Spiritual River Addiction Help.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241844 http://www.spiritualriver.com/addiction-treatment/how-to-heal-your-emotional-self-in-addiction-treatment/

[roberrtnelson]

How to Heal Your Emotional Self in Addiction Treatment

When people arrive at the doorstep of surrender and they are contemplating the leap into addiction recovery, they are very often quite battered emotionally.

This is because they have been medicating their negative emotions with drugs or alcohol for quite some time.

Also, as they have gone deeper and deeper into their addiction, they have had to make a greater and greater effort at justification and rationalization. So they are telling themselves a story in their mind so that they can feel okay about their excessive drug or alcohol intake.

This narrative that they are telling themselves in order to justify their addiction takes a huge toll on them emotionally. Why?

Because it directly lowers the self esteem. The addict or alcoholic knows, deep down, that this is not who they really are, and this is not how they were meant to be in life.

They know that there is a better, healthier, and happier version of themselves inside somewhere. They know that they are not supposed to be allowing their addiction to run rampant and destroy their life. They know that there must be a better way, and that they should ask for help.

Every addict feels this kind of emotional pain inside on some level. Every alcoholic has some amount of emotional disturbance based on their excessive drinking and the consequences that it creates. We feel guilty because of the selfish nature of our addiction, yet we feel powerless to stop it. We don’t want to be selfish, but we also do not want to go without our drug of choice. Hence we feel trapped, and our emotions are at war with each other, shifting between “I hate myself and the fact that I drink or use so selfishly” to “if other people had my life they would drink or use too, and it is my right to do what I want, so why do I feel so guilty?”

This battle of emotions can rage on for years or even decades until the alcoholic or drug addict finally surrenders and lands in treatment.

Once in treatment, the addict must slowly start to rebuild their life and try to restore their emotions to a stable condition.

This is best done in a 28 day inpatient treatment program. Sure, there are certainly alternatives to this path, but I would argue that going to inpatient treatment gives you the most advantages in terms of remaining clean and sober and actually healing your emotional wounds.

Part of the process is to simply buckle down, stop drinking and taking drugs, and establish a foundation of abstinence in your life. That is what going to rehab helps with more than anything. But also, part of the process is to start unpacking some of that emotional baggage and figuring out how to forgive yourself and how to forgive other people that have wronged you.

You will find that you really cannot forgive other people until you learn how to forgive yourself first. And if you fail to do these two things then you are either going to carry resentments or you are going to resent yourself and suffer from low self esteem. Both of these conditions will eventually lead to relapse, so it is important that–after getting clean and sober in early recovery–that you actually do the work and start to talk about your issues and problems.

At some point, you have to grow up and try to fix the relationships in your life. This is what early recovery is all about–taking personal responsibility and doing what is right, no matter how uncomfortable it may be making you feel.

Much of our emotional discomfort comes from the fact that we are hiding and avoiding rather than facing our fear and our discomfort.

When you choose to live with personal responsibility in recovery, you are making the choice to face your fears and to do the right thing even though it will cause you some short term discomfort.

As addicts and alcoholics, we are wired differently. We sought out short term pleasure in our drug of choice even though it led to unhappiness in the long run. In spite of the unhappiness we doubled down and tried to seek more and more pleasure to make up for this deficit. It did not work and we became ever more miserable in our addiction.

In recovery, we need to learn from this mistake and apply it to other life lessons as well. We can run away from our anxiety or fear, we can run away from confrontation or anger, but then the emotions just simmer inside of us and threaten to cause relapse in the end.

The solution is to face everything, to face the anxiety, to face the confrontation, to face our problems and our issues.

That may sound overwhelming and you may be arguing that facing all of your problems and issues head on could cause you to relapse. That is a valid concern, and I hear you loud and clear.

However, recovery is a “we” program for a reason–you can enlist the help of treatment centers, AA and NA, a sponsor in those programs, a therapist that you see every week, and so on. You have an army of people in addiction recovery who are willing to help you, as long as you reach out and ask for that help.

Recovering addicts and alcoholics will do whatever they can do in order to help you in a way that is healthy and proactive (no enabling). But you have to reach out and ask. You have to call the rehab center before you can get started on this new journey. You have to walk into the AA meeting and pull up a chair before you can start making new friends in that fellowship.

You are going to have to put yourself out there a bit and maybe even become a bit vulnerable in order to reap the rewards of recovery.

In our addiction we shut down, we closed ourselves off, we dug in our heels against any sort of changes. We had our drug of choice and that was all we needed, thank you very much. That is how close mindedness and denial works.

In recovery we must do the opposite. We must open ourselves up to the possibility that there is a better way, that we can learn from advice and suggestions, that we can build positive habits that will lead us to a better life. We seek feedback and advice from our peers in AA, from our sponsor, and from our therapist in order to learn and start practicing the habits that will lead us to a better life in recovery.

Our emotional life will slowly get better as we keep taking advice and practicing the principles of a recovery program.

Take it slow, give yourself a break, and recognize that this will take time. You did not get sick overnight, and you won’t get entirely well overnight. Baby steps will get you to this new life in recovery as long as you are consistent with it. Good luck!

The post How to Heal Your Emotional Self in Addiction Treatment appeared first on Spiritual River Addiction Help.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241843 http://ift.tt/2tU6nNo