#but they start relapsing back into it when their mental health starts worsening and hoping that Sashanne don't notice

[kiwibirbkat]

STREAMER AU SASHANNARCY

[builtbybrokenbells]

belladonna | iii (pt. 1)

too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

masterlist | taglist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader, f!reader x OC

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: mentions of toxic/abusive parents, mentions of/toxic relationships, mentions of criminal activity/criminal records, poverty, mentions of homelessness, mentions of physical violence, mentions of blood, mentions of AA/NA, NA meetings, heavy descriptions of addictions, use of/mentions of drugs, mentions of relapsing, mentions of OD, mentions of drinking, flirting, mentions of hookups/sex, smoking, depression/anxiety, mental health struggles, swearing, sorry if I miss any!!

here’s part one of two! lots of heavy stuff in this part and some more character background, but we do get to see some romance begin to blossom. im excited to share, but even more excited for you guys to read the next part. thanks for being amazing, i love you guys 🤍

April 22, 2022

The morning was violent, so much so that it managed to pull you from a slumber fit for the dead. As you rolled over on your couch, your journal tumbled from your stomach and landed on the floor with a thump that echoed through the entire room. The large panel windows with rotted sills glistened under the blazing sunlight, too bright and warm for you to withstand. You squeezed your eyes shut again to block out the rays, but instead of blackness, the usual void seemed red with the light beaming directly on your face. You withdrew a long breath, rubbing your face in your hands to pull yourself out of the claws of exhaustion. After a moment, you managed to invigorate yourself enough to sit up straight, but it came with ample consequences.

Your body ached so desperately that it felt like your bones had twisted and morphed into something new, and your throat scratched with dryness every time you tried to swallow. Your head pounded with every breath and only ever worsened as you moved. There was a kink in your neck that you could not massage out if you tried, and your stomach was twisted with upset. You woke up the same every morning, like you were still in active addiction and your body was craving the substance with a fervor. It was a phantom pain that passed not long after you started your day, but while it existed, it was incredibly difficult to get through. No matter how long you had been sober for, you awoke every morning with the incessant urge to fall back into old habits.

That specific morning it seemed so much worse than others, and you feared that if you had even the slightest lapse in willpower, you would end up on the bathroom floor submitting to an entity so sinister that it would ruin your life all over again.

So, instead of taking the risk, you checked your phone to see what time it was. When the white letters splayed ten o’clock, you knew you could rush to the old AA hall they had donated to the druggies when the state funded a new building and catch the morning meeting. If you were lucky enough, you could make it in time to grab one or two of the stale muffins from the day prior and save some money on groceries. You noticed the pen that had once sat atop the journal (that had once sat atop you) had fallen onto the torn cushions of the couch and was now stabbing into your side. With a huff of frustration, you tossed it to the floor, where it struck the old vinyl tile and rocketed under one of the other pieces of furniture.

You stood, feeling woozy from the illness plaguing you and seemingly eating away at your insides. With a vow to ignore it, you trudged to the bathroom to comb your hair and brush your teeth. The intense mint from the toothpaste was aggravating your already sick stomach, and you fought back a gag as you struggled through the basic task. You washed your face, hoping the cold water would distract you, but the sting of the frigid liquid on your tired skin only annoyed you further. In a poor mood, you forced yourself through the rest of your routine and ran to your bedroom. You changed into a pair of jeans that once belonged to your oldest brother, and a sweater that belonged to your youngest brother. To top it off, you threw on a fleece lined plaid jacket to keep out the harsh wind, noticing yet another rip in the already worn out fabric.

You grabbed your pack of cigarettes from the counter on the way out the door, tying your boots in the hallway after deciding that tripping over laces would be the (theoretical) straw that broke the camel's back. You broke out into the bitter air, the smell of city smog filling your lungs and the nip of morning frost biting at your cheeks. You shoved your headphones into your ear, pressing play on a playlist that had been ringing through your living room all night long. With a brief check over your shoulder, you hopped to the other side of the street and began walking down the winding side road in hopes of finding a Hail Mary.

After a seemingly treacherous journey, you trudged up the wooden steps that were nearly rotten all the way through. You clasped your fingers around the large metal handle and pulled the oak door open, the creaks echoing through the barren entryway. You stepped inside, your mind still swimming with relentless thoughts and your cheeks blushed with chill. You slipped your headphones into the pocket of your hoodie and moved further inside, surveying the room before going any further. The old building was once a church, and when it was abandoned, the state took it over and rebranded it for Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. Back then, it went hand in hand with the motto, as most that turned vile due to their addictions believed themselves to be devout Christian’s. Some believed it was blasphemous to use such a building for people who had disgraced the name of god, and others thought it to be perfectly fitting. Either way, God did not have a hand in what happened in the building, nor was he worthy of credit for the recovery of the people.

When the government decided AA was worthy of a better building, they still failed to recognize addicts as people deserving of recovery (or help, even), and left the old building for anyone to do as they pleased with. For a little while, it was home to a small family of homeless people, and only once the city grew sick of them did they decide an NA program was worthwhile. State ‘funded’ and utterly disappointing, they held meetings twice a day that were led by a single member of the mental health board (and not even an addictions expert, at that) and were mostly self-guided. As much as the program lacked, you still found it comforting to sort through your issues with fellow addicts who also fucked up their lives beyond repair. That, and it was the only intervention that was consistently accessible, and free.

You hated knowing that your recovery was based off a paycheck, and that bettering yourself as a person was dependent upon affordability, yet you knew this to be reality. Treatment programs were expensive, and the only one you had ever been to had left you with a debt you would never shake off your shoulders. From then, you knew you had to be in charge of your recovery, and that started with improving your willpower to stay sober. You could not afford anything more than self-help journals, and with every backslide, you understood that medical bills were piling higher and higher. Sobriety was the only option, because if not, poverty was the punishment. Unfortunately, poverty was a breeding ground for mental illness (which you already suffered enough of), and mental illness was a slippery slope that lead you straight back to square one.

Complaining about NA would not get you any further ahead, so you often had to swallow your distaste and appreciate it for what it was. At least there was some type of intervention, even if it was lousy. Without it, you would have nothing but yourself, and you had come to realize that was one thing you could not solely rely on, as you were a nothing shy of a trained professional in bad decisions and fucking up.

You noticed the circle of fold out chairs, half filled with zombie-like shapes that only passed as people on a good day. Today, as it seemed, was not a good day. Most of the attendees were forced to be there by parole regulations, and others only came for a warm place to sit for an hour. Some, like yourself, wanted help, but most cared about the free food more. As you approached the group, you made a stop at the table with the coffee canister and expired creamer, pouring yourself two cups to sip away at while you spilled your guts. Thankfully, there were plenty of muffins left, and when nobody was looking, you managed to slip a few in your large pockets (which was the exact reason you wore that specific jacket).

As you took a seat, you surveyed for any familiar faces. There was an older women, frail looking with mousy blonde hair and sad eyes. Her name was Carol, and she was the most frequent attendee of all of the meetings. Even so, you knew her to be a woman who was sober, but nowhere near recovered. She’d been through the twelve step program a hundred times, yet never seemed to harness all that she’d learned. She was tired, sorrowful and a little timid, yet had a fiery side that matched the devil. She often talked about her mistakes like they were small blips, yet did not seem to comprehend that even if they were unavoidable, they had consequences that were detrimental to her and her family. More specifically, it affected her children, in which she mentioned their no-contact order at least once a meeting.

You felt bad for her, but not enough to extend a helping hand. She was a great example of ‘reap what you sow’ and she reminded you too much of your own mother to ignore it. Every time you began to feel some shred of sympathy, you would think of her four kids who suffered at the hands of her own lack of self control. She knew nothing about accountability, and was in so much denial that she was blaming the no contact order on the children who filed it, rather than the woman who caused it. She would never recover unless she understood the implications of her actions, and that she caused all that happened, even if she felt powerless at the time. She could abstain from using drugs until her last breath, yet she would never escape the addict mentality.

The coordinator, Liam, was by the windows organizing his meeting checklist. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you were certain that when he did, a smart comment would be casted in your direction. He was in his mid-thirties, and he wasn’t the worst person in the world to share a piece of your soul with. If anything, over the months of going to meetings, you had actually grown quite fond of him. He was a trained mental health professional, and even if his specialty was not addiction, he still cared enough to dedicate his time to helping others. You were certain that he was not paid well for his two hours a day, and he was working it atop his other job. There was a part of him that loved the charity, and as a true councillor should, cared about helping people more than anything else.

As you sipped at your coffee, Liam approached the group with his head still nestled in his clipboard. As more people trudged in, he looked up to smile as they situated themselves, and that’s when his eyes landed on you. There was a sparkle of something you could not place your finger on, and it made you bite back a laugh. He stepped in your direction, tapping his pen against the cork material of the board as he thought of a snarky remark. ��You lose your calendar?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not Wednesday.”

“No, it’s not. Astute observation, smartass.” You replied, smirking at him. The one good thing about NA was him, and the fact that you felt like you could be yourself around him. He was not a bible thumper, nor was he a hardass; he was a person who knew struggle, taking time to help other people with their struggle. He understood that you were a barely-adult who dealt with your pain with humour, especially after watching you interact with Dylan and Vincent, and he used it to his advantage. Every now and again, he had to crack the whip to ensure you weren’t using humour to deflect, but most of the time, he agreed that it was a good coping mechanism.

“You just missed me so much, huh?” He sighed, tapping the end of his pen against the board, now. It send a dull yet steady sound through the immediate air, and it was the equivalent to nails on a chalkboard for your already migraine-ridden brain.

“Hardly,” you muttered, taking another long gulp of coffee while hoping it would ease the pain in your skull. “Figured if I had to choose between you and the detox box, I’d pick you.”

“Smart choice.” He complimented. “Where’s your company?”

“You really think they’d come to a non-mandated meeting? Are you insane?”

“Some would say so.” He shrugged. “Proud of you for choosing sobriety, y/n.”

“Oh, fuck off with your sentimental bullshit.” You grumbled, but couldn’t deny the tugging of your heartstrings. If there was one thing you loved, it was being told that someone was proud of you. Of course, you were never willing to show your appreciation for the fact, but you definitely held the words close. “You better get started before Carol starts crying or Joey falls asleep.” You said, nodding your head in the direction of the two sitting side by side. Joey seemed as if he was nodding off, and Carol was already weepy-eyed.

“Right, it’s about that time.” He sighed, nodding curtly. “Alright, everyone! Come grab a seat so we can get started!” His voice echoed through the mostly empty room, bouncing off the walls peeling of their paint. The large windows sent flutters of golden light through the room, illuminating the specs of dust in the air. When you looked above the pointed window tops, you could see the shadow of a cross that remained stained to the wallpaper even long after it was removed. The grime of the building ensured that the memory would remain indefinitely. As Liam walked towards his chair at the head of the circle, the small heels of his dress shoes clacked against the rickety floorboards. When he sat, the legs of the plastic foldout chair scraped against the already scuffed panels. It was underwhelming in its entirety, yet you found it oddly comforting.

As the bodies pooled into the chairs, leaving ample spaces between themselves as they sat down, you crossed your legs and pulled the frumpy jacket closer to your body. The building was drafty, shifting and groaning under every strong gust of wind and threatening to give out under the pressure. You picked at the threads of loose skin around your fingernails, awaiting Liam’s routine meeting opener.

“Good morning, everyone.” He spoke, his voice echoing throughout the whole room. He was cheerful, but not overly, and he was excited to get his part over with so he could sit back and observe. “As some of you know, Friday’s are completely open discussion days, just the same as Monday. If this isn’t your cup of tea and you’d like to check out the speaker meetings where I guide you through the steps of recovery, you can stop by from Tuesday to Thursday. I’m here at the same time every day, 11am and 2pm, so if you require another session outside of your normal attendance schedule, you know where to find me.” There were a few mutters of agreement from the crowd, but most of them had their eyes on the clock, waiting for the hour to finish despite it only just getting started.

“Are there any newcomers in the crowd today?” The question was mandated, even if he already knew the answer. He recognized you all from the minute you stepped in; the whole crowd was familiar with each other now. “Right, okay.” He nodded, jotting something down on his clipboard. “As always, remember that if you run into any issues outside of the normal meeting times, we always implore you to give a call to the friends you’ve made here. There’s a list of numbers available by the door for anyone who has volunteered to be a sponsor. Remember—“

“Dial it, don’t file it.” The whole group chanted back to him before he could speak. The mantra was drilled so deeply into your brain that you were sure you muttered it in your sleep. He gave a tight lipped smile, understanding the redundancy of his words.

Open speaker meetings were your favorite. You did not find much solace in Liam droning on for a half an hour, as his personal experience with addiction was nonexistent. It was a comfort to tell your story and have it touch others, and it was nice when you could hear the struggles of other people. It made you feel less alone, and it felt less clinical. When Liam took up an hour of your time, yapping away about resilience and self awareness, it was difficult not to fall asleep in your chair. You chose Wednesday’s as your regular days when you learned it was Vincent and Dylan’s scheduled day, but not for many other reasons. Sometimes, it was nice to hear advice and encouragement, but in the long run, it did not hold much value to you. You opted to go to plenty of meetings outside of your normal time, just so you could get all of the benefits of it.

“Remember to stick around after the meeting so we can hand out chips or tags, whichever you prefer. If you brought your white chip with you today, we can upgrade you to silver.” He gave a smile, as if handing in a surrender token was a victory and a 24-hour token was a milestone. You were certain that everyone around you had a million silver and white tokens littered across their homes, yet it never seemed to stick. You knew that for you, at least, a silver token was a punch in the gut rather than a pat on the back. “So, if there’s no questions, we can get started.” He said, surveying the crowd for a raised hand or an interested eye. When he was met with nothing, he gave a slow nod, crossing his legs and taking in a long breath. “Would anyone like to start us off?”

The silence was so abundant that you could hear the honking of horns from the road. You waited for the chirp of crickets, but you knew that the building was filled with too much asbestos to house any living creature, insects included. Spiders on the other hand had seemed to grow resilience when it came to the toxicity of the environment, which only made them superhuman in comparison to their former self. You could see a few dangling from cobwebs in the corners of the room.

“I’ll go,” you said, speaking up only when the silence grew unbearable. “If nobody else wants to, I can start.”

“Sure,” Liam nodded, smiling at your willingness to proceed. “Whenever you’re comfortable.”

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, making yourself wonder why you had actually shown up on that solemn Friday morning. What had been so troublesome that you rushed out your front door the minute you woke up so you could attend a meeting?

That was a loaded question, one that likely had a million answers, but you settled on the thoughts that felt most pressing to you.

“I often hear the same sentiment when I talk about my addictions. I get the same sad smiles and sympathetic eyes, the ones that tell me that I’m more fucked up then even I can comprehend. I can see the refrain in their faces, like they want to run and hide. I get that it’s hard to understand something when you’ve never experienced it, but sometimes it makes me wonder how it’s so easy to dehumanize people who’ve gone through or are currently facing struggle.” You didn’t stop speaking for a reaction, but rather to gather your many thoughts before speaking them aloud. It seemed as though you were in more of a talking mood than you previously thought, because now that you had begun, you felt no inclination to stop.

“When someone grieves, we do not go out of our way to alienate them from us. When someone gets in an accident, we parade around with bouquets of flowers and well wishes. When alcoholics drink themselves to the point of no return, we put them on a transplant list for a new liver and hand out brochures on how to live a sober life. Why is it when someone learns that I’m an addict, I am denounced to nothing but a thief and a criminal? What makes my struggle different? What makes me less worthy of help?” You posed the question to the crowd, not expecting a real answer. “All of the aforementioned reasons are worthy of sympathy and compassion, but it makes me question why my struggle is not. Why, even when I walk into an Alcoholics Anonymous hall and speak my troubles aloud, they look at me as if I’m evil, as if their addiction is better than mine? The superiority complex of an addict who deems their addiction more digestible than my own makes my skin crawl, yet I see it every day.”

“I’ve been an addict since I was born, even if I didn’t touch drugs until I was a teenager. The addiction was engraved in my brain since conception—no matter active or not, I will always have the symptoms of the disease. It was shown to me first by my father, who was willing to abandon his three children in search of a high. I learned the rest of it from my mother, who was the highest functioning alcoholic I have ever met.” You paused, forcing your thoughts away from the face of your mother, which only ever seem to enrage you.

“When I was three, I was addicted to apple juice. I used to scream and cry and kick my feet until I was red in the face and my lungs started to ache. As soon as they placed that Disney Princess sippy-cup in my hands, it was like they shot me with a fucking tranquilizer dart. Two hours later, it started all over again. When I was seven, it was marshmallows. When I was eleven, it was that stupid fucking ‘Peggle’ game on my brothers Xbox. When I turned thirteen, I drank alcohol with my best friend for the first time. We stole it from her parents' liquor cabinet and drank so much we threw up for two whole days.” You explained, leaning forward in your chair and looking towards the floor.

“Even as I spilled my guts over that toilet and spent forty eight hours in misery, I knew that apple juice had nothing on alcohol, and it had given me more satisfaction than anything ever had. On my fifteenth birthday, all of my friends were out of town, so I thought I’d have my own fun at home alone, and hopefully drown out the sound of my mother terrorizing my brothers in the living room.” You explained, giving an empty smile. “I looked through my mothers pill cabinet, pulling out bottles and typing names into my phone to find out what it would do for me. I went back to my bedroom with three little white pills in my hand, locking the door behind me and sealing my fate for the rest of eternity.” You took in a long breath, closing your eyes for a moment. “That night, I discovered that OxyContin was far more effective than ‘Peggle’, and from there, I became the worst version of myself.” You heard a few hums of agreement around the room, unable to look up at the sad eyes staring at you. You knew that they hated seeing someone so young face the evil fangs of opiates, but no matter if they were sympathetic or not, you were still hurting over it just the same. Silence became you and you were unsure if talking was making it better, or hurting you more.

“My point is,” you continued, feeling your courage begin to return. “I didn’t wake up on my fifteenth birthday and decide to be an addict. I didn’t decide to be an addict every time I used after that, because it was never a choice. If you have bipolar disorder, it was in your brain long before you ever showed symptoms. If you have cancer, half of your insides are rotten before they catch it. I had an addiction long before I ever touched drugs, and I’ll have an addiction until the day I die. It does not make me lesser than anyone else, and it doesn’t make me a bad person. I had shit luck and poor genes, and I’ll suffer for the rest of my life, but my suffering does not make me a bad person, and it does not make me any different than another person walking down those streets. I’m not inherently evil because of it; I’m just someone who’s made mistakes, trying to atone for them. I’m still that little girl crying for apple juice, or that pre-teen begging my brother to play a game. The only difference is, I’ve had a taste of something far more powerful and much more lethal. I’m tired of being painted the villain, because it was the substance that turned me bad. I hurt people, and I hurt myself, but every day I wake up and choose to be different. It does not take away from what I have already done, but it does change to who I will be. That is the difference between a good person and a bad person, not the demons they’re fighting against.”

“I’m an addict, and I know I will be an addict until the day I die. I was born that way, but I made the conscious decision to use, and I will be stuck repenting for that until my last breath. I can’t sit before you and tell you I regret my decisions, because those were some of the best days of my life. I don’t regret it, even if it was a mistake. It was the best thing I have ever felt. I wake up every day still craving the high, wondering if it’s easier to just give in and let go. I spend every waking minute chasing that feeling, and even if I know I can never have it again, it doesn’t mean I don’t want it. It’s a constant struggle, a reminder of my own mistakes that I’m still trying to run away from, and it’s torture. At the same time, I came here today because I’ve been stuck wondering if it’s possible to change, to not be this person anymore.”

“I want to be good, to love life without being dependent on substance, but I worry that it’s not possible. I want to breathe without restraint, and I want to live without chains constantly holding me down. When I think about how hard it is to stay sober, I try to remember how hard it is to be an addict, and sometimes not even that can scare me away. I want to go back to the days where ‘Peggle’ and marshmallows could make me feel the same way. I’m trying to be something I’m not, and I’m afraid it’s not ever possible to be what I want. Will I be seventy years old and happy that I stayed sober, or will I be in that rocking chair looking back at my life, surrounded by grandchildren yet still remembering what it felt like to swallow that pill? Worse than that, I worry that seventy will never be in my hands, and I’ll die of the sickness before I can ever see it.” You paused, realizing that you were taking up far too much time. You blinked hard, bringing yourself back to reality and settling back in your chair. You looked to the water stained ceilings with tears pricking your dry eyes, wondering how the hell you got yourself here.

“Sobriety has been my best friend and my worst enemy, and I came here today because it’s my enemy. I know what I need to do, but today just it doesn’t seem possible. For now, I’m here. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and try again, because that’s all I can do. When it feels impossible, I just keep telling myself that it’s for the best. I'm no stranger to starting from zero, so what the hell is one more try, right?” A slow round of applause echoed around the room. You fought back an eye roll, knowing that all that you had said was not worthy of a celebration. It was a ugly thing, a eulogy to your former self, and sobriety had never been something you were proud of. It was a struggle, and it was something you could never seem to commit to. Trying again was your area of expertise because of how good you were at fucking up, and you did not feel right celebrating a temporary victory while the hardest battle was still looming just overhead.

“I can speak for everyone when I say that we’re incredibly happy that you decided to come here today.” Liam said, sending you a smile from across the circle. You forced one back, unable to hold his gaze for very long. “You’re not starting over again, y/n, you’re just starting to try harder.”

“Right,” you nodded, tracing the scarred stick-and-poke tattoo that was already fading away from the back of your hand. It did not feel like you were trying harder. If anything, it felt like you were closer to giving up.

If you had a shred of self awareness, you would have been able to see that because of that fact alone, you were trying harder than you ever had.

As Liam opened the floor for another poor soul, you thought over all you had said in your confessional. You wondered why you were feeling all of those things so strongly, and why they seemed to be worse today even in comparison to the days you spent sweating and shaking on a bathroom floor. Then, you remembered Vincent’s harsh words thrown your way the night prior, feeling yourself ache from the memory as if he was standing in front of you saying it all over again.

Vincent was your best friend, the one constant you had since packing your entire life up and moving across the country. He knew everything about you, held you at your worst and shared the happiest days. You cared so deeply about him, and definitely in a way stronger than friends, but you so badly wished you didn’t. Him knowing you so well made it easy for him to hurt you, and despite all the good he had and could still do, he consistently proved to you that he did not want to do good by you. He knew you so well, but it was the very reason why he had so much power to hurt you. Vincent wanted to love, but he did not know how. His feelings were fragile just as well as his ego, and he did not understand a thing about change. He was stuck in his way, never willing to see a different side of things, and because of that, it drove the two of you apart. The night prior, when he’d been so crude and unapologetic about his feelings about you and Danny, he wanted to hurt you in the same way he was hurting.

Lucky for him, he did just that, and even more so. He wanted to hurt, and hurt he did. It was so bad that you found yourself seeking comfort from strangers in an NA hall. It was so bad that it made you want to turn to drugs to take the ache away.

What he said stuck with you, and not just because he was the one who said it. Of course it hurt that he would say such terrible things to you, but you had grown used to Vincent taking his anger out on you in the form of harsh words and insults. Most of the time, you could brush it off after a while of sulking, but it hung over your head because you were terrified he was right. You liked Danny for many reasons, one being that he was nothing like Vincent. That being said, he was also nothing like you.

He did not know what it was like growing up with parents like yours, nor what it was like to spend most of his adolescence in and out of rehabilitation programs and therapy. He did not understand what it felt like to be at the police department, filing yet another missing persons report for his father, or better yet, getting detained for a night but unable to be held due to age. He did not know what it was like to run away from home every other weekend because sleeping under a park bench seemed more appealing than sharing a space with his mother. More than anything, he did not understand what it was like for drugs to take precedence over every other thing in his life. You certainly didn’t take him as such, and you were sure that by now, you would have seen some inkling that he was like you. You wanted to find anything that could relate to your tragic life, but there was nothing.

You looked back on all of your conversations, wondering if maybe you missed something he said, but it all aligned perfectly with Vincent’s venomous words. He played golf, specifically with his dad, he was traveling the world with his best friends to find ‘inspiration’ without needing to find a part time job in every city, and he confided in you once on a Sunday evening that he missed his mom.

Danny did not know what life was like for you, nor would he ever, even if he tried. Your struggle was completely foreign to him, and although he seemed like someone with a big heart and the desire to understand and sympathize with everyone he came across, you feared that once he knew all of you, he would run with no intention of ever coming back. You couldn’t blame him, because your baggage was too heavy for even yourself at times, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. It was a terrible feeling to have, knowing that no matter how much you like someone, you can never be completely transparent and honest with them about yourself. You would never expect him to accept the tragedies that accompanied you, and you felt foolish for thinking that you could have a relationship with someone so normal while you were so far from it.

You wanted him to be the one to take you away from such things, but you feared the tragedy ran so deep that you would be the one to bring him down with you.

Of course Vincent would be the one to point out your flaws and ruin a good thing before it happened.

Then again, you could not blame him, because you were equally as good at fucking things up.

You liked Danny too much to cut him off entirely, so you decided to continue on with the texting and calling, and even the laughing until 4am and the harmless flirting. You would cut it off when the time was right, just so you didn’t fall too hard for him. You knew it was best, because he was too good to get caught up in you. He was someone you could have fun with, to distract you while you built yourself back up. He would leave eventually anyway, and you would never have to think about it again. Your skies were much too dark for a rainbow, and now that you were thinking of it, you weren’t sure they had ever seen anything as bright as him. This way, you could enjoy him for the time being, but you wouldn’t get your heart broken when he decided you were too much for him. It was a win-win for both of you.

Even if you chose to believe such things, you failed to see that you had already gotten your heart broken at the idea of being too broken. Your current situation made you believe all of the previous notions even more deeply, because you had not even faced rejection at Danny’s hands and you were already sitting in a talk circle listening to people drone on about their love of smack and resentment towards their family for keeping them away from it. You were fragile enough that you’d hurt your own feelings with feeble ideas and assumptions, and you were so weak that it nearly killed your ambition to stay sober. Most of all, you were selfish for wanting to subject Danny to such things at all.

That was one habit you could not kick when you got sober; you were a selfish being who loved to feel good, and now that you could not get high, you had to search for thrills elsewhere. Danny made you feel good, and so good that you could not fathom giving that up even if it was better for everyone to do so.

The meeting wrapped up later than usual, mostly due to Carol’s inconsolable crying as she blubbered on about her youngest daughter's wedding and how her invitation got ‘lost in the mail’. You bit your tongue, knowing that correcting her assumptions about the situation would do no good and would only get you a scolding from Liam (and those were the worst). You made sure your phone and your cigarettes were in your pocket before standing, feeling the muffins bounce against your leg. As if on cue, your stomach growled at the memory of the double chocolate treat that was wrapped in plastic, awaiting your attention. Liam instructed everyone to stop by before they left, to which only some of the attendees obliged to. Despite your growing stomach and desire to leave, you complied with the request and approached him before making your departure.

You were the first in line to speak with him, but it did not come as a surprise; usually you were the only one willing to see him once the hour was up. He still had his clipboard in his hand, his pen hovering over the paper as he searched for your name and crossed it off. “You’ve got a thing for apple juice,” he noted, looking up over the frames of his (seemingly expensive) glasses.

“What?” You chuckled, curious as to what he meant.

“You talk about apple juice at every meeting. Is that code for something else, or do you really just like it that much?” Now, you laughed, finding his inquiry less invasive and much more amusing.

“Not code,” you shook your head, the smile lingering on your lips. “I just really like it. When I was a kid, it was the only type of juice my mom would let me drink. Guess it reminds me of easier times, or maybe I still wish apple juice was the only addiction I had to worry about. I don’t really drink it anymore because I worry that I’m trading a drug addiction for an apple juice addiction. In my head, neither are good.” You theorized, looking towards the ground for a moment.

“I see,” he chuckled, reaching over and grabbing his bag and pulling out a red key tag. He handed it to you, smiling at the sight. “Three months as of tomorrow. I feel like I can trust you enough to give it to you a day early. Some motivation to get through the weekend.”

“Right,” you nodded, forcing a smile as you reached for it. “Maybe it would mean more if it was my first time.” You couldn’t help but feel some resentment at the sight. It was your second time getting a red key tag, and it lost all of its novelty once you had to give up the blue tag that signified six months. You almost had your hands on a yellow one, but you fell just shy of nine months after one particularly reckless night at the Pony. You’d had an arrangement of surrender and thirty day markers, but they were less catastrophic to lose when you started over again. Knowing you had nearly a year under your belt just to throw it all away made you sick to your stomach.

“You have to celebrate the little victories, y/n. You can’t always feel like you’re failing, because you’ll never have any motivation to get better.” He said, giving you a stern look.

“But it doesn’t really get better, Liam. It doesn’t matter if I have three months or three years, I’ll still be an addict and I’ll still want it just the same.” You shifted uncomfortably on your feet. “Recovery is just a bandage to keep yourself together. The longer this goes on, the more I feel like I’ll actually be seventy and still feel this way.”

“It’s easier to see when you’re further away from it. Right now, it’s all you know, but that doesn’t mean it will always be all that you know. Life grows around you, but you have to choose if you want to grow with it, or get lost in it.” He explained. You took the tag, shoving it in your pocket. You knew he was right, but it was easier to feel miserable than it was to be hopeful. It felt better when misery was proven wrong rather than when hopefulness was crushed. “You’re doing better than you think. You have three months under your belt. It doesn’t matter that it’s for a second time, it matters that you did it. Some people don’t even get there once.”

“I know.” You cleared your throat, fighting the tears rising in your throat. “Thanks, Liam. I’ll see you next week.” You said, finally looking to meet his eyes.

“Hold on,” he said, reaching back into his bag. You watched for a moment, wondering what he was searching for. Then, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, he pulled out a bottle from his bag. You looked to the ceiling, feeling your face burn and tears rush to your eyes. “I brought it for lunch, but now I think I brought it for a much different reason. You need it more than I do.”

“Liam, I can’t take that.” You shook your head, still looking at the peeling paint at the top of the walls.

“I insist.” He said, using a tone of finality. After a few seconds, you took a deep breath and looked towards him once again. Once you saw the certainty in his eyes, you reached out and took the bottle of apple juice from him with gratitude written all over your face. “Sometimes things are just as simple as apple juice, y/n, not the big complicated mess that you try and turn everything into. It’s not a metaphor, and you’re not trading apples for oranges. It’s a bottle of juice that’s going to make you feel better, and it’s something that won’t hurt you unless you make it into something bigger. You can enjoy it and not have to feel bad about it, just like you’re allowed to fuck up and still believe that you can do better.” He explained, giving you a smile. “You’re in control, whether that means getting high or drinking juice. You decide whether you should or not. Today, you decided to come here instead of getting high, and right now, you’re deciding to drink juice. You’re capable of doing better and being better, because you already have. Don’t convince yourself otherwise.”

“Your right,” You took in a long breath, closing your eyes to regain yourself. “Thank you, Liam.”

“No need for thanks.” He brushed you off, straightening up in his seat. “You have a number to call if you need it this weekend, right?”

“I do.”

“And you’ll use it?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I will.” You nodded. He did too, happy with your answer.

“Okay. I’ll see you next week.” He gave you permission to leave, happy that he seemed to have helped. You were a tough nut to crack, between your raging self-destructive attitude and your inability to see the positive side of things, but he was happy to be the one to finally make the difference.

You walked out the front door (sipping on apple juice, thanks to Liam), finding that the air had warmed since you had gone inside. The sun was brighter and the wind was less intense, making your spirits brighten as it gave you a promise of summer. You reached into your pocket to grab a cigarette, finding your chest had loosened from its earlier tension and your migraine begin to subside. As you pulled out your pack, you grumbled at the lightness of it. When you flipped the top open, revealing one last cigarette (upside down for luck, of course), you closed your eyes as you tried not to let the disappointment consume you. You wondered if you had enough money to buy another, hating yourself and the world for having to choose between paying rent or buying the only thing that was keeping you sane.

As you reached for your phone to check your account balance, the screen lit up to show the time. It was already well past twelve thirty, yet that wasn’t the thing that caught your attention. Below the bold numbers was a missed call, which was followed by an incoming text only a few moments later.

“Fuck!” You exploded, uncaring of the passerby’s giving you strange looks.

The addiction had been so pertinent that it allowed you to forget about your anticipated plans with the incredibly cute and sweet boy you couldn’t stop thinking about.

You dialed the number back, pressing the phone to your ear. Within seconds he answered, his cheery tone warming your heart immediately. “Utah! I was wondering when I’d hear from you. Was worried you forgot about me.”

“I’m so sorry Danny,” you sighed, looking around at the people passing you by. “I, uh… I had an appointment I forgot about.”

“That’s okay. How long are you gonna be? Or do you just want to call it off and reschedule?” His understanding was astounding, but it did not make you feel better; it was gut wrenching, and it made it so much harder to keep your heart out of things. Danny seemed fun, sure, but he also seemed like someone you could easily fall in love with. You were playing very a dangerous game.

“No, I’m all good now.” You promised. “If you still want to hang, of course.” The morning has thrown you so violently off course that you were doubting everything, including his interest in your despite him being the one who called first.

“F’course I do.” He chuckled. “I called, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” you forced a chuckle, having to agree with him.

“You okay, Utah?” He asked, now seeming a bit concerned. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” You assured him. “Was just a rough morning is all, I’m okay now.”

“Hopefully I can make the rest of the day better, then.” He replied, sympathizing with your rough start to the day. He had no idea, but hearing his voice alone had already brightened your spirits. “We’re just driving around. We’re near the Fox if you want me to pick you up, or we can meet somewhere if that’s easier for you.”

“If I send you an address, you think you can find it?” You smirked, knowing he was in unfamiliar territory. You remembered how disoriented you felt when you first came to New York, wondering if he felt the same, or if he was one of those people who didn’t worry about anything at all.

“I’m sure the two of us could figure it out.”

“Whatever you say, Michigan.” You grinned. “See you in a few.”

“Can’t wait.” He said, sincerity laced within his tone.

With that, you ended the call and proceeded to check your bank account, happy to see you had more than you thought. You looked around, checking for cars before jumping off the front porch of the old church and crossing the street. As you cut through an old alleyway, you texted Danny the name of the gas station you were headed to, knowing you would be there before him. There was no way in hell you were going to let him pick you up from an NA hall on your first ‘date’.

Of course, you had little hope that it would be a real date at all, nor did you think that any date like activities would ensue afterwards. They were probably just looking for something to pass the time, and you served as a great tour guide.

As you walked through an old parking lot after the alley, you could already see the old sign for the store. You waited to cross the busy street, and when you saw a break in traffic, you sprinted to the other side. By doing so, it seemed like you instantly left the rough part of the neighbourhood. Fancy cars drove by and women in expensive clothes walked in and out of the convenience store. All the same, you felt immediately out of place.

Tired and still not feeling the best, you tossed the empty apple juice bottle in the garbage, pushing through the door and walking inside. It was moderately busy, but not enough to be bothersome to you. Before running to the register to grab a pack of cigarettes, you walked towards the back of the store where the candy aisle was located. Without much effort, you found the biggest bag of Warheads sour candy that you could see. After that, you turned towards the drink coolers and grabbed the cheapest energy drink. Satisfied with your choices, you walked to the register and placed the items on the counter. The older lady who was working gave you a long look, studying you as she rang in the items.

“Pack of reds?” She asked, already reaching towards the cabinet before you answered.

“How’d you know?” You chuckled, knowing that every few days you came in for the exact same thing.

“Think you’re the only one who buys these.” She said, looking over the bag of sour candy. “Have no idea how you can stand eating them.” She chuckled, watching as you tapped your card against the reader.

“They’re not half bad.” You smiled, waving her off as she tried to hand you the receipt. In truth, you didn’t love them. You had grown to tolerate most sour foods as it was an easy way to curb the craving for the things you could not have. The sourness was a shock, immediately distracting you from the relentless thoughts, and the sugar gave a nice dopamine rush that made you feel better for a few moments. You repeated the process until your tongue was in too much pain to have another, and by then, you were over the worst of the craving. “Have a good day!” You called over your shoulder as you walked out the door, not hanging around for long enough to hear an answer.

As the door shut behind you, you grabbed the last cigarette from your pack and struck the lighter. As the flame ignited the tip, you heard a commotion off to the side of the store where the bulk of the parking lot was. You turned, curious about the sound, but you were not stuck wondering about it for very long. As you focused your eyes under the blazing sun, your gaze fixated on a Jeep, but it was not the vehicle that kept your attention. Instead, it was the curly haired boy hanging his head out the window with a blinding smile on his lips. You could not help but smile back as he waved you over, uncaring about hiding his excitement to see you.

“Long time no see, Utah.” He greeted you as you walked within earshot. “Told you I could find my way around New York.”

“Seems like it.” You chuckled, taking a drag from your cigarette. Without any further comment, he opened the car door and stepped outside with you. “I’m glad you found me. Saves me from sending a search party out for you.”

“You really had such little faith in me?” He raised an eyebrow, his sunglasses sadly blocking your view of his pretty brown eyes.

“It doesn’t matter anyway, ‘cause you proved me wrong.” You grinned, already feeling the hurt in your chest begin to subside. When you were in his company, it was hard to feel sad about anything. He was so easygoing and excited about life that it was difficult to feel any differently than him. Then, he reached forward and pulled you into a hug, which made your stomach twist and your heart flutter. What would normally be an awkward moment, felt nothing like it. It was comfortable, it was safe, and it was right. You wrapped your arm around him, making sure to keep your cigarette away from his expensive looking jacket so you did not burn it.

The small gesture made all of your fears obsolete; he wanted to be with you, to hang out and waste the day with you. He was disappointed at the idea of cancelling plans, and overjoyed at the prospect of seeing you. He was genuine, and he was nothing like Vincent was trying to portray him as. You didn’t have to feel stupid for liking him so much in such a short time, because he felt the same way.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to cancel, Utah. Been looking forward to seeing you all morning.”

“Me, too.” You breathed. “I’m sorry I forgot about the appointment. Promise I wasn’t trying to blow you off.” You explained, still trying to hold on to the lingering scent of his cologne as he let go.

“No worries, I’m just glad you’re okay. And I’m glad you didn’t change your mind.” He confessed, a sheepish smile crossing his lips. “We still have a few hours before you have to get to work. I’m sure there’s lots we can do by then.”

“Yeah, for sure.” You nodded. “So what about this Sam guy I’ve been hearing all about? Is he imaginary?” You said, looking to the front seat to see nobody else in the car.

“That’s me,” You jumped in surprise when a head popped out from the backseat. A smiling face stuck between the two front seats let you know that Sam was in fact real. The tint on the windows allowed for him to stay concealed, but it did not answer any questions about why he was sitting in the backseat. Then, a second head popped out from between the seats, but this one was much cuter than the two boys combined. “And this is Rosie. Hope you like dogs.” Sam grinned, reaching up and wrapping an arm around her.

“Hi,” you laughed, unable to keep a straight face at the sight. “And I definitely do. No need to worry about that.”

“She is pretty, Daniel. You were right.” At that, your cheeks turned red, but not nearly as badly as Danny’s did.

“I should have left him at home.” Danny muttered, shaking his head at his friend.

“No worries,” you said, reaching out and landing a soft hand on his arm. “Good to know you think I’m pretty.”

“As if that wasn’t obvious enough.” He said, looking down at your hand on his arm for a moment, then back up at your face. The two of you shared a glance for a moment, wondering how it seemed so easy between you despite you barely knowing each other. You wanted more, to know him and to spend every afternoon making jokes and laughing. You wanted to kiss him, and you had since the very first time you laid eyes on him. He seemed like he wanted it too, yet the both of you remained frozen in place, neither one of you having enough courage to move first. “So, you have any ideas for what we can do today?” He changed the topic, too nervous to continue staring.

“Depends on what kind of day you want to have.” You said, only mildly disappointed at the change of subject. You knew that kissing him right now in that moment was not the wisest idea, especially with his best friend observing the both of you so closely. Plus, you feared that if you leaned forward and captured him in a kiss, you would only be doing so in hopes of covering up all of the misery from the morning. If you were to kiss him, you wanted to be certain it was for the right reason. “There’s a park not too far from here. It’s a super nice spot, not too many people go. I’m sure Rosie would love it.” You said, motioning to the dog that was clinging to Sam’s side. “Or there’s a few shops a few streets over. I think they’re all pet friendly. I see lots of people in an out of there with loads of different pets.”

“We can do both if you want.” Danny offered, looking inside the vehicle momentarily to see if Sam was in agreement.

“Okay,” you nodded, taking the last drag from your cigarette and tossing the butt into a nearby puddle. The snow was long gone now, replaced with rain as dampness lingered on the ground to remind you of the winter. You were excited for warmer weather, and the sun in the sky seemed to be promising of a nice day.

“Hop in, Utah.” Danny nodded his head towards his car, but quickly second guessed his choice. He took a step in your direction, but walked past you and to the other side of the car, opening the passenger door for you. You followed after him, sheepishly climbing into the vehicle after muttering a small thanks. Within seconds, he was back in the drivers side, smiling over at you. “You just tell me where to go and I’ll drive.” As he spoke, Rose seemed to be fighting with Sam to try and get to the front seat, intrigued at your presence and excited to get to know you.

You sat the bag of candy down beside your leg on the seat, then placed the energy drink in the empty cup holder. You slid your lighter in your pocket and shifted around to get a better look at the dog that seemed so eager to greet you. “Hi, baby.” You reached out cautiously, not wanting to scare her. She sniffed your hands for a moment, which quickly turned to licking, then she shoved her head into your hands so you would pet her. As you scratched behind her ear, Sam seemed to be laughing at the two of you.

“She likes you… We’re gonna have to keep you around.” Sam deducted, his hand still resting on her back. You noticed he was holding the back of her harness, ensuring she wouldn’t proceed any further than she already had.

“I guess so.” You chuckled.

“Is that… breakfast?” Danny asked, stifling a laugh as he looked down at the bag of candy and the beverage you had purchased. He’d been trying to hold the question back, but it seemed too pressing to ignore. You looked down at the items he was referring to, feeling a small blush dust across your cheeks.

“So what if it is?” You shot back, trying to keep your tone light despite feeling defensive over the fact. He let out a chuckle, shaking his head at you for a moment. You reached down, tearing the bag open and grabbing one of the candies. You extended your arm towards him with a stupid smile on your lips. “Want one?” He watched you for a moment, trying to figure out if you were being serious. His gaze flickered to your hand and eventually, he reached out to grab it.

“Do you want something to eat? You know, other than caffeine and cigarettes?” He offered, a smirk stuck on his lips.

“No,” you shook your head, reaching into one of your large coat pockets. You pulled out one of the wrapped muffins, flashing him a smile. “That’s what this is for.”

“You really came prepared, then. I can appreciate that.” He laughed, not sure if he was willing to accept you having only a muffin for breakfast. Then again, he didn’t necessarily feel like it was his place to say anything, even if he wished he could.

“Yeah, you can say that.” You chuckled. “If you cut through the parking lot and go down that little side street,” you paused, pointing in the direction of the street that was just barely visible. “And you drive down the road for a while, there’s this cute little antique shop that I think is pretty cool.” You explained, sitting back in the comfortable seat. It was way better than the leather seats in Vincent’s old car, but you neglected that thought. You shouldn’t have been thinking about Vincent at all. Instead, your focus should be on the boy sitting across from you, the very one you stayed up until sunrise writing about in your journal. The same one you had been texting until you were too tired to respond, and the one who infiltrated your dreams and put a smile on your face even during sleep.

You did not know Danny very well, but you knew him well enough to know that since meeting him, the world seemed a little bit brighter. The rain was less dreary and not even the bitter wind could bring you down. You were excited to wake up, happy even to foot the phone bill that was usually paid with a twenty dollar bill, because the new price meant that Danny had not grown tired of talking to you. You wrote in your journal until your fingers felt like they would fall off, and you had a growing collection of notes scribbled on scrap paper left on the dirty tables at the Fox. He gave you something to look forward to, and he gave you something to smile about. When you finished talking to him, you were not plagued with guilt or worry like you often were when you spoke with Vincent. You did not know Danny well, but you wanted to, and you were determined to. You made a pact with yourself to know him as well as you could by the end of the day, because you never wanted to stop learning about him.

And Sam now, too. You could not forget about him and his big personality sitting behind you just out of sight.

“To the cute little antique shop, then.” Danny said, smiling as he reversed out of the parking space and drove in the direction you told him to. “So what makes this place so special?”

“What?” You chuckled, looking over at him.

“It’s gotta mean something to you if it’s the first place you thought of.”

‘Damn him and his observant self.’

“Yeah, I guess.” You nodded. “I go there a lot. Was one of the first places I found after I moved here. I bought a journal there my first day in the city, and I used it until there was no way I could fit anything else in it.” You explained. “They have lots of old paintings and household stuff, and a huge collection of records and books. They get most of their stuff from estate sales and the rest of it from people who were sick of looking at it.”

“Do you collect records or books?” He asked, curious about your hobbies other than writing.

“No,” you shook your head. “I have some books, but I write a lot more than I read, so I don’t really see a need to buy more than I’ll ever need. I love the records, and I would buy them if I had a record player. Been trying to save up for one, but it never seems to work out.” You smiled, looking over at him. It did not break your heart that you didn’t have a record player, mostly because it was a luxury, and you were used to never having anything luxurious. You were thankful for the roof over your head and food to eat, and unless those were taken away, complaining wasn’t something you were fond of.

“What records would you buy if you had a player?” Sam asked, piping in from the backseat. You took a moment to think about it, but eventually settled on the first ones that came to mind.

“Bringing It All Back Home by Bob Dylan,” you said, confident in your answer. “I remember my grandfather playing over and over again until my grandmother was so fed up she turned it off herself.” You chuckled. “Harvest by Neil Young, too. He was a big fan of that one.”

“Good choices.” Sam commented, surprised by your answer.

“Can’t Buy a Thrill!” You exploded, unsure how you could forget such a monumental album.

“Steely Dan?” Danny looked over at you from the drivers seat, intrigued by your enthusiasm. There was a smile still lingering on his lips as you looked over at him, the sight nearly taking your breath away.

“The first time I heard ‘Dirty Work’, it changed my whole life. My brothers got so sick of it that they would pay me to turn it off. They’re not the brightest though, cause I made at least a hundred bucks off of them.” Both boys got a good chuckle out of the thought.

“Noted,” Danny said, switching between watching you and the road. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Two,” you replied. “Both older. Patrick is 26 now, and he works for some fancy tech company back home. Hunter is 25 and works at a construction company.”

“Are you close with them?” He continued to ask questions in hopes that he could know you better than anyone else. Knowing you was his top priority, much like how you wanted to know him.

“Not as much since I moved away from home, but yeah. Even when we were kids, we did everything together.” You explained, not wanting to dive too deep into it. You were close not by choice, but out of necessity. Your family was so fundamentally fucked up that relying on your siblings was the only way to survive. “You said you had a sister, right? You mentioned her the other night when we were talking.” He nodded at your words, happy that you remembered the small detail. Little did he know, you clung to every word that left his mouth. “Just her, or do you have more siblings?”

“Just her, but Sam is close enough.”

“Do you have siblings, Sam?”

“Three of ‘em.” He chuckled.

“So you were never bored growing up, I take it.”

“Never.” He confirmed, giving you a smile from the backseat.

“The store’s just up here on the left,” you told Danny, glancing over at him. You couldn’t help but admire him for a moment, finding that the sun was shining on him in the most perfect way. It illuminated his already glowing cheeks, shadowed by the curls of his hair hanging over his shoulders. The sunglasses sat atop his nose, but with the sun shining on the dark lenses, you could see him looking over at you, too.

Danny pulled into an available parking space that you pointed out, looking around the streets as people walked by. Many had leashed dogs and coffee cups in their hands. The scarves wrapped around their necks made it seem like it was colder than it was, and so did the expensive coats. You always felt slightly out of place when you visited the shops. They were decorated with people screaming with wealth. Leather handbags and clothing that had never experienced a tear or a stain. You knew you were from the poor part of town, your apartment complex falling apart and homeless people littering the sidewalks and alleyways by your home. The corner stores and bars were in just as bad shape as the Fox, and the skyscrapers stopped tickling the skyline about a mile out from the section of the city you called home.

You didn’t mind it, but you did fear that the other two would if you brought them by your place. You were always conscious of what others thought, even if you knew you shouldn’t care. It was much easier said than done, and even if you believed you weren’t doing that bad, you were doing quite poorly in comparison to the majority of the population. The discounted rate on rent from subsidized housing was the only reason you could afford your shitty apartment, and even if you had made it into a home, it was far from flashy. The entire building looked like it would give way under a strong wind, and the inside was only slightly better. You covered most of the holes and peeling paint with art, but it only went so far. The appliances were older than you, and the landlord had aesthetically fixed all of the major issues, but it did not help the structural integrity.

You always felt out of place when you were in a store, no matter fancy or not. You feared your card would decline every time, and you wondered if the few items in your refrigerator and cupboards would last you until next payday if you purchased anything extra. Most people tried not to pass judgement when they realized your economic status, but you could see it in their eyes. It was pity more than anything else, but you would be lying if you said it did not bother you. It killed you to think that Danny would look inwards at your life and feel the same things, but you knew it was a possibility. Unfortunately, as much as you wished it wasn’t, not only was it always a possibility, but a reality.

“You ready?” Danny asked, breaking your focus from your internal brooding.

“Yeah, f’course.” You nodded, pushing a smile on your lips. You got out first, stepping on the sidewalk and turning to face the vehicle as you waited for the other two to join you. Danny stepped out first while Sam made sure Rose was leashed properly. Not long after, the other two were walking happily to accompany you. You looked at the door, smiling as you saw the little sticker with the silhouette of a dog encased in a big green circle. “See, Rosie?” You grinned, looking down at her. At the sound of her name, her tail began to wag as her tongue hung happily out of the side of her mouth. “Told you they’d let you in.”

With that, Danny stepped towards the door, letting his hand fall on the small of your back. The gentle touch was barely noticeable, yet it turned your whole world upside down. Your stomach erupted into butterflies and your heart sped, and you began to question your own sanity. A man had never before made you feel so strongly from such a small action, especially an innocent one. You all stepped inside, taken by the scent of old books and oil paint. The store smelled the same every time, and when you got closer to the register, you could notice essential oils and brewed coffee. It was a comforting feeling when you stepped inside, familiar as if you had lived a thousand lives inside that store alone.

“I’m gonna check out the paintings.” Sam said, his eyes immediately catching on the fancy frames and landscapes encased inside.

“Sam’s a bit of an art whore.” Danny mumbled, turning his head down to look at you. He was standing closer than usual, definitely closer than he would at the dinner, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

“Aren’t we all?” You challenged, wishing he would move closer.

“True,” he nodded. “If you don’t like art, you’ve gotta be a pretty disappointing person.” You let out a laugh, abrupt and loud at the harsh words coming from such a sweet mouth.

“Right.” You nodded, wondering if it was possible to live in the moment forever. It was so simple with his hand on your back and a laugh stuck between your teeth. The world didn’t seem so terrible, and unlike how life normally felt, the small world the two of you were existing within seemed right. There was no fear of the unknown, no guilt or shame, and it didn’t feel forced. You felt like you’d spent 23 years of your life faking it, but with him, the connection felt real and not based on any external factors. It was simple attraction and nothing further than the fact that the two of you got along well. “Come with me,” you whispered, nodding your head in the direction of your favourite room in the entire shop.

The building was quite similar to that of a townhouse, and if you had to guess, you imagined it once was. They allocated the different rooms for each genre of items they sold. There was a record room, a room for books, home decor, and clothes that looked to be made decades ago. The main area had the register and was plastered with paintings and posters all waiting for someone to take them home, and miscellaneous items were displayed on tables within various rooms. Most of the things inside the store were much too expensive for you to even imagine buying, but every now and again you stumbled across a tiny treasure that you could afford to bring home with you. Sometimes, they heavily discounted things when they were getting ready to bring in new items, so you knew to keep your eye out for any advertising signs.

When you passed through the doorway, Danny was still close behind. He took a few moments to look around the room, taking it all in. After a while of shared silence, he let out a long exhale. “Wow.” He stated, unwilling to leave your side despite being eager to look around.

“It’s great, right?” You chuckled, taking in the shelves full of vinyl records. “I knew a music guy like you would have to appreciate it.”

“Music guy…” he trailed off, looking down at you for a moment. “You remembered?”

“Obviously.” You gave him a soft smile. “Drums, guitar, little bit of mandolin if I remember correctly.”

“You do,” he breathed, a bit surprised at how well you remembered his late night rambling.

“F’course I do.” You reiterated your point, cementing the notion in his brain. Instead of dwelling, you guided him towards the shelves holding the baskets of records. Absentmindedly, you began flipping through the vinyls, hoping he would, too. When he finally took your lead and began his own search, you spoke again. “M’sorry again about earlier. I hope you didn’t think I was trying to ditch you.”

“I actually didn’t think that at all.” He chuckled, taking his time as he read over the name of every album. “I mean, maybe for like a minute, but I honestly thought you slept in a bit longer than usual. I didn’t want to call you—was worried I would wake you.” He pulled one sleeve out above the rest, taking an interest for a moment before putting it back. “You seemed really tired when we were talking on the phone last night.” You froze as his words hit you, suddenly remembering the sleep-laced conversation and nervous butterflies that plagued your entire body. You remembered mumbling sentiments while your wrist wrote out the deepest desires of your heart on paper. Then, you remembered falling asleep, but not a goodbye.

“Did I… did I fall asleep on the phone?” You asked, looking over at him. Redness began to creep up on your cheeks as you waited for an answer.

“Yeah,” he nodded, saying it as if the instance was completely normal. “Thought it was cute.” You bit down on the inside of your lip, praying that your face wasn’t giving away your feelings yet knowing it was. Then, the strangeness of the situation hit you and you could not hold back your inquiries.

“Speaking of… what the hell were you doing up at six in the morning?” You asked, turning the tables on him. He glanced over at you without turning his head, suspicious without even speaking. “Actually, you seem to be awake every morning when I get off work.” It was a question that crossed your mind more often than not, yet you never seemed to care to ask.

“Early riser.” He shrugged, hoping to avoid the topic entirely.

“Right…” you trailed off, less focused on the crumbling vinyl sleeves and more focused on the crimson of his cheeks. “See, that would be believable, but considering you were at the diner at one in the morning last night, I don’t think that’s the case.” You pressed further. “No way you’re so cheery for a man who only got four hours of sleep.”

“Okay, you caught me.” He sighed, pretending to be upset about your discovery. Truth was, he knew he would have to fess up sooner or later, and sooner seemed to be his only option. “I usually wake up for a little while to talk to you when you get home, and then I go back to sleep when you do.”

You were stunned at the thought, mostly because you could not comprehend someone wanting to talk to you so badly. The effort and thought that went into setting an alarm every morning at six was far beyond anything anyone else had ever done for you. You wanted to chastise him, but it was a bit too touching for you to make a joke out of it.

“You don’t have to do that, Danny.” You whispered, hoping he would look over at you so you could catch sight of the beautiful brown eyes you’d grown to love so much. “I love talking to you, but not if you’re losing sleep over it.”

“It’s not like I have anything else to do.” He dismissed you. “Besides, I want to. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t.”

For some strange reason, you wished he answered differently. Not because you wanted him to care less, but because you were terrified of him caring at all.

Everything you touched always seemed to turn to dust, and Danny was someone you could not fathom inflicting that fate upon.

“Unless you don’t want me to?” He said, taking your silence as something bad.

“No,” you shook your head. “No… I mean if you want to—if you’re okay with doing it, I definitely don’t mind.”

“Then it’s settled,” he hummed, switching to a different bin to search through. “They have some good stuff here.” He said, pulling out a blue coloured album. You glanced over, recognizing the sight immediately. A smile crossed your face as you watched him.

“Joni Mitchell.” You stated, craning your neck to get a better look.

“You know this album?” He asked, looking back at you over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, stepping towards him. “My grandpa might have liked Dylan, but my grandma loved Joni Mitchell.” You were right behind him now, close enough that you could have placed a hand on him had you been courageous enough.

“You talk about your grandparents a lot.” He noted. “You close with them?” He could hear your breath hitch in your throat as he finished speaking, wondering if maybe he never should have spoken at all. After a moment, you recovered enough to answer.

“I was, yeah.” You cleared your throat, covering up the strain of the words. “I spent most of my time there, actually. My grandma was my best friend, and my grandpa was a close second. He passed away when I was fifteen, and she passed away not long before I moved here. If they were still around, i probably never would have moved at all.” He turned towards you, letting the record slide back to its original place. His hand landed delicately on your hip, but in no way did it appear romantic. Even if your face was stony, he could see the pain plaguing your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Utah. I didn’t mean to bring that up for you.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shook your head. “I love talking about them, and I’m glad you asked.” You assured him. A small smile crossed his lips, stunned by your resilience to pain.

“I’d love to hear more about them, if you ever feel like talking.” His hand on your hip still remained, and the longer he touched you, the more comfortable it became. You never wanted him to stop. Suddenly, it all became a little too real for you. You blinked twice, bringing yourself back to reality as you turned back towards the record bins.

You wanted it, but you did not know how to let it happen. You were so good at making bad decisions that it seemed inherently bad to choose the right thing.

“Yeah, maybe.” You nodded, knowing that you never would. Then again, never is a strong word, and for some strange reason you had the impression that Danny was someone you could trust. Maybe someday, ‘never’ would turn out to be a distant memory.

You stepped towards another shelf, your eye catching a familiar cover. Carefully, you reached out, sliding it from the stack of records to get a better look. “Oh, wow.” You breathed, buzzing with excitement and nearly forgetting about the heavy conversation seconds before. “Look at this.” You said, catching Danny’s attention without breaking your stare from the vinyl.

He stepped up behind you, much closer than you were anticipating. Your back was nearly pressed against his chest and his hand lingered gently on your side. You knew he could see perfectly over your head; the height difference made it seem like he towered over you. He did so as an excuse to be close to you, and no other reason. You were okay with it, because for the few seconds you had stepped away from him, you’d already grown to miss the feeling.

“Bella Donna,” he said, studying the familiar sight. “Stevie Nicks fan?”

“Who isn’t?” You chuckled, turning it over to check the back of it. All of the records were secondhand, but it made them all the more special. Not only did they come with fantastic tracklists, but a story within every fraying edge and fading color. “She’s fantastic. She’s… everything.” Danny was silent for a moment, taking in your statement. When he finally answered, he wasn’t looking at the album, but rather at you.

“Yeah, she is.” The conviction in his tone made you pause your previous train of thought, turning to look at him as he gazed down upon you. It was evident that Stevie Nicks has long fled his train of thought. You didn’t have the courage to call him on it, so instead, you enjoyed the fleeting feeling of finally being important to someone. It was something you hadn’t felt in a long time, and even when you could remember a time when you did, it felt nothing like it did then. You were overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, unable to comprehend how he seemed so perfect. Every word that left his mouth drew you in, every smile melted your heart, and every touch (albeit few and far between) took your breath away.

You were waiting for something to show, or to peek through the perfect exterior he’d put on for you. You longed for something to appear that could demolish the pedestal you had placed him upon, but it never seemed to come. You knew that with time, you were bound to find something that would taint your view of him, whether it be something major or a plethora of tiny things that steadily creeped up on you. Nobody could be without fault, and the fact that he’d gone so long without showing you any bad traits made you worry that when he did, it would be worse than anything you ever imagined.

Maybe that was your problem; you could not bear the thought of something going well for you, so you self-sabotaged by actively looking for something that would force you to run away.

Most of the time, there was nothing to find, and you were running from a monster created by your very own mind.

When you thought about it for too long, the more it seemed like running was the only thing you had ever known how to do.

You could not wrap your head around the idea of wanting to stay, but as Danny looked down at you with emotion stronger than lust in his eyes, you knew there was nothing else you would rather do. You wondered if running was always your first choice because nobody ever cared enough to give you a reason to stay. You’d known Danny for a short time, so short that he was nearly a stranger. You didn’t know his middle name, or his birthday, or even his favourite color. Despite that, you knew that the feeling of his company was something you’d searched for your entire life, and up until now, you’d only ever found it in one other thing. The difference was, you were confident in saying that the aftermath of Danny’s company was nothing like the aftermath of a good high. He seemed fulfilling, like his aura would surround you long after he left and the feeling in your heart would last even if he was not within reach.

If you weren’t so stubborn, you would have noticed that it had already affected you in such ways. When you stretched your wrist, it ached from all of the writing you had been doing in the early hours of the morning. When you woke that very morning with urges stronger than ever before, your first thought was to go to a meeting rather than submitting to the temptations of substance. You weren’t dreading waking up, nor were you struggling to sleep.

Danny did not fix your life for you, but he did make it easier to cope with. He could not fix problems he did not know existed, nor could he do so even if he knew your troubles. Instead, he allowed you to see a brighter side of life than what you’d grown so comfortable with. He helped you feel excitement for the next day and the possibilities it held. He gave you a person to talk to, making your nights much less lonely. He gave you the feeling of being wanted, and for nothing greater than the feeling of mutual want itself. He didn’t want to see you for ulterior motives, and he did not want anything more out of the interaction. He simply enjoyed your company, and it made you feel more human than you had since you were a child.

You’d been standing for so long in the same position that you feared you’d both turn to stone with your faces hovering inches apart. You did not want to suffer an eternity waiting to kiss, only for the moment to never come, but in that moment it appeared to be your destiny. He was leaned down slightly, and you were straining upwards, but there seemed to be a barrier between you two. The world was begging you to harness the courage to lean forward and close the gap, and as your noses brushed together, even the still-photograph of Stevie was pleading with you not to let cowardice win. Your heart was pounding in your ears, and your stomach was twisted in a knot that seemed to be suffocating you the longer you sat there.

He was so close, the scent of his cologne surrounding you once again, this time much more powerful than the last. You were angry that he wouldn’t make the move first, but appreciated his concern for your comfort. You’d fallen into the position so easily, as if it were natural for the two of you to be together in such a way. You could practically feel his lips on yours despite the distance still existing between you. Perhaps it was so easy to imagine because you wanted it so badly. He reached up, tucking your hair behind your ear before he cupped your cheek in his hand. The touch made your lungs burn, inherently causing you to forget how to breathe.

You had never felt so good. You had never felt so alive. You wondered, if his company felt so rewarding even after such a short period of time, what would months feel like with your heart and soul entangled in his. For once, the unknown was exciting rather than paralyzing. As gravity pulled you closer, you began to believe that you could live in the unknown with Danny until the end of time, and it would be inexplicably better than existing within the known without him by your side. He was so close, and it was hard not to jump. You wanted everything all at once, but savoring him seemed like the only option. His lips were nearly brushing against your own, and despite your earlier efforts at shoving the feelings away, you needed him to close the gap between you. You needed it like water, but you were so parched that you couldn’t speak the words nor go in search of it yourself.

You knew how foolish it was to leave your fate in the hands of another, but for once, not even your own psyche seemed to be able to ruin the moment for you.

part two is soon to be yours 🤍

TAGLIST: @imleavingyoufornewyork @itsafullmoon @bladenotblaze @jessicafg03 @dont-go-home-without-me @peaceloveunitygvf @torniturntomyarrow @lostoverseer @clairesjointshurt @jordie-gvf @lallisonl @smoking-jakelane @gretavangirlie @hollyco

[definitelynotshouting]

Parking Lot - Atlas Ivy (a lot of Atlas’s music seems to fit hunger AU to me)

(this song is probably best fitting for after Grian’s 2nd attempt and after he has already began trying to recover)

“The drink in my hand starts to shake” - Reminds me of Grian trying and failing to open the bottle of water.

“As the hope in my mind starts to break

Are the gods not happy with the progress I've made?

Hasn't illness taken all it can take?” - Healing isn't linear, Grian is going to be fighting an uphill battle, maybe for the rest of his life. 

“Taking all my plans and throwing in a wrench

Is it my mental health or the Marianas Trench?” - He’s going to have relapses and setbacks and those are going to make it feel like nothing he does makes a real difference. He’s going to be tired of fighting but he’s going to have to keep trying because, even if he can’t see it sometimes, progress is being made.

“How can I win if my team only plays defense

And all the best players are stuck on the bench” - Makes me think of Grian, not just feeling like he’s always on the back foot, just trying to repair the damage caused by every unexpected worsening of his mental or physical health, but feeling like he’s relying too much on the other Hermits. That he’s dragging the others down with him and that it makes him weak to need their help.

“Do a face mask or a warm bath or do a shot

Or just lay in bed until your body rots” - Coping mechanisms and how easy it is to fall into harmful ones. Grian has already shown a propensity for dissociation and I’ve personally been headcannoning this has been a problem for a while. That, when the weakness and pain from his malnourishment on Hermitcraft became too much, he tended to just sit or lay in a dark room dissociating until it subsided.

 

“Get my vitamin D but the pavements hot

And the soles of my shoes melt on the parking lot” - Feeling like everything he tries doesn’t really do anything but maybe cause more harm. That it doesn’t do anything to fix the real problem and that failure just makes him feel worse.

“Melatonin's now takеn at eight

Cause I can't stand my thoughts when I'm awakе” -  Back to that dissociation, specifically reminds me of the time Grian has spent dissociating through the nights of the current chapters.

“There is no cause, still my body aches

And the home I built meets an earthquake” - Feeling like any progress and sense of security of safety he has built can be destroyed any second by his mental health taking a dive without any clear cause.

“Can somebody show me

A coping strategy

That takes me from reality

But doesn't kill my body” -  More dissociation and bad coping mechanisms. That desire to just fall away from everything, let the hurt be drowned out by a blanket of static, even though he knows it doesn’t really help.

“Cause I've stunted my growth

I've filled my lungs with smoke” - All the damage that has already been done to his physical health. We’ve seen with Grian true form that Grian has literally stunted his growth by starving himself.

“And yeah it puts on a good show

But I've lost my glow” - Grian not having the energy to do things like play pranks or have fun with the others. The way some of the Hermits react to finding out how much of the Grian they knew was an attempt to hide how he was constantly breaking down now that he doesn’t have the energy to pretend to be fine.

OHHHH I LOVE THIS,,,, ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS ANALYSIS I LOVE THE THOUGHT YOUVE PUT BEHIND EACH LINE OF THE LYRICS..... i havent had the time to listen to the song just yet but MAN this is so cool thank you for sharing it with me :DDD i'll be sure to give the song a listen :D

[cryptidtumbleweed]

Tumble’s soulmate heartbreak concept!

So this has been sitting in my files for months now. All I remember from why I came up with this is that it was for a Jedtavius soulmate AU - that never ended up happening.

I don’t know what to do with it, or if I’ll ever even use it – so, I’m sharing it! Feel free to use this lil creation of mine – or ask questions about it, if something isn’t clear :)

Constructive criticism is also welcome, as this is the first “sickness” I’ve made up for creative purposes

Soulmate heartbreak

Heartbreak: a condition that is caused by being rejected by one's soulmate. The severity varies, depending on the type of rejection. The worse the rejection/breakup, the worse the heartbreak.

Heartbreak is usually dangerous and can be fatal, but milder cases occur when the breakup/rejection is smooth and both parties are in understanding.

Symptoms:

Heartbreak starts with a quick decline of mental health, depression is usually present and noticeable after a week or so – though it can take up to a month.

The victim will shut down, refusing to take care of themselves and essentially become bedridden. Chest pains are present from the very start and will gradually grow worse as the heartbreak worsens. After this, they will start having on and off fever, that will gradually become worse, rise higher and last longer. The victim will often refuse to eat and drink, has night terrors and as it worsens, starts having feverish dreams about their soulmate. They will often feel too hot and cold at the same time, struggle to stay still as the chest pains grow worse and in the most extreme cases struggle with breathing. Without treatment, these symptoms will most likely last a lifetime or only worsen.

In worse cases, the victim might lose touch with reality and struggle recognizing people around them, even close friends and family.

Death through heartbreak:

The most severe cases of heartbreak will end with the victim dying. Their fever will rise and their night terrors and touch on reality will worsen suddenly, often just overnight. In most cases they will have hallucinations of their soulmate and mumble about them - if they still have enough strength to do so. Their chest pains will be severe and often just moving them will cause agony.

At this point, it's often too late to save them. They will pass away, most likely in pain and delirious.

Sometimes victims also die of starvation or dehydration after failing to take care of themselves.

Possibilities on recovery:

Healing heartbreak is possible, but doesn't happen often – mostly due to the victim refusing to get help, as they feel like it won’t end the grief. The victim can mend their heart on their own, through a lot of therapy and the process often includes removing their soulmate mark (which in turn would remove any feelings of love and attraction they have towards their soulmate). Most refuse this, as they cling on to the hope that their soulmate will love them back eventually.

Their soulmate can also help them mend their condition, if they change their mind on the rejection. This process is slow and requires a lot of effort and dedication. Both parties have to be willing to give each other a chance, recreating the connection between soulmates. They would have to spend time together and be open about their feelings towards each other. The love and bond between them will slowly mend heartbreak - the process often takes up to six months.

In cases where the soulmate of the victim still doesn’t return their feelings, it is best for them to stay apart and end any contact – as their presence might risk a relapse for the recovered victim.

Affects on the soulmate:

Heartbreak can be two sided. Sometimes, the person who rejected the other can feel chest pains and their overall mood will decline noticeably, making them more aggressive and frustrated. They might have occasional nightmares and be more paranoid. This ends once the heartbreak is healed or the other member passes.

Note - it is extremely rare for the heartbreak to be nearly as bad for the one who ended the relationship/rejected their soulmate, but it is possible: if they were to regret their actions but not try to reach out to their soulmate, there is a chance that they will slowly begin to go through the same symptoms. This will be a far slower process for them as they are not the one who got rejected.

[tenthgrove]

Oh this is a very self indulgent rq and I hope you're okay with it but La Squadra (individual) with a schizophrenic s/o? Ofc if you're not comfortable writing for this you can ignore this request!! Sorry in advance

La Squadra With A Schizophrenic S/O

La Squadra x Reader (GN), Romantic, SFW

CWs: descriptions of psychotic episodes

Formaggio- Coming from a big, close family, Formaggio can name a relative or two that suffered from the same condition as you at one point or another. While he doesn't know the specifics he has a profound sympathy for you, and wants to know what he can do to help. Conscious of the gaps in his own knowledge, Formaggio lets you lead the conversation when you're well enough to do so, directing him as to what he could do to support you and how to tell when you're about to enter a crisis. He's never been great at self-care himself, but understanding the benefit it could have for you, he invites you to work together on things like laundry and shopping so you can stay on top of everything as a couple.

Illuso- He is a little unnerved to hear of your condition, for the sole reason that he doesn't know how to help you, but he wants to do whatever he can to be the best boyfriend for you, even through your illness. He breaks into the houses of about 5 acclaimed mental health specialists to badger them about what you're going to need, and isn't afraid to steal you some medication if you're struggling to source that for yourself. He uses his ability to his advantage in caring for you, for instance (provided you're well enough to acknowledge the fact you have hallucinations) taking you to the mirror world during an episode, to be secure in the knowledge that nothing can get to you there. It's also useful for emergencies, since Illuso can make sure you can't hurt yourself in there.

Prosciutto- Your boyfriend has always had a natural caring streak that makes him more suited than most for helping you through the demands of your illness. He is excellent in ensuring you take your medicines on time and eat and drink enough to keep going, and he has the patience and humility needed to understand he mustn't take what you say personally when you're in the midst of a truly severe episode of delusions. On your healthier days, he reassures you whenever necessary that despite how things may look, you will get better and live a fulfilling life, that you are stronger than you think. And rest assured that even if you do continue to relapse, he will be there for you, through thick and thin.

Pesci- Knowing you suffer from such a profound mental condition is naturally a source of worry for Pesci, but you mean so, so much to him and he's going to do everything possible to make things easier for you. One of Pesci's greatest strengths in terms of helping with your schizophrenia is that he takes care of you while still letting you remain in control. He'll never force you to go out and do things you don't want to or let him know what's going on in your head when you would rather not talk about it. He's also great at helping you set up small goals to feel like you're achieving each day, without pushing you beyond your limits. Whenever you tell him you managed to drink 2 litres of water in a day, or completed all your therapy homework if you have access to it, he's always very proud of you.

Melone- Much to his benefit, Melone knows a fair amount about psychology and conditions such as yours. He has a good knowledge off the bat about how your condition affects daily life, what symptoms to look out for when things are worsening for you, and how schizophrenia would typically be treated. If you aren't already, Melone gets you on medication stat, going so far as to bribe a Passion-affiliated doctor to meet with you and give their professional opinion about which drugs would suit your unique mental chemistry best. Though he appreciates it isn't for everyone, Melone is also well-versed in several schools of alternate medicine, for instance meditation, and will offer to try these with you in addition to your doctor-prescribed medication during your better days. He will watch you stringently to monitor your condition, and act quickly should he catch it getting worse.

Ghiaccio- You would be surprised to learn that for someone so short-fused and impatient, Ghiaccio is actually incredibly sensitive to those with mental afflictions and neurodivergences. It's probably because he's never exactly had a clean bill of mental health himself, so he can get where someone's coming from when they explain they struggle with this or that for mental reasons. Schizophrenia, now, he doesn't have any experience with first-hand but he knows it's not to be taken lightly and will mentally rehearse what to do if you have an episode so he can respond in the best possible way. Instead of trying to refute your hallucinations or delusions he sympathises with how frightening they must be, ensuring you always feel comfortable coming to him about your experiences if needs be.

Risotto- In spite of his intimidating exterior, Risotto is the sort to support his love ones through anything. It does not matter how severe or frightening your schizophrenia may seem, Risotto will approach it without judgement. Like many of the others, he will secure you suitable medication through any means necessary, and help you in remembering to take it each day. Perhaps he could start himself on vitamins or something so you can have pills to take together at a set time? He's very good at coming up with little ideas like that to make the process of self-care more easy for you. When you are truly quite severely ill, he will put everything aside to watch over you, even if you are so deep in your schizophrenia you can't even recognise his love for you. He will stop at nothing to keep you safe and happy.

Sorbet and Gelato- This isn't something the couple talk about often, but it's pertinent to the situation and you are their lover after all, so you may as well know. Gelato was schizophrenic for a good few years a while back, but has since recovered. So yeah, Gelato knows what you're going through and Sorbet has experience with being around someone with the same condition. Gelato shares with you the sorts of things that helped him stave off a crisis when he was suffering himself, but appreciates that no two cases are the same. Sorbet helps with your routine and calls up the same people that helped Gel while turning a blind eye to his mafia affiliations. All in all, the past experience really helps and you always feel like you can talk openly about your schizophrenia with your two boyfriends.

[thisselflovecamebacktome]

Dancing With The Devil Parts One and Two Thoughts/Moments That Stuck Out

(I’m going to put this under a read more before it’s long, but be aware there’s going to be talk about death, sexual violence, eating disorders and drug use)

General thoughts:

So I’ve made it pretty clear that I was definitely nervous about this coming out. Any long term Demi fan knows that making these documentaries have not turned out well for Demi in the past. Likewise, I have other concerns surrounding it. In saying that, I am also not egotistical to think that I know for sure this will be different or even if it’s not, that I can change things. I also feel a little better knowing that most of what was said so far has already been spoken about in interviews rather than it all coming out at once. Either way, as always, I wish Demi nothing but the best and hope that she is currently as okay as the documentary makes it seem.

The Scrapped Documentary:

One thing that really stuck out to me as soon as it was said was the implication that her friends lied their way through the documentary that never got released. On one hand it feels like a very friend thing to do, like we’ve all been there and done it with good intentions even if it was the wrong call to make. But I definitely think that when considering that the person who called 911 felt like they had to sneak away to make the call and everyone talking about how controlled they felt by having to be careful about food and substances around Demi, there seemed to be a major push to save face and save Demi’s celebrity persona over Demi. And I mean there’s no shock about that, we all assumed Phil wasn’t just in it for Demi’s health. 

But what I do find interesting is how Demi’s friend still believes that her old team meant well but was just unequip for dealing with mental issues. Once upon a time, I felt the same. Again, obviously they wanted her well for their own sake because they were making money from her, but I believed they at least wanted her well. But the melon cake revelation changed that for me. Like at that point I went from “The label clearly favoured Nick Jonas and didn’t handle things well but maybe he genuinely thought Demi couldn’t handle it” to “Demi’s team did not give the slightest fuck about her”. So I find it interesting that it didn’t for her friend and makes me wonder just how much of this saving face came from Demi herself (or what she thought she wanted) compared to her team. This is especially the case given the focus, and particularly Dallas’ words, on how she didn’t choose to be a role model but felt she had to be for her fans.

The Death Of Demi’s Father:

A little confession for you all, I almost quit watching this documentary 6 1/2 minutes into the first part. While I feel like almost everything else said in this documentary was at very least alluded to if not flat out said in interviews, this hit me over the head. I am someone who is estranged from their own father and knows that his epilepsy could cause his death at any time should a fit get that bad and that he doesn’t really have anyone who would be consistently checking in on him. So the fear of him decomposing in his flat all alone is one that is all too relatable to me. It is also relatable in terms of my mother, but at least she has my brother who wants to stay at home forever and I would call her even if I moved out, so it’s less likely. So yeah, the way Demi said it and knowing that Father’s Day passed in that time and she probably spends every Father’s Day regretting she didn’t call stings a lot and will almost definitely stay with me for a long time. 

I also related to her talking about her guilt of not helping him the way she feels she’s helped other with her advocacy more than I’d like. While not drug related, I’ve spoken a few times on my blog about how I reached a point with my mother’s bipolar and need for remedies to the legal issues that worsened her health where I gave up despite still advocating for others. And she’s pointed that out. But ultimately Demi and her loved ones are right; a person needs to want help to give it to them and trying to force help doesn’t work. It didn’t for Demi’s father and it didn’t for her until she was ready.

Demi’s Drug Use:

I didn’t actually realise Sirah was Demi’s sober companion and while I didn’t really know anything about her beforehand, I think her parts were among my favourites so far. She was honest, emotional, informative and really contextualised what she was saying not only in terms of Demi but addicts as a whole.

Unfortunately one of the most relatable parts of this documentary so far was when everyone spoke about how Demi seemed normal in the weeks before her overdose. To this day, a lot of my then loved ones, whether it be family or friends, still don’t know I went to rehab in my teens. A lot of the people who do know now didn’t find out about it until years later when I was ready to talk about it. Looking back, the only really clear sign I showed that something was “wrong” is that I went from being a teacher’s pet to skipping a lot of classes and heading home for lunches instead of hanging with friends. But given a lot of my friends knew I had gone through trauma and a separate death in the year before, they didn’t think anything of it. Like from memory, I think at “worse” there was a joke made about I had become one of them and cared about school less. Granted there is always the case that they realised but never said anything, but yeah, at least from where I’m standing, they never knew. And that’s why I will never judge loved ones of someone who does anything negative off the bat, because it, and especially addiction, can be so easy to hide.

I also find it really interesting and relatable that Demi linked her drinking with drugs like that. I spoke about this the other day in an ask, but the two have always been super linked to me. But what I find most interesting is that she spoke about it in connection to negative emotions. Because while yes, I have always connected both with negative emotions, for me, being in a negative mood has somewhat made it easier to not relapse over the years because I could justify it with “well I’m feeling bad, of course I want something to pick me up. That doesn’t make it what I need though”. Meanwhile, I found out last year that I still feel that need to use when drinking in a good mood and that freaked me out to the point I don’t drink at all anymore. Either way though, like I said, it was an interesting point to bring up the connection and definitely relatable.

This isn’t really about the documentary itself, but it really hit me how far I have personally come when she spoke about and started playing Sober. Like at the time Sober was released, I was so close to relapsing myself that I couldn’t bring myself to listen to it straight off and yet now I am really starting to feel like I reached a place where the future looks so bright.

The Sexual Assault:

I don’t really have much to say here past “god I wish this wasn’t so relatable”. During my time using, and even the early days of trying to get clean, I had someone in my life that would constantly try to start something sexual with me and when they realised I wouldn’t do it, they drugged me and did it anyway. And while that is clearly sexual violence, there still very much was that stigma of ‘well I was getting high with them anyway” and feeling like that made it consensual and realising down the track that no, it really didn’t. And while not part of the documentary itself (yet), Demi talking in an interview about how she invited the drug dealer back to her house to “make things right” afterwards really hurt my heart knowing how long I spent with the same delusion that this person would make amends too.

Other/Final Thoughts:

I find it interesting that Demi noted that this pandemic is pretty much what made her stop and fully comprehend all of her past trauma. In many ways, it reminds me of sentiments that Taylor has said in regard to Folklore and Evermore, so it’ll be interesting to see just how much of that makes it onto Dancing With The Devil: The Art Of Starting Over. I also find it interesting that according to wikipedia, the last part is meant to come out after the album which could be an implication that the album finishes at a point of Demi’s life before the documentary finishes.

All up, this documentary gives me a similar vibe to Taylor’s documentary Miss Americana where it somewhat feels like it’s more for the casual/non-fans because anyone who pays attention to Demi’s recent interviews will have heard/at least been alluded to nearly all of this information already. That in no way makes it a bad (half of a) documentary, it’s just an observation. In many ways, I also feel like that’s what made the content about her father hit harder too because it was new or things she has not spoken about in a while. It will be interesting to see where the next two parts go from here in terms of being more positive and/or the nitty gritty of picking yourself back up. Either way, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

[ajokeformur-ray]

Hello Erika, my darling dear 💕Might I request some nail-biting comfort from Arthur? It's easily my worst habbit- I bite down to the quick and sometimes I bleed from it without even noticing. I was getting better before the pandemic, but now most nights I have to put bandaids on before I go to sleep because the stinging keeps me up (in fact I wear them most of the time now since it's the only thing that makes me stop- ugh- but hey, at least it's a good opportunity to provide some hand fluff🥰)

Eggggg ~ omg hi darling!!🥰🌷💖 hand fluff is the cutest thing omg especially if it’s about Arthur!!!! He speaks with his hands and he lives in the world through them and it’s so beautiful and tender. I can relate to this in a way - I have a really bad habit of picking at my face and as someone who’s had constant acne for over a decade it’s a Problem. It usually happens mostly when I’m anxious or when my hands aren’t busy, and thinking of Arthur helping me with stopping that habit is always very calming and soothing. I hope that this piece does something similar for you! If there’s anything I can change here because you dislike it or it isn’t true to you, please let me know! I love you so much omg 🥺😭💗OH and as a surprise - I personalised this piece for you skskskkssk I hope you like ittttt ~ 💜

TW; mentions of blood and self-inflicted injuries (nail biting). Implied NSFW at the end (lmao I’m not sorry).

Word count: 2,256.

You had done it again.

You had known that you would, despite telling yourself that you wouldn’t, for habits were hard to break and no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t stop yourself from biting your nails. It was a subconscious action, one which increased when you were concentrating or when your anxiety heightened, and it was only too easy for you to bite your nails right down to the quick, and making yourself bleed was also a common occurrence. You never intended to bite your nails, and you definitely never meant to relapse once something far outside of your control had happened and turned your entire world upside down in the worst of ways, but you now had something, someone in your life which you didn’t have before.

You had your sweet, ethereal, beautiful Arthur Fleck, and now that he was in your life did you know that never again would you know even a single day without him. You didn’t want to know life without him, for he had given you everything that you never knew you had needed right up until the precise moment that you did. Indeed was it much the same for Arthur. He had waited almost thirty six years for you, and he would wait that same length of time all over again, for you were worth all of everything he had ever gone through and would undoubtedly continue to go through, unkind was life to he. You were soulmates, meant to be, and there was nothing either of you wouldn’t do for the other.

The usually grey Gotham sky had been especially blackened over the most recent days and the overhanging clouds were heavy with copious amounts of rain, so stormy was the climate. The weather wasn’t something you could prevent or change and there was nothing you could do about it once it started, but even so did it get in the way of the two of you going to your favourite little place to work. There were other places you could go but nowhere was as good as your place and it seemed that with the weather being as it was and your work being affected by that, and your mental health seeming to plummet specifically on the weekends, your habit of biting your nails had worsened and it was all Arthur could do to keep on top of it. He did it not because he had to, but because he wanted to; his heart ached to think of you being kept awake by the stinging in your fingers and many a night had he helped you to wrap them in tiny plasters so that you could sleep. Arthur took such good care of you that you almost didn’t have to do any self-care at all, and you did everything you could to love him just as hard. In taking care of each other were your own selves taken care of, so equal were the two of you in every way.

Arthur was currently sat beside you on the worn sofa. Every time you raised your hand to your lips, your front teeth nibbling at the material there, for daily did you make yourself bleed and nightly did you apply plasters so that the wounds could close up overnight, Arthur smiled wearily. “No, Gen,” his soft rasp would gently caress your ears and his fingers slid easily into the spaces between your own. Of course were you whole individuals but it seemed sometimes that you were made to hold each other’s hands, Arthur’s touch upon your body as familiar to you as your own. Arthur pressed kisses along your fingers and the backs of your hands, taking note of when you winced or hissed in air through your teeth, so badly did your fingers sting. “I know, darling,” Arthur did know, for he had his own habits which caused him harm, and he would never berate you for yours. He only ever met you with understanding, with kindness and with all the patience in the world. Arthur was only ever gentle with you, and so tender was his expression of love that sometimes it made you cry. How had you ever gotten so lucky? If only you knew that Arthur asked himself that same question about you every single day. Your mutual disbelief, awe and, oh, the love, was what would keep you together during even the worst of times.

As the morning news wound down and came to its end, having detailed tragedies and political events, economic situations and the cost of living increasing despite no corresponding wage rise, Arthur sighed and stood up. The hand which had a cigarette delicately dangled between two fingers swept through his dark hair, which bounced gently across his shoulders. He didn’t speak but you knew that he was getting ready to clean up the mostly tidy apartment, his sea green eyes roaming the cramped but cosy space as mentally did he list out things to do. It would all be done today, exhausted even as he was. Today was his only day off for the next week and even though he longed to remain beside you, there was work to do. The man of the house cleaned up messes; he didn’t leave them, thank you very much. Alas, he couldn’t be beside you all day every day, but when he was moving around the apartment, Arthur would periodically look over at you with a quiet air of concern about him even as intently did he observe you. He couldn’t catch you in the act of doing it every time, but more often as not would you hear your name spoken even from the other room the second you raised your hand to your lips.

You were always impressed and you fought off your amusement, though it saturated your voice all the same. “Wh - Arthur, how did - “ You were working on your screenplay. Inspiration served in the form of a horror film which spoke of the current times. It played out on the grainy old television which Penny had won during a radio competition years ago, and Arthur moved around you seamlessly. Knowing how important your work was to you, especially when you were in the zone, did he mostly leave you alone, not wanting to interrupt you more than he probably already was.

Dark curls lightly brushed against the tops of shoulders and fingers curled around the door frame as Arthur peered at you from around the corner, busy was he but never too busy for his Gen. “I know you, angel.” There was a trace of confidence in the upwards quirk of his lips, a moment of eye contact which spoke louder of his love for you than words ever could, and then Arthur disappeared back around the corner too quickly for you to reply, which was probably the point. The day passed in much the same fashion, with Arthur keeping an eye on you while somehow doing everything which needed to be done without so much as taking a break. Despite your many protests, Arthur refused all of your help; he only wanted for you to relax and to look after yourself. It was the weekend and Arthur knew that you needed to seize every moment of creativity that you could.

Indeed as the sun dipped below the horizon and the night sky signalled the start of The Murray Franklin Show did Arthur deem the apartment clean enough to pass the standards his mother drilled into him from a too young age, and he flopped down beside you on the worn sofa with a weary sigh. Irritated did he move around, a sofa spring digging rather painfully into his coccyx, and he bit back a frustrated laugh. You caught the throat convulsion and now was it your turn to cradle his hand in both of yours as you raised it to your lips, pressing kisses all over the backs of his weathered and slightly bruised hands. “It’s okay, Artie,” The sweetness of your voice, as naturally did love seep into every syllable, made his thin lips quirk upwards into a smile and Arthur squeezed his grip in yours.

His grip was too tight, for you winced, and Arthur gasped lightly as now was he the one reassuring you. “Let me see, darling,” There was some blood seeping through some of the plasters, especially towards the base of the nail, and Arthur cooed softly in understanding and in empathy. “I need to clean these for you. Please, Gen, I - “ Gentle fingers danced along the material of the plasters and Arthur began to peel them away. One by one did Arthur remove the plasters and when at last were all eight fingers and two thumbs bare and stinging in the cool air, he balled the dirty and used plasters up in his fist and went into the kitchen. You heard the tap running, some moving around and then Arthur was back with one of the brown paper bags from Helms pharmacy and a small bowl of warm water. 

Affection bloomed warmly in your chest and spread strongly through your veins and you couldn’t have stopped your grin even if you had tried. Arthur caught your smile as he sat back down, the small bowl of salt water carefully balanced on one knee and the paper bag, containing a new pack of plasters, on the other. You went through a lot of plasters and Arthur had secretly taken to rationing his daily cigarette consumption just so that he could provide for you, his one and only person who understood him. With a slow and careful hand did Arthur take one of your own in his and he carefully dipped the tips of your fingers into the bowl of water. You hissed in air through your teeth and Arthur cooed softly. He leaned forward and cupped your cheek in his free hand and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead. “I know,” Arthur whispered, and he kept his forehead pressed against yours as he took your hand out of the water and dried it on a freshly washed towel which he had had slung over his shoulder; he was only wearing his almost comically baggy electric blue trousers, relaxed around you was he. With all the clumsy grace which came so naturally to him did Arthur almost squint as he applied new plasters to each finger and then was it time for your next hand to be cleansed by the water. The harsh stinging of the salt getting into open wounds was contrasted so beautifully with the tender way Arthur held your hand and the phrase, you have to be cruel to be kind flashed across your mind.

When at last did you have plasters on all your fingers and the water bowl and the almost empty box of plasters was on the small coffee table, the small paper bag now scrunched up and left discarded on the floor for Arthur to find tomorrow. He brought your hands up to your lips and smothered them in kisses; your fingertips received the gentlest of kisses, and your palms and the backs of your hands were given kisses which were almost bruising in their ferocity. The affection which had bloomed in your chest had now turned into a love so strong that it was hard for you to breathe and you almost ripped your hands out of Arthur’s so that you could grab his face and pepper him in kisses. Arthur was giggling under your touches in no time and you smiled against his skin and pulled yourself closer to him until you were almost in your lap. Arthur, unsatisfied was he with this, gripped you by the plush flesh of your thighs and tugged you onto him. You trusted him implicitly and allowed Arthur to do as he pleased with you.

“Wh-why,” Arthur broke off into a strained chuckle, “Why are you - “ You felt Arthur’s cheeks crease under your touch as he grinned, and you could only smile with him, his voice light and his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” You rested your forehead against Arthur’s own and wound your arms around his shoulders, pulling yourself even closer to him. He smelt of vanilla and of cotton, of stale cigarettes and of that cheap cologne you so loved, but also of home. Your mind, heart, body and soul were all aligned, a rare occurrence up until the day you had met Arthur, and you felt so peaceful in this moment even while you were in physical pain, your fingers almost throbbing from the stinging.

“You’re welcome.” It was a quiet, pleased murmur that Arthur settled into your embrace, but it wasn’t enough with you. Perhaps subconsciously did you decide what would be and It was with a suggestive twist of your hips that Arthur himself picked up on how you wanted to express your gratitude, and you saw the look in his eyes darken. Arthur’s grip on you tightened and he stood with you, your legs hooked around his slender waist. His green eyes never left yours as with muscle memory being his only guide did Arthur take you to bed...

But not to sleep.

A bad habit it may be to bite your nails, but with Arthur was it faced with acceptance, an easy manner of taking care of it, and love... always love.

AF/J @impulsiveclown   @astheworlddturns @fluffedstar @jokersqueenofchaos @germansarechill @tsukiakarinobara  @lynnesm @sagyunaro  @docsportello  @flowerglitterwoman @ben-solos-writing-avenger @jokers-doll @jokershyena @arthurjokersgirl @antonija89 @lilliryth @hotpacino @obsessedandthirsty  @call-me-harley-quinn  @anais-angel

[judgement-free-sideblog]

Blood, tears and sea breeze.

Warnings: ANGST, mental health issues, graphic depictions of violence, blood, cursing, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of sex, substance abuse.

Summary: The not so peaceful town of Broadchurch face dead again, while Alec Hardy continues his journey to redemption will this school teacher be the key to solve the mystery or just another victim of the ever watching evilness that seems to reside in the town.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 5: Walls made of love

The diaries started as a joke, and Alec Could see Y/N was not taking her assignment seriously, he could even imagine Dr. Florence exasperated expression reading them, as much as he remembered the way she looked at him when talked about his own dreams. But every now and then there was some real opinion about her life.

Monday, April 8, 2019

08:00 am. I get to school and I didn't take breakfast, I had a boring morning, as boring as this bloody activity. Sorry doc, but you clearly fail on this one.

10:00 am That was rude I know, but what else you want me to tell, I had a boring lunch and I have a call from Jonathan's mother, I get it the ring was important and I know how much she doesn't me to take away her son, she doesn't have to be that bitchy about it.

By the time he reach the last five days he listened to the tape as he was reading, there were just little more details about what she ate, barely anything, and the people she talk around the day. One detail call his attention, apparently Paul was indulgent enough to let her drive for brief moments in straight lines, and Hardy was not sure if it was relevant for the case or not.

Then he finally found the recollection of the night she went out drinking with Ashley, she usually put on hours before writing so the doctor would follow better her descriptions.

2:30 - I just came home and took a shower, I'm sorry Doc, you will be receiving this one way late than usual, and please don't worry, I went for drinks with Ash as I told you yesterday I would, do you actually read this? I would hate to imagine a woman like you sitting at home alone waiting for my poor written crap. Anyway, I'll tell you a secret I didn't drink today, we were at the club at 10 but stupid Jonathan called me to tell me that I shouldn't be going out with, I told him where he could put his opinion, but I listen and took only mocktails, Ash didn't notice I think, she was so funk I even drove back, thankfully the streets were empty, I hope she didn't eat me out with Jonathan, and I will apologize to him lateer in the morning, I will tell him: I can't wait to be doing this for the rest of our lives.

I haven't told hin about your plann of putting me on medication, I will surprise him with it when he gets back, that would definitely make him happy.

"Hardy, Paul Coates is here, he wants to talk to you" One of the agents said and he immediately pull the papers behind some other files, they felt like something private not sure why.

"Sure, tell him I'll be out in a minute" He said and once he was away he move to close the blinds and the door of his office.

But if I'm completely honest I'm not sure if he actually wants me to get bettr or just wants me to be what he wants, as you said we all put on walls, and as I tried to move on from mine and from the memory of parents stopping me from getting out of Broadchurch I let Jonathan trapped me in litral walls in our huse, and the walls made of love that I built to keep me from telling him that I want to drive, that I need to work, that I'm capable, anyway have a nice night or morning or whatever time is you are reading this, I'll send you the next entry tomorrow.

Alec checked the time when Dr Florence received the document 2:53 am, so a few minutes after she wrote it, wich was obvious since it had several misspellings and missing letters.

He had already checked the traffic cameras around her home and all her movements checked out, there at 1:52 am just a few miles before the dirty road to her cottage he identified the car that should belong to Langford, and then the same car leaving at 2:05 however the first time he didn't notice that she was the one driving, and then Ashley driving back, apart from that her story checked out.

He stood up and walk to a waiting room where Paul was sitted , he respected the reverend but sometimes his good intentions could be too much.

"DI Hardy" He said always polite standing up to shake his hand "I'm sorry to bother you but is about Y/N"

"Do you have new information about the case?" Hardy said dryly, and sitedin front of him "I believe Miller already talked to you this morning, and I don't have more to say apart from that"

"No, I already say everything I know, is just I figured since Y/N is not going to be able to go back to his place because of ... the investigation and that" he frowned thinking about Jonathan's body "I thought maybe she could stay at the church, we always have a spare room and well since her family is not around I figured ..."

"How did you know she is getting free?" Alec interrupted him.

"Well I don't think she is responsible for anything" He started clearly surprised that he questioned that.

"Ah, you think you can do my job better than me?" Hardy said, clearly about to loose his temper.

"I just think, or at least I like to think I'm better at knowing people" Paul was more serious, and Hardy was shock by that, maybe it was the years of tragedy he had face with the town, or maybe it was something more personal.

"Oddly how things turn out isn't it? The fiance is gone, and now she goes back to you, and you even want her to live with you. And you are no longer with Becca do you? All seems way too convenient don't you think?" He said looking for something in the priest face, but there was only indignation.

"What are you suggesting? Really? You are going to questioning me?" He said and Hardy just remained silent with her arms crossed "Fine if I you need to know, and I'm surprised Ellie hasn't told you yet, I know her ages ago, her, Ashley we went to school together, and we were together for about one year, I don't know she was 26 at the time. And we broke up because I was busy with the church and we have been friends since then." He said quickly and Alec nodded.

"And you were friends with Norbury?" Alec asked not sure on why he wanted to know.

"I introduced them, a few weeks after he move here he began helping me at the church, and she often volunteers to watch the trouble makers, she must have watch Tom and Danny a couple times back in those days" a shadow of sorrow crossed his face remembering the young kid, something that happened often in broadchurch "I actually forgot to tell something to Ellie" He said remembering suddenly "I don't think is relevant but anyway, I am I meet Jonathan at a AA meeting, and that's why he started helping at the church. He had troubles with drinking at London that's why he came here."

"Did he ever relapse?" Alec ask suddenly with all his alarms on "Like recently?"

"Not that I know, he didn't want Y/N to know about it, and I ask him to talk to her before the wedding, I'm not sure if he did" The sad look was back now for his lost friend.

"She'll be out in fifty" Alec said standing up, and walking towards the door "You can wait for her here"

"What? Oh thanks, she has been trough a lot already, I hope I can help her out on this at least."

"You said her family is not around, what ever happened to them?" He said suddenly stopping at the door.

"They died, in a car accident ten years ago, she was about to leave town, she was not living with them anymore, she was the youngest and they care for her a lot, but after that she felt guilty I guess, she started coming more to church and her problem got worse for a few weeks, I hope that doesn't happen again".

"Sure" Hardy said and walked fast to the interrogation room where Y/N have spent the night. He found her sitted in the same place, and she had clearly been crying, he felt sorry for her, but he had to get things clear first.

"You lied to us" He started siting in front of her. "You drove home on Friday morning out of the bar" She only nodded and took a sip of the water bottle she hasn't touched yet.

"I'm sorry" Y/N said with a throaty voice "I did, I know I'm not supposed to but I actually can drive very well, and I haven't drink that night it, I thought it was safer if I take the wheel than Ash, but she was stubborn enough to drive back herself"

"Any particular reason on why you don't drink?" He asked not giving it much importance.

"I really don't like it that much, and it worsens my anxiety, so I may take a glass of wine here and there, I think that's why I blacked out so long two weeks ago I did drink a few more shots than my usual three" she said putting her hair behind her ear "He was in AA" She said biting her nails "Or at least I think he was, someone left a voice message about changing the hour for the meeting" She face Hardy with red eyes but she didn't cried, not anymore.

"Do you ever saw him drinking?" He asked and his mind was still in the coroner report trying to remember what he said about the content of the stomach.

"No, also he always had "Boy's night" with Paul on the day I knew he had his AA meetings, is weird how any of them thought I will figure it out" She had a sad smile on her face "I always thought he was a terrible liar because of it"

"You can leave, reverend Coats, amm Paul is waiting for you" She gave him a surprise look.

"Why is Paul here?" She asked then putting up her hands so he could uncuffed her.

"You can't go to your own place, we are still looking for evidence there" Alec said avoiding her gaze.

"Detective Hardy, do you believe me?" She asked caressing her wrist, they felt numb after all that time.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" He asked looking at her straight in the eyes.

"No, but earlier it felt like you thought it was me" She said.

"I don't have to believe you or not, I make questions and I follow evidence, and evidence doesn't suggest you did it" He avoided answer her directly.

"Then can I ask you a favor?" She said standing up. "When you find who did this to us, and I have faith in you to do it, if is someone I know, please don't tell me" Her voice was low and almost imperceptible and he had to bend over the table to listen better.

"Why?" He asked in a whisper almost as quiet as hers.

"Because I would hate them, and I would want to kill them, and I don't want to be that kind of person" She said and he could see the fear and sorrow in her eyes, and felt grateful that another officer entered to take her way from him. He went back to his office trying to forget that look when Miller walked in.

"Did you let her go? Paul told me on the way out she would stay at the church, that seems fine for now" She said looking at him but he was apparently not listening. "Ready to go see his apartment?"

"What does the coroner said about his stomach?" He asked suddenly leaning back on his chair.

"Vodka? Whiskey? Some sort of alcohol, why?" She asked curious.

"Yeah, something like that, come on Miller we can't lost more time" There he is, Miller smile when he put on his coat again and start walking outside. "By the way, I haven't told you this" He turned at her with a odd expression in his face "I am in therapy with Dr. Florence, I have been there for a few months now, is not important, I just thought you should know" He nodded and kept walking.

"Ok, sure, fine. That's great" Miller said against her impulse of asking more, she was glad he shared that of course, but she knew how hard must have been for him to admit it. "Anyway Becca Fisher owns the apartment where Norbury lived, she gave me the key"

They walked out and Alec started telling her about Jonathan's problem with alcohol, and a few other details he learned that morning but leaving out all about the diaries. He was sure as much as Ellie that Y/N was innocent but that only made things more complicated and he was hoping for a new lead to appear at the apartment, Please don't tell me her voice resonated in his mind and when he closed his eyes he could see her face. This was getting more and more difficult every minute.

I wasn't sure if people was actually reading this, but I'm glad they are, so if you want to be in the tag list just say so and I would gladly add you.

@allonsymexgirl

[clionasjourney-blog]

MY JOURNEY: The Beginning

To whom it may concern,

I have decided to begin a blog that tells the story of my trials and tribulations with Mental Health and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. There are a number of reasons why I have chosen to embark on this task, from spreading awareness of these monstrous illnesses, to simply venting when I am struggling. I hope you will find this useful to yourself, as I am hoping that by sharing my experiences with you, you will feel less alone and isolated when battling with your own demons. To begin this journey I will start by telling you a bit about myself, so if you're sitting comfortably, lets begin…

My “journey” began when I was in Year 8 at Secondary School (aged 13) as I was facing a lot of difficult challenges at home and at school. After a while this started to impact on my mental health and I was referred to Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services (CAMHS), a service for children up to the age of 18, and this is where everything began to take a turn for the worse. For the next 6 years I began battling with my Mental Health and even with the help of a team of psychologists, psychiatrists and social workers, I was deteriorating rapidly. I was firstly placed on a programme of counselling in my local centre for CAMHS, which soon turned into a course of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT). However despite me attending weekly sessions, my health did not improve and so it was deemed necessary to start me on a course of medications - a combination of anti-depressants, anti-psychotics and sleeping tables. Since then, I have rotated around a number of different combinations of medications at a number of different dosages.

In February 2017 I was admitted to my first CAMHS inpatient unit under Section 3 of the Mental Health Act of 1983. Little did I know that this was going to be the start of a string of hospital admissions, A&E trips and further Sections. This admission was in the middle of my first year of A - Levels and so I struggled with keeping up my studies as well as trying to mend my body and my mind. After 7 months inpatient, I was discharged just in time for my 18th birthday, however living in the community didn't last for very long and I soon ended up back in hospital.

This time however it was different, as I had turned 18, I was now placed on an adult ward. Of all my units that I have had the misfortune of being on, this one was the worst, I was constantly on 1:1 support - where a member of staff is at arms length from you at all times (this is particularly demeaning when you need to use the bathroom), I began to struggling with what rapidly turned into my Anorexia Nervosa and as well as this, my sleeping became more disjointed and despite having slept for 15 + hours I was still exhausted. Having been admitted for severe self harm with suicidal ideology, along with a whole host of other symptoms, I received my worst diagnosis to date, Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) also known as Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder (EUPD). When I was discharged from this unit 4 months later, I was labelled with this horrible illness that since has taken what normal life I had left away from me.

During this ‘free’ time, I lived in a shared house for people with mental illnesses and learning disabilities, where I made friends and began to become re-accustomed to what can only be described as ‘civilian life’. However once again, after being discharged, I barely managed Christmas and New Year before being re-admitted to my local psychiatric unit. This was preceded by a number of trips to A&E and being placed on numerous 136 Sections by Police. Once again I was placed on a Section 3 and I ended up back in the system that I whole heartedly detest. By this crisis point, my mental health became worse that ever with my symptoms increasing as one of my symptoms is to cease taking medications as I detest thinking that I need them. I was back on 1:1 with a bedroom with only a mattress and pillow and spent weeks in rip-proof clothing for my own safety. However, after a month it was deemed that the ward I was on was not suitable for my needs and that I would soon be moved to an Open Rehabilitation Centre. This placement would be one that is considerably longer than any i had pre This was one of the scariest moments for me as I was informed that the unit I would be moving to is a 4 hour drive from my hometown and subsequently  wouldn't be seeing my friends or family that often.

Despite having a very tricky move, from being handcuffed by police, to travelling in the back of an ambulance with restraints on, I arrived at my new unit in March 2018. However as I was so ill, my brain has erased a number of memories from my first few months here. I went from a shy, timid schoolgirl to what can only be described as a ‘vocal, distressed, patient’. I was being injected on an almost daily basis with sedatives and I was being threatened with a move to another PICU (Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit). However after regaining some strength and getting my eating disorder to a decent stage of physical health, I began what really I can call my journey to recovery. This journey would be by no means easy or short and I would have to face a number of problems such as Depression and Anxiety, BPD, PTSD and atypical Anorexia Nervosa. Since then, I have had a number of relapses and stages that I thought that I would never recover from but I now know I'm at least in the right place for treatment. However, even though I am now on the path to good health I have also had to fight my corner to be heard sometimes with regards to my illnesses. Since the age of 16, i have struggled with unexplained aches and pains, as well as extreme fatigue that doesn't improve with rest. This when coupled with other symptoms such as migraines is known as “Chronic Fatigue Syndrome’. I had known that I have CFS for a number of months before I received a diagnosis of it as my current consultant just blamed medication and its side effects, so after a long battle I managed to get my voice heard and explain my side of the story. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome effects me in a lot of different ways, but the main problem i face is extreme fatigue that is worsened by any sort of exercise and does not improve with any amount of sleep. I can rest all day and sleep more than 12 hours a night and still wake up with my body feeling like lead. My joints ache for no apparent reason and once again are worsened by exercise.

In late September, i had my Section 3 renewed for another 6 months which now means I will spend Christmas here in hospital but I will visit my family on Boxing Day hopefully. It is now November and I have been in rehab for nearly 9 months but I must say they've been the most productive 9 months of my life. I really feel like I am finally improving, yes I may be taking numerous medications and having psychology on a nearly daily basis along with occupational therapy but I feel like I am improving and also becoming more independent. Hopefully I will continue to look positively at my journey and keep you up to date in the meantime…

[sorceressmidnight]

Midnight Sorceress

Chapter: 6/? [1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - ?]

Chapter 6: You’re Not Alone

Words: 2925

Warnings: Some cursing, medication and therapy mentions, a heated argument, relapse mention, choking briefly, fighting

Primarily following the events of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, it revolves around an original character.

Description as posted on ao3:  A member of SHIELD is forced to struggle with her mental stability and keeping her secret as the craziness surrounding the Avengers crashes around her. She ends up befriending Tony and Pepper, who help out her mental health a great deal, but will they be able to help her with her secret? Something that could destroy her if she uses it too much… What will happen when Tony tries to convince her to use it to help the Avengers?

Read on ao3: here

Tags: @txnystarkimagines @h0bsyrup

Hit me up if you want to be tagged in future chapters.

This chapter happens just before and during Age of Ultron.

“Pep’s gonna flip when she finds out you've been tinkering and making suits again.” Tony groaned under his breath, leaning over and pinching the tip of her nose lightly. “You know it helps with my anxiety.” “So would some pills, or maybe therapy,” Kiana retorted, pushing his hand away and rubbing her nose. “You know I don't have time for that,” he grumbled, going back to his work. “Besides, I'm close to finishing your suit. Would you prefer a whole head mask, just over the eyes, or goggles?” “I'm sure she'd be against that too, only because she probably wouldn't want me fighting either. I guess it doesn't matter… as long as I can see? I guess?” “You're so indecisive,” he pinched her cheeks softly, pouting. “I'm hoping to have it ready by the next time we go on a mission.” “I… I can't go with you guys… I'm not an avenger! Plus!! All superheroes have cool backstories! I'm just… I'm just me!” “...  That's what you're concerned about? Seriously? You can spar with both Nat and Clint, you have pretty decent endurance from your martial arts and swimming, and you can literally make a pile of dirt fight for you. But… you're not capable of being a superhero. Right.” The sarcasm in his voice was thick by the end of his little speech. It was an attempt to rile her up, knowing she hated it when he gave her that tone. “I could die, Tony!” “That's what the suit’s for.” “I could still die…” she pouted, crossing her arms. “That's what we're here for. We help keep each other safe. You already have three people who care about you on the team. We wouldn't let anything serious happen. You’d be a huge help to the team… Okay, how about this. Lemme finish up with the suit, and we’ll go from there. Sound fair?” She sighed finally, pinching his cheek. “Fine, but when I say I’m uncomfortable, you back down.” “Don’t worry. I’d never try to push you further than you could go. Besides, most of the stuff I’d be taking you on would be raids, so we’d have an advantage anyway. C’mon, though. Pep wanted to go out for food.”

Kiana pulled the curtain and walked out from the makeshift changing room, standing in front of Tony, Bruce, and Sammy with her arms crossed. She was wearing the suit Tony had made for her, now with a pair of goggles that covered her eyes and wrapped around her the back of her head, an earpiece connected so she could stay in contact with everyone. The goggles were black with the glass tinted a light blue. “Okay. Gavin, tell her about the specs.” “Sure. Would you prefer Miss Mariveil or Kiana?” “Kiki’s fine. You can simplify it. I’ve got a headache and I’m not in the mood for lengthy explanations.” “I can tell. I have been programmed to monitor your health as to make sure nothing is to go wrong during fights. Mr. Stark designed it with leather to be sturdy for fighting with the added technology of increasing the percentage of your powers by roughly fifty percent. In case of emergencies, I can increase the percentage which will allow me to channel your power to create a safer situation for you. This is mostly if you become unconscious or are severely wounded. Your goggles are used to keep communication with the others while out on a mission. I am also able to assist you with how best to maneuver.” “Okay, Gavin, was it? I have a question.” “Of course, what is it?” “Can I call you Ethan? I think that fits your voice better.” “If that’s what you wish, then you can address me as Ethan.” “Whoa! Hey,” Tony butted in, crossing his arms. “I made him. You can’t just go and change his name.” “Sir, I was created for Miss Mariveil. I believe it is up to her to decide what to call me.” “I like him,” Kiana smirked, putting her hands on her hips. “So, I’m guessing we’re going to do one last test run? Since this should be the ‘final’ version?” “I do have a question,” Sammy piped up, “why is limited in the first place?” “After several tests and examination of everything, it has been determined that fifty percent is high enough to use her powers for an extended time with no major repercussions. However, any higher than about fifty-five to sixty percent would make it difficult for Kiki to keep control of her powers. It also is harder to scan the stress on her body the higher the percentage.” “Now we can work on testing this baby out,” Kiana smirked as she looked towards the machine she had been testing her powers on since Tony first made the suit. She lifted her arms and gestured her hands to begin lifting the machine, watching as it started lifting off of the floor until it was about halfway from the floor and the ceiling. She grinned to herself, giving out a happy laugh as she slowly brought it back down. The others quietly stared, waiting to see what she had to say. “I didn’t feel anything, Tony! It felt no different than lifting a pencil!” she shouted, jumping up to hug him. He held her tightly and swung her around, joining her in happy laughter. “That’s great!” he finally let her down, smiling, “Gav--Ethan, stress levels?” “Everything is normal, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony!” Kiana called out as she watched Tony stare into space, making her way down to him. He was staring blankly forward towards what was formerly Loki’s scepter. He shook his head, seeming to come to before reaching his arm out, the glove of his armor coming before he grabbed it. “Are you okay?” she asked, brows raised as she saw something in the corner of her eye. She tried to see what it was, but nothing was there once she did look. He finally turned and faced her, brows knitted together. “I’m fine. Are you?” He ushered her up the stairs and out of the area.

“Hey, Pep! Tony’s throwing a party in a couple of days, are you coming?” Kiki asked, pressing the a button on the side of her goggles as they collapsed down into one ear piece. Pepper raised a brow as she watched the goggles collapse, concern growing on her face. “What is that?” “Huh? Oh, uh… It’s my suit. It’s so I can use my powers without putting too much strain on myself.” “Use?! For what?! Did-” she stopped and grabbed her arms, gesturing over some cuts and scrapes she had received when they went on their mission, “Did Tony make this?! He should know better than to take you out on a mission!” “I-It’s not that bad…” she tried to retort, feeling Pepper grabbing her hand and pulling her towards where she would find Tony. “I don’t care! That’s not the point!” It took a minute or two before they found him, Pepper more furious the longer it took to get to him. He smiled at the two, about to say something before he was cut off. “What the hell is this about?! How could you let her go out on a mission?! She could die, Tony!” “W-whoa, Pep… She was great! She was never alone, I had an eye on her all the time! I would never let anything happen to her!” he tried to reassure her. “That’s not what I’m talking about! She did get hurt! Do you see her arms?! What if this causes her to relapse?!” Her brows furrowed, forcing him to look over the cuts and scrapes. “Pepper,” Tony gently rubbed her shoulders, “nothing happened. How about this? I won’t take her out on another mission.” “You said you wouldn’t be making anymore suits!” she hissed, pushing his hands off of her shoulders. “I’m not going to let you risk Kiki’s life, too!” She grabbed Kiana’s hand, brows knitted together as she turned to walk off. He grabbed her hand before she left out the door, frowning. “Don’t you think isolating her and taking her from her friends will worsen her depression?! Besides, she’s an adult, I think she should be given the chance to choose what she gets to do!” “Ugh! Fine! I’m leaving!” she hissed at Tony, gently holding Kiana’s hands. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me, okay? I’m available any time,” she gave her a tight hug before a soft kiss on her forehead, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind her. Kiana frowned, staring at the floor. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, soft tears forming in her eyes. “Hey, hey… It’s not your fault, okay? You didn’t make Pep leave. It’ll be alright,” he pulled her into a hug, calming her down from the previous tension.

The party began as planned, most showing up around the start of it while others straggled into the tower. Most of them chatting with one another, others at the bar getting a drink, some others just watching the excitement from the comfort of their own little zone. Sammy and Kiana were sitting on a couch together, watching the party go on from off in the corner. “I plan on taking pictures. Everyone’s probably going to act stupid, so I want as much proof as possible to make fun of them with later on,” Kiana smirked, scrolling on her phone as glanced around to see if there was anything picture worthy. “I’m glad you’re here. I barely know anyone and I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone either,” Sammy murmured, taking a sip of her drink. The two chatted as they watched the others, taking pictures and laughing at some of the antics of the others. Tony strolled his way over to the corner, staring down at the two with a brow arched. “What’re you two up to?” “Avoiding social interaction.” “Makes sense for you, but what about you? Are you still upset about what happened with Pep?” His voice softened by his second question. Kiana gave a quick flash of a half-smile and a shrug of her shoulders. “I’m just not fully feeling up for partying. I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed, I guess.” “Hey… it’ll be alright. I’ll make sure of it. If you want to talk, just grab me, okay?” He asked, receiving a nod in response before he rejoined the majority of the party. The party started to slow and eventually ended with just the members of the Avengers, Maria, Rhodey, Helen Cho, Sammy, and Kiana. There became a challenge with some of them in trying to pick up Thor’s Mjolnir, Kiana recording in short bursts as each person tried to lift it, laughter filling the room during the struggles. After Thor saying ‘You’re all not worthy’ and some bickering among everyone, there was a loud screeching that forced everyone to wince and cover their ears, looking around in attempts to find what made the noise.

“Tony, I-... I’m sorry about Jarvis... “ Kiana gently wrapped her arms around Tony’s shoulders, leaning over him slightly as he sat on his chair, hands in his lap. She squeezed softly as she hugged him, knowing how upset he must be. “I…” he balled his hands, nails lightly digging into his fists. “I have to stop him.” “You won’t have to do it alone,” she spoke softly, leaning her head against his gently. He sighed, lifting his arms to hug her back, feeling vulnerable and weak yet comforted by the simple action.

“Just be careful, okay?” came Kiana’s voice to Tony, brows knitted together as she looked around, watching as Tony intercepted Ultron. She watched as the fight began, working to stop the bullets from hitting the others and disarming some of the men that were brought in. She helped from the sidelines, staying out of sight and making it easier for the others to take down the enemies. A hand found its way around her throat, squeezing as she was lifted into the air, being face to face with Ultron now. “Why is it I can’t find any files on you? I would assume Stark would want to keep something on you and that little suit he made, but I can’t find anything,” he spaced the last four words out as he spoke. “Kiki,” she heard Ethan through the earpiece, struggling to keep breathing, “since he’s not human, you can directly use your powers on him. Take advantage of that to get him off of you, then use the railing behind you to get down to the others.” Her brows knitted together, moving her hands and using her powers to pry his hand off of her throat, landing on the walkway below the two. After inhaling deeply for the first time in about thirty seconds, she then threw him through the nearest wall before grabbing onto the railing and bending it to get down onto the lower floor. “Oh jeez,” she murmured, seeing everyone except Clint down. “You can say that again.” “Natasha, I could really use a lullaby.” came Tony’s voice through the headset, causing the two to look at one another. “Well, that’s not gonna happen. Not for a while. The whole team is down, you got no back up here.” Clint responded. “I’m not down! I’m on my way,” Kiana stood up swiftly, ready to rush out. “No, you stay with Barton. He’ll need help getting everybody back to the jet. I’ll meet up with you when I’ve gotten Bruce back.” “He’s right, we should work on that before anyone else shows up. I can carry one person, do you think you could use your powers?” “Yeah. Let’s just get them on something that I can lift.” The two worked together to get two of their teammates on a large sheet of metal they found lying around before taking them back to the jet together. Tony and Bruce eventually rejoined them as they left the area, headed towards a safe house in attempts to stay underground for a while.

[laurajanecostello]

If one in four people have a mental health problem at some point in their lifetime, it should be something we can openly talk about without fear or ridicule, yes?

1 in 4 means approx 25 in 100, 250 in 1000 and so on. It means most families or workplaces will have someone who has suffered or is suffering with some degree of mental illness. It means in the UK, there are approximately 16.28 million people with a mental health issue, and 2.17 million in London.

So, why can’t we talk about it?

I spoke recently about the kerfuffle I was having in getting a firm offer for my new job. You can find that post here. When I last posted, I had been referred to a doctor from the occupational health nurse, because she wasn’t sure whether to give me clearance or not.

So, I met with the doctor last week. She was lovely and actually listened to what I was saying. She agreed that although my condition has peaks and troughs (as most mental illnesses do), it is well managed and I am very much aware of my own triggers and deterioration in my own condition. We also agreed that I know the importance of seeking help and when to do so. Consequently, she said she would be clearing me to start the position.

Based on my assessment today, there are no medical contraindications to prevent Ms “MamaEden&Me” from undertaking this position

Excellent, right? I thought so. When I was given my conditional offer, the conditions were that I could prove any relevant professional registrations (which was not applicable as I have none that apply to this job) and that if I had a health condition or disability, Occupational Health gave me clearance to start the role. Simple. The above is pretty much as clear as it gets. the MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL says I’m good to go.

Yesterday I emailed HR from home to ask when my firm offer would be with me, seeing as I have now received the clearance that we had been waiting for. A medical professional says I’m fit, so that must be it, right? Well, I didn’t hear anything from HR, but later in the day I received a voice message on my phone from the new job. A sort of “can you call me back?” type message.

I rang straight back. Basically they had called to make sure I knew what the job entailed and that it would be busy and there would be twelve hour shifts. This was not the person who interviewed me, so I told her that I used to take 999 calls for the ambulance service. I’ve done night shifts before. I’ve done twelve hour shifts before. This is old hat, really. Never mind the fact that the job is a band two reception role – no doubt it has its stressors but I’m not exactly applying to be CEO of the world, if you know what I mean? I work in a reception role currently, I know the workplace systems and such. I have some idea of at least the layout of the department because I had my baby there. It’s a new job, but it’s not “that” new really.

There were concerns raised. Concerns that I might relapse. I had six weeks off at the start of the year (after having no time off with it in the last three years…). What the doctor said in her letter was that good stress management in the workplace (which is something being fostered here anyway at the moment) would hopefully reduce the risk of relapse, but she cannot guarantee that I won’t relapse.

While I am hopeful that this may help reduce the risk of relapse of her condition, I cannot fully rule out the possibility of future relapses

The thing I struggle to understand about this is MOST health conditions have a relapse risk. If I had diabetes and my condition was well managed at present, there is still no guarantee of no future worsening. There’s no guarantee I won’t fall and break my leg tomorrow and require time off. This is what happens when you employ human beings – sometimes we need time off for various unavoidable things. I think what the doctor said is perfectly reasonable, but apparently this is a sticking point to the new dept who seem to think that I will cost them time and money if I relapse.

One thing that is on my side, is that the letter from the doctor also states this…

The nature of her condition in my opinion likely falls under the disability provisions of the Equality Act which would require consideration of reasonable adjustments within the context of her work.

So, although it has been stated in the letter that I do not need reasonable adjustments presently, it has brought up the good old Equality Act. I’m hoping that will offer me some protection, because I’m 99.9% sure that if they withdraw their conditional job offer at this point, that would discrimate against me as a disabled person.

After our conversation, the new job person then said they are off for a few days, but will discuss with their manager when they return and they will give me a call on Monday. Which is almost a week away. Ironically, guess what this is doing to my anxiety levels?

I was made to promise that I wouldn’t worry about this, but it’s very hard not to worry when the chance of the offer being withdrawn is mentioned and there are quite so many questions about exactly what kind of inconvenience your disability will cause. This may not have been how it was intended, but it is certainly how it is coming across presently. Before the occupational health report, we were talking training dates and notice periods. Now? We’re “I’ll have to talk to my manager” and “Give me until Monday to get back to you”. I don’t know. Something just doesn’t feel right.

Apart from anything, I just really want this job. I really need to get out of my current job and I want something new. If I didn’t feel I could do it, I wouldn’t have applied and jumped through all the hoops so far. I certainly would not have accepted the job when it was offered to me. It’s been six weeks now. I should have been two weeks into my new job. I’ve wanted to work in maternity for some time and the fact that it’s almost in my hands and could be snatched away at the last minute is soul destroying.

So, what have we learned from this? Lie. Tick no. Don’t be open and honest, because that doesn’t go in your favour. If you’re disabled, shut up and pretend that you’re not. Or even better, don’t be disabled. Essentially this.

Honestly, how can we foster an open dialogue about mental health when this happens? People question why there is a stigma. Just read the above and you’ll understand. By this point, my health condition is just a part of me. It has been for six years now. It’s part of the jigsaw pieces that make up Laura.

I’ll post an update when I have one. Please keep fingers crossed that I’ll actually get to start the job that I was so excited about starting!

[scathach124]

So I’ve had a few asks asking me about when I’m going to update fics again, when I’m going to start writing again (they’ve all been very nice though, not nagging or anything). I realize I haven’t been writing very much recently – my last update to any fanfiction was back in January, and now it’s April, so I think this is the longest I’ve gone without a single update. I know I’ve written some drabbles in that time, but nothing major. I feel like I owe my readers an explanation, so here it is.

For my last few updates to The Chance to Escape I mentioned that I had taken a short break because of some mental health issues which had appeared during last semester. At the time I wrote that I assumed that those issues were past, that it was just a short relapse of depression and anxiety, and that things would go more smoothly hereafter. Sure they weren’t going to be weekly updates because I had work, but I just assumed that I’d be able to work better and then still have some time to write.

I was, frankly, quite wrong. On the contrary, my depression has worsened to the point that I’m seeking out psychiatric help. I’m tired 90% of the time and I barely have the energy to do my schoolwork, and even less to write fanfic, even though that’s all I want to do. I’ve had the document with Dream within a Dream open for about three weeks and have only written about 2000 words in that time span. When I was home for spring break I told my parents that I was having these issues and I was afraid they were only going to get worse with time. Overall I’m just feeling very dead inside, and my schoolwork may be suffering as a result which isn’t helping my feeling of hopelessness and anxiety.

I am currently seeing two psychiatrists, one through my school and another outside, and I’ve been prescribed a small dosage anti-depressants. It may take a while for any improvement (if any) to occur, so I’m not going to immediately get better and possibly not get better for a while. 

So yes – I promised that I’d be better at writing now and that my mental health issues were past, but that’s not true. And I’m honestly so sorry that I’ve been absent from writing for such a long time. If I could, I’d be writing until 4 in the morning, but I can’t control how my brain operates. Like I said, I might get better or I might get worse – it’s hard to tell at this point. But I just want to say that knowing people are still reading my fics does make me very happy, and I hope you won’t abandon me just because I don’t have anything new for you. 

Thank you for reading. <3

[stephenmccull]

How Those With Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder Cope With Added Angst Of COVID

Before the COVID-19 pandemic took hold in the United States, Chris Trondsen felt his life was finally under control. As someone who has battled obsessive-compulsive disorder and other mental health issues since early childhood, it’s been a long journey.

“I’ve been doing really, really well,” Trondsen said. “I felt like most of it was pretty much — I wouldn’t say ‘cured’ ― but I definitely felt in remission or under control. But this pandemic has been really difficult for me.”

Trondsen, 38, a Costa Mesa, California, therapist who treats those with obsessive-compulsive and anxiety disorders, has found himself excessively washing his hands once again. He’s experiencing tightness in his chest from anxiety — something he hadn’t felt in so long that it frightened him into getting checked out at an urgent care center. And because he also has body dysmorphic disorder, he said, he’s finding it difficult to ignore his appearance when he’s looking at himself during his many Zoom appointments with clients each day.

Chris Trondsen, a California therapist who in the past struggled with obsessive-compulsive disorder, says “this pandemic has been really difficult for me.” OCD symptoms have resurfaced that he hadn’t experienced in years.(Courtesy of Chris Trondsen)

From the early days of the coronavirus outbreak, experts and media have warned of a mounting mental health crisis as people contend with a pandemic that has upended their lives. A recent KFF poll found that about 4 in 10 adults say stress from the coronavirus negatively affected their mental health. (KHN is an editorially independent program of KFF, the Kaiser Family Foundation.)

But those with obsessive-compulsive disorder and other serious anxieties face uniquely difficult mental health battles, including trying to distinguish concerns brought on by their conditions from general fears shared by the public about COVID-19. People with OCD have discovered one advantage, though: Those who have undergone successful treatment often have increased abilities to accept the pandemic’s uncertainty.

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Dr. Katharine Phillips, a psychiatrist at NewYork-Presbyterian and professor at Weill Cornell Medicine, said it’s possible that patients who have been in consistent, good treatment for their OCD are well protected against the stress of COVID-19.

“Whether it’s excessive fears about the virus, excessive fears about possible repercussions to the virus, whether that’s financial effects ― good treatment protects against relapse in these patients,” Phillips said.

Those with OCD feel compelled to repeatedly perform certain behaviors, such as compulsive cleaning, and they may fixate on routines. OCD can also cause nonstop intrusive thoughts.

Carli, who asked that her last name be withheld because she feared professional repercussions, can trace her OCD to age 6. The coronavirus pandemic has sent Carli, a 43-year-old from Jersey City, New Jersey, into a spiral. She’s afraid of the elevators in her building, so she doesn’t leave her apartment. And she’s having trouble distinguishing an OCD compulsion from an appropriate reaction to a dangerous pandemic, asking those without OCD how they’ve reacted.

“The compulsions in my head have definitely gotten worse, but in terms of wearing a mask and cleaning my groceries and going into stores, it’s really hard to gauge what is a normal reaction and what is my OCD,” Carli said. “I try to ask people, Are you doing this? Are you doing that?”

Elizabeth McIngvale, director of the McLean OCD Institute in Houston, said she has noticed patients struggling to differentiate reactions, as Carli described. Her response is that whereas guidelines such as hand-washing from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention are generally easily accomplished, OCD compulsions are usually never satisfied.

McIngvale was diagnosed with OCD when she was 12, with behaviors like taking six- to eight-hour showers and washing her hands for so long they bled. McIngvale receives therapy weekly.

“It’s just a part of my life and how I maintain my progress,” McIngvale said.

Lately, she’s found herself consumed with fears of harming or infecting others with the COVID-19 virus — a symptom of her OCD. But, generally, with the tools she’s gained through treatment, she said she’s been handling the pandemic better than some people around her.

“The pandemic, in general, was a new experience for everybody, but for me, feeling anxiety and feeling uncomfortable wasn’t new,” McIngvale said.

“OCD patients are resilient,” she added. Treatment is based on “leaning into uncertainty and so we’ve also seen patients who are far along in their treatment during this time be able to manage really well and actually teach others how to live with uncertainty and with anxiety.”

Wendy Sparrow, 44, an author from Port Orchard, Washington, has OCD, agoraphobia (fear of places or situations that might cause panic) and post-traumatic stress disorder. Sparrow has been in therapy several times but now takes medication and practices mindfulness and meditation.

Wendy Sparrow says initially she wasn’t fazed by COVID-19 because she’s used to sanitizing frequently and doesn’t mind staying home. Instead, she felt her symptoms worsening as her home no longer felt like a safe space.(Courtesy of Wendy Sparrow)

At the beginning of the pandemic, she wasn’t fazed because she’s used to sanitizing frequently and she doesn’t mind staying home. Instead, she has felt her symptoms worsening as her home no longer felt like a safe space and her fears of fatal contamination heightened.

“The world feels germier than normal and anyone who leaves this house is subjected to a barrage of questions when they return,” Sparrow wrote in an email.

Depending on how long the pandemic lasts, Sparrow said, she may revisit therapy so she can adopt more therapeutic practices. Trondsen, too, is considering therapy again, even though he knows the tools to combat OCD by heart and uses them to help his clients.

“I definitely am needing therapy,” Trondsen said. “I realized that even if it’s not specifically to relearn tools for the disorders … it’s more so for my mental well-being.”

Carli has struggled with finding the right treatment for her OCD.

But a recent change is helping. As the pandemic intensified this spring, many doctors and mental health providers moved to telehealth appointments — and insurers agreed to cover them ― to cut down on the risks of spreading the virus. In April, she started using an app that connects people with OCD to licensed therapists. While skeptical at first, she has appreciated the convenience of teletherapy.

“I never want to go back to actually being in a therapist’s office,” Carli said. “Therapy is something that’s really uncomfortable for a lot of people, including me. And to be able to be on my own turf makes me feel a little more powerful.”

Patrick McGrath, a psychologist and head of clinical services at NOCD, the telehealth platform Carli uses, said he’s found that teletherapy with his patients is also beneficial because it allows him to better understand “how their OCD is interfering in their day-to-day life.”

Trondsen hopes the pandemic will bring increased awareness of OCD and related disorders. Occasionally, he’s felt that his troubles during this pandemic have been dismissed or looped into the general stress everyone is feeling.

“I think that there needs to be a better understanding of how intense this is for people with OCD,” he said.

How Those With Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder Cope With Added Angst Of COVID published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.weebly.com/

[gordonwilliamsweb]

How Those With Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder Cope With Added Angst Of COVID

Before the COVID-19 pandemic took hold in the United States, Chris Trondsen felt his life was finally under control. As someone who has battled obsessive-compulsive disorder and other mental health issues since early childhood, it’s been a long journey.

“I’ve been doing really, really well,” Trondsen said. “I felt like most of it was pretty much — I wouldn’t say ‘cured’ ― but I definitely felt in remission or under control. But this pandemic has been really difficult for me.”

Trondsen, 38, a Costa Mesa, California, therapist who treats those with obsessive-compulsive and anxiety disorders, has found himself excessively washing his hands once again. He’s experiencing tightness in his chest from anxiety — something he hadn’t felt in so long that it frightened him into getting checked out at an urgent care center. And because he also has body dysmorphic disorder, he said, he’s finding it difficult to ignore his appearance when he’s looking at himself during his many Zoom appointments with clients each day.

Chris Trondsen, a California therapist who in the past struggled with obsessive-compulsive disorder, says “this pandemic has been really difficult for me.” OCD symptoms have resurfaced that he hadn’t experienced in years.(Courtesy of Chris Trondsen)

From the early days of the coronavirus outbreak, experts and media have warned of a mounting mental health crisis as people contend with a pandemic that has upended their lives. A recent KFF poll found that about 4 in 10 adults say stress from the coronavirus negatively affected their mental health. (KHN is an editorially independent program of KFF, the Kaiser Family Foundation.)

But those with obsessive-compulsive disorder and other serious anxieties face uniquely difficult mental health battles, including trying to distinguish concerns brought on by their conditions from general fears shared by the public about COVID-19. People with OCD have discovered one advantage, though: Those who have undergone successful treatment often have increased abilities to accept the pandemic’s uncertainty.

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Dr. Katharine Phillips, a psychiatrist at NewYork-Presbyterian and professor at Weill Cornell Medicine, said it’s possible that patients who have been in consistent, good treatment for their OCD are well protected against the stress of COVID-19.

“Whether it’s excessive fears about the virus, excessive fears about possible repercussions to the virus, whether that’s financial effects ― good treatment protects against relapse in these patients,” Phillips said.

Those with OCD feel compelled to repeatedly perform certain behaviors, such as compulsive cleaning, and they may fixate on routines. OCD can also cause nonstop intrusive thoughts.

Carli, who asked that her last name be withheld because she feared professional repercussions, can trace her OCD to age 6. The coronavirus pandemic has sent Carli, a 43-year-old from Jersey City, New Jersey, into a spiral. She’s afraid of the elevators in her building, so she doesn’t leave her apartment. And she’s having trouble distinguishing an OCD compulsion from an appropriate reaction to a dangerous pandemic, asking those without OCD how they’ve reacted.

“The compulsions in my head have definitely gotten worse, but in terms of wearing a mask and cleaning my groceries and going into stores, it’s really hard to gauge what is a normal reaction and what is my OCD,” Carli said. “I try to ask people, Are you doing this? Are you doing that?”

Elizabeth McIngvale, director of the McLean OCD Institute in Houston, said she has noticed patients struggling to differentiate reactions, as Carli described. Her response is that whereas guidelines such as hand-washing from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention are generally easily accomplished, OCD compulsions are usually never satisfied.

McIngvale was diagnosed with OCD when she was 12, with behaviors like taking six- to eight-hour showers and washing her hands for so long they bled. McIngvale receives therapy weekly.

“It’s just a part of my life and how I maintain my progress,” McIngvale said.

Lately, she’s found herself consumed with fears of harming or infecting others with the COVID-19 virus — a symptom of her OCD. But, generally, with the tools she’s gained through treatment, she said she’s been handling the pandemic better than some people around her.

“The pandemic, in general, was a new experience for everybody, but for me, feeling anxiety and feeling uncomfortable wasn’t new,” McIngvale said.

“OCD patients are resilient,” she added. Treatment is based on “leaning into uncertainty and so we’ve also seen patients who are far along in their treatment during this time be able to manage really well and actually teach others how to live with uncertainty and with anxiety.”

Wendy Sparrow, 44, an author from Port Orchard, Washington, has OCD, agoraphobia (fear of places or situations that might cause panic) and post-traumatic stress disorder. Sparrow has been in therapy several times but now takes medication and practices mindfulness and meditation.

Wendy Sparrow says initially she wasn’t fazed by COVID-19 because she’s used to sanitizing frequently and doesn’t mind staying home. Instead, she felt her symptoms worsening as her home no longer felt like a safe space.(Courtesy of Wendy Sparrow)

At the beginning of the pandemic, she wasn’t fazed because she’s used to sanitizing frequently and she doesn’t mind staying home. Instead, she has felt her symptoms worsening as her home no longer felt like a safe space and her fears of fatal contamination heightened.

“The world feels germier than normal and anyone who leaves this house is subjected to a barrage of questions when they return,” Sparrow wrote in an email.

Depending on how long the pandemic lasts, Sparrow said, she may revisit therapy so she can adopt more therapeutic practices. Trondsen, too, is considering therapy again, even though he knows the tools to combat OCD by heart and uses them to help his clients.

“I definitely am needing therapy,” Trondsen said. “I realized that even if it’s not specifically to relearn tools for the disorders … it’s more so for my mental well-being.”

Carli has struggled with finding the right treatment for her OCD.

But a recent change is helping. As the pandemic intensified this spring, many doctors and mental health providers moved to telehealth appointments — and insurers agreed to cover them ― to cut down on the risks of spreading the virus. In April, she started using an app that connects people with OCD to licensed therapists. While skeptical at first, she has appreciated the convenience of teletherapy.

“I never want to go back to actually being in a therapist’s office,” Carli said. “Therapy is something that’s really uncomfortable for a lot of people, including me. And to be able to be on my own turf makes me feel a little more powerful.”

Patrick McGrath, a psychologist and head of clinical services at NOCD, the telehealth platform Carli uses, said he’s found that teletherapy with his patients is also beneficial because it allows him to better understand “how their OCD is interfering in their day-to-day life.”

Trondsen hopes the pandemic will bring increased awareness of OCD and related disorders. Occasionally, he’s felt that his troubles during this pandemic have been dismissed or looped into the general stress everyone is feeling.

“I think that there needs to be a better understanding of how intense this is for people with OCD,” he said.

How Those With Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder Cope With Added Angst Of COVID published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

[dinafbrownil]

How Those With Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder Cope With Added Angst Of COVID

Before the COVID-19 pandemic took hold in the United States, Chris Trondsen felt his life was finally under control. As someone who has battled obsessive-compulsive disorder and other mental health issues since early childhood, it’s been a long journey.

“I’ve been doing really, really well,” Trondsen said. “I felt like most of it was pretty much — I wouldn’t say ‘cured’ ― but I definitely felt in remission or under control. But this pandemic has been really difficult for me.”

Trondsen, 38, a Costa Mesa, California, therapist who treats those with obsessive-compulsive and anxiety disorders, has found himself excessively washing his hands once again. He’s experiencing tightness in his chest from anxiety — something he hadn’t felt in so long that it frightened him into getting checked out at an urgent care center. And because he also has body dysmorphic disorder, he said, he’s finding it difficult to ignore his appearance when he’s looking at himself during his many Zoom appointments with clients each day.

Chris Trondsen, a California therapist who in the past struggled with obsessive-compulsive disorder, says “this pandemic has been really difficult for me.” OCD symptoms have resurfaced that he hadn’t experienced in years.(Courtesy of Chris Trondsen)

From the early days of the coronavirus outbreak, experts and media have warned of a mounting mental health crisis as people contend with a pandemic that has upended their lives. A recent KFF poll found that about 4 in 10 adults say stress from the coronavirus negatively affected their mental health. (KHN is an editorially independent program of KFF, the Kaiser Family Foundation.)

But those with obsessive-compulsive disorder and other serious anxieties face uniquely difficult mental health battles, including trying to distinguish concerns brought on by their conditions from general fears shared by the public about COVID-19. People with OCD have discovered one advantage, though: Those who have undergone successful treatment often have increased abilities to accept the pandemic’s uncertainty.

Email Sign-Up

Subscribe to KHN’s free Morning Briefing.

Sign Up

Please confirm your email address below:

Sign Up

Dr. Katharine Phillips, a psychiatrist at NewYork-Presbyterian and professor at Weill Cornell Medicine, said it’s possible that patients who have been in consistent, good treatment for their OCD are well protected against the stress of COVID-19.

“Whether it’s excessive fears about the virus, excessive fears about possible repercussions to the virus, whether that’s financial effects ― good treatment protects against relapse in these patients,” Phillips said.

Those with OCD feel compelled to repeatedly perform certain behaviors, such as compulsive cleaning, and they may fixate on routines. OCD can also cause nonstop intrusive thoughts.

Carli, who asked that her last name be withheld because she feared professional repercussions, can trace her OCD to age 6. The coronavirus pandemic has sent Carli, a 43-year-old from Jersey City, New Jersey, into a spiral. She’s afraid of the elevators in her building, so she doesn’t leave her apartment. And she’s having trouble distinguishing an OCD compulsion from an appropriate reaction to a dangerous pandemic, asking those without OCD how they’ve reacted.

“The compulsions in my head have definitely gotten worse, but in terms of wearing a mask and cleaning my groceries and going into stores, it’s really hard to gauge what is a normal reaction and what is my OCD,” Carli said. “I try to ask people, Are you doing this? Are you doing that?”

Elizabeth McIngvale, director of the McLean OCD Institute in Houston, said she has noticed patients struggling to differentiate reactions, as Carli described. Her response is that whereas guidelines such as hand-washing from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention are generally easily accomplished, OCD compulsions are usually never satisfied.

McIngvale was diagnosed with OCD when she was 12, with behaviors like taking six- to eight-hour showers and washing her hands for so long they bled. McIngvale receives therapy weekly.

“It’s just a part of my life and how I maintain my progress,” McIngvale said.

Lately, she’s found herself consumed with fears of harming or infecting others with the COVID-19 virus — a symptom of her OCD. But, generally, with the tools she’s gained through treatment, she said she’s been handling the pandemic better than some people around her.

“The pandemic, in general, was a new experience for everybody, but for me, feeling anxiety and feeling uncomfortable wasn’t new,” McIngvale said.

“OCD patients are resilient,” she added. Treatment is based on “leaning into uncertainty and so we’ve also seen patients who are far along in their treatment during this time be able to manage really well and actually teach others how to live with uncertainty and with anxiety.”

Wendy Sparrow, 44, an author from Port Orchard, Washington, has OCD, agoraphobia (fear of places or situations that might cause panic) and post-traumatic stress disorder. Sparrow has been in therapy several times but now takes medication and practices mindfulness and meditation.

Wendy Sparrow says initially she wasn’t fazed by COVID-19 because she’s used to sanitizing frequently and doesn’t mind staying home. Instead, she felt her symptoms worsening as her home no longer felt like a safe space.(Courtesy of Wendy Sparrow)

At the beginning of the pandemic, she wasn’t fazed because she’s used to sanitizing frequently and she doesn’t mind staying home. Instead, she has felt her symptoms worsening as her home no longer felt like a safe space and her fears of fatal contamination heightened.

“The world feels germier than normal and anyone who leaves this house is subjected to a barrage of questions when they return,” Sparrow wrote in an email.

Depending on how long the pandemic lasts, Sparrow said, she may revisit therapy so she can adopt more therapeutic practices. Trondsen, too, is considering therapy again, even though he knows the tools to combat OCD by heart and uses them to help his clients.

“I definitely am needing therapy,” Trondsen said. “I realized that even if it’s not specifically to relearn tools for the disorders … it’s more so for my mental well-being.”

Carli has struggled with finding the right treatment for her OCD.

But a recent change is helping. As the pandemic intensified this spring, many doctors and mental health providers moved to telehealth appointments — and insurers agreed to cover them ― to cut down on the risks of spreading the virus. In April, she started using an app that connects people with OCD to licensed therapists. While skeptical at first, she has appreciated the convenience of teletherapy.

“I never want to go back to actually being in a therapist’s office,” Carli said. “Therapy is something that’s really uncomfortable for a lot of people, including me. And to be able to be on my own turf makes me feel a little more powerful.”

Patrick McGrath, a psychologist and head of clinical services at NOCD, the telehealth platform Carli uses, said he’s found that teletherapy with his patients is also beneficial because it allows him to better understand “how their OCD is interfering in their day-to-day life.”

Trondsen hopes the pandemic will bring increased awareness of OCD and related disorders. Occasionally, he’s felt that his troubles during this pandemic have been dismissed or looped into the general stress everyone is feeling.

“I think that there needs to be a better understanding of how intense this is for people with OCD,” he said.

from Updates By Dina https://khn.org/news/how-those-with-obsessive-compulsive-disorder-cope-with-added-angst-of-covid/