#but yeah executive dysfunction kicking my ass i might not have this done for like. a few years

[randum-famdoms]

Tentative fic update

Hey y’all, I am like 50/50 on whether the next chapter will be posted this Sunday. I’ve only got a tiny bit of it written, because of two reasons:

I have been given a cat by the cat distribution system, and it’s only around 8 weeks old from what I can tell. I have never owned a cat before (dw I’ve done a fuck load of research), so most of my time has been going towards getting her settled in.

I’m going to a festival tomorrow and need to style an entire fucking wig by hand in the next 25.5 hours. Because it’s a costume festival. And I am taking the opportunity to wear my annual cosplay to it. And I refuse to do things by halves. I’ve got the bangs done, at least, and the rest should go faster now. But yeah, between this and the Saturday festival, I won’t have time to work on the chapter until Sunday, aka the day it’s supposed to be finished.

So uh. Yeah. Might be a tiny bit late. However, I don’t expect things to be delayed by more than a week. I’m mostly doing better mentally; still far from where I want to be and executive dysfunction has been kicking my fucking ass, but I’m no longer in the pits. Just sitting on the edge of the pits kicking my feet while covered in the blood of my demons like himiko toga (I’m low-key flirting with my ex bnha, been reading fics for it the last few days when I’m supposed to be sleeping. Idk how to feel about that).

Anyway, point is my hands are more hairspray than skin and my cat keeps trying to attack my scissors combs and hair clips. I’m just glad she hasn’t targeted the wig yet. Chapter will hopefully be up next Sunday at the latest.

Also, the discord server is mostly functional, it will be made public when the chapter gets posted. I’m still in desperate need of literally anyone who knows how to optimise discord bots or is willing to be a mod.

[wizardcommune]

not sure if req’s are open but ali abdul with transmasc reader who basically makes fancy outfits and has ali try some? 👀

----

not much has changed but this time he's wearing a cool shirt

[ali abdul x transmasc!reader]

a/n - YES OKAY also yeah my asks are open!! they're pretty much always open, but executive dysfunction loves kicking my ass so i may not get around to every req i get

also i'm so sorry i didn't include any mention of being trans; despite being trans myself i never know how to incorporate it 💔💔 there's like. a very very very vague allusion to reader wearing a binder

warnings - lowercase intended, mention of reader being his boyfriend, how the fuck do you write endings

word count - 566

hunched over the piece, you swept another clump of thread off your lap without thinking.

not wanting to bother ali this late by turning the kitchen lights on, you were working diligently on the ground under the sole light of a candle. it was one of those thick cream-colored ones that smelled like vanilla or scones or something, but with you fixated on the piece, you didn't pick up on it. you were almost done anyways, just embroidering the final details.

you were working on a black blazer that was supposed to have a matching piece, but with how long it took you to make this one you knew you'd be asleep for most of the next day. you were already becoming increasingly aware of the exhaustion in your shoulders and lower back but waved it aside.

you tied the end of the thread and held the blazer up closer to the flame, inspecting for any botched details. satisfied, you let out a breath and dropped back fully onto the ground. after a moment, the bedroom door creaked open and ali peeked his head out into the kitchen.

"finished?"

"finally."

he grinned, pushing open the door fully and ambled over as you sat back up.

"how does it look?" he asked, dropping down next to you on the floor and leaning into your shoulder. you held it up for him.

"i messed up a little bit on the back, but i'll be able to fix it tomorrow."

glancing over at him, he was running a finger over the side.

"it looks amazing! all of your clothes do." you smiled at each other for a second before getting an idea.

"do you want to try it on? i haven't finished the other pieces that go with it but it might give me an idea on if i need to change anything."

his eyes widened.

"oh, but i don't want to damage it!"

already getting up, you shook your head.

"it'll be fine! even if you did break it, that'd be a mistake on my part i need to fix."

pulling him to his feet, he gently took the blazer from you and slipped it on. you grinned, clapping your hands together.

"you look great!"

he smiled at you before looking down at it.

"yeah, but... how does it fit me so well?"

you flushed red.

both of you were silent. you could feel his eyes on you as you hid your sheepish smile.

"...did you use my measurements?"

"i thought the style would fit you! i know you had that wedding coming up soon so i thought it might work if you liked it," you explained quickly. "i already had your measurements from the last one i made you try on."

at his silence, you looked up worriedly.

ali was beaming.

"you made it for me?"

"...yeah?"

immediately he engulfed you into a bear hug, your feet lifting off the ground slightly as he spun you around. you laughed, surprised, before wrapping your arms around him.

"ali, put me down! you're making me feel short."

he snorted.

"is it illegal to appreciate my boyfriend now?" he scoffed light-heartedly before gently setting you down.

he didn't move away, though, instead pulling you back into his arms and pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

"thank you; i really do love it."

elated, you squeezed him back.

[cole-grey-writes]

Kiss Me Better

Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Timeline: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Character(s): Sam Wilson

Pairing(s): Sam Wilson x Male Reader

Warning(s): swearing, completely inaccurate medical procedures because im not a doctor and 16 y/o

Summary: You were injured on a mission and in order to stave off infection, you have to get a shot...

OLD A/n from over a month ago: I got shots at the doctors probably a week ago (and I'm just now finishing this because frickin executive dysfunction kicked my ass). I don't have a bf/gf in real life to kiss me better, but I can always pretend with fanfiction. Enjoy

NEW A/n from right now: shit it’s been a long time huh? yeah, this was supposed to be uploaded over a month ago but for some reason I just... didn’t put it up. Idk, I think I was going through some shit so I wasn’t interested in anything at all and I was super unmotivated. Anyway, I finally got it up. Hope you all enjoy :)

“Sam!” you say his name with joy. The pain coursing through out your body isn’t enough to keep you from throwing your arms around your boyfriend as soon as he’s close enough to where you sit on the plain white bed in the SHIELD medbay.

You wrap your arms around him and squeeze as hard as you can without causing pain to shoot up your arms from your injuries. Sam returns the favor and hugs you close to his chest. You can’t help but wince when he unknowingly presses into a large bruise stretching across your stomach, but you don’t want the hug to end so you try to hide it. Sam obviously sees right through you and let’s go, although he doesn’t stop touching you. Sam’s hands rest on your arms gently, trying not to press on the bruises and cuts that are covered in bandages.

“Don’t ‘Sam’ me. You are an absolute moron,” Sam tells you, pointing a finger. Your mouth falls open in offense and try to say something but he interrupts you. “Did you think jumping in the line of fire was really your only option?”

“...Well, it seemed like the only option at the time.”

“Jesus,” Sam swears. “You are just as bad as Steve.”

“I am not nearly–”

“Don’t you dare try to deny it,” he tells you. He reaches up with his hand and shuts your mouth for you. “You know it's true,” Sam says it without judgement, like he knows how much people’s lives mean to you.

“Agent L/n,” SHIELD Doctor Vivienne Becker is suddenly standing next to you. She addresses you with a comfort as if talking with an old friend. Or maybe with exasperation of talking to an annoying younger sibling.

“Vivienne,” you greet back with a much lighter tone than her. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Dr. Becker says, “but you're covered in contusions, lacerations, and just had two bullets removed from your femur and scapula.”

You tense when you feel Sam shift next to you, feeling his gaze on the side of your face. You aren’t even looking at him and you just know that his eyebrows are raised in scorn. “Oh, so you were shot, too?”

“Uh.”

“Fortunately, there was no damage done to any vital organs or major arteries.”

“Well, at least that,” Sam mumbles.

“However,” Dr. Becker interrupts pointedly, “there was foreign residues found on the bullets that were designed to attract special bacteria.”

You sigh. “And now it’s in my blood.”

“Correct and we’ve figured out how to neutralize the effects, but…”

“‘But’?” you wonder, whining. “‘But’? No, why ‘but’, Vivienne?”

“But,” Dr. Becker continues, “the treatment is in the form of a syringe.”

You suddenly sit up straight. “A shot?!” you scream, eyes going wide.

“A shot?” Sam wonders completely cluelessly. “What’s wrong with a shot?”

“It is one shot and it will be injected into your right shoulder,” Dr. Becker informs you before walking away to let you wallow in self pity.

You groan and throw your head back because fucking goddamn it, this would be your luck. A shot right when you get back off the field.

“What’s wrong with a shot?” Sam wonders again. You sigh heavily and took at Sam with your eyebrows raised. He looks at you blankly for a few seconds before he breaks out into a smile. Sam aws at you, causing you to purse your lips. “Are you afraid of shots, baby?”

You click your tongue and say, “Sam,” while growing more annoyed with his sugar sweet smile.

You ignore him (whether it’s because you love him or because you have no idea how to respond to his question, you don’t know), deciding instead to work out some stress by looking at anything other than the needles that seemed to be everywhere you look now.

Sam actually has to reach over and stop you from wringing your hands dry. “Come one now, baby,” he untangles your hands and intertwines one of yours with his. You aren’t able to help just melting under his smooth and caring voice. “It’s just one shot, it won’t be that bad.”

You hum doubtfully, squinting your eyes at him but squeeze his hand harder. “I hate shots,” Sam nods understandingly. “Shots suck. Shots can go fuck–”

You don’t get a chance to finish your rant because Dr. Becker walks back over to you and wonders, “Are you ready?”

Taking a deep breath and releasing it, you squeeze Sam’s hand to reassure yourself. “I suppose,” Dr. Becker doesn’t say anything, turning to grab the syringe. You bite your lip to steal yourself.

“Hey,” Sam says softly. You look at him and he shows you your interlocked hands. “Here, you can squeeze my hand to help you through it.”

“You sure?” You crack a smile, feigning hesitation. “I might break your hand.”

Sam hums dismissively. “I’m sure I can bear it.”

Dr. Becker turns back to you with a syringe in her hand. You tense at the sight of it but Sam moves closer, the warmth of Sam’s body on your leg enough for you to let go of your lip.

Dr. Becker pinches your arm and starts to inject you. Your face contorts and you wince in pain. While you’ve been punched, kicked, stabbed, and shot many times, it doesn’t make this any easier. You have to squeeze Sam’s hand as hard as your weakened state allows you. And it may be a bit of an ego boost but Sam winces from your grip.

In reality, it only takes about ten seconds but to you, it feels like a lifetime before Dr. Becker pulls the needle out. “Alright, all done,” she tells you, putting a bandaid where the dot of blood is. “The medicine should take effect immediately, so you need to rest up as much as possible. You can get your crutches from Nurse van Wieren when you’re ready,” she tells you and then leaves.

You look up at Sam to see him with a small smile on his face, looking back at you. “What?”

“Now, was that so bad?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you conclude firmly. You watch Sam try to hold back his smile, but failing miserably. You click your tongue at him, half heartedly hitting him in the chest. “I’m serious. Feels like a rod going through my arm.”

Sam chuckles but says, “Sorry, it’s just…” Sam shrugs. “I didn’t know that about you.”

He says it warmly. It reminds you of the first time you two had met almost a year ago when Sam had tested your name on his tongue right in the middle of HYDRA 2.0. You and Sam exchanged phone numbers right after the whole mess had been cleaned up.

“You know now,” you tell him. “So what?”

Sam shakes his head. “So nothing. I like learning new things about you, even almost a year into our relationship,” and isn’t that the sweetest goddamn thing? You are the luckiest guy in the world. Sam’s tone goes comically serious. “No, seriously… you want me to kiss it better?”

“Shut up,” You blush. “And help me down,” Sam smiles, holding out his arms for you to grab. You put a hand on his shoulder, balancing yourself. Wincing as you shimmy your way off the bed, you favor the leg that didn’t have a bullet in it.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, “thank you.”

“It’s no problem, baby,” Sam coos while gripping onto you. “And be prepared because I’ve got a special dinner waiting for you when we get home.”

You snort and scrunch your nose. “Dinner? It’s 10 o’clock.”

“Then, it’s a midnight snack,” Sam tells you sassily.

“It’s not midnight, either.”

“Humor me.”

You sigh. “Fine, it’s a late dinner snack.”

“Alright, then,” Sam concedes. “Let’s go.”

Nurse van Wieren hands you your crutches as you and Sam leave the medbay. You smile and thank him before he walks away.

Sam’s words finally hit you as you get into the hallway. “Wait, waiting for me? How did you know I was coming home today?” you question, grabbing your boyfriend’s attention. You watch as Sam’s face begins to flush. You squeal. “Oh my god! Did you make SHIELD tell you where I was?”

Sam doesn’t respond for a few seconds before, “...Maybe.”

“Aw,” you coo, causing Sam to scoff.

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your ego, L/n.”

“No, but you have to tell me,” you tell him, stepping into the elevator before Sam does. You stand side by side, staring at each other with matching grins on your faces. “Is this special treatment reserved for me alone… or do you keep tabs on Steve and Nat, too?” as you expected, Sam doesn’t answer and you can’t hide your laugh. “That’s sweet,” you praise. “I might just have to tell Steve and Nat about it.”

“Don’t you dare!” Sam warns, though the smile on his face doesn’t disappear.

“I won’t, I won’t,” you agree without a second thought. “I know Steve would be indignant for about a week and who knows what the hell Nat would do to you,” you and Sam share a laugh, Sam’s gaze falling to the floor while you continue to stare at him because god, you love that deep, breathy laugh he does. You feel like you’re a goddamn king everytime you manage to get even a single giggle out of your boyfriend.

“Hey,” you say, grabbing Sam’s attention. He turns to you, looking extra adorable with his hands in his pockets and that tooth rotting smile on his face. “I think I might take you up on that offer to kiss me better.”

This causes Sam to hum smugly, his grin growing bigger and even more sugary. “Really?” Sam says slowly while he places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down tenderly. He’s obviously being careful of your wounds. Noticing this single detail about Sam and how he is around you, you’re struck with how much you love this man standing in front of you.

Sam places a chaste kiss right over your bandaid before he rests his chin on your shoulder. “I love you,” he whispers against your skin. You feel your heart grow warm at his words.

“I love you, too,” you breath. “Now, let’s go home so you can kiss me better. And before dinner gets cold.”

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

((NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE EVEN WITH CREDIT))

[conversationswithmybipolarchild]

#3 SCHOOL & BP

Felicity: Today’s topic: school and bipolar disorder. I think this is appropriate because you are thirteen and you go to school. I have not been in school since 2002. Which, was seventeen years ago. Geez. I’m old.

F: So, you know more about this than I do. Obviously. I mean, I do remember being in school and having depression, but I have no idea what it’s like to be in school and have bipolar disorder. I can’t imagine.

Anja: There’s a whole other pole.

F Yeah, that’s got to be wild. So, I think you’ll lead this topic and I’ll be here for commentary.

A: I have...

[slams notebook on surface]

A: NOTES.

F: Hang on a second. You look so pretty right now. I need to take a picture of you.

A: Okay.

[Takes picture]

F: Okay, thank you. You may resume.

A: I have notes. And I spent about fifteen minutes preparing these notes and I think they’re very good.

A: So, when you’re bipolar and you’re in school, the most important thing is to be on meds. Because without meds, you are lacking focus. You’re disorganized. You’re easily frustrated. Which, doesn’t go well around people. You’re also easily overloaded, which also doesn’t go well around people.

A: Now, being disorganized, I’ve always said school is not a game of smarts. Although, that definitely helps. A person that might not know as much, can succeed more, if they’re organized. It’s a game of organization.

F: I’ve always heard school is more about the ability to memorize, rather than learn.

A: That too. It’s more about passing than succeeding.

F: Absolutely. You don’t have to learn, you just have to pass. That’s really sad.

A: A disorganized person is more likely to fail. I know this because I was disorganized. I was without meds, and I pretty much failed.

F: You passed only by the skin of your teeth and my persistance.

A: Yes. Now, I say you’re lacking motivation. A big misconception is that people who are manic, is that they’re motivated in every area. Like, they get everything done.

A: However, mania also comes with executive dysfunction.

F: I LOVE that term. I had never heard of executive function or dysfunction until about two weeks ago, when I read about it on Twitter. Someone used Post-It Notes as an analogy, and I thought it was genius. If I can find that tweet again, I’ll post the link to it in the comments.

A: I think it’s very fitting.

A: Mania does motivate you, but for the wrong things. Like, it motivates you to clean your entire house at 2am, or order 400 of those little arcade aliens. It doesn’t motivate you for hygiene or homework or basic daily things you need to do. It motivates you for whatever weird impulses you get in your head.

F: It’s an impulse thing. It’s what motivated Alden to, all of a sudden, rip open a microbead pillow and scatter teeny little static beads all over the house, but he can’t shower. I notice that about you. You’re so motivated to make your Tumblr posts and be there for your friends, but child, sometimes, your hygiene can lack. I mean, I have that issue with my depression but the motivation thing is so strange. When you were younger, you loved reading. You were all about your books. Absolute obsession, but I couldn’t get you to be passionate about anything else.

F: I’ve always said, because of the whole executive function thing, that bipolar children need some kind of cognitive therapy to teach them how to remember to brush their hair, brush their teeth, take showers. Without Mommy and Daddy holding their hand. As a teenager, you should be showering on your own. I just feel like, if we could get bipolar adolescents some kind of cognitive therapy, they’d at least be on a path to better daily habits.

A: The most important thing I want to bring up in this post, is that if it comes between your grades and your mental health, take care of yourself first. Do you agree?

F: I do to a point. I believe you should be able to balance both. If you take care of your mental health, your grades will follow, which, is what your point is, I think. Now, I used to disagree. When you were undiagnosed, I said on numerous occasions, “Nothing is more important than your education. Your feelings won’t get you a job. Your friends won’t get you a job. Your video games won’t get you a job.” I still stand by my statement, “There’s nothing more important than your eduation,”.I feel like it’s on parents to help you balance all of it. It’s my job to teach you how to balance your education, your mental health, and your physical health, because when you become an adult, you’re going to have to balance it on your own. So, it’s my job to prepare you. You’re going to have to balance a career, mental health, physical health, relationships, hobbies. As a parent, it’s not so much my job to push education and teach you that there is nothing else but eduation, as it is my job to teach you how to have balance.

A: I feel like the whole, “your feelings won’t get you a job” thing is pretty harsh. I mean, it’s true, but it’s harsh. Mental health is a lot more than feelings. It’s the way you are. It’s your state. And if you’re miserable all the time, because you’re so busy with school, maybe it’s just better to take an F every once in a while. You know?

F: Yes and no. I understand what you’re getting at. Old habits and feelings die hard sometimes. Eduation is incredibly important to me. But, it’s part of the reason, this last school year, I let you slack off a bit. To be able to take care of your mental health. However, I didn’t do a very good job teaching you how to have balance. All the areas of your life suffered this last school year, because te balance wasn’t there. I’m not doing a very good job balancing your life.

F: I think, as parents, we need to step up and do a better job teaching our kids how to balance the different areas of their lives. They’re all intertwined. You can’t have one without the other. You should be able to manage school, mental health, physical health, and relationships. You should be able to manage school at your best. And yes, as your parent, because I technically made you, I know what your best is. I know what you’re capable of. And also be able to balance decent mental health, which is, to me, having open conversations, communicating with one another, taking your medication, taking breaks.

A: Speaking of communicating with one another, literally the worst thing you can do, is cut yourself off and not talk about stuff.

F: Absolutely. I will attest to that! I will, because when you were diagnosed, I didn’t tell anybody. I didn’t want anyone to know my child was flawed. It felt like a stain or a blemish on my parenting. Especially when it’s all being blamed on me anyway. I held it in and my year-long depression was so deep, I didn’t see a way out. Then, I confessed. Someone on Twitter called it “Coming out of your mental health closet”, which is what I did. I said, “Hey, my kid has a major mental illness. It’s a huge struggle. I know it’s real because I took her to four different professionals and got the same answer each time. She’s on medication. This is very hard for me. I need support.” And as soon as I started being open about it, my depression lifted. I was pulling myself out of that pit. So, for me, communication is everything. Communication is the most important thing that a human being can do. Period. Communication benefits mental and physical health.

A: Yes.

A: I’m going to have to say something. It’s going to be one of those things you’re going to scold me for because I should have brought it up earlier. I hate it when you assume you know everything about me, because you made me. Like, you kind of do, but at the same time, you’re not me.

F: I agree, but I’m not saying I know everything about you. I’m saying I know what your best is. I know what you’re capable of. And that may not be because I made you, it may be because I know you. I know what you’re capable of. I’ve always known what you can accomplish.

A: But what I’m capable of changes of over the time.

F: Yeah! I know that what you’re capable of now, is different from when you were in fourth grade. I don’t have the same expectations of you now that I had then, As you evolve, I evolve as well. We do that together. I know that a lot of people think that parents and children are separate entities, but we evolve and grow together. I think, maybe, especially since I was a fairly young mother. When you were born, I had no life experiences, and we sort of grew up together.

A: I feel like because you have mental illness and you were a young mother, we can relate to each other a lot more than other neurodivergent children and their parents.

F: Also, because I value communication as much as I do, and I think I’ve passed that on to you. I need to communicate. I have to. It’s not a want. I absolutely have to. Not only for my mental health, but physical as well. I end up with ulcers and headaches when I don’t communicate. I’m miserable. I have to talk.

F: We’ve gotten way off topic.

A: Yeah. But it’s a conversation. That’s what conversations do.

F: What was I talking about initially?

F: Oh, I was talking about balancing school, mental, and physical health. I feel like, as a together parent, as a parent that’s really kicking ass, you’re going to guide your child through balancing all of those aspects of their life. Because, if you don’t teach them to do that now, they’re not going to know how to do it. Which, it’s taken me all of my adult years to figure out. I still don’t do it very well. As soon as I start getting all rockstar on my depression, well, my diabetes is out of hand. And as soon as I get my diabetes in order, I’ve neglected my home and my duties here. I’m just not very good at it. But, it’s my goal, that you’ll be better at it as an adult than I am, and you’ll be far more successful than me.

A: Having mental illness, and having to go to school, like, having homework...

A: Like, sometimes, I can’t handle it. Do you understand?

F: Yep.

A: Like, that feels so dumb to say. It feels so lazy of me.

F: No! This last school year was really hard on all you kids. Not just my kids, but the kids at your school. I heard moms at cub scouts saying how they wished they’d sent their kids to another school, because the homework was outrageous. They tripled the homework. You’ve got homework on weekends and holidays.

A: I’m surprised I don’t have homework right now. Sometimes I feel like, I’m just sitting around and I’ll think, “Oh, I need to do my homework! Oh, wait! I’ve been out of school for three weeks!”

F: Yeah. No, I mean, I get it. Especially, middle school, is super overwhelming. I wish there was no homework. You don’t want to be in that environment of pressure all day, and have more pressure when you come home. I feel like kids would have an easier time balancing their lives, if they didn’t have to bring school home. Which, is why I’m glad I took you guys out of your afternoon activities. So you’d have more time for balance. The school puts a lot on you and they’re not factoring in your mental health. They’re not factoring in how hard it is.

A: I don’t think the school board knows that mentally ill children exist.

F: I feel like it doesn’t just affect mentally ill kids. It affects all the kids. There’s so much pressure all the time and then to have to bring it home.

F: One of the things concerning school and bipolar disorder, is IEP. Your school district is so eager to hand out Gifted and Talented IEPs, but they make it next level impossible to get a one for a disability. Not in a proactive way, at least. They’re not as willing to make accommodations. I’ve been fighting for three years to get you an IEP, and all I hear is, “You’re going to hire a lawyer because your request will be denied.”

A: Why didn’t you have to hire a lawyer for G/T?

F: Exactly. The thing is, and they’ve said it to me before, if you throw a desk or punch someone in the face, they’ll write out an IEP that day.

A: I’d get expelled. If you get in a fight, you get suspended and if you get suspended, you get expelled.

F: True for your school. The problem is, they’re all about being reactive. I’d rather set accommodations up for you in a proactive way, so you don’t end up throwing a desk or hitting someone or lashing out in some way, but they won’t do it with out a lawyer. When I go to them and say, “My child has a diagnosed and medicated mental illness,” I was under the assumption that they’re supposed to work with me on that.

A: Children with mental illness should not have to hire a lawyer to get what they need from the school system.

F: That is a profound statement and very true.

F: It’s sad. I guess I’m going to have to hire a lawyer to get you what you need in school. I don’t want you to be in that position where you’re feeling unstable and you have no out. You’ve texted me a couple of times from school saying, “I’m feeling pretty on edge. Can you come get me?” I’m glad you had that out, but what if you didn’t?

F: Somebody that I know, her son threw a desk at school, and the school called the police. They handcuffed him and took him to the psychiatric unit of the local hospital before they called his mother.

A: I think that’s illegal.

F: Whatever it is, it’s not okay.

A: It’s not reflective of human rights.

F: That’s profound.

F: Do you have any more notes?

A: No.

F: Okay, then I want to end this on one note.

F: Everybody. And I mean everybody. Parents. Friends. Relatives. Caregivers. Mental Health Professionals. School systems. Politicians. Lobbyists. They’re ALL failing our children. One hundred percent. Parents aren’t paying enough attention. Parents don’t know their rights. Parents don’t see what’s happening within their own children. Or maybe they do, but they don’t know how to get help. Medical professionals are withholding information. They’re not offering treatment for children. School system is absolute crap for mentally ill children. It has such a huge stigma. I hate that word, but there is such a huge stigma around children’s mental illness. Parents are afraid to come forward. Kids are afraid to come forward. No one wants to speak up.

F: WE ARE FAILING OUR KIDS.

A: I know you wanted to end on this, but I just wish that you could go to your parents and tell them that you don’t feel good mentally, just like you would if you had a stomach ache. Like, “Oh, I’m feeling a little bit anxious” just like “Oh, I have a headache.”

A: I wish you could be picked up from school because you had an anxiety attack, just like you would if you threw up or had a fever.

F: I completely agree with you. I wish you could walk in to your doctor’s office and say, “I feel very very sad,” the same way you’d say, “I have a lot of headaches.”

F: Maybe one day. Hopefully within your lifetime. But for now, until something changes, a lot of kids are dying. A lot of kids are going undiagnosed. A lot of kids and families are suffering. A lot of kids are becoming tormented adults because they’re not getting the help that they need.

F: THEY’RE BEING FAILED AT EVERY SINGLE LEVEL.

[sarcastic-salem]

I got absolutely no sleep last night, but today has gone a lot better than yesterday. I finally had the energy to get some chores done, but I’ve really irritated cause I have library books on hold. And I’m terrified to try to walk home with five potential hardcover novels with me.

I feel like people might think I’m exaggerating I talk how little strength I have right now. But I put away the groceries today (they were delivered) and felt like I had run a fucking marathon afterwards. I was literally gasping for breath.

It reminds me of when I first moved on my own, and I thought that pushing a cart with groceries and ten pounds of cat litter was hard. Which, to be fair, it is and that’s why I have the cat litter delivered now. But it feels like I’m learning to adult all over again.

Part of that is because I’ve been downsizing cause I feel overwhelmed with the amount of crap I have. Then when I realize I have to clean all of it my executive dysfunction kicks in and my body is just like

Then shit just piles up cause I get more and more overwhelmed every day. Its like why do this when you couldn’t even do this other thing?

So I’ve been getting rid of all of my access crap, and only keeping the things I like or need. Like I have a watering can I haven’t touched in two years just in case I have the money to buy some expensive ass houseplant at some point.

Yeah, I don’t need that.

And the other thing is just learning to live within my means rather than keeping up with the Johnsons. Like I don’t need to have whatever the most popular appliance is at the moment. I spent almost $100 on Kourig coffee maker just because it was a Kourig. And it turns out I’m not willing to pay like $30 for k-pods.

But I had this weird idea that owning a Kourig was some magical status symbol that would make my life better overnight. Like I could brag about it and everyone would know that I had finally made it.

I have not made it and I hate my fucking Kourig so much that I replaced it with a $20 5-cup coffee pot. Visitors never want to drink coffee when they come over and I’m just one dude. I don’t drink that much coffee so this is way more suitable to my lifestyle.

And I am just so fucking tired of waiting for everything to pan out and be fucking perfect.

Shit doesn’t always work out and that’s ok. I cannot tell you how long Loki has been trying to drill that message into me for.

And I am just done.

Life is hard enough without waiting for everything to be perfect.

[countcalebwrites]

My military experience Pt. 2

So yeah. I left out a few things in Pt. 1. Minor stuff. The time I pretended I had to use the bathroom to give my foot a rest. I left out a lot of stuff about marching. We had to march. A lot. At specific cadence. The training instructors were trained to look at everyone’s timing at once, so you best not fuck that up. 

When you talk to a training instructor, you’re required to start the statement off with “Sir/Ma’am, Trainee [last name] reports as ordered!” Exception being simple statements like “Yes sir” and etc.You’re also required to say “permission to adjust?” if you want to move your hands while talking. The training instructor I had reminded us a lot, as if you don’t say that before moving your hands, he’s allowed to take violent action towards you.

Another thing I left out in Pt. 1 was my first lunch break. I thought lunch time would be a rather chill moment and a break from all the hostile shit, but boy was I wrong! You’re supposed to carry your food and walk a certain way or you get CHEWED out. When you walk by all the instructors who are eating, they look for things to chew you out on. Scary. You’re not allowed to talk during lunch, or you also get chewed out. I experienced this. I asked someone to pass the ketchup and my training instructor flipped. So I tried to use sign language and pointed at the ketchup then I pointed at myself. They understood. I was halfway done with my food and then lunch ended. You’re supposed to eat REALLY fast. 

Anyway, it was eventually recommended that I get transferred to med-hold. I didn’t tell my training instructor about this for a while. Idk. The news got out in my dorm that I was transferring out. Some dudes walked up to me and told me they liked me and didn’t want to see me go. That was pretty touching cause I didn’t think anyone cared about me like that. One dude asked if I ever went to LSU, and how he almost played against them as a punt returner, but he got kicked out of college for weed and ended up joining the air force as his new path.

Real shit.

Anyway, I packed all of my stuff in this heavy ass bag and got escorted to my new dorm. I had a wingman who was being seperated from training. He got into a fight with someone. He was on one of the last weeks of training, too. I figured I shouldn’t fuck with him.

We had to wait in this office to talk to this high-ranking dude before getting transferred. I was pretty bored. I decided to read the small bible they gave me at church. I got yelled at for reading that and was told to read my air manual. I was like “aight whatevs” in my head. I didn’t care what I was reading. I read some of the combat section of the manual. It told me that kicking someone in the balls is a very viable combat strategy. Word.

Got called in. Dude asked me my plans in life blah blah. Then he approved of me leaving. 

One rule I didn’t mention is the fact you’re supposed to have a hat on outside at all times. You’re also never supposed to wear it indoors. You have to develop a quick technique of folding it and unfolding it a lot to put it in your pocket. I had my heavy ass bags and etc and I forgot to put my hat back on when I walked outside. A training instructor backed his truck up and yelled “HEY YOU. NICE HAT. REAL NICE HAT YOU GOT THERE. NICE HAT MAN!!!”

My personal training instructor (who didn’t notice I didn’t have my hat on) told me to put it on. Fuckin weirdos. 

Fast-foward. I’m in med-hold. Med-hold is where you go if:

1. you are injured

2. you are overweight or underweight

3. you are suspended/about to seperate

If you fall into one of the above categories, you go to med-hold and they decide what happens next. Some people get sent back to training if they get their weight right or their injury heals. Some people get sent home after further doctor visits and etc. That was me.

Med-hold isn’t nearly as hostile as the rest of the training, but it can be. Some of the people there might have mental disorders, so the training instructors are a bit more chill. After I got briefed on everything and temporarily got my cellphone back to call my parents, I went to my new dorm. I pretty much went to sleep immediately. I was even more sleep-deprived than I was before.

When I woke up, this white dude was laughing at me saying I was in a pretty deep sleep, as he was shooting rubberbands at me the whole time without me flinching. I didn’t really know how to respond to that. His nickname was McCrazy, and you can kinda guess why they called him that.

Uusually med-hold dorms have a training instructor, but they just happened to be short on people. So we kinda had our own rule there. We had pretty crazy dorm chief. (a dorm chief is the same rank as you basically, but he’s responsible for keeping order and can tell on you to a training instructor)

One time, after we showered, he walked out naked and said “everyone admire my HUGE dick. Don’t worry, it doesn’t make you gay to admire a dick.”

One morning he woke up and began singing “I love my mamacita, I give her my burrita”

Another time he walked in and said “yo I was on a scouting mission to see what kinda bitches I can fuck when I get outta here”

This one white dude referred to him as a “stereotypical black dude” which landed him a side-eye (from me). Anyway, dorm chief basically tore his ACL during training and wasn’t allowed to go home or anything because the military pretty much doesn’t like to send people home with injuries to avoid lawsuits or something like that. 

I kept to myself for a good while, but med-hold is SO BORING. You’re required to clean your dorm and make your bed and report every morning and etc, but you’re mostly not doing anything except for talking to people in the dorm if you’re not going to one of your doctor’s appointments.

I ogt so bored I started doing a lot of real-life trolling. Like walking up to this one guy and saying “say bruh, you wanna start something?” all menacingly. Then saying “Cause you look rather educated, I think you’d make a good partner if we started a business” He laughed and told me “man I thought you were tryna fight or something”

I did this kinda stuff a lot. One day I wrapped myself in tattered sheets and told everyone I’m an ancient sorcerer who can cast spells. Don’t judge me, I had to entertain myself somehow!

Other people had their own troll routines too. This one dude I knew (we were very cool) pretended to be gay a lot. It was probably a kinda homophobic routine, but it was just hilarious to me because of how he executed it. Like one time we were all going upstairs and he yelled “mmmhmmm. get yall sexy asses up them stairs”

Then another time he walked up to me and he was like “yo man, you tryna get me to suck yo dick or something?? Walkin’ round here like that” lmao

There were a lot of hypothetical discussions and etc in our dorm. “Who would win in a fight, Hulk or Goku?” I pretty much said Goku for every hypothetical. Eventually our dorm chief chimed in and he was like “man. Y’all niggas should be picking Goku everytime for that shit”

Speaking of the dorm chief, he eventually told me “Yo Bailey. You didn’t really talk much when you first got here, but you talk a lot now. Even though you’re fucking weird, I’m glad you’re talking and shit now”

There was this one dude in our dorm, he was in charge of door duty. That’s not the official name for it but yeh, it was door duty. Basically, you sit/stand at the door and do a security clearance for people exiting and entering. People have to show ID and you’re supposed to verify it and ask them to come in. I did this duty a few times.

One time a training instructor came (you’re supposed to screen training instructors too) and I asked him to ID and he told me his name. I thought this was a trick and asked him to show ID again and he told me “OPEN THIS GOD DAMN DOOR” and I was like “*cough* access granted” and let him through.

Another time, a dude from a different dorm came and asked for our dorm chief. I told my dorm chief and he was like “yo tell him I’m not here” So I did. Then the dorm chief said “wait nevermind” and came to the door. The guy I just lied to looked at the chief, then looked at me and said “yooo you bitch ass nigga” lmao

Anyway, the door duty guy was weird. He was from Wisconsin. He told me that there’s not many black people from Wisconsin, so he wanted to “study” me. Weirdo.

Speaking of racism, this one white dude got transferred in our dorm, and I HATED him. He was really racist. He made jokes about black girls being too loud and I wanted to beat his ass. The assistant dorm chief who was afro latino basically said he was excited to bully that guy.

Every week, we were required to attend a “don’t kill yourself” meeting. It was boring as shit. But that was clearly an issue, as some people probably ended up mentally fucked from knowing they were stranded there for so long if their injury took too long to heal.

At times, it felt like I’d never get to home or return to training. 

I had a few appointments I ended up going to. One I went with this one dude, I remember his last name was Farr. He was cool. I remember we debated some random shit in the waiting room and we asked this one woman for her take and when she left he said in a semi-british accent “I must say, she had quite nice cleavage” The accent was funny cause he was definitely a southern black dude.

But yeah. to be honest, she did. He wasn’t lying. Speaking of cleavage, this might be TMI, but I thought I developed erectile dysfunction or some shit. I hadn’t been sexually aroused in so long lmao

Anyway, I also remember the TV talking about Clint Eastwood talking to a chair or some shit? Was weird. Being in military training kinda cuts you off from the rest of the world. I had no idea what kinda stuff was happening in the news. 

The foot specialist doctor who saw me told me there was pretty much nothing that could be done for my foot except surgery, and that the military wouldn’t want to pay for that.

He was right. After rehab and a few more checkups, I eventually got an orange armband. That armband means you’re getting sent home eventually.

Eventually. Like I said, it’s not a simple process. A lawyer has to terminate your contract, etc. All that waiting sucked.

I remember the A/C dying and us being allowed to go to the mall and shop and shit with our paychecks. That was cool. We HAD to leave and not stick around be cause San Antonio is hot as fuck. It was regularly 100 F and we had winter uniforms on. Some dudes bought magic the gathering cards, yugioh cards, etc. One dude bought a basketball for some reason. I didn’t really buy shit. 

I remember going to this one chicken place on the base and falling in love with the girl who took my order for my chicken tho. I was telling myself stuff like “Damn...she def wants me cuz she took my order with a genuine smile. Then I had one of my trademark inner debates. Like “nigga, that’s what she’s paid to do. She don’t want your ass. You can’t talk to women here anyway.”

The more cynical me had a point. 

Anyway, after we ate I remember us going to this old ass theater and watching a movie. It was Diary of a Wimpy Kid. I got nacho cheese on my uniform and it came right off and I was all amazed by the stain technology. Diary of a Wimpy Kid wasn’t memorable, by the way. I forgot what happened.

Oh, I forgot to mention: I was sick. I had the damn flu. Sharing space with 30+ dudes probably does that.

Remember the racist guy whose ass I wanted to beat? One time I came back and found him drinking out of my canteen. It had my name on it. I told him to keep it. Who knows what kinda germs that shithead had. $10 down the drain!

When we got our A/C back, things were a lil better. I was still pretty sick, but at least I wasn’t going through extreme temp changes anymore. We kept having our nerdy discussions. This one dude was talking about his Pokemon team and naming pokemon whose names I didn’t recognize. I was kinda upset by that cause I used to run a Pokemon fansite. Smh. He was a native dude from Louisiana. He told me if he lived in the town I’m from, he’d probably kill himself.

Aight then.

I ended up coughing a ton from being sick. Especially at night. Oh, by the way. Two people are required to patrol the dorm at night while everyone sleeps. I had that duty once. The buddy I mentioned earlier who would do the gay trolling routine told me to drink water and don’t worry about doing my patrol, he’d handle it for me. I really appreciated that. 

I didn’t want to keep people up with my coughing and sickness, so I slept in the bathroom. It’s not as bad as it sounds. One time someone walked in, pissed, and left. Then he went back in and did a doubletake towards me and went “Yo Bailey, WHAT THE FUCK”

and left.

Weeks passed. I’m still not home yet. I was getting really annoyed. Also, time seems to go by a LOT longer in a military dorm. My first day felt like an entire week had passed. One time I volunteered to help deliver some documents. That was a good idea. The people I delivered the documents for told me they’d help me get home faster for helping them.

The day finally came. My name was called. “You get to go home” I was so happy. Wearing regular clothes again felt wild. As a trainee, you’re kinda trained to move out of the way for training instructors and higher-ranked people. When I had on jeans and a t-shirt, I moved out of the way in this hallway for an instructor he was like “hah, it’s cool brotha, just pass”

I felt human again. Not being yelled at by an instructor felt legit. This one guy called me by first name, which I had to get used to again. Was kinda weird.

I got to the San Antonio airport and this one military guy saw me with documents in my hand (they were military seperation documents) he was like “yo you getting deployed bruh?” I was like “nah, the opposite lol”

Ended up at the airport in Dallas. I was alone this time. I ended up lost for 45 minutes. That airport was fuckin huge. Imagine a sick dude in an airport wandering around for almost an hour. Not pretty. My flight to New Orleans was delayed anyway though.

Finally got to New Orleans. Finally got home. Got on my computer. Played Channel Orange. I wanted to listen to that so bad for some reason.

SHE’S GIVING ME...PLEAASSSSUREEEEEE