#caffeine is EXTREMELY effective on me. i am never ready for the fall off i guess

[french-fryyyy]

Ok but I'm actually not sure why I have been feeling worse as the day drags on. I woke up this morning and was doing absolutely fantastic mentally, even had coffee!!

Oh god it's the coffee isn't it. This is all because I got greedy and had 2 cups of it 😭

I hate that. I haven't had coffee in months, I was craving it. It was too good I couldn't stop myself

Curse you body and your weird thing with caffeine 🖕

[stxrrywildflower]

holiday

pairing - bau team x teen!reader

summary - j.j. invites you to spend christmas with her and the boys

warnings - none

word count - ?

christmas was something you never really knew or experienced.

due to your parents constant working and boarderline neglect, holidays weren’t something you participated in. there were many thanksgivings and christmas’ where you were home alone as a result.

when j.j., who became almost a mother figure to you after over a year of babysitting henry, heard that you didn’t have anywhere to spend the holiday, she instantly invited you over.

“j.j. thank you, but no. you should be with will and henry. i’ll be fine on my own,” you protested, already packing up your bag from your latest babysitting job.

“y/n, no one should be alone on christmas. even spencer goes out to chicago with derek for the holiday,” j.j. fired back. you set your bag down, knowing that this would turn into a full conversation.

“it’s fine, i spent last christmas the same way,” you shrugged. “sweetie you’re seventeen, not happening. you can come over on the twenty-fourth sometime in the afternoon and just stay overnight for the few days. it’s not like you haven’t already.”

you nodded as j.j. wouldn’t take no for an answer. “i’ll see you then,” you said simply, grabbing your bag and with one final smile, you were out the door.

just a few days later, you were back outside of the lamontagne/jareau home. snowflakes were just begining to fall from the overcast clouds above, landing on your jacket and hat. you shivered slightly as you leaned forward to knock on the door.

j.j. answered rather quickly, ushering you inside with a “oh my god you must be freezing, come in!” you smiled softly at the profiler before picking up your bags and heading into the main foyer.

“y/n!” henry’s loud voice echoed down the hallway. you spun around just in time to see the young boy padding towards you. the smile you shot j.j. turned into a large grin has henry jumped into your arms.

“hi henry,” you cooed, tickling the boys stomach fo make him giggle.

will was next in the room, moving over to stand with j.j. “i can take your bags upstairs,” will offered. you nodded, feeling slightly guilty since they were already doing so much for you. as will picked up your things, henry tapped you on the shoulder. “are you spending christmas with us?”

your eyes darted over to j.j. for a quick second at henry’s question. “yeah i am. is that okay with you?”

henry nodded rapidly, “yeah!” you let out a sigh of relief. who knew how he would react to having someone else around at the holidays that wasn’t technically family. henry soon decided he was bored around the adults, well his parents and you, and ran off to go play.

you shed your coat and hat, hanging them over a chair once you reached the kitchen. “i’m assuming you want coffee? i picked up some of the holiday roast earlier,” j.j. offered. “yes please,” you answered.

“who knew it would be a white christmas,” j.j. spoke as she gazed outside while waiting for the coffee to brew. the snow had picked up, already coating the ground in a thin layer. “hopefully everyone on your team got to where they needed to be.”

“oh they did. we all make sure to text each other when we travel. rossi’s already in california, hotch is still in the city with jack, derek and spencer are in chicago, emily’s with her parents though i think it’s against her will, and then garcia is with sam,” j.j. rattled off.

the scent of coffee soon filled the kitchen, alerting you both that your drinks were ready. will appeared just in time to accept a mug from his wife.

“so i just have to give you a rundown on how we do christmas,” j.j. started, “today is pretty much just a relaxing day, maybe some games here and there. tomorrow, i’m sure henry will be up incredibly early, we do presents in the morning and then breakfast. that’s pretty much it.”

you nodded along, absorbing the words as j.j. informed you. the last thing you wanted was to be even more of an outsider on the family’s time together.

“momma, is it time?” henry whispered.

you, henry, and j.j. were all sitting in the living room. the main couch was occupied by the profiler, henry on the floor, and you on the matching loveseat. a roaring fire was in the fireplace, creating a warmth in the home. it was a stark contrast to the snow that had picked up in just a short period of time.

the previous cup of coffee you were drinking a few hours prior was replaced with hot chocolate as you didn’t want any more caffeine in your system. especially since it was later at night.

j.j. looked down at her son. “daddy is upstairs getting everything,” she explained.

you were slightly confused at the conversation, choosing to look down at your still steaming mug of hot chocolate instead of questioning it.

will was back down a moment later, two parcels in hand. after handing one to henry, he made his way over to you.

your fingers trembled as the gift was placed on your lap. the wrapping paper crinkled was your legs shifted back and forth out of pure nervousness. henry was already tearing into his, though the noise was seemingly muffled for you.

it had been years since you spent christmas with your family all together, nonetheless receive an actual gift. and now, having a present swaddled in the usual green and red wrapping paper, you didn’t exactly know how react. to add on to your emotions, at the top of the paper was your name in cursive gold font, obviously written by either j.j. or will.

“y/n?” you looked up just in time to see j.j. sit down on the loveseat beside you. will had taken henry upstairs to get changed into his new pajamas.

“no ones done something like this for me in awhile,” you revealed, feeling incredibly dumb that you were getting choked up on something as simple as a gift.

“done what?” j.j. questioned.

you sighed, placing the present off to the side. “put this much love and care into a holiday. i usually spend it watching reruns and ordering some takeout,” you ended with a slight laugh as an attempt to make a joke.

j.j.’s eyes softened before she shifted to face you. “and i just really wanted to thank you for having me. it really means a lot,” you spoke. j.j. pulled you into a tight hug, cradling your head for extra effect. the present was forgotten, only remembered when there was a slight ripping sound.

“now come on, open it,” j.j. urged gently. unlike henry, you took your time unwrapping the gift. inside was a simple white t-shirt with a christmas tree on the pocket and matching flannel pants. you grinned, running your hand over the extremely soft material. “thank you so much,” you thanked her again.

this time, you hugged j.j., resting your head on her shoulder. after rubbing her hand up and down your back, an incredibly comforting gesture you may add, you pulled away. “i’m probably going to head up to bed,” you announced. “sounds good, i’ll lock up down here. you better be wearing those pajamas tomorrow,” she teased. “oh i will.”

the following morning, you were woken up by the door to your room being pushed open and footsteps running in. “y/n!” henry whispered once he managed to climb up on your bed. you rubbed your eyes, stifling a yawn as you did so. “y/n!” henry whispered again, this time harsher.

“it’s christmas! we have to go wake up mom and dad!” henry exclaimed. you opened your eyes, a smile forming on your face at the excitement radiating off of henry. “alright henry. why don’t we head into the bathroom and brush our teeth? then we can wake your parents up,” you compromised.

henry jumped off of the bed once more, grabbing your hand and tugging you out of your room. the entire duration in the bathroom took only five minutes. henry was old enough to be able to brush his teeth on his own.

“i’m going to head downstairs and start some coffee. go wake up your parents and i’ll see you downstairs,” you spoke. henry nodded at your orders, already taking off running down the hallway.

you smiled softly to yourself, heading down the stairs and into the kitchen. you could hear the faint giggles of henry upstairs as you put the pot of coffee on.

henry ran into the kitchen, holding the hand of a still very tired will. you chuckled, placing a mug down on the counter for will who thanked you quickly. j.j. was next in, looking much more awake and peppy then her husband.

“merry christmas y/n,” j.j. greeted.

“merry christmas j.j.,” you replied, matching her words.

as the four of you settled back into the living room, henry opening the presents under the tree, you doing the same, and j.j. and will watching with proud smiles on their faces, it really was the best holiday you had ever had.

[70ships-moved]

untitled | honeymoon suite

very brief summary: patrick can’t sleep. his solution? interview your boyfriend.

pairing: malcolm (oc) / patrick (s/i) | honeymoon suite

words: 2088 (yikes!)

notes: this is the very first fic i wrote about malcolm and it turned a year old like two months ago (wow! i didn’t even know that until now), i didn’t want to change or edit too much because this holds a special place in my non existent heart :), written in the pov of my s/i (first person)

   Today I found a magazine with one of my idols (and celebrity crushes) on the cover in my nightstand drawer stashed away like a porno magazine. I remember the exact day I bought it too. I was at a bookstore and I saw it in the checkout area and the moment I saw who was on the cover, I made a mad dash for the checkout area. I did contemplate it though; the magazine was like twelve bucks which is stupid for something no one really buys but skims through and puts back. (When was the last time you bought a magazine? Man, wait until you hear about the internet.) But for who was on the cover, I was more than willing to pay the stupid twelve dollars.

    Like any child that picks up a book, I looked at the pictures and read some of the interview. My only takeaway from the interview was that he liked this Bolognese recipe he found- or made himself. I didn’t read it all. He puts bacon bits in it, and he says it’s even good when cold. I took this magazine with me to school almost every day. I really liked the guy, okay? I’d show it to my best and only friend at school at the time who hated my obsession with him. It was weird because she was one of those friends who would always get an ugly boyfriend and would force you to compliment him- no matter how ugly you thought he was but proceeded to get mad at you when you were being honest about his looks. I could handle her opinions about this man I claimed to love but have never met in my life.

    Four years later and I finally read the interview. It was a good read. The interviewer had nothing but nice things to say about him, mainly because he was and still is a sweetheart. And he only had nice things to say about the people he talked about. After reading the interview, I had something other than his good looks to admire. As far as I know, there isn’t a hateful bone in his body. When talking about his controversial relationship with his ex (long story short, the public wasn’t buying it), he said he only knew the girl he fell in love with and that’s saying something for a relationship that felt like it only lasted a week.

    It inspired me to conduct my own interview with someone who I love just as much, my partner Malcolm. I’ve interviewed other people before rather awkwardly but this is Malcolm we’re talking about. He has walls. We all do. He's a bit on the reserved side but with the time I’ve spent with him, I’ve seen these walls come down. These demolished walls are my favorite part of him. I even went out of the way and got a recording device from a buddy who works in film. I like being extra.  

    It’s about 2 am. There’s this thing my body does where I just have to wake up at this time. It’s every day too. When this happens, I wake Malcolm up. He encourages me to do so because it is incredibly difficult for me to go back to sleep once awake. Also, it’s kind of boring being awake all by yourself. In these hours, I learned how to call from a private number (*67, for prank call purposes), learned useless but interesting facts about space and how sex can be one hell of a sleeping pill. Tonight, I wanted to do something different.

    We’re sat in the kitchen area of the suite. The only thing separating us is the kitchen island. My recording device sits in the middle of us. Are you ready? “Mhm.” Great, I start with an over-the-top introduction of him. Ladies, guys, and people who don’t care what’s between their thighs, it’s two in the fucking morning and I can’t sleep but the man I’m sitting across from makes it all worth it. He’s got great hair and even great taste in men. He’s dating me! The man, the myth, future astronaut, and legend: Malcolm Hall! I feel like a podcast host. It’s a good feeling. “You’re so annoying.” That’s why he loves me.

    I have a list of questions I wrote down in less than five minutes. They’re nothing special and I want this to be fun and not so serious. This man constantly throws himself at his work- spending endless hours at a desk. Serious is his middle name. When he’s not in his office, he’s at the bar talking to you about a film he saw with a margarita in front of him or playing blackjack with you and your coworkers. Maybe he’s in suite 505 kicking it with yours truly, telling me about his day while I struggle to put a face mask on his moving face. How are you doing? He chuckles. That fucking chuckle. “Tired. But I’m with you, so I can’t complain. How are you?” I’m not so tired but I can’t complain. You’re here.

    I see you’re well-dressed for our interview. A bit too casual but you look good regardless. “Fuck off.” He says this in a whisper but it’s almost too quiet, it almost looks like he’s mouthing it. He’s in a bathrobe, his hair tossed from sleep; strands of it falling into his face. His face is resting in his palm as he looks at me with a tired smile, his eyes struggling to stay open. This is all unintentional, but I think this is extremely sexy of him. These small things have such a tremendous effect on me. They light the pit in my stomach and make me squirm in my seat a little. I’m messing. You look great as always. “You’re not looking too bad yourself.” I know. If I ever die in my sleep, I want to be in the best damn pair of silk pajamas there is.

    The coffee machine makes a noise indicating that it’s done brewing his cup of caffeine. That’s a nice coffee maker. When did you get it? I’m going off-script. “This thing?” He taps the machine like the hood of a car. “It came with the room. The interior design people take care of that. I just run the place, so I don’t really know when it got here. But I do know that the other machines were really fucking old.” Oh, interesting. “Not really. You know, I was expecting you to give me much harder questions.” Really? Well, it’s important to expect the unexpected. “Now you’re scaring me.” Good. Part of me can’t tell if he knows I’m teasing him.

    I’m not a coffee drinker like him but if it tasted as good as it smelt, then I could be. It’s a hazelnut blend. He mixes it with half-and-half and three scoops of sugar. His sips are slow and cautious. He seems to have bad luck with hot objects. He burnt his hand in a waffle iron one time and a dozen more times while preparing dinner. Maybe a hot object, liquid, or thing is the reason for the tape on his right hand. What happened to your hand? He looks up at me through his mug. “Masturbation incident.” By the way, I am madly in love with this man.

    Do you remember when we met? This is a weird transition because it was on my list of questions and my timing couldn’t be any worse considering moments ago, I asked a question and the answer I received was masturbation. The question makes him smile though. He either remembers or he’s pretending to remember. “Yeah. Of course I do.” He takes both my hands, gliding his thumbs across my knuckles. I want dates, times, names, everything. “I don’t remember the exact date, but I believe it was March.” He’s correct. “It was at the hair salon and I booked an appointment with you.” He’s correct again. I cut his hair for free now- well, unless he’s pissed me off. Then, I charge him ten bucks. Twenty if I’m really upset.

     Do you remember what time you showed up for your appointment? “Late. Very late.” He came in about two and a half hours late. I was pissed. “You were pissed.” He apologized profusely, and I still cut his hair. I remember it being soft and full. It still is. That's just one of the perks of having a hairstylist as a boyfriend. “I remember when you washed my hair. It’s my favorite part of you doing my hair.” I remember that too. The shampoo had a minty menthol smell. When it was on your head, it added a cooling factor and when you inhaled it, your lungs felt like winter. Basically, vapor rub for your hair.

    He got lost in the way I massaged his scalp, his eyes closed and smiling. I can still hear his Yorkshire accent telling me “Tha’ feels good.” After I washed it, I blew it out and started cutting it. That’s when I told him his hair was soft. “Looking back on it, you kept your hands in my hair way too long.” It’s part of the job. “That’s what they all say.” He takes a long sip from his mug, his eyes not leaving mine. “Your hair was...interesting as well.” Interesting, in the way he’s using it, is slang for saying you don’t know whether you should like something because you’ve never seen it before. Back in the day, I’d dye my hair all types of colors. Shit, I thought I looked good.  

    “The Smiths played on the stereo and your singing was terrible.” That’s a lie. I’m not Morrissey but I try to stay on key. “I’m kidding. But when you moved around the shop, you were always swaying to the music. You were fun to watch.” He winks at me and my face heats up at the memory. I danced like no one was watching. “We talked and talked and next thing I knew, I was asking you out on a date.” The first date was meant to be memorable but due to one incident, I feel like our date was memorable for the wrong reasons. “We went bowling. I’ll never forget it.” I know why. “You slipped and fell in the aisle.” I was so embarrassed. Is that the only thing you remember? Whenever we talk about it, you always bring it up. “That’s how I break the ice. ‘My boyfriend and I went bowling and he fell in the aisle. It was our first date. It's nice to meet you.'" 

    I’m a little tired now, my eyes a bit heavy and my voice softening. He answered the first date question I had prepared, so I decided to move on to my last one. Have you ever been in love? “Yes. I’d say so. Are you or have you ever been in love?” I’m supposed to be asking the questions, but I answer anyway. Yeah. I am right now. It’s a funny feeling because I’ve never been in love before. “Really? Who with?” You. My eyes can’t take the weight and close. “Good answer.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

    It’s a few minutes to 4 now. Our interview is done, and we’re ready for bed. We don’t go straight to sleep though. I listen to him talk some more with my head on his chest, his little chest hairs tickling my cheek. I begin to absently trace patterns across his chest. He says it tickles. His hand goes up my shirt, moving his hand up and down my back almost in a soothing rhythm. Sometimes, he stops, and I think he’s asleep, but I get the feeling that he realizes that I sensed he’s stopped and keeps going until I’m asleep. The hum of his chest when he speaks, combined with his hand and heartbeat is enough for me to call it a night.  

    His skin radiates a warmth that can’t be duplicated. His hands have a pattern like no other, each touch raising the hairs on my body. Despite it being hours since he’s showered, I can smell the scent of my cherry soap on him. This moment is something I never knew I needed and if it were to be taken away, I would be devastated. I close my eyes. I cannot think of any other place I’d rather be than here.

[hookedontaronfics]

Honky Dancer series - Chapter 8

Chapter title: Consequences Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3  | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Trigger warnings for a subtle mentions of an eating disorder and some medical drama A/N: A lot happens in this chapter, and it’s quite dramatic. The chapter bears its name well; you cannot outrun the consequences of your actions, as our beloved Juliette will soon find out. I hope you enjoy this emotional ride! X

Night shoots, I quickly learned, were a special sort of experience. Most of us had tried to nap before the call time, and we were all standing around clutching cups of coffee, full of caffeine and running on adrenaline. The choreography for “Saturday Night’s Alright” required every dancer that was hired, and a cast of extras simply to fill the background too. The amount of crew and the rigging required to give the number an expansive feel also added to the sheer number of people on set at the moment. The volume level was almost too much, with everyone chatting excitedly.

I was standing with my usual group, minus Markus, who was giving me an extremely cold shoulder by not acknowledging my presence at all. I couldn’t blame him, though; I’d told him to never talk to me again, after all. But now that it was the next day and my simmering anger had dulled, and I’d managed to smooth things over with Taron, I wondered if I hadn’t acted out too irrationally. Blame the baby hormones, I thought ruefully to myself.

Being on that carnival set, amongst the twinkling lights and magical atmosphere, made us feel like we were transported somewhere else. And I certainly hoped that effect would come across on film when it was all said and done. My favorite part was the massive Ferris wheel, ablaze with color. I spotted Taron, talking animatedly with Dexter, and when he looked over I gave him a small wave, which he cutely returned.

“Ugh, adorable,” Leah commented, making me smile behind my coffee cup lid as I took another sip. After what felt like a waste of an hour, we were finally called into place. We discarded our coffees and dumped our jackets and bags and went through last-minute costume checks, the costumers nit-picking over the littlest details, adjusting collars here, snipping stray threads there. We had already been walked through some preliminary blocking, but now that the cameras would be turned on, we all wanted things to be as perfect as they could be. The less takes we all had to do for each beat, the better.

Still, that constant ripple of excitement and thrill ran through all of us and kept us going as the nightly hours wore on. Watching Taron in his element really felt like a treat though. How he managed to turn that energy on and maintain his performance level take after take after draining take was mind-boggling, really. And whether he was tired or not, he never showed it, and he stayed positive and kind to everyone around him. But even though the work itself was exhausting, I still loved everything about it. 

The track itself was phenomenal, and Taron’s vocals were strong. I never got tired of listening to it no matter how many takes we did. Giles Martin was a genius, keeping the original integrity of the song but building segments of the different musical influences that Elton had been exposed to and incorporated into his music over the many years, and those flavors had also been used in our dance styles. The choreography was engaging, energetic and exciting, and being a part of this musical number certainly felt like being a part of something much larger than ourselves. The sequence was a crucial part of the storytelling, and needed to feel as youthful and adventurous as Elton’s life was during that time.

I had to admit that I was more than happy when they finally called that night’s filming to a close, as the first creep of dawn was just beginning to tinge the sky. I felt the exhaustion and soreness in every fiber of my body, and blearily changed out of my costume, located my bag in the pile, and wearily made my way off the set and toward the tube station before realizing someone was calling my name. I whirled around, nearly knocking myself off my own feet as I stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk.

“Juliette! Hey, wait up,” Taron said, jogging over to me and sweetly brushing his fingers over my cheek, still somehow not looking exhausted. “Clara’s with her dad and your mum has Troy. Can I just drive you over to my place?” he asked, and I was so tired I didn’t bother arguing, and nodded instead, letting Taron slip his arm around me supportively.

“How are you not completely exhausted?” I grumbled.

“Well, I’m not pregnant, so that helps,” he quipped lightly. “But I’m also just used to it, I think. Not exactly the first night scene I’ve ever been in.”

“I can think of a few,” I smiled. “Bit of a fan of your work, here,” I teased lightly.

“Well you nearly have to be, now that you’re dating me,” he smirked back, and I cracked a smile despite my exhaustion. I sank gratefully down into the plush of the car seat, fighting off falling asleep right then and there. The last thing I needed was Taron taking it upon himself to carry me to bed, as sweet of a gesture as that would be.

“I think today went well,” Taron spoke into our tired silence.

“Really well, at least on our part. It’s always one thing to rehearse a dance. It’s another to see it in the place, in the world so to speak, the lights and colors and costumes. Something about that just made everything feel much more real today,” I replied. “And you… You totally killed it.”

“I don’t know if I killed it, but I wager I gave it everything I had,” he smiled, looking over at me.

“Well, I think, from what I’ve seen, you’re carrying this whole damn thing.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, running his fingers through his hair in the way he did when he felt humbled by something.

“Well I do,” I smiled, more to myself than anything.

“I am so ready to crash,” he yawned when we finally pulled into the drive and parked. 

“You and me both,” I sighed wearily. We made our way inside, and I realized oddly that I hadn’t been in his home for a fair bit. It felt just as cozy as before as he led me to the bedroom, pulling me to him for a couple of sweet kisses before we both got ready for bed, too tired for anything more. He did his best to try and block the morning sunlight creeping across the floor, able to darken the room a bit, and we curled up together and were sound asleep within minutes, my brain for once too worn out to keep me awake.

The baby, on the other hand, had other ideas, waking me up a few hours later. I stumbled to the bathroom and wretched, hardly anything in my stomach to get rid of. I groaned slightly and splashed water on my face before returning to my slumbering boyfriend. I checked my phone briefly, scrolling through social media mindlessly, waiting for sleep to find me again, but hunger found me first instead.

I got up and, still too exhausted to make anything else, popped some bread in the toaster oven, rapping my fingers on the counter as I waited for it to be ready. I smeared some butter on, then took a few bites, chewing slowly, my hand resting on my belly. But then the part of my brain that worried about calories kicked in, and I found I couldn’t eat another bite. I tossed the rest of the toast in the trash and reminded myself I needed to stay away from carbs as I returned to the bed, not entirely satisfied but at least my stomach had stopped gurgling uncomfortably.

“Mmmm,” Taron murmured next to me, turning over and sliding his arm over my waist and nuzzling into my neck. “Can’t sleep?” He asked, cracking his green eyes open and looking at me.

“I got sick. And then I got hungry,” I smiled, as his eyes drew down to my stomach, his fingers splaying out under my sleep shirt and caressing my skin there sweetly.

“This will be worth it in the end,” he said gently, kissing my forehead. “Try to get some more sleep. Tonight will be difficult if you don’t.” I nodded at that and tried to let him soothe me back to sleep, and I eventually did end up drifting off again.

We woke with enough time to shower, make some dinner, and watch a little telly together before heading to set and doing it all over again. The second night seemed a little easier, but maybe it was just because I knew more of what to expect, the lag between scenes, the flurry of activity, the massive rigs swinging around and being readjusted constantly, the dead space where we had to try and keep our bodies warm, the constant makeup and costume retouches, the attempt to keep our energy up through the slog of what felt like a 14-hour night. We had fun with some bumper cars and there might have been more horsing around than actual dancing during that sequence.

The next two nights felt a little more laid-back, as a bulk of the large group shots were already done. The transitions into and out of the scene, with the bar and with Kit Connor, who played the mid-aged Reggie, were the focus of those days, so I spent more time sitting around than anything else, but that also gave me time to be curious about the behind-the-scenes machinations of putting a movie together. I found it completely fascinating, so different and removed from what I did on the stage when I danced professionally, a completely different set of lingo I didn’t quite understand. What was a grip? A racking focus? A polarizer? I had no idea, but hearing people talk casually about the technical aspects made me feel curious to know more.

Needless to say, I was grateful when night shoots, at least for that sequence, were done. It was kind of saddening to see the carnival get dismantled, but of course it had only been put up for the film and I knew that. I had to return to my own crazy schedule, my daughter and my own students and trying to balance that with further rehearsals for “Bitch is Back” and time with Taron as well, though the next few nights he spent at my home with me. It wasn’t even a conversation we had, he just showed up every evening, joining me in making dinner and helping Clara with her homework and walking Troy and just generally filling a space in my home I hadn’t realized had been empty. Eventually I thought it was high time he had a key, so I made it a point to make a copy and give him one.

“You’re in the special group of people who gets one of these,” I giggled as we cuddled on the couch together, long after Clara had gone to bed.

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And just how many people get a key to my girlfriend’s abode?” he chuckled.

“My mum, of course. Zayn, just in case something came up with Clara. Now you…” I smiled, as Taron flipped the key around in his palm slightly. He seemed a bit reserved about it, but then he’d been a bit reserved the past few nights. I chalked it up to just being knackered from night shoots until he sighed slightly and spoke my name in a hesitant manner.

“Juliette. I really need to ask you something,” he said, his eyes focusing somewhere just above the crown of my head.

“Anything, T,” I replied, even though a cold knot had formed in my stomach.

“Markus pulled me aside the other day and um, he wanted to pass along a few… things.” It was just like Markus to try and fuck everything up for me, even if we weren’t together. Even if I’d thoroughly ended things. Why could nothing in my world stay perfect, ever? I swallowed past the lump in my throat, willing my voice to not shake.

“I’m sure he wasn’t doing so out of the kindness of his heart,” I said coldly.

“Of course I took things with a grain of salt. We haven’t exactly had the best history, Markus and I, all things considered,” he said, finally focusing on my face, but the look of hurt that knitted his brows caught me off guard. “But he told me that you two were still together, that you slept with him again, when you had told me you wanted to be with me. When you were supposed to have broken up with him. And you never told me about that, and your nonadmission might as well have been as good as lying to me,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly.

“I… I’m so sorry,” I tried, my brain still processing what he was saying to me.

“I’ve been wrestling with this for a few days, whether to ask you about it or not. Whether to strike a divide between us or not. I’m forgiving, but relationships have to be founded on trust and communication, neither of which you’ve given to me, and that hurts.”

“I tried to break up with Markus. I tried to tell you that I failed. I felt so...humiliated and… ashamed. Of my history, of my weakness, of this shitty pattern I’ve never been able to get myself out of. I never meant it to hurt you, so I thought I could protect you from… me,” I said, stumbling over the words, unable to keep the tremor out of my voice. “You have to believe that, please.”

“I believe you, it’s just a misguided principle, really. Relationships sometimes hurt. Sometimes you have to be raw, and open, and vulnerable, and ugly in front of the other person, and sometimes that makes them hurt for you, because they love you. I want to accept your flaws, your imperfections, but I can’t do that if you won’t open up to me. I can’t do that if I can’t trust you to be honest with me. I can’t do that if you try to protect me from the difficult, painful bits. I can’t do this, if you won’t extend that to me,” he said into the dead silence of the room. My heart was near pounding out of my chest and I felt the need to get sick.

“What are you saying, Taron? Are you breaking up with me?” I asked softly, tears already threatening in my eyes.

“I just need...some time. To think. To know where I stand. I am hurt, and you’ve got to learn that there are consequences for your actions. But I’m not leaving you, no,” he said as evenly as possible. “I told you I loved you, through the hard times too. I stand by that. I just need you to try and earn my trust back,” he said softly, brushing his fingers lightly over my chin.

“Okay,” I sniffled slightly, feeling the shame burning in my chest.

He leaned over and set the key on the coffee table, the clink of the metal against the wood top making me cringe slightly, before he stood up and turned to me.

“I’ll see you around at the studios. We’re not going to be strangers. But there is this wedge we need to deal with, and I hope you can understand that.”

“I created it,” I said, a couple of tears rolling down my cheeks. But I couldn’t pity myself; I had done this. I had turned Taron away from me, yet again. I had made a muddled mess out of something that should have been good and pure.

“Hey, no need to cry. We will work through this, alright?” he said, tipping my chin up to look at him, but his face was fractured into a thousand tiny pieces through my tears.

“Why would you want to? Why aren’t you pissed off at me?” I asked, pulling away from his touch, his arm returning to his side awkwardly.

“I was, at first. But I try incredibly hard to not act out in anger. It never leads to anything good; it tends to cause more problems than it solves. I also know that even while you had promised to choose me, you really hadn’t, not yet. I wanted to believe I’d be enough to convince you...” he trailed off.

“Fuck, of course you are, T. You’re the best thing that’s ever really happened to me. And I keep trying to ruin it, so maybe you’d be better off without me dragging you down,” I said harshly.

“Stop, stop. I won’t let you talk about yourself that way,” he said, kneeling down in front of where I sat on the sofa, directly into my line of sight again. “Your self-loathing won’t help anything. Please see that.”

“Maybe I’m one person you can’t fix. Maybe no one can,” I said shakily, and Taron sighed deeply.

“I hope this feels better in the morning, but going around in circles on it with you all night won’t help either. I’m going to take my leave, and you should get some sleep, and we’ll figure out how to move forward together. That is, if you still want to.”

I couldn’t give him an answer so the silence between us yawned open until he stood up and placed a soft kiss on my forehead before gathering up his jacket and letting himself out the door. I’m not really sure how long I sat there, staring at nothing, thoughts whirling around my head. Time passed me by unnoticed until Clara padded barefoot into the room.

“Mum?” she asked, and I startled back into reality.

“Yes dear?” I asked, trying to push back the edges of darkness I felt threatening to overcome me.

“I got sick in my bed,” Clara said, starting to cry.

“Oh, honey,” I said, instantly sweeping up off the couch and going to attend to my sick daughter, cleaning the linens and giving her medicine and crashing in my bed with her that night, her feverish little body shivering next to me as I held her tight. At least I had this; I could look at my bright, inquisitive, beautiful daughter and know I had a hand in bringing her up in this world, hopefully teaching her how to avoid the pitfalls I’d fallen into in so many ways. I was grateful she was still young, that boys still had cooties and she was still years from her first kiss, her first love, her first heartbreak.

By the time the morning rolled around, neither Clara nor I had gotten much sleep, as much from Clara’s illness as from my dark thoughts. I called my mum to see if she could watch my sick kid while I went to teach classes and later Rocketman rehearsals, and of course my mum was all-too-kindly available to come over. I tucked Clara in her own bed, glad that her fever had come down overnight, and called school to tell them she wouldn’t be in that day while I waited for my mum to arrive. I made some coffee, desperate for the caffeine boost, and when my mum finally made it across town I blearily stumbled through my day. 

I couldn’t help glaring daggers at Markus’ back during rehearsals every time he wasn’t looking, which was most of the time, but I knew that was petty. It certainly wouldn’t make him apologize for ratting me out to Taron, and it wouldn’t take back what happened between us either.

By the time I got home I was completely exhausted, but Clara was feeling better and I couldn’t just crash out, even if my mum offered. I shook my head, telling her she’d done enough already for me, and sent her home with a thank-you pound note she tried to protest but I slipped into her purse anyway when she wasn’t looking. I ended up tossing a frozen pizza in the oven, but found it difficult to choke down the calories, while Clara didn’t seem to notice how little I ate as she chowed down on her slices. We watched a movie together, and I admittedly might have nodded off a few times, the Disney songs drifting in and out of my dreams.

I was so happy once Clara was tired enough to put to bed; I even skipped a shower just so I could faceplant in my bed that much quicker. I missed Taron’s warmth next to me as I pulled the blankets tightly around me. He promised we’d be okay, but what if he found more reasons to stay away from me in this temporary absence? What if he didn’t really miss me all that much? What if I was the one that was unlovable? I shivered slightly under the covers, the darkness creeping even closer than it had before in my mind, threatening to take over as I sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

That darkness that resided inside my brain manifested itself in my attempt to control my calories; every little thing I put in my mouth had to be accounted for, and controlling my diet seemed to help me calm my nerves. Even when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control, this one thing I could have total control over. I had exactly one scrambled egg white and 8 ounces of a protein shake in the morning, a 150-calorie protein bar at lunch, a handful of plain unsalted nuts for a snack to sustain my energy, and usually made some fish and vegetables for dinner. Eating for two was an absolute myth; I was religious about my prenatal vitamins and making sure the growing baby inside me was still getting the crucial building blocks it needed. But overeating wasn’t going to help either of us so I stuck to my routine, obviously varying things up for Clara so she wouldn’t be bored or wrinkle her nose up at my dinners. 

Over the next couple weeks of classes and rehearsals, I started to see an instant change in my arm and leg tone, and that made me at least happier. I had been needing to lose that unnecessary weight for years, and even if I couldn’t stop my belly from getting bigger, I could stop the rest of me from following suit.

As we headed full on into the summer months, the weather grew hot and sticky, as London weather was wont to do. We’d been rehearsing the Broadway musical-style choreography for “Bitch is Back” for a while in the studio, but were finally taking rehearsals outside, into the back lot to do some initial blocking. Taron was of course there, sporting some mockup cardboard wings that looked completely ungainly to manage. But somehow he did, as we danced our way through the piece and Dexter showed Taron and Matthew Illesley, who played the youngest version of Reggie, how the scene would operate.

I could feel the sweat trickling down my back, down my arms and legs, dripping off the edge of my nose. We were all allowed to wear our sunnies since it was a rare bright day in London and we weren’t officially filming yet. But when the production was able to secure the Pinner Street location, we would all need to be ready to go, so putting in this work now was important. They made us take a lot of breaks, providing Gatorade and water in massive jugs to keep us all hydrated, but I was beginning to feel rather sick to my stomach and had to fight through the nausea for the rest of the rehearsal.

Seeing Taron there, being so close to him and yet feeling far away, was painful. He acknowledged me, but it was mostly in a professional manner, and I could feel the difference in my bones. I wanted nothing more than to have him scoop me up in his arms and hold me to him, but that reality had been shattered. There are consequences to your actions, Juliette, the words popping into my brain and making my heart ache. I couldn’t run from those consequences; the only way to move forward was to accept them and move through them.

But how was I going to be able to prove to Taron that he could trust me, when we weren’t even spending time together? What grand gesture could show him how much he meant to me? I wasn’t really sure, and these thoughts hounded me throughout the day.

The next few days were much the same, the temperatures staying sticky hot and making me feel worse for wear. Pregnancy and heat did not go well together, and I found myself taking a few more breaks than everyone else, coming up with some lame excuse as I hadn’t told anyone on set I was pregnant. Only Taron and Markus knew that, and well, we all know who actually did his part to check in with me, concern written all over his face.

But then rehearsals suddenly ground to a halt, and we were left in a strange holding pattern as the production moved onto other scenes, keeping to its schedule and of course keeping Taron very busy. We had a couple short rehearsals to keep the choreography fresh in everyone’s brains, but there wasn’t much else for us to do. I focused more on teaching my classes, texting off and on with Taron when he’d ask how Clara was doing.

<She’s got a recital next week, if you’d like to go. She’d probably like that; she’s been wondering why you haven’t been around as much. I just told her it was because of work.> I responded one evening.

<Of course, I’d love to go. Text me the details and I’ll be there.>

And be there he was, dressed in a sharp navy suit coat, a white shirt underneath, and pressed slacks, looking as handsome as he ever did. Sitting next to him was almost intimidating, stealing glances at each other, sharing awkward smiles with each other as we waited through student after student, some well-practiced, others not so much, waiting for Clara’s turn.

When she got up on the stage, I could hear a bit of an audible gasp from the crowd; my opinionated little girl had chosen to don a sequined, sparkly pink jacket over her recital dress, and she had on a pair of star sunnies too, “just like Elton!” she’d declared when I’d tried to convince her otherwise.

“That’s our Clara,” Taron grinned over at me with a chuckle, before looking down at my hand and slowly taking it in his. I sucked my breath in slightly, still staring straight ahead as Clara took a seat at the piano. “You look beautiful today,” he whispered in my ear, taking in the light summer dress I’d chosen.

“Thank you,” I said, glancing over at him, those dimples of his causing my heart to flutter again. That special thing we had, it wasn’t gone by any means. We sat through my daughter’s songs, Clara gamely making it through Bach and Debussey with only a few stumbles, before getting to play a chosen song. And of course she’d chosen “Your Song,” playing it with gusto to much applause and appreciation from the audience. She gave an enthusiastic bow after her performance and skipped off the stage, returning to us excitedly as we were still clapping for her.

“Lovely job, sweetheart,” I said happily, giving her a huge hug.

“I think Elton himself would be very proud,” Taron added, making Clara grin so big she was showing off her toothless gaps.

“Yeah, if only he’d been able to watch it,” she sighed, making us both laugh.

“He’s a very busy man, but maybe some day you could play for him,” Taron said, as I playfully slapped his arm.

“Don’t promise her that!” I hissed slightly under my breath, but Taron waved it off.

“I’m sure I could get it arranged,” he said, as Clara fairly begged Taron to stay around for dinner. He obliged, and it turned into a really decent evening, the first one I felt I’d had in a bit, even after Clara commented “ewww, fish again?” when I served us dinner. He stayed long enough to tuck my daughter into bed, but said he probably shouldn’t wear out his welcome, though we lingered too long at the doorway, unspoken words and feelings passing between us.

I was actually at the academy when I got the phone call that the Pinner Street location had been secured, and that we’d be needed on set within a few hours. I scrambled to get my afternoon classes covered and made sure mum could pick up Clara from school before heading over to the studios, arriving just in time to get through hair and makeup. We changed into our costumes and were all boarded onto a shuttle and driven across the city, dropped off on a suburban street where crews were already busy setting up rigging for the cameras.

The place was an absolute blur of activity as us dancers huddled in the shade of some trees, trying to stave off the bright sunlight. We used each other to stretch and warm up, a steady hum weaving through the shimmering air as directions were shouted loudly, people running frantically to and fro. I hadn’t imagined this much chaos as the rest of the production had always been incredibly orderly. But I supposed this could happen with locations in the streets; it probably was a pain in the ass to secure city permits to shut entire blocks down for filming. When the city gave you a window of time, you had to spring into action; there would be no dragging feet here.

This sequence, of course, was an important element of the story that brought Taron into the picture as a sort of segue from rehab into his childhood years. It involved the other patients in rehab and the counselor, a brass band, and Taron in a bright orange neoprene Elvis-inspired devil costume with massive wings. The first time I saw him in it I nearly tripped over my own feet. The costume left very little to the imagination, but it was also somehow fitting to the vision of Elton that Dexter and Taron had created for the film. Elton at times played the devil, but he could also be the angel, and in many ways he was neither and both at the same time in his own story.

I loved the energy of this part of filming; the heat, not so much. The makeup crew constantly had to step in and powder us all between takes, and I’m sure our costumes weren’t going to smell very nice by the end of it. The filming day was kept short, as there were heat advisories and the production certainly didn’t want anyone to pass out. The heat sapped the strength right out of my body, and I wondered at how weak I felt as I made my way home, knowing I’d have to fight through the next few days in the same way.

The weakness in my body didn’t really abate the next day, and was joined by more nausea. Even if I didn’t get sick, I still felt turned inside out. I could barely stomach water, but I made myself push it down nonetheless. If my performance suffered for it, no one said a word to me. The third day, the dizziness hit me like a sack of rocks, making me stumble into another dancer and completely ruining the take. I mumbled my apologies and tried to concentrate the best I could. My muscles knew the motions; my brain couldn’t keep anything straight so I tried not to think too much and let my body do the work it knew by memory.

But some things you cannot win against, no matter how hard you fight. Weeks of undereating had caught up to me, leaving me emptied out; spots began to dance across my vision, my skin flushed cold despite the heat, and I found it difficult to breathe. I vaguely thought someone was calling my name, but I couldn’t hear them over the rushing in my ears. The music continued on, but my body did not; I dropped to the ground and stayed there. I don’t remember hitting the pavement, but I came to with my face burning, pressed against the hot surface. I was dimly aware of people gathered around me, and I thought I heard Taron yell at someone to “get these bloody wings off” before bright orange swam into my view.

“Juliette, can you hear me?” he asked as he knelt down beside me, the material of his costume stretching taut over his thighs. I don’t know why my brain focused on that, but I couldn’t move my head enough to look up at his face. The crystals glittered almost painfully bright in the sun as my vision went in and out of focus.

“She’s probably got heat stroke,” one voice said.

“Give her some space,” another added.

“Where’s the fucking medic?” someone else in the throng of voices shouted, my brain picking these out amongst the murmurs.

Did I really look that bad? I wondered, unaware of how crumpled I must have looked. Someone brought over an umbrella and at least shielded me from the sun; someone else tried offering water but I could neither hold the bottle nor swallow when it was poured into my mouth, vomiting onto the pavement instead, a strange thought that I should be embarrassed weaving its way through my brain, too wispy for me to grab onto.

I felt my body being moved as my pupil reaction was checked, my pulse taken, my body fussed over. Words were said that I didn’t understand and then I was being lifted through the air on a stretcher and pushed into the back of an ambulance. I flicked my eyes around at the faces staring down at me, the hands pushing IV lines into my arms, everything blurry and strangely in slow motion. 

And then I felt the sharpest pain in my abdomen, making me cry out. I instinctively tried to curl into a ball but the straps held me down, and I started to feel panic rising in my chest as another sharp pain wracked my body. I clutched at my stomach, gasping out something incoherent; this wasn’t right, and I knew it could only mean something terrible was happening.

“Oh god, the baby,” I heard Taron say, his voice sounding too loud and tinny to my ears, my secret spilled out for everyone within earshot to hear.

What was happening to my baby?, I thought, as more hands poked and prodded me, more needles stuck into my flesh, more words were said I couldn’t make sense of. All I could understand was the shivers that shook me, the pains that tormented me, the blackness that threatened to overtake me. The noise was too loud, the siren, the beeping machines, the medics’ voices, the rattling of wheels over roads as we sped toward the hospital, the hush of the cast and crew we left in our wake, growing in a cascading crescendo inside my brain until, mercifully, there was silence. 

I began to float into the void, the absence of noise, of feeling, of the physical realm, detached from what was happening to my body. The darkness came up to meet me, soothing me, warming me, easing me into slumber, the medicine working through my veins, easing the fire in my body. And then everything, everywhere, went black, and I was gone.

This is not the end of the story. Read Chapter 9 HERE.

[katymacsupernatural]

Love Ever After

Dean Winchester x Reader

1300 Words

Story Summary: Eavesdropping when she shouldn’t, Y/N overhears Dean talking about being in love with someone. 

This is for my Fabulous Fake Title Challenge run by myself and @just-another-winchester. This fic is for @amanda-teaches

Yawning widely, you climbed out of bed, the smell of coffee driving you from it’s warmth, knowing it was past time to get up. Glancing at your clock, you winced when you saw the time, realizing you had been asleep a lot longer than you had realized. Slipping a pair of jeans on and a sweatshirt, you couldn’t ignore the hint of coffee any longer, needing the jolt of caffeine to get you going.

Stumbling down the hallway, you could hear Sam and Dean talking in the kitchen, sounding extremely serious for this hour of the day. Rounding the hallway, you were almost to the kitchen when your name was said.

“How are you going to tell Y/N?” Sam asked his brother, raising your interest. You knew eavesdropping wasn’t nice, but you couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to hear what they were saying.

“I have no idea,” Dean muttered. “I have no idea how she’ll take it, and truthfully I’m a little nervous.”

“Dean, you’re the one that’s in love,” Sam continued. “And Y/N needs to know.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that!” Dean exclaimed, as you stood there, your hand over your mouth. Dean had been acting a little weird the past couple of weeks. Awkward, acting nervous around you. There had been times you had caught him staring at you, his eyes hooded, and know you were wondering if he had been trying to tell you each time.

You were heartbroken. You hadn’t realized that Dean had been seeing anyone, let alone long enough to fall in love. He had always seemed so sweet to you, and you had hoped that maybe one day he would become more than the friend he was now.

You considered running, away from the heartbreak you knew to wait you inside. But that wasn’t who you were. You always faced things head on, even when it was something as disheartening as this.

“Dean, just don’t wait too long. You know how things can get turned around when you do,” Sam muttered, as you forced yourself to move forward, to step into the kitchen.

Dean’s gaze landed on you straight away, his eyes huge, as Sam smiled at you. “Didn’t think you’d be up yet,” Dean muttered.

“The smell of coffee woke me up,” you muttered, stepping into the room, trying to paste a smile on your face but failing miserably.

“I’m out of here,” Sam exclaimed, leaving you alone with Dean.

Smiling up at you, Dean handed you your favorite mug, already filled with coffee exactly how you liked it. “So Y/N, I was wondering if you and I could have dinner tonight? I have something I want to tell you.”

He seemed nervous, almost shuffling his feet as he waited for your answer. “Sure,” you grumbled, knowing what he wanted to talk about, wishing he would get it out of the way.

“Great!” He exclaimed. “I’ll do everything, just meet me in the war room, around six?”

Nodding, you took your coffee, escaping to your room so you could finally stop hiding the misery that you felt.

________

It was almost six by the time you forced yourself out of your room, your eyes still red and puffy from your earlier bout of crying. But you were ready now. Your shoulders were straight, your heart pounding as you made your way into the main rooms of the bunker.

Dean already had the place set up nicely. Some of the emergency candles lit in the middle, the finer china placed on each side, towards the end of the table. There were even folded napkins, with the silverware placed on top, fancier than anything you had ever seen in the bunker. He had gone through a lot of trouble, especially if this was to let you know he had fallen in love with someone else.

Confused and out of sorts, you stood there, tracing the edge of the plate with your finger when his footsteps startled you. “There you are!” He exclaimed, a large tray in his hands. Expecting his usual burger, you were surprised to see some sort of chicken dish, along with a salad and breadsticks. Wine was off to the side instead of the usual beer, confusing you even more.

Pulling the chair out for you, he waited until you were sitting, sliding it in.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” You asked him, watching as he swallowed heavily, his eyes wide.

“Let’s eat first, then we can talk. I even made pie,” he stuttered, effectively evading your question. Humoring him at first, you took a bite.

“Dean, this is amazing!” You exclaimed. “But where’s Sam? Is he gonna be joining us?”

“No, Sam’s gone out for the evening,” Dean explained, “I just wanted it to be you and me tonight. Like a date.”

Almost choking on the meal in front of you, you took a sip of wine, staring up at him. “But how can it be a date when you’re in love with someone else?”

“What?” He exclaimed, looking even more shocked than you. “What gave you that ridiculous idea.”

“I heard you and Sam talking this morning. About you being in love. Figuring out how to tell me. Well, I’d rather you’d just get it up and over with and we can go back to being friends.” You spoke fast, trying to keep the heartbreak from your voice.

“Damn it, I didn’t want you to hear it like that,” he muttered, running his hand along his mouth. “Y/N, I set it up this way to make it special.”

“Why would I want it to be special?” You asked, standing up, ready to leave. “Why would hearing you love someone else need to have a special occasion?”

Ready to race out of the room, Dean reached up, stopping you. “Y/N, damn it. That isn’t what’s happening! I set this up so I could tell you I’m in love with you!”

“What?” You cried, turning to see the truth etched on his face. “But, Dean, I never expected this.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I’m horrible at letting people know how I feel. At first, I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid. Afraid that you would leave me. That something bad would happen because of it. Then, I couldn’t figure out the right time to tell you.”

Relieved beyond a doubt, you threw yourself into Dean’s arms, happy that things had turned out better than expected. “I hope that means you feel the same?” He asked, his arms tight around you.

“Of course!” You assured him. “Dean, do you know the moment I feel for you? It was on that freezing cold night, coming back from that hunt in Colorado. My coat had been ripped, and you gave me your leather coat, placing it over my shoulders. It smelled amazing, and I couldn’t help but fall for the man who had wrapped me in it.”

“Really?” He seemed surprised. “I can’t tell you how nervous I was.”

“Dean, you should have listened to your brother along time ago. Then I could have been enjoying more of your cooking. But I am ready for that pie now.”

“See, I knew you were the girl of my dreams.” Dean smiled, placing a soft kiss on your lips before moving on to get the pie.”

Dean/Jensen Tags:@acreativelydifferentlove @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @anokhi07 @aubreystilinski @bebravekeeponfighting @colette2537 @crusadedean @deanwinchesters-impala67 @haelyn @horsegirly99 @ikeneasul11 @its-not-a-tulpa @just-another-winchester @msimpala67 @lenaabs @love-charmer-sketch @ruprecht0420 @shadowhunter7 @sizzlingbearpolice @sleep-silent-angel @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @thesaneone @torn-and-frayed @wonderfulworldofwinchester

Forever Tags:@16wiishes @4401lnc @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @angelsandwinchesters @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @bemyqueenofdarkness @bohowitch @brooke-supernatural16  @brunettechick @camelotandastronauts @captainradicalpassion @chelsea072498 @clairese1980 @captainemwinchester @createdbybadappreciation @darthdeziewok @destiels-new-girl @donnaintx @dont-you-dare-say-misha @dslocum89 @duckieburns @docharleythegeekqueen @emmazach @emilicious-7 @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @essie1876 @generalgoldfishldrm @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @imboredsueme @internationalmusicteacher @ithinkimadorable-67 @iwriteaboutdean  @jayankles @jensen-gal @just-another-busy-fangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @keelzy2 @li-ssu @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice @mellowlandrunaway @mogaruke @my-squirrel-and-moose @nanie5 @newtospnfandom @oneshoeshort @percussiongirl2017 @pilaxia @pizzarollpatrol @plaid-lover-bay25 @rosegoldquintis @roxyspearing @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @sunskittlex @superbadassnatural @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @teamfreewill92 @thebikiniinspector @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @tmccarney @totallovelesson @tunadean @vvinch3st3r @wildlandfox @winchesterbrothers-inc @winchesterxtwo @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

[parttimeexploradora]

8 Productivity Lifehacks for ADHD & anxious people

Reading Time: 4 minutes

This is basically a guide for myself that I wish someone would have just given me rather than having to go through trial and error, weekly therapy, and testing of medications to deal with anxiety and ADHD.

My career requires me to be on my “A game”. I build process flows, analyze systems, and make sure everything is running smoothly. It’s something I love because it requires problem-solving, data, and combining my engineering and sociology background.

However, it might not be as obvious at first since I seem to be a fairly productive human in my creative ventures but it’s extremely hard for me to stay focused. I’m easily distracted and easily bored. For me once I fall off the wagon of structures of my coping strategies I go off the deep end and accomplish NADA

I’ve learned to recognize my patterns and pick myself back up when I catch myself slipping. Not everyone’s brains are hardwired the same way, however, we can learn and train ourselves to rewire our habits to become more productive. As an adult I was diagnosed with ADHD and Anxiety, I have some old tools I used to cope growing up to just try to survive and new tools acquired from therapy to begin to thrive. So since therapy is expensive, I might as well share my tips with you all on how I hope (of course this does NOT replace a trained professional).

Now, these tips are useful for everyone but if you happen to always be late, spiral into constant worry, or have trouble finishing your tasks and instantly wanting to go to start another project.

1. Mindfulness

I take aside at least a couple of minutes a day to just breathe. When I don’t and forget I notice the difference. My brain is constantly racing so taking time aside just to breathe has relaxing and calming effects. Starting and ending my day like this has the best effect. In the morning I like to do deep breathes. Deep breathing has similar effects on Xanax and can help you cope.

2. Planning! 

Take 10-15 minutes to go through and write out everything that needs to be done for the day is the best approach to getting all those thoughts out of your head. Even if you don’t get to it, it takes up less space.

3. Time management !!!!

Now start thinking realistically how long it’s gonna take to get things done. Set due dates and timelines. Managing your time also means being stingy with it. I work in tech and love social media so what I do is make sure to designate social media. From 9-5 I do not log on to ANY platforms on a desktop. Now, this requires lots of self-control, but it’s def a way to keep ourselves I track and not be absorbed by phones. This is tough because we have our phones but I make sure to limit how much time I am spending on my social media accounts to have more human interaction and NOT be sucked away.

4. Remove Distractions

I get distracted super easily …. like way easily. Like I will be super focused on my project and then hear one thing and bam there goes all my focus. One of the ways I deal with this is using my headphones and playing songs on a loop to keep me in the zone. I turn off all of my desktop notifications and I put my phone away in times that require me to stay on track. And during working hours, I never ever sign into social media. I also do this when I’m with friends or around other humans. I know I will be distracted by the millions of apps and messages. So I make sure when I’m with people, they have my full attention. I put my phone away and don’t look at it until I have moments alone like on my commute or finally at home.

5. Google Calendars & Planners

I’m extremely forgetful and I am perpetually late to things. I’ve def noticed the later I am and the flakier I get, forgetting an event or not planning enough time the less organized I’ve gotten. When this starts to happen I unravel. No one is perfect so if you forget; that’s okay. The best way for me to do this is by adding my events in a google calendar. People who send me calendar invites are my favorite type of people.

6. Add Buffer time!

I add in a buffer time and alarms to remind me so I can plan accordingly. Things that have helped me cope have been to set my clocks 10 minutes ahead. So when I’m rushing and starting to panic I realize wait I’m actually on time, let me breathe. This is a trick my mom taught me cause she was always late for things. When I’m late I automatically go into panic mode, and feel guilty so to avoid this I have changed my car and alarm clock to be 10 minutes ahead, I also commute so there is no “I’m sorry” cause the train has left the station. 7. Meal Prep!

I have a busy schedule and leave my house at 7am and come back around 8pm. I’m a semi-adult, meaning I’m responsible for feeding myself. So by the time I get home I’m exhausted. Sometimes I’m rushing out my house that I forget to eat and end up buying coffee and get home and pick up fast foods. All of these BAD options! Lots of sugar, caffeine, and not enough fuel is the worst combination. So setting aside and making dishes for the week on a Sunday and putting them into containers has been the best approach. Takes one less stress out.

8. Sleep!!!!

So important, I struggle with this so so so much. My mind is always ON so when I’m in bed all the ideas and thoughts come rushing. I actually started this post while trying to sleep. It’s not easy, and part of my make up. But to make it easier I set alarms to let me know “get ready for bed”. The best way is to resist the urge to lol at screens! Avoid your phone/computer. And turn on some calming yoga nidra (link). I also take melatonin when needed, but def let your doctor know if this is a constant problem in your life.

  These are just a couple of the ways I cope with modern life and try to keep my life on track. I’d love to hear more from you on how you manage your life, work, and goals in a busy hectic world. Got any tips or things you found useful?

  The post 8 Productivity Lifehacks for ADHD & anxious people appeared first on Part Time Exploradora.

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[swanandapirate]

Blue Petals & Broken Glass Ch.11

Summary: Emma had the night shift and when a burglary call came in, she had to go and do her job. She ended up at the flowershop of a certain Killian Jones and he clearly knew more about the robbery than he was letting on.

ch.10: tumblr / ff.net

this chapter: ff.net

the whole story: ff.net

Amazing banner made by the wonderful @shady-swan-jones

A/N: And I'm back! I apologize again for the large gaps between updates but pfff... life. Anyways, this is quite an angsty chapter and I'm already going to apologize for that but it's where the muses lead me and who am I to ignore them. Thanks for not giving up on this or me <3

(A trigger warning for grave injuries and mentions of violence)

She couldn't sleep; her eyes wouldn't follow her command of staying closed. Emma couldn't even get her body to listen to her pleas to simply relax. Turning and twisting her limbs into every possible position, her sheets rustled with the movements. The plethora of fear haunted her, uttered whispers of distress into her head and they were all in a very familiar voice.

In the darkness of her room, Emma fumbled around to find her phone that was lying somewhere on her nightstand. As she sensed the device under her fingertips, her hand curled around it and brought it closer. The bright screen informed her that it was 2:09 am. Letting her eyes fall shut, she sighed.

You're imagining things, Emma. Killian's fine. He's at home, above the flower shop, sleeping soundly, maybe even snoring like last time. There's no reason to worry.

Her eyelids opened again and Emma rubbed over her cheek. She clicked the nightlight button, sparking it to life and illuminating the room. Reluctantly, she left her cocoon with the realization that sleep wasn't in the cards for her right now. First, her bare feet hit the cold floor, then her bare legs braced the chilled air, goosebumps following instantaneously. Emma wasn't sure if the cold was the sole to be blamed, however. She grabbed her robe, to protect herself from the cold or maybe to not be confronted with the small shivers afflicting her body.

With the minimal light of her phone's flashlight, Emma maneuvered to her couch, curling herself in it as soon as she reached it. One by one, she pulled her legs close to her chest. Her hands wrapped around her shins and Emma rested her head on her knees. A breath came and left with a lot of dramatics, her chest drastically expanding and deflating because of the air passing through.

"Tobias, am I going crazy?" she said in direction of her cabinet. The living room was still dark but Emma's orientation in her own apartment was impeccable. "Well, I am talking to a cactus, so probably." The huff that came out of her mouth after she answered her own question of sanity was something between amusement and despair. "You should have seen him yesterday. I just– I can't shake the feeling he's going to do something stupid."

Emma, stop it. The lack of sleep is making you paranoid. You have to go to work in the morning. You need to sleep, so no more distractions, no more worrying.

Her internal voice did have a point, taking on the role of voice of reason. She was basing all of this distress on a hunch, a combination of word choice and actions. What if it had just been an inconvenient moment? What if she was just blowing everything out of proportion?

Trying to expel the nerves upsetting her stomach, Emma took a gulp of air and released it again. There was nothing to worry about, absolutely nothing. After repeating that mantra just about fifteen times, her mind started to believe it and her body started to unwind. To keep herself from staying up and scrolling mindlessly through Facebook until the sun decided to color the world again, to force herself to drag her body back to bed and try to get some sleep, Emma put her phone on airplane mode. Shutting it off completely would mean taking the risk of not being woken up by her alarm in the morning but this was the next, best thing.

The bells of her alarm clock sounded extremely loud in the early morning and were violating her sleep. Though her dream had been anything but peaceful; Emma couldn't complain about the interruption. Her face contorted as she thought back to the nature of the dream, to the images that had flashed by during her sleep. Giant hands and blood and an earth-shattering scream. Not a bone in her body that wanted to experience that ever again. Nor in reality, nor in the back of her slumbering mind. Stretching her back and legs, she rolled around in her bed. Her throat tingled with dryness and her eyes stung, the common side effects of sleep. Coffee. Her body screamed for a dose to wake her up.

Emma sighed and lifted herself out of her sheets, her movements slowed down by slugginess and reluctance but countered by the thought of the smell and taste and instant rush of the caffeine. Her bare feet crossed her living room and halted when Emma reached her kitchen. A yawn sneaked up on her and her hand was just too late to cover her mouth. The coffee maker was plugged in and set into motion.

The wait was excruciating, the slow trickle of water mocking her and somehow not advancing at all. Emma stared and her eyes kept falling shut, more slowly and with bigger time intervals, staying closed for a moment before opening anew. At this pace, she would fall asleep again before her coffee was even ready. She needed some sort of encouragement, a distraction, a figurative electric shock to awaken her senses. An idea formed, a plan which required her phone, or more specifically the Spotify playlist she made a few years ago filled with pumped up music.

Emma ran–or staggered–back to her room and yanked the charging cord out, bringing her phone closer. Her thumb swiftly tapped the airplane icon again to let the signals reach her phone again and make Spotify active–no way in hell she was going to pay every month to download songs. She immediately clicked on the familiar icon leading her to the app and waited until her phone had reconnected.

Suddenly, a buzzing sensation traveled from her phone to her hand, and another one, and another one. It was a shock so big and slightly overwhelming that Emma dropped her phone in response. She picked it back up, retrieved in from the fluff carpet it had nestled in and saw the notifications piling up, a constant flux of vibrations and boxes being stacked on each other.

Missed Call: David 2:36

New Voicemail: 2:37

Missed Call: David 2:41

Missed Call: David 2:43

Missed Call: David 3:07

New Voicemail: 3:07

Her breath hitched, got stuck somewhere between her lungs and lips as she read and counted how many times he had called her.

There was nothing to explain the urgency or the need for her. No text message to clarify it all. Something happened must have happened that's what her mind instantly concluded but with whom? With him? Mary Margaret? Baby Elliot? Emma didn't have the patience to call her voicemail, to listen to messages that were running behind on the current circumstances. With lightning speed, she pressed call, the dialer tone taking forever. The nail of her thumb became the victim of her anxiousness, getting bitten down on by her teeth.

"Emma."

She gulped air for the first time in actual minutes it felt when she heard his worried, yet relieved voice. The relief probably had to do with her finally being reachable again, showing a sign of life.

"David. What's wrong?"

Straight to the point, because she was not going to be able to stomach small talk, to let her worry increase even further.

"It's Killian."

Even though she hadn't mentioned him earlier, hadn't added him to the list before, he was always number one. She should have known to follow her gut, to listen to her premonition. It never ever failed her. She should have fucking known.

A certain scent clung to the hospital walls and spread into the halls. It smelled of disinfectant and of sadness somehow. Like if sadness could have a smell, a distinctive odor, it could be found in a hospital. She had always hated it; it never failed to bring a sense of lightheadedness, as if she was about to faint any second. To ensure that didn't happen, Emma had bought a can of Coke, to get her blood racing and her sugar levels spike. Her foot nervously tapped on the floor, a fast tick that surely annoyed the other people occupying a spot in the waiting room, but she couldn't stop. Nor could she stop shaking.

David had explained everything meticulously during their phone call–at least his take on the story and what he knew–and still Emma did not understand. Or could not comprehend, could not wrap her mind around it.

Killian had attempted to break in into Gold's shop.

That, she could process, didn't sound too surprising.

A silent alarm was triggered as he did, summoning Gold to his shop.

Which was logical.

David, already done with his shift at that time, was home, asleep, and got woken up by the same silent alarm Gold received. He dressed as soon as he could and made his way towards Main Street, towards the place of crime. When he entered the pawnshop, David found a bloody and battered Killian, his breathing shallow and wheezing. The floor was enameled with a pattern of crimson droplets and Killian lay in the midst of them, unconscious and cradling his left hand. Gold was nowhere in sight.

That was where Emma's mind refused to come to terms, refused to accept that that was what really happened.

Emma spotted a familiar face, a reassurance in the chaos of white, as he walked past her with a worried look troubling his eyes.

"David!" She jumped up, catching his attention and causing David to turn around again. "Why didn't you come to my apartment and wake me?" she asked when he stood before her.

"Emma, it was a whirlwind," he tried to reason. "I needed to call an ambulance and find Gold first and when I did that, I needed to make sure he didn't try and leave again. Besides, you weren't really the best person to have on this case."

She knew that objectivity was near to impossible for her when she was this involved. In the case, in Killian, and the thing they once shared–possibly still did–but the reason David didn't wake Emma up himself was also the reason he should have.

"But you should have," Emma said. Her hands rubbed over her forehead, fingers eventually ending in her hair as she combed through it. "I mean, he's been here for hours, all alone. He could have died." She moved her weight from one foot to another.

"He didn't, Emma," David reminded her, his voice soft and kind. "Have you seen a doctor yet?"

"No." Her head moved from left to right. "A nurse told me they're still operating."

"Hmmm," David made a sound in thought, his hand settling on her upper arm. "You stay here. I'll take over your shift." Emma felt a small squeeze as he spoke.

There was no way Emma would agree to that, not when she could discern the blue color under his eyes.

"No, David," Emma protested, "You've been up the entire day and night. Go home. Go sleep. I'll just be on call."

David tried to object; she could derive that from the small, discontented sigh he let out and she could see that in the movement of his eyes. To go home, to sleep during such precarious times felt unnatural, it would to her as well. They had to help people, always be on standby; that was what a job as sheriff entailed. David had to be reasonable, however, and understand that she was right. He could rest now, take a step back and let Emma take over, regardless of how emotionally compromised she currently was.

"I'll stop by the station on my way to the loft to put up a sign that we're only handling emergencies today." It was a last attempt to be useful, not wanting to capitulate completely.

Who was she to deny him that?

Emma shaped her lips into a smile. "Thanks, David." It was simultaneously a permission as a genuine sign of gratitude. He was the best colleague and friend anyone could ever wish for.

"Send me a text when he's out, will you?" he requested, making her notice David's affinity towards Killian.

He had said they were friends and maybe Emma was being a bit too self-centered on how this was affecting her, that she forgot that David had to be struggling as well. Even more reason to let him go home.

"I will," Emma reassured, summoning every ounce of sincerity she possessed and inserting it into those two words. Anything to make him catch his sleep quicker and worry less.

She sat back down on the uncomfortable chair, the plastic squeaking in response, and watched David get into the elevator, his departure leaving her alone again with her worry.

Her head rested on her arm, arm on the thin bar of metal of the chair. It was imprinted into her skin, a red line running from her elbow to her upper arm, but she couldn't seem to muster the energy to switch her position.

A white coat appeared in front of her, Emma hurriedly looking up and meeting the eyes of the person approaching. Dr. Whale came closer, a facade of neutrality preventing Emma from reading him, from concluding how it went before Whale even opened his mouth.

"Sheriff," he greeted her with a small nod. Emma practically jumped out of her chair. "We've finished Mr. Jones' operation with success and he's stable again."

Her shoulders sagged in relief, the tension leaving her body in one big swoop.

"Can I see him?" she asked, trying to control her eagerness in front of Whale.

It didn't seem to completely work as Whale slightly narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

"Oh," is his surprised response. "We only allow family into the ICU before visiting hours."

She was barely holding on as it were, barely able to calm herself, waiting even longer would make that impossible. Her mind would conjure images of unrecognizable Killian, the only indication of his identity the color of his empty gaze, and would flash them across her closed eyelids.

"I'm his girlfriend," she blurted out, so adamant on seeing him that she would even admit that there was something going on between them, that Emma's concern went further than just a worried sheriff. Whale almost succeeded in hiding the shock from his face but didn't question her admission.

"Oh," he repeats, the sound even more befuddled than the last. "I wasn't aware. No problem if that's the case. I would like to warn you that it will be a shock to see him."

Dr. Whale lead her through the maze of hospital hallways and hospital rooms until they stood still before a door. Emma felt the doctor scanning her, assessing if she was ready, if she wasn't going to faint or break down and apparently, he was more sure of that than she was.

Even though Whale had warned her, she still felt the tingle through her body as the door opened and revealed Killian. He had a cracked lip, a discoloration on his eye, a gash on his forehead, but the most pronounced thing, the thing that made Emma silently gasp as she covered her mouth was his left hand–or rather the lack of it.

"We tried to salvage his hand but it was completely crushed," Whale explained.

She couldn't seem to be able to stop staring at the white bandage.

"How could that happen?"

"To cause this sort of damage–," Whale gestured to Killian. "–you would have to hit the hand with a very heavy object and multiple times.

Multiple times. And intentional.

"So this couldn't have been accidental," Emma concluded.

While the deduction was mostly meant for herself, Whale still shook his head.

"Definitely not. Someone heinous really must've held a grudge against him."

You could call him that.

"Emma," Whale said, turning towards her and surprising her with the use of her first name. "He's going to be fine. He'll have to do a lot of adjusting as can be expected with the loss of such a vital limb. It will take a while for his face to heal and his bruises to disappear, but besides that, he will survive."

"Thanks." It came out mumbled and despondent. Emma wasn't doubting his survival; it was his mental state she was worried about.

Whale must have realized that as well as his hand squeezed her shoulder in one final act of consolation before he left the room, before he left her alone with him.

"Let one of the nurses know if you need anything."

I just need him to wake up and really be okay.

There were about three instances where Killian began to stir and his face contorted and Emma prepared herself for his rousing, sitting straight and leaning towards him, only to be disappointed when his eyes stayed closed and his body turned limp again.

She attempted to make the wait less excruciating and more bearable; Emma played games on her phone, texted with David and Mary Margaret, scrolled through Facebook and watched a couple of videos. She had to tell Leroy that a lost axe was not an emergency and that he shouldn't bother her if he hadn't exactly that. He had rumbled a grumpy reply and had ended the call.

Because of the lack of change or progress in the last hour or so, and the abundance of hungry outcries her breakfast-and-lunch-void stomach was making, Emma decided to check out the hospital cafeteria for some bad to mediocre coffee and maybe some pastries. Who was she kidding: a lot of pastries.

Choosing a table in the corner, right by the window and far away from the bustle, Emma sat down. She did some contemplating, her hands curled around the steaming cup of coffee. She thought of the last twenty-four hours, of the last few months. Of all that had happened, of how her life had been a rollercoaster. The fear, the heartbreak, frustration, and anger but, above all, the love. The nail of her index dented the soft cardboard of the cup.

You love him.

Yeah… she did.

The feeling had been lingering around her for most of the time they spent together, approaching with every smile, every flower, every kiss. It had nearly taken over her entire body, settled into her mind and heart when Killian had forced her to pull up her walls again, denying it access. It had somehow managed to creep up on her anew, only becoming clear as she faced losing him, as she came this close to not having him around anymore. Distress revealed important things sometimes.

Not knowing what to do with all of this newly acquired knowledge, Emma sighed and stood up. She threw her wrappers in the trash and made her way to the elevator. Her finger pressed the button, sparking a little light, and she waited, teeth nervously nibbling on her lip

The elevator doors opened after notifying Emma that she had arrived at her destination. Rubbing her hand over her face, she got out. She felt tired. Both mentally and physically and both could be blamed on the man lying unconscious in the hospital bed three doors down. She took a moment to gather her courage again, to prepare herself for the upsetting sight she still hadn't grown used to.

The room looked exactly like she had left it–bed in the middle, two chairs on the side, a small table, lots of wires and machines–with the exception of a now awoken Killian Jones.

She couldn't've been gone that long, could she? For him to wake up and to calmly and lucidly be staring at his left arm.

Emma closed the door, causing Killian to look up at her. His eyes were empty of emotion; no tears, no anger, no pain and it only reaffirmed her worry about his mental state.

There was silence, a long, outstretched, awkward silence. It was Emma's fault because she couldn't think of anything to say, couldn't open her mouth and let out a word. And Killian just watched her.

Say something, Emma. Anything.

"Hi."

Killian cleared his throat and swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Hello," he rasped.

The sound instantly made Emma search for a remedy of his discomfort and she found one, a bottle of water and a plastic cup on the small, wooden table. The water was poured into the cup, the cup was handed to Killian, who had a look of relief written all over his face.

"Thank you," he said, the sound less raspy than before.

"Don't mention it."

Emma sat down on the chair next to his bed, clasping her hands together and rubbing her thumb over the surface of her palm.

"How long have you been awake?"

Or how long ago did he discover his left hand was gone.

"About half an hour."

She nodded in understanding.

"How long have you been here?" he asked in return.

"Since this morning so about eight or nine hours."

Killian didn't reply and Emma didn't know if she should continue to carry the conversation or if she should just let it die down, if that was what he needed; peace and quiet to let him absorb everything.

Her eyes roamed the room, painfully aware of the tension and avoiding him, his eyes, his bruises, his stump, with determination.

"Go ahead," Killian suddenly spoke up, forcing her eyes to stop darting around and settle on him again.

"What?"

Emma assumed that she looked startled and confused, eyes wide and eyebrows creased. Did she miss something while being so focused on evading more awkwardness and speechlessness?

"Scream, shout, do whatever you'd like." It was hopeless, careless and yet again Emma would give everything to know what was going on in his mind; she simply wanted to understand.

"I'm not going to yell at you, Killian." She sounded a bit indignant at his suggestion that he would think she was capable of yelling at him in the situation he was currently in.

"Emma," and Killian seemed to share her exasperation. "you have every right to. I know you're angry and feel like venting. So vent."

He was right. The anger lay under a layer of worry but now that he was okay, he was doing as good as he could in this situation, the layer was thinning, only a fine sheet, fragile and breakable.

Her eyes stared at him, a harsh gaze without any blinks. She licked her lips and pressed them together so hard that her tongue picked up the iron taste of blood that came out of the dents her teeth created. Her view became dark as she closed her eyes and attempted to control her breathing. It didn't help, however. Emma felt layer crack, felt it break under the weight.

"You are a fucking idiot, Killian Jones." Her lips barely moved as she whispered the words while shaking her head.

Her voice slightly rose with her next words but never passed a normal conversational tone. He wanted her to yell, to scream in outrage and lose control but she was not going to, because she knew the words would carry more of her sincerity, of her disapproval this way. Killian knew too.

"You could've gotten yourself killed and you are so lucky David found you in time. You promised me you wouldn't do fucking shit like this and scare the hell out of me."

He didn't answer for a while, settled for watching her with attentive eyes. He waited until she calmed down, until breathing came less in spasms.

"If it makes you feel better, I've paid a price for my mistake."

By shaking it, he pulled her attention towards the bandaged stump.

"Don't, alright?" she bit and a warning finger got pointed his way. A shiver traveled through her body and Emma knew what this meant. Sure enough, the water started gathering at the ridges of her eyes. Tears of fear. Tears because and for him.

"Don't make jokes about that. Nothing about this is funny. I can't even trust you anymore, Killian. Do you even know what you put me through?" Emma clenched her teeth, trying to stop the flood but it was in vain. The tears quickly multiplied and ran in great numbers down her cheeks as she thought not only of the stint that had landed him here but of everything he had done. "I thought you were gone for good, that I'd lost you like everyone else," she admitted, her voice unsteady.

"I'm sorry, Emma." And it seemed like the guilt was too much to bear in that moment, like he couldn't face her because he was ashamed and that was why he closed his eyes.

Emma roughly wiped her tears away and averted her gaze.

"So am I."

She didn't want to dwell in this mix of anger and fear, not while he was okay and alive but it was proving to be a challenge to extinguish the fire, to assuage the distress raging inside.

"I'm going out for some air," she announced, standing up immediately and not even staying long enough to let him respond.

The automatic doors rolled open for her, granting her access to leave the hospital, and the cold air immediately hit her skin. The sky was slowly turning dark, a last color burst of purple and orange and pink being painted before Emma's very eyes. A small stone bench stood not far from the entrance and she sat down, crossing her legs under her body and resting her hands on her knees. Her eyelids closed as Emma focused on her breathing again. In and out. Let the panic out and the calm in. Let the racing thoughts out and the silence in.

It helped.

How much time passed before it helped, Emma wasn't sure, but at least it did.

The sun had completely set by the time she felt ready, the streetlights buzzing to make up for the lost light, but Emma didn't immediately return inside; she didn't rush to rejoin Killian. There was something else she needed to do first.

She stood up, stretching her legs. Her hand dove into her pocket, in search of her phone and when she found it she dialed David's number. He had asked for an update of how his friend was doing and Emma owed it to him.

Emma lightly maundered across the concrete while listening to sounds her phone was emitting. The call went straight to voicemail, something that Emma knew was Mary Margaret's doing. It was a reassuring thing, knowing that David had her to take care of him, to make sure he rested.

"Hi, David, it's me." She cleared her throat to get rid of the last remnants of the discussion with Killian. "Killian is awake." It was the first thing she said, the most important thing he needed to know. "Umm... he's doing good, considering the situation. Too good if you ask me." Her hand gently untangled her hair. "He was only awake for an hour when we already fought, but I think that I just really needed to get some stuff off my chest and he really needed the wake-up call. I'm outside right now to give us both some space and I'm planning to return in a bit. I'm probably going to stay at the hospital for the night as well. He needs someone to be with him and support him, I think. Umm… I'll take the early shift tomorrow, as usual, so definitely don't worry about that and don't worry about Killian either; he's in good hands. Yeah… I think that's it. Give Elliot and Mary Margaret a kiss from me and I'll see you tomorrow. Bye."

Emma quietly slipped back in the room, taking notice of the dimmed lights and closed curtains. As soundlessly as she could, Emma took off her jacket and sat back in the chair.

"You came back," he said, voice somewhere between a whisper and a breath. Emma startled as she thought he was asleep.

"I did."

Her words came out as quiet as his question but lacked the wonder his carried.

"What time is it?" Killian asked, eyelids still hiding his cyan irises.

Retrieving the device from her pocket, she clicked it to life again.

"It's… 9 pm," she answered.

"Are you allowed to stay here this late?"

"Um…" Secretly, she was hoping that he wouldn't ask about that, especially since they had already covered so many emotions today and how exactly was she going to explain this without creating more confusion? "Family is, and seeing that I told Whale I'm your girlfriend, I don't think he'll make a problem of it."

She should've been deaf or blind not to notice the sudden spike in Killian's heart monitor.

"Oh," was his simple reply.

He clearly had no idea if she meant it or if it was just a cover to get to him; if that was what she wanted or only a temporary thing.

Emma didn't know either, if she was being honest.

"Thank you, Swan."

"For what?" she asked, genuinely unaware of what he was referring to.

"For lying to Whale." Their eyes met. "For being here." And for the first time in twenty-four hours, Emma knew what he was thinking, knew that what he was expressing was what he truly felt inside. The look on his face was so sincere that it slightly took her breath away and that she sensed the familiar chills run over her skin.

They would be alright.

"Don't mention it." The corner of her lips gently went up. "Do you want me to stay the night?"

It was his decision, completely his to take; she would adjust herself to his needs, to what was best for him.

"Where would you sleep?" Killian replied to her question with one of his own. He attempted to lift his head to scan the room for any possibility of accommodation and Emma could see the strain in his neck, the effort it was taking to such a simple thing after such a complicated surgery and such an eventful day.

"In a chair." Her shoulders slightly went up. "It wouldn't be the first time."

Back in the day, when Neal was still her great and eternal love, they made it a sport to sleep in unusual spots, in places that seemed completely inept to slumber at first sight but they made something of it. They were good at that, self-sufficiency and ingenuity.

There still had been no actual answer to what she needed to know, so Emma tilted her head and lightly raised her eyebrows, repeating the question without any words. Even in the dimmed light, she could see the tips of his ears redden as he admitted his preference.

"I'd like that."

Her lips curled as she witnessed the return of bashful Killian and the familiarity of it felt like a warm embrace.

"Okay."

At first, she tried to fight the sleep, startling awake each time she realized her eyelids started slowly dropping. Emma tried to keep her them open, tried to be what he needed, someone to watch over him, someone to protect him, to soothe him but.

I can think of a word that describes all of that.

"Emma," Killian said softly, his voice a whisper of reassurance. "Close your eyes, love, I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

Emma nuzzled further into the small, white pillow, sighing with relaxation as she did.

"You better not," was mumbled right before the familiar lull took over and gently put her to sleep.

A/N: This is the penultimate chapter so we are very close to the end. I'd love to hear what you thought of this

[stupidpianist]

2 november 2018

05:30: Oh Christ almighty I’m awake but I want to be able to fall back sleep for a bit, I don’t have to leave for another hour, but now that I’m conscious, and I’m conscious of needing to take this GRE, my adrenaline is going haywire, and I’m sort of just flopping around in bed like a beached dolphin. Went to bed way too late to be responsible, and I’m totally not hungover or anything, so not hungover, there’s no sarcasm here, you must look: elsewhere, for the SARCASM. Okay okay do I get up?

06:02: Still in bed. Trying to “allocate system resources” so that I can leave bed. Feeling extreme sense of dread regarding my personal future, trying to remind myself, “it’s just the cortisol, it’ll even out, don’t worry, it’s just the cortisol.” Repeating that in my head. It’s working, a little, maybe? This has been happening most mornings for weeks now, just a really “pervasive sense of dread,” just worrying both over things I have no control over, and over things that I have control over but just haven’t done. Shouldn’t be dwelling on this, should just be focused on making incremental, concrete changes in how I’m living life, not. Not just, like, feeling sorry and afraid over myself.

06:10: Feeling slow resurgence of self confidence. Or, no, that’s not the right word, that’s the wrong terminology, it’s not like, I mean, I’m pretty self confident, never had “self confidence issues,” more like, just “overly anxious over things I shouldn’t be overly anxious over.” Debating, in my head, whether or not I should take public transit to the test centre… It’s all the way west on the island, and it’ll take like an hour and a half via subway and bus… I mean, no, here’s what I’ll do, I’ll splurge, I’ll take an Uber there, because the last thing I want right now is to just enter a terrible headspace by immediately heading to a subway station while it’s raining outside (DID I FORGET TO TELL YOU? yeah it’s REALLY RAINING outside, like HEAVILY) and then sitting on a train all wet and then switching to a bus and then riding a bus through the black of Montreal winter mornings and then sitting in a windowless room staring at a screen for four hours taking an exam.

Yeah, okay, deciding, definitively, to take Uber there. Will be relaxing, one of my favourite activities, barring when I’m feel nauseous, is just sitting in the backseat of a car, not shotgun, and listening to music and staring out the window. It’s really relaxing and puts me in a nice and contemplative mood. Same goes for subways, just, not, like, when it’s six in the morning, on little sleep, you know?

06:14: Brushed teeth, put on bunny sweater for “comfort and protection,” put on corduroy pants, put on boots, put on “puffy white jacket.” Going to walk across the street to the grocery to buy something caffeinated, and “test day snacks,” probably some granola bars, or something. Sensing myself growing increasingly determined, in a way I always get when I’m about to do something I know I’m not exactly ready for, feels like a dramatic scene in a movie right before the big climax before denouement. Putting on a “Let’s Get Down to Business” vibe.

06:20: Got Monster “lo-carb” energy drink, box of granola bars. Calling Uber with phone now, standing under the roof thing of my apartment building. It’s so black out it could be any time between 18h and 19h, I forgot just how little sunlight there is during the winter. Always thought I had, like, reverse seasonal affective disorder. Have I talked about this before on here? Well, if I have, get ready to hear about it again, you maniacs. Like, usually, during the summer, I’m feeling pretty down all the time, and during the winter my mood improves dramatically, but this could be circumstantial? Usually during the summer I’m away from people I want to be around, and feeling like I’m wasting a lot of time? Maybe that’s it, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the seasons? In any case, feel like the sun doesn’t really have much an effect on my emotional state, even though I do like using those therapy lights. Those are cool. Very fun. Heheh.

06:23: Chugged can of Monster and ate one bar. Somehow already got an Uber within three minutes of requesting a ride, seems egregious at this hour and at my location? Sitting in backseat. Quite comfy, it’s a Volkswagen of some sort, I forget the model, pretty sure it’s a Golf just from how it looks. Driver has the radio tuned to 96.9, French language “contemporary hits” radio station, is not engaging in conversation, thank god. I’m putting on album Lifa by band Heilung, one of my favourite albums ever, this Nordic experimental folk band, and, like, closing my eyes, and am doing, like, “meditation-related” things, like breathing in slowly and breathing out even slower. Feeling extremely comfy, really comfy, and sort of wishing this ride last longer than the estimated forty-five minutes, it’s really peaceful, just staring out of the window at everything passing, city lights, other cars, etc. etc., and the rain that’s dampening everything. Reminds me of Burial’s music, as always.

06:50: Nearing the test centre. I’m there early, only need to be there by 7h30, but I guess the earlier the safer?? Finding myself appreciating this car ride, feeling like I’m “sinking into the seat” and just “taking the world in,” appreciating all that I have in my life right now and the people in my life. Caffeine from Monster seems to have done minimal, really not feeling much of a “kick,” but I guess that makes sense? Hard to counteract that little sleep, combined with hangover. Thinking over the minimal preparations I’ve done for this exam, and, like, not kicking myself, because “what’s done is done,” but still feeling confident? Always have had a “knack” for standardized testing, it’s sort of fun, like, feels like a game, maneuvering around answers you can tell the test makers put in to “trip you up”?? Or, when you get “in the zone” and you get hyper focused on the questions, and you start “tearing them up,” just “ripping through them.” Getting to that point is fun, yeah, yeah.

07:06: Arrived. Test centre is in an office building in part of a strip mall, in an area that seems like it’s all a bunch of strip malls interconnected by roads and parking lots in a complex-esque thing. I’m doing a terrible job of describing it, and I didn’t take a photo, but I’m sure you know what I mean, just an area of a bunch of retail shops and fast food eateries and chain restaurants?? Feeling memories of taking SAT and ACT exams, noticing differences between going to a “testing centre” and going to a high school, like for the SAT/ACT.

07:15: Waiting on the floor of the testing centre. There’s one other guy here too, briefly spoke to him casually while taking a granola bar “to the face.” He seems really nervous, is sighing a lot and just generally looks uncomfortable. Feeling pretty excited and unanxious myself, reading from Disaster Artist while waiting for test centre to open. This office building is particularly depressing, like, almost cliche in its “office-ness”... I guess most office buildings are like this, it’s hard to inspire creativity or foster it when you have to build up office buildings everywhere, seems like they’d all have to, for practicality’s sake, follow more or less the exact same layout. Jesus now this is depressing me even more. Going to stop thinking about this.

07:30: Inside test room. I guess because it’s a computer exam, there is no set start time for everyone to begin simultaneously?? Wow I’m an idiot, that’s what I assumed by the registration saying the test would start at 08:30. No, the receptionist is like, “as soon as you fill out these forms you can get started.” Okay, okay, signing my name and putting my bag in a locker. Feels almost like I’m about to go through airport security, on the form it’s like “you have to empty all your pockets and lift your pants above your ankles and we’re gonna scan you for metal with a wand and you have to take off your glasses so we can inspect there’s no recording devices on them.” Sure sure sure, yeah, whatever you like is fine, I’m about to crush this test, let’s get this over with, yada yada yada

11:44: Jesus Christ it’s over, it’s all over, we did it, people, we did it!! WE DID IT!!! IT’S OVER!!!! Hey you want to hear the good news first, or the BETTER NEWS FIRST???? Here’s what I’m going to do, first I’m going to hit you with the GOOD news: your boy here scored well!! NO I’m not gonna share it publicly you silly goose but let me tell ya to your FACE--NICE. It was NICE. I’m proud of what I got, especially given the circumstances. You know the BETTER news??? BOUT TO RIDE THE BUS AND METRO HOME AND NAP THE HECK OUT OF A FEW HOURS. Gotta make up some of this SLEEP DEBT, gotta sleep really HARD.

It stopped raining too, I’m bout to hop on this shuttle bus, I’ll see you later. Jk, that’s a quotation from a standup bit by Hannibal Buress. Lookie here, guys, it’s a forty minute bus ride, and another forty minute metro ride, and then a ten minute walk, and then I strip my disgusting clothes off and I slam my head into the pillow and I close my eyes real good. Close em real nice, real nice closing of the eyes.

Really grateful I somehow did well, if I did poorly it would’ve been such a shot to both my overall mental state right now, and my confidence in my own abilities as like a thinking, reasoning being. I know the idiocy of standardized testing, but it feels good knowing that, despite unideal circumstances, I was still able to perform well on mathematical and verbal reasoning tasks.

Going to switch from Heilung to something more upbeat, maybe some Ghost, maybe some Clarence Clarity, for this ride back. Glad I can also “celebrate” via hanging out w/ A, if I did poorly on this exam I also would feel guilty or just generally be in a less-than-gregarious mood, glad that I’ll be able to “enjoy this fully.”

Feel like doing something crazy with the keyboard, here goes nothing, eal;kjfiweoiriskljfdkldfkdfdklfvc. jkdfgjklfgdkjlgkjgkjgkjgfkjgfkweiroqiqwwpeowqen qqmmciieieiieroeioqwqpoqoiwqpoiwqpwe

hahahahah

13:21: Back in “home sweet home,” thinking, “home, home sweet home, sweetie pie home.” It smells better than I remember?? Who did this, who came in here and sprayed stuff, what have you done? I do not, I don’t deserve this, these “good scents,” in my place of rest…

Going to take pants off and crawl right the heck under my sheets, maybe watch a YouTube video or two to “unwind” and then drift off to sandman village. Setting alarm for 16h30, that should give me enough time to still be productive before hangout?? Have been, throughout my life, a chronically bad napper, but this time feels different. Got all the checkmarks, did well on the exam, barely got any sleep, still hungover, caffeine wearing off even if I didn’t feel it in the first place. Seems like everything “in place” for a real good “sleep session.”

16:14: “Ouuauughhgh” is what it sounds like my head is going right now, or, like, “oouuauuUUUGAUAAUUUGHHHHH,” yeah, YEAH, that’s more like it. Man I slept SO GOOD, can’t remember ANY of my dreams, even though usually when I nap I have really, really vivid nightmares that I’m able to remember for a LONG TIME afterwards. Mouth has a funny taste in it, the way it often does after napping. Why does this only happen after napping, and not after sleeping a longer period of time?? Does keeping your mouth open longer do something to the quality of your breath?? I’m confused, but at least it’s not as bad as, like, when you drink milk right before napping, that’s, that’s the worst. Always hate having morning breath, I don’t mind when other people have it, but if I have it I can’t focus on anything until I brush it out, then I can, like, do something like return to sleep more, but once I’m up, if I realize that I have bad morning breath that day, nOPE, gotta take care of that crap.

Going to head to the practice rooms now and see how much I can get done before 20h. Unsure if I’m going to be updating past this point, seems “dubious.”

Renewed sense of self worth after taking that exam, I think. I know it’s so arbitrary, and probably dangerous to feel such a renewed sense of self after something as ridiculous as a standardized test, but, like, I don’t know… Felt such severe self doubt of late that it’s good to at least be reaffirmed that I can, like, answer objective questions correctly. That’s a start, right? Maybe it will carry over to the practice rooms??

[jesseneufeld]

Feeling Happy and Healthy, Medication-Free

It’s Monday, everyone! And that means another Primal Blueprint Real Life Story from a Mark’s Daily Apple reader. If you have your own success story and would like to share it with me and the Mark’s Daily Apple community please contact me here. I’ll continue to publish these each Monday as long as they keep coming in. Thank you for reading!

Folks, I have been grateful for every story that has come my way over the years. It’s an incredible privilege being on the receiving end of your reflections and evolutions, and they are why I’ve kept at it all these years—knowing the message and information have made a difference in people’s lives. I appreciate every single one. I’ll add that today’s has inspired me on a new level. It’s a powerful narrative and huge testament to the impact of diet and lifestyle on our mental well-being. Thank you to reader, Megan, for sharing her strength, tenacity and hope with others today. 

Hi everyone. Mark recently requested success stories and work-in-progress stories. I’ve been meaning to write for a while, and took that to be my personal kick in the butt. I am a work-in-progress story. I was waiting until I was a success story, but as you will see even though my journey isn’t complete, I already am a success story. I have found inspiration from other stories, even the work-in-progress and failure stories; it is good to see that imperfections exist, and it is ok to fail. I can only hope to inspire others. Because, my story is one of hope—hope for myself and hope for others like me.

I had a difficult upbringing with a mother who had an undiagnosed and unmedicated mental illness. She tried the best she could to be a mother, but she was overly critical toward me and even competitive with me. I would hide in the outdoors, books and food. Secretly eating a bag of cookies by myself or hiding Halloween candy that I would binge off of when she wasn’t looking. I lived solely off macaroni and cheese for dinner (yes, every night) for about a year and a half in fourth and fifth grade until I suddenly couldn’t stomach the smell anymore (At 40, I still can’t to this day). Friends in middle school and high school thought it was amusing how hyper I would get from sugar and would feed me pixie sticks and other candies on purpose. You would think that I was extremely overweight with these eating habits, but I was active as a child through high school (marching band, track, hiking, cycling) and looked every bit the “normal kid,” albeit an emotionally scarred one; I was happy and bubbly on the exterior but falling apart inside. I was regularly sick with sinus infections or bronchitis. When I hit puberty, my mother’s criticism’s turned to fat shaming me even though I was actually technically underweight. I refused to eat healthy foods as a way to rebel against my mom. I excelled in school and read more books than ever as a way to escape.

I started to exhibit signs of a mood disorder when I was in high school with extreme bouts of depression and some episodes of rage, typically around “that time of the month.” The beginnings of grandiose ideas also manifested, on occasion. The depression was severe enough for me to have suicidal ideations, but no actual attempts. The depressive lows continued into college, but then the highs started to come. I would not be able to sleep until 3 or 4 in the morning and then wake up ready to go at 6 am for days on end. Then I would crash and swing back to extreme lows and want to sleep for hours. I didn’t realize anything was wrong until I went to the health fair at school. On a whim I filled out a “how are you feeling questionnaire.” I checked off a few boxes, handed it over and thought nothing of it. I was so used to feeling the mood swings; including extreme depression that I thought that feeling that way was “normal.” The staff at the tent looked over the results and was so concerned that they would not let me leave. They walked me right over to the mental health clinic to get checked out. That fall (2000), I was diagnosed with Bipolar I. Around the same time I also was diagnosed with an underactive thyroid and began thyroid hormone support.

Enter a series of different cocktails of psychiatric medications. My weight yo-yo’d along with all the side effects of the various medications (mood stabilizers, anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, benzodiazepines). I continued to have all the classic symptoms of Bipolar I, grandiose ideas, paranoia, severe depression, anxiety. I wouldn’t allow myself to have a credit card because I couldn’t trust that I wouldn’t spend the whole thing in a matter of a couple of months. I made one major attempt to take my life by intentionally overdosing on about 40 slow-release lithium tablets (please do not try this; after dialysis I am lucky to be alive and not a vegetable). I was also hospitalized on several occasions for short inpatient psychiatric treatment stays. I didn’t have many friends because I wasn’t stable enough to be a reliable friend. People didn’t know how to behave around me and treated me differently, like someone who needed extra care instead of just like anyone else. I went through various cocktails of medications and found I responded better to the older, but that I was never truly “stable.” I tell this part of my life story not to shock, but to say that there is hope for healing. I want to show how far I have come and how far it is possible for others to go by adopting the Primal Blueprint. Photo: me in 2007 after several years of medication.

I went back and forth with running over the years as a way to lose the weight that the medications put on. Running also became an addiction and a meditation for me; a different way to escape reality. Add in my rescue border collie to run with, and I was in heaven. Running with her was my happy place. It saw me through broken friendships, a divorce and meeting the incredibly supportive and loving husband I have been with for the past 10 years. On the first date I told him my diagnosis, and he said “ok, let’s do this.” My friends told me I was crazy to tell him. I guess they didn’t know my diagnosis…. Photo: happy wedding day. (Me in 2013.)

Without realizing it, running made me sick with more inflammation. I ran six half marathons and one full marathon before quitting due to severe tendonitis in one ankle. At this point I was frustrated. I had been heavily medicated for over 15 years and never really felt well; I felt like I was hiding behind a veil and not letting people see my true self. I started doing research on scholarly articles for how gluten and casein could play a role in exacerbating mood disorders. I decided to eliminate gluten from my diet. Within a week my husband asked where my stomach had gone. I had been so bloated for as long as I could remember that I thought it was normal.

Nursing my ankle back to health and still feeling frustrated, I continued with my research and somehow stumbled on Mark’s Daily Apple in early 2016. AND IT ALL CLICKED. The pieces of the puzzle finally came together. The health and environmental impacts of following the PB made complete sense and I was all in. I was already GF, but I started adopting more of the PB principles. We bought organic grass-fed meats from the local farm, ate organic veggies. I ditched process foods and sugar. I stopped drinking caffeine. I identified that gluten, caffeine and sugar gave me anxiety, and that dairy gave me depression. I eventually also ditched alcohol, which I realized also caused depression and sleep disturbances. I went from brittle nails to being irritated with how often I had to trim them. The extra 25 pounds slowly fell off over the next year and a half. I was on the lowest maintenance doses of my medications ever. My period was normal for the first time in my life ever, regular and with no PMS.

This is me on vacation in St. Croix in 2017 – I’m at my healthiest ever but still medicated.

I was doing kundalini yoga at the time and without realizing the power of the practice, I put myself into a manic state. Despite my pleas not to, I finally agreed with the psychiatrist to go back on Zyprexa. This medication destroyed my gut microbiome I had worked so hard to repair, and I gained 20 pounds back in a matter of two months. Once I was off the Zyprexa, I continued to eat Primally, but not as well as I had been. My psychiatrist is thankfully one who is a bit more progressive than most. He listened to me tell him that I felt like I was pinging back and forth on low doses of mood stabilizers to anti-depressants. He decided to take me off medication and see what happens. After 17 years of psychiatric medications, I took my last dose Thanksgiving of 2017. If that isn’t a success story, then I don’t know what is.

A year and a half later, I am still struggling to lose the weight, and have my periods back to normal. I struggle with sleep on a regular basis. I am working with a naturopath to identify supplements that support the methylation pathway issues we identified, and sleep is slowly normalizing. But I am still off psychiatric medication and my thyroid hormone medication dose has slowly been lowered by a third of what it was two years ago. I have had no paranoia, and no mania. I have not been hospitalized in almost three years. I have had only minor bouts of depression, mostly associated with hormones.

I can’t do the 80/20 rule like most folks can and am much closer to a 100% rule. That works for me, but doesn’t work for everyone. I do not eat gluten, except for maybe one special “treat” while on vacation once or twice a year. I do not eat dairy. I meditate and practice mindfulness and compassion. I do yoga, hike, walk, play with my dogs, and do body weight exercises when I am up for them. I use a kettlebell for my sprints once every week or two. I run a 5k once a month to get my running in but won’t allow myself to do more than that. I have embraced minimalist shoes 100% of the time, if I am not allowed to be barefoot (happy ankles and feet again). I have slowly been reducing my need for glasses for myopia. I began removing environmental toxins from my life years before I discovered the PB. Allergies are less severe and I have much less frequent sinus infections, and, when I get them I recover much quicker. So, while I feel like I am struggling to get back to where I was and feeling really frustrated, I have to remind myself that I already am a success story. My psychiatrist now jokes that I am a boring person for him and has discussed discharging me. He asked what I think precipitated the illness. I really don’t know the answer, but my guess is an unchecked thyroid condition (my antibodies were negative the one time I checked, so I don’t know if I have an autoimmune condition), a really bad diet, emotional trauma as a child and extreme stress. I don’t know the answer, but I guess it doesn’t really matter because I have a way to manage my symptoms.

This is me in the early morning after hiking to the top of Moro Rock in Sequoia NP in 2018. Feeling healthy and happy being medication free! Mark, my husband, my dogs, my family, my friends and I thank you for saving my life. My psychiatrist told me several years ago that of all the people he treats with Bipolar I, only about 25% are able to function in society (complete college and hold a successful and functional place in the career world/society). Statistics indicate that I would have eventually either taken my life or the psychiatric medications would have done it for me. Thank you again for saving my life and giving hope to others. I’ve often been told that I am strong to have been through so much and made it this far. My husband tells me how much he admires that I get up and face the world every day even though all I want to do is curl up with the dogs and a book in bed. He asked if I was scared what people might say if they found my story. It doesn’t matter. I’ve found that people are too quick to dismiss me because of a label. I’m sick of being a label and an outcast. If my story is out there and can help one person, then I feel fulfilled. Because maybe someone else is out there looking for another way, but they can’t find it because someone didn’t speak up to tell them that there might be. I really appreciate you giving me a way to take back control of my life. Thank you for giving me the means to help myself. Hopefully my story can provide help and hope for others.

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The post Feeling Happy and Healthy, Medication-Free appeared first on Mark's Daily Apple.

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[lauramalchowblog]

Feeling Happy and Healthy, Medication-Free

It’s Monday, everyone! And that means another Primal Blueprint Real Life Story from a Mark’s Daily Apple reader. If you have your own success story and would like to share it with me and the Mark’s Daily Apple community please contact me here. I’ll continue to publish these each Monday as long as they keep coming in. Thank you for reading!

Folks, I have been grateful for every story that has come my way over the years. It’s an incredible privilege being on the receiving end of your reflections and evolutions, and they are why I’ve kept at it all these years—knowing the message and information have made a difference in people’s lives. I appreciate every single one. I’ll add that today’s has inspired me on a new level. It’s a powerful narrative and huge testament to the impact of diet and lifestyle on our mental well-being. Thank you to reader, Megan, for sharing her strength, tenacity and hope with others today. 

Hi everyone. Mark recently requested success stories and work-in-progress stories. I’ve been meaning to write for a while, and took that to be my personal kick in the butt. I am a work-in-progress story. I was waiting until I was a success story, but as you will see even though my journey isn’t complete, I already am a success story. I have found inspiration from other stories, even the work-in-progress and failure stories; it is good to see that imperfections exist, and it is ok to fail. I can only hope to inspire others. Because, my story is one of hope—hope for myself and hope for others like me.

I had a difficult upbringing with a mother who had an undiagnosed and unmedicated mental illness. She tried the best she could to be a mother, but she was overly critical toward me and even competitive with me. I would hide in the outdoors, books and food. Secretly eating a bag of cookies by myself or hiding Halloween candy that I would binge off of when she wasn’t looking. I lived solely off macaroni and cheese for dinner (yes, every night) for about a year and a half in fourth and fifth grade until I suddenly couldn’t stomach the smell anymore (At 40, I still can’t to this day). Friends in middle school and high school thought it was amusing how hyper I would get from sugar and would feed me pixie sticks and other candies on purpose. You would think that I was extremely overweight with these eating habits, but I was active as a child through high school (marching band, track, hiking, cycling) and looked every bit the “normal kid,” albeit an emotionally scarred one; I was happy and bubbly on the exterior but falling apart inside. I was regularly sick with sinus infections or bronchitis. When I hit puberty, my mother’s criticism’s turned to fat shaming me even though I was actually technically underweight. I refused to eat healthy foods as a way to rebel against my mom. I excelled in school and read more books than ever as a way to escape.

I started to exhibit signs of a mood disorder when I was in high school with extreme bouts of depression and some episodes of rage, typically around “that time of the month.” The beginnings of grandiose ideas also manifested, on occasion. The depression was severe enough for me to have suicidal ideations, but no actual attempts. The depressive lows continued into college, but then the highs started to come. I would not be able to sleep until 3 or 4 in the morning and then wake up ready to go at 6 am for days on end. Then I would crash and swing back to extreme lows and want to sleep for hours. I didn’t realize anything was wrong until I went to the health fair at school. On a whim I filled out a “how are you feeling questionnaire.” I checked off a few boxes, handed it over and thought nothing of it. I was so used to feeling the mood swings; including extreme depression that I thought that feeling that way was “normal.” The staff at the tent looked over the results and was so concerned that they would not let me leave. They walked me right over to the mental health clinic to get checked out. That fall (2000), I was diagnosed with Bipolar I. Around the same time I also was diagnosed with an underactive thyroid and began thyroid hormone support.

Enter a series of different cocktails of psychiatric medications. My weight yo-yo’d along with all the side effects of the various medications (mood stabilizers, anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, benzodiazepines). I continued to have all the classic symptoms of Bipolar I, grandiose ideas, paranoia, severe depression, anxiety. I wouldn’t allow myself to have a credit card because I couldn’t trust that I wouldn’t spend the whole thing in a matter of a couple of months. I made one major attempt to take my life by intentionally overdosing on about 40 slow-release lithium tablets (please do not try this; after dialysis I am lucky to be alive and not a vegetable). I was also hospitalized on several occasions for short inpatient psychiatric treatment stays. I didn’t have many friends because I wasn’t stable enough to be a reliable friend. People didn’t know how to behave around me and treated me differently, like someone who needed extra care instead of just like anyone else. I went through various cocktails of medications and found I responded better to the older, but that I was never truly “stable.” I tell this part of my life story not to shock, but to say that there is hope for healing. I want to show how far I have come and how far it is possible for others to go by adopting the Primal Blueprint. Photo: me in 2007 after several years of medication.

I went back and forth with running over the years as a way to lose the weight that the medications put on. Running also became an addiction and a meditation for me; a different way to escape reality. Add in my rescue border collie to run with, and I was in heaven. Running with her was my happy place. It saw me through broken friendships, a divorce and meeting the incredibly supportive and loving husband I have been with for the past 10 years. On the first date I told him my diagnosis, and he said “ok, let’s do this.” My friends told me I was crazy to tell him. I guess they didn’t know my diagnosis…. Photo: happy wedding day. (Me in 2013.)

Without realizing it, running made me sick with more inflammation. I ran six half marathons and one full marathon before quitting due to severe tendonitis in one ankle. At this point I was frustrated. I had been heavily medicated for over 15 years and never really felt well; I felt like I was hiding behind a veil and not letting people see my true self. I started doing research on scholarly articles for how gluten and casein could play a role in exacerbating mood disorders. I decided to eliminate gluten from my diet. Within a week my husband asked where my stomach had gone. I had been so bloated for as long as I could remember that I thought it was normal.

Nursing my ankle back to health and still feeling frustrated, I continued with my research and somehow stumbled on Mark’s Daily Apple in early 2016. AND IT ALL CLICKED. The pieces of the puzzle finally came together. The health and environmental impacts of following the PB made complete sense and I was all in. I was already GF, but I started adopting more of the PB principles. We bought organic grass-fed meats from the local farm, ate organic veggies. I ditched process foods and sugar. I stopped drinking caffeine. I identified that gluten, caffeine and sugar gave me anxiety, and that dairy gave me depression. I eventually also ditched alcohol, which I realized also caused depression and sleep disturbances. I went from brittle nails to being irritated with how often I had to trim them. The extra 25 pounds slowly fell off over the next year and a half. I was on the lowest maintenance doses of my medications ever. My period was normal for the first time in my life ever, regular and with no PMS.

This is me on vacation in St. Croix in 2017 – I’m at my healthiest ever but still medicated.

I was doing kundalini yoga at the time and without realizing the power of the practice, I put myself into a manic state. Despite my pleas not to, I finally agreed with the psychiatrist to go back on Zyprexa. This medication destroyed my gut microbiome I had worked so hard to repair, and I gained 20 pounds back in a matter of two months. Once I was off the Zyprexa, I continued to eat Primally, but not as well as I had been. My psychiatrist is thankfully one who is a bit more progressive than most. He listened to me tell him that I felt like I was pinging back and forth on low doses of mood stabilizers to anti-depressants. He decided to take me off medication and see what happens. After 17 years of psychiatric medications, I took my last dose Thanksgiving of 2017. If that isn’t a success story, then I don’t know what is.

A year and a half later, I am still struggling to lose the weight, and have my periods back to normal. I struggle with sleep on a regular basis. I am working with a naturopath to identify supplements that support the methylation pathway issues we identified, and sleep is slowly normalizing. But I am still off psychiatric medication and my thyroid hormone medication dose has slowly been lowered by a third of what it was two years ago. I have had no paranoia, and no mania. I have not been hospitalized in almost three years. I have had only minor bouts of depression, mostly associated with hormones.

I can’t do the 80/20 rule like most folks can and am much closer to a 100% rule. That works for me, but doesn’t work for everyone. I do not eat gluten, except for maybe one special “treat” while on vacation once or twice a year. I do not eat dairy. I meditate and practice mindfulness and compassion. I do yoga, hike, walk, play with my dogs, and do body weight exercises when I am up for them. I use a kettlebell for my sprints once every week or two. I run a 5k once a month to get my running in but won’t allow myself to do more than that. I have embraced minimalist shoes 100% of the time, if I am not allowed to be barefoot (happy ankles and feet again). I have slowly been reducing my need for glasses for myopia. I began removing environmental toxins from my life years before I discovered the PB. Allergies are less severe and I have much less frequent sinus infections, and, when I get them I recover much quicker. So, while I feel like I am struggling to get back to where I was and feeling really frustrated, I have to remind myself that I already am a success story. My psychiatrist now jokes that I am a boring person for him and has discussed discharging me. He asked what I think precipitated the illness. I really don’t know the answer, but my guess is an unchecked thyroid condition (my antibodies were negative the one time I checked, so I don’t know if I have an autoimmune condition), a really bad diet, emotional trauma as a child and extreme stress. I don’t know the answer, but I guess it doesn’t really matter because I have a way to manage my symptoms.

This is me in the early morning after hiking to the top of Moro Rock in Sequoia NP in 2018. Feeling healthy and happy being medication free! Mark, my husband, my dogs, my family, my friends and I thank you for saving my life. My psychiatrist told me several years ago that of all the people he treats with Bipolar I, only about 25% are able to function in society (complete college and hold a successful and functional place in the career world/society). Statistics indicate that I would have eventually either taken my life or the psychiatric medications would have done it for me. Thank you again for saving my life and giving hope to others. I’ve often been told that I am strong to have been through so much and made it this far. My husband tells me how much he admires that I get up and face the world every day even though all I want to do is curl up with the dogs and a book in bed. He asked if I was scared what people might say if they found my story. It doesn’t matter. I’ve found that people are too quick to dismiss me because of a label. I’m sick of being a label and an outcast. If my story is out there and can help one person, then I feel fulfilled. Because maybe someone else is out there looking for another way, but they can’t find it because someone didn’t speak up to tell them that there might be. I really appreciate you giving me a way to take back control of my life. Thank you for giving me the means to help myself. Hopefully my story can provide help and hope for others.

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