#currently dying (the diagnosis is job. and health issues. again.)

[aion-rsa]

The Walking Dead: What “Here’s Negan” Changes from the Comic

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This article contains spoilers for The Walking Dead season 10 episode 22.

Negan (no last name given…or needed) is one of the most unexpectedly beloved characters on The Walking Dead. Loquacious, charismatic, and unfailingly vulgar, Negan practically jumps off the page of Robert Kirkman’s comic series, and makes a big impact through Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s performance of the AMC series.

Over 193 issues of Kirkman’s comic, it became clear that the writer was just as enthralled with the brutish villain as the fans were. It would have been easy to kill Negan off at the end of the extended All Out War arc. Rick even slashed the man’s throat! But Kirkman made sure the jerk lived to fight another day and he soon became an integral part of the Whisperer War before finally retiring to a life of quiet contemplation in the woods.

Prior to Negan gracefully exiting the pages of The Walking Dead, however, Kirkman and longtime illustrator Charlie Adlard presented his origin story in a miniseries called “Here’s Negan.” Told over 16 short chapters and published in its entirety in 2017, “Here’s Negan” tells the story of how a lowly gym teacher came to be a bat-wielding, leather jacketed badass in the post-apocalypse. 

Not that readers needed a reason to love the antagonist more, but the miniseries added a new sympathetic layer to the character and revealed how he broke bad. Now, in the finale of its six extra season 10 episodes, The Walking Dead TV series will be doing the same thing.

The Walking Dead season 10 episode 22 “Here’s Negan” serves as a fitting conclusion to a super-sized year for the show, while also filling in some of the blanks on Negan’s story. Here is how it does so along with what it borrows and what it changes from its comic miniseries inspiration.

Lucille’s Introduction

The characterization of Negan’s wife Lucille and her failing health going into the zombie apocalypse represents the biggest similarities between “Here’s Negan” on the page and on the screen. In fact, there’s really only one key difference between the comic and the TV adaptation. In the comic, Lucille dies right as the zombie apocalypse breaks out. In the show, Lucille makes it to at least seven months into the end of the world.

Aside from the time and setting difference, much of Negan and Lucille’s arc remains the same. The “Here’s Negan” comic reveals that Negan was every bit the charming asshole pre-zombies that he is now. The story opens with Negan, a gym teacher, mercilessly schooling three kids in a game of ping pong in his garage. Because he’s Negan, he can’t quite help but cuss them out upon his victory (just as he does while pwning some n00bs in a game of Gears of War in the episode). Lucille overhears Negan behaving inappropriately in front of the children and begins to tell him off. Unfortunately, shortly into her admonishment, she passes out.

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The story then cuts to the hospital where Lucille’s diagnosis is revealed. Shortly thereafter Negan sleeps with the woman who he has been cheating on Lucille with (yes, even after hearing about her cancer). Thankfully, after that tryst, Negan finally breaks the affair off and returns to Lucille’s bed side where he apologizes and tells her he’s all in now. We get a fun little example of Lucille’s sense of humor (and maybe her current state of mind) when she tells him “What’s wrong with you? Why would you pick the sick one?”

Shortly thereafter, Negan is present with Lucille at the hospital when the world ends. Doctors rush into Lucille’s room to tell Negan to run as some seriously messed up stuff is underway outside and within the halls of the hospital. Negan refuses to leave Lucille’s side naturally, but she passes away suddenly and becomes Negan’s first introduction to the walking dead.

The TV series does an admirable job in picking out what works about the beginning of “Here’s Negan” while finding ways to improve everything else. Getting to see what Lucille is like after the fall is a great way for the audience to warm up to her. Even when suffering through another round of chemo, Lucille musters the energy to take down a walker when Negan can’t. 

This change also allows for Negan to mourn her loss more acutely when the time comes. Having to put down a zombified Lucille long after he’s acclimated to the world’s deadly new rules has a greater emotional impact than having to do so right at the beginning. 

On the Road

The TV version of “Here’s Negan” begins to deviate from the comic quite a bit after the Lucille origin story is out of the way. The middle portion of the comic miniseries finds Negan doing what pretty much every other character has had to do: wandering out on the post-apocalyptic streets, looking for company, community, and safety. 

While the TV Negan struggles to put down a single walker, the comic Negan is preternaturally gifted at both zombie-killing and survival. He encounters one group while promising he can hotwire a car (he cannot). Later on that night, Negan and the group face their first real test of the apocalypse when a horde of walkers attacks their campfire gathering. All of his new friends die, but Negan survives and loots the baseball bat that will one day become the new “Lucille” off of one of their corpses. 

Negan surviving while his new partners die becomes something of a recurring theme. We see a montage of Negan making new acquaintance after new acquaintance, only for them to prove incapable of making it in this harsh new world. When his latest partner reveals she sustains a zombie bite on her neck, Negan reacts in pure rage. 

“I’m sick of you people. You’re all fucking WEAK. ALL YOU EVER DO IS DIE.”

Negan wants to find someone strong, someone who can survive like him and who won’t break his heart by dying. He eventually finds just that in a group led by Dwight (hey, remember him?) and Sherry. 

Negan’s origin story in the TV series, of course, differs a great deal. Since Lucille is still alive in the apocalypse, Negan’s inciting moment to get him on the road and moving is the need to secure more medicine for her.

What’s interesting about this alteration for the show is how it potentially changes Negan’s motivation for society-building. In the comic, Negan comes to view strength as its own virtue – because in the new world strength is the only way to avoid pain. But the people that Negan comes across in the episode are anything but strong. 

Franklin and Laura (who fulfills Dwight and Sherry’s role as the “hey, I’ve seen that person before!” character) are unfailingly kind and compassionate. That only makes them an easy target for the Valaks Vipers MCs of the world. The comic version of Negan might be disgusted by Franklin and Laura’s charity and therefore weakness. In the show, however, it’s their selfless act that encourages him to take up the mantle of being the badass who can “save the world.”

Negan Becomes Negan

Speaking of being a badass, both the comic and TV versions of “Here’s Negan” feature a moment in which the character self-actualizes into the Savior leader we come to know later on. In the comic that moment comes when Negan gets a chance to display one of his only truly decent qualities: his hatred for sexual violence. 

Soon after Negan joins Dwight’s group, he becomes their de facto leader. He’s simply too strong and his survival instincts are too good to be ignored. The others start to follow him, not Dwight, because they seem to instinctively understand that he’s their best bet for survival. Eventually the burgeoning Saviors encounter another group and invite them in to join forces because strength can be found in numbers.

Unfortunately that group’s leader soon implies to Negan that the women with them are sex slaves. Negan acts quickly and instinctively, beating the man to death with his beloved bat. After the deed is done, Negan begins to ominously adorn the bat with barbed wire while telling the rest of the group that they’re free to stay. He articulates his new modus operandi in the verbose way that a newly-born supervillain can. It was Lucille who made Negan stronger and gave him the armor to survive when all the people around him couldn’t. Now with this new barbed wire Lucille, Negan will finally be able to protect those around him, shielding them from the evils to come.

It’s a typically overwrought Negan speech, blunted by the Glenn-murdering version of Negan we know is yet to come. But if you squint a bit, you can kind of see how Negan’s mission of protection could become one of subjugation and domination. Negan really thought he was saving the world, one swing of Lucille at a time, because he was the only one strong enough to do so. It wasn’t until he came up against the power of Rick Grimes’s egalitarian group that he realized he was mistaken. 

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Negan comes to a similar conclusion in this episode, he just takes a different route to getting there. After Lucille mercy kills herself and Negan is forced to put her zombified form down, he returns to confront the Valaks Vipers. Once the goons are dispatched outside, Negan can’t help but opt for theatrics once again. He puts the Viper leader on his knees for his very first “lineup,” though this time it’s a lineup of one. 

He tells the Viper the story of how he got into a bar fight one night that jeopardized his gym teacher career. All he wanted to do was to listen to “You Are So Beautiful” with Lucille at a bar. But one particular loud mouth had other ideas. So Negan beat him up. Now that the world has ended it seems like only the loudmouths and douchebags are left. Truly decent, selfless people like Franklin and Laura at a premium. And when you find them among the zombies you must do whatever it takes to protect them. Who better to project the weak and the meek from the monsters than the ultimate monster – Negan, himself. 

At that, my friends, is how you get a Negan.

The episodic “Here’s Negan” ends with a touching little coda where Negan lays his shattered bat to rest and finally, verbally says goodbye to the flesh and blood Lucille. His full eulogy is as follows.

“I’m sorry that I named a stupid baseball bat after you. I hope you found someone in the afterlife and you are screwing your brains out. Well, not really. But fair is fair. I miss you. I love the shit out of you. And I am gonna do your fighting for you.”

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Here, The Walking Dead is borrowing directly from the comics once again, but not from “Here’s Negan.” Issue 162 of the comic series opens with Negan burying Lucille, which was destroyed in The Whisperer War. His parting words are nearly identical right down to “I’m sorry that I named a stupid baseball bat after you” and the colorful passage about brains being screwed out in heaven.  This is a particularly important passage for The Walking Dead season 10 to go out on. For while the comic version and Jeffrey Dean Morgan version of Negan have their differences, their stories start and end in the same place: Lucille.

The post The Walking Dead: What “Here’s Negan” Changes from the Comic appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[sisterbestill]

I write this on my iPhone, sitting next to my dad, who is currently getting his 4th Chemo Therapy Treatment of Carboplatin and Taxol. The drugs are chemical bombs and each week the accumulative damage grows. They pre-treat him with histamine blocking meds so he doesn’t have reactions, but he has reactions during the infusion, like he can’t breath. The nurses are well aware and calmly manage the reactions with more meds. These meds cause him to become very drowsy, so the remainder of the day becomes about keeping him from falling.

I still am trying to process all that has occurred since early August 2018. I look back on these pictures of our last outing at Lake Jocassee and never would have guessed how things would change just a week later. I’ve often wondered how cancer strikes people so quickly, now I know. I am writing this so I will never forget each minute that will forever live with me. I am also using this as a way to cope and understand something that is unfamiliar and terrifying.

My parents have always taken care of themselves and one another. They have been very lucky to have good health and I have been lucky to have them as energetic as they are in their eighties. When they moved up here from Florida, I was delighted I was going to finally be able to spend more time with them - like daily and weekly vs. just twice a year. They moved 15 minutes away or a lovely 60 min bike ride through rolling countryside and mountains. I was giddy and felt the universe shift a bit. I felt pulled to them. They are in fact two of the coolest, funniest, and open-minded people I know.

Shortly after this kayak trip (photos above) they decided to make a pact to live to 100 and created a “bucket list”. They were thankful for their health and never took it for granted. Perhaps the bucket list idea was a way to for them to celebrate how young they felt or perhaps they recognized they were chronologically getting up there.

Paddling on Jocassee was relaxing, calm, and beautiful; Certainly an experience they would have loved to have recreated again and I am hopeful they will. It may look different in the future, but I suspect the beauty and calmness of the lake will bath their brains in peace.

A week after snapping these pics, I got a call from my mom, she was on her way to the ER with my Dad. I was working one floor up and met them in the ER. While we waited, I learned my Dad had been feeling fatigued for several months and had developed shortness of breath over last few weeks. It wasn’t evident on the kayak trip that he was struggling, but it was obvious in the ER. My mom said they had been to their primary care several times and their primary care doc reassured him it was natural aging, as tests did not reveal anything to be concerned about.

As we sat for 6 hours in the waiting area, I was certain it was nothing serious. Afterall, my dad had no other health issues other than a little hypertension. His meds consisted of an 81 mg baby aspirin and amlodipine 2.5 mg each day - what a lucky guy. I was thinking maybe he had pleurisy or walking pneumonia.

We finally were shown to a room and labs were drawn. We were relieved to finally get things moving. By this time my sister, Lori, and I were getting silly from the fatigue of waiting. We were thoroughly entertained by a belligerent drunk guy on a stretcher in the halllway who seemed to draw all the attention of the medical staff while we well-behaved folks waited for answers.

I noticed my dad’s HR would easily jump to a sinus tach in the 130s with just a little bit of movement. Something didn’t seem right, but I was not going to speculate or think the worst. I was just his daughter, at his side, keeping the mood light.

We were informed by the physician assistant caring for us that his left diaphragm was elevated and was probably the cause of his shortness of breath. I was a little taken back as this was an unusual finding that left me with a knot in my stomach. Not too long after this finding he was whisked away for a CT of his chest.

He returned to the room and we waited for results. The PA came in with a sticky note and said she read off it: “You have a very large anterior mediastinal mass...No one here will operate because of your age...We are discharging you and you will need to see an oncologist.”

Our mouths dropped. My stomach bottomed-out as she said “mass” and my face flushed. We all just blankly looked at one another. Go home?

I spoke to a good nurse friend in recovery and she called the thoracic resident. I spoke to the PA who delivered the news and said, “We can’t go home. He is short of breath. He and my mom live alone. His Heart rate is bouncing up to 130s. He is weak. Please admit him and consult thoracic surgery.” My dad chimes in, “I’m not a throw away!” Meaning he doesn’t want to be dismissed because of his chronological age. He was far healthier than most half his age and this deserved a second look. The radiologist who read the report never actually saw my dad, but he did see a birthdate.

The next day, the interventional radiologist who read his CT and gave us the crappy news also did a needle biopsy of this baseball size mass.

We went home on a Wednesday after 2 days and waited. We were waiting for results and waiting for an appointment with a thoracic surgeon. Waiting is tough and if you are sick you will learn the meaning of patience.

We made it to Sunday when I thought something wasn’t right with my dad. He continued to have episodes of shortness of breath, but something was still off. I knew he had anxiety, but this was different. He said he felt fine and I almost left it at that. As a nurse you learn to listen to your 6th sense.

My parents live in a remote part of the county where everything is 30 min away. I left there house and an hour later returned with a pulse oximeter that I purchased from a CVS drug store. His oxygenation was 95% not bad for a guy now breathing 40 times a minute with 1.25 lung capacity. However, his pulse read 155 and I was baffled. No way?! I palpated his radial artery and it was a match. Off we went to the ER...

ER visit number II was faster as we went to a smaller satellite hospital 30 min from their home. The rhythm was too fast on the monitor to establish what it was so the ER MD attempted to chemically cardiovert him with adenosine. Adenosine is pushed quickly through an IV. It stops and restarts the heart. I can not lie, I was nervous. It’s so diffferent when this is your own family member. My mom tearfully excused herself and I stayed by his bedside. The ER doc informed my dad it would suck, and we proceeded. It sucked. He felt his heart stop and I watched his eyes bulge and panic come across his face for 3 of the longest seconds of my life. We were able to see he had an underlying atrial flutter. We were started on a verapamil drip and were transported to the main hospital for management by a cardiologist. His heart converted back to a normal rhythm on the verapamil drip before we left the ER in transport to Main hospital at 1 am. We were under the impression it was stress related to the new shitty diagnosis and having to wait on results.

The next day he had an echocardiogram to look at the structure and function of his heart. He was started on a Metoprolol a drug that blocks adrenaline and keeps heart rate lower and it was doing its’ job.

He spent 2 nights in hospital and outside of naps, lacked solid hours of good sleep. We finally got word that his ECHO results were good. No one said a word about metastatic disease to his pericardium. We were told he had a small ring of fluid within the pericardial sack, but it wasn’t a lot and certainly not something they felt needed draining. The atrial flutter responded well to the metoprolol and we were discharged home to once again wait for our thoracic surgery appointment.

We finally made it to the thoracic surgeon to learn of what was growing in my dad’s mediastinum. I was hoping for a thymoma, but instead we drew the really short stick with a highly aggressive, highly invasive cancer called: Squamos Cell Thymic Carcinoma.

WTF? Come on! Can we not catch a break here?

I had never heard of this type of cancer and neither have many in the medical field cause in addition to being aggressive and invasive, it is also a rare tumor. A rare tumor that hasn’t impacted enough lives that researchers devote a lot of time, money and effort into understanding it. Not only that, but sadly, most people die before any data can be collected. Once you get short of breath, dry cough and fatigue it is usually advanced.

PET Scan had some questionable lymph nodes light up, but no other disease was noted distal to the mediastinal cavity.

We hoped it could be removed. Excising the tumor was first choice in the management of this cancer and had the best outcomes, but to do this the surgeon would need to get clean margins. The thoracic surgeon wanted a cardiac MRI to examine if this tumor had invaded any of his great vessels. CT scans had only shown that the tumor was abutting the ascending aorta, but we needed to be certain cause the surgery involved opening his sternum with a saw and recovery would be 5-6 weeks. The surgeon emphasized that he didn’t want to operate and create trauma without being able to get the entire tumor. He didn’t want to delay care in a time-is-of-the-essence scenario.

It was 6pm on a Monday evening just days out from last hospitalization, when I returned to their house to check on him. Earlier that morning, my mom and I took his mini Pomeranian back to the vet and learned it was dying. The vet apologized and said it was time. We put my dad’s 18 y/o Pom, Ben, to sleep at 10:30. My mom held him and he passed. We were a mess. We told my dad and his response seemed flat. Distant.Something else was on his mind.

I stayed close and felt something was amiss, something was unfolding, progressing. I was thinking is he getting an infection? His temp was 100.2, slightly more SOB, and his pulse was 95-110 at rest, on a beta blocker. Nowhere near his norm and I could not ignore this or excuse it. My dad is precious to me. I looked at my mom and dad, apologized as I informed them we needed to go back to the ER. They were agreeable. I think he was relieved I recognized something was wrong.

Shortly after arrival at the satellite ER labs were drawn and ultrasound of his heart was done by ER doc. He said there appeared to be a large fluid collection around my dad’s heart. We were again admitted to ICU for a condition called Cardiac Tamponade. Early the next morning he had the fluid drained 600 ml from around his heart. The fluid build up which is inside the pericardial sac squeezes the heart. The heart can be stunned and go into failure. The fluid that was drawn off was sent for cytology. It was suspicious. It was likely metastatic disease.

In fact after annoying the cardiologist with repeated questions in the hallway, he motioned me over to his computer screen. He showed me the ECHO and pointed out the thickening of the pericardium and showed me a mass dangling from his ventricle. I didn’t need to wait for cytology. This was confirmation for me that we were very far into a disease process. My face flushed, my heart sank, and my stomach dropped as I comprehended the situation. I thanked the MD and my mom asked what he was showing me. I told her. I saw the color leave her face.

The thoracic surgeon was still hoping to remove the mass as the CT didn’t show it had invaded the great vessels, but he did want a Cardiac MRI which was on the back burner. We were still in ICU cause the Cardiac Tamponade and procedure to drain the fluid triggered a lot of Atrial Flutter and Atrial Fibrillation. We waited for the Cardiac MRI for 3 days. There is only one machine and his was repeated twice before they got quality images. The thoracic surgeon finally met with us and after consulting his partners, radiologist, and oncologist, it was decided surgery was just too risky and he wasn’t certain he could get clear margins. He stressed how he didn’t want to create more problems or delay my dad in getting treatment if there were complications. We very much appreciated the thoughtfulness of his answer. We really didn’t have a minute to spare. The surgeon decided to cut a window in my dad’s heart so the cancer did not build up more fluid and compress this vital organ again. The cancer cells would drain into his belly instead of filling the pericardial sack.

We were discharged home in a questionable state: weak. At first we were told he would stay until he was walking well, but the hospital was full and we were off-loaded unexpectedly. Home is a place with stairs. Stairs to to get in and stairs to get out and the most movement he had done in a week was walking 25 ft with a walker and that was exhausting for him. I was concerned about falls. How were me and my mom going to get 170 lb man up 5 steps safely? He was too weak. He hadn’t eaten, he had not slept in 10 days. We were behind the eight ball and chemo had not even started.

Chemo is rough. To survive chemo, one needs some level of fitness, meaning able to perform ADLs independently and move often. We were overwhelmed. The next week was labor intensive and emotionally draining. Here we were home and we were struggling. He still wasn’t eating, still not sleeping, and my radar was on constant alert. I spent my days observing and looking for subtle changes. Oh and there were changes that needed immediate attention as he flipped in and out of rapid atrial fibrillation and got urinary tract infection.

I was scared and my dad was terrified. In times when we were alone, he would ask me: “How did this happen?” He would shake his head as if disappointed in his body. Disbelief. He was unable to comprehend it and he too was terrified.

To be continued...

[thursdaybennet]

Hello. My name is Thursday Bennet, and after many years of thinking about it, wishing I had a good enough idea, and wistfully watching from the sidelines, I just signed up for National Novel Writing Month (or its more clunky abbreviation, NaNoWriMo). Got some mood music going (Sabrina the movie soundtrack by the great John Williams, yes just the one song on repeat, why is that weird?) and I have some ideas I’m excited to play around with that came to me during a recent hospital stay. I’ve heard from various sources my whole life that creative types that struggle with mental health issues have a near magical ability to turn pain into art, even specifically that people with bipolar disorder (looking at you Vincent) have this amazing capability for creativity that they tap into. Never understood it myself, because whenever I was my most creative I was also usually manic with a nice dash of psychosis spread all over like dark chocolate sprinkles.

Psychosis is the ugly cousin down in the basement no one likes to talk about when it comes to discussing mental health issues, at least I know it’s not one I’m dying to discuss. Depression and Anxiety? Come right this way, we have a VIP table waiting for you with your millions of sufferers, and feel free to talk about it openly for the most part now because it has (thankfully) become a lot more acceptable to struggle with either or both. Though the second someone suffering with either of these does something even remotely unseemly, be prepared for the backlash and dismissive attitude that follows. “Well what can you expect, she has mental health issues” they whisper to each other. Or even worse in my opinion, it has gotten to the point where certain personality types use a diagnosis as a crutch, a shield to ward off personal responsibility for themselves and their behavior. “You expect me to get a job and contribute to the household Mom? How dare you, I have mental health issues that I wont discuss with anyone or seek treatment for, but will absolutely use to get out of doing my fair share.” Neither of these scenarios are good, and unfortunately the stereotypes surrounding them harm the ones who really are struggling the most. But as far as stigma goes I feel like we have come such a long way. With people I am getting to know and testing the waters with so to speak, I will absolutely say I have depression and anxiety (which is technically correct) rather than be fully open and say that I have bipolar disorder. Call me a coward if you like, you would also be technically correct.

Segueing back to the ugly cousin down in the basement though, Psychosis. That’s a frightening word no one wants to talk about. At least I know I don’t. To discuss it means admitting that I have at times touch with reality, and it feels like something to be ashamed of. I have during the course of one manic episode and subsequent hospitalization regressed to a childlike mentality and legitimately thought I was Alice lost in Wonderland. I had a nasty temper and threw tantrums when I didn’t get my way (tried to take the entire box of crayons back to my room when they were meant to be shared amongst the other patients) that rivaled the Red Queen herself. When I calmed down and was more myself I was mortified! I would never act like even when I was a child, I’ve always been told tantrums were rare when I was young.

More recently my episode and hospitalization took a darker turn, but also an extremely interesting one. I definitely did not regress, I was 100% a grown woman, but that brought other baggage. I thought that I was Katniss Everdeen, Juliette Ferrars, and Queen Elizabeth I all rolled into one. I thought I was, not exactly Mother Earth, but definitely one of her goddesses walking the earth and appreciating the beauty in life. I saw the geometry and the numbers in creation, the angles and brushstrokes of even just weeds and dandelions. Instead of just ugly browns I saw shades of plum and mauve in the dried up leaves on the ground. I tried to embrace the chaos that is life by rolling random objects in my hands, throwing them like they were dice and then looking for patterns and shapes. Basically....I turned in Tia Dalma from Pirates of the Caribbean but with much better teeth and without the sweet accent.

I’ll admit at this point that I have forgotten what my point to all that was, other than to get it off my chest. It feels good, even though in doing so I feel the uncomfortable tingle of being overly exposed trickling down my spine and the cold shoulder of stigma breathing down my neck. I’m only 32 years old, and my current living situation is one that by most standards would seem fairly unencumbered. I have so much I want to do, and you would think that as a married, childless, currently unemployed woman I should be able to achieve them right? Yet I often feel unfairly weighed down both by the challenges my disorder brings just trying to go about my day, and the often heavier weight of the stigma of the diagnosis itself.

I guess to return to what I said about NaNoWriMo, I’m trying to take some agency back for myself. Yeah I recently had an episode, the first in a fairly stable three years. Yes, along with the mania I also experienced psychosis, meaning I lost pieces of who I was and what was real, but that doesn’t have to define me forever as its already run its course and I’m back in good ol’ reality. And yes, I absolutely can take some power back by turning what I experienced into something beautiful, rather than something ugly and shameful. So stay tuned for snippets of stories and little nuggets of ideas, as I try to bring some order to the chaos once again. I’m not sure yet if I’ll be writing a novel based on my experiences or a completely fictional story plucked from one of many that I found myself experiencing on some level during my brief hospitalization. But either way, its about to get weird so grab some popcorn and buckle in, my little coffee cakes. I’ll try not to shock your delicious crumble topping right off your heads.

By the way, in case you hadn’t read between the lines, this is my first time posting about my disorder. And while it feels as thrilling as it is somewhat dangerous, I don’t want it to define me. I just want to stop pretending to be normal every day, because it is unbelievably exhausting. I would rather just be myself, Thursday, someone who likes to write, loves her family and her dog, and when she’s not chilling playing her favorite video games, likes to create art. That’s me, and that’s what you’ll get if you stick around.

We-ell....the Sabrina theme doesn’t pop up for me when I search for it so enjoy some Lindsey Stirling I accidentally added, the pathos of which really doesn’t match the tone of my post lol. (Unless you listen to it while reading about my hospital stays, in which case it is almost too on the nose.)

Here you go, this should go down a little easier and goes with what I hope was an overall optimistic and hopeful journal entry. Enjoy.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @hannars97!

One of the requests was for "really like stiles discovered kpop and drag derek with him" and, though my Kpop and Krock knowledge is a couple of years out of date (and I always tended towards Jpop and Jrock because of my job at Jrock Revolution... XD;;), it seemed like Hanna was excited for that particular prompt, so I tried my best and gave it a go! I'm crossing my fingers that you enjoy reading this story, Hanna, and I hope that you have a wonderful holiday season. <3

Read on AO3

*****

Words Fail & Music Speaks

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Falling 이대로 falling for you 날 잡아줄 수 없어도 Falling 또 다시 falling for you 날 감싸줄 수 없나요 Falling like this, falling for you Even if you can’t catch me Falling once again, falling for you Can’t you embrace me? “Falling” – John Park

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”Where words fail, music speaks.” - Hans Christian Andersen

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The Stilinski household had once been a home filled with music: rock, pop, classical, Broadway, country—anything and everything was a possibility to be heard. Certain days tended to lean towards a particular style of music—Fridays were the most likely day of the week for Noah to drop by the house and find Claudia singing along to an old school country song, rolling pin clutched in one hand as a makeshift microphone while Sundays typically had Stiles bouncing around the living room and jumping from sofa to armchair to sofa again, headbanging and doing air guitar along to Metallica’s Enter Sandman album. It was a home rich in sounds, in lyrics, and varying vocal qualities and styles.

In various languages, as well:

Claudia introduced Stiles to her favorite Polish singers early on in his life, wanting to share her history, culture, and language with her son as much as possible: because of that, the amber-eyed boy grew up singing along to Marcin Rozynek, Magda Piskorczyk, Stanisław Sojka, Natalia Kukulska, and Irena Jarocka, using his favorite songs from each to slowly teach himself the language that his mother had grown up speaking with the rest of her family when she was his age.

Stiles had only managed a passing ability in Polish before his mother got sick and worsened under the onslaught of the frontotemporal dementia’s symptoms; after the diagnosis came in, the young boy had buckled down and studied for all he was worth, singing old lullabies that he had found on the internet to Claudia on the days her disease struck hardest—hoping, perhaps, that the familiarity of her first language would offer some comfort to his mother as she got worse and worse in the hospital, health slowly but surely spiraling into a decline.

The other side of the coin—the downside—in learning songs to sing and the language to speak to his mother in came as thus:

Noah and Claudia had known from an early age that something was off about their son. His energy tended to be in excess to the children around him and school was a chore for two particular reasons: either Stiles found it impossible to concentrate on the tasks assigned to him, becoming disruptive to the other students around him, or he focused so thoroughly on his assignments that it was difficult to coax him into moving to something new. Doctors were able to diagnose the signs early on and it was a constant and regular occurrence after that to try and find a medication and dosage amount that would work best with Stiles. A solution was eventually settled on—though no medication was one hundred percent perfect—and so Claudia had searched for supplements to include to help her son with his concentration and attention issues.

It wasn’t long after that the Stilinski matriarch discovered that music helped Stiles in unexpected ways; when Claudia ran foreign music in the background, Stiles was able to better concentrate—part of his mind focusing on the music and language, running along with it. But, because the words weren’t in English, they instead became a reassuring background noise to the boy, allowing most of his attention to actually shift to his schoolwork and other assignments given to him.

Claudia’s Polish records, cassettes, and CDs became a default to turn to, if only because her collection for that particular language was the largest, started when she was a little girl. Spanish came soon after: taught at school and the secondary language of California with Stiles the first one to the counter at the local panadería, rattling off their grocery list with a wide smile: pork and chicken tamales for their Wednesday dinner, pan de leche, conchas, and ensaïmada to eat at breakfast and as treats throughout the week (the conchas were always the first to go once Stiles got tall enough to reach the bread box that they were all stored in).

The downside to immersing himself in Polish to offer up a sort of comfort to Claudia as she lay sick and dying came when it became harder and harder to focus on homework with Natalia Kukulska running in the background—after all, now, Stiles was actually able to understand the lyrics that she sang. The same issue arose the further along in Spanish the boy got at school, vocabulary and conjugations gone over week after week, and though Stiles didn’t think that he’d ever be one hundred percent fluent in the language… he now knew enough to understand bits and pieces of the songs played on the radio.

After Claudia passed away, Stiles eventually gave up listening to either option, defaulting to classical music or instrument-focused electronica and club mixes to help him concentrate during extra long homework sessions or research binges. Unfortunately, the music genres were never as helpful as the Polish and Spanish songs were—the lack of vocals giving the boy’s mind an opportunity to drift without that extra safeguard to ensure he stayed on task; it wasn’t completely horrible—not as bad as what it could be—but… well, for quite a while, Stiles’ grades definitely took the brunt of that particular hit.

+

It wasn’t until years later that Stiles finally stumbled across a solution.

Literally.

The teen had been running various YouTube users’ playlist mixes in the background of his laptop while on his current supernaturally-prompted research extravaganza. The latest Big Bad wasn’t a creature that Stiles was able to find in the Argents’ beastiary despite several days of finetoothed combing, so turning to the internet was the next step when the usual tools finally ran dry.

He’d pulled up a playlist from a user that the whiskey-eyed teen typically relied on for ambient, background music, and things had been going well for the majority of the night: until the playlist switched to a new song, one that must have been recently added, and Stiles paused for a moment in his reading to shoot the YouTube tab a suspicious, furrowed look.

Korean began playing over the laptop’s speakers, and the teen huffed a quiet breath while switching over to the video platform website so that he could skip the song and move ahead to the next one.

The moment that Stiles clicked on the tab to see a young man perched on a large throne and wearing a black and white pinstriped suit, bright red hair flowing over the chair’s arms and to the floor, the teen’s eyebrows slowly began to creep up his forehead. The visuals didn’t do much to appeal to him—the scenes with the astronauts left him rather unimpressed—but the dirt scene, one that seemed to ooze post-apocalyptic setting? It intrigued Stiles enough to get him to stay and to continue watching despite the music genre not being what he typically enjoyed listening to as the autoplay selection shifted over to the next song… which ended up being another Korean pop song.

This song—called “Lucifer” and performed by a band called SHINee—had elements of electronica and pop that drew him in more thoroughly than the previous music video. It went without saying that the teen’s interest was piqued by a variety of new music styles, a language that he wasn’t too familiar with—Korean had never been one of the languages that Claudia had played for him when Stiles was young—and researching the newest supernatural threat took a pause while the teen got caught up in a new type of binge watching and listening.

Perhaps after forty-five minutes or so into the various videos that Stiles clicked, one after another, he finally came across a music video that made him pause: the song was older, probably recorded back in 2009, but the genre reminded the teen a lot of the old ballads and R&B songs that Claudia used to sing along to before she got sick. The song was called ”One” and was sung by a group called Dong Bang Shin Ki; looking back, Stiles was able to pinpoint that this was the exact moment when his interest shifted and perhaps turned a bit more serious: curiosity took precedent as the amber-eyed teen scooted closer to his desk, fully prepared and ready to dive more completely into this new thing that caught his attention.

From ”Rising Sun” (also from Dong Bang Shin Ki) to ”Passion” from a singer called SE7EN to a video called ”LA Song” from a guy who sometimes went by either Bi or Rain to ”Sorry Sorry” from a boyband with a ton of members that were called Super Junior to ”Eat You Up” from a pretty kickass female singer named BoA… the more Stiles explored, the more intrigued he became—and the more obvious it was that he preferred certain singers and groups over others, as well as certain time periods in what had been produced and released. (And when he eventually stumbled across Seo Taiji, EVE, and The TRAX, too…? The bottomless hole that was his typical research binge became that much deeper.)

The teen ended up staying up until dawn, ignoring the first blush of light that highlighted the horizon and slipped through his window in a fall of gold, and instead continued clicking from music video and performance—one after another—until Stiles’ dad yelled at him to start getting ready for school because otherwise he’d be late.

+

It was a pattern that quickly established itself as a regular one, and it didn’t take long before the teen was switching his music from the previously established instrument-based electronica and classical music to Kpop (and Krock, on occasion) playlists from YouTube users. He liked the older groups, the ones from 2008 and on—they typically had more of an R&B feel to their music, especially the ballads, and it made Stiles nostalgic for his mom (when that happened, the whiskey-eyed teen tended to lean more heavily towards listening to a singer called Eru).

Such was how Derek eventually stumbled upon Stiles: with the teen absently bopping his head along to Super Junior’s “MAMACITA” playing on low in the background while Stiles paged through another hunter family’s beastiary—given to him by Peter at the pack’s last meet-up, and the teen had been too intrigued at the chance to dive into another family’s records that he didn’t bother asking too many questions about how Derek’s uncle had managed to get his sneaky, sneaky hands on it.

The dichotomy—the unexpected sight of Stiles happily moving along to a song in another language—and what the Hale Alpha had been expecting was enough to make Derek pause at Stiles’ bedroom’s windowsill, and the older man’s expressive eyebrows slowly lowered in confusion as a pale gaze flickered from the oblivious teen to his laptop and back again.

“Do you even know what they’re saying?” the werewolf asked, pitching his voice loud enough for Stiles to hear over the beat of the music. In all honesty, Derek felt that he should have been surprised by finding the teen listening to what he was—but, then again, the Alpha had also stumbled across the cassette collection that Stiles kept in the Jeep. True enough, many of the tapes were legacies left to him from Claudia Stilinski… but a fair amount of the newer looking tapes had Stiles’ writing on them. And those tapes could be described as ‘eclectic’ at best.

“Nope. Do you?” the teen shot back without missing a beat, already alerted to Derek’s incoming visit by the proximity wards, and instead flipped the next page in the new beastiary. A creature that Stiles had never come across before—neither in the Argents’ records nor on the Redbull-fueled internet research binges—was this section’s Big Bad, and it took only moments before Stiles’ attention shifted from the bemused werewolf still perched on his windowsill to the book spread across his lap.

Stiles’ easy disregard sparked something within Derek’s chest—if the Alpha was truthful with no one but himself, at least he could admit within the shadowed protection of his mind that it was an emotion very close to jealousy that surged to ugly life—and the corner of his mouth twisted downwards.

“I do,” he answered in turn, and the burn softened back down to ambers as Stiles slowly blinked, obviously returning to the immediate here and now as he shifted his attention back to the waiting Alpha. Curiosity lit that amber gaze and, to further prove that he could do as he claimed, Derek tilted his head to the side to listen to the lyrics for a moment or two before translating aloud for Stiles’ benefit: “Why are you shutting your mouth right now? Did you decide to just go with the flow? Just say Shh!, then everything will calm down. Everyone keeps nagging. Were you expecting us to be Superman? This world is good enough to play in, right? If you do as you always did, go as you always went. There’s no way you’ll stick out and be hit by a hammer.”

“…oh,” came Stiles’ reply as the teen blinked once more and glanced towards his computer, a new appreciation at understanding a portion of the song softening the look in his eyes. “That’s… not what I was expecting. I like it, though.”

Drawn into the teen’s orbit as the moon drew the ocean’s to tide, Derek ducked the top of the pane and shifted more completely into the familiar warmth of Stiles’ bedroom. One step after another, and curiosity at this unexpected Stiles Trivia tidbit drew the older man to the other’s laptop. A single touch woke it to life—and it was then that Derek saw just how many Kpop playlists the teen had loaded and waiting to be switched over to. The eyebrows yet again traveled upwards over Derek’s forehead, and he poked around each one to see what it was that Stiles had managed to find and collect since the last time the ‘wolf had stopped by his room.

“Why’re you listening to all of this when you don’t understand it?” Derek eventually asked as he scrolled down a list of BoA’s songs that was… rather long.

Stiles remained silent for a long moment, tap-tap-tapping his pen against the curve of a pale, bared knee—and eventually offered up a one-shouldered shrug, Gallic and enigmatic in its lack of meaning. “It helps me concentrate,” the teen replied after a moment or two of Derek waiting, silent and expectant for any real sort of reply. “It was a trick that my mom used to do with different languages. I figured that I would give it a try with… this. It works, so… does it really matter why?”

The connection to a memory from a dead and gone family member—the tenseness along the line of Stiles’ spine, the slight hitch of his voice when he mentioned his mother: they were things that Derek still did himself when talking about the family that he’d lost; it didn’t matter if the loss was years past: some hurts just… didn’t heal.

Derek fell silent at that even as he continued to click through the teen’s playlists, taking note of various artists—seeing if there was a pattern to Stiles’ preferences (there was) and weighing, considering, an idea that slowly began to form along the edges of his mind. Vague and more of an outline of an idea than anything concrete, but… a possibility, a hint, a chance towards something.

“What’s your favorite song? I can translate it for you—if you’d like.”

Vulnerability softened the normally iron strength that filled Stiles’ caramel gaze, and the smile that the teen offered the ‘wolf was crooked and sulky-sweet with understanding and unspoken affection. “…okay,” he agreed, setting aside the bestiary to return to it once Derek was gone. “I’d like that, yeah.”

+

Stiles paused as he flipped open the screen for his laptop, confusion furrowing his brow at stumbling across two tickets—obviously concert tickets, though Stiles hadn’t bothered checking to see if any of his favorite bands and singers were on tour for perhaps two years now (no point, he’d always figured; you never knew when the latest monster flavor of the week would decide to rear its ugly head). So, that being the case, where had these come from…?

The teen flipped them over to see the front of the printed tickets, eyes going wide as he finally caught sight of what the concert was: The Korea Times Music Festival—pool tickets at the Hollywood Bowl with the date showing a little bit more than a month from now.

How…?

What?

…why.

(All pertinent questions that Stiles didn’t have the answer to—but desperately wanted.)

Glancing down to his computer’s keyboard, Stiles picked up the Post-It Note that had been stuck to the back of the topmost ticket, bright yellow slip of paper slipping away as he picked them up. Derek’s sloppy scrawl was immediately recognizable after too many years of notes left behind for Stiles to find in a variety of places (places typically geared towards pissing the teen off during the Cold War portions of their Alpha-Emissary relationship).

Feeling up to heading down to SoCal next month to see some of your bands perform live?

“You grade-A asshole,” Stiles muttered around a bright, happy laugh—corner of his mouth curling upwards into a stupidly sappy grin, dimples on display for anyone to see—and the boy didn’t bother trying to fight against the supernova strength flare of relief and glee and want that exploded to life within the confines of Stiles’ chest as he read the note from Derek.

The answer, when Stiles sent it via text, was simple enough:

I totally am! But only if you’re coming with me, O Alpha Mine. ;)

::fin::

[bigyack-com]

Weighing Risks for My Patients at a Time of Covid-19

My patients continue to have medical problems that are not related to the coronavirus. But now, when I offer recommendations — especially those that possibly involve putting themselves at risk of contracting a Covid-19 infection — they often reject my advice.Of course, my patients have a point. Not only has the coronavirus killed hundreds of thousands of people worldwide, it is especially stealthy and unpredictable, able to spread from carriers who have no symptoms. But when, if ever, should the fear of catching a virus, and one that usually causes a mild infection, outweigh the need to address urgent medical issues?There is growing literature on risk in medicine. Studies consistently indicate that the actual risk of harm to a patient is often colored by perceptions of potential harm. For example, research has shown that women fear dying from breast cancer more than heart disease, although the latter is more likely to kill them. One reason for this discrepancy is the successful job done by breast cancer activists in drawing attention to the disease.During my interactions with patients, it is clear that some are far more worried than others about the same condition. At a recent clinic session before the coronavirus outbreak, I saw one patient who thought her blood pressure reading of 130/90 was so good that she could stop one of her medications. Another patient with a similar reading was so certain she was going to get a stroke that she aggressively lobbied me to add another pill. These patients had opposite views of the risk posed by their blood pressure, which was on the high side.My job as an internist is, first and foremost, to know the science about hypertension, strokes and other diseases. But it is impossible to use a “one size fits all” model that merely uses data to guide my decisions. Patients are entitled to their own perceptions of illness and risk. When these opinions stray too far from the science, however, I push back hard.Given the above mortality data and the constant media coverage of the Covid-19 epidemic, it is hardly surprising that my patients are freaked out about possibly becoming ill. Most of them seem to be taking quite seriously the orders from Gov. Andrew M. Cuomo to stay home and otherwise socially distance.But in several recent scenarios, I had to question my patients’ judgment. For example, a diabetic man called to tell me that he thought he had an infected toe. My ears shot up. Foot infections in diabetics are notoriously dangerous and, if not treated quickly enough, can lead to amputation of feet and even legs.Because my clinic is not currently able to see patients in person, I informed my patient that he needed to go to an emergency room. Fortunately, there was one fairly near his home. But he immediately demurred.“Doctor, can’t you just look up the antibiotic they gave to me last time and prescribe it?” he asked. “I’m afraid to go to an emergency room because I might get coronavirus.”I tried to reason with him. “You have an actual infection that could be very dangerous,” I said. “That is more worrisome than potentially getting a different infection, even though it is a scary one.” Plus, I added that emergency rooms are doing everything they can to keep non-Covid cases apart from those who appear to have the new virus.We went back and forth for a while, but I felt this was one of those occasions to vigorously push back. Eventually, he agreed to go. It turned out he had an abscess under his toenail that required drainage and antibiotics, exactly the type of infection that needs prompt treatment to avoid complications. In another instance, I got a call about a man who was a kidney transplant patient on immunosuppressive drugs with a fever of 104. Although it was possible that he had a Covid-19 infection, he had no other suggestive symptoms.Fever in a transplant patient is a medical emergency. Yet here, too, the patient and his wife were reluctant to go to an emergency room because they feared Covid-19 exposure. Fortunately, they eventually went, and the man was diagnosed with a urinary tract infection. Knowing the diagnosis, his doctors were able to prescribe the proper antibiotics. Concerns about risk persist among patients who likely already have a coronavirus infection. I recently got a call from a family member of a patient with multiple medical problems who had both a high fever and lethargy. She was not eating or drinking very much.Even though there were no respiratory symptoms, it sounded like coronavirus. Once again, I recommended going to the emergency room where they could draw blood, check her kidney function and possibly even do a Covid-19 test. But the patient and her family declined, preferring to try to treat her at home with Tylenol and fluids. Part of their reasoning was their fear of going to the hospital during this era of the virus — even though the patient almost certainly had it and the family had thus already been exposed.None of the above should suggest that for patients with non-Covid issues, it is business as usual. I am constantly in touch with patients by phone who have diabetes, high blood pressure and other problems, and I usually discourage them from coming into the clinic. The reality is that many necessary treatments and procedures will have to wait until the hospital reopens. We are also delaying mammograms, colonoscopies and other screening tests that we normally urge patients to get promptly.But for emergency medical issues, fear of Covid-19 should not cloud the judgment of patients or their caregivers. If patients need to go to the hospital, they should put on a mask and gloves, stay as far apart from others as possible, and let the emergency room staffs do their job of saving lives.Barron H. Lerner, M.D., professor of medicine and population health at New York University Langone Medical Center, is the author of “The Good Doctor: A Father, a Son and the Evolution of Medical Ethics.” Read the full article

[fatphobiabusters]

Mod Ade can you please share your experiences of being fat and intersex? Any challenges with family, healthcare, academia, peers, work etc...

If you loves are okay with me making long posts, absolutely. I don’t know if you already saw my previous answer, but I touched on the topic a bit here: http://fatphobiabusters.tumblr.com/post/162494359738/question-for-mod-ade-you-said-you-are-intersex It’s more about my experience in general being intersex, so I’ll try and correlate also being fat in this answer.

**TRIGGER WARNINGS- child abuse, fatphobia, fat shaming, trauma, menstruation, self-harm, homophobia, intersex erasure

I’ll start with family since it’s the biggest topic for me. I’ll try and keep this short as possible because I could write an entire novel here, but I’ll focus on the major points. Having my intersex birth covered up and force raised as cisgender female was already hell and has left me with a lot of emotional damage. Being fat on top of it only added to the mess. My father did not want another child, but my mom did (he had children with another woman, so I have a half brother and sister both 15 years older than me who he thought were perfect since they’re both cisgender and skinny). Much less did he want one that was so “imperfect”, the complete opposite of my older siblings. I come from a white, southern, Christian family, so you can fill in the gaps there of the standards that were expected of me if you know anything about the disturbing culture of the deep south. Long story short, I had one parent who told me I was everything, and one parent who made me believe I was nothing. My father would harass and shame me to the point that I was too afraid to eat much or anything in front of him. Sometimes he would threaten to do things to my mother and even physically abuse her if I didn’t do what he wanted. My mother felt sorry for me, but wouldn’t go against him because of it, and would feed me extra portions in secret. Basically, it messed my metabolism all to shit and I could never keep my weight down, no matter how much I was made to exercise, starved, or put on diets. Growing up I was constantly put on crash diet after crash dietbecause my father was never satisfied with my weight (or my appearance in general). I was never good enough for him, even though I look just like him. To this day, even though he says he loves me and misses me over the phone, he still harps on me about my weight/appearance and refuses to accept me as his son. My mom loves and supports me though and if it wasn’t for her I would just completely cut ties with my entire blood family. Most of my immediate family refuses to also accept that I’m intersex, much less a man, and are disgusted about my weight. And they wonder why I never come home to visit anymore. It contributed a lot to my development of DID and later self harm.

Healthcare has been a nightmare. I’ve had a bit better experience since I’ve been in California, but even then it’s still not been the best. At age 9, I had my first puberty, and with it my first period. I don’t remember much (I have a lot of amnesia among my childhood memories from my DID that I'm currently working through in therapy) but I do remember crying and just feeling wrong. As I got older, it got worse and worse. But because I was labeled cisgender female on all my papers and my family constantly reinforced that I was, I was simply told to “suck it up” and that it was “normal”. I never had a regular cycle, it came and went whenever. Sometimes 2 weeks, sometimes 4-5 and every now and then up to 6 or more. Every time it registered 8-10 on those pain scale charts you see at the doctors, but I had to endure and ignore it because I only got reprimanded when I complained. I dealt with this all the way until nearly turning 30, which at that point I was bleeding black and had large clots that were full of decayed tissue more than blood. Last year I was finally able to get everything checked out and it turns out I had an abnormally formed uterus. Because of my second puberty, it was almost working against itself and practically a “dying” organ. I was able to be evaluated and approved for a hysterectomy, and I’ve never felt better. Back to weight though, in NC whenever I was taken to the doctor they always recommended to my mom anything to make me lose weight because I was “too obese” for a child (especially a “girl”), even though I had no problem carrying my weight. As I got older the same story. I’ve been seen about the sciatica on my right side, and my messed up back in general from carrying heavy art portfolios and working warehouse/builder jobs for many years. Every time my weight has been brought up, especially when I popped out my knee cap due to twisting the wrong way because someone parked like an asshole and I couldn’t get in. I’ve found some healthcare in the past year that has been more fat friendly, but every time I have to go somewhere new or for something new I get nervous that they’re just solely going to make it about my weight and not address the actual problem, or give me a proper diagnosis because they’re too hung up on my size. Perfect health record as far as blood pressure, diseases, tests, etc. go, but let’s ignore all that and point out I’m fat and “do something about it.”

Academic wise was no better. Children can be cruel, especially to those seen as abnormal or different than them. Sex Ed was a joke and I didn’t get a proper lesson on it till college, where I leaned that it was okay not to “fit the box” and that gender and sexuality were not black and white. Until then I felt very out of place and not belonging to either gender because neither of them really fit what all I was experiencing. Because I was forced to identify as cisgender female, being fat and “unattractive” got me a lot of unwanted attention. My size kept me out of most physical fights though, as I’ve always been big at a young age. And when I hit my second puberty, started putting on even more muscle mass along with the fat. I was constantly teased and ousted though for being so “weird” looking. My fellow classmates absolutely could not accept the fact that I didn’t look like (according to backward standards) one specific gender or the other. It just got worse as I got older and my body physically started shifting more masculine. I was seen as a freak, showered in my clothes when we had to take group showers for band trips or gym class (which eventually caused such a ruckus they had to separate me entirely), and taunted constantly to see how far they could push a rise out of me. Cisgender boys were curious about, but also downright cruel to me. Cisgender girls were disgusted by and afraid of me. It eventually got to a point where everyone just wanted to know what was in my pants or what was wrong with me. Homophobic remarks started going hand in hand with insults about my weight and appearance. I became more and more numb and reclusive and my mental illness worsened. Still, I maintained good school work at least, spending a lot of time alone. Graduated Valedictorian in middle school, Salutatorian in high school, and completed a Bachelor’s degree at a 4 year liberal arts college.

Among my peers now, I feel that I’m seen most often in a positive light as I’ve changed a lot from my days spent back home and have built an entirely new life out here in California. I still sometimes get confusion upon meeting new people and at times have a negative experience in public with strangers who don’t know me regarding my weight and looks. But overall the experience is good and I am often well received when I come out as intersex or share parts of my expansive history. I believe mostly due to surrounding myself with safe and understanding people, while cutting out a lot of toxicity (as well as unlearning that same toxicity) from my life.

Work has been about the same as academics, except not quite as explicit since I was a young adult when I started working. At college and coming back home I had issues with gender, especially when I had to use the bathroom. I always had to go into the women’s, and it was never a pleasant experience. I was also made fun of a lot for being the youngest (and one of the biggest) on shift. When I went to work for Amazon in TN, it was the first time I consistently went to the men’s bathroom (I had done so out in public places where I knew no one knew me, but not frequently). When I got promoted and transferred out to Cali, I continued the tradition. I would be lying though if said that there weren’t times I was very nervous about going in there alone because I did get some rude remarks at times, but thankfully no one was willing to lose their job over starting a fight because they didn’t like me being in there. As an assistant manager, most of my associates liked me as a supervisor and were favorable in working with me because I was a fair and helpful, but no nonsense leader. I got misgendered often due to my androgynous appearance and the high turnover in the line of work, but I enforced the idea that I was very much a man and would not tolerate any phobic remarks otherwise. I did have some who did not like the idea of having a younger, fat, questionable gendered person running the department and managing them. But at the end of the day, what I said went so they either had to deal with it or go find their bigoted ass another job.

Thank you loves for reading up to this point if you have, and I’ll end on this. If no one else has ever told you or made you feel that way, you are beautiful and so important. You are valid, you are loved, you are somebody, and someone cares very much about you. Never let anyone take your self worth away and deny your existence.

Apologies again for the lengthy post. Thank you for the ask!

-Mod Ade

[myhealthbeautyconcerns]

Generalized Anxiety Disorder – Signs and Treatments

To understand generalized anxiety disorder you have to have a general understanding regarding anxiety disorders overall and what they mean with a person who suffers from this kind of mental illness. Anxiety Disorders really are widespread. If you have recently been diagnosed with an anxiety issue don’t feel bad, everyone has experienced several anxieties in their life. Checks, job interviews or giving a very important presentation at work can start a high level of stress and cause anxiety, however experiencing feelings regarding excessive fear, distress and experiencing overwhelmed for no obvious purpose in “normal” situations often; you need to see your doctor for some formal diagnosis.

In more persistent cases it can also be damaging for sufferers and minimize them from enjoying life. If effective treatment is absolutely not sought, these disorders can significantly decrease one’s productive activity and drastically reduce your ability to lead a satisfying and satisfying life. Anxiety disorders are very common and anxiety is just about the most reported mental illnesses around the globe. Statistics indicate that up to forty million people suffer the pain of it annually in America solely.

Anxiety Panic Disorder:

Victims describe this as frightening, experience panic and anxiety attacks, without warning they experience feelings of extreme fear that can happen at any time. Sufferers can experience tightness in your chest, difficulty breathing, increased rapid pulse, disorientation, stomach cramps, and irrational thoughts and may believe actually dying.

Obsessive-Compulsive Anxiety Disorder (OCD):

Goes through repetitive and uncontrollable procedures or thoughts that irrational. They experience insufficient satisfaction in performing things, completing that task over and over again. Sufferers have explained a far more “ritual-like” existence, which you need to complete all tasks on time and within the specific order or something “bad” may possibly happen.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder:

Usually occurs after experiencing a traumatic event or compilation of events. This may include pure disasters, serving in the service, sexual assault, or being abused in the form of a child. A lack of control from a situation is the main element. Common symptoms include difficulty going to sleep and nightmares, flashbacks, lack regarding emotion, anger and irritability, sadness and easily be started.

Serious Phobias:

Irrational fears when confronted by an item or situation. The item or situation does seem to enjoy any significant risk or advertise any real danger to many people. Imagined consequences build in the individual’s mind with a point where they may prevent that activity or item completely this kind of then place limits their daily lives.

Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD):

Excessive concerns about day-to-day life and irrational levels regarding fear when completing normal things. They are reported to be negative of their thinking and almost always count on the “the worst-case scenario” even though you don’t have evidence to expect it. Physically symptoms occasionally include feeling overtired, trembling or simply shaking, stomach cramps or feeling sick, headaches, muscular tightness, and problems.

The most common symptoms of generalized anxiety disorder are similar to many other anxiety disorders and add following;

o Persistent worrying approximately everyday events that impede common functioning o Difficulty breathing, increased pulse or palpitations o Dizziness, trembling or shaking of a hand and even body o Muscle tension, discomfort or soreness o Feeling concerning edge like something bad may possibly happen o Tiredness, negative mood o Concentration abandoned o Insomnia or sleep being interrupted o Excessive body perspiration (sweating) a Stomach cramps in times regarding anxiety o Startles and over a reaction to minor events. Not all people will have many symptoms and this is strategies to possible symptoms that may indicate panic attacks. A person who experiences more than four of all these symptoms for lots of days will need to achieve medical advice and assessment and even seek appropriate treatment is recommended.

The American Psychiatric Association has conducted studies additionally, the information gathered from these came to the conclusion that generalized anxiety disorder affects approximately five percent for the general population. The study also concluded that half of the people experiencing generalized anxiety disorder reported they’d symptoms were noticeable in the particular childhood and teenage years. The participants in the review also report that their discomforts build and diminish over time the pc level of stress in their life at this time. For example, they noted that their symptoms became more frequent and more acute at periods of stress or major change in their life. What about treatment to manage symptoms? Generalized anxiety disorder usually is treated by cognitive behavioral therapy. This type of therapy educates those to understand and identify the particular irrational thought patterns which reason anxiety. The person can certainly make a positive conscious choice to react differently when up against a potentially anxious situation. Someone with anxiety is empowered simply because can have control over their particular reactions and logically deal with an anxious situation in a manipulated and predictable way.

In more severe cases of generalized anxiety disorder, the use of medication may also be worthwhile. There are currently a large number of anxiety medications on offer to help successfully treat anxiety disorders. These medication options add the prescribed use of antidepressants or simply benzodiazepines. All medications would be decided upon in consultation using your doctor including the different variety and dosage to best suit your individual needs. Be sure to ask your mental doctor or doctor about the possible unintended side effects and how long it will be before the medication starts to operate. Most medications take one week to 30 days before the anxiety sufferer thinks the medication taking effect and gains some profit by it. As there are many medication therapies if one type is not assessed as effective from your doctor then other types will be commenced. All people have different numbers of tolerance to stressful situations. Some manage to cope when they are barraged by high numbers of stress daily and others really are affected negatively with minimal stress. Generalized anxiety disorders are generally this product of stressful incidents as really are other anxiety disorders. Studies have also suggested that there could possibly be a genetic component, that if siblings or families suffer from anxiety that there could possibly be an increased risk of getting these disorders.

It is argued that there can’t be any prevention for generalized anxiety disorder as it will always be not identified until it is becoming acute and is negatively affecting anyone, reducing their capacity to be productive and luxuriate in life. Perhaps prevention of a subsequent incident of anxiety symptoms comes after the initial diagnosis. As an overall rule, the best anyone is capable of doing is to know them to do it yourself, and what level of stress they might manage and have strategies set up to manage their stress levels to reduce anxious feelings and seek the acceptable treatment when required.

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How to Take Back Control of Your Life with CBD Oil for Panic Attacks

Many people don’t understand that they are experiencing panic attacks. One minute they’re calm, cool, and collected, the next they’re on the floor, crying and incapacitated. Some people even experience anger, which can scare their friends and family.

Panic attacks can be linked to PTSD—post traumatic stress disorder, chemical imbalances in the brain, depression, or they may have no known cause at all. Some people suffer panic attacks from when they were a child and throughout their adult years. Panic attacks are largely misunderstood. Children who suffer them can be punished by their parents, while as adults if you suffer one in the workplace, you can be reprimanded by your boss for scaring employees or customers.

Often there is simply no way to keep a panic attack from occurring. There can even be some triggers for people that cause them. For instance, the soldier who has returned from war may experience a panic attack during the fireworks on the Fourth of July. In the past, doctors were quick to prescribe anti-depressants to people who suffered panic attacks. This did little more than to mask the problem. Most prescription medications have side effects. Some are minimal, such as causing headaches or upset stomach, while others can lead to insomnia or a deeper depression.

Psychological treatments can be effective in helping treat panic attacks, but this isn’t an overnight solution. It can take months until you can retrain your brain to stop a panic attack in its path. Panic attacks are more common than we think. Many people try to disguise the fact they get them. They may tell people they’re suffering a leg cramp, or have a bad headache instead. In fact, it’s believed that roughly 2% of the population of the US experiences at least one per year.

Panic attacks are also linked to other illnesses and diseases. Depression is obvious, but some people who suffer painful joint conditions, such as arthritis, or osteoarthritis, can also be prone to them. CBD oil for panic attacks may be the solution for people who suffer from this distressing condition. Scientists have been studying this oil and are proving that it can be one of the more effective treatments for the panic attacks that you may be experiencing.

What Exactly Are Panic Attacks?

  Panic attacks are not the same as anxiety attacks. For instance, you’re waiting in the lobby for a job interview. Your hands are sweaty, and you feel you have to go to the bathroom, even though you just did. You may be jittery and can’t speak clearly. That’s an anxiety attack. They’re short-lived, and they go away when you leave your current situation.

Panic attacks aren’t related to common life stressors. A panic attack may not even have a trigger, it’ll just happen out of the blue. For some reason, the person affected suddenly seems they have lost control over a situation. This can be related to something that happened to them in the past. They feel as though they are dying. Other symptoms can include chest pain, nausea, and dizziness. There may be rapid heartbeat, chills, nausea, upset stomach, and more.

A panic attack usually lasts for less than two minutes. But the aftermath can be devastating, particularly if you have harmed yourself, thrown objects, or at the worse, physically hit somebody. They can affect your relationships with others, as they don’t understand. They may think you were simply acting out in anger and not understand the root cause. Many people who suffer panic attacks can end up in the emergency room or the jail cell.

Why Is CBD Oil for Panic Attacks Better Than Traditional Treatments?

  In the past, panic attacks were treated by traditional medicine. Doctors would prescribe antidepressants or anti-anxiety drugs, also called benzodiazepines. Many patients are also told to stop drinking anything with caffeine—no coffee, no black tea, no chocolate. They must also avoid refined sugars, alcohol, and trans fat. For many suffering mental health issues, this simply takes all the fun out of life.

CBD oil for panic attacks can be your best solution if you suffer from this debilitating and somewhat embarrassing condition. The oil is a natural treatment that actually works. The side effects are minimal, unlike taking other forms of prescription medication. The costs are also less expensive. Scientists have been studying this compound and it’s been proven to have miraculous effects on people who suffer from panic attacks.

How Does CBD Oil for Panic Attacks Work?

  THC and CBD are two compounds extracted from the cannabis plant. Many people want to avoid THC, as that’s the one responsible for that high. In contract, CBD offers no high, and is legal in many states in a variety of forms: oil, edibles, and inhalers. The oil offers a cost-effective way to take it, but you can discuss with your doctor which is best for you.

The CBD can react when the anandamide (joy chemical) in our brains decreases, causing panic attacks. The CBD can increase its effectiveness, quickly soothing a panic attack. The oil also has a beneficial effect on people who suffer anxiety. Some people suffer both anxiety and panic attacks. The oil can directly help to reduce anxiety, increase cognitive function in the brain, and improve stunted speech. It can also make people feel more refreshed and alert. After you take cbd oil for panic attacks, it will cause the CB1 and CB2 receptors in your brain to remain inactive. This helps to return your mental functioning back to normal.

Closing Thoughts On CBD Oil for Panic Attacks

  It’s important to seek proper diagnosis for panic attacks before you begin treatment. Once you understand some of the how and why you get them, you can then explore beneficial treatments, such as cbd oil for panic attacks. CBD oil can not only prevent panic attacks, but lessen their severity if they do occur. If you can keep up with your psychological therapies too, soon you may never have to experience another panic attack ever again!

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TW-suicide-self harm-depression

This is a long one, will insert a cut at some point. 

I have been feeling.. more life a human? For the past few days. I have been Trying™ very hard the past week to get back on to a normal sleep-wake schedule and to function around the house and with the people that live with me in a more “normal” way. Then of course, the day we were supposed to accomplish things, I ended up being so tired I went and slept until 7pm and have now spent the past two days right back on my usual backwards schedule. Maybe I put too much on myself at once?? As soon as I think that I immediately get angry though… Like, DEAL with it. Why on earth should it have been “too much” to just function like everyone else around here does?

 When I come off as a perfectionist, or when I seem “bossy”, or when I am expressing disappointment that yet again I have to correct how someone did something, or when I feel like everyone I live with is just SO LAZY and SO SLOPPY…. I know I seem horrible… even when I try to be so nice about how I say things… but I just don’t think anyone realizes that I hold myself to much higher standards than I hold them. And they can’t even meet those… and I am SO MUCH HARDER on myself than I will ever be on someone else. I am not ever asking for more than I am willing to do myself. Which is saying something considering some days I can barely get out of bed. If I can clean up after myself and treat my things properly when I am so depressed I’m ready to die anytime now, WHY CAN’T THEY when they are healthy??????

Got off track… The point is… I am so hard on myself… I don’t dare let myself thing that I tried to do too much. I tried to recover? Too fast….I can’t let myself believe that for a minute. Maybe I am just a night person? Why can’t I sleep at night and be up in the day? My whole entire life???? Even as a child when I had an 8pm bedtime… I was an insomniac. I had no radio or tv or internet or cell phone back then… and I just laid there… Until the sun came up and it was time to drag my ass through my classes…. Then I would crash and sleep for ages on the weekends, or sometimes after school…. I am so inclined to sleep on this schedule… Why?

I made a schedule… that literally has every hour of the day of each day of the week planned along with a daily weekly and monthly chore list.. and I have yet to go through it once. Not because it is unrealistic. In fact, I find it soothing to have it all planned out like that, and I allow for changes in my schedule when things happen or need more or less attention, but still the issue is that I just cannot stop sleeping. Then, when I am awake… I just want to go back to bed and I have no motivation to start my list of things… and to be honest a lot of it is the fact that I have a certain houseguest…  But that should not stop me from what I am wanting to do, and that is the current situation so I need to figure out a way to deal with it because NO ONE IN THIS HOUSE knows or understands me or my issues like I do and NO ONE cares to try and learn or understand about them as much as I do and if this were any other group of people, I shouldn’t care so much because let’s face it, in life no one cares as much about you as YOU do, but these 2 people in particular SHOULD give a damn about me and my issues… they should WANT TO LEARN and care and help ME and to help THEMSELVES deal with me. And I am NOT saying I am a burden or that I should feel any less of a person because they have to deal with me but I will admit that it is HARD to live with someone with mental illnesses sometimes and if they just cared enough to try and learn more about it, they would be so much more capable to help me and help themselves.

Sometimes I wonder if they are just too thick… I wonder if they think I am just dramatic? I wonder if they just think that when I calmly sit down and try and give them links to mental health websites or infographics on fact about my diagnosis that I am just making excuses… because they come from a family that doesn’t really believe in mental illnesses… they are the people that think all kids who hurt themselves are looking for attention, that all people who kill themselves were stupid and looking for attention, that depressed people are just lazy… that anxious people need to just calk down and stop making such a big deal about everything… They come from THOSE kinds of people… They come from a family that HAS mental health issues, I recognize them immediately… but they don’t believe it ??? and never get help??? It’s all very strange… Anyway… My point is… No one will ever care as much as I care…. And that is fine for 99.99999% of the population… But… this little tiny part of the population… I think they should care. When my friends or family are in trouble…. I learn and I research and I do my best to help. I pour myself into learning what I don’t know so I can understand.. I never ask more of others than I ask of myself… Why can’t they just do this??? On their own?? Why don’t they want to??? Why don’t they want to help???

Selfish… It is no one’s job but my own to help myself… and no one truly CAN help me but me.. I know that… I know that I am the only one who can truly help myself… but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice to have someone understand, a team of people who are educated and invested in my and helping me when I fail and fall.. and recognizing when I am hiding things… and understanding when I am being s shitty person.

Again… selfish… It is not anyone’s job.. and there is never an excuse for me to be shitty to other people.. This is very hard… and I am sad.. I just can’t DON’T always do the right thing. Then I think… would they finally understand if I died? Would they finally wish they had educated themselves if I killed myself??? Then I laugh.. because it’s funny… because I KNOW the answer… is no… They would not. I could literally write it in a letter and they would say, “wow… she killed herself to get a point across… How selfish how sad… what a cry for attention.” Although, dying will never make anyone understand anything and I know that and that is not a good enough reason to die, but it was the best example I could think of. I can think of many reasons to die, and that will never be one of them. Anyway…

I am wide awake. It will be midnight soon. I just want to wake up and see the sun and follow my schedule and be a happy little clam and get back on track with my life and accomplish my goals, and feel good about everything. My neck hurt, my shoulders hurt, my back hurts, my jaw hurts.. I’ve been clenching my teeth again I guess… I never notice till I hurt.. My hair is even irritating me… I feel every single discomfort on my body right now.. I caught myself clenching my teeth.. now the war begins to stop it. I don’t want to take a pain killer, I wish I was just tired. I wish my brain was as tired as my body. I guess I should stop this here since it is now longer than some fanfics… I usually feel better after writing these, maybe because I usually end up talking through something in my head but I feel shitty still… and I think maybe it is because I still feel uncared for. And then I feel guilty for that. Then I get mad. Then…. It’s a cycle.