#did I ever circle back to the idea of being a therapist?!?

[junedenim]

2013

beneath the boardwalk, part 11 (series masterlist)

do i wanna know?

warnings: depression & desperation

word count: 3.7k

I moved in with Jackson at the end of January. It was sudden and maybe too soon, but I liked Jackson and his place. I had known him long enough and slept (plain old sleeping) with him long enough to know I could live with him. I felt I had grown out of my old apartment. I had expanded so much like I had eaten a Wonderland cookie that the windows were bursting, shattering glass onto the street, and cutting into me.

It was a form of self-harm that unfortunately hurt Jackson in the process as well. I felt early on in living together that we weren't perfect matches. We didn't talk very often about unrelated things, only ourselves. My narcissistic tendencies were often inflicted on him, but he did the same to me, something I didn't mind because we rarely saw one another, only at nighttime.

It didn't help that he was still my agent. I shunned myself from writing a memoir again because there were unavoidable subjects that would expose me to him in unkind ways. I began writing short stories, thinking I would make a collection of them. Jackson found the idea to be dumb but was polite enough not to phrase it like that.

I started to think about my death in horrible ways. I was convinced I'd get pushed onto the subway tracks. I started seeing my dead grandmother around New York and thought I had developed schizophrenia. I wrote a story about it and labelled it as fiction. Jackson called it "depressing" and found it to read like a science fiction mess. Both were true and criticism I could take back when he was my agent, but not as my boyfriend.

I told Fennel and Kaka about the problem and they told me to go see a therapist. I didn't until I got so high one night that I was convinced I was going to jump out the window by accident. Dr. Varma was thirty, blonde, and had these ugly side bangs. The day after my first session I had Opal cut bangs, full-frontal ones, into my hair. They turned out rather well for someone who has unstoppable shaky hands. I got put on an SSRI, which stumped my creativity until I got used to it around March.

I thought about moving back to London but only ever told Dr. Varma this because I figured it would hurt every New Yorker I knew. In general, things felt aimless. Winter tends to have that effect on me. It's consuming and feels like my stomach has a parasite on it and my brain is being squashed between someone's hands. I was also 26, anxious, and terrified by the thought that I was suddenly going to be 27 that year.

It feels anti-feminist to say a man made everything make sense, so, I'm not going to say that, but certain people make everything make sense. Even though Alex and I didn't talk much, the thought that he'd be 27 too made things feel less troubling. Things made sense in his mum's car driving in circles. 

I don't mean to discourage the power of my friends in this process. Opal comforted me more than anyone. I was often disillusioned with how the start of the year had turned out, mostly with my relationship with Jackson, and despite her close friendship with him, she was always understanding. She never pushed ideas on me. Never toward breaking up or staying together. She felt like Dr. Varma sometimes, her words pointing me in a certain way, but I never had to pay her for it. I always knew she just wanted the best for me.

One evening, we watched The Sound of Music and I cried in her arms while Christopher Plummer sang Edelweiss. I declared Captain Von Trapp would be my husband. I sounded the same way I did when I was 6 but he sang with a tenderness I love so dearly to this day. I found comfort in childish things. I realized how disconnected I had become from that part of my life, with the people who gave me life, the land I grew up in, and how much of a tailspin every chapter had felt. The most normal I had ever felt had been 10 years ago. It belonged in a world I never knew.

I knew I had to get out of New York.

*

I bought a plant in February. One that doesn't need much attention and can sit on your windowsill for a year at a time and not die. It made the act of having a plant a lot less beautiful but I felt like a proper starting point for taking care of things, including myself.

During this time, Jackson and I were still together. We would break up in April where I would be accused of using him, something I did partially do. For a long time after I felt ashamed of that because Jackson had been a person who had changed my life, brought my happiness, and had a beautiful friendship. Our relationship began out of insecurity of my singledom but was also built on the foundations of those traits.

I did use Jackson, but in the same way everyone uses a relationship to fulfill a part of their life. If I didn't need a use for him then we wouldn't have been together. However, I admittedly did use him as a rebound, something I confessed to him when I started going to therapy.

Jackson and I didn't talk much about anything other than ourselves, so we never got to the topic of what we wanted from a relationship. I never had any intentions of marrying Jackson, not to say he had any with me either, but he took it a lot more seriously than I did. Frankly, I didn't take anything seriously and that was starting to scare me.

I had maintained the difficulties of a romantic relationship with near-consistency from the age of 18 to 25, which is particularly rare in the 21st century, especially two people like Alex and I. I took my work seriously during that time and when the relationship fell apart, almost everything else fell to the side.

The proper levels for taking things seriously I'm not sure of, but for me, I didn't feel like I showed up, other than with Opal and Jackson. The only two other people I was as close with were an older gay couple that fed me once a week. I was dependent on everyone. Opal went through a lot of shit in 2012 that I disappeared away from and took Jackson with me. I knew I did it but I was too ashamed to make a change or even say sorry for it. Yet, she took our friendship seriously and still showed up for me.

I decided that after my birthday I would take a trip to upstate New York. I picked dates I knew Jackson couldn't accompany me and rented a car. I wanted to be alone. When I told Opal this she asked me if I wanted company. I thought I didn't need it but her question made me realize that what I desired most was genuine socialization.

Even though she hates suburbia and hiking, Opal came with me.

We drove for four hours up to Watkins Glenn. Opal drove us the first two hours out of the city and I drove the remaining four to our hotel, The Colonial Inn & Creamery. Creamery meaning it had a built-in ice cream parlour, which saved us from many late-night snack runs.

The State Park, which was the main reason I went, had these gorgeous waterfalls. Since it was early spring and the air held a slight drizzle, the park was fairly empty. We stopped at the gorge, right where the water falls down, not in some rushing force, but just like that drizzle of rain that surrounded us on a work up to it. It was gradual before forming a small lake at our feet. I squatted, dipping my hand in, and patting the cold water on my face.

"Should we take a break here?" I asked Opal, who was standing beside me.

She loudly sighed, "Yes. Please!" She sat beside me and took chapstick out of her purse. "It's very beautiful," she said while placing it on. "Thank you for taking me."

I smiled over at her. She wasn't elegantly dressed, something out-of-the-order for her. She looked tired from the walking and her jeans were dirty at the bottom cuffs. She placed her arms on her legs and I felt calm. "Thanks for coming with me," I said. 

We didn't talk after that. We had talked the whole trail and we had many words left to say but we watched the water drizzle down the stone, not a sound made.

She stood and began taking pictures. She had begun dabbling in photography at the end of last year when her boyfriend bought her a camera. (Is that a gift most boyfriends get their girlfriends?). I took out my notepad, small and dainty, and a gift from Jackson.

I drew the waterfall. It was two circles to signify the gorge with a bunch of lines cracking down the middle. On the next page, I wrote, Eroding for a billion years until, one day, water spilled out, and here I am now looking at it. How many paths were walked until the water found this one? I'm not good a poetry, clearly, but it was a respectable description of what my mind was ticking through. I found it to be dumb, even when writing it, but paired with the awful drawing I had drawn and more importantly the photo Opal took of me sitting on the rocks, just me and the water. All together it embodied a piece of me.

On our way back to the hotel we bought peach Schnapps. We drank it while we flicked through the television. It undeniably felt like two kids who broke into their parents' liquor cabinet. We each sat on our individual queen-sized beds and I turned to Opal across the gorge that divided us and said, "I think you're my sister."

She giggled while swallowing, trying to keep all the fluid in. I could tell she almost said something snarky but she softened by the time she could speak. She was an only child and she said to me, "Yeah. It feels that way for me too."

*

After Jackson and I broke up, I briefly lived with Fennel and Kaka while I tried to figure everything out. I was writing more ever since Watkins Glen and Jackson, through his kindness and belief in me, set me up with a different agent. There was no promise to be friends, but we knew we'd run into one another again, especially because of Opal. We ended amicably and he helped me move out. We hugged each other goodbye and I didn't see him for a while after that.

I heard Arctic Monkeys would be headlining Glastonbury again around this time. The announcement had been made weeks prior but I hadn't paid much attention to any news, let alone my other ex-boyfriend. I sent an email to Alex because we were old losers who still primarily communicated through it. If Alex ever got Facebook I think we would still be communicating on it to this day.

In the email, I apologized for not sending my congratulations sooner and that I was excited about the next album. On the whole, it sounded sterile and formal. It came off as something a person he’s never met would send as congratulations in hopes he’d throw some money their way.

Alex politely wrote back a thank you and then asked if I had suffered a stroke because I used “your” when I should have used “you're.” I wrote back how I was rolling around in embarrassment from the thought of it alone. He wrote back a note of laughter. After that, things were dry and I didn't hear from him until June.

*

When the band headlined Glastonbury that year, I didn't watch. You can't get the BBC stream in America, which was beneficial for my well-being. I had decided to move on and not be so absorbed with him. Something I never really did. He was hard to avoid.

I had thought the moment I moved out of the apartment Alex and I used to share that all old wounds would feel healed. I had thought leaving New York City would dissipate all the aches in my bones. Every absence was fleeting. However, I needed to go somewhere that didn't feel so loud.

I settled in New Lebanon, New York for two weeks. It was cooler than the heated cemented city. The house I stayed in was an old sawmill with a garden and stream nearby. Since I was staying there alone, I only had make-believe to keep me company. It wasn't the healthiest but it made for good writing.

It also forced me to learn how to cook because there were very few places to eat. Alex called me when I was in the middle of making pasta. I had just gotten a new phone (my first iPhone, the 5) and had yet to transfer all the contacts. 

I picked it up and felt like an old lady with my inability to pick up the call. "Hello. Who is this?"

I knew it from the chuckle alone. "We've really fallen out enough that you don't remember my name."

"Oh." I embarrassingly laughed. "Hey, you. I've just gotten a new phone. It's Apple. The new one. I'm feeling very posh right now. I'm cooking dinner."

"You're cooking?" It's like we had skipped thirty chapters. I had broken up with my boyfriend, started therapy, temporarily moved out of New York City, learned to cook, got a new phone, and learned how to do a cartwheel since we last talked. I had yet to register all of it too.

"Yeah. I've got a house too. Well, temporarily. I'm in New Lebanon, New York. It's a writing retreat. A personal one with no other writers."

"That sounds nice. You've always liked seclusion. You've got chickens too?"

"No. It's making me want to get a dog. Or a cat. Or maybe a cow. You'd hate it here."

"Why?"

"It's quiet. You're alone with your thoughts the whole time."

"Yeah. I would hate it." He grew quiet, like he believed I could read his thoughts across the call line. I probably could. Something along the lines of terror and isolation. He wracked through so much and tried to bleed the rest of it out.

I switched. "It's also home to the Shaker movement."

"What's that?"

"It's these Christians that don't have sex so they don't have babies and they've pretty much all died out but three. I've been to the museum here way too many times because there's nothing else to do."

"You thinking of joining?" He posed.

It would make for an interesting experience. If I ever ran out of topics to talk about I might vow to the Shakers in hopes of getting another book out of it. "At this rate, I might as well. Everyone is either married or dying out here." 

"You can't do that,” he insisted. “It would be a loss to humanity."

"Me having sex?" It was crossing a line. He had a girlfriend and was my ex-boyfriend and I was lonely and thinking about taking a lifelong vow of celibacy. 

He avoided. "Where's Jackson?"

I sighed and stirred a fork through the boiling noodles. "We broke up a few months ago. Nothing big. We're going to stay friends and all that." I said it not quite believing it, dripping my words with sarcasm.

He plainly said, "Sorry about that."

"Eh," I voiced, "what can you do? Que sera, sera is my new motto. I'm becoming a housewife to myself."

An ugly snort sounded through the phone. "Are you high?"

I giggled. "No. This is what happens when I'm left alone in nature for too long. I'll be joining a nudist cult soon. What about you and Arielle?" 

"Fine. You know, I'm touring and all that." He didn’t talk about her with me ever, which was the appropriate thing to do, but I took it as a sign that they were like Jackson and me: never seeing one another and on the edge of a breakup. 

"I know," I said. "How's that going?"

"Good. We're having fun."

"I'm liking the new stuff."

He was short and wanted to change the topic quickly. "Thanks." He was evasive. I don't know what that meant about the subject matter of "Do I Wanna Know?" and I won't write who he had in mind when his pen hit paper. But I have written the history here and you can deduce what you want.

"How's your new material?" He asked. I couldn't remember the last time I had sent him any of my writing. Our art had become separated. He didn’t ask for my opinion. I didn’t ask for his. I think that’s when our relationship died. We were so attached through our love of creating and not sharing that with one another was proof that whatever was left was necrosing.

"Fine, I think. Just short stories for now. I don't know what else to write. Nothing much has happened."

He outwardly laughed. "Seems like a lot has happened."

"Maybe. It doesn't feel like it." He was on the outside looking in, but from within, everything played out slowly, and it all went down in an inevitable nature.

"I get it. I'll leave you to dinner."

So, we faded away from one another once again. We were barely a blip on one another's radar. I went back to the city and lived with Fennel and Kaka until I was done "figuring everything out." I wondered why Alex had called me. If it was just to catch up or he had something to tell me. Despite my loneliness and desperation, I never called Alex. He was always the one reaching out.

I submitted the collection of short stories to my new agent and began renting a studio apartment in Downtown Brooklyn. I began writing freelance again to exercise my writing muscle and get the additional paycheck. 

The night AM was released I listened to it and tried my best not to dissect it. My brain imagined who the muse of the songs but when the album finished I went to bed and decided that all it would be to me was an album. It was nothing more than a collection of good songs.

The Monkeys passed through a week later and I got a text from Katie that we should get lunch. I had a meeting with my agent then so she asked if I wanted to go to the show. I liked the idea of it. Of just being able to enjoy the music again, but I knew my presence didn't exhibit that. I went anyway.

I tugged Opal along with me and we went to Webster Hall. We would enjoy the show. I would get drinks with Katie and that would be it.

It was wishful thinking that I didn't even believe in. I enjoyed playing with fire too much for that to be the case. 

I sat on a couch with Opal squished next to me. Alex sat in a chair to my side and we knocked knees with one another. "When I moved I found all those guitar picks that you misplaced," I told him. I held some drink and leaned on the arm of the couch. "They were behind the couch and under the bed. I found one in one of the kitchen drawers."

He plucked a smile and fell further back in his chair. "Yeah, I was never good at keeping track of those."

"I know," I laughed at him. "I lived with you. It was very annoying."

"I probably left that one in the drawer just to annoy you. I did that sometimes."

I crossed my brows and faked a sternness. “You enjoyed pissing me off?”

He took a deep breath and sank back in his chair. “Well…” He didn’t say anything else. Our conversation conjoined with the group’s and we never discussed how much meaning sat in that single word. Well.

As my time apart from Alex grew, I wondered how much of him I truly knew. He had these secrets he buried deep. Those guitar picks were tokens for me to collect. It was his own game he never told me about. He got a kick out of getting a rise out of me in the same way as when he would call me posh just to get an eyeroll. More and more I felt Alex to be a closed book that I only got to experience a few pages of.

The night grew later and we didn’t feel the need to linger. I felt the doors closing. I felt a need for it to be over. When we got on the subway home, I didn’t know when I would see Alex again. I didn’t know if it would be next year or another decade but I knew it wouldn’t be either of us reaching out. We would run in the same circles. Weddings, birthdays, babies, but we wouldn’t share those with one another. We wouldn’t be plus ones and we wouldn’t be giving presents to one another.

We said goodbye with a wave. I felt stupid for going in the first place. There was a feeling I had held onto what could have been for long enough. When I went to bed that night, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t think about Alex. There was no pit. I didn’t do anything wrong. It just wasn’t right. I was comfortable. 

When I spoke with Alex, every word was spoken with a tinge of hesitance. I was holding myself back. I couldn’t live in that awkwardness and I don’t know why I was fighting for so long to be able to do that. I had invaded his territory for nothing but a few words and a drink. I had surrendered now. Happily.

*

a/n: well, sorry for the wait, followed by the shortness, but i suppose the length illustrates the point. the next part will be much longer and much sooner. i'm luckily in the writing spirit (for now). thanks for reading!

[kelzebub]

3, 2, 1, go favorite ZR missions and moments from the first two seasons or the 5k training prequel

Well, I'm sick and avoiding my family (so I don't spread germs... and because I honestly have no energy for them right now lol) so I'm finally getting to this.

My favorite ZR missions from way back in s1 and 2? Man, everyone's favorite is obviously A Voice in the Dark and I'm not immune to it. I love it too. But another that really sticks with me is s1m15, Virtuous Circle. On the surface it's silly: oh sure, let's risk Runner Five's life for a dumb game she's not even interested in playing, that doesn't even really matter when survival is at stake.

Turns out, Runner Five had a lot to learn. And by Runner Five, of course, I mean me.

When you're young, you think that people in their 30s and 40s are old, and that we either have everything figured out, or that we know nothing. Neither of those are true (unless you're talking about Knowing in the Socratic sense) - we're actually always learning, always growing, and always able to be influenced if we allow ourselves. And this app has taught me some things even at my advanced age, so bear with my ancient crone ramblings here, especially since I'm sick and fuzzy-headed.

First off, fun is important. Sam and Maxine talk about morale, but they're really onto something. We really do need fun to thrive. We need art, music, games, dancing, stories, whatever, in order to feel human and enjoy life. It looks a little different for everyone. Maybe your idea of fun is meticulously lining up columns of numbers on an Excel spreadsheet, maybe it's wild parties full of drugs and sex that go on all night, or one of millions of other things people do - but it really matters that you have something you enjoy in life. In short, without fun, we get sick, both mentally and physically.

Secondly, We don't just need it as individuals. We need it collectively. Humans need bonding not just over the bad times - not just taking care of each other when we're sick or working together to survive - but good times too. Otherwise social dynamics get messed up. There's cliques and squabbles and gossip and all kinds of bad feelings, and groups fall apart, even erupt into violence in some cases, but generally it's just like... have you ever had a job where nobody has a sense humor? Or have you had a teacher, as a little kid, who never let the class have time to play?

Third, and this is a me thing, I spent years unpacking this internalized sort of shame that comes from being a geeky person with geeky interests. I got picked on relentlessly in school, it was really horrendous, probably because I was an undiagnosed neurodivergent girl whose family lived in poverty to boot, but I had this shame and embarrassment attached to some of my geekier interests for so, so long. This app had a medical doctor expressing interest in a tabletop RPG, and making it like this thing that everyone was into - it's mainstream in Abel - and I realized, that's real life. I'm an adult now and have been for years. I can like whatever I want and it's not even weird, and if it is weird, nobody cares. In fact, being open about my interests has helped me find out who shares them - not like when I was a kid going on a forum where the only common interest was that one thing, but with people I knew and liked already in real life, going "omg, me too!"

It was the final piece of the puzzle I needed after years of working on unraveling that sense of shame, even with geeky friends IRL and a successful career and kids. Now? I absolutely rock my Doctor Who scarf that I knit myself, I sometimes play D&D with my husband and kids, and most importantly - tying all of the above together - I realized that I had to prioritize fun and enjoyment in my own life and my family's lives. So I did, and it's made a real difference for all of us.

I was in therapy at the same time I started playing ZR, so it's not like I'm giving the app all the credit! My therapist and I worked hard too. But this episode, man, it really had a lot packed into it. I thought about the concept of a virtuous circle a lot, discussed it with my therapist, and tried to embrace the philosophy - and I'm better off for it.

And I just sort of realized that today. So, thank you for asking. And for reading, if you've made it this far.

[eaglet-if]

(I'd call this a hot take if it weren't so lukewarm that it crosses the treshold into slightly cold)

"nowadays, everyone is suddenly getting diagnosed with autism or adhd or whatever"

no, people just used to not get diagnosed no matter how obvious it was

like, throughout my whole childhood people - including professionals - were like "huh, she's seriously strange, wonder what that's about", but nobody ever had the brilliant idea to just check

I mean, there was the assumption that I probably have adhd, but I was never tested nor did they do anything to help (except scolding me for not really participating in class, forgetting to bring things (sometimes my whole schoolbag) every single day, etc; I've never done homework in my entire life)

they did send me to speech therapy because I was really quiet unless talking about some special interest, then I wouldn't shut up until told to (my dearest adults always made sure to let me know how much they suffered from me talking to them <3); it was a semi-success - the therapist found that she couldn't do any exercises with me, but that I was happy and able to hold a normal conversation about the goals and methods of speech therapy (she ended up explaining her study books to me, and we just chatted about those for the whole therapy)

they also sent me to occupational therapy, but I spent the whole time rotating (literally just spinning in circles every session), so that didn't really help with anything either

so I had to suffer through many years of school (I skipped a grade, but changed schools a lot (I attended almost all school types in Germany lol), so I've been in school way longer than normal) always listening to teachers saying I had "the potential to always get perfect grades if she just... uuuh..." without ever managing to think of an actual solution, or even just suggesting we could maybe look for what's wrong with me

literally all my various schools ever did in that regard was sending me to take IQ tests, which led to one of the stupidest sentences I've ever heard (keep in mind it was an actual psychologist specialized in schoolchildren and responsible for the entire school who said this): "she's just so intelligent, we normal people will never understand her" - which was then used as justification to do absolutely nothing despite me having glaring problems in every single sector of (school) life

this whole thing also seriously set me back later - when I first learned about autism, I was like "no, everyone always told me how extremely weird I am, this would be way too easy of an explanation"; in the end, it took me three whole years of people learning about autism going "hey, that sounds like you!" (one school I was at specialized in social professions, so we learned about things like that as part of the curriculum), and people who lived with autists and autists themselves constantly assuming I was autistic and being really bewildered when I told them I wasn't, before I decided to go to diagnosis (surprise: the peer-reviewed status was officially confirmed)

but at that point, it didn't really help anymore - yes, getting closure was kinda nice, but when you're an adult, the little help that is available is only available if you take care of getting it yourself - which I absolutely can't, that's part of the problem in the first place.

so, in conclusion, I spent my entire life getting told how much potential I have by the very people who made sure to do nothing to actually help me achieve it (or just, you know, have a somewhat stable average performance, like everyone else)

tl;dr: I'm a massive disappointment to myself and everyone else, but at least I know it's not my fault. yay.

[vintageneptune92]

Burn The Shadow- 3

This chapter took me forever. I’m sure there are mistakes. I’ve written, edited, re-written. I’d love some feed back, comments, shares, etc.

I will make a master page for the series when I get a chance. I hope you guys enjoy!

Let me know if you have any requests! I write primarily for Supernatural, Marvel and now SVU. I also dabble in TVD.

Gia made her way to where she was meeting Amaro in the park. She had gladly taken her available bereavement days. Like the rest of the squad, she usually pushed back at being told to take time off. This was different. She knew she wasn't going to be up to working after she said goodbye to Gabe. It drummed up too much turmoil inside of her. Any victim she worked with deserved her at 100%. She felt the vice around her heart tightening. She didn't know if that feeling would ever go away. She knew she had to find a way to move on, but she had no idea how.

She remembered the look of pure betrayal in Gabe's eyes when she testified. Not that her brain would ever allow her to forget. Her mother told her not testifying was not an option and the prosecutor didn't have any problem with her being forced by her mother. The prosecution didn't actually need her to take the stand. They had plenty to convict, but they wanted the death penalty to send a message. Her mother? The honorable Giulia Monroe had wanted to make sure Gabe knew he was no longer her son and she used her daughter to drive that point home. Gia still hadn't forgiven her mother for that. She doubted that she ever would. In the five years she wasn't allowed to see him or speak to him, Gabe had come to terms with what he had done. He tried to absolve Gia of the guilt she felt, but it had never quite gone away.

She had always worried that the other person involved would continue to rape, torture and murder. It was a fear that she could never shake. Her therapist told her she had to believe that Gabe's death sentence scared his friend straight. There had been no other attacks or kidnappings that were similar. Her therapist had to shut down Gia's idea that the other boy had moved and was continuing to victimize. She couldn't live in a world of "what if". Every once in a while she still found herself there.

She saw Nick before he saw her. She paused for a moment watching him texting on his phone. The tightness of his jaw led her to believe he was talking to Maria. He had been through so much in the past year, some of it his own doing, but Gia knew he was a good man who just wasn't perfect. He must have felt her eyes on him because he looked up. She gave him a small wave and he met her half way.

"Listen Gee, I'm sorry I called Barba. You just wouldn't let anyone go and I just didn't think- oof." She must have knocked the wind out of him when she hugged him. She had surprised him and after a few moments he hugged her back, holding the back of her head with his hand. When she pulled away he gripped her on each side of her upper arms and studied her face. "Gee, please don't take this the wrong way, but you look terrible." She waved him off.

Truth was, she DID look terrible. Her eyes were still puffy from the copious amount of tears she had shed. The dark circles were prominent again. She had fallen asleep on the couch and woke up screaming. Rafael had still been there. After that, he refused to go home at all. He had gone into her room and brought out her pillows and some blankets for her to stay on the couch and had camped out in her chair, promising to wake her up if she was having another nightmare. He had to wake up two more times. She didn't think he had slept at all. It was so crazy to her that not that long ago she saw him as an antagonist. She had blearily dragged herself off the couch after a few hours of consecutive sleep. She had to convince Barba to leave, promising him that she would be okay and needed some time alone.

"I'm okay, Guapo." He smiled at the nickname. From her it wasn't condescending.

"So you're not mad at me?"

"No, I'm not. You were right, I had no business going alone." They walked over to one of the benches to sit down.

"So Barba? He took care of you?"

"He did. I never would have expected him to be that way." Normally, Nick would have teased her. He saw how she and Barba were. They definitely flirted in their own nerdy way. He knew there wasn't anything going on between them, but he liked teasing her. Now definitely wasn't the time.

"So my intuition on this being personal and not professional was right?" She nodded her head.

"It's not something I talk about. And when you and I got into the fight over Barba and Muños, it was easier to stay mad at you and keep you at arms length. I had every intention of going alone. I had no intention of telling Barba either. When I got there, I didn't have the strength to push him away. He didn't ask a single question, even though I could tell he was dying to. He just wouldn't leave me on my own. I had to unburden myself. I felt like my insides were on fire."

"I get it Gia. It's hard for anyone to open up about their past. I just wanted to make sure you had someone there in case you needed to. I knew if you wouldn't let me be there for you, you might let him. Gia, you're my friend. Right now, I'm pretty sure you're my best friend. I just wanted to make sure you were taken care of." Gia was quiet for a few moments, letting what Amaro said sink in.

"It's been all really long time since I trusted anyone enough to talk about it. Ali was the first person I told that wasn't somehow involved. Yesterday made me realize that I've isolated myself for so long. I've been alone for so long. I can't...I can't do that anymore."

"Gia, you don't have to tell me." He didn't want her to feel guilty for talking to Barba and not him.

"No, I want to." She took a deep breath and held it for a moment. "He was my brother." Nick could feel the color drain from his face.

"What?" The word came out as a whisper. Gia reached into her bag and pulled out a thumb drive.

"It's everything on the case. I know you're going to DC, I thought you could use some reading material. This way is a little easier for me." Nick squeezed her hand.

"I'm here for you, for whatever you need." Gia had supported Nick through his problems with Maria, their separation and the entire mess with Carissa. She never once wavered in her belief in him. Then, he found out about Gil. She supported him through that too.

"I know Guapo. When do you leave?" She needed to change the subject. He took a deep breath and the sighed.

"Soon. I just have some things to finish up at the precinct and then I'm going to stop and see Gil."

"How is it going with Gil?"

"Good. We're getting to know each other. He's a great kid."

"How is Zara? I miss seeing her." Nick had a sad smile on his face.

"She's great. She keeps asking when me and her mom are getting back together. I don't know what to say to her. I hate not seeing her every day."

"You tell her it has nothing to do with her. Tell her that you and Maria love her so much and that will never change. She's too young to understand what you guys are dealing with. All you can do is keep reassuring her it isn't her fault and how much you love her."

"We do. She's just so young and I hate that she hasn't really gotten the chance to know her big brother." Nick ran his hand down the front of his face.

"You're a great dad, Nick. I know things are hard now, but they will get better. You just have to give it time." She leaned her shoulder into his.

"Thanks for saying that. Are you going to be okay this weekend?"

"I'll be okay." They sat in silence for a moment.

"Does anyone else on the squad know?"

"Just Cragen."

"You didn't tell Liv?" Amaro raised both of his eyebrows.

"No, you were the first one I wanted to tell." He couldn't hide his surprise "Nick, I have Ali who I consider to be one of my best friends, but so are you."

"You should tell Liv. She knows complicated families. She's your mentor and I know she cares about you a lot. She's always looking out for you and she always has your back." Gia wiped a tear that threatened to spill.

"I know, and I will."

"You call me if you need to this weekend." She seemed up beat, but Amaro could see something brewing behind her eyes. They stood up.

"I will be okay. You enjoy your time with your daughter. I'll see you when you get back Guapo." He gave her another quick hug and watched her walk off in the opposite direction.

Gia decided to take the long way home. The crisp air was biting at her cheeks, but it felt good. It felt good to feel something than the utter emptiness that was swirling around inside of her. It was a hole she had no idea how to fill. She had held it together pretty well with Nick. She wanted him to know, but she couldn't go through what she had the night before.

She had always felt so incredibly alone when it came to Gabe. This was the one thing that Grayson couldn't stand by her side through. She understood; it just didn't make it feel any better. As a kid, she used to think that her father could do anything. He was her hero. Gia was the opitome of a daddy's girl. Grayson and their mother were close in a way Gia had never experienced. There wasn't the tension between Grayson and their father the way their was between Gia and their mother. As an adult she still thought her dad could do anything, but there were two exceptions. The first was standing up to her mother. The second was watching his son die. Looking back, Gabe must have felt like such an outsider. She didn't want him to feel that way on the day he died. The two most important men in her life didn't have the stomach to be there for her when it was all said and done. She didn't know how she would have gotten through it without Barba. She didn't want to think about the state she would be in if he hadn't held her up. Somehow, he was the right one to be there. Nick couldn't have held back his questions the way Rafael had. She also knew Nick was right about Liv, she should tell her. If she wanted their trust, she had to give hers.

She stopped at her favorite coffee shop on her way back. It made her smile for just a moment when she thought about Barba showing up with it at her apartment. She was approaching her building when she saw a familiar figure in front of the building.

"Grayson?" He turned when he heard her voice.

"Hey Geeg." His tone was solem, appropriate considering the circumstances.

"Want are you doing here?" He was the last person she was expecting to see. It was Friday morning, he should be at his office. He always went in early so he could be home early on Friday to spend the weekend with her niece and sister-in-law.

"I'm checking on you. You didn't answer my calls." She felt like his eyes were penetrating her thoughts.

"I wasn't in the mood to talk."

"You're mad at me." It was a statement, not a question. She let out the air she didn't realize she was holding. "Look, I'm sorry. I wish, I wish I could be like you."

"What do you mean Gray?"

"Gigi, you see the good where no one else can. You're forgiving and empathetic. Even after everything we've been through, you still have hope. You were brave, are brave. I'm a coward. I wish that I could have been brave like you, so you didn't have to be there alone." Gia blinked back tears. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I wish I could have seen beyond myself to be there for you."

"I'm not mad at you. You don't owe me an apology. I understand. I never expected you to be there. Do I wish you or Dad could have? Of course. But I would never hold it against you." Her voice cracked. "I just don't want you to hate me for not hating him."

"I could never hate you. Especially not because of your humanity. Gigi, there is nothing in this world that could make me hate you." He pulled her in and hugged her tightly. They stayed like that for a moment. It unnerved her to see Grayson wipe a tear from his face when he pulled away. He never cried.

"If it makes you feel better, I wasn't alone." Grayson furrowed his brow. Gianna never talked about their brother to anyone.

"Who did you ask to go with you?"

"I didn't exactly ask him. He just showed up when he was told I might need some support." Grayson raised his eyebrows. His sister was full of surprises.

"He? I didn't know you were seeing someone." Gia shook her head.

"I'm- I'm not. He's a friend."

"Well I'm glad you have a friend you can trust."

"He's a good friend. I think you'd like him." Grayson smiled. He was just happy to see a change in her.

"It's okay Gia, to not be so guarded."

"It's not that easy Grayson. You know that. But I'm trying. My squad is tight. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I have people I can let in." She could see the tension in Grayson's shoulders release.

"I'm really happy to hear that. I have my wife and daughter. You deserve to have happiness like that." He held her by her shoulders. He was able to move on. It was different for Gianna. She felt some responsibility for what happened.

"Do you want to come up?" She didn't want to get into that conversation. She definitely didn't want to get into the subject of their mother.

"I wish I could. I have to get to the office. Call Sienna, let her know what night you're free. We want to have you over for dinner. Annie misses you."

"I will. Tell her I miss her too." Grayson kissed her on the forehead.

"You call me if you need anything, okay?" Gia nodded. She watched her brother get smaller as he walked away. It felt like it had been the two of them against the world for so long. His comment about hope stuck with her. She had to hang onto hope. The hope that one day she wouldn't feel so damn sad.

-———————————————————-

Gia knocked on Olivia's door. She figeted with the hem of her sweatshirt. She was about to turn to leave when the door opened. She had thought she would be okay alone. Instead she felt like her insides were trying to claw their way out of her body.

"Gia." Liv was surprised to see her, happy, but surprised.

"In this a bad time?" Olivia quickly saw the distress on her face.

"No, not at all. Come in." Liv stepped aside and Gia stepped into the apartment.

"This is a really nice place, Liv."

"Thank you. Gia are you okay?" Olivia had a better look at her. Her cheeks were red, but it was from the chilly air. Otherwise, she looked paler than usual. Olivia could tell by the lack of color in her lips. Her hands were trembling. Olivia had never seen her so casual before. She was wearing black leggings and a cropped grey hoodie that was over a white ribbed tank top and a pair of pink sneakers. When Olivia placed her hand on her arm, she felt how cold she was."Did you walk here? You're freezing." She ushered her over to the couch and wrapped a blanket around her.

"I, I didn't plan on walking here. Ali was supposed to be home but she got pulled into emergency surgery. I couldn't stand to be alone in our apartment. I was going to go for a short walk to clear my head, but I just kept walking and realized I was here."

"Well, I'm glad you felt comfortable coming here. Gia tell me what's going on. You can trust me." Cragen had mentioned to Olivia that Gia was going through something. While he wouldn't break Gia's confidence, he had asked Liv to keep an eye on her when she got back to work.

"I know." Gia nodded. She knew subconsciously that Amaro's words had led her here. Olivia gave her a few moments. She could tell she was trying to find the words. "Cassidy isn't here?"

"No, he won't be home for a while." The turmoil on Gia's face was heartbreaking. She couldn't even imagine what was going to come out of her mouth.

"Okay...okay..." It took Gia a few moments and then the whole story she shared with Barba came tumbling out of her mouth. Olivia didn't dare interrupt her for fear that she would stop talking.

"Oh Gia." Liv hugged her. She was mostly shocked at the lack of empathy her mother seemed to display. To make a child testify against her own brother in a trial that garnered him the death penalty was inconceivable to Olivia.

"I, I thought I was okay. But revisiting this triggered my memory. I knew I blocked out a lot. I just didn't realize how much. I can usually compartmentalize things. It's almost like there is a door in my mind and I can close things behind it." Gina's pointing to the middle of her forehead. "I had to learn how to do it. It took years. But now it's like the floodgates are open. All I can see is what was done to Amy. That crime scene. My father tried to shield me from it, but I saw enough. And I've read the case file a million times. Trying to find that last puzzle piece. The other kid that was with Gabe. With everything we've seen, that kind of violence? It wasn't a one time thing. I keep going over everything in my brain; I cannot piece together who it is. Maybe if I had seen the untouched crime scenes and not just the pictures CSU took of each scene." She was spiraling.

"Gia, listen to me, please you were only thirteen. Finding that other boy was not and is not your responsibility." Liv didn't know how Gia kept all of this so close to the vest.

"I know, I...I know. Rational me knows that. But there is this other part of me that cannot accept that. They had to have missed something. Something that I wouldn't have. All I have been able to think about today is what he has done since then. I can't turn it off." She was standing now and pacing. "I tried. I tried so hard to get Gabe to tell me. Maybe I didn't try hard enough."

"Your brother and what he did, it is not on you. Regardless of what he was capable of doing, HE was the one that protected someone with that capacity for violence. That makes him equally as guilty. Gia, I don't think he wanted to tell because he wanted to go out that way. If he was executed, he would have had to live with what he'd done for the rest of his life.

"I can't tell you the amount of times that I've told myself that... that Grayson has told me that. I just don't know how to turn this off again."

"I think maybe you're looking at this wrong." Gia raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything, so Liv continued. "Gia, as hard as it is, your brother's death is the closure to all of this. You can't change anything that happened and that was never your responsibility. You have carried this with you since you were 13 years old. I think your mind is stirring all of this up because you don't know who you are without it. Grieve your brother, but let him go Gia. His sins are not yours." Gia wiped away a tear.

"You're right. If I'm being honest, I think I just feel guilty for being able to move on." She sat back down and buried her face in her hands.

"Listen to me-" Liv put her hand on Gia's back. "You deserve to be happy and to move past this. Your brother would not you to punish yourself for his crimes." Liv paused for a moment before tentatively asking, "Gia, do you see anyone?" Gia looked confused for a moment.

"A therapist? I did. She left the area and I've been trying to find someone that I click with. It's hard with our schedule to test them out. I need someone that can understand all of this" she waved her hands around her head. "I have anxiety medication, but I don't want to take it because of work."

"If you are not on duty and are taking it as prescribed, you aren't doing anything wrong. It's a fine line to walk with them, but during something like this? Use what tools you have. I'll talk to my therapist. He might have some suggestions. He might even be willing to see you while helping you find someone."

Gia was quiet for a moment "I would really appreciate that. Sometimes, it's so hard to quiet all the noise. People think that having a photographic memory is this huge blessing. It does give me an advantage but sometimes I would give anything to not have to work so hard for a moment of peace."

"Does anyone else on the squad know?"

"Cragen does, but that's obvious. I told Nick today. Barba knows."

"Barba?" Olivia was genuinely surprised. She knew that they were finally getting along. She just didn't know they were getting along that well.

"Yeah. He and I actually have gotten kind of close." Gia paused for a moment to think about how to explain their friendship.

"He snuck up on me." Gia laughed for a moment. "He...he gets me, without needing any explanation. It's the first time in a really long time someone has. Nick thinks it's because we're both nerds. But part of it is that he doesn't just see me as a tool to win cases like other prosecutors have. They tended to forget that I'm a person. Barba? He sees me as an asset. He challenges me in a way that no one has before. It was always hard growing up because I was so much younger than my peers, but I was more mature. We also have the same snarky gallows humor, which helps." She chewed her bottom lip for a moment.

"Nick saw part of the execution notice on my desk. He tried to ask me about it, but I shut him down. He wasn't sure if it was personal or from a previous case, regardless, he didn't think it was a good idea for me to go alone. I wasn't ready to talk about it. And you know Nick, no way would he come and not ask questions. Then he and I got into that fight over the Muños case and I shut him out. He knew Barba and I have become friends, so he called him. Regardless of how angry we were at each, Nick knew I would need someone and made sure someone was there to take care of me. Barba was waiting for me when I got there. I was a mess already and I couldn't turn Rafael away. He promised not to ask a single question. He didn't even flinch when they read Gabe's name. It made me really trust him and I don't do that easily. He really took care of me yesterday. It was definitely unexpected." It was a lot to take in. Liv didn't expect her to completely open up.

"You know, I had a feeling you and Barba would eventually hit it off. He's a lot more than he pretends to be. I'm glad that he and Nick have your back. No one should have to go through that alone"

"God Liv, I'm sorry for just showing up here and trauma dumping on you. You've been through so much, you don't need this." Gia sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"Gia, don't apologize." Liv leaned towards Gia. "Our squad...it's different. The cases we work, the things we see, we have to trust each other. You know everything I went through with Lewis. My door is always open for you. Thank you for trusting me."

"I've always known i could trust you. I think I have always carried some level of shame."

"This is why you wanted SVU and why Cragen wanted you here. He knew you would fight for victims."

"Yes. I think part of me sees it as redemption. I couldn't save Lizzie and I couldn't save Amy, but I can save as many victims as I can."

"Why the PhD?" Liv watched as Gia stared past her for a few moments.

"It's the why. I need to know why someone would do the things we see. Causation isn't an excuse, but understanding helps me." Liv nodded, she understood completely.

"Do you want to order something to eat and keep talking?"

"Yeah Liv, I would like that." The panic Gia felt when she had showed up at Liv's door had started to dissipate.

-———————————————————-

Barba stopped walking for a moment when he spotted Gia. He had wanted to give her some space, but he needed to lay eyes on her after how he had left her. When his mother had cancelled breakfast, he told her he didn't want to waste the reservation.

She was sitting on a park bench, her leg crossed, supporting a sketch book that she was furiously drawing in. Her hair in her signature perfectly messy bun and that damn loose curl at her right temple. Her normal hard exterior at work was softened. Those perfect curls were just slightly less perfect. She normally wore darker makeup. She was smart, it made her look older, more intimidating. Leggings with over the knee black leather boots, she had a thick v-neck royal blue sweater. He could see a little bit of white under her sweater. The fall weather had her cheeks pink. She looked lighter, emotionally. He continued walking towards her. He noticed a tattoo on her right wrist that he had never noticed before.

"Exactly how many tattoos do you have detective?" He watched her jump. She always did when she was engrossed in something. She smiled.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She said with a raise of her eyebrows. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was flirting.

"You cover it up?"

"With makeup.I don't want to share every part of me with suspects and victims."

"Makes sense. Share it with me?" She gave him a nod. He sat down next to her and took her hand and flipped it over to see the full tattoo. It looked like a blue half moon filled with watercolored ocean waves. Underneath that were the words "I have the ocean's soul. I want everything and nothing in harmony. I am chaos." He had a feeling that she could bring chaos into his life. He ran his thumb over it, waiting for her explanation.

"The ocean is my favorite place to be. I spent summers in Cape Cod with my grandparents. It's so peaceful, but also vast and dangerous. If I close my eyes sometimes, I can feel the salty breeze. I'm also a Pisces, so it tracks." He smirked after his eyebrows shot up.

"You believe in astrology?" She shrugged.

"I never used to. But everything I've read really lines up, with me anyway. I hyper fixate sometimes."

"When's your Birthday?"

"March 4th."

"In like a lion, also tracks." She laughed.

"May I?" He nodded to her sketch book. She hesitated for a moment and shook her head no.

"It's too personal. It's like a diary. My therapist growing up had me sketch things to help get them out of my head. But you can see what I'm working on here." She opened the book and there was a portrait of a beautiful little girl. "She's my niece Annie. She's 4. Well her name is Anna. They named her after me. But she's my Annie. This is for my sister-in-law for her birthday. Eventually it'll be a painting."

"Wow...you are very talented." She looked at him and smiled. She was full of surprises.

"Thank you, that...that means a lot." She moved to put her sketch book in her bag. Rafael stood and put out his hand.

"We're going to be late for our reservation." Gia tentatively took his hand and stood up.

"Should I be insulted that I'm your second choice." She had linked her arm in his as they walked.

"I would think of it more as you were my first choice after my mother."

"Well I'm honored then." They walked in silence for a moment.

"How are you? What did you do the last few days." He finally asked. They stopped walking and he stood in front of her. She was normally at least 4 inches taller with her normal heeled boots that brought her eye level. He hadn't realized how short she was. Everything she did with her appearance for work was designed to make her larger in one way or another. He studied her face as she contemplated her response.

"Honestly? I am okay." His face must have read skepticism. "No, I really am. I, uh, had a rough night Friday night. It was bad. Ali got stuck in surgery and it left me to stew in my thoughts and emotions. My anxiety was through the roof. I honestly felt like my insides were lava. I was uncomfortable in my own skin. I went out to get some fresh air and found myself a Liv's. She said some things that really made an impact. We talked about a lot of things. We are a lot of Chinese food too. Cassidy was working late, so I stayed with her and he drove me home when he was done with his shift. It had to be like midnight. Then? I cried, I mean ugly cried. I was relieved Ali was home and already asleep, no one needed to see that. I finally took the anti-anxiety medication my doctor gave me and I slept...for 12 hours." She laughed a little. "Ali thought I was dead. She's never seen me sleep like that. We spent the rest of the afternoon together talking. El Guapo called me from DC and I got to chat with Zara. She's so happy and upbeat. It was good for me. I spent the evening hanging out with Ali and some of her friends. They went out, I stayed home. Liv checked in and then I took my anxiety meds again and got a full nights sleep. Nightmare free. I can't take the medication when I'm on duty or on call, so I know I won't be nightmare free forever. But Liv really got through to me. She said things I've heard before, but it hit differently coming from her."

"That Olivia Benson is a wise one."

"That she is. But it's because of you." He didn't understand. "What you did for me the other night? I don't think anyone has ever been there for me like that. With no questions asked and nothing needed in return. You put a crack in the wall I have had around myself for a very long time. Telling you gave me the courage to tell Amaro. Well, sort of. I gave him an electronic copy of all of the files to read on his way down to DC. He and I are close, but I'm not ready for him to see me like I was with you. I don't need to be someone he needs to save. You gave me the courage to tell Liv and let her dig a little deeper. There aren't words to express my gratitude to you." Rafael was speachless for a moment, and that never happened.

"I, I don't know what to say to that." He had unconsciously twirled her loose curl around his forefinger. She wanted to make a joke about him never not having something to say, but it didn't seem to fit in that moment. "I am honored that you trusted me like that." He let the ringlet fall from his finger and tucked it behind her ear. "You deserve to feel safe and supported. I'm in your corner." There were a multitude of things she wanted to say but couldn't bring herself to say them.

"C'mon Abogado. We're going to be late and I'm starving." They were back to walking arm in arm.

"Should I feel offended that Amaro gets to be called Guapo and I'm relegated to Abogado?" Gia let out an audible laugh. Rafael knew right then and there that he would now be chasing to hear that sound again.

"It is not so much a compliment and more of an accusation. He absolutely loves it when I call him Meñudo." She was laughing again.

"You should do that more often." He finally said.

"I'm pretty sure I bully Amaro on a regular basis."

"Well, keep that up, but I meant laughing. You should laugh more. And I don't mean that in the menacing 'you should smile more' line women hear." He quickly added in the qualification. Before she could respond they were walking up to the restaurant. She felt something stir inside of her when he put his hand on the small of her back to lead her into the restaurant.

"I have to tell you, you're a lot less intimidating like this." She gave him a questioning look. "The hair, makeup, leather, heeled boots? They make you a little terrifying- especially when you're angry. Without all of that, you kind of remind me of a pixie. What's the angry one that crosses her arm and stomps her foot?"

"Are you comparing me to Tinkerbell after telling me I wear too much makeup?" Her eyes narrowed as she took a sip of her mimosa. He grinned.

"Campañita, I did not tell you that you wear too much makeup. It's just a different look." she rolled her jaw. "Yeah that's going to stick."

"I hate you." She pointed her fork at him.

"I don't think you have ever or could ever hate me."

"Eres engreído."

"Por eso te gusto cariño." Her blush was gratifying.

"You know, probably." They both laughed.

"Also- I did admit to being terrified of you. You're small, but you're mighty." She laughed again. It felt good to laugh like this.

"This has been a lot of fun. Plus mimosas and breakfast are my favorite."

"I am more than happy to take you to breakfast anytime."

After breakfast, they were walking through Central Park. Gia's face hurt from laughing. "I'm going to have to demand you show me pictures of you playing Little League."

"I'm thrilled my pain is so amusing to you." He deadpanned. "Well jokes on you, I'm not giving you the gift I got you.

"I'm pretty sure the mental images of you trying to be athletic are a gift that keeps on giving."

"You're lucky I like you." He stopped walking and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and handed her a small box. She gave him a questioning look at then took it and lifted the lid off.

Inside was a white gold necklace with a Lotus Flower pendant with a black stone in the center.

"The stone is azabache, it's the Cuban protection stone. You said the dream catcher didn't help the nightmares. I thought maybe this would help. The Lotus flower is you. Strength, hope, preservation and resilience. Rising from a dark place." She blinked rapidly and a single tear slipped out of her eye. "I didn't mean to make you cry"

"Raf- this is the nicest thing anyone has ever gotten me. Thank you." Her voice cracked when she said his name. She had never felt so seen before. He reached up and wiped the tear off of her cheek. Her using a nickname for him made him feel something he knew he had no business feeling. He took the necklace from the box and quickly fastened it around her neck. She felt her mouth go dry. The smell of the sandalwood in his cologne was intoxicating, she wanted to pull him back in when he stepped back."

"C'mon, let's get you home, it's freezing." He put his arm around her shoulder and they walked towards her apartment.

[silentalltheseyearsnomore]

I don't really want to tag this as I feel like I don't trust a whole lot of what is on this little app but a few follow me who I feel are authentic and relate to me so maybe I'll get lucky and you'll relate or have any idea wtaf happens with us lol

I am too exhausted to explain properly but... we have this thing where we get stuck writing. non stop. through an entire day, entire night, not allowed to stop for water or food or rest. only ever to our therapist of the time.

usually, in the past, it was always triggered by "confessing" (every single reason we are evil, that DID doesnt exist, that our history never happened.. every single thought we have.. etc, it was terrifying, we couldnt even stop to reach a hand out.) and we did a lot of work with our longterm therapist back then to understand what parts were at play, that it seemed very linked to some programming, but we never untangled it all. we saw the similarities of not being allowed water, not being allowed food, going insane, the feeling of spinning in circles, losing all realities, confessing, insanity.. etc... and it was always like breaking a spell. The second we managed to stop it, we saw it all clearly and couldn't understand how we were under such a spell. But trying to stop it felt like death. Because to stop it we had to believe it was a program and STOP. And believing, meant being even more evil, because it's not real. But once we did...we were okay. It was fucking terrifying.

But today we had similar in a different way. It wasn't about confessing but more.... trying to get every reality from every part on paper or not being allowed to send to our therapist. It would be a lie. And spinning in circles trying to explain and add another reality and another and another. And we thought eh this is just the product of a lot of fear, and a lot of parts all at once. But.... again we ended up a few seconds away from being unconscious from a faint from not drinking or eating, in the dark in a carpark after not stopping all day.

We also think we identified old sabotaging programs a past therapist noticed activate in us very often during therapy. But I just..

It's so hard to believe any of it is true.

Is this... does this sound at all not insane to someone?

[stanheightsimp]

I wrote this quickly to distract myself from my burnout. Sorry, it's badly written and sloppy, a bit. There will surely be corrections in the future, when my mental health is better !

Group Therapy | Adam Stanheight x /Leon Kennedy

Adam must take part in group therapy. He meets a survivor of Raccoon City. Since Amanda and Leon are both in DBD, I'm obsessed with the idea of a Saw and Resident Evil crossover (and also because Leon and Adam are comfort characters). | 2478 words

Adam Stanheight stepped hesitantly into the overheated room, nervously fidgeting with the excessively long sleeves of his flannel shirt. He didn't want to do this. Fuck, he hated this kind of thing. Group therapy. For people suffering from PTSD. Great.

It was his therapist who'd sent him there "an indispensable step in his healing process". Supposedly, Adam was too self-focused on his suffering. Supposedly, it would do him good to find other people who had it as bad as he did. Blah, blah, blah. Fucking idiot therapist. As if he could understand what Adam was going through. As if anyone could understand what it felt like to wake up in a tub of dirty, cold water, seeing a person saw off his foot, , get shot by this person, and be left to die for seven days in the dark, without food or water. Adam decided he'd do the bare minimum, even put all the ill will in the world into it, so they'd leave him alone, or even, oh fuck, that was what he wanted, kick him out of group therapy for being unbearable.

He sat down grudgingly on one of the folding chairs arranged in a circle in the center of the room, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, reluctant to cooperate. A few people were already there, people in his age bracket. At least, that was something. Adam didn't really like people from his parents' generation.

His gaze met that of a blond boy with hair like the lead singer of the Backstreet Boys (Adam hated the Backstreet Boys). Blue shirt open over a white T-shirt, sky-blue jeans, big clear eyes, and eyes rimmed as if he hadn't slept in days.

Leon Kennedy met Adam's gaze and wasn't sure whether he liked him or hated him. His old self of a few years ago would have liked him, probably. Leon liked people, trusted them without restraint. He believed in many things, was unfailingly optimistic, and managed to find beauty in everyone. Even when people were capable of the worst, he could find the best in them.

Well, that was then. Leon clung desperately to the ghost of the carefree, optimistic kid he'd been before Raccoon City.

"We have a new member," declared the group therapy organizer, and Adam rolled his eyes. "Adam, stand up, would you like to introduce yourself?"

No, fuck no, I don't want to introduce myself, I don't want to be there, I want to disappear.

Adam stood up with a sigh.

"My name's Adam. I'm twenty-five years old. And four months ago, I was a victim of Jigsaw. He locked me in the bathroom, and I almost died in there. And… that's it."

The assembly said a unanimous "hello Adam" which Adam felt was forced and hypocritical. Fuck, he hated group therapy. Everyone came not to support or listen to others, but to be supported and listened to by someone, to have someone sympathize. Basically, this kind of therapy was the most singularly selfish thing Adam had ever seen.

"Was there any particular reason he captured you?" asked a girl, older than Adam but not by much.

Are you fucking kidding me? You really think this asshole needs a reason? You're such an idiot! Adam tried to reply, but just shook his head.

"Actually, maybe there was a reason. I was suicidal, in a way."

"What do you mean, in a way? You either are or you aren't, there's no in-between." commented a teenager laconically.

"Shut the fuck up, I didn't fuckin' ask for your opinion." Adam replied, sitting back down.

The therapy organizer intervened, asking with forced enthusiasm and empathy, someone else to talk about him. At first, Adam couldn't help rolling his eyes as he listened to the other people's testimonials, and especially as he saw the sympathetic nods.

Leon didn't say much either. But he did listen. He listened a lot. He seemed to really listen to what others were saying. He didn't necessarily propose solutions, but offered a listening ear, a real listening ear.

Then Adam decided to speak up:

"Before the trap, I was… I was convinced I was nothing. I was alive, but I was nothing. I didn't even want to live. Today, I want to live, and I've realized it, but I'm just… too broken to live. I have nightmares every night. Horrible nightmares. I can't get into a bathtub without thinking about the trap. Everything brings me back to it."

He took a deep breath, holding back the rising tears. And it was Leon who came to his rescue by speaking up, diverting attention from the dozen or so curious faces scanning Adam, probably waiting for him to burst into tears.

"I was in Raccoon City when it happened. September 30, 1998… It's a day I'll never forget. Somehow, I made it out. But too many others...weren't so lucky. But deep down, I know that the cop inside me died that day. If I could just forget what happened that night, the pain—even for a second."

Leon swallowed his saliva with difficulty, his eyes moist and his fingers clutching the fabric of his jeans.

"Thank you for your testimony, Leon" said the organizer. With a wave of his arms, he invited the participants to repeat what he had just said, and there was a brouhaha of more or less sincere "thank you for your testimony, Leon".

The rest of the session passed laboriously, and when it was over and Adam had put on his jacket, Leon approached him. The room had already all but emptied.

"Hi. My name's Leon." "Adam" he replied in a formal, wary tone. "First session, huh?" "Yeah, and probably the last." Adam replied with a deeply jaded look.

Leon could see through Adam's game. He knew that Adam's cynical, sarcastic attitude was just a mask. Just as Leon had closed in on himself like a shell, Adam was trying to repel others.

They stared at each other for a long, long time. Soon, the room was completely empty.

"Shall I walk you back to the parking lot?" offered Leon to Adam. "Why not" the dark-haired man conceded.

Five minutes later, they were in the men's bathroom, Leon pinning Adam against the wall, pressing his body against his and greedily exploring his mouth, Adam's arms around Leon's neck and Leon's hands on Adam's hips.

"Is this how you welcome newcomers?" sneered Adam against the blond's lips, as he slid his knee between his legs. "Just you. Only you." moaned Leon in his ear, before disengaging himself from the brunet's embrace and wiping his lips. "See you at the next session, Stanheight?" "Wait, all this so I can continue your bullshit therapy?"

Leon gave him a mischievous smile, placed a tender kiss on his cheek, and exited the restroom. Just before, he turned back to Adam and whispered in a soft voice:

"It's a date, yes." "Shit."

And so it was that Adam Stanheight didn't miss a single session of group therapy.

[tobiasdrake]

Tactical Story Time? Tactical Story Time.

Shit, I don't really have a pen on me. If only there was a way to preserve a still image of your words for future reference or something.

I dunno, maybe rip out the pages and give those to me. You seemed bizarrely okay with that idea earlier.

Does it say anything in there about what she is? Like, I have a vague understanding of what she is in the sense that she's an ominous force that menaces Repine. She used to be their queen but then she betrayed them, possibly to the Soul Curator?

But. Like. Literally, what is she? A robot? A monster? Just some asshole in the desert? What are we dealing with here and, more importantly, what kind of dimensions are we going to need to dig for the grave?

There is one thing in this entry that is no longer true. I aim to create further contradictions.

Oh cool, a logic puzzle. I can decipher this.

I mean, you could probably decipher it yourself. I've played the quiz game. I know you have all of the answers to everything because you're the smartest person ever.

But I wanna take a spin at it.

That's stupid. That would just put them one march east of their starting point.

That will take them a bit further, but you could do it in three steps if you went south instead of southwest and then east.

So one march northeast and then one march east. The goldilocks of poor navigation.

You realized how bad these directions are?

...so you all had the right directions for part of your trek and you somehow know which part even though you were in the wildly wrong areas of the map. Sure. That makes sense.

There's no way this can be literally true. This is a coded map. So we need to go:

NE SE NE E

Bit convoluted with the norths and souths but at least it's consistently moving east instead of winding stupidly in circles.

Wait, there's a speedball station? Why didn't it come back online with the others? There better be a good reason or I'm going to punch B'st very hard in the shoulder.

I don't want to have to do that. He can't actually be hurt because he only experiences the conscious suggestion to behave as though he's been hurt, but also he is very hard and I might injure my hand. Please do not make me have to do that.

Known and noted. Your sacrifice is now part of a larger effort to tear the Queen That Was from her throne and leave her lifeless body in the sands.

Rest in Vengeance, Joce.

Alright, team! It's going to be a four day hike through those sands so we need to make sure we've stocked plenty of food for.....

...glass golem....

...haunted puppet....

...Serai, do you actually eat food? That could go either way. Have you been not eating food this whole time, and your crew just never noticed because of your suave mystique?

Huh. I. Guess. We only have three mouths to feed. That will make this simpler.

Oh my god I am actually sick of the color blue. I didn't think I could get sick of the color blue. I love blue. It's such a great color. But four straight days of nothing but blue is too much blue. It's way too much blue. How do you people live among all this blue?

Oh. So it's a private Speedball station. That makes sense. Congratulations, B'st, you've been spared from having to break my hand.

It's fucking empty. Did we just spend four days wandering aimlessly through an ocean of blue only to find out that the queen's been dead all this time? Are your people living in fear of a memory?

...maybe the real Queen That Was is actually the sand that got in my fucking pants along the way.

What, to murder someone? I'm always ready for that. It's been, like, my default state of being ever since we lost Garl.

I should probably see a therapist about it but I'm not going to because I might kill them.

...you know what, unfurled like that, you're actually really beautiful. I'm going to beat you to death, but I want you to know that you're making the whole "abomination of wires and guns" thing really work for you. I especially love the hand made of cord fingers, and the way your neck forms the handle of a gun.

Are you able to combine into, like, a hand holding a gun that then shoots-- Sorry, I'm getting distracted to the point that Serai's starting to give me stink-eye. We came here to murder.

Oh, you CAN!? AHHHH YES, THAT IS SO FUCKING COO--

OW. FUCK.

Why do I say things? T-T

You know what? Fine. You want to go? Let's go. My artillery is better than yours.

The puppet isn't good for much but he can carry out a fine carpet bombing.

Fuck her up, Serai. This is your moment. I'm just glad we could be here to help make it happen.

Revenge is underrated; That felt great.

We can mark that off as another great menace your people no longer have to live under, thanks to the magic of excessive amounts of violence. I think your world is just about fully liberated at this point.

There's just one malefactor still lingering in the realm.

[whatislovevavy]

WC: 4.4k

Synopsis: An exploration of why Bucky decided to cut his hair

AN: This has been in my Google Drive for about two years and finally got around/had the motivation to finish this. This piece was technically my first ever piece of fanfiction I ever wrote. My writing mostly pertains to Top Gun and Top Gun Maverick so this was a nice little brain break from that. I thought I'd include the original author's note I put together, having never written fanfiction at the time, just for nostalgic sake and if anyone wants to know just how new to this I was lol. Also this divider is not mine and I was unable to tag the account that made it since it was deleted. This work will be posted on my side blog @sophs-writing-nook.

Original Author’s Note: Hello everyone :) This is the first fanfiction I’ve ever written and I really hope you guys like it because I’m a bit nervous about it. I’ve had this idea since I saw the first promotions for the Falcon and Winter Soldier series and didn't really do anything about it for a variety of reasons. I haven’t seen a lot of fics exploring this concept so I decided to write this on a camping trip in my notes app where I didn’t have reception so I apologize if there is bad grammar, spelling errors, etc. If there happens to be a similarity to another fic, it is purely coincidence and I don’t intend to plagiarize anyone. Please let me know if it does appear I have. I have a lot of respect for fanfic writers and don’t want to disrespect anyone and steal anyone’s work unintentionally. 

Warnings: Blood, Trauma (PTSD), sadness with some bittersweet moments sprinkled in, supportive Sam because that’s a warning in itself. 

None of these characters are mine. Read at your own discretion.

Bucky had tried finding a routine after coming back: Get up by 7, go on a run make breakfast, try to keep in touch with his friends he had made since coming back, try a new recipe, maybe try online dating, catch up on what he missed the past 70 years, try to forgive himself for all the atrocities he didn't have a choice in committing, make dinner, shower, and sleep by 9.

That's what his therapist, Darlene, told him to do at least.

She wanted him to write in a journal the names of the people and families he wanted to make amends with, things he wanted to explore and try out, and good things he remembered before he was the Winter Soldier.

Darlene had kept encouraging him to keep referring to the Winter Soldier as if he were his own separate person, and not affiliated with James Buchanan Barnes.

It helped a bit with passing the blame, but not by much. He, naturally, chose the last remnant of Steve he had- his journal- to hold these thoughts.

Steve saw the best in him when he couldn't. 

He made an effort to try and forgive himself for everything he did, for Steve’s sake. 

Why Steve had left him, he didn't fully understand. 

It didn't make the "forgiving himself" part any easier. 

If his lifelong friend, who had been with him through thick and thin, decided to leave him now in this time of his broken, mutilated life, what did that say about him? 

Was he wrong about him? 

Did he truly believe he was worth being fixed and forgiven? 

There were small moments of hope that he could be fixed, but they were few and far inbetween.

His nightmares had gotten worse.

If Darlene would ask, he’d tell her, “no, they haven't", "they've stopped", or "I haven't had one for a while.” Bullshit excuses that anybody who saw the dark circles under his eyes wouldn't believe. Darlene knew he was lying and would try to reassure him that their space was safe and it would help him to get his nightmares out in the open.

He didn't think so.

This woman didn't know what it was like to have the same horrific scenarios play out in his mind every time he went to sleep. 

To see himself killing innocent people like he was in the backseat of his mind. 

The blood. 

Their faces, some close friends and others strangers. 

Their pleas and calls for mercy were what always broke him. 

He was forced again and again to witness himself taking their lives and couldn't do anything to stop himself. Forced to use any part of himself for Hydra.

Nothing was spared.

He felt unforgivable, these nightmares were a sign of the Winter Soldier still being in his head, buried and ready if Hydra got their hands on him again. 

He was tired of fighting and worrying, only wanting lasting peace and a full night's rest.

He had started renting an apartment in downtown Brooklyn near where his family had lived during the 40's. It was near the church cemetery his mother, father and sister, Rebecca, were buried. They were placed in the row closest to the street behind the church his family frequented during his youth. 

His parents had passed from old age when he was imprisoned by Hydra. 

A small part of him was thankful for that. 

They never had to learn that their son had done such horrible things.

They lived with the good memories of him.

His sister had passed during the time half the population was gone, the Blip people called it, from Alzheimer's. He visited her once before, but she was in the late stages, and was a shell of who he remembered growing up. 

His little sister Rebecca, whom he protected, opened jars for, teased, and made sure the boys she liked would be good to her, was now unable to remember him. He was told she passed peacefully in her sleep a few months after he disappeared.

Darlene thought that buying an apartment so close to his family's resting place might be overwhelming for him, but he wanted to be close to them and the memories he had.

The apartment consisted of a basic floor plan; kitchen, bathroom with a shower and bath, living room, bedroom, closet. However, he only used the kitchen, bathroom, and living room.

He didn't have many things when he moved in, and didn't feel he needed all the space allotted to him.

He had invested in a modest tv set, a microwave, blender, and a camping mat, courtesy of Sam's encouragement. 

He had tried sleeping on a mattress, but he felt that he was going to sink through into the floor with how soft and marshmallow-like it felt. He always slept on the floor with a few blankets and sheets. 

Sam had the same experience when he came back from Afghanistan.

Sam had tried to help him adjust to things since coming back, and had done a lot for him, including to help him find his apartment and encourage him to try new things.

There were times he had trouble getting out of his headspace to return Sam's calls and initiate with his friend. Darlene had been saying that for a person who allegedly had no one left, he seemed to have a safety net in Sam. She pushed him to call someone other than her and initiate with him. It was another case where he felt she didn't fully understand how difficult it was for him to build relationships, and "get his nightmares out in the open" since coming back.

He had gotten home late that night from the store, buying ingredients to make a recipe Darlene recommended: chicken tikka masala, he thought she called it.

He was amazed at the amount of change he had missed, especially from a grocery store. His family would boil everything with what minimal spices were available, other than the usual salt and pepper. He found solace in trying new recipes and exposing himself to the technological wonders of the 21st century, including learning how to use a DVD player and the iPhone he recently bought. He tried online dating but found it was too overwhelming and made him feel like a fish out of water. Asking people on dates and seeking relationships came easily to him when he was younger before the war, but everything felt so different now. 

He felt so different and foreign to himself. His arm. His mind. He felt like a shell of the person he was before the Winter Soldier.

His groceries were unloaded into the fridge and he started to prepare his dinner. He placed a bowl on the counter for mixing chicken marinade and marinating the soon to be cooked slices of chicken. The chicken slices were placed into a pan on a low heat to begin cooking. They wouldn't take long since they only had to cook halfway through initially. He gathered the spices for the marinade.

The soft smells of turmeric, ginger, cumin, and garam masala reminded him of the evenings he spent helping his mother cook during the summer. His mother would rummage together some cash every once in a while to buy a few sachets of spices from the local grocery. It was an indulgence she took part in that, compared to now, seemed simple and less of an everyday luxury. 

Sure, the spices she would bring home were more mild and less "exotic" than what he had available to him now, but it was the familiar memory of being taught to cook and the soft smells of his mother's cooking.

His conscience told him to use the spices sparingly despite himself being confronted with a substantially sized grocery aisle complete with spices from almost every corner of the world a mere few hours ago.

Maybe it was his upbringing during the Great Depression and watching his parents worry about where the next paycheck would come from.

Or maybe it was his instinct telling him this small semblance of peace he had found in his Brooklyn apartment would be snatched away, and that he needed to savor every new experience in stride. 

Because if he let himself enjoy them too much, it would make the snatching that much more painful.

He couldn't decide.

He finished the marinade and would have to wait an hour or two to start the sauce and cook the chicken. He placed it in the fridge and made his way to the bathroom for a shower.

The warm water felt nice on his warped, scarred flesh around his arm on his left side. The area would often become sore and plagued by knots. Sam recommended warm showers, aloe vera, a massage and spa place nearby, and Advil. The thought of people he didn't know touching his scarred flesh made him feel nervous, so the rest of his suggestions were his go to. 

His scar tissue and long hair were the last physical mark of Hydra on him. 

He was thankful he didn't have to see the red star that had branded him for so many years when he looked in the mirror anymore, since leaving Wakanda.

But there was still his hair.

His hair that had blood, dirt and grime stained into it for his 70 years of service. No matter how many times he showered, he knew the blood would never leave his hair or his hands. His mind would drift through waves of hopelessness in quiet moments like these more often than not.

He dried himself off with a soft towel, changed into a pair of boxers, and began to gingerly apply aloe vera to the junction where his arm met his shoulder. His shoulder was still a bit sensitive after all these years despite the enhanced healing from the serum. Shuri theorized it was because the metal cavity of his arm continuously tore through the underlying tissue. She was able to remove the bits and pieces of metal embedded in his shoulder. His arm was in the healing process, but it would take a while after years of damage even with the serum. After he finished rubbing in the aloe vera, He put on a dark t-shirt and made his way back into the kitchen to finish the sauce.

He carefully prepared the onions, garlic, and spices for the sauce the way his mother taught him to. 

He couldn't help but think about how his parents and sister would have loved to have tried this recipe with him.

He could almost hear his mother's voice in his head telling him to "cut the onions a bit smaller" or "don't let the garlic and onions burn in the pan".

Rebecca's eagerness to try the sauce prematurely with a perfected pout and whines of protest when denied so.

His father's quiet yet strong presence at the kitchen table reading the daily paper and soft scolding of his sister.

Steve drawing in his journal at the dinner table on evenings when Sarah Rogers would be working late at the hospital.

The radio softly playing in the background as a soothing ambiance.

The kitchen window opened to let the aroma of the Barnes’ family dinner wander through the back alley of the apartment building, and let in the sounds of the neighbors' soft conversations, clothes oscillating in the wind on the clothes line, and car engines humming as people made their way home at dusk.

All qualities of his family's evening routine and upbringing he longed for, but took for granted in his youth.

The stark smell of overcooked onions brought him back to the task at hand, pulling him from his thoughts but leaving his buildup of emotions he felt were about to rupture. He added the heavy cream, spices, brown sugar, and let them stir with the marinated onions and garlic. He felt tears start to form in his eyes. Letting the sauce thicken, he turned the pan onto a low heat, and added the marinated chicken to finish cooking. 

He placed the spatula down on the counter top with a shaky hand, placing his hands on the counter to support himself as he let out a shaky breath, blinking away tears that formed in the corners of his eyes.

God, he wished they were here with him. Steve. His mom. His dad. Rebecca.

He wished he had somebody who knew him before the Winter Soldier that could help him to pick up the broken pieces of himself and to become the person he was again.

He wished he could have said goodbye to his parents, Rebecca, and that Steve hadn't left him.

He wished he could've held his parents one last time before they passed, met the man that Rebecca fell in love with and had a family with, and fought harder for Steve to stay with him and help pick up the pieces.

All things that he couldn't do anything about now.

He wiped his tears away and returned to stirring his chicken masala. Thoughts of his family blending with the thoughts of his recipe like the spices and heavy cream in his pan as a cope. Darlene had mentioned that the recipe goes best with garlic buttered rice or naan, so he had bought ingredients for both, but opted for the naan. He turned on the oven, placed some naan from the store on a baking sheet, and into the oven before returning to stirring the contents of the pan. 

He remembered Sam wanted to come over and check in on how he was settling into his apartment, sometime the next day. Maybe he would want to try some of his dish. 

"Initiate, take small steps to initiate". This counted as initiating, right? He hoped so.

His chicken masala was well blended and deemed done. His naan close behind. He placed a bowl and plate on the counter, served up his recipe and naan, and sat down at his two person dinner table, and prepared to eat. Darlene had told him that making a makeshift taco with the naan tasted good if he opted to not make the garlic butter rice. He took his first bite and let himself experience each incredible flavor. 

He would definitely be making this recipe again.

Maybe he could make a batch for Sam. 

It would be a small way to return the favor.

He made his way through his dinner, and would start heading to bed soon. It was almost 9 anyway. Shuri told him that consistent good sleep would also help him heal mentally along with his therapy and the treatment she provided.

He made a mental note to try making the garlic butter rice, thank Darlene for the recipe, and ask her if she had any more favorite recipes he should try during his next session.

He brought his dishes to the sink, moved to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and shed himself of his shirt. Sleeping shirtless was normal for him both during the war and after getting the serum, finding that he would warm up easily and end up tossing and turning in the night. 

His escalated body heat helped him to survive the frigid Siberian winters during his imprisonment, but not the mild to warm summer nights in Brooklyn.

Laying on the hardwood floor with the lights out left him with his thoughts. He remembered the nights he and Steve spent laying on couch cushions on the living room floor of his parents apartment. 

The nights he and his sister would read The Hobbit under the covers of his bed when they were younger, while their parents thought they were sleeping. 

He liked to sleep with the TV on at a low volume and the window opened so he wouldn't be lost in his thoughts for too long. 

He didn't have as much trouble falling asleep as before. Darlene told him to take deep breaths while resting his eyes and had gotten better at it since seeing her. 

Breathe in for 5 seconds, exhale for 10, and repeat till he felt calm enough to drift to sleep.

He steadily awoke hours later, feeling warm and groggy.

 It was quiet. 

The TV was off and the window was shut. 

He was none the wiser in his hindered state of being as he lifted himself off of the floor and trudged to the bathroom, the soft sound of his bare feet pattering on the wood floor like rain drops on a window, encompassing his apartment in a soft echo.

He turned on the soft bathroom light and twisted the cold faucet on, leaned down and scooped cold water in his hand, and poured it on his face. Supporting himself by his forearms, he closed his eyes and relished in the feeling of cold on his face and cascading down his neck. 

The water felt warmer now and had a distinct iron smell to it.

He opened his eyes and was met with his hands drenched in blood. Blood flowing into the sink from the tap. 

He slowly turned to meet his reflection. Met with the cold, dark, blank eyes of the Winter Soldier. The blood stained leather vest, black muzzle, and the long brunette hair stained black from blood falling over his face. 

He was there with him, as clear as day. 

He felt a stark and deep rooted sense of fear awaken and burrow itself in his chest as he quickly retreated from the sink, pressing himself against the opposing wall. Eyes wide and breathing heavy, he felt the walls of the bathroom constricting him.

The Winter Soldier reached out his metal arm, severing the separation between the mirror and his bathroom, and brought it down onto the counter top with a resounding crack, small remnants of the cheap countertop tumbling to the floor. He lunged for the door and twisted the knob but it wouldn't budge. Desperately, he tried to break down the door, knuckles bleeding and eyes teary. He could feel the Winter Soldier getting closer to him and was too terrified to turn back and face him. He broke through the door with a splitting crack, splinters in his hands. Awaiting on the other side was a long dimly lit corridor lined with bars and cold concrete walls. 

His heart stopped. 

He knew this corridor. 

He would always know this corridor. 

He didn't want to go forward, but he had no choice. Breaking into a sprint, not looking back and praying he didn't trip over himself, he felt a sudden, strong grip on his leg, pulling him backwards. Landing on the hard concrete with a groan and turning himself to face his captor: Two dark, army clad figures awaited him. He shuffled away from them as fast as he could but couldn't get to his feet fast enough to avoid being dragged to by his feet towards the bathroom. His screams echoing off the walls, and hands burning from friction against the cement floor at his attempts to escape their grasp.

He couldn't believe what was happening, he thought he was free from Hydra. 

Free from these corridors. 

Free from the chair.

He felt his nails fruitlessly catching on the small ridges of the cement floor as he was mercilessly dragged. The hallway enclosed in darkness behind him and the bathroom light ahead of him, serving as a beacon of pain and suffering. 

He was left on the bathroom floor, shaking and crying, accentuated by the sound of the slamming of a steel door. His teary eyes searched for the figures but found none. Instead, his eyes landed on the dull gleam of the worn metal frame in his bathtub, tinged with small droplets of blood, smoothed down edges, and strained leather straps.

If he wasn't sobbing before, he was now. He felt so trapped, his heart beating out of his chest; his lungs made of tin, unable to expand.

His shaking frame was folded on the floor by the bathroom door. A few moments of silence flooded by the drops of his sink tap and his attempts to catch his breath. 

Abruptly, a handful of his hair was grabbed, his body dragged to the chair as he let out seethes of pain and cries. 

He was held down in the chair as he was strapped in by faceless, dark army figures. Soft whispers and murmurs of pleas for mercy and forgiveness settled around him, originating from every vent and faucet in his bathroom, nestled their way to his ears. 

They grew louder and droned out the sound of leather going through buckles and the mechanical "wrrrrr" of the head plates assembling towards the top of the chair. 

He struggled and screamed, but it was no use. 

Trapped in the chair, no chance of escape; Limited by his mind and not his body. 

He anxiously waited and dreaded for the excruciating pain of electricity to course through his body, to hear the words Hydra spent so much time and care to drill into his mind.

But both never came.

He awoke with a startle, eyes wide, body and blanket soaked with sweat, lungs gasping for breath. 

His window open, letting in his neighbors everyday routine squeeze into his apartment. 

The TV on a low volume, playing auctions for nic-nacs and heirlooms people didn't find use for. All drowned out by his racing thoughts and attempts at breathing.

The blanket pooled around his waist as he shifted to lean against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to focus on his breathing. 

He needed his hair gone. 

Like a wounded animal, he made his way to the bathroom with shaky breaths and uneasy strides. He flipped the bathroom light on, feverishly opening and closing drawers to find what he needed most.

A pair of scissors.

A raspy sigh left his lips as his hands met the plastic frame of the twin bladed tool.

His eyes shifted from his reflection to his hold on the scissors. 

Carefully, he brought his metal hand to his hair, extending one of his many locks of hair.

His eyes drifted from the lock of hair to the metal blades that almost fully encased it. 

Snip.

He watched as the lock frayed till it was severed completely, feeling the freed lock in his hand and watching it fall to the counter.

A sigh of relief left his lips as tears pricked his eyes as he met his reflection in the mirror. 

Snip.

Snip.

Snip. 

His tears were flowing fully down his cheeks as almost the entirety of his left side was covered in frayed, unevenly cut hair. 

He gingerly ran his flesh hand along his head, relishing in the short tufts of hair, and began repeating the same frenzied cutting on the other side of his head, and towards the back

If the tears weren’t flowing before, they were now. 

He placed the scissors onto the hair ridden counter with a clang, keeping his relieved gaze on himself, feeling his chest wrack with sobs, body slowly crumbling against the sink and to the floor.

He had never felt such relief in his life. 

His hands ran over the chopped hair, savoring the uneven patched of hair, his head laying back to rest against the wood cabinet below his sink,  eyes fluttering shut.

Muffled knocks softly rose his mind from the depths of sleep. 

He let his eyes adjust to the bathroom light, feeling his neck ache from how he slept against the drawers of the cabinet. 

Sam. 

He rose up to his feet with a groan, trudging to his front door.

His front door opened with a click.

“Hey, man-woah.”

He rose his eyes to meet Sam’s wide ones, giving him a small smile, “Hi, Sam.”

Sam swallowed.

“Late night hack job, huh?”

He gave Sam a tight-lipped smile, nodding. 

Sam’s lip quirked. 

“I, um, I made something for you if you’d like to try it.”

Sam watched as he rubbed the back of his neck with his flesh hand.

He moved from the door, leaving it open for Sam to come in.

Sam carefully stepped into his apartment, taking in the rumple of blankets on the livingroom floor. 

“It’s chicken tikka masala, my therapist recommended it.”

Sam took the plastic container he held out for him.

“Thanks for this…We should go get you a haircut. You can’t be walking around Brooklyn looking like you had a blender cut your hair.”

His lip quirked, nodding.

After a few minutes, he met him back at the front door in jeans, a t-shirt, and his bomber jacket, and glove.

“Ready to go?”

He wordlessly nodded, closing, and locking the door behind them. 

—

“Alright, what do you think?” 

The hairdresser adjusted his chair so he could see himself fully in the mirror. 

He could feel his eyes glaze over.

His previously poorly chopped locks were no where to be found, replaced by almost buzzed cut hair with a bit of length towards the top. Barely enough for anyone to get a good grip in.

“It’s perfect, thank you Melissa,” he muttered to the woman that gave him a kind smile in return. 

He tried to hand the man at the cashier station some cash, but Sam interjected with his card.

He looked at Sam with slight bewilderment.

“You’ll cover me next time.”

His lip quirked, as Sam nudged his shoulder as they made their way to the exit.

He stopped in front of a window for a store on the way back to his apartment, seeing his reflection in the storefront.

And for once, he didn’t have a deeprooted distaste or fear of what he saw. 

It almost made him cry.

He needed this.

His long hair gone. The last remnant of his time in Siberia, of the shackles that held his mind down under water like an anchor, gone. 

Out of sight. Out of mind.

Sam stopped a few paces ahead of him.

“You wanna stop in?”

Sam’s voice broke him from his trance.

He gave Sam a small smile.

“No, just taking it all in.”

Sam gave him a comforting smile as he caught up with him.

They continued on to his apartment to give Sam some of his chicken tikka masala, running his hand through his hair periodically with a smile on his face. 

[astrowaffles]

toji to me is a very downtrodden character and thats the base of like aaalll my analysis of him. i think its a good idea to keep in mind that they're all living in a Secret Society with like negative morals and seemingly a core principle of might makes right. its not Just a lack of therapists, here, right, its an actively hostile environment. and then you have the zen'in upbringing which kicks that up a notch. i dont think toji is actually all that convinced of his power, bc he grew up being told he was worthless without cursed energy. he Never gets revenge on the zen'ins. why? his trauma response to this (get OUTTTTT) is different than maki's (spite them & eventually overcome them-- for approval ? hm.). shes intimidated by them sure but shes got that rebel spirit! girlboss. anyway back to the point bc i have one -> toji never escaped the zen'ins. he Wants to affirm that he's strong without cursed energy despite all the evidence that he actually is (and look how that final attempt went!). id like to propose a theory: he didnt think he could hide a child with The Zen'in Power Of All Time from the zen'ins. i dont think he could either tbh. ok actually are you caught up on the manga 🤨

Hello again! I really love this view of Toji's character, and it will surprise you to learn that I agree with you. I actually do. When I've been replying to your asks before, I've been talking from the perspective of his parenting decisions. But you're right, to take this any further we need to look at his actual personality/character.

Reasons to be sympathetic to Toji (a.k.a extend him the poor little meow meow factor):

abusive ex-family

no support

no therapy

dead wife

poor

gambling addiction

Toji was abused and was brought up in an environment where he literally meant nothing. He was useless. His reaction to this (get out, cut all ties, get stronger) is a response I'm actually proud of him for. So many people are probably still rolling around inside the Zen'in clan, having never got the balls to get out. Toji even chooses to change his name.

Being a cycle breaker is hard. For many people, it's impossible. For Toji - it was impossible. I extend sympathy and empathy to him here because it's DIFFICULT to let go of your upbringing and do it differently, do better. Toji can't bring him self to leave the jujutsu world. Nanami did it, and could have left forever if he so chose - but Toji can't. He's not a sorcerer but he can't let go of that being part of him, he can't stop his Zeni'in upbringing from shaping him. Neither can Maki, but Maki chooses to actively confront the clan and make physical changes to her life.

Toji just drowns in his spite - again, another thing we can hand him a poor little meow meow card for. He doesn't have the tools to heal or make better decisions. We feel bad for him. We sympathise. We want to still see him as a basically good person (and, to be honest, he probably is) who's just been scarred by the world.

So, to go back to what you said: you're right. He doesn't escape the Zeni'ns and I'm not convinced he wants to. He wants to show them he's better but he also can't bring himself to directly call attention to himself.

So let's bring this full circle and talk about what the original post was about: Toji's parenting. You said you still don't think he's a good parent. You're right, he isn't. He never will be. No Toji stan will ever be able to convince me that any of Toji's parenting choices were the right ones. But let's be sympathetic again, let's see how we can cut him some slack for those terrible decisions.

Does Toji even know how to be a parent?

We don't know a whole lot about Toji's parents. We know he hates them, if he ever truly knew them. We can infer he doesn't want to be like them. We're sure he never actively abuses Megumi, only passively, through abandonment. Perhaps he feels this is better than getting directly involved with a small child. He's described by the wiki as a cold person, specifically since his wife died and he 'reverted to his old self'. It's highly possible that Toji chose to abandon Megumi since he thought it was genuinely the best possible path. Toji can be cold, violent, and calculating, and he maybe felt he was in no position to be doing any parenting. We can sympathise with this!

(But he's still a bad father).

Did Toji sell Megumi to the Zen'ins so the kid could train to be a sorcerer?

It's definitely possible. I think this is what @honestlyyoungtyphoon was trying to tell me. Toji can't help a sorcerer kid, but he knows that Megumi needs training and he knows the Zen'ins would love to give it. And, yeah, maybe he's had this plan ever since he realised Megumi's technique, because he knew the Zen'ins would find out somehow.

Reasons this is still a bad parenting decision: the Zen'ins, while they treat their sorcerers well materially and are much kinder to them than they are to non-sorcerers, are still power hungry little bitches. Everyone knows this. While Toji would have no way to create a better plan, he knew himself it was bad. You ever wonder why Gojo went to see Megumi straight away? Because was Gojo was raised how the Zen'ins would treat Megumi. Gojo was living the life that Megumi would live in the future. And Gojo knew that it wasn't a life fit for anyone.

Toji knows that Gojos knows this. Toji knows Gojo could help Megumi. Toji passed the baton. And honestly, this is probably a reveal of part of Toji's true personality. He willingly sent a guy, his own personal enemy, to Megumi because he knew it was good for Megumi. Toji has a lot of pride and it must have taken a lot to ask that. THIS is probably what the aggressive Toji stans mean when they tell me Toji was a good parent.

So, overall: Toji is a damaged person who never received any kind of help and support from anyone except his (now dead) wife. There are many factors that help shape his decisions and parenting choices. Toji is probably a basically good person who is simply hurt by his circumstances, and even his truly awful decisions such as abandoning Megumi could have their roots in a belief that it was truly for the best. However: a good person does not make a good parent.

Toji was a shit dad and we love him <3

[0nlinejournal]

05/31/2023 1:37am

Talked to my sister for a bit today. She told me that when she reads those choose-your-own adventure stories on TikTok that she, for some reason, always imagines herself as male, and realized this only after she saw the girlies thirsting over the spooky mysterious characters in the comments. We speculated that it might be because she reads so much and the majority of what she reads has male protagonists (she was an English major and has her masters in gothic literature). And honestly, girlies that be reading (I’m assuming that’s why these long winded TikToks are also coming up on their feed) be reading hella fan fiction. I discovered this after my year of successfully making more friends this past year. So, since those self-inserts are for women anyways, it’s easier for them to automatically do that with these TikToks. BUT, her having that realization made me have one of my own, that kind of circles back to my shrooms realization. I picture myself as a child in these stories. I’m never my adult self, I am in child form. Another insight of the inner workings of my mind.

I feel as though viewing myself as a child (and being aware of it) has come up enough times this year that it is definitely something I would discuss with a therapist if I got the opportunity to go back to therapy. I’m certain it’s rooted in my upbringing and due to my overly protective mother, but how do I fix it? My mother wanted so much control over me, that I didn’t get to experience what my peers did growing up, and she oversaw all the important things in my life, and I feel as though that had stunted my mental growth. I don’t know how to fucking DO anything. It’s infuriating. And on top of that, attempting to do important tasks gives me debilitating anxiety. It makes me feel foolish. Another hypothesis I have (based off of watching half of a YouTube video that popped up on my feed slightly relating to the subject) is that having to do all the emotional labor as a child and preteen and young adult burnt me out in a way. And now, subconsciously, I want to be a child. And the idea of adult things is not something that my inner child wants to deal with at the moment. Either way, it’s embarrassing that I’m so inept at life when everyone around me is at least knowledgeable and capable enough to seek professional help and get on with their lives. Everyone is struggling, but they’re still moving forward. I feel so stuck in my ineptitude.

I’ve fallen into a pit again. I’ve been doing nothing but working and sleeping. I have been reading, but at unhealthy hours (I will read after this post). I do feel more awake than I ever do during the day, though. Regardless of mental health, my max energy levels are at night after a good half a day of rest.

Well, I’m off to it, I guess. My mother’s birthday is this Saturday. I’m not particularly looking forward to it. I couldn’t get the day off, but I asked her if she’d like to get dinner on Friday. I’ll try to write about it.

2:00am

[lucithetrashbagfromhell]

.

I feel so stuck. I circle around the same old fandoms again and again. The world goes on and I somehow always circle back to a place I was many years ago. And especially 1 of the fandoms just tugs on my heartstrings because there are so many feelings connected to it. And it just makes me think. Makes me remember.

I spend my days missing what once was. I miss my old friends, who I would talk to for hours until the early hours of the morning. I miss talking and creating and obsessing, all while feeling so seen. Like all the little fandom related things I did actually mattered. I've never been so creative as I was in that period of my life. I've never felt like I mattered more in a community than I did back then. We had so many plans. We accomplished so many things. But none of it matters anymore.

And it's so long ago now. And I feel so utterly dumb still longing for it, because I know that I'm the only person who hasn't truly moved on. But I read the things I wrote back then, the pictures I took, the videos I made, the lore and world building, and I feel so empty that I want to rip my heart from my chest. I know that it's for the best, for everybody, that we dont have any contact anymore, but on the darkest of days I just want to talk to them again. But even if we did it would never be the same.

I miss all the Tumblr blogs who once helped to fuel these obsessions with their own stories or headcanons or art. Most of them have deleted their accounts by now, and the rest have moved on to completely different things. But I miss them. I miss the ones I only ever reblogged from, and I miss the ones I actually talked to a couple of times even more.

But I can never reach out again, because they've moved on now and I cant just bring up stuff from the past like that. Because moving on is normal and healthy and I dont understand why I can't just do the same.

Every time I think about my own date of birth I want to throw up. I know I'm too old to be stuck like this. I'm 10 years too late and I have no idea where that time even went. I love explaining my old passions and all the fandom related things I managed to do, but I loathe telling when all of this took place. 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016 - it's so fucking long ago I can't handle it.

A couple of years ago I spoke to a therapist. I told them that I'm always living in the future, always worrying about what comes next and never being able to just live in the present. And they told me something I'll never forget. They said that I don't live in the future; I live in the past. And it's because I'm always thinking back at all the thing that has gone wrong before that I project that unto the future. And right now I know that they were more right than I'd ever thought at first. I'm stuck in the past and I dont know if I'll ever be able to move on from this old version of my life.

I'm just so ashamed. Why can't I just move on as well? Why does all these feelings have to sit and fester in my soul just as strongly as they did 10 years ago?

I know I can just create now, but I also know it'll never be the same. I just want what once was. But for every year that passes by the memories I hold so dear become more and more distant. And I feel like I spend every day grieving what has been lost. And I feel like such a fool every time I finally get the courage to talk about an interest that should have died 7 years ago. Because I know in my heart that people think it's weird or cringe or just plain old news. It's so embarrassing.

I wish I could reminisce without the pain of missing what once was. I wish I didn't feel so stuck. I wish the concept of time didnt hurt as much as it does.

[bewitching-aria]

The Happiness Trap, part 1

My therapist recommended I read The Happiness Trap in response to my requests for a book to read. As someone who generally reads very quickly, I took notes to try to consciously pick out segments I found especially relatable or important. I find such a note taking practice helps me better remember concepts and check my understanding.

I originally took handwritten notes! I reproduce a typed version, with some more commentary, to really all-in on the benefits of writing here.

This covers part 1: Why is it so hard to be happy? [read more]

Life is difficult.

With each passing generation, the human mind became increasingly skilled at noticing, predicting and avoiding danger. So now, three hundred thousand years later, our modern minds are constantly on the lookout, assessing and judging everything we encounter. (p.6)

I certainly do relate to having an overactive brain that aggressively tries to account for the worst at all times. In the past, I have explained this behavior as a protection mechanism against variance, where I am unafraid of trying new things so long as I have an idea of what the worst it could be.

Though I have been able to try many new and fun things (and unfun things) without regret with that mindset, surely there were instances where the worst possible scenario I imagined was so unlikely, I avoided doing things I ought not to have. Further, I look back on painful memories where some outcome was worse than what I expected the worst to be. The surprise definitely elevated the emotional response I had.

Another essential for survival is belonging to a group.

So how does the mind protect you from rejection by the group? By comparing you with other members... (p.7)

I have had many difficult experiences with social circles in my past. Compounded by the fact that when I have brought these up to friends (and family...), I have often been told things like:

You should have seen those people were not actually real friends with you.

You need to prove them wrong by being better than them.

You deserved how you were treated.

The last one is the one I want to call attention to. It's a very negative thought, but also one that I myself have found myself thinking a lot. I want to call out, outright, that this line of thinking is horrible.

However, for myself, I convinced myself that such a line of thinking was acceptable (though still negative) because it produced the following:

I deserved how I was treated.

I dislike how I was treated, but because I deserved it, if I want to be treated better, I have to deserve better.

I will deserve better if I am better.

I must better myself.

And indeed, I have bettered myself over my life, and am genuinely proud of what I have achieved, so I did not question this whole thought process as a sort of laziness induced self Machiavellian grind mindset.

There is an additional assumption that I have frequently made that I deserved it because I was the worst in the social circle at various things I'd compare myself against. Grades, attractiveness, personality, etc.

I found some comfort in the passage knowing that this is a sort of widespread rational irrationality.

Life is difficult -- Myth 1: Happiness is our natural state

What is natural for human beings is to an experience an ever-changing flow of emotions... (p.8)

Life is difficult -- What exactly is happiness?

... a life spent in pursuit of feeling good is, in the long term, deeply unsatisfying (p.9)

... there's another meaning of happiness that's radically different: the experience of living a rich and meaningful life.

I have more or less accepted that a good mindset for living life, especially for me currently in my 20s, is to put less emphasis on the future and care more about the present. However, such acceptance is a logical brow beat one, and not one I (at least at the time of writing) emotionally accepted. Such is par the course for me, which we shall see later in these notes.

However, the passage presents this in a way that I do not typically hear.

Normally, when I am given the advice to focus on the present and seek out experiences, this is in response to me thinking about the future in some way. To that end, the conversation is usually one of lifestyle and mindset. However, because my lifestyle and mindset have lead me to where I am, and I have generally been happy with how I've brought things around in life, it's difficult to accept such a dramatic change in thinking, and emotionally I don't think I have (at the time of reading).

The passage invoked an image in my mind of me, in elderly age, telling young people about my life, and how it would be better if I had a vast number of experiences, good and bad, rather than just saying I lived simply but happily. Of course, there is nothing wrong with the latter, but I think I am someone who would like the first. This struck a chord, and opened me up to such a way of thinking more.

The Choice Point

Definition 1. Toward moves. Also known as workable moves. These are behaviors that move us toward the sort of life we want.

Definition 2. Away moves. Also known as unworkable moves. These are behaviors that take us away from the life we want.

There is no list of "right", "correct", or "best" toward moves; we each decide for ourselves which of these behaviors come under this umbrella. (p. 13)

I think this is important to call out, because ultimately this is what differentiates how people live their lives. On one hand, there is some discussion about the capability of an individual to carry out what they believe to be right or wrong, but there is also that different people want to become different versions of themselves. I recall specifically the conversation AC gave about how ones self is fundamentally transient, and that peoples behaviors are so that they can become the self they wish to be, and this felt very related.

Away moves can also include things we do inside our heads such as worrying, ruminating, obsessing, and overanalyzing. (p. 13)

oh man thats me...

Definition 3. Obey mode. Also known as fusion. When our thoughts and feelings dominate us, commanding our full attention or dictating our actions.

Definition 4. Struggle mode. Also known experiential avoidance. When we myopically strggule to avoid, escape, or get out of our thoughts and feelings.

oh man I definitely flip-flop between both of them a lot...

The choice point -- exercises 1 and 2

The first exercise has you imagine that a friend (or romantic partner, or coworker, or any kind of individual that has a named relationship) that is talking about you to someone else, and they are asked to name 3 things about you. What would you like for them to say?

Reader, what would you put for me?

For friend, I had:

Fun

Compassionate

Smart

in that order. This is also the same for relationship partner.

The second exercise had me describe problems I was going through, then a list of away and toward moves associated with them:

The black hole of control

The black hole of control -- Struggle strategies

These go into fight or flight:

Fight:

Suppression. Forcefully pushing unwanted thoughts out of your head, or down.

Arguing. Arguing back with your thoughts.

Taking charge. Taking charge of your thoughts, typically with commands, like "snap out of it!" or "stop thinking!"

Self-judgement. Using harsh self judgment to bully yourself into feeling differently. Name calling, like "loser" or blame like "don't be so pathetic!"

Flight:

Opting out. Opting out of situations, events or activites that tend to trigger uncomfortable thoughts or feelings.

Distraction. Focusing on something else, unhealthy avoidance in general.

Substances. Avoidance/forced removal of emotions by substances.

The blackhole of control -- The problem with struggle strategies.

What's the problem with using methods like these to try to control our thoughts and feelings? The answer is nothing, if

we use them sensibly, appropriately, and in moderation

we use them in situations where they can realistically work

using them doesn't stop us from behaving like the sort of person we want to be, doing the things that matter to us.

This is important, because perhaps individually, falling into using one of these coping mechanisms is an inevitability. I feel that for the sake of priorities, sometimes temporarily avoiding the processing of emotions and difficulty is ok so long as it's not put off forever. Essentially, in a time of crisis, I can see any of these things being ok if the crisis is great enough. However, living your life in crisis mode is terrible, emotionally, and chronically (cortisol and adrenaline moment), which I think I have been doing for my entire life (at the time of reading).

As with anything, there are times and places for things, and the difficult act of processing and going through one's troubles is something that requires a safe space, time and compassion in general. So it is important to seek this out, rather than waiting for it to happen.

Experiential avoidance, in general, is problematic long term because the time and effort spent running away from emotions could be used for more meaningful, life enhancing activities. Further, when the thoughts come back, they often come back stronger, and they come back when we are unable to run farther, so they'll hit at a time when it hurts more. When overused or poorly used, such tactics can also degrade one's quality of life. Substance addiction is probably the most direct example, but never listening to your emotions is a pretty bad thing to do, despite being raised to be a man and not feel anything.

[oh-yes-i-did-not]

An old friend periodically keeps trying to approach me, especially any time I mention that I am thinking of moving back north and she's SOOOOO excited, yes please do move back! But I have no idea how to explain to her that I will never, ever trust her again and so we can't be friends.

I didn't know it back then, but I had panic attacks. They just started as rage, before turning into hyperventilation and then disassociation. Also, the therapist that my school nurse referred me to said it was just a normal part of being a teenager so I had no way of knowing. It was just normal.

But the first time I had one when someone from my close friend circle was there was the time that destroyed big part of my trust to that friend circle. The friend who was with me at that time told everyone and said I was a "fuckin psycho."

Fortunately I did manage to talk it out with a couple of people, who were willing to listen to me, but then the witness friend and one other made that circle an ex-circle for me because this other person called me, starting to hurl abuse at me the moment I picked up the phone.

So now, 25 years later, I still know that she saw me as a person who would do that. Like, all someone had to do was to say I did it out of malice and for how I am and she would believe it 100% before asking me anything.

So no, we can't be friends, ever again. I keep you on my FB because you're on the organizing part if something happens with my old class but that's that.

And the funniest thing is, I had one previously, on a trip, sharing my room with the biggest assholes my 14 year old self could think of. And they were super cool about it, even tho objectively that one was way worse, I ended up breaking things and hurting myself too. They didn't call me a fucking psycho. The worst person in my life gave me a fucking hug afterwards lmao.

[scarluxia]

Today in therapy

I scheduled my therapy appointments for 9:30 a.m. because it forces me to get a jump-start on my day. This way, I have to get up, get ready, and get some fresh air instead of being a lump at home. I don't know if I like it so far, but anyway...

Today I discussed the logistics and arguments between Loki and me regarding our respective job searches. He wants to do things that build towards starting his own delivery service partnership with Amazon. I want to work in an office. I'm qualified for office administration, but I've taken some time off work for health and family reasons. My goal is to move to a three-bedroom, either house or apartment, in Walnut Creek. I'll be closer to my best friend, in a nice part of the state, and each member of the family will have his own room.

I've been offered an interview in San Francisco. Loki didn't want me to take it and argued very strongly against it. Initially I turned it down, but then I changed my mind because he's the one who doesn't want me to deal with the commute. I have no problem with it.

The thing is, there's a bit of a struggle based on who gets hired first. If I get a job first, then he has to make arrangements to pick up our kid from preschool. If he gets a job first, then I have to fit my schedule around him. He's argued that I'll burn out from trying to work full-time, that I won't like the commute, that I'll be stressed out when I get home, etc. etc. etc., things that everyone in America who doesn't have a positive attitude towards work has to deal with.

I thought he would be employed before I would, or that there would be more opportunities in our current city. I got an interview before he did and I probably would have gotten the job if I hadn't been, well... flaky. I did apologize for it and schedule another interview, but my hopes aren't high. He refuses to file for unemployment because he thinks he'll be hired soon. He doesn't want me applying us for food stamps for the same reason.

If I went back to school and took classes in accounting or paralegal certification, I'd be more qualified for a wider range of jobs. School costs money, though, but if I applied for food stamps and CalWORKS, the latter might pay for my schooling. I just don't understand why he should have the freedom to follow his goals but I'm being discouraged from trying to make myself more valuable. Well... actually, that's one of the things I went over in therapy.

I got very frustrated with my therapist for talking about teamwork. I consider myself a team player. I've never discouraged anything Loki's wanted to do, at least on a professional front. He's had big dreams, big ideas, big goals, since I met him, except when he's gotten demoralized and stuck in this rut of thinking, "Nothing's ever going to work out because it's not working out right now when I want it to." But he's thinking so much about his own journey and just expecting me to work around him that there's no room for him to think about the team. He thinks that he's seeing the big picture, but restricting me from advancing my education is the opposite of that. He's thinking very narrowly about what he wants to do, but if I call him on it, then he'll deny it and talk in circles and all these frustrating things that I hate. I hate arguing with him because it's never about actually solving the problem, it's about doing things his way.

Anyway, during this conversation with my therapist, I had the headache that wouldn't quit, even though I've taken painkillers for it. I've had this headache since yesterday. I told her where it was and she said it's because that's the part of the brain that's concerned with higher executive functioning and planning. Well, that makes sense. I thought I was just hungry/thirsty, but this has been a fairly stressful few weeks.

I'm actually really mad about this because, I went on a trip in November, a very expensive trip considering our budget. I told him about it in advance. I told him how much I needed to take with me. He ended up quitting his job within a couple of weeks before the trip, meaning we were without an income. Then he went back and got reinstated. Now he got himself fired by basically telling the owner of the company that she's making a bad decision by not using his ideas. Then he refused to file for unemployment and told me not to file for food stamps. He's telling me not to try to go back to school because it's not worth it and remember what happened last time? (Yes, and I'm no longer in regular contact with the person who was distracting me last time. I'm also more willing to take a C if it means passing the class.)

So anyway, our grantor wants us to pay our own rent and be self-sufficient, which is fair because he's been paying our rent for three years. I want us to move into a three-bedroom apartment in a nicer city, or at least adjacent to a really nice city (which would, incidentally, be much closer to San Francisco or Oakland, where all the jobs are). In order to do that, we need a dual-income of about $55/hour. We are not in a position to be turning down work. It's vulgar to state it like that, but it is how it is. I want our kid to be in a school he likes and, hopefully, we might be able to find one that isn't thousands of dollars a month in another county. I'm looking at what we need in order to make these things happen.

Loki is looking at what Loki needs to make his goals happen. Now, yeah, he'd like to be able to pay for our kid's schooling too, but not if it means me working upstate. Once again, I have no problem with the commute. Sure, I'll be waking up early and coming home late, like I'd be doing if I was going back to school full-time. This doesn't bother me. It bothers him for some reason.

My therapist asked me if Loki wants me to succeed or fail, and I said... it's more like he wants me to succeed on his terms. He wants me to fail or be discouraged doing it my way so that I'll agree to do it his way, and unfortunately, that's a mindset I grew up with, so I haven't really figured out what I'm truly capable of. I took office admin because I already knew I could type and file stuff, and picking up SAM wasn't hard by any means. Going to school for psychology the first time and business the second time were the only times I've really challenged myself, and I dropped out of both because I wasn't doing it perfectly. Well, now that I'm going to be 33 in a couple weeks and I don't really know how to do much that's useful on a large scale, like, say, accounting or paralegal duties, and it's been ten years since I've received a certification in anything, I'm more willing to just... try something and see if it works out. If it doesn't, at least I've given it a shot.

But then of course, if it doesn't work out, he'll be there with a steaming pile of "I told you so", and that's really annoying to have to consider, so I've chosen to disregard it to the best of my ability.

My therapist says he seems threatened by the idea of me becoming self-sufficient because it'll mean I'm likelier to leave him. Well... the thing is, when he was working, we were getting along fine for the most part. I know he misses working and he doesn't want to just sit round doing nothing, but that shouldn't prevent me from finding work. Like I said, we need to be dual-income in order to achieve our larger goals. He'd also like to move out of our current city, though he's changed his mind about moving outside of California.

He's compared my casting a wide net of possibilities to "running round like a chicken with [my] head cut off". I think that's a very disparaging way of looking at it, and I completely disagree. I enjoy learning. I enjoy being useful. No-one's asking him to be housebound. I think there's a cognitive disconnect between him accepting that we both need to find work, and him telling me I shouldn't take this job because of distance or location. He's said "I'm not driving you to or picking you up from San Francisco."

Buddy. We live by a Caltrain station. That's not a problem for me. Well, Redwood City and San Francisco, that's Caltrain. Santa Cruz, that's the 17. Oakland, Lafayette, and Walnut Creek are the BART. I know how to get around. I know I'll be getting up at 6 to get there by 8:30 or 9. I know me clocking in early will likely be appreciated and that, if I work till 5, he's going to have to seethe, cope, and make sure he can pick up the small one before 6 because I won't be home till 7 or 8.

If I'm not being a team player at this point, it's because he's not, but I'm not going to let it stop me anymore. If I'm offered an interview, if I'm offered a job, I'm taking it and he can work around me since I had to work around him for a year, and before that, I was working part-time.

I think our grantor will understand if I want to go back to school for business, accounting, or law if it'll broaden my career aspects... just as long as someone else is paying for it (Calworks). Hell, that's what I should have been doing once I was medically cleared to work again. I hate to keep secrets, but if I want to put our family in a better situation without having to deal with static, I'm going to have to do things the way that's the most practical to do them, and that means either taking what I'm offered or pursuing further education.

[infiniteorbits]

and i wait.

i’ve gotten really good at writing eulogies. i think i write a new one every day, or at least once a week. “a new one” might be a bit of a stretch, they all kinda stem from the same couple of ideas. they usually start by saying how i was jealous of my dad, or that it was hard to be raised in his shadow. “in his shadow” is an unfair sentiment, and i note that these feelings are unfair of me to everyone at this funeral. i say how he lived an incredible life and while i felt hopeless because i could never be as amazing as he was, it let me be as much of a fuck-up as i wanted, because i could never be better. i say that i was always surprised that my dad was proud of me, when he went so much farther (further?) and did so much more than i ever did. he shouldn’t have been proud when i got a big part in a play, or did well on a test, or did anything, when you compare it to all he did. but maybe he was just a better person than i was, i say, and i hope people laugh. the one thing i had or did that he couldn’t do, the one leg up i have on him, was that i was raised by the best dad in the world. i got to be raised by him, and he didn’t. i probably wouldn’t say it like that though, knowing that my grandfather would be in the audience after watching his son die the same way his wife did. i’ve imagined giving this eulogy, or a eulogy, so often,

i practically have it memorized. he’s not even dead, he might not even die. yet. he will, and maybe i’ll give this speech with my own children in the audience, god i hope i give this speech with my children in the audience.

but then he starts talking about how he’s seizing the day, how he’s seeing all these places he’s always wanted to see, how he’s lucky that he knows the end could be soon, how people on 9/11 didn’t know and people who have spontaneous heart attacks didn’t know and he’s lucky. he says that all statistics are truly 50-50 because they work or they don’t but the next one is supposed to work, like actually work, but no one will tell him if he’s going to die and his therapist (his therapist!) tells him that he’s being unreasonable and they can’t tell him and gets straight with him about things like that and he likes that, he likes how she does that. and i ask my mom if my dad’s going to die and she says she doesn’t know and i keep asking and expecting her to suddenly break and tell me the answer and give a definitive answer but she can’t and she just sits next to me trying to stop tears from growing too visible in her eyes and i’m sitting at the foot of my bed and my mom looks so small and i want her to tell me that she knows what’s going to happen and that this is all almost over. but instead we sit there, and she says she’s proud i’m going back to therapy, that she’s sorry for last spring and that my dad and her were worried about me. i make some joke and we laugh and i later learn that my friend’s dad saw her a few days ago and she was barely keeping it together, that she seemed “really upset” and i feel bad for pushing her and telling her that i’m going back to therapy.

but i hate that they keep bringing it up, that they keep telling me things and i hate that i’m home and it’s not really home and i hate that they keep telling me things and it’s never things that i want to hear it’s never anything definitive except “we got the scans back” “it’s gotten worse” “we’ll keep trying.” it’s only regiments and circles and i’ve never wanted to leave so badly. the dorm isn’t my home because how could it be and now my home isn’t my home because how could it be. so now where do i go with this. i don’t know anyone here and i don’t think i know anyone there anymore. i’m supposed to hate people i used to love and love people i’ve never heard of. my sister drives me places and i sit and look out the car window and remember when we both used to sit in the back together.

i make my dad a playlist of my favorite songs. i skip the sad ones, even though those are really my favorites. i wait for people to tell me what i want to hear. i wait for home to feel like home again. i wait for conversations to feel normal again and to just feel normal again and again and again and i wait. i’ll keep waiting until i’ll find myself in a black dress one day, giving a eulogy planned out by an 18 year old me. i hope i’m left waiting a long time. i hope i’m left waiting for no time at all.

[mcalhenwrites]

Rant...

I work so damn hard on my writing, and it's hard to get any eyes on it. It was hard to get eyes on my crochet most of the time back when I still did it that much. (I noticed things I made for myself either got less notes or only questions about "how did you do that I wanna do that tell me how you did that wahhh I wanna know" or "pattern plz") I stopped crocheting bc I wanted to focus on my writing, I was in pain... but I also wanted to quit so people would stop befriending my soley in the hopes they'd get gifts or patterns from me. So now I only post OC crochet that I've managed to finish. (And fibro and trauma from being used slow this down, and time constraints as well, but I'd rather be writing. I'm allowed my happiness.) The most successful thing I've ever posted across social media is Tempra, my OC dragon. I worked on her for months. She got approx 800 notes (a lot of the notes are my own reblogs, so probably less than 800 bc I've reblogged her like a dozen times)

Most of my work - even with crochet - usually never hits 100 interactions. Notes, reblogs, likes, retweets, etc. Most of it stays at 0-20 tops, and that's that. I work full time hours on my writing. Probably with overtime. I'm dedicated and love doing it, and I can do it with my disabilities forcing me into bed. I've typed with my fucking eyes closed just to get the bursting ideas OUT xD Anyhow, now people are sucked into AI. A thing that is trying to replace artists, therapists (which is impersonal for one, a private data invasion most of all), authors, musicians, and I'm sure even crochet images and patterns are being belched out. I haven't kept up. This stupid AI kitchen got over 79k+ notes and thousands of comments of people gasping to have one just like it. The floating trees melting into the cabinets didn't give it away? (I circled like half the obvious issues and ran out of space to keep fucking circling)

It feels like no one gives a fuck about actual people anymore unless we're tech bro demons churning out stolen uncanny valley garbage for the masses to digest. And I don't know if any of us has a chance to compete against AI. I don't feel like I can work hard enough to matter. I damn well know I'm not the only one. But I really hope anyone not paying attention wonders why the obvious-AI patterns for fiber arts don't matter, because that's less sinster than "I handed all my personal information over to an AI therapist" Artists, though? (Artists in the broad term of including music and writing and everything else btw) I'm not sure anyone is gonna bother noticing that we've been sifted out after our work was stolen to feed these generators in the first place Edit: tho I will say, I'd probably crawl into a hole and want to die if I got 79k+ notes on anything I ever posted. But like. It'd be nice if I had more engagement. I want writing to be my career, so... I feel like if I post "I published Geckos!" it'd flop just like everything else I've ever done in my pathetic life