#especially when this isn’t caused by the med interaction! that might have made things worse but this is pretty much just dehydration

[nope-body]

Scratch what I said before about being fine, this fucking sucks.

Guess which idiot took their morning-only med (a stimulant) at night?

This one!

[thebibliosphere]

I had a question.

So, just an hour or two ago, I was going through some sort of “manic high”, sorta like how somebody with bipolar disorder would have (I don’t have BPD). It felt like a bullet train at max speed and completely derailing, and it was incredibly draining. It also got me wondering.

Do people with severe enough ADHD deal with ADHD episodes like this? My search attempts are often futile because all of it is just talking about how to differentiate between BPD and ADHD and BPD manic episodes, but nobody ever mentions ADHD episodes; the only time I’ve seen it mentioned ever was when somebody made a clip of crankgameplays to show what an ADHD episode looked like.

Do they even exist? I’ve got no idea, so I was just wondering if you knew.

Hey! Sorry, I saw your other ask a while ago, but I wanted to talk to my ADHD specialist before I answered because I’d never heard of the term “episode” being used to describe ADHD. I’m also going to splice both questions together here and answer them in segments in the hope it helps :)

So like I said, I’d never heard of the term “episode” with ADHD, and neither has my specialist. Part of ADHD is having a natural ebb and flow between inattention and hyperactivity, sometimes skewed toward one or the other, depending on your ADHD type. (What are the different types of ADHD?)

Your type of ADHD may also fluctuate because of other factors, such as stress, changes in medication, hormonal fluctuations, lack of sleep, overstimulation, or even under-stimulation, to name a few. Another overlooked part of ADHD is emotional dysregulation, which may cause rapid cycling emotions that may look like an “episode” to someone unfamiliar with what that actually qualifies. The way my therapist explained it and using your example of bipolar disorder, “episode” is used in diagnostic criteria to categorize manic or depressive episodes that last X amount of time, are usually severe, potentially requiring hospitalization, and are accompanied by other symptoms not found in ADHD.

Our “bursts” of energy or lack thereof typically don’t last long enough to be considered episodes. This isn’t to say they are not severe or debilitating, especially if you suffer from things like anxiety or depression that ADHD can feed into. Merely that “episode” is not used as part of the language used to discuss ADHD, which is likely why you’re not finding anything.

So, do ADHDers experience intense bursts of energy that are draining afterward? Yeah, we can do, especially if we lean more toward hyperactive than inattentive. (And again, it's normal to fluctuate and also for things to be affected or worsened by secondary factors.)

And I'm going to put the rest under the cut because this is hella long.

I’ve seen some people think that all hyperactivity has to come with fixation, but that’s not how ADHD works. It’s true if something gets us excited or gives us a dopamine boost, we might be more prone to becoming hyperfixated and burn all our energy up on that. But you don’t need something to fixate on to experience hyperactivity. Some of us are just wired to the moon sometimes, and yes, it can be very draining when it ends. Some people find medication helpful in regulating their hyperactivity/preventing it from coming in such big swings and dips.

Speaking personally, when I'm hyper and nothing is grabbing my attention, the world and people around me can feel painfully slow. It's like I'm going a mile a minute doing everything but achieving nothing. The crash that comes after can also be particularly bad, as I also have dysthymia, which can tip over into a major depressive episode depending on other factors in my life at that time. For years I was misdiagnosed as having "probably Bipolar Type II" by a doctor who didn't believe teenage girls could "get" ADHD* and convinced my parents I needed psychoactive drugs. The drugs I was on didn't help, in fact, they made me worse so I was taken off them.

It wasn't until I found an ADHD specialist as an adult a few years ago that I made any real progress. And I'll be honest, I was shocked when she diagnosed me with ADHD, I really didn't think I had it. Right up until we started doing the work and slowly but surely my mental health began to improve and my understanding of myself with it.

Sometimes there are days when I will be wired to the moon and it will derail my entire day because I can't focus on a single thing/I'll focus too much on a single thing. Other times, like when I am closer to my menstrual cycle, I'll crash into inattentiveness and depression because of how my hormones affect my various different conditions, including my ADHD. Medication would likely help with this, but due to medical reasons, that's currently not an option for me so I do the best I can.

That said, if you’re experiencing something more than hyperactivity but it's not mania, you may be experiencing a form of hypomania and you should talk to a doctor about your concerns.

Hypomania typically occurs in Bipolar Type II disorder, which is less severe than the manic episodes in Bipolar I. I’ve experienced both manic and hypomanic episodes in my life due to medication interactions, and they felt very different from ADHD hyperactivity. It's not just derailing mile-a-minute thoughts, it's something usually completely mood-altering and out of control feeling followed by devastating crashes.

If you're on any medications and are worried you are experiencing something like this, you need to talk to your doctor. You might just need a dosage tweak, or you might be better off on a different medication altogether. Also, make a thorough check of any and all medications you are taking to check for any interactions.

I'm on a cocktail of meds for my MCAS, which if I were to combine them with the SSRI one of my doctors wants me to try, would result in serotonin syndrome. The doctor didn't notice this, but the pharmacist sure as shit did!

Some people (ask me how I know) even develop mild hypomania from overusing the sunlamps used to treat SAD (link), which is why brands like Verilux now include warnings in their leaflets about not using the lamps for more than X amount of time a day. Thankfully it goes away once you stop overusing the lamps.

Which actually brings me to something you asked last time about being unable to sleep at night. Insomnia and delayed sleep phase cycles are not uncommon in ADHD. This is likely because our circadian rhythm is thought to be out of whack (link).

You also mentioned having racing thoughts at night too, which is not uncommon either with hyperactivity. I find if I get overstimulated before trying to sleep, I’ll end up lying there awake with what I like to call “radio ADHD” playing in my head. It can range from snippets of songs stuck on repeat, conversations, things I’ve watched on TV, arguments, or if something is happening the next day, fixating on not being late for it. Hence, I end up getting no sleep because you can’t accidentally sleep in if you don’t sleep. *jazz hands of despair.*

Sometimes I find Radio ADHD soothing if it’s fixating on something chill, but it can get annoying fast and even distressing if I’m tired and can’t “change the station.” (I’d say “shut it off,” but as of yet, I’ve never been able to do that. Medication helps some people with this, as can looking into “sleep hygiene” if you haven’t already.) Conversely, if I’m bored or something is too stressful, I will 100% fall asleep because my brain would literally rather just turn off than do something I don’t want to do or is a low dopamine reward task.

Brains are fun.

Anyway, I uh, I am not sure if any of this is useful to you, but I hope it helps. Mostly I'm just repeating back what my specialist said when I asked her about it lol. Good luck, and I hope you figure things out.

----

*NB: It's important to note that ADHD and Bipolar Disorder can be comorbid. It's not a one or the other situation. I’m just throwing it out there in case hearing that helps someone else pursue the proper diagnosis!

[adammilligan]

so i’m about to go on a long rant about psychology because i was reading about the effects of loneliness on children + the effects of isolation on people, and i think this is something that can easily connect back to adam.

ADAM: You see, it was me and it was my mom. That's it. She worked the graveyard shift at the hospital. I cooked my own dinners. I put myself to bed.

based on the fact that adam uses the words “i put myself to bed” i think we can assume that he’d been doing it himself since he was a child, because teenagers normally are the ones to put themselves to bed but a parent is typically the one to put a child to bed. since kate was constantly working the graveyard shift, you essentially have a little kid that’s extremely used to a dark, empty house (think about kids and, let’s say, the kind of nightmares they experience—if adam had suffered nightmares, there would only be himself to turn to at night for comfort), which is where the loneliness factor kicks in—children with parents that are generally absent (whether the absence is caused by a need to work or by just not being involved in the child’s life) have a tendency to grow up more anxious and stressed, as well as being more likely to indulge in imaginary friends and suffer feelings of alienation (additionally, children living in absent houses have also been noted to be more likely to engage in unhealthy activity (drugs, drinking, etc), but this is largely the result of the influence from their peers. good friend group = better habits, bad friend group = worse habits. given that adam’s grades didn’t suffer + he became an eagle scout + he was pre-med biology at university, it’s pretty safe to place him in the “good friend group” pile). my point is, adam was very used to being on his own. he was most likely able to better cherish the time spent with his mother than most kids his age when she wasn’t working because he knew what loneliness felt like and it probably made him more receptive to people in general—i.e. having a greater degree of empathy, kindness, etc., especially since i’m sure kate encouraged these traits in him. she was probably the one who put aside money for and encouraged him to join the boy scouts in the first place; to promote more social interaction, maybe? 

now, to go on to adam’s time in the cage: i’m wondering if adam’s exposure to loneliness from the time he was little might’ve worked to his advantage in the early years, before he and michael struck up a friendship with each other. this advantage would only last so long, since i’m assuming he was residing in near-complete isolation versus when he was on earth and could look forward to going to school and seeing his mother when he got home, and near-complete isolation quickly leaves detrimental effects on the human mind, including hypersensitivity to external stimuli, hallucinations, panic attacks, paranoia, loss of impulse control, memory deficiencies and more. i’m assuming that it’s impossible to sleep in the cage, too, seeing as it’s outside of the scape of what is perceived as “normal” by the human body and probably exists in a dimension where things are constantly at a standstill (does that make sense? think like how vessels don’t age when angels are inside of them, i think that describes it better). so his temporary advantage isn’t there for long, because it’s a prison that he literally couldn’t escape from. the symptoms above probably drove him to near-insanity and if i had to make a guess i think that he probably would’ve been the one to first reach out to michael in a desperate attempt for any sort of companionship as a result of the lack of impulse control that develops over time (obviously, archangels don’t experience things the same way humans do, but given that lucifer was scared of being trapped again + gabriel’s behavior after being freed from asmodeus i think it’s pretty safe to assume that similar symptoms do develop in them, which is probably what led michael to accept adam’s offer of a tentative friendship).

it’s a bit hard to imagine if you’ve never experienced any sort of solitary confinement before, but when adam says that they were all they had, they were literally all they had. it was sticking together and learning to be friends with someone from a wildly different species or dealing with a constant overflow of paranoia and hallucinations and hysteria from themselves. what’s even more up in the air is the amount of damage inflicted on their mentalities before they turned to each other for help. they could've both broken, at least somewhat, and then rebuilt themselves from the ground up. they grew and learned from each other, something evident in the quiet, angry way adam stared at lilith like he'd never done to anyone before and the way that michael was relatively calmer, more grounded, and less likely to lash out.

i know it's more...i don't know, fun to people, i guess? to believe that michael was the sole reason that adam turned out alright, because he protected him, or whatever. but the truth is that they both protected each other, in their own ways. even if michael "protected" adam from hell, even if he altered the perception of time in adam's mind or whatever theories i've seen get passed around (mostly to try and paint adam out to be someone who "had it easier" which is just rooted in the sentiment of people trying to paint the winchesters in a better light), there is no denying the fact that confinement is confinement and will ultimately have severe effects on those who are social creatures. there is no "protection" from the reality that one has been abandoned and left to rot in a box for seemingly eternity. there is no "protection" from the fact that there was no one down there but themselves and lucifer, who probably doesn't even count because adam was never once mentioned by him during any chance he had to gloat. really, the only thing that michael could protect adam from down there was lucifer. the rest was up to them. given the fact that their relationship has been shown to be one where they consider each other as equals, it's very hard to believe that michael was the only one doing any sort of "protecting" especially since if that were the case, michael never would've been so open to listening to adam's words in the bunker⁠—adam would've been treated as less of a friend and more of a pet, which isn't the case. if michael was protecting adam from lucifer, then adam was protecting michael from fear and distress and mental instability. they didn't just have one or the other, they had each other.

i'm sort of just rambling on at this point (if you made it this far, congrats! lmao), but i think one of the points i'm trying to make is that adam was already accustomed to loneliness (at least a little bit) and dealing with that loneliness long before he went in the cage, ever since he was a kid, which might just be one of the reasons he came out of it as okay as he did. he might've taken little techniques he used to make himself calm down when he was a kid and altered them to fit the cage, using them as well as he could and for as long as he could before it proved to be too much. given that adam grew up fairly independent, it must've taken quite a bit of time before he reached out to michael (whether that be from pride or stubbornness, who knows). he adapted to the shitty environment he was in and, eventually, he made the best of it. the amount of changes that must've been made to his body (constantly dealing with the pressure of a foreign, unearthly place + having a giant battery inhabiting his body) and his mind (having been under an enormous amount of stress and anxiety and probably depression from being confined) must be absolutely unreal. but he made it out. he proved himself to be of the ability to adapt and change, even under extreme duress (in the archaic meaning of the word, lol).

it's just super interesting to think about, in my opinion, and adam is a super cool character, especially when being able to survive like that and still being able come out of it with a goddamn heart of gold.

[thornbound]

RLS and a Bar of Soap

so I have pretty bad Restless Leg Syndrome.

Its worse when I’m overtired and unfortunately since it makes it hard to sleep I will get locked in a cycle of getting just a little too tired, having a bad RLS night which makes me more tired, and then having a series of exhausting nights where my RLS wakes me up over and over again.

I have done a lot of research on my own about RLS. For example, I know that because I’ve had symptoms relatively early in my life I can look forward to progressively worse RLS as I age. I know that people with RLS seem to process Iron differently and that Iron supplementation helps a portion of people with RLS who have sub-clinical iron deficiencies manage their RLS better. I’ve seen articles about Magnesium (which would make sense for leg cramps but RLS is not cramps) and Vitamin D. I supplement with Magnesium (which has caused me leg cramps), Vitamin D and Iron and still suffer pretty badly from RLS.

My partner is a nurse and apparently sick of me talking about how shitty my sleep is, he suggested I put a bar of soap in my bed.

The bar of soap is a common folk remedy for RLS and some people absolutely swear by it. Depending on where you look, you need Ivory soap or perhaps Irish Spring but generally it doesn’t matter - just a bar of soap. This is pretty interesting since soap can be made of many things and if the idea is that your skin will absorb something from the soap it would be really helpful to know what that is. Will glycerin soap work? Will castille soap work? Don’t know.

(I’ve always been curious, who the heck first slept with soap in their bed for a reason other than RLS and coincidentally noticed that their RLS got better?)

There is a theory that you absorb Magnesium through your skin from the soap but guess how many bars of soap I can find in the store that contain Magnesium? That would be zero. Especially not Ivory and Irish Spring.

So I say that there’s no know mechanism for this to even possibly work. He argues that we don’t know how many psych meds work so I should give it a try anyway.

But here’s the thing, while the exact mechanism isn’t known there is at least a theoretical mechanism. That theoretical mechanism provides a basis for things like trials which determine, among other things: whether the intervention is more effective than placebo, what dosing the intervention becomes effective at, potential side effects of the intervention.

So I have two bars of Irish Spring in my bed. I kick them around a lot while my legs are being restless. I have no idea how long it might take for these bars of soap to magically make my legs less angry. I have no idea if the two bars are better than one. I have no idea if I have a bar of soap that will work or not.

I have no idea.

So how many nights should I kick two bars of soap around in my bed before I give up? How many different brands should I seek out? Do I need to buy the special soap that DOES have Magnesium in it?

The plural of anecdotes is not data. If a bar of soap worked for you, awesome. Report it to your doctor and try to get them to do some fucking research.

Do not interact with this post to suggest your RLS remedies. Do not interact with this post to argue with me about the bar of soap or other folk cures like homeopathic remedies. An intervention so nebulous and yet so widely mentioned just shows us a) how desperate people are to get a good night’s sleep and b) how powerful confirmation bias can be. This is the same brain that sees the face of the Virgin Mary in a piece of toast. Sometimes a pattern isn’t a pattern.

[queenlokibeth]

I wanted to mention a couple of things about mental health that I think are important.

I'm doing relatively well at the moment. I've managed to go to bed before 2am most days, usually at midnight, and I've gotten 6-7 hours of sleep every night. I've eaten at least 2 full proper meals at reasonable times every day. I haven't turned in any homework late. I have to consciously fight off executive dysfunction but I do manage to win. I'm doing relatively well, which is how I notice just how badly I was doing just a month and a half ago.

What I want to say is that, when you're going through a rough mental health patch (especially if that patch is like a year or more) you might be aware that "sure, yeah, I'm not doing well" but it can also sort of feel like that's just... the way it is.

In December I consciously knew that I was having an awful time, quite probably the deepest hole in terms of mental health in my life, but I had also already been living like that for almost a year, and I transitioned into this hole more or less slowly. So last December I knew that I wasn't feeling or behaving the way that I did a year before that, but it wasn't a drastic change, I eased into that pit. Think about that metaphor about dropping a frog into boiling water and it will jump out, but slowly boil it and it won't notice and die.

I was conscious about the big things: for some reason I physically couldn't get myself to start tasks. I was distracted all the time. My sleeping schedule was something like 4am-10am when I wasn't pulling an all-nighter. I was showering once a week, did laundry every 6 weeks, and lost a lot of weight. I didn't want to do anything and I had no will to go outside. I wanted to read a book but not out of real pursuit of fun, but because I felt like I desperstely needed to catch a break and force myself to do something nice for myself. What I was obviously not conscious of was what was causing all of this.

Being in a pit of terrible mental health feels somehow even worse when you are fully aware that you're completely unhealthy, and you can pinpoint all the things that aren't working right, and you try to do all the correct things to "go back to normal", but you can't, and after a year you don't really remembers what your normal feelings or reactions to things were. In this awful state I was trying to manifest a version of myself who got her shit together and showered regularly and turned homework in on time and did laundry without it taking the same effort as hiking up a mountain, but this version of myself still had the same mental state, numbness, and mental fog, since that's all I knew at the time and I couldn't remember or understand that that's not my default state as a human being. And under that cloud of malfunctioning mental connections and chemicals I was NEVER going to manage to start functioning like a healthy person again.

Why am I pointing out all of this? Because it can be hard to realise how different things can be when you start getting healthier. There are factors of my personality that I hadn't even identified as altered in December.

I'm noticing this now because I did somehow transitioned into recovering extremely quickly. While it took me a few months to fall into a shit state of mental health, and then stayed there for like a year, now in about 3 weeks to a month I flipped my life around and everything is so much... brighter.

I don't mean for this to sound like an ad a la "you can, too, flip your life around!" But as reassurance that getting better is an option, and even a "quick" one, but obviously not without help, and not without PHYSICAL aspecrs. During that month I spent time in warmer weather, seeing sun semi regularly (I had not been outside for longer than 15 minutes at a time every few days in extremely cloudy weather for a few months at that point), I didn't have school so I didn't have to stress about a destroying amount of deadlines, I "recovered" sleep (the first day I slept for 14 hours, then 10 for a few days, and then dropped to 8 consistently), I ate healthy and hearty food, and I had conversations daily with my parents, after having been completely alone for about 7 months of not talking to anyone. During the first 2 weeks I still felt like a mess, the third week was better, and by the end of the month I felt vaguely functional.

By now I'm in no way fully better but Everything Is So Different. Now I'm realising and coming back to the way I always used to behave and feel about things. I find real joy in things and I hadn't even noticed that for a year I had NOT felt joy about ANYTHING I was merely using things to cope! And I hadn't noticed because I could no longer remember that a different feeling beyond "neutral" existed!

I'm excited about going outside now even if it's so so cold, I realised the other day that I needed something from the store and I just... put on my coat and went to the door? And i surprised myself mid step that it was just... that easy. I wanted to go somewhere and I could just... go. I didn't have to psych myself up for 3 days and then end up delaying my departure by 2 hours because that's how long it took me to find the will to put my shoes on.

Anyways I saw a candle and it was only $2 and it smelled really good and I just bought it because I deserve things that make me happy and then I bought some cinnamon flavoured coffee because I WANTED to try it and I also bought this coffee creamer that I saw because suddenly it was easy to just reach into the grocery store fridge and pull it out instead of planning it a week in advance and then overthinking it because do I really need it do I have space in the fridge am I going to finish it or will it expire first only to get overwhelmed and leave the store without it only to immediately regret it and get sad about not getting it once I arrived back to my room. I enjoy drinking my coffee now, I'm not just doing it to stay awake. I can actually get out of bed at the right time even if I'm still a bit tired because the sun is coming up and it looks pretty outside. It snowed yesterday and everyone was out at night playing with it and a stray snowball reached me while I was on my way to get dinner. This poor guy that I'd never seen apologised profusely and it was so funny! There was something about everyone in masks and standing 6 feet apart taking advantage of snowball fights as a way to interact with each other that felt straight out of a Hallmark movie.

Bottomline: at your worst there isn't anything that looks tangibly better, but there is, and you start to realise it afterwards. While you should definitely go to therapy if you can/need to, and that meds can be necessary, there is so much that you can start slowly fixing (with a lot of effort, I know) that will seriously, seeiously help. I know that it might sound like bullshit or like an oversimplification, but it's true and it's stuff that you'll never truly believe will work until you're doing better and you're like "oh shit damn".

Please sleep. Please sleep at night time and have a semi regular sleeping schedule. I know that it sounds like it won't be enough (and true, by itself it probably won't heal you completely but it will sure help a lot). I would always "understand" that sleep was important and "yes mom i know that I need to sleep better" but I never interiorised how DRAMATICALLY sleep affects your entire life. Regular, good, nighttime sleep helps regulate all the hormones and chemicals that we need. If your fucked up sleeping schedule shut down production of serotonin, congratulations now you have all the awful symptoms that come along with lacking an essential component of your functioning. And I know that it's often a terrible vicious cycle of not being able to sleep properly or procrastinating sleep or being unable to just go to bed causing mental health problems which continue to prevent you from being able to fix youe sleep pattern. Please take it from me, someone who a month ago felt like she'd genuinely never be able to function semi properly again, that forcing yourself to fix your sleep is a HUGE MEGA STEP towards fully recovering. I know it now because I can see the contrast, but a month ago I didn't understand it because I was like "well yeah I need to sleep better but what's the point I'm fine it won't change much" yeah well my brain is an asshole and I was not in fact fine but rather completely empty inside and just going the fuck to sleep semi regularly has made me feel like a real person instead of a weird cryptid for the first time in months. Just go the fuck to sleep, PLEASE.

[docfuture]

Princess, part 8

     [This story is a prequel, set several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16.  Links to some of my other work are here.  Updates are theoretically biweekly–going to try to get the next one out by mid-March.]

Previous: Part 7

      Journeyman ran his fingers through his hair and sighed as he looked at the picture Flicker sent to his handcomp.       "Yep, that's her," he said.  "Dr. Reinhart has a rep of knowing a lot about how minds are put together--and how to take them apart.  She seems to be effectively immune to mental influence and hostile probability manipulation--no, I don't know how she manages that--and I've heard enough complaints to believe that she can mess up Diviners and Seers just by being near what they're trying to see.  Not sure about Oracles.  Also, she's hard to kill.  If she's willing to help you, I doubt she'd be a weak point."       "That sounds good.  Except that the Database says her specialty is mind control.  But I guess she concentrates on defense?  That part wasn't clear."       "A lot about her isn't clear," said Journeyman.  "She is very good at using fear, though.  General opinions I hear about her are mixed.  I have connections, and while I keep them private, the general idea isn't a secret--I swap gossip, assistance, and so forth, move things around, and link people with what they need, all fairly quietly.  Dr. Reinhart clearly has connections, but nobody knows how they work.  She can show up somewhere, have coffee with a few folks, and sometimes everything stays quiet, and sometimes all hell breaks loose.  Odd accidents, fits of madness, sudden unexplained deaths from no obvious cause, and occasionally 'Blood--blood everywhere!'  And afterwards the details of what happened don't always add up.  Except usually some grim entrenched problem has disappeared.  That part is acknowledged, but she still really puts people on edge.  Oh, and there are rumors that she's seriously annoyed several intelligence agencies, but they're still trying to hire or co-opt her.  Jumping Spider would know more about that than me."       "Well, I needed to talk to Jumping Spider anyway."  Flicker frowned.  "Anything else?"       "I don't doubt Dr Reinhart's competence to advise you about social interaction."  Journeyman looked down.  "Motivation, methods, side effects?  That's over my head, but I would expect some warnings from your AI."       "Why?  Just her reputation?"       "Well... I know Doc is twitchy about mind control, and Dr. Reinhart apparently has issues with his methods.  And the spy stuff."       "She has a negative threat index--that means she's helping.  Doc is pragmatic about that."       "Up to a point."  Journeyman spread his hands.  "Anyway, that's what I can tell you.  Hope it helps."       "Yes."  Flicker sped up to virtual type a response to Dr. Reinhart, then slowed back down again.  "There.  She's traveling, and pretty inflexible about privacy, so it will be at least a few days before I can meet her, regardless."       She stood up from the high speed interface station and glided over to stop in front of Journeyman where he sat on the couch.  He watched her warily.       "Thank you," she said, and paused.  "I'm willing to at least consider rescheduling Speedtest, but I don't want to argue about it right now.   You don't feel safe here and you probably need sleep.  How much did you get last night?"       He shrugged.  "A few hours before you woke me up.  None since."       "Then get sleep, consult your Diviners or whatever, and we can talk more tomorrow."       "Might take a while to find anybody.  If I even can.  Tracking down Diviners is rarely easy."  He looked away.  "And Flicker?  I don't want to argue about it at all.  I'll send what I find to the Database.  Argue with Doc, or Jumping Spider, or Jetgirl, or whoever you need to.  Not me."       "I don't..."  Flicker stopped and swallowed.  "Argue isn't the right word.  It's just the one that sounded human to me.  And my anger isn't really at you, that's just where I attach it.  I think there's something wrong with my human emulation."       Journeyman shook his head.  "No.  Humans make mistakes, and they get angry, and no one should expect anything different.  Least of all me.  This isn't something we can solve.  Sometimes you can't get from where you are to where you want to be."       "And what I want is the problem."       He waved his arms.  "No!  I'm the problem.  I thought I could still finesse a way through, despite everything stacked against it, and I. Was. Wrong.  And that's why I have to go."       "Partner..."  She stopped again.  "Damn.  Having an emotional reaction to that word."       "...Yeah."  He blinked then raised his hand.  "I'm sorry I don't have any magic words for you.  Primum non nocere is all I've got left."       Flicker pulled off her glove and reached out to complete their fingertip touch.       "Take care," he said.       She couldn't find anything to say.  So she just nodded.  Journeyman took a deep breath and teleported out.       A faint whirl of disturbed air, then nothing.       Flicker looked around the room.  It felt far emptier than was reasonable.       *****       Evening back home, pre-dawn in Kenya.  Flicker didn't want to wake up Jonathan or his family, but Chaser was awake and running to greet her as soon as she slowed down.  Flying tackle and friend bites and his ridiculously tiny meow, and they played chase dance and dangle the fuzzy toy the way he liked.  Then he flopped down on her feet and purred as she held him.       Chaser wasn't her cat.  He wasn't anyone's cat.  He was his own cheetah.  But Flicker had rescued him as a kitten, taken him far away from the lions that had killed his siblings.  It wasn't clear what had killed their mother, but life was full of perils for cheetahs, especially when they had to share shrinking habitat with lions.  He stayed with the family of a park ranger, on land Flicker had purchased next to a wildlife reserve.  Extravagant?  Maybe, but it wasn't hard to figure out why she'd identified so hard with an orphan who had social problems with other cheetahs.       Time zones made visits awkward, and they still hoped to reintroduce him back to the wild someday, but in the meantime she could hold him close, and whisper that he was a good cat.  He purred and didn't mind her tears from trying to accept a present that had crumbled unexpectedly, and a hoped for future that had been a mirage.  He didn't judge, didn't care whether she was human or not; she was just his fast friend.       An hour under a slowly brightening sky made the world a slightly better place.  Still not good, but better.       *****       Later evening.  Ghosting through the darkness at 500 kilometers per second.  Flicker was moving fast enough to be effectively invisible, but slow enough to leave no traces behind her.  It fit her mood--she didn't particularly want to be anywhere.  But there was someone she needed to talk to at Doc's.       Superhuman speed implied a superhuman ability to interrupt.  So Flicker and Doc had worked out a protocol that allowed for degrees of urgency and desire to avoid disruption.  'Open door' had a particular implication because of Flicker's dislike of them.  It was a way for Doc to indicate that she could join a meeting in progress, but it would be polite to wait and listen quietly until an appropriate pause, absent an emergency.       At Doc's.  Flicker entered the recovery room next to one of the med labs, sat in one of the chairs, and slowed down.  She didn't say anything.       Jumping Spider was sitting up with her left leg extended.  Something complicated covered the knee--it looked like one of Doc's support and monitoring minibots.  Doc was frowning at a large display showing... Not her leg.  Her left jump boot.  Which wasn't in the room, though her spare pair was.  A quick Database check showed her main boots were down in one of the big fabbers in Doc's workshop being repaired.       "...crash cushioning cells seem to have handled the landing fine," Doc was saying, "and at least blunted the impact. Still..."       "They did the job," said Jumping Spider.  "Sometimes a gust of wind hits you at just the wrong time, and one did, right after I'd hopped off the roof."       "The fourth story roof.  Over icy concrete.  In a blizzard."       "Yeah, it was Tuesday.  Wednesdays are overpasses.  Hi Flicker."       "Hello.  What happened?"       "Nothing major.  I banged up my knee a little yesterday and used the crash guards on my left boot.  Doc's going to give the boots a checkup, recalibrate the jump jets, and--" She turned her head to look at Doc. "Not stay up all night making minor improvements.  Right?"       Doc raised an eyebrow.  "I am most definitely going to run unit tests after the tuneup and the data updates."       "That will only take an hour or two.  And Flicker wants to talk to me anyway."       Flicker didn't understand how Doc's relationship with Jumping Spider worked, except that it did.  It was close, but they usually saw each other only a few times a month.  Jetgirl described it as 'co-conspirators with benefits.'  There had to be more than that after almost two decades, but Flicker didn't get how most more typical relationships functioned either.       "All right," said Doc.  He nodded to Flicker.  "I'll give the two of you privacy, then."       "Thank you," said Flicker.       Doc must have read her expression--or more likely her 'No personal small talk currently welcome' Database flag--and left the room without further comment.  Jumping Spider pulled the swivel arm table with a Database interface over so she could use it.       "We're secure--privacy locked," she said.  "Yes, from Doc too.  Check."       DASI was insistent on leaving up the warning flag on Flicker's visor about limiting Doc's access in his own HQ, but she confirmed the privacy lock.       "Verified," said Flicker.       "Now we can talk," said Jumping Spider.  "My knee isn't much worse than usual.  But I heard you are.  Doc says you seem determined to push a hazardous test series on short notice and you don't look happy.  Did Journeyman just turn you down or did you manage something stupider?"       Jumping Spider could be tactful.  She usually chose to be blunt with Flicker.  They weren't friends, but Flicker tried to listen to her advice, because she was right far too often to ignore.       "Both," said Flicker.  "I don't think I have a partner anymore."       "You don't think?  Want to tell me what happened?"       "No.  But I should.  I'd been pushing patrols for a while and was off duty yesterday when I got an alert that Hermes was back..."       Flicker summarized the mess of the last two days, with a pause while Jumping Spider watched the vid of the handover of Hermes at the Box.  It was even less pleasant to explain than she'd expected.  She had to bounce up to speed mind several times to maintain her composure while staying on track.  Jumping Spider said she would save any questions for later, which was just as well.       "...and after he ported out," Flicker finished, "I did memory assimilation work, then visited with Chaser until the Database told me you were available.  It's been a long day."       "It sure has," said Jumping Spider.  "The Database security AI called me for help.  It needed a human other than Doc with the right clearance level bad.  You ignored warnings, bypassed the blocks, and managed to set off a cross-domain priority conflict and a legacy conflict this afternoon.  Why settle for one crisis at a time when you can have more?"       "Um.  Those were for something that actually helped."       "A book that flaunts that it's full of traps in the dedication and you're sure it helped?"       "Well... I'm running sims."       "Yeah.  You do that."  Jumping Spider smiled sardonically.       "Why was the cross-domain priority conflict so bad, anyway?"       "Because the AI was forbidden from telling Doc about something in one domain, and required to tell him in another--and he's normally the one that resolves those conflicts.  And you were no help, because you were causing it.  So it had to call me, because I was the next person in line with clearance.  I figured I'd better drop what I was doing to deal with what you stirred up.  Doc was already on the way to get me when you sent your message about Dr. Reinhart--his flying car does come in handy sometimes.  And I have heard of her.  But I need to do some Database poking before I'm willing to make a judgement, so are you up for doing some tedious but necessary work to help me fill in a few holes?  It would make up for what I had to drop, and let me test something."       "Depends.  What kind of work?"       "Spying.  Under the direction of someone who knows what she's doing.  That's why most of it will be boring.  But it will also involve a lot of purposeful running around, which I'm guessing you could use.  You've amply demonstrated how fast you go stir-crazy.  I want to double check some clues to whatever was wrong at the Box that they didn't want you to see, and have you take a quick look in some other places.  I expect a lot of verification of negatives, or whatever is in the Database, but I have a nasty suspicious mind and suspiciously nasty things have been happening."       "...Yeah.  Okay.  It'll be slower in the dark, though."       "Oh, some parts will be in daylight."       Flicker waited a moment, and the Database projected the outline of a list that was far too long to fit on her visor display.  It started with a survey of just who was staking out the home of the magician she'd talked to at the Box, and included whole sets of vehicles and buildings associated with spy agencies and less identifiable groups.       "All right," she said, and headed out.       *****       Flicker settled into a rhythm.  Slow down, take action, verify, speed up, move on.  And consider her life, while she moved.       Human--for some value of human that was possible for her--was part of what she wanted to be.  Speed and motion were a much bigger part of who and what she already was.  Human was an illusion, an emulation.  A load bearing one.  Maybe even a necessary one, in the long term.  But she wasn't good enough yet.  If the last few days had proved anything, it was this.       She'd read various versions of a joke about how many people stopped growing up and just started faking it after about age fourteen.  Even humans sometimes had to fake being adult humans.  And that went to the essence of what she thought Journeyman had been trying to say.  For her to connect, to feel, to be the person she wanted to be, meant being socially human.  But to relate as an equal, as a full partner, as... well there weren't proper words, but to connect fully with him meant being a responsible adult.       And Flicker couldn't manage both at the same time.  Not yet.  She could fake it for a while, but push too hard?  Add the stress that came with being who she was in the world she lived in?  Her emulation broke down.  Humans used age as a proxy for responsibility, and she'd been fixated on the unfairness of that.  But all the advice, the common wisdom, assumed you were human.  And social support was centered on 'normal' human, for an extensive and arbitrary set of dimensions of normal.       But if she gave up on human, if she fully accepted that there was no one like her, that she was alien to this world of odd bipeds, she risked finding the breaking point of the fragile thread of empathy that connected her to that world.  Because they could be so foolish, so cruel to one another, so ignorant, so blind.  Doc had always been very clear about the danger in that.  And the Volunteer had spent a whole day talking her down from the edge, after her big fight with Doc, when she'd wanted to act, to treat the world like a dysfunctional terrarium that cried out for intervention to stop the evil, the oppression, the war, the starvation and brutality and shortsightedness and indifference, all the so very unnecessary pain, outside the narrow range of actions allowed for a superhero.       The most frightening part of that day had been seeing the edges of some of the Volunteer's load-bearing illusions.  The ideals that let him help the things he could, as an alien in a world of humans.  But those illusions couldn't be hers.  Because she was more alien?  She didn't know.  She did know they'd broken others who had tried.       She needed to find her own way.  While she could still care.  Because if she stopped caring, it would be way too easy for her to go over any one of several edges.       Maybe Dr. Reinhart could help Flicker find better ways to connect to humans.  But she also needed to learn more about who, and what, she already was.  The limits and idiosyncrasies of her power and being.  Doc hadn't stopped her experiments because they'd reached any firm conclusions.  He'd stopped them because they'd become too dangerous to continue on Earth.       How fast was she, really?  What new realms of sense and ability were beyond the limits she needed to maintain on Earth?  The aim of Speedtest was to find out.  It was the only thing she looked forward to now that was truly hers.  It was past time.       *****       More than an hour and numerous additions to the list later, Flicker was finally done.  She'd spent a lot of the extra time following up discrepancies in Italy.  There was a messy but still relatively quiet political crisis going on there, triggered by some combination of Hermes' rampage in Rome, the identity and contacts of the now dead magician who had summoned him, recriminations over the botched response that had resulted in his death, and a long-simmering conflict over the reasons that Italy didn't currently have any resident superheroes.       She'd taken a brief moment to ghost over to the shop in Florence where she'd gotten takeout gelato with Journeyman to celebrate first becoming partners.  It was still closed in the first hint of dawn light.       Sentimental human indulgence.  Was there a point?  Maybe there would be again, someday, a time when it would mean more than something she'd thought she'd lost, but never really had.  But for now, it was closure.  Acceptance.       She headed back to Doc's HQ and decided against speeding up.  Speedtest would be soon enough, and there was no point in leaving a bright plasma trail that could set off alarms for satellite watchers who might wonder why she was hurrying across the Atlantic at night.       *****       "I recommend that you agree to Dr. Reinhart's conditions," said Jumping Spider.  She sipped from her coffee cup and eyed the Database display in front of her with mild disapproval.  "She's right about the amount of inconvenience adjusting her work around advising you will be."       "You think she's safe?" asked Flicker.       "Heh.  No.  I think she's followed consistent goals, and she's functional, competent, as expert as you're going to get, skilled at error recovery, and very smart.  Smart enough to understand just how vital and risky giving you psych advice will be.  But don't try spying on her.  She didn't think much of your failure to consider the consequences of stalking Journeyman."       Flicker frowned.  "How do you know that?"       "I talked to her while you were gone."       Jumping Spider paused, waiting to see if Flicker would ask a question.  She sped up.  Her human emotion emulator indicated her nominal reaction would be anger or irritation.  Human emotions weren't serving her very well lately, so she ignored it.  It would be a drop in the bucket compared to everything else, anyway.       DASI?  Anything security relevant that I need to know about Jumping Spider contacting Dr. Reinhart?       No.       Well, that was unambiguous.  She'd asked Jumping Spider for her professional assessment as an intelligence expert, and it was clear she was testing Flicker's self-control, too.  She slowed back down.       "Go on."       "It was an illuminating conversation.  She referenced some of my more subtle tradecraft tricks like an academic being careful about citation footnotes.  If you focus on her advice rather than trying to emulate her, respect boundaries, and maintain a healthy level of skepticism about untested theory, I think her aid will help you.  Once she's ready to meet--it will be at least a week."       "Good to know.  Thank you.  Was the information I verified for you helpful?"       "I don't know yet for most of it.  But your performance was technically adequate while under direct supervision."       Jumping Spider had no qualms about hammering at a point or reminder until she was sure it got through--in this case that Flicker was still bad at the judgement part of spying, however technically skilled she might be.       Flicker nodded.  "Any other suggestions or comments?"       "Do you want my assessment of what happened to Journeyman?  It's speculative, and you may find it upsetting."       "I don't ask for your opinions because I think I'll like them."       A snorted laugh.  "Okay.  I think Hermes' arrival was part of an op, and was deliberately timed to coincide with whatever Journeyman did just before exfiltrating.  I also think we're unlikely to ever get enough evidence to prove that.  From an operations viewpoint, I think Journeyman got entangled and dragooned into something far more dangerous than he'd ever voluntarily agree to, but all sides--and I definitely think there were more than two--in the conflict that might have wanted him dead knew he had your backup, and that's why he lived.  Tell me.  If demons had killed him in some dimension you could get to, what would have been your first impulse?"       "Burn it to the ground, then burn the ground," said Flicker.       "That's the sort of thing Oracles and Seers pick up on.  But since he came back alive, you're much less inclined to do anything disproportionate, right?  Because attribution is much tougher, even if an attack is aimed at you or Doc.  And there will be probably be completely uninvolved people living in the same place even if you do know who is responsible."       "...Yes."       "That's also the sort of thing Oracles and Seers pick up on.  I also think that whoever Journeyman believes is your mother is part of one of the sides, and that an opposition tactic that he fears is a framing attempt to deflect any retaliation onto her.  And he got dragged deep into the wilderness of mirrors, no longer fully trusts his own judgement, and didn't want to drag you there, too.  I'll give him credit for that."       Flicker sped up to consult the Database.  'Wilderness of mirrors' was an intelligence term for living in a state of perpetual uncertainty about a messy mix of hard to attribute hostile action and coincidence.  Just the sort of thing she hated.       "Great.  So, was he being deceptive about--No. There's no point it getting angry about any of it again until I can talk to Dr. Reinhart."       "You're learning.  And you stopped Hermes without killing him or anyone else, Journeyman got back alive, you didn't lose it when he disengaged--which was inevitable--and it's much harder to attack someone who's in a different dimension.  And you know who is at home in the wilderness of mirrors?"       "You?"       "Dr. Reinhart.  I do all right, but I suspect you'll get along better with her."       "Okay.  Thank you for your assessment.  Do you think I should delay Speedtest because of Journeyman's warning?"       "Because of his warning?  Are willing to put it off indefinitely?"       "No."       "Then no, because he didn't tell you anything actionable.  But whether it's a good idea at all is not my call.  Talk to Doc."       "I will," said Flicker.  "Jumping Spider?"       "Yes?"       "This was... less unpleasant than talking to you usually is."       She smiled.  "Don't worry.  I'll make it up to you next time."       Flicker shook her head, but felt her mouth want to twitch in response.  Human wasn't something you could just turn on and off...       She headed out to find Doc.

Next: Part 9

[that-mothman-gay-blog]

Crash and Burn

Because SOMEONE has to make and promote Coolvin content and by god it’s gonna be me. DISCLAIMER: I don’t think Jake is a full adult. I picture him twenty at most, and I picture Calvin as eighteen, almost nineteen. Pedophilia is nasty and that’s not part of this ship. Thanks for understanding!

Jake hadn’t exactly been doing so good since the lodge’s run in with The Hornets.

He was Jake Coolice- everyone liked him. Everyone at the lodge, everyone at the local parks and the ski lodge up the road. Everyone liked Jake Coolice- well, everyone except his former friends. He still couldn’t tear away the affection he still held for them. They used to compliment him on his stunts, they’d plan out cool tricks, and Jake used to make sure none of them got hurt.

It was painful to break away from them, and to be embarrassed and insulted in front of his friends like that? It wasn’t exactly the best feeling.

Jake sighed, leaning forwards on his board as he let out a breath, the steam materializing in front of him. He just needed to clear his head, and, ironically enough, he didn’t know any better way than going down the slopes. They captured his focus and let him think clearly, and at the very least it distracted him for a few hours.

At the slightest lean, the board took off, being pushed forwards by nothing but kinetic energy and momentum. The trail was one of the more difficult ones- a black diamond, to be more specific. And yet, Jake cut through the snow like butter, doing neat tricks through the steep slope.

All he could feel was the wind tugging at his jacket, frost biting at his face. If not for the goggles he wore, he probably wouldn’t even be able to keep his eyes open.

The slope was something familiar- after all, he had been going down these trails for at least two years now. Jake’s leans and moves were calculated specifically to avoid the preplanned obstacles, or possibly hit them head on. So, when he saw a dingy plastic bike ramp and an out of place grind rail, he was a little bit shocked.

Time wasn’t exactly on his side as he fumbled to figure out what to do- the pathway narrowed out, and the ramp seemed to take up it’s entire length.

Swallowing, Jake swerved, his board catching the lip of the ramp, causing him to trip over it and fly forwards, he yelped, feeling small bits of gravel and rock scrape up his jacket and board, the ramp sliding a bit further down the trail. Jake’s arm collided with the ramp, and while yes, it slowed him down a little, it wasn’t exactly a pain-free process.

Jake groaned, his goggles having been scraped off and moved aside, a little bit above the rail. After a moment, he moved to sit up, clutching his arm. His puffy jacket was a little scraped up, but his arm felt absolutely terrible. He could still move it though, so with undying optimism, he figured it probably wasn’t too bad.

Things only seemed to go downhill though, the familiar skid of snow reaching Jake’s ears. He looked up the slope, preemptively wincing at the sight. He recognized the black and yellow colors instantly, although with the state his arm was in and the fact he’d still have to skid down the rest of the slope, Jake wasn’t in too much of a hurry to move.

Keith skid to a halt in front of him, grinning wickedly as he held on to the camcorder, snapping the device shut. “Damn, that is definitely going viral.” He chimed, a sly grin on his face.

For a moment, Jake’s face went pink, his eyebrows furrowing together. He refused to talk to him though, instead trying to gather his things so that he could just head back to the lodge. A place where all his friends were- a place he could relax, and get patched up.

“Good to see you eating shit like always Jake.” Keith teased, kicking his board up and flinging snow at Jake. It didn’t get too far though, small flurries defending down onto him. Keith had opened the camcorder again, seemingly rewatching the video he’d just taken. Jake could hear the quieter sound of snow skidding, plastic crunching and rubble moving aside. Keith laughed, his voice loud as he watched. “Man, you never could keep u-“

Just before he could finish his sentence, a somewhat large rock knocked the camcorder from his hands, the lens of the device being scraped up as it was knocked out of Keith’s hands, starting it’s descent down the mountain. Keith’s mouth hung open in shock, and as he followed the trail of the camcorder, his eyes landed on a pair of feet.

Jake looked back as well, the two boys staring at a young man. He had dark brown hair that just barely fell into his eyes, a normal black ski jacket worn over a white turtleneck. Here stood Calvin Owens, tossing another decent sized rock in one of his gloved hands, catching it in his palm.

Keith grit his teeth, his fist clenched as he heard the camcorder slip down the rest of the slope, seemingly taking a rough ride. “You- You’re gonna have to pay for that, prick!” He yelled, Calvin giving a rather obvious eye roll.

“And you’re going to have to pay the bail fee for assault and vandalism of town property,” Calvin replied, his voice cool and nonchalant, the tiniest hint of anger adding a sort of venomous twinge. “Or, y’know. You can delete the video and get your shit away from where it can injure people.”

The idea of getting minor jail time seemed to scare Keith off, the sportsman huffing, grumbling to himself as he kicked off the snow and started to chase after the recorder. He did ram his shoulder into Calvin as he passed though, and when he got a far enough distance, Calvin threw the rock he had kept in his hand. He then turned, a sheepish and concerned smile on his face as he approached Jake- who was currently sitting in the snow, holding on to his arm and staring wide eyed at Calvin.

Jake, despite his friendliness, had only vaguely recognized Calvin. Sure, he knew him to be the Sheriff’s son, but they hardly interacted. For some reason the way he was staring at him caused Jake’s face to heat up- although he was sure it was simply the cold snow, or maybe the fact that this cute guy had possibly seen him tear ass down the side of a mountain.

“Hey, uh, you doin’ alright?” Calvin asked, offering his hand to Jake. The blonde reached out, accepting the hand as he was pulled to his feet, his legs still shaking slightly. Calvin was surprisingly strong, only pulling his hand away when it seemed Jake was stable.

Jake nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He apologized, rubbing the back of his neck. Calvin seemed to quirk a brow, moving for just a second to retrieve Jake’s goggles, hissing at the beat up state they were in.

“You don’t need to apologize- if anyone does, it’s that Keith bastard,” Calvin replied, seemingly annoyed. His persona changed back to it’s calm, concerned state after a moment though, his brown eyes fixating back on Jake. “Let’s head back to Amnesty- that’s where you always hang around, right?”

Jake nodded, angling his board so that he wouldn’t trip up again, Calvin carefully guiding him down the rest of the path. Calvin waved towards a young boy, a kid wearing a dark blue jacket walking towards them, his messy black hair hidden underneath a beanie. “Jonah, go tell an employee that the Hornet kids caused an injury on one of the black diamond trails,” He instructed, the boy nodding as he walked off.

“It’s no big deal,” Jake tried to assure, only for Calvin to give him the biggest disbelieving look he’d ever seen, his grip tightening on Jake’s uninjured arm.

“Even if it wasn’t a big deal for you, someone else could go down and hit the same thing. And they might end up a little worse for wear,” Calvin offered, and yeah, that made sense to Jake. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened had Aubrey gone down that slope instead- or perhaps a little kid who wasn’t quite used to the trail mark meanings. “Besides, I wouldn’t say you made it out unharmed.”

Jake really couldn’t argue with that, simply nodding quietly, his eyes watching the snow. He’d probably need a new jacket and goggles, plus a good buffing of his board. He was a little embarrassed, but eventually they entered the lodge, the warmth of the nearby fireplace greeting them. Calvin’s unfamiliarity definitely earned some looks, but upon seeing the state Jake was in, a few of the residents gasped.

Aubrey ran up to him, her eyes wide with shock. “Holy shit-! Jake, you alright? What the hell happened?” She asked, her voice quick. Jake almost seemed to shy away, mumbling out an incoherent reply. That was a bit concerning, especially considering Jake was usually one of the most upbeat people at the lodge.

“The Hornets set up a few obstacles on one of the harder paths,” Calvin answered, Aubrey’s head jerking to face him. “He got injured pretty badly, it wasn’t exactly pretty.”

The mention of Jake’s injury caused him to laugh bitterly, his face going a little bit more warm. “I kind of ate shit,” He murmured, Calvin gently squeezing his arm. Barclay seemed concerned from his spot in the kitchen, Calvin ushering Jake to sit by the fire.

“Aubrey, right?” Calvin asked, turning his head towards the girl. She perked up, nodding in confirmation. “Can you go grab a med kit? If there isn’t one, maybe some ice?”

Aubrey nodded, rushing off quickly to go find what Calvin had asked for. Meanwhile, Calvin turned, helping to remove Jake’s jacket, carefully avoiding further injuring his arm. Jake felt maybe a little pathetic at that, if not a little grateful. Calvin winced at the bruise that was forming on Jake’s arm, his face contorting into an almost horrified look. Trying to act as a distraction until Aubrey returned, Jake coughed, avoiding eye contact.

“So uh, your name is Calvin, right? Sheriff’s son and captain of the swim team?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Cool. I’m Jake- Jake Coolice.”

Soon enough Aubrey had returned with a medicine kit, handing it over to Calvin. She started asking if Jake had seen Keith, instantly becoming furious upon seeing the way Jake cringed at the thought. Jake was, well, a bit embarrassed about it all. He considered himself a top sportsman after all, and Keith now had video evidence that The Hornets were better than him- just like they always told him.

That’s why Jake had left them. They stopped doing their stunts for fun, and instead they used them to hurt people and put them down. The Kepler Stunt Squad had transformed from being a place where anyone could join, and it had become a place with a quota. And if you didn’t fit it, you weren’t good enough to hang out with them.

You weren’t good enough to be their friend.

Jake hissed as he felt pressure on the bruise, Calvin giving him a sympathetic look as Aubrey passed him an ice pack. “Sorry- it doesn’t look like more than a little bruise, but if it hurts real bad to move it and it starts swelling, it might be a fracture,” Calvin informed him, tying off the bandage job he’d done.

Jake nodded, looking it over. It was surprisingly neat, the bandages tight against his skin, but in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable. He actually got used to it pretty quickly. He looked back at Calvin and smiled, Calvin’s expression softening into a calm smile. “Will do,” He answered, Barclay coming over with a few cups of hot chocolate.

Calvin turned his head upon seeing Jake’s eyes move, his eyes widening just slightly at the sight. He held up his hand in denial though, smiling sheepishly. “Uh, no thanks. I have to get back to watching my brother,” He explained, earning a nod from Barclay.

Jake watched as Calvin stood up, raking a hand through his hair as he looked down at Jake. His gloved hand then pointed to the bandaging, his previously soft expression hardening once again. “If it turns out they fractured your arm, call up the Sheriff’s office and ask for me- I’ll make sure they get in trouble.”

Jake nodded one last time, watching as Calvin left the lodge, his eyes fixed on him as he walked out Amnesty’s doors. He felt a dip in the couch, turning his head to see Aubrey sitting a little too close to him, two cups of hot chocolate in her hands and the widest grin he’d ever seen plastered onto her face.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” She hummed, handing him a cup of hot chocolate. “It’s just that you just got the number of a cute boy you’ve been staring at since you came in.”

Jake paused, his eyes widening for a moment and his face dusting red. He looked between the doors and Aubrey, almost as if he expected Calvin himself to return and confirm Aubrey’s suspicions. His heart rate skyrocketed, his leg suddenly becoming a bit more jittery.

“…Holy shit-!”

[one-deranged-son]

It’s In Your Fucking Bones

Written by Gossamere as John and Francesco Moretti.

Warning:

This plot is rated explicit for language, description of violence, mentions of suicide, rape, incest, and murder. More triggering content might be added as the story proceed. Dead dove: do not eat. Reader discretion is heavily advised.

They said prison changes a person, and, maybe, that’s true.

Maybe prison does change a person, John thinks. After all, he did listen to a lot of things they say about prison even way before he experiences it by himself. They said it tears your brain slowly and slowly and slowly until you’re left behind as a new kind of madman. They said it ruins your goddamn head, makes all sorts of thoughts you didn’t know exist start exploding like New Year’s fireworks. They said it changes you, from the inside and outside. They said it did a lot of things and nothing at all. They said a lot of stuff about prison.

They said prison changes a person, and, maybe, that’s true.

He listens to a lot of things they say about prison. John listens to a lot of things they say about prison even before lands his goddamn ass there. He knows about the consequences of his action and imprisonment is just one of ‘em. He guesses that he’s lucky. Men are curious specimens and they seek to know what’s inside his goddamn head. They ain’t giving him the chair now, not now. They ain’t giving him the drugs now. No, not now, not until they know everything inside his fucked-up head. There will be no news about him being dead any time soon. It’s just prison for now, and they said, prison changes a person.

And, maybe, that’s true.

Time is blurry here, he knows that for sure. He used to be able to check the time. Hell, yeah. He knows exactly when to move, when the goddamn target shows up in their fucking Porsche, when the ‘happy’ stuff he brought starts to tick, tick, tick, and boom. He knows when the meds wear off and when the ringing in his ears stops. He used to be able to know what to do and when to do it, now all he could do is count from one to a hundred to a thousand to a God-knows number and then switch to prayers ‘cause time is blurry here, fucking hell. Time is blurry.

And it doesn’t help when you’re alone. Enclosed between 6 walls with nothing except for the hard mattress and the surprisingly not leaking sink and the goddamn toilet that works perfectly fine and nothing, nothing, nothing except for your own fucked-up head, that’s when you’ll start to realize that maybe you don’t really hate people company, after all.

There used to be music blasting or people arguing from the living room but now it’s all leaking faucet and shit.

It was better when they first transferred him to the regular cell. He could listen to everything. Listen to the inmates and the whispers they said about him. Listen to the guards and the way they pause before calling his name. Listen to the sound of the people in the cafeteria, how they approach him with a strained smile and even strained laughter when he didn’t respond to their... jokes.

“So, this is the ‘notorious’ Revelator, eh?”

He remembered about it like it was just yesterday, or maybe it was really yesterday? Who knows. He was in the cafeteria when a man came at him, and he was huge, actually bigger than him. His skin is filled with tattoos, from his arms to his neck, and he got this nose piercing that looks painful but nobody said a comment about it. He’s like the ghetto version of Jared Letto as his role Joker with Jason Momoa’s body, but, like, if he ever got into any movie, John is 100% sure that nobody isn’t going to be pleased by the casting.

“Doesn’t look very notorious for me.” There was a snicker ‘cause of that, but there were also whispers coming from around the room.

“Back off, Jarrett.” He heard the guard from one of the corners. He was standing tall with a hand on his belt, ready to reach out for his baton. The Khal Drogo wannabe just laughed and said “Chill out, Phil. I didn’t do anything wrong,” then he sat next to John. His massive body radiating heat as he circled his arms around John’s shoulder. “Me and my best are just having a friendly chat,” Jarrett said again, and John didn’t reply. He didn’t feel the need to give an answer now that his personal space is invaded, he didn’t feel the need to say anything.

“So, the Revelator, huh? We heard a lot about you.” The arms around him grew tighter and from the corner of his eyes, he could see Jarrett (What kind of white fuckboy name is this?) smiling at, what it seemed, his group of ‘friends’. “Fancy job you did, especially with the prison break. Oh, the distraction and the masses… the explosion? It almost feels like we are watching a movie.” John still didn’t reply. He still didn’t feel the need to give an answer, he still didn’t feel the need to say anything.

Jarrett keeps his mouth shut when he didn’t answer, and John could sense that he’s dissatisfied, just like the time when the D-d-d-detecti—

John breathed in hard. He still couldn’t think about it.

Realizing that John gave a response (even when he didn’t know the trigger) made Jarrett glance at his group of friends and give ‘em a thumbs up, then he looked back at John. This time, he took a piece of John’s cold fries from his tray and ate it without looking away. It was as if he’s trying to get more response out of him, but John stayed quiet. John didn’t reply. There’s just no use for tha—

“You know, between you and I, we are not so different.”

His train of thoughts stopped. John tore his eyes away from his lunch tray.

Finally seeing a real response from him, Jarrett’s eyes go wide. For a moment, there was a flash of doubt in his eyes, and John could sense the sudden dread, but then all doubts disappeared when Jarrett leaned his face closer to John with a manic grin. 

“We know all sorts of things you do. We’ve been keeping track of all the things here,” Jarret whispered, and he could see that the guards were beginning to feel uneasy by their interaction, and the murmurs and whispers were growing louder as the inmates began to talk about ‘em. 

Jarrett placed a hand on John’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes. “We could be good friends.”

John stared back.

“What did you do?” he whispered back, it was supposed to sound like a question, yet it didn’t. John’s tone was flat, but it made Jarrett’s eyes go wide, the corner of his lips curved, and then he was smiling, wide. The inmates stopped their whispers when Jarret roared a burst of loud laughter and if they were looking at ‘em subtly a while ago, now every eye is trained at ‘em.

“I got sent here for a robbery.”

John looked at the way Jarret’s grin grew wider. “But honestly, I did so much mooore than that,” Jarrett said, and now he’s leaning even closer to him.

“I fuck my daughter and throw her body to the la—”

And, that’s it. Honestly, John didn’t remember anything after that. All he remembered after the Jarrett talk were just loud horrified screams and murmurs and then he also remembered seeing red on his hand, red on Jarrett’s face, red on the cafeteria floor, and “Say you’re like me, I fucking dare you. You cock-sucking son of a bitch, say again that you’re like me. Say it again you God’s worst mistake,” and the baton being pulled out before they realized that it might need an elephant tranquilizer to bring him down so they got the taser out instead.

And if he heard ‘em talking about how he almost gauge Jarrett’s eyes out with both of his hand, John is going to believe that it happened for real ‘cause time is blurry here, fucking hell. Time is blurry.

“He stabs someone with a plastic fork, is that even possible?”

Yeah, John is going to believe that too.

So, yeah. It’s the hole for him, again. He hasn’t heard anything from Jarrett, not that he wants to, but John knows for sure that the man wouldn’t wanna say that they’re best friends again. 

The metal door creaks open and for a moment, John has to shut his eyes ‘cause it was fucking bright and he ain’t mistaking hallway light for heaven. There’s the man from the cafeteria who told Jarrett to back off and then tase him with 1.200 voltage tops goddamn it hurts like fucking a lot.

“It’s time for your counseling,” Phil the guard said, and John let himself be escorted like some kind of important person because neither Phil nor his friend that also hit him with the baton dares to actually touch him except for the time they went to shackle his wrists and ankles.

Right, anyway, most counseling happens in a group, right? Well, John has the privilege to get a session for himself. It’s like personal therapy, yeah, but, to be fair, it was basically an interrogation ‘cause the fucking ‘murica doesn’t really care about anyone’s mental health. The goddamn State just wanna know what’s inside his head and they thought that John would cooperate better with a therapy session than an actual interrogation. They’re fucking wrong, though. All John did is stare at the way his therapist scribbled on his notes while they asked more and more questions in which John only nodded and smiled at it. He’s fucked-up in the head, but he’s sane enough to know people’s REAL intention, okay?

(And also, he’s the fucking Revelator. People want him dead, most of the time.)

The room where it all happened has bright colored walls, where the guards will make him sit on a medical chair and inject him with funny stuff that makes him all dumb before the session starts. They said it was for safety reasons; John knows he’s being drugged. And to reach there you gotta go walk through multiple layers of safety checks just like the airport but it’s even worse.

And his counselor, well, actually, he wasn’t really bad. Charles Jones is this bald old man with round glasses and a stoic face. John thinks he never sees him smile unless for the time John said something other than a yes after God-knows how many therapy sessions. John likes Charles Jones, he’s a nice and quiet guy.

Today, though? Charles doesn’t come.

The door creaks open and there, standing tall in his fancy shoes, a man he… never seen before.

“Mister John,” the stranger turns around and smiled at him, “good evening. Please.”

He’s not Charles, he’s someone else.

“Mister Jones couldn’t come today.” The stranger takes a small step closer towards him. “My name is Francesco Moretti, I will be accompanying today’s session.”

Francesco Moretti smiles like he knows when the world is gonna end, and he got this look like he’s better off sipping champagne in some kind of extravagant party more than hanging out with a semi-stable man in a stinky prison. The guards push him towards a side of the room, where a woman is waiting for him beside a chair that he’s all too familiar with. Usually, with Charles, John gets the happy drugs before he gets into the room, but Francesco Moretti’s eyes follow him even as they make him sit on the happy chair.

“I don’t think that is necessary,” Francesco Moretti says, still with his I-Know-Everything smile. The guards exchanged glances, and so did the nurse lady.

“With all due respect, Mister Moretti, this is the usual procedure be—”

“No, no. That won’t be needed. I’m sure this session will be far more effective if we treat Mister John as a human being rather than a feral animal.”

The nurse lady is left speechless as she stares at Francesco Moretti, and the guards are hesitant, that’s for sure. But then Phil looks at his friend and nodded, and that is all it takes for ‘em to let John sit on the chair in front of Francesco Moretti. The chains and cuffs stay on.

“I’d appreciate it if I am left alone with my patient,” Francesco Moretti says, and then he looks at the guards like he’s planning to eat ‘em whole even though he’s still fucking smiling. Phil and his friend step out of the room, and so does the nurse lady. And when the door is closed, Francesco Moretti looks at him.

He’s still smiling, goddammit.

“Pardon me for being so crude,” Francesco Moretti chuckles softly. He doesn’t bring any notes like Charles always does. His leather bag is placed next to his feet, and he sits like the side chair is the most comfortable thing he could ever sit on. “That was not a good first impression,” Francesco Moretti says again, and John doesn’t reply. He doesn’t feel the need to give an answer to someone that looks like he eats his patient for dinner, he doesn’t feel the need to say anything.

“So, Mister John, is it? I’ve heard a lot about you from the news, but I’d like to speak with the true version of you. I’d like to know the real you, unbiased from anyone.” Francesco Moretti crosses his long legs and places his hands on top of the knee. “Is this your first arrest?”

John still doesn’t reply. He doesn’t feel the need to give an answer to that. It’s all in the files and John knows damn well that he’d done his research before taking this job. John doesn’t feel the need to say anything.

Francesco Moretti’s smile doesn’t falter.

“Have you been in any mental institution before?” Francesco Moretti asks again, and this time it almost gets John to smile. He’s a funny guy. Stupid, but funny. But John doesn’t reply. He stays quiet during his i-i-interrogation, he’s not going to bark now, is he?

Francesco Moretti’s smile grows bigger.

“Have you ever missed your kids?”

John’s train of thoughts stops.

The lights go out.

“Doctor Moretti, are you—”

In an instance, the sounds of the guards screaming from behind the door are cut off by a loud bang, and the Revelator flinches in his seat. Though the gesture is subtle and barely noticeable, it doesn’t escape his eyes.

For a man that shoots people after dinner, he thinks it was… new.

The Revelator sits like he doesn’t have any joints in his body. He sits like he’s waiting for Michaelangelo to sculpt him. With his dark hair falling to his eyes and his eyes wide, he thinks about the time when they play him on the news. The crowds chanting his name like he was the anointed one; the savior of mankind. He thinks about the way his mask and tactical goggles cover his face. He thinks about the time he almost escapes a whole squad by himself. He remembers about all the things the man did, and standing here, inside the room with the man himself, he thinks that maybe everything he has heard has been an exaggeration.

In the hectic moment where the only lighting is the blinking red alarm, the sirens are loud and howling into their ears; when two men just got killed on the spot and now the sounds of guns being loaded filled the static air, not even for a second the Revelator tries to get out of his chains, and that is… disappointing.

Yes, he is disappointed, what about it? Is it wrong to blame a man to think that a cold-blooded murder will break the chains with his bare hands and starts burning everything he sees to the ground? He read the files, all the files he could get about the Revelator and his secret life. The news said something about a deranged arsonist, and the subreddit under his name all said that his piercing gray eyes look like a blade whenever it hits the light.

So where is this madman they so fear about?

In front of him, all he sees is a jumpy man in his late thirty that looks like he could use a fucking haircut.

He stares at him like an animal when they realize that they’re the prey this whole time. His entire body is stiff, but his eyes say everything about his head.

“Who... are you?” the Revelator says, his voice is quiet and distant. And that wasn’t the response he’s been hoping for, but it’s better than those blank, dumbass stares he had received throughout their short counseling session. It makes his lips curve.

“I am not Francesco Moretti,” he begins.

Then in a swift movement, he stands up from his chair. He straightens the crease on his coat, sweeping dutifully through the imperfections before looking back at the dumbfounded man in front of him.

“But my intention here is not ill, John. I want to help you.”

The emergency light flashes the color red into their faces. The sound of people screaming and wailing echoing from the distance. When he takes a step closer, the other man sinks into his chair. Their eyes glued to each other’s faces, each of them trying to get inside each other’s sick brains.

But the Revelator tears his eyes away, and he pulls his feet close to him even if the changes are only one point one millimeter. When he says “I don’t want your help,” it is quiet and small. His breath is heavy and his body is shaking.

Where is this madman they so fear about?

“I want to give you a way out, John. A way so you could be with your family again,” he continues. While his tone is flat, he could feel his inside getting impatient. Oh, the hell with it. He hates it, hates it when people don't realize that in one way or another, he’s going to get all the things he wants.

Even if fate isn’t on his side, he will fucking make it his bitch. And if God tells him no, then he will walk up to the gate of heaven and fistfight Him all by himself.

“No.”

No, he isn’t taking any no.

“You will need my help, John. What would dearest Peter and El do without you?”

The Revelator shakes his head, he doesn’t look at him the way he expects him to do. The infamous Revelator trembles in his seat, and he doesn’t even try to break through his cuffs.

So where is this madman they so fear about?

“N–n–no,” the Revelator stammers as he tries to get away from him. When he takes another step closer, there goes the frantic movement in his hand. He’s trying to escape, but it’s not for himself. The Revelator is scared.

Scared of him.

“Fuck n-no,” when he sneers it was laced with venom, and while he tries to say it with the toughest voice he has, the Revelator is still trembling in his seat. That is not helping.

“D–d-detective, he, he k-k-nows—”

He looks at the way the Revelator almost pukes at his words. The Detective, yes. He remembers the man, he’s in the files. Detective Ian Nashton from the Chicago Police Department, the man with glasses and a distasteful choice of clothing. He remembers about the man, about his horrifying observation skill, and all the little things in between.

Ian Nashton, he did this. Amazing.

He takes a deep breath and takes another step closer to the Revelator. Now he levels himself, he’s kneeling in front of the trembling man with his hand on top of his knee.

“The Detective would never do anything to you kids, John,” he says. Then without tearing his eyes, he unlocks the cuffs that strain the madman.

“But I am different.”

When the metal hits the cold ground, that’s when their eyes finally meet. The cold gray eyes flashing both the fear and anger in their unconscious state. He stands up again, now he has the upper ground. The Revelator looks at him like he refuses to believe what he just saw.

“My name is James Hutcherson, the official heir and future don of the Hutcherson family.”

The Revelator stands still on his chair, but when James starts walking away from him, he could feel his cold gaze at his back.

He pauses, “I am in need of your help, John.”

And like a switch flicked on, there goes the sharpness finally coming from those eyes, the look of a feral animal that is completely ready to just jump from his stance. There goes the fucking madman he’d been waiting to see, there goes the goddamn Revelator.

“No,” the Revelator says with his strained voice, but the strong gaze remains. James doesn’t know what he thinks about, but if he could give a guess, it’d be the multiple ways of how to kill him with his bare hands.

“I don’t need your help,” the Revelator quietly says, “I don't want to help you,” he continues before tearing his eyes away.

James stays quiet and lets the sound of the siren wailing take over the room, but, no. No, he isn’t taking any no.

“But you have to.”

The closed door opens and now the room is filled with armed men in tactical gear. When they step closer to his side, the muzzle of their guns pointing at the Revelator, their combat boots leave a trail of blood in the shape of their sole.

“John, these are the times that try men’s souls,” James takes a step closer to the Revelator. “My men just murdered two innocent guards that are just doing their job.”

The Revelator’s gaze returned. Now the fear from his eyes has completely dissolved and even with his lips pressed into a tight line, James knows that his inside is burning.

“You wouldn’t want to know what I‘ll do to your kids, right?”

The Revelator stands up from his chair, but when he looks at the five muzzles pointing at him, all he does is stare directly into James’ eyes.

“You’re a good Father, John.” James smiles at him. That’s the truth and the pitiful truth.

The Revelator is a mad man, but he’s still a man inside.

“You don’t want your daughter to end like Jarrett Hopkins’ daughter, do you?”

And every man is weak.

He taps on one of his men’s shoulders and walks outside the door. From where he’s standing, his back facing the Revelator, he could hear his men throwing his new pawn a single piece of Glock.

“Make sure you get out of this prison alive, John.”

James Hutcherson walks into the hallway. In the hectic moment where the only lighting is the blinking red alarm, the sirens are loud and howling into their ears, he smiles triumphantly. When he steps away from the dead guards’ bodies, his shoes are splattered in blood.

And when the siren goes louder and the sound of inmates running from their cells get clearer, he feels the cold gaze lingered in his back.

He has the Revelator in his grasp.

[docboots]

On Hereditary Angioedema and Medical Marijuana

     I was born with this rare disease that only really started getting problematic when I was a teenager, and has been getting worse as the years go by. It is called Hereditary Angioedema (HAE for short). It isn’t very well known, and it has a number of triggers. The most notable is stress. Physical stress will likely cause a reaction in the area (say I get hit in the hand, my hand will be affected), while mental stress causes life to play a bit of a wheel of fortune game with me. I liken it to being deathly allergic to stress, even if there are other triggers and it isn’t an allergy really. Antihistamines and other medications for allergies just don’t do anything. Minus make me sleepy. Likely in too much pain to sleep, so my attempts to summon the Sandman and capture him in a cage to answer for ding dong ditching me is just added to the list. Comparing it to an allergy is just the simplest way to describe it.

     Much like how a bee allergy is often depicted, my limbs, organs, and even more..sensitive areas can swell to 2-3 times their size. This is painful and annoying at its best, debilitating normally, and can be fatal at its worse. It seems to hit everyone differently, which isn’t surprising given that stress is a factor and everyone is unique in that regard, and with me the potentially fatal area that likes to torment me most is the gastrointestinal system. Annoyingly, I also have what some with HAE call ‘wandering swelling’. So, say my hand swells up. This normally lasts for 2-5 days. As the swelling goes down, it will ‘move’ to the forearm. As it goes through its process, it can them more to my bicep or, oddly, to my other arm.

     To add to this, I have ADHD. The variant that is especially prone to hyperactivity. You may be under the assumption that a hyperactive person is basically Daffy Duck when he has lost it. ‘Woohoo! Hoho! Woohoo!’ Running everywhere, interacting with everything. Robin Williams on stage is another way to describe it. I am the guy that meth addicts have mistaken for being on crack or meth. I have never touched anything harder than Pot, and that is for medical reasons. Stone sober people think I am one something and pissy, as I talk a mile a minute.

     Here is the thing, least with my type, even when we are calmly sitting down, our thoughts are pumping. Our minds are going a mile a minute. Every sound, every bit of movement. We might not make a visual note of it, but somewhere in our minds, we have examined every aspect of it. Stressing out over it, freaking out about it. To put it simply, I am not 100% certain I know what it truly means to chill. I know being relaxed, but I know ME being relaxed. Which still tends to involve my mind ripping some subject apart. Just depends on what I feed it. I am always stressed.

The kicker is because they are afraid that I am going to go off and sell ADHD medicine instead of, you know, use it for the disorder it was invented for, I have been unable to find someone who will prescribe an Adult like me medication. I have trouble even finding someone who will diagnose me. I was diagnosed and treated with countless ADHD medicines as a kid. It was just one I became a teenager that the medical profession decided my mental health did not outweigh the potential they couldn’t trust me not to sell my medication. So, as of writing this, I have been unable to find official assistance on ADHD for nearly a decade, if not more. Not without lack of trying.

     Going to the doctor has proven only helpful in these cases where I could potentially die from my body’s overreaction to stress. The only medication they will offer me are these steroids that drove my birth mother, with the same disorder, mental. Kinda happens when you have to take steroids for the rest of your life I hear! Luckily, as with most people on the west coast, I had friends who smoked pot!

     Turns out, with my mixture of ADHD and traumatic childhood/adult experiences, that shit evens me out. Instead of countless different medications flung at me with side effects including: Sparking my HAE like crazy, that lovely feeling of being a mental zombie, feeling claustrophobic in a meadow, INTENSE CAPS DEMANDING IRRITABILITY, and potential organ failure; I get the munchies. Maybe more into Steven Universe and Adventure Time than is healthy at my age.

     Problem is that in order the get this magical medicine I have to go through all these forms and pay quite a bit of money (sometimes they quote $85, sometimes $500. I get fired from jobs for this disability before I can even remember my manager’s name, so that ain’t happening. Don’t even get a discount off the meds! Just the POTENTIAL to not be fired for the medication. Yet I can easily get a prescription for this medication that’ll make me gain possibly 5 new mental disorders in the process and go postal and medical insurance will pay off every bit of that. Doctors even agree with me on this, but they can only apologize that they aren’t allowed to give a prescription. Only recommend it. That isn’t their fault, the fact it is still considered more dangerous than cocaine. I consider it far safer than Prozac. Especially if mixed with other medicines.

     Now it is recreationally legal! Hooray. You can’t read my tone. Let me try again, Hoo-fuckin-ray.

     You see, a problem with it being legal, yet still being unable to afford the cost of that ‘recommendation’ then you are just another guy wanting to smoke up. The deals for medicinal weed painted everywhere while you still can’t afford the subscription fee for the price.

     “It is worth it in the savings!” The counter said. Tell me, would you feel comfortable hearing that when the context is the medicine keeping you stable both physically and mentally? When you still have to pay for the medication but at a discounted price, why doesn’t all the evidence showing this would assist me get me that card? That card that would have saved me a world of stress when I had to hold the label of criminal just for waiting for a business minded self starter (we give our dealers many names to make it feel less horrible. I am partial to medicine man!) in an alley or a parking lot hoping no one has realized you have been sitting in that car an hour, and have done so every week for months. That is, if you are lucky enough to find a dealer who won't ghost you, cancel at the last moment (as in an hour after when you were supposed to meet them), or just run out.

     When it was made legal, I sat in lines with others who couldn’t afford the medical card while the more vocal, the ones here just to get high, talk about all the amazing stuff they can afford. How shatter and dabs are fantastic, how all these different edibles and strains work. While I, thanks to my incredibly understanding and supportive Dad, have $20 for that week, and the next, and the next. I have to string that $20 out as long as I can. Not for any fault of my Dad’s, there are still other bills that must be paid. The help he has given me so far is enough the guy deserves a medal or a statue in my eyes, but taxes can really make something that is already rather pricy quite high. So it is depressing, frustrating, and potentially soul destroying to see your medication evolve from political punching bag to cash cow, while still falling into the cracks.

     But those munchies are gonna just destroy America, right guys?

[readerwinterbarnes]

Oh Look, I’ve Been Impaled

Bucky x Hannah OFC, Avengers

Summary: The Avengers are needed to stop a new nemesis who’s blowing up the city, Bucky gets the last person out of the building just as the bomb goes off. When he wakes up, what he doesn’t expect is to be attached to a redhead.

Word Count: 1,886

Warnings: mentions of blood, character injuries, panic attack, fluff, flirting

A/N: Came up with this thing and it just took over. Sorry if the plot seems to be everywhere. There’ll be a second part, don’t worry :) 

“Steve, Steve! We need to get everyone away from the building. It’s going to go up any second!” Bucky yelled through the comms, as he ran back inside the building, gently but urgently getting the last few stragglers out of the crumbling building.

“Bucky, we’re all good to go! What’s your status?” Steve asked just as the last person ran to safety.

“Steve, I’m green. I’m on-” A loud boom, one that shook the buildings that were still standing on their foundations. Next thing Bucky knew, was the building flying all around him, causing him to fly out, and crash through the walls out into the air along with the debris. Before the world went black.

                                                    -----------------

“Ugh, f-fucking, holy shit.” Bucky groaned out, trying to move, but a soft, strict voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Yo sex on legs, not that I don’t like how your body is pressing against mine, but if you wanna live. Keep your fucking ass frozen.” Bucky, slowly lifted his head only to lock his blue eyes with green ones. He was on top of a redhead, but not just any redhead, but the prettiest redhead he ever had the joy of laying eyes on.

“Sorry to disappoint you, doll, but my ass was already frozen. Multiple times if I might add.” She just smiled, but then her eyes grew wide. Looking from his face down to his left arm, then quickly back to him when she saw that it was metal. Bucky winced, knowing she was probably one of those people who hated his very existence.

“Holy shit! You’re Sergeant Barnes! I’m...I’m so sorry for snapping at you earlier and now…” her cheeks flushed crimson, Bucky swore it blended in with her hair. He found it adorable.

“No worries, doll, but I prefer Bucky. I haven’t been called Sergeant Barnes since 1940.” Bucky looked over his shoulder and stilled finally figuring out why she didn’t want him to move, a metal pole was sticking out from his back. Clearly, the force was strong enough that it forced both him and the redhead onto the pole, which was now impaled through their abdomens. “However,” looking back at the redhead, “I would like to know the name of the dame I have the pleasure of crushing.”

“Pleasure to meet you Bucky, I’m Hannah. I would shake your hand, but that would be unwise. I’m very fond of not dying.” Bucky laughed.

“You mind if I invade your personal space a little more Hannah? I’ll be a gentleman I swear.” She nodded, putting her complete trust in him. With calculated movements, Bucky shifted slowly and carefully as to not cause any more damage. Bringing his robotic arm to rest the forearm beside her head, putting most of his upper weight on that, considering it will not get strained from the pressure. Now came the tricky part, not only did he not want to crush her pelvis, but he also didn’t want any major organs to get damaged.

So with slow movements, and a good two minutes later, he managed to slip both his legs between hers. So he was now resting fully between her splayed legs. He used his flesh hand to help adjust her legs to a more comfortable position, so they wouldn’t fall asleep for a while. Deeming that everything was safe, he looked back down at Hannah who was looking anywhere and everywhere but his face, clearly beyond flustered.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds. I should’ve told you what I was going to do.” She shook her head.

“No, no don’t you apologize. I totally understand. It’s just that…” she cleared her throat and made jerky movements with her hands. “I think your big guy is happy to see me.”

Bucky was really hoping she wouldn’t notice it, but who the hell wouldn’t?! Especially if your body was pressed up against someone else’s with clearly no space in between them. “I’m, oh god….I’m so sorry. Fuck, this is just embarrassing.”

“Well, it could be worse. Just be glad that you’re not too bad on the eyes.” Bucky wanted to laugh, but his soldier’s instincts kicked in, his brain starting flaring up with all the signals his body was giving him, along with those sent from the environment. “Uh...Buck? Ya with me?” Bucky focused back on Hannah.

“Yeah, I’m with ya.”

“Where’d you go just now?”

His eyes furrowed in concentration. “My head, sorry that wasn’t helpful, um…” he took a second to try to put it into words. “Hydra trained my body to send specific signals to me when I’m in serious need of medical attention when the serum isn’t working. It’s like, uh, it’s like someone talking to you in sign language.”

“And….” Hannah glanced at his arm as the gears shifted, looking back at Bucky whose forehead was now covered in sweat. “A-And it’s pissed, my body that is. It’s not good, it’s like it’s pulling in two different directions. One telling me that I need medical attention, and the other...oh fuck,” his head began to droop, only to jerk back up, but now his eyes were frantic.

“Bucky, what is it?” Hannah was now past the point of worry. “What’s the other part telling you?”

“That I’ve been bad, it’s preparing itself for...oh god, fucking holy f-fucking, fuck….” he took a deep breath, “it’s preparing itself for whatever punishment Hydra will give me. And it’s not always…..pleasant. I mean, I heal fast, but the longer this pole stays, the...”

“The more your body is preparing itself for what comes next? Undecided if there’ll be a punishment coming?” Bucky’s head nods. Eyes closed concentrating on anything but the pole that was sticking out from his back. Hannah saw movement off to the side, the Avengers saw them and were making their way over, along with a medic team.

“Well, I hope you’re fine with sticking with me a little longer, ‘cause we’re about to be saved.”

                                                  -------------------

Steve and the rest of the team were frantically searching through the rubble to find their teammate. They found him eventually, his body laid out protectively on top of a redheaded woman. When they got closer, they saw the pole sticking up from Bucky’s back.

“Bucky, fuck! Are you okay?” Steve asked, ripping off his cowl, crouching down to see what state his best friend was in. Bucky, however, ignored him, too busy trying to keep his mind from going elsewhere. Hannah saw this and decided to help out her new friend.

“Hi, Rogers right?” Steve looked at Hannah and nodded.

“Yeah, that’s me. Is Bucky okay?”

“Okay great, well I’m Hannah. Long story short, we’re both impaled from that thing,” she gestured to the pole with her chin, because her hands were too busy trying to calm Bucky down by rubbing along his sides, Steve noticed. “So moving is out of the question. And as for Bucky, well, let’s just say he’s trying not to freak out. So he’s blocking out certain things to help get his anxiety back on track.”

“What do you mean by that?” Bucky took in a sharp breath, tilting his head slightly to give Steve a weak grin.

“Hey punk, glad you could show up. Mind helpin’ us out here?” Steve got the message, Bucky didn’t want to talk about it. So Steve let it slide, he’d ask him later.

“Sure jerk, just sit tight and we’ll get you back to base so Dr. Cho can see what she can do.”

                                                    -------------

It took some careful planning because one wrong move would be life threatening, for one or both of them. So the only thing they could do was have Wanda keep the pole absolutely still while they lifted the pair onto a board, then carry them onto the quinjet for immediate medical. They had to act fast because there was still the fact of blood loss, but now Bucky was getting close to the end of his rope.

“Hey, Buck, look at me. We’re gonna be fine, your team knows what they’re doing.” Hannah tried to reassure him, knowing he wasn’t doing so hot. He could only nod, not able to physically say anything besides that. The team watched them interact, watching as Bucky’s posture shiver, his head dropping every so often. If it wasn’t for him resting on his metal arm, he would’ve collapsed completely.

When they landed, it was crazy. Cho and her team were rushing to get them down to the med bay, the team quickly followed. They needed to get Bucky out of his gear in order to assess the full damage. Two nurses began to cut away the fabric, while Cho took his vitals, another checking up on Hannah. She was surprised of how she wasn’t really affected by all this. They told her it was her body going into shock, numbing everything so she hardly noticed it was actually there. Once Bucky was down to just his boxers, the sight before them was gnarly. The pole was sticking out from just below his ribs. According to the scans, it just missed both of their organs from severe injury. But Bucky’s skin was an ugly red, purple and green. It was infected.

“Shouldn’t the serum be healing this? Why is it infected?” Clint asked. Everyone felt threatened and stepped back when Bucky growled. Even the hospital staff backed up.

“Rogers, I swear...I’m going to snap someone’s neck if they don’t get this fuckin’ thing out my fuckin’ back.” The monitor that was reading Bucky’s heart rate was spiking in a way no normal human should be alive for. His breath quickened. Knowing the risks, Hannah lifted her hands and grabbed his face.

“Hey, Mr. Sex on Legs, just look at me.” Smiling when she had his attention. “Let them worry about this, alright?” Hannah kissed him lightly, not a full on kiss, just enough for him to ground himself in the present. “Lay your head down okay, big guy? Give that neck a rest.” The team stood in absolute silence, Steve could feel the anger radiate off Bucky in waves. But when he saw Bucky’s head slowly fall to rest between her shoulder and neck, he was unsure what to do. Bucky never let his guard down like this. But he was calming down, so he’d take it.

Hannah finally spoke up. “Y'all better hurry up and figure something out. I don’t know how long he’ll be like this.” That seemed to knock everyone out of their trance, then the room became a frenzy again as the medical team quickly got back to work. During the procedure, the Soldier was cool and calm, taking long, deep breaths. Hannah, on the other hand, had to put under at some point. She wasn’t a super soldier like Bucky, so it was needed if she wanted to get out of this alive.

So...they had to bring in Steve so he could talk to the soldier who looked as if he was going to rip off the man’s head who put Hannah under. That seemed to work because a long, gruesome four hours later, both Hannah and Bucky were separated, patched up and sleeping peacefully on separate beds.

That was until Bucky’s levels began to spike.

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[fuck-customers]

idfc anymore

I was tempted to go anonymous but I am far too tired.

I haven't really made a post yet, I've just been following this blog for quite a while as a release as I'm sure is the same for most. But things have changed and I thought for the better, not so sure now.

this does not include the 2nd job I'd gotten WHILE working this one, which put me at 7 days a week, a little around 60 hours a week, for 9 months. That in itself was hell and requires an entirely different submission.

It'll probably get long so just scroll to the tl;dr at the bottom if you want idc.

When I had just graduated HS, I waited the summer out before applying for a job. I already knew I wasn't going to college - a 2.3GPA isn't going to get you anywhere, especially when you're in the working class just brushing the poverty line. Getting loans is not something I wanted to do either, since everyone I'd ever met, seen, or heard who'd gotten them were miserable fcks.

At the suggestion of a relative I dropped off my resume everywhere it interested me. I got hired. Things looked good. I bonded with one of the coworkers, wasn't so bad. But I was inexperienced. And their idea of 'training' was to send 3 different people from 3 different parts of the business to train me on their own time, separately, and then argue about it because either something was miscommunicated i.e I was taught to do something one way but another person said that was wrong so they'd scold me and then "re-teach" me. This went on for a few weeks.

Okay, cool, fine. Whatever. That's stupid, you do you. Shit kind of improves. But because of this miscommunication, I get a write up for talking to one of the co-workers about something I wasn't supposed to because technically they're NOT a coworker and I don't find out exactly what that means until later (paid under the table) nor was I told I couldn't speak to them about the fact that this random ass volunteer was not only getting in the way of my work, but was being a safety hazard for my clients, despite my many warnings and corrections. Because obviously we are a hive mind and I must know that 1. Do not speak to paid-under-the-table "employees" 2. Do not tell mentally unstable child to not crawl into bin and taunt clients 3. Especially do not ban him when he was spraying the hose nozzle directly at clients.

So I get a "strike". Boss lady holds out her fingers and ticks them off once by one, as If I had made a horrible grievance upon the business. I'd only been working there for a few months, I believe. Still early, still new. Still young, fresh out of HS. 

A little back story cause I really feel this is integral to the story and hopefully for those with the same issues will look at this like "ye same" and those who haven't might be able to understand the following actions on the part of myself and others. Either way, here you go:

I've got diagnosed C-PTSD, Anxiety, Depression Bipolar, and ADHD. It has been heavily suggested I also fall along the Autism spectrum (by various doctors and nurses). I am also a victim of emotional, psychological, mental, and physical abuse (with a little stockholm I recently discovered, it's not something you yourself are generally aware of and now that I am it's ... It's worse than if I didn't know.), and I have been suffering with it for as long as I've been consciously aware to the present day. I don't always like to be so forthright with this kind of knowledge because there are quite a few people that either don't believe me, or then don't think I'm reliable enough to function and/or work. So it's usually best I don't.

And during the entire time of my employment there, I underwent a lot of manipulation and emotional abuse. A lot. By a person who believed they were doing a service for others. 

The months go on. I continue to be mistreated but it doesn't get bad until my family decide they want to adopt from the shelter boss lady also happens to run. I'm at work and I am notified of the cutest little puppy who had just gotten surrendered. I immediately asked my parents if they'd like the foster (we'd been looking for a 'family dog'). Said yes but couldn't get down there. I said that's fine, I'll fill the paperwork out. So I go to the other side and I fill everything out, we're set. We go home later on and she fits in perfectly. We decide then we'll adopt her come morning when the shelter opens up again.

Morning comes, I'm about ready to walk out the door to go to work, but I'm sent a message from one of the coworkers. "Bring the puppy in" was essentially the message being sent. Puppy's mom had originally surrendered puppy because she couldn't find a place to live that would accept dogs. So she surrendered her. But then in the morning she found a place. What a moron. Anyway.

Boss lady accepted her to having her dog back. No communication to me other than "Bring the dog in". Well we were about to adopt. Essentially what this scenario was turning into was: You work for me, therefore I 1. Don't have to explain myself 2. You work for me 3. The dog is my property.

So I'm texting the coworker back and forth like "Uh I need a little more info, also my parents want to talk with the ACO". This takes way too long, I eventually get the number, mom and ACO have a chat. I thought it went well. Apparently it didn't. He was giving her the script, paraphrased and a little blase. Moms pissed, understandably. She blows it out of proportion, note she's a psychotic bitxch and does this often with everything involving life but I can see where she's coming from with this. I'm like alright well I have to go to work, good luck barring the doors from the "Police". We go to work and it's kind of fcked.

We open the doors and everyone goes silent and turns towards us, in the kind of way you know they were just talking about you. Cause we got everyone in one room. The Boss Lady, the girl txting me over the phone, the ACO, some unnamed volunteer[s]. It's fcking uncomfortable and idk whats going on. The coworker I'd been txting was known and a little too happy to gossip, run her mouth, and cause problems. I was not surprised this was what was going on, but it didn't make me any less pissed.

Boss Lady confronts relative who'd dropped me off at work. He barely says a word, just stares at her, while she's maybe a couple inches from him. She says things like "Don't stare at me like that, this is how it works" "They are MY property, and as MY property I CAN call the police and they WILL show up on your front door do you want that?" "Peeriet, go with him to get the dog so I know she's coming back." And other really really volatile bullshit. The fact that she called the puppy her PROPERTY, threatened to call the POLICE, like...I was there during all of these interactions. My texts were neutral and just asking questions, my moms convo with the ACO was really calm and easy, and the relative was doing nothing but standing there and staring as she went off her rocker. So. 

I said no, I have to go to work, I'm not going with him to get the dog but he's going to get her. So he goes, I clock in, I leave.

I go to my job and vent to my coworker about the situation because I was still trying to wrap my head around it, when the ACO shows up wanting to have a private "chat."

The fcking conversation went something like this.

"So uh, you really care about your job, right?"

this fcking asshole was alluding, in so many words, probably to get the point across while also saving his ass so if I had gone to anyone saying he THREATENED MY POSITION OVER MY HEAD TO MAKE ME COOPERATE it may have been a problem. Wonder why.

So I said yeah, it's not even an issue also, they're bringing the dog back, etc. They'd even said because I filled out the application under my name that I was liable for anything to happen if it were to happen and that, because it's under my name, well, shucks, this is all your responsibility at the end of the day, we can wipe our hands clean and call it good.

Even though we were following the 'rules' and never once 1. Yelled 2. Caused a scene 3. Refused 4. Or threatened.

So that's settled. I thought. I go home and moms pissed. Que the next few weeks of absolute stupid shit storm via the internet by way of her leaving a trail of bad reviews. Of course this falls on me.

Everything my mom ever did or said, was my fault, as they "alluded" because we can't tell the truth in this business lest we be taken to court for whatever illegal activity we're probably doing behind closed doors.

So that started a whole new thing. They're hatred becomes amplified. Coworkers I'd bonded or befriended just outright stopped talking to me, barely acknowledging my precense and going to my manager for anything, including relaying messages to me. This did not stop for another 2 years.

So eventually things calm down, as calm as it could get. I continue to get harassed a lot, manipulated. I get injured at work fairly frequently, more than most - injuries that required medical treatment. I lied my first visit because it was after work. I was truthful the other time. I'd already been told by a few coworkers but Boss Lady specifically had a few special conversations with me about not telling any of my family I got injured at work, "Because you know how your mom is". They always spoke too sweetly, too nicely and feeding me excuses to cover up the real reasons. And I'd been so used to abuse my whole life that stockholm was bleeding into my work life and if anyone has ever fcking experienced that, it is fcking hell.

So I didn't tell anyone.

Until I'd gotten injured real bad. A dog had clamped full jaws onto my leg and shook. I had an indent for every tooth, including at least 3 deep punctures. I had it disinfected, shot a water missile into the punctures to make sure debris was out, wrapped, and given meds, orally and topically. I limped when I went home. And at the weekend went bye, I continued to get worse emotionally. I couldn't keep this a secret, I was experiencing actual physical pain because of the situation I'd been put under and I, mentally, could not cope. So I blew up in the kitchen. I had a meltdown, I showed my leg, I explained what happened, I said sorry but that I couldn't hide it anymore. 

The next day or days at work I told boss lady I couldn't hide it. I just couldn't. She backpeddled, explained "Oh no no, you shouldn't feel like you have to hide it, I never said that." This was her keyphrase after being called out for every single threat, warning, and manipulation. "I never said that.". Because it was true. She didn't. She said it in a way that couldn't hold her accountable in any true legal situation.

Months go by. I continue with the abuse not just at home but at work now. Abuse most people wouldn't even consider was abuse, but unfortunately I'd been groomed for this sort of thing my entire life, so when it happened at work? I fit in so naturally I didn't even know it was abuse/wrong until I'd left. 

And the real kicker is that she knew of my mental disorders. Because when stockholm had got me good, and I was especially tired, and I'd suffered some real hard shit at home, I'd break and I'd confess to boss lady in hopes of some kind of understanding: See, this is what I deal with, please don't mistreat me.

I wrote letters. I tried talking to her one on one. I tried working so hard at work to show how good I'd gotten.

Each letter was misunderstood. She'd bring me into her office after our oral talk and tell me that, because of what I'd written, I could be misunderstood, taken 'at my word.' "Well it says here that you don't ... want to work with your clients? Well if this is true then I legally can't have you with them. Because you wrote it. And legally I have to put this in your file." So I had to rewrite it, delete everything incriminating so I was left with my personal feelings.

Talking with her wasn't possible. She used tactics my mother does, so I physically couldn't talk, and I did, it was only "Sorrys" and "Thank yous" and accepting I was wrong and she was right and yes, I understand.

Working hard didn't work. I paid for my training personally and attended a school solely to improve. I kept making mistakes though. I wasn't good enough. I was doing some of the work my manager was with none of the pay, none of the acknowledgment or acceptance. I brought her in money, and clients, and good reviews, for nothing more than what I'd already had. Because she knew I wouldn't fight for it. Because she knew I'd continue giving her money and she didn't have to shell out anything more. And legally she didn't have to, because I had no experience, I was out of HS, and no official schooling.

But she'd always give me 'tidbits' of 'rewards'. The kicker for anyone with stockholm and/or abuse is you can basically continue to abuse them without too much issue if they 'reward' you and make it seem like they're doing you a favour. You know what I mean?

So she'd have occasionally 'positive' conversations, or she'd 'comment' something good about me, but I really loved when she'd give me a .50cent raise about twice in 2 years disguising it under her "charity" when it was probably because it was actually required. Cause in her office I was like "Why do I have a .50cent raise?" "Why are you asking, that's not something you normally ask when getting a raise." "???" "It's cause -....Just be thankful" Yeeee you see that? See that? How she almost said something but didn't? Yeah.

When she hired a new person they actually made about the same as me but more than another coworker, who'd been there longer, and when asked, boss lady said she basically didn't want to pay him if he wasn't sticking around (What kind of bullshit is that). He was. He corrected her, and his pay got fixed.

Again, months passed. Sometimes It'd be so good and I truly loved my job. I formed relationships with the clients to this day I can't think about because I get emotional. And every time she would critique me. Make things harder for us, she'd always be watching us on the cameras, and if she didn't see us, she'd assume we weren't working. She'd even come out of office to walk by just to watch us as she passed. 

2 months ago she made some changes. She'd hired someone that was her irl friend. The entire business save 1 or 2 people, were connected either by blood, marriage, or irl friendship. Which wasn't a good thing.

So she hires this new manager. Does ok for maybe a week or two. But then they started making some changes. She redid how we did our payments and filed clients in a really convoluted way. We went back to the old system in a week.

Then she switched everyones schedules. Really inconveniently and without asking anyone for confirmation like she said. She never even spoke to me like she did the others. 

Then she wanted opening crew to take our lunches back to back. Which made the early morning person take their lunch 6-7 hours after they'd already been clocked on, and me take mine only a couple hours after I'd been clocked on. Well, what about the afternoon crew?

Afternoon crew, as Boss lady told our manager and new morning crew person, didn't have to take a lunch now because of the new schedule. Which put him at over 5/5.5 hours anyway, despite the hour cut.

My hours were being cut. She'd just hired new manager and new morning crew, who'd taken over everything of mine previously. She'd also already fired a few people, and the new minimum wage mandatory increase was right around the corner.

I watched my hours. I waited. Few days pass. The next week comes, everyones on edge, I'm a fireball.

She tells us we're not allowed to keep our "belongings" with the rest of the other clients when we're on lunch. We must remove them into an entire separate room, because they would otherwise make our numbers higher (of total clients allowed in a space per person ratio) and thus become "illegal". We'd been seen by a health inspector twice in a year or so by request of a client who wasn't too keen on our 'policies'. Boss Lady was adamantly covering bases, which meant fcking everyone over.

It was kind of the last straw. I applied elsewhere, got accepted, and left. I spent 2 weeks after my last day literally going through a detox/withdrawal. I became physically ill. I had mental breakdowns about once every couple days. It was hell, it was horrible. I hated every minute of it.

Someone else left. A month later another person left. Several people that'd gotten hired have already been fired. And apparently a business too similar to the glory days of the place I'd left, has moved a couple blocks down the road to a second location. 

I've gotten a new job, but It's only partially an improvement, and I am still affected everyday by the abuse I'd suffered at that place, coupled with everything I already go through at home. And I am tired, and I do this alone, and I've been looking for a place to move into for years but minimum wage isn't a livable wage.

I am tired.

tl;dr how tf do you even summarize that?

[telashar]

Better help post to my counselor 7-29-2017

I am so sorry about how long this is.  Once written I thought about not sending it to you or somehow boiling it down for you.  But I think I really needed to get all this out.  But I think I also really want someone to understand me.  So I have decided to send the whole thing to you.  I know it is long and most likely a big rambling that in the end you might not get anything useful from.  But I kind of hope you do.  So good, bad or ill here it is. (oh and I certainly don’t expect quick flash of insight, brilliant, glib or other response that deals with all this. Though brilliant flash of insight is always welcome.) ……….. I have been busy and thinking.  In part I tried a council before you and that was not work.  I takes quite a lot for me to talk about thing for a few reason.  First is the whole exposing yourself thing, revealing inner personal things. 2nd It take quite a bit of effort to even think of what to say and how to express it.  It all becomes jumbled and confused, it’s hard to explain.  I know believe this is related to the autism.  So first I have to figure out what I need to express and then I actually have to explain it in such a way to minimize confusion. It can cause confusion when people expect to hear one thing and you're saying another.   For example there are times what I feel in response to a situation is not the same as what most people generally feel.  For example after I learned my husband was cheating and we were breaking up, came over to get some of his stuff.  When he was leaving his car got stuck in the driveway (lived in Michigan and it was winter.)  Well he was trying to get it out with no success.  I couldn’t stand watching him struggle, so I went out and helped him push the car out of the driveway.  Everyone one of my friend were totally surprised I did this and everyone of them said they wouldn’t have gone out and help him.  And I understand their responses, I mean this is the time most would be throwing his stuff out in the snow, yelling and screaming at him and in general doing whatever to express their hurt, anger and pain at the person that just hurt them in the worst way.  So how do I explain to them what I did? So it was very hard to explain to them how it was far worse for me to watch him struggling then to just go out and get him out of my driveway.  Of course it can be explained and expressed but it take more effort than if I had just left him in the driveway because that is what people expected because they understand anger far better than anxiety. And anxiety is what was more powerfully me at that moment. 3rd There is the actual communication issues.  When writting I am a horrible speller and I tend to think far faster then I write so I can end up something hard for the other person to read.  If I am talking I have issues with eye contact, stumbling over words, not hearing tones correctly, not speaking in the correct tones because I don’t hear them.  All those typical autistic kind of issues. This all mean even the act of seeking help can greatly increase my anxiety and I can will hit a point of burn out where I need to withdraw.  And the last therapist didn’t work because I would go through all this and she responded with the equivalent “un hun, go on” We that doesn’t work for me, I need more feedback, more direction in the feed back.  For example she might respond, ‘That is to be expected, as it is normal to feel that way.”  but a response like that can leave me dangling.  I may not actually know what feeling she is referring to.  Also I believe most people feel comfort in feeling like the herd? but I don’t get any comfort from that.  Knowing others feel the same can help me in understanding others and that can be helpful when dealing with others but it doesn’t help me in dealing with me. (This is one of those areas that is very, very hard to explain. I have found other autistic people get what I am saying but i find more atypicals don’t.) I spent a long time not even understanding this myself.  I only learned I was autistic when my son was diagnosed in his senior year of high school.  So I have only known for like 8 years, which might seem a long time it really isn’t.  Everyday I still learn of new ways I am not like the majority of people and how it impacted my life and still does.  You know how teens feel like no one understands them, they are different, a freak, all those normal growing pain kind of things.  Well that is how my whole life has been.  I now know that is how all high functioning autistic people feel. In some ways I am fortunate in that I recognized the fact that I was different from most other people early on (I think 6th grade is when I really, really understood that fact.) I didn’t know how I was different or why I was different but I knew for a fact I was.  And because I knew that was a fact I was able to accept it.  In some ways that made my teen years easier than some of my friends.  I didn’t feel I fix in any better then them but I had accepted it so I didn’t even really struggle with trying.  Instead I just looked for those that I would naturally fit with and be myself in many way. (When starting a new school which I did a lot, I just looked for the freaks and geeks and found friend actually pretty quickly.) So how does this matter today? in many ways.  It is far harder to find the “Freaks and geeks” at 51 then 16.  All my peers are not gathered in one building for me to observe and spot the individual i can relate too.  And those I might relate too are most likely high functioning but selective in where they hang and who they hang with.  So if i go to a meet up that is focus on exercise I am less likely to find a kindred soul then if I go to a game convention.  But at a game convention most of the people are going to be half my age.  Now I am not opposed to young friends but does present it’s own issues.  In fact I do have one friend I see once a month or do.  She is my daughter's age but we click very well.  But she is harder to hang with because she has a far more active lifestyle.  Also it hard to talk with her about thing like my kids or even my divorce because she is at the beginning of things and I am at the end.  She in the flowering of her marriage and I have suffered the devastating end of mine.   Of course all the communications issue listed above make things challenging as well. I only figured out recently that even though I might my time at the meet-ups I have been attending, they were still causing social burnout because they also generated a very high anxiety state.  So I might have a great time but after say three event I would be burned out for a week or more.  This week was a good week.  Your response helped and seems to be the kind I am looking for, that is a positive.  I have finished 2 big projects at work, lowering stress levels, I went to fun game previous friday and then another on thursday. Went to the water park with my daughter (I love the water.) I had lunch with my co-works this just past friday. But still anxiety is up and this morning i woke up all emotional.  I was crying and obsessing about all I had lost.  My friends, my husband and the life I knew and understood (or at least I thought I did.)  I now know this is a response to anxiety.  So I have to step back and re-coup at home.  I also have to watch my buying habits because of late I think I am internet shopping in response to stress. What I don’t know is how long it will take me to re-coup. It can also make planning future events hard.  If I plan things but then end up burning out an cancelling that really doesn’t help much.  I am also not sure how much is going to lead to burnout.  New activities are certainly going to cause more anxiety than things I know but I really am not at the point of having any routine activities with other yet.  The only one I really have is once a month i go to an autism for adults support group.  So far it is the only activity that really, really helps me.  Even when there are issue at the  meeting I still feel “at home.”  I don’t feel like a fish out of water there.  And I can really be myself in many ways I can’t anywhere else. This all started with me wanting to just explain why it was taking me so long to respond to you.  I don’t even know if i have succeeding in do that I do now know I really needed to explain all this stuff to you.  I have spent  lot of time trying to get help in the past but because I didn’t know what what my needs and challenges were and those trying to help didn’t understand a lot of time was spent spinning wheels. Like with the last councilor.  I would tell her I was frustrated, that i didn’t know how to proceed, etc… but she just didn’t get it and couldn’t find an effective way to connect with me and thus couldn’t help. I can say that at least at this age I have learned to spot spinning wheels quicker. When I was 19 I spent a month in a nice psyche ward.  No one there had a clue of what to do with me and how to help, myself included.  Very typical, especially in the 80’s that no one recognized I was a high functioning autistic, mostly because I was female because I had a ton of red flag.  But it did mean that everything, including the med medication they finally settled on for me (we went through at least 4 different kinds) didn’t help me at all.  What did help and why I finally showed signs of improvement was simply the time out for a month.  I really suffering from extreme burnout for anxiety.  So having a month of being pretty free from most social interaction and l social interaction that did occur were very structured and controlled, it allowed me to destress enough to somewhat deal with the real world again I saw the same kind of thing happen with my son.  If I had know we could have gotten him better help and I think he would be at a better stage now.  If nothing else his high school like would had been better, I am sure of it.  So now I know not to wast time in a pointless direction or worse a direction that will only make things worse. I also think you should know how I found your response helpful and makes me hopeful.  You gave me something concrete to research, learn about and explore in maybe understanding myself better, (The  of needs i didn’t know about.) You asked direct question?  It gives me a way to respond when i am at a lost.  Direct question also tell me if you're getting what I am really saying or if some form of miscommunication is going on. Just restating what I said doesn’t mean someone is getting what I said but if they ask question about it I can then get a clue i they are in the same ball park as me. Finally, I promise some more direct answers. meet-ups I have attended:   DFW gamers social happy hours ( like these as it is fellow gamers meeting at various bars, just hanging and talking geek stuff.  I like these but they are random on when and how often they occur.  Plus most have been on the dallas side of area, a bit far for me.) Beginner meditation: Was good but organizer ended it and I haven’t found a replacement like it. Barnes and Noble board game meet up: Again like it, have been to one so far but it is only monthly autism adult support group: Best for me but only meets once a month (really wish it was more often.) Shadowrun roleplaying game: Just been to the first one, it went well and it meets twice a month.  It is a new group of people for everyone, so traditionally it really need to meet at least a few months before you know it it will continue or fall apart. (private home) DnD league playing at Game Store: This meets every thursday and i have been to 4 of these.  It is going well, so far it has been the same players and same GM. (this means it socially stable for me.) Events like this can be trying for me on a weekly bases if games, players or gm change all the time, like they can at this kind of event. i have been looking for some kind of craft class or group I could join but so far I haven’t found one.  Mostly it has been an issue of time and/or focus.  A lot of them meet during the day, while I am work.  And focus is often for young mothers learn crafts for kids and that kind of thing.  But I am still looking. REVIEW OF GOALS It is very hard for me to give you things I want to do or achieve.  As one of my big issue is that I really can’t find much that motivates me anymore.  Though in you asking it did make me suddenly realize in part why my creative energy is so low.  It that I have no one to share with.  Sharing creative energy really gets things cooking and I really do thrive in bouncing around that energy but currently I am doing everything in a vacuum.  I post to FB but get little feedback that way, usually some “like” hits.  But no really exchange on the project.  I thought maybe it was praise I was lacking but now I know it’s not that at all.  It is that back and forth, that sharing of excitement, of developing and growing the ideas that I am missing.  So when my battery runs out I have nothing to plug into and recharge it with. I really, really like what I do for a living.  I don’t always like the job but I like what I do.  I don’t want to move up because that changes what I do.  I don’t want to manage people or even project.  If I get bored in my career it is usually be cause what I am designing I can do in my sleep and it isn’t innovate or teaching me anything new.  In that case I usually have to move to a new job.  (If a company builds widget A and that is all they do, there comes a time you have to go to a company that builds widget B.)  Currently I work for a company that  does almost all custom work so all my widgets are different to some degree.  Plus it is in a growing field/technology so there plenty to learn and grow with, without going into management. Though I love to learn and I am always open to going to training, classes, and self learning I see no benefit to a higher degree at this stage in my life. In general I have enough work experience that a higher degree give me little career benefits (unless I want to move into management, which I don’t) So from time to time I will take a college course for personal interest but it’s not a goal thing. I thought about traveling, but to be honest my social anxiety is so high these days travel something I dread more than look forward too. I have a passport so if there comes a day the bug bits I think I could just take off but for now it just make me nause to think about going abroad.  I use to love camping but Texas has some many things that can kill you, snake and the like I am not sure I can reconnect with nature here. (I have always really, really hated snakes but at least in michigan if I encountered on I didn’t have to worry about any real danger. Not to mention scorpions, and the like you have here.)  So day trips are about all I am up to these days.  Plus camping is more fun with people and I have no one to camp with. I have thought about volunteer work but again couple of issues.  1st Social anxiety high so this could just ramp that up.   And there are thing I am not emotionally ert ipped to deal with.  for example I love animals but things stay with me.  so if I offered to help with the local reque I would have to deal with the emotional trauma of the evil, cruel and sad thing that happens to these animals.  But those things stay with me, I mean really I will remember them for life and they will haunt me. 2nd There is a jaded factor in me that I don’t know if i can get over.  I have volunteered for various organizations in the past but over time I have become somewhat embittered with them.  I see the waste and cons going on and find it hard to ignore.  Basicly I find I can’t drink the cool air any more.  For example I was a girl scout from 11 to 18 and then I was a Troop leader.  But as a leader I was the national council push cookie sales like made.  Basicly a troop meets 9 months out of the year.  The second month in the council will start the campaign at the leader meetings to get the girls ready for cookie sale.  Troops will then spend almost 2 months in cook sales and orders.  then when orders comes in they will spend another month on delivery, rewards and booth sales.  After that the council then spend at least another month debriefing leader on the sales.  So for the girls a min. of 3 months out of 9 are focus on cookie sales. For leader the focus is at least 5 out of 9.  What really kills with this is most troops could make more money in just 1 alternative fund raiser, like a 1 day bake sale.  Most of the money still goes to National and mfg.  As for national then spending the money back on the troops, well 5 months of that support is spent on cook sales promotion, paper work, and distributing.  They do help fund the camps but Girl Scout camp really isn’t any cheaper than other camps I sent my children too.  Plus only a small percent of girls actually go to the camps.  They don’t supplement the price of uniforms and badges like boy scouts do.  In fact you can often buy the uniform cheaper at a local walmart then you can from troop stores.  As to the so called skill the girls learn selling cookie.  Most could and more could have been learned by organizing small local fund raisers like a car wash.  In fact cookie sale has devolved into shelling to friend and relative and those in turn taking form into work.  The girls are not suppose to do door to door sales.  The forms are just line item fill so not really math or account skills are needed.  National supplies all the promotional and marketing.  So what I was a corporate level organization getting a free sales force, giving back the mim it could.  It had nothing to do with the girls.  And there is a lot of pressure for leader to play ball the national way.  So after a year as a local organizer I gave it up. I have encounter this with several volunteer organizations and I am now jaded about them.  I think it is because i trust and really believe in the good work line and i don’t know how to deal with realization that maybe the good work isn’t as good as I thought or the fact that those higher up are lying to those below.  I just don’t know how to see past that and believe once I see the neg. A very long way to say, if I found the right kind of volunteer opportunity I would be for helping but I am not driven to find one. Love: I am not driven to find a love of my life.  I thought I had that and then after 27 years I learned, not so much.  In fact not only was I not the love of his life he was able to lie to me, accuse me of things I never did, make me feel ugly and double who I am even down to the core of my feeling. As far as I can tell the love of his life is a woman 10 years younger then me, slightly dumber than me (barely graduated high school), into kinky Daddy/little girl S&M, her goal in life is to be a stay at home mom (yet when she had a baby, by her first husband, was willing to let the baby sit in a stinky diaper for ½ hour waiting for her husband to come home and change it and she ordered delivery pizza for her lunch on a regular basis), Knows how  use makeup, wants to do craft things but doesn’t does none of them.  I know in the end he dumped me because she gave him kinky sex and made him feel all manly because she would never beat him in anything he did with her.  But do you know how hollow that make one feel.  I mean if you meet my X you wouldn’t think he was that kind of man.  You wouldn’t believe he need a woman who can be perceived as less than him is what he needed to feel better about himself. And on the face of it all it seemed like we were a good match and happy with each other.  It wasn’t just me that was fooled to believing otherwise.  I use brag about him at work, saying how I choose wisely.  When I had a job with an hour community, he would make dinner.  He didn’t get on me about doing thing like house work.  In fact once a friend commented on the messy house and he pointed out that he was currently unemployed and by all right the messy house was his fault not mine. We did fight but no all the time and all the big stuff we seemed in agreement, religion, politics, money and kids.  We shared the same friends.  We did things together all the time, weekly games with our friends.  Social parties and hangout with them on regular basis.  Time to ourselves, dinner, movies, occasional weekend trips.  Separate activities and interests, like I crafted and he liked to play Wow and civilizations, paint miniatures, read some of the same books and read different ones and share.  The one failing most likely was sex.   Supported him in all he wanted to do.  First Navy, then school to get his journeyman but when he discovered he really hated that kind of work I support the change and he went back to school and got a degree in English.  I didn’t look down when he was under employed for 2 years and then unemployed for another 2 years.  I support the change to becoming a casino deals, which he was very excited about.  But that too changed and he found it soul sucking so he took a temp job tech writing.  I think he finally found a job he liked (unfortunately temp) so there were period of unemployment but I didn’t give him crap or blame him.  An I would encourage his writing fiction which I truly liked. But he never was motivated enough to sell it.  I personally think in the end he would have been happy as an editor but he has never pursue it. We had a sex life but I could have put out more often I just found doing it three times a week a bit hard because I was so tired after work.  but I was willing to work on it.  He said he was too but by the time we got to that point I didn’t realize it was too late because he really wasn’t interest in fixing things with me.  I of course didn’t know that.  I even did the Daddy/little girl thing with him.  there were some things I rather liked, really but what I could do was be manipulative.  I have learned that in the SM world the true power in the Daddy/Little relationship is in the Littles, they are very manipulative.  It is there way of making the dominate feel in charge and in control but really it is all about them the submissive.  This is something I am really, really bad at.  So even if there were thing I enjoyed I couldn’t really give him what he wanted.  He wanted to feel in charge of thing without really being responsible for anything.  An example is an effective Little know when their Daddy wants sex and when they don’t (that in itself was hard for me to know.) The Little will then pick her time for approaching.  See because the Daddy can turn the Little down but the Little can never turn the Daddy down. Also with en effective Little the Daddy never has to ask for sex either.  So the little knowing the Daddy wants sex will ask before he might desire too.  The turnly manipulative part is when she doesn’t want sex and the Daddy doesn’t she should then ask for sex knowing the answer will be what she truly wants.  But this also give her banked credit.  So down the line if there is a time she really wants sex but think the Daddy doesn’t she still might get sex because he will recall the times he has turned her down.  But what about when she doesn’t want sex?  Well in truth they are some of the best fakers and most likely the masters of fake it until you make it.  Plus they seem more driven in keeping the Daddy under control that weather they really want it or not matters little to them (kind of like a porn star).   Now this may not always be true but since this is what my x was into and I was willing to give it a go.  I did a lot research, so I read it over and over on the porn/daddy/little blogs and the like.  I also saw in person with other couples he introduced me to and I even saw it with him mistress in person with him.  ( spent a year of crazy trying ot make things work and agreed to a three way relationship. Yeah stupid, big mistake but I really, really was not in my right mind.  My friend really should have stepped in and discouraged it.  Many knew but I think in their own way they really couldn’t believe it and want to see us work.  They were open minded enough to see it possibly work but really didn’t look at if it was a healthy choice I was personally making.) Logically I think what really killed out marriage was all the years we didn’t understand I was autistic and he has borderline personality disorder.  On my side it means I could perceive myself but was poor as expressing how I perceived him. I am guessing he saw me as cold at time but I didn’t even realize this because I could not tell and he didn’t say anything.  There were likely times my tone of  voice alone might have cause him to take hurt and I didn’t know it. By the same token because of his BLPD he was looking for me to be a mirror, to reflect back how I saw him so he could know who he was but I was a poor mirror. I remember reading up on BLPD and crying because they would give examples how best to communicate with someone with BLPD and I didn’t see how I was going to do it.  It would be like telling me to save my marriage I had to keep eye contact with him all the time when talking but because of I am autistic eye contact if very hard to do and actually it can make it harder to listen to people.  So I could keep eye contact but not hear what was said or hear what was said but the person wouldn’t feel like i heard. So lose, lose for me.  This is the kind of issue I think lead to the down fall without me even seeing it coming.  I don’t think he saw it either in the end.  He was all emotion and reaction and that is why he really didn’t even want to try once he found someone that could meet reflex back the Big Strong man image he so wanted. So again a very long way of saying I am very, very damaged from my divorce and can’t see trusting anyone, let alone loving anyone again. Other goals It hard to come up with goals because I don’t know I am.  This is really hard to explain with proper impact.  I have always as far I can remember to the age of 4, known who I was.  I have self identity, self away, what I liked, what I thought, what i cared about and what I didn’t care about, how I thought and why.  I was sure of all these things, always.  What I didn’t know  was how I fit in the world, I often didn’t understand the world or the people in it.  It was something the doctor had a hard time with whenever i was in therapy.  Even when I hospitalized for that month after attempted suicide.  They would talk about self esteem, confidence, blah, blah.  The self harm really confused them back then (though I think they may understand it better now.)  As a cutter they believed it had to be from some form of self hate.  But it wasn’t, it was about anxiety relief. Somehow feeling physical pain and seeing the red blood soothe ed me.  I would physically and mentally relax. (of course back in the day I didn’t understand what drove it and I still don’t fully understand it, especially the addictive quality to it) but they really didn’t get it. I liked myself, I thought I was a good person, a good friend and not to hard on the eyes.  Yeah I was fat and wish I could lose weight but certain not worth killing myself over. (What is was overwhelming burnout that drove me to want to die.  It was just to hard to do anything to the point the thought of nothing was stronger thing living.  Again something I know know but I didn’t then and none of the doctor knew either.) But now after 46 years of know who and what i was at the core of my being I don’t know.  It is one of the most disturbing things for me.  I feel no really joy though I have had happy or content days now.  Food overall is bland to me, which is a big improvement from the ash it use to taste like when my world first fell.   We discussed the craft things, I not driven or excited by any project even when I do get an idea. I mean how do I set goals when I don’t know what I like or enjoy?  I can only guess and take a stab at it.   I guess in the end that is the overall goal.  Know myself again, know my center so I can move outward and onward. GOALS I DO HAVE: BUILD SOCIAL NETWORK KNOW WHO I AM AGAIN FEEL JOY AND PASSION AGAIN