#i can't clean an entire house of four people all by myself every week!!
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supercantaloupe · 8 months ago
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there is no possible way to communicate to my fucking roommates that they're not doing their share of the chores in this house without them ignoring or hating me and i feel like i'm going Insane
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bakafox · 2 years ago
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The thing is, there are probably 'decent' arguments to be made about how I do not *need* an in-home caregiver.
Which has been preying on my mind, because I have recently been warned that if somehow the caregiver who is here today doesn't work out, the insurance company will take all my hours, as they are starting to wonder if I need a caregiver.
There have been very few people looking for a caregiver job since COVID started. So for the last couple of years, the agency has had almost no one to try placing.
One or two they tried placing vanished or quit.
One didn't speak enough English, and I didn't speak enough Spanish, and it was so hard to try and communicate with her using Google Translate that I was in tears by the time the day was at an end, so I asked if they could please find me someone who speaks more English.
One didn't like that I was having a hard time figuring out what days/hours to have her here, working around her hours with her other client, and quit after just two days because I asked if she could come on different days.
One turned out to be a Republican and I nearly had a nervous breakdown and did have minor panic attacks once I realized a motherfucker who voted to basically seriously harm me, and almost everyone I care about, was IN MY HOUSE for four hours 3 times a week and I had to be polite to him and count on him- and asked for a different caregiver please.
...I need caregivers who only work 3 or so days a week, because my disabilities are mental illnesses, and having someone I do not personally know very well and such here multiple days in a row, I will actively hit a point where I will spiral into serious anxiety and depression.
These people are supposed to help me, but making me go into downward spirals or anxiety and panic attacks are the opposite of helping me!
BUT... because in the last 2 years only about a half dozen possible caregivers have been found, and none of them worked out, and more than half the time it was a problem on THEIR end... well:
As far as the medicaid provider thinks of things, if I have 'been fine' without the help, if I have been willing to refuse to retain a caregiver rather than put up with whoever is on hand no matter how unsuitable, then that proves I do not need a caregiver.
And without caregivers helping me, it's true, I have not died.
My house has been messier and messier and messier over time, because I can't keep up and there are specific tasks I usually cannot force myself to do around executive dysfunction and exhaustion, but I haven't died or been hospitalized for it.
My diet increasingly became fast food burgers, toaster waffles, and microwave taquitos because trying to cook for myself all alone is exhausting, but I didn't die or get hospitalized for it.
I had entire days of being almost in tears because I knew I needed to go grocery shopping, but the idea of being in the store alone, or dealing with putting groceries away alone, was incredibly daunting and depressing.
But it's not like I died.
I am almost in tears today, because there is a new possible caregiver here, and she has taken out recycling I've been too tired to take out this week, has cleaned the kitchen sink that squicks me out to go near or clean so hadn't been for weeks, helped put dishes away so they didn't just sit on a counter or in the washer and reload the washer.
...She is cutting up the chicken I bought, which is something I actually have anxiety about doing, because chicken is so SLIPPERY and I'm always terrified of cutting myself, and putting the cut chicken into the freezer so that all I have to do to make taco meat or soup is pull it out and cook it.
But, yeah, it's not like I'd die if she wasn't here. The chicken would just wind up in the freezer as whole breasts, and every time I wanted to cook any, I'd stare at the frozen chunks of chicken and have to decide if I felt up to defrosting/cutting it. And sometimes I'd have to say 'no', and just eat more toaster waffles.
But that wouldn't kill me.
And I guess in the US with the current system of healthcare and feelings about who is worthy or whatever. I guess.. that means there's no need. Because quality of life has been declared to be not a fucking need.
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khashanakalashtar · 1 year ago
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A few months ago I would've reblogged this with no addition, maybe left a #felt or #mood in the tags, but in the meantime I've had my meds switched out.
The thing I was on before was great at making me not suicidal, I was on it for like seven years, I would have told you I loved it. The first sign that it had stopped working?
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Was not being slightly dissociated literally all the time. Which was leaps and bounds a better place to be than miserable, but I had straight up believed real wonder and awe were something I had simply grown out of. I did not think I was capable of those emotions anymore, the kind that lets you stare at a grasshopper and go, "fuck, this EXISTS, look at it!" The mindful kind. If anything, I thought those were emotions reserved for people not living in a world falling to pieces around them, people who had real-life friends and partners and job satisfaction, people who made it to the gym and took walks and ate well-rounded meals.
My meds stopped working and I got back highs and lows, both, I got back wonder and awe and feeling alive and I got back lying in bed using all of my strength not to hurt myself. A whole range of emotions I thought I didn't have anymore.
The first thing they tried me on muted the highs and lows again, but it did nothing for my executive function, and I straight up told my psychiatrist, the amount of sugar I'm having to eat to get myself to do anything is not sustainable. Honestly I could probably handle the bad days if I could function on the in-between days, but I can't make dinner or take a shower or get through a workday without eating handfuls of chocolate, even if my mood feels fine. And I pointed out to my psych: My old medication was a dopamine/norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor. So she switched me to something with epinephrine in it.
Y'all, someday is now.
Someday I'll read this book, someday I'll paint that picture, someday I'll start job hunting, someday I'll schedule an eye doctor appointment--it's now. I'm doing it. I can do it.
I read a YA novel in one sitting. I haven't pulled that shit since high school. I can do more than one thing in a day now. I've scheduled like four things, done the household chores before they started gaining sentience, tried to visit the cobbler and an art exhibit, gotten my mother's Christmas gift, refilled my meds, made serious progress on three pieces of art, applied for several jobs, read that book, planned my Halloween costume, and voted within, like, the last week.
Because, now? I can decide to do a thing and just do it. There's minimal arguing with myself. It doesn't take effort to move from the "fine I'll do it" stage to actually doing it.
I keep cycling through a couple repeating thoughts. "Is this what it's like to be neurotypical?" "It was never supposed to be this hard?" "I've actually been disabled for my entire adult life, in the legal sense of significantly impairing my ability to do things in several areas of my life and not just the 'mental illness counts' sense?"
And also, "Every time I thought, 'Is this really all there is?' the answer was no?"
It's not perfect. Brain still requires more rest than I want it to. Couldn't leave the house today, or spend the daytime working on art or applications, but I took a shower and did the laundry, including the ironing, and that's more than I usually get out of days like this.
(And you know what, it's a lot easier to get exercise or eat balanced meals or clean your shower before it molds or do activism if you don't have to fight yourself about it for hours. It's like the opposite of a negative spiral. It's easier to maintain friendships and develop new ones and consider career paths and find things that give you joy and purpose.)
You know how we're always telling suicidal teens that they don't know what their life is going to be like yet, that they can't begin to imagine how different adulthood is going to be and the person they're going to become? I think we need to stop forgetting that this applies to every stage of life to some degree. Teenage Kieran had no idea what life was like, because they had only experienced a piece of it, but early 20s Kieran and late 20s Kieran also had no idea what life was like, and they would never have believed Kieran today existed. I can only assume that I still have no idea what life is like in my 30s and 40s and after. The idea that "you never know what the future might hold" has actual meaning to me now.
I don't want to imply that all of you just need to get on better meds, I know that's not the answer or even feasible for everyone. I just want people to know that it isn't a platitude when I say you never know what the future might hold. You might get to practically-30 and have the hopeless grind of a life that you can't look too far in the future of without depressing yourself suddenly look like an opportunity.
Also that "not actively suicidal" is a fine first goal for an antidepressant, but maybe don't stay on it for seven years without at least considering raising your standards.
Someday might come.
i thought my suicidal late teens were the hardest years of my life but nothing could’ve prepared me for my 20s waking up everyday with no purpose, feeling so lost, unable to keep up with friendships, watching everyone move on with relationships and careers and being unable to catch up. and I’m such a “life is not a race” type of person but damn I’m losing so hard rn
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stumbleintothesun · 4 years ago
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Life Rant
For the few people in here...sorry lmao this is long as hell.
Lately I've been feeling like...garbage. I know there's no one on this place that really follows me, so this is me posting to the void.
I have been dealing with a lot of health issues related to my mental health and weight. I've gained nearly twenty pounds in a year, and no matter what I do my weight doesn't budge. I work out regularly, Ive been trying to eat better but...my only thought is its because I'm working a desk job now - which I fucking hate with a fury. And I know my weight isnt the end of the world - it just really, really fucks with my mental health. I've always felt ugly. The only time I didn't was when I was super thin which I know is problematic - and I know that's part of my mental health...like my aunt died from an ED. And my mom definitely had/has an ED even if she's gotten much better about it in the past few years...
And I'm finally getting my face to clear up after wearing these masks for a year - a year! But I'm still dealing with the healing process and I'm anxious it will scar. I've worked this entire pandemic at a job I *hate* just to you know, finally pay off my student loans just go back to school so maybe I can do something I love. But even at 25 and providing for myself, I hardly got any financial help. The only thing saving me is my grades that got me a decent transfer scholarship.
But the first school I applied to wanted my high school transcript, even though I have an associate's degree, and because I'm, frankly, stupid I somehow missed that they needed it. So they threw out my application that I spent an otherwise four hours writing for.
So I'm going to Eastern, which frankly will be better for my mental health, but they don't have a tuition free program. So I'm going to have to borrow money after just finally paying off my single year at a liberal arts college debt that I took on when I was 17 (it ended up being like 30k to pay off). And it's all because I didn't fucking read right. So much for being a good student, I guess.
But it wouldn't have mattered because they would've hardly taken any of my classes despite most of them being from down the road and for an associate's degree! And even Eastern is giving me a hard time, despite my degree they say I don't have the basic level biology course - my degree is biology focused! I'm going into ecology! I have taken genetics, conservation biology, anatomy and physiology, cellular biology but I don't have intro bio? So now I have to test out, on top of working full time. Which is fine, its a good refresher...I'm just so overwhelmed with life right now. I have a stack of over 100 flash cards and I'm just anxious.
This is a year after my partner went through an ugly break up with their old fiance (we were poly), and their ex was an abusive POS who once told them if they came out as anything other than their assigned gender, he wouldn't date them anymore. He gaslit them constantly, made them feel like hell. So we finally got out, but he wanted the house they got together or 10k. He made over double what they make - and he always forced them to pay half the bills, including half of his fucking protein bullshit because it was "groceries." He knew they didn't have the funds. Because our friends are amazing, we were able to buy him off but he left the house trashed.
It fucking sucked, and they were also responsible for getting his name off the house which meant a refinance that we could hardly afford. We got lucky we were able to do it, but they hardly got anything back for it. And it was a *nightmare*. We finally got it done, after pulling teeth and it took six months. Four months longer than they said. And that entire time they were forced to occasionally reach out to him, their old abuser.
Finally we were free, but then I started having further issues at work. Between the pandemic, and working in a heavily red area during the election, I cried a lot. I work in customer service and while I make okay money for the industry, I'm constantly burned out. My colleagues are okay, but it feels stupid to leave just to find a job for three months to go back to school. Then I started being short in my drawer (I'm a teller at a bank). The final straw was being short $500. Now I'm on a work plan, and if Im short again, I'm out. And it's my fault. I don't know how it has been happening. So now I'm always on edge at work, triple checking everything. And I could leave, I could get another job but there's no promise I'll make what I do now, and in order for me to pay for the chunk of school I need to, I have to put away a certain amount every month.
I do have a grant of sorts for 5k per semester to help with bills, which will alleviate a lot once August arrives. And I know I'm crazy lucky to have that. So sometimes I feel like such an asshole about it. But we have a house to pay for and bills to pay. Just like everyone else. Ugh, I don't know.
I talked to my doctor about my weight, came in with calorie intake numbers and how much I work out with zero change. I cut out pop entirely from drinking it every day. Nothing has helped. So we switched my meds from Lexapro to Wellbutrin to see if I lose weight because of that. Nope, just having more mental break downs, steady weight, and my resting heart rate is abnormally high, stopping me from making a little extra cash donating plasma. So now I'm switching back to Lexapro with nothing gained other than. You know. Feeling like shit. Next up? Birth control coming out of my arm. Don't really need it anyway. And maybe that will help? But I don't think so. I'm not sure what to do.
I am genuinely trying to be healthy, eating more whole foods. More veggies. More home cooked meals. I love to cook, I'm just tired. And sometimes the air fryer and oven baked frozen foods are too easy to pass up. I'm trying to always eat breakfast. I'm working out again, we have a gym membership but there are so many men there and I dont always feel comfortable, because my partner has been anemic and they can't go yet. So I use our bike in the living room and do home workouts.
But when I did this last time there was zero change in weight or anything. Even when I ate really, really clean for three weeks and worked out for most days, tracking calories and everything. Nothing changed. My thyroid is fine, we've already checked it. I'm just tired.
This past year, other than being with my partner has fucking sucked. And this doesn't even cover all the shit they've dealt with with switching to they/them and a name change. I love them so much, and love that they are finally comfy but their parents were assholes about it. And that matters. It does, and I get it. I just wish I could help them more. I wish we had a break, a breather for longer than a day. Even then I can't relax, I'm too on edge. There's too much to be done. I need to earn money, I need to clean, I need to focus. I need to be productive in some way to justify if I'm not working on those things. It's...all dumb.
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xxisxxisxxis · 5 years ago
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Gateway Drug | Part Forty-Five
Table of Content or Part Forty-Four
Read HERE on Wattpad
Words: 3.1K
Warning(s): Explicit language, sexual situations, mentions of drug abuse
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Five days detoxing at Doc's house+rehab+therapy=road to recovery=out of the woods. It's the magical equation I swore up and down wouldn't end in "Error."
The few dishes on the counter shatter into the floor once Nikki roughly sits me on it, his fingers digging into my thighs that wrap securely around him, our tongues twisting as we tug and pull at each other's clothes.
I get his pants undone as he pulls the towel from around my body, taking a handful of my soaking wet hair in his hand and tugging my head back to leave bites and bruises up and down my neck, causing me to hum in pleasure while my core pulses with anticipation to be filled by him.
Moving myself to the edge of the counter, spreading my legs as he runs his fist up and down his length a few times, I take heavy breaths, a wash of shame coming over me for a moment because this is the complete opposite of what we were instructed to do. 
But fuck the "no contact" rule. 
I've barely had any contact with him the past few months because he's been stoned or drunk. Telling me to practically ignore and avoid him for 30 days straight is like waving a loaded syringe in an addict's face before sitting it down in front of them and leaving them alone after telling them "okay I know it's right there and it's the one thing you struggle most to control yourself around, but don't even look at it."
Fuck that, and Nikki. And I refuse to walk around my own house anymore and not do the latter of those two.
The indescribable feeling of him pushing into me has my head tipping back , and my eyes closing as the both of us let out content sighs. 
I put my weight on one of my hands that rests on the counter beside me, the other hand wrapped around the back of Nikki's neck, as he moves in and out of me ferociously and I meet him thrust for thrust.
Let's take a step back and catch up on how he and I had gotten to that point.
Eight Days Earlier
"You two can detox at my place, check into rehab, come out when you're better and we'll go from there." Doc explains to Nikki and Tansy as they both sit on our couch.
"W-What about the press? Or my mom?" Tansy asks him nervously, fumbling with the tag on the throw blanket she's enveloped in.
"You let me deal with your mom and the media, alright?" Doc assures her. 
"Surely your mom won't be pissed at you for getting help, Tans." I try to tell her and she rubs her lips together.
"People will know I have a problem if I got to rehab." She points out. "It'll make me look bad."
"Having to cover your entire body with makeup to hide the discoloration of your skin and the track marks, looks bad, Tansy. Screw what people think. At least you're admitting you need help." I say and she doesn't reply, just looking at Nikki to gauge his reaction to all of this.
He looks pissed, but too tired and defeated to give a shit enough to argue with me anymore about it.
"What's the point of rehab if I'm just gonna end up kicking it at Doc's place?" Nikki asks me and I let out a breath.
"Because rehab will teach you coping mechanisms that Doc can't, Nikki. It won't take that long for you to get out if you just try your best at it." I reply and he scoffs. 
"So, what, you're babysitting me at Doc's until I'm done throwing up, shitting myself, and having hot and cold flashes and then shipping me off for a few weeks?" He cuts his dead eyes at me and Doc and I exchange looks.
"Well, it depends on how quickly you adjust to rehab and make a turn around, as to how soon you can get out...so it might be more than a few weeks." Doc informs him. "And Bob has already scheduled you and Viv an appointment with a marriage therapist."
"Well if I'm spending more than three weeks in rehab there's no point in working on our marriage." 
"The program you'll be in includes this particular therapist who's currently working on creating a schedule for Vivian to come visit you often and you two have your sessions bi-weekly." Doc states and Nikki rolls his jaw, looking at me.
"Is this what you really want? Your husband gone for weeks on end until some quack gives me a certificate and a gold star because I went 'X' amount of time without shooting up?" He harshly questions me and I rub my lips together.
I think of the reasons Nikki didn't spend more than three days in rehab the first time he went, was because A.) He refused to believe in a higher power, and B.) He didn't go to rehab because he knew he had a problem and wanted to get better, he went to rehab to appease the people around him because he felt we were twisting his arm until he gave up and cried "mercy" a.k.a "fine I'll go, just as long as you shut the fuck up and get off my back about it."
I look at him for a moment, studying his knotted hair, his yellow skin, his shot eyes, his weak appearance, before saying:
"I'd rather you hate me for a little while for getting you help, instead of waking up and trying to convince myself to continue to live in a world with no Nikki Sixx in it."
"We're not indestructible, Nikki." Tansy adds softly, knowing very well she and he both need help.
He doesn't say anything else.
She had Doc and I convinced she wanted help...but truth be told Nikki actually went to rehab while Tansy had Duff come get her from Doc's house.
She knew she had a severe problem, but the only time Tansy would "clean up" was when she gave her veins a break, out of fear of completely losing them, and was muscling smack. She would fall back on pills and lots of booze, then when some of her veins would start reviving themselves back from their smaller size, she would start up again.
I can't even say how much money she and her mother were paying people to keep quiet to the media. 
Nobody could know perfect Tansy Lyn, Playboy's Barbie Doll, was so broken inside that she repeatedly destroyed her body, let it rebuild, and wrecked it again. 
It must have been a punch in the face to her mom when Tansy came clean in '88 and admitted she had struggled with addiction and was going into rehab...and an even harder punch in the face when she came back in into the spotlight in 1989, dropping her stage name "Tansy Lyn" and dawning "Tansalyn Rose" after marrying Axl, and practically confessed every grimy detail of her obsession with hard drugs and alcohol since 1981, and why she started them to cope with what was happening behind the scenes of the brutal modeling industry. 
In 1990, her vision-come-to-life, "I Won't Just Smile", was born. It started as a campaign to raise awareness against sexual abuse, exploitation, and coercion in all corners of the modelling industry, then stemmed into an organization that offered free services to victims of addiction and abuse, from rehab to post-assault counseling and everything in between.
Years of Diane's hard work to create her daughter's untouchable persona, completely shattered.
I was just thrilled Tansy had turned her struggles around and used them to help others, but first, she would have to face a handful of overdoses, one of which nearly killed her, have a section of her liver cut out, and have a temporary pace-maker.
All of it just made Axl more strict about drugs. Not just for the sake of the band and the fans, but he was afraid some members of Guns in particular would pull Tansy back into the merry-go-round of addiction after she got clean.
"You're telling me I can't stay with him and Tansy?" I ask Doc harshly in a whisper once the four of us get to his house.
"You won't want to stay, Viv. I'm telling you, they're gonna pull out all the stops to get you to cave and get them some smack because they'll be in so much pain. I don't want you to see them like that and I don't want you to compromise their recovery." He explains.
"You think I would do that?!"
"I know you would if it came down to it." He states and I roll my jaw. "This isn't just little flu symptoms and some body aches. They will feel like they are going to die, they will look like they are going to die and I cannot trust you not to give in." His brutal honesty. "You'll be able to see them in about a week, they'll be better by then and then we can look at the next step. Got it?"
I just glare at him.
"Go kiss 'em 'bye' and fuck off." He says next, waving his hand at me dismissively as he goes to my car to grab Nikki's bag and his car to grab Tansy's.
I step back into the living room to tell them 'bye' but stop myself, deciding it's better to let Doc deal with Nikki's pissed off temper when he discovers I won't be staying with them.
Grabbing my car keys from the table by the door, I head the house.
When I get back to our house, I check the machine that's blinking a light to signal a missed call.
I go to the kitchen and get a glass of water as Slash's voice slurs through the speaker.
"H-Hey, Viv, um...uh...we..." I chuckle at his incoherent mumbling and step to the phone to call him back as another message starts playing where his left off.
"Viv," It's Duff. "Call us back as soon as you can."
I furrow my brows a little, about to dial them back until yet another message comes on.
"Viv, we got signed!" Steven's screaming has me dropping my water and the phone, joy coursing through the soles of my feet up to my hair, and I'm running around and screaming along with his recorded message loudly blaring his own excitement.
I run back to the phone and pick it up, dialing their apartment.
"We got signed!" Steven's voice is shouting at me before the phone even rings a single ring.
"When?! How?! By who?!" I say back.
"We'll tell you over dinner because guess who got $7,500 cash advances?! The same mother fuckers who've been stealing from strippers to get by, that's who!" He exclaims.
"Yeah, don't ever tell people you guys did that!" I say in the same tone. "Lemme change and I'll be over there, okay?"
"Okay." He replies, and I can just hear his smile through the phone.
I hang up and give one last scream of happiness before sprinting to get changed and leave.
Tom Zutaut, the same man responsible for giving Mötley Crüe their shot, had given the same shot to Guns N' Roses.
They had signed to Geffen Records, and although that was their second goal--the first was getting a band together--they knew the main goal was to release their first album, and hopefully, have it a success.
Before I can even knock on the door, it's swinging open and Steven's like a puppy, jumping around, waiting on me by the door.
I hug him tightly, trying to keep myself from crying with immense relief that they're one step closer--a giant step closer--to their dream.
When we pull away from each other, Duff holds his hand up for me to give him a high-five and I do, his fingers locking with my hand to pull me into a hug and I'm sandwiched between him and Steven momentarily.
A flash catches my eye and we pull away from each other to see a girl with short, blonde hair, that I've never seen before, holding a camera.
"That's gonna be a good one." She tells us, smiling at Duff as the Polaroid deposits.
Mandy Brixx, member of the punk band, Lotus Lame and The Lame Flames, was a cute girl with bleach blonde hair, beautiful brown eyes and a captivating smile...and was also Duff's first wife.
Mandy wasn't perfect, but she didn't disown Duff after he told her he had gotten me pregnant.
Even though he didn't cheat on her with me, and they had been broken up for about six months when he and I got involved, I know it hurt her knowing he had hooked up with the woman she was sure she didn't have to worry about when they dated. They ended up getting back together in 1988 and got married the same year.
They divorced two years later because something just "changed" and neither of them were happy, but I've always respected her because she was really good to Monroe.
His second wife, however, was crazier than a run over dog because she was always on something.
The last time I saw her in 1993, she had said something crass and rude to Tansy and before Tansy could reply, I was asking Linda, "were you born a cunt or does the crack just bring it out of you?"
She swung on me and I swung back. Except when I throw a punch, I make sure it lands.
Maybe she would've actually hit me if her equilibrium weren't as fried as her brain.
I would've kicked her ass if Duff and Matt Sorum hadn't pulled me off of her.
I hope she got her shit together after they divorced in 1995.
I guess bass players and crack-head models go hand-in-hand...
"Viv, this is my girlfriend, Mandy." Duff introduces me. "Mandy, this is my best friend, Viv."
"Hi, it's good to finally meet you." Mandy tells me with a gentle smile and I extend my hand to her.
"You, too." I reply as she takes my hand in her's, my eyes subtly flickering to Duff now that he's standing beside her, silently asking him when the hell he was going to tell me about his girlfriend.
"I'll tell you later." He mouths to me where she can't see and I just keep smiling as she strikes up conversation with me.
Once we get to the Rainbow, Steven and I are a few steps in front of Duff and Mandy, the blonde drummer letting out a little sigh.
"What is it?" I ask, nudging him.
"Just worried about Tansy." He admits, and I raise my brows. "It's not like that, Viv, I swear." He promises. "She's a cool person, is all. I wish she was here to celebrate this with us."
"I'm sure she'll be thrilled to hear about it when you're allowed to go visit her in rehab." I remind him. "Where's the guys?" I ask next as we step into the Rainbow.
"Slash is hanging out with this chick he met a couple weeks ago, Izzy's with his girl friend and I don't know where Axl is." He tells me and I nod. "So it's just a double date for us tonight." He grins widely, winking at me slickly.
After hours of just goofing off, talking, eating and demonstrating our celebration of Guns' stepping stone, Mandy's calling it a night.
"I'll call you later, Duff." She says to him as she grabs her jacket and he stands up to let her scoot out of the booth.
"Sounds good, babe." He replies, kissing her cheek.
"It was really nice to meet you." She tells me.
"It was nice to meet you, too." I reply.
"Bye." She smiles one last time at Duff, waving to Steven before leaving.
"When did you me--"
"Viv, lemme out." Steven interrupts me and I furrow my brows.
"What?"
"Lemme out, there's a hot girl at the bar and she just waved me over. I wanna get laid. Lemme out." He pleads and I roll my eyes and scoot out so he can stand up.
He does so, heading straight to the bar to try his luck with a beautiful brunette.
And then there were two.
"You were saying?" Duff chuckles out when Steven's gone and I smile a little.
"When did you and Mandy meet?" I ask him and he lets out a breath of cigarette smoke.
"Uh, a month ago, maybe? She gave me her number and I went back and forth with myself until I convinced myself to call her." He explains. "We spent the weekend together so I guess we get along pretty good. She's a great girl."
"She seems nice." I tell him, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.
"Yeah, she is." He agrees, taking another drag of his cigarette.
I take a sip of my water and sit in the silence that falls over us before noticing he's staring at me.
"What?" I ask him.
"You wanna go somewhere with me?" He offers, putting his cigarette out.
"Where?"
"C'mon." He stands up, nodding to the door.
"But Steven--"
"--Is about to go mess around with that girl in the bathroom. He's not gonna be mad if we leave him." He adds. "C'mon, you'll like where we go."
"If you say so." I shrug.
He pays the bill and the two of us head back to their apartment so he can get his car.
I know I should have been at home by the phone, waiting for a call from Doc or Nikki or Tansy, but it was pointless to sit at home and worry when I couldn't do anything about it anyway.
When we get to where we're going, Duff is parking his car in the lot of an abandoned building, and I glance around to see there's not much traffic around us.
"Is this the part where you murder me?" I ask him and he busts out in laughter, shaking his head.
"This is where Mandy and her band rehearses." He explains.
"Why're we here?"
"I picked her up here the other day and noticed something you might like." He gets out the car and opens his trunk, pulling out a shopping bag.
"Duff..." I say, uneasy as we approach the rusted door.
"Shh, I got it." He digs in his jacket pocket and plucks out a worn key, unlocking the dead bolt and the door knob.
I follow him inside, and he switches on a light switch, only one light beam in the ceiling comes on, and in the large, dim room, I see a large mirrored wall, sleek but worn out wood floors, and I turn to see Duff holding out a brand new pair of pointe shoes to me.
I wasn't going to tell him I'd gone so long without dancing that I'd have to work my way back up to dancing on pointe, because he'd spent money for the shoes and they looked to be around my size and I didn't want to know how observant he had to be to estimate my shoe size in terms of ballet...so I did something I was really good at doing at that time in my life.
I kept myself from crying.
I knew Duff was going to be a constant encourager in my life when he held those shoes out to me and so easily, so confidently, said:
"You've supported and helped me get into my groove of things to start accomplishing my dream. Now, I'm helping you get back into your's."
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trashcat-hiss · 5 years ago
Text
Everything is in flux and I think I may have gone back to some old habits to cope.
My partner was finally able to find work again, but at the end of a 12 week training he/we could be assigned anywhere in the US. It's software dev work, so our assumption has been that we'll end up near a city, but really it could be anywhere.
I'm living in the future--hoping that my mental/emotional symptoms will ease once we're not living with his entire family, hoping that doing house stuff only (and not panicking about using the washing machine, dishwater, oven because I can't know when one of the other people will be using it) can bring me to a place of schedule and regularity, hoping that we'll bring few enough things that I can learn how to keep a place clean, the not so secret hope that we'll move to a cannabis-legal state so I can get relief when flashbacks or physical pain are overwhelming... I'm not really present, or able to take steps toward that close future.
There's also the possibility that we don't change metro areas. In my state the house just passed a bill basically banning CBD flower, which doesn't bring the same relief as full fat cannabis for me, but it can ease things a point or two and that's not nothing. Why is my state going backward? I can't understand why (in our capitalist system) they'd abandon what could be an amazing source of revenue and tax. Hemp and cannabis grow well in this climate. Blerg.
With all that up in the air (uncertainty is triggering enough), I found that I gave in a little to the covid19 scare and bought 20lbs of rice, two bags of dry milk, and cans of tomatoes and beans... "just in case" I told myself. Because I know food scarcity in my core, the fears never really go away. But after the purchase (that we couldn't really afford rn) I realized that buying and living on staple foods is how my mother lives. It's how she coped/s with having been through scarcity. But she doesn't eat fresh food, and the parts of me that are still harboring healthism worry. I also fear flashbacks from tasting rehydrated dry milk. I don't want to think about my mother. I don't want to think how I'm reliving this trauma by choice. I justified the purchases (we rarely get through half gallons of milk and maybe dry milk will mean less waste), but trauma brain can justify anything.
My partner has been taking care of the dishes for the... four? years we've been together because it's a likely place for me to get hit with an ugly flashback, but he's been so busy doing homework for this training that there's not much left for me to use. Every day I wake up and try to convince myself that I can do the thing, but I go to bed not having been able to push myself to risk that kind of flashback in front of his family. I want to be working as hard as he is, he's not pushing me, I'm pushing me... but I can't make it happen. I'm holding out for the future when I'll be the only one home (with my alert dog) and can work through dishes trauma without having anyone to witness a breakdown.
I hate being in this paralyzed limbo. It's natural and maybe healthy to look forward to something new and hopefully better for me, right? I want stability and safety so I can work on things like trauma (and the old executive function tbqh). But how do I get from here to there?
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shawnpetermuffins · 6 years ago
Text
Were you going to tell me?
A/N: this is my first fan fiction on here, so I'd love some feedback if you have any! Also, I'm writing this on my phone, so it probably has a bunch of typos.
Summary: y/n and Shawn have been together for 7 years, but y/n isn't so sure he still wants to be. (This is a really bad summary, wow. Sorry lol)
Warnings: some swearing. Angst and lots of it.
Word count: it's a lot sorry
***
Seven years. Five of which I was in school. (The unfortunate fact of getting into a long distance relationship during my senior year of high school and continuing through college.) Four of which he has been all about touring, and working at the studio, and doing promo. And two of which I have been living with him. Two birthdays and two anniversaries have gone forgotten - by him, I might add. I've never forgotten an anniversary or birthday. I'm good at remembering dates, especially with people that I love. And despite this, I have been completely invested in our relationship.
He's never home anymore. I'm always here cleaning our - his - condo, which used to feel big, but now it feels like I can't take a single step without being in his personal space. That is when he bothers to be home for more than an hour at a time and I'm not at work. He doesn't even notice anymore. It's like he just expects it now. Dinner is always in the fridge for him to heat up because he's never home in time to sit down with each other and eat like a normal couple would. And of course this also means that our sex life is pretty much nonexistent. It's not that I don't want to because that is definitely not the case, but every time I try to get him in bed he always says hes tired or "not now, y/n. I have to get this done." "I'm about to leave." "The boys are on their way."
We've gotten to this point in our relationship that I never thought we'd be at. I never thought he'd become disinterested in me, in us. He really doesn't even pay attention to anything I do or say anymore. So I high key doubted that he was going to notice when I didn't come home for a few days, weeks maybe. It's not like he texts or calls me to see where I am now.
I was throwing in a few more pairs of panties when the front door closed. He was home early. I panicked for a second, debated on whether or not I should I hide the suitcase, but I shook my head and zipped it, set it next to my nightstand. I went to the bathroom to grab my makeup and toothbrush.
“Y/n?” He said from the door to our room. I already wanted to burst into tears, but I couldn't. Not in front of him. He couldn't see how much I was hurting. I walked back into the room, “Hi,” I said softly, but I didn't dare look his way.
“What are you doing? Why is the suitcase out?”
I sighed and didn't answer for a while, trying to find the right words. “I’m going home for a while.”
“Home? You are home. What are you talking about?” He stepped farther into the room.
This was killing me because this was probably the longest conversation we've had in months. “No, Shawn. I'm going home. To y/h/t.” I finally looked up at him. He looked tired, so tired and I just wanted to put him to bed and have him rest for a few days, but I knew better than to say anything to him about how hard he was working himself. We've had that fight before. He thought I was having him choose between me and his work. I would never. (Because I know he'd choose work.)
“What?” He closed the distance between us, grabbing my elbows. This is the closest we've been in a while and it took everything in me not to melt into him. “Were you going to tell me?”
“Shawn,” I pulled away from him and tossed my bathroom bag on the bed.
“What? Is that not a fair question?” He was getting angry, that was obvious. “Why are you leaving?”
“Because I have to.”
“Were you going to tell me?” He asked again.
“Honestly? No. I didn't even think you'd notice.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“What the fuck are you-?” He threw his hands up. “Of course I would notice!”
“When? Huh? When there wasn't dinner for you in the fridge?”
“Y/N, where is this coming - what did I do?”
“I'm tired, Shawn.” I rubbed my temples.
“Why are you leaving?!” His voice rose, and if I hadn't heard him like this time and time again in the past year and half, I would probably be scared.
“Because I want to go home! Because I can't just sit here anymore!”
He crossed his arms, eyes wide. “This is your home! This is our home!”
“No,” I shook my head, letting out a bitter laugh. “It's not.”
“Yes it is.”
“Shawn, this doesn't feel like home. This condo is not my home! You would understand if you bothered to pay attention to anything I say anymore.”
“I do pay attention!” He said defensively.
“No, you don't! For four years all you've thought about was yourself and your career. You never ask me about me and mine. Which, by the way is pretty much nonexistent since I moved here.”
“So, it's my fault that you don't have a career? Don't you put that on me, y/n! You know I work hard to put this roof over your head and make sure the utilities and anything else you need is paid for.”
“I don't ask you to do that! And I'd pay for it if you would let me! It's not like you're here to use the utilities anyway.”
"What is your fucking problem?! Why are you doing this?!"
"Because I'm tired! I'm tired of being overlooked. I'm tired of everyone asking me how you are and how we are and having to lie to them. I'm tired of going to bed by myself and waking up the same way. I'm tired and I want to go home."
"Why didn't you tell me any of this?"
"I tried! You never listen. It's always 'I have an early day tomorrow, can we talk about this later?' Or 'I can't do this right now.' Or 'the boys are coming over, let's put a pin in it.'"
"You still haven't said why you're really going."
"I miss my family, Shawn! I miss my friends! I haven't seen them in two years and you don't care because it has nothing to do with you or your career!"
"Of course I care! How dare you say I don't?"
"How dare I?! How dare you?! You can't just come in here and act like you suddenly give a shit about what I'm doing! You haven't so much as looked my way in months, but now that I have a suitcase out, now you want to act like you care. That's bullshit and you know it."
"You can't just leave!"
"Yes, actually. I can. Because even though you feel like you do, you don't own me. I can make my own decisions. In fact, I've been doing a lot on my own recently."
"You're being ridiculous," he said with a scoff and an eye roll.
"I don't really think I am," I tugged at the ends of my hair. "I have a right to see my family. Even if I have to fly across the entire fucking continent to do so."
"Y/N-"
"Do you know how much I've given up for you?" I cut him off.
"Excuse me?"
"I moved to Canada for you. I left the only place I've ever known just because you asked me to. I left my friends and family. I left my job. I left my home to be with you in yours. Notice how I say this, Shawn. I'm in your home. Not ours. Yours. It's absolute fucking shit that I have had to give up everything I've ever known just to make you happy and you've never once said thank you. You don't act like you appreciate me. Half the time you act like I'm not fucking here. But I am, Shawn! I'm here and every night I make you dinner and I make sure the place is clean and your laundry is done. I do everything for you and you can't so much as look at me when I try to tell you about my shitty day or to say 'thank you for dinner, pumpkin' when you're coming to bed." I took in a shuddery breath, but didn't take my eyes off him. "I can't even remember the last time you kissed me goodbye when you were leaving in the morning. Or the last time you woke me up in the middle of the night because you thought of a new chord progression that you need a second opinion on. I don't remember the last time we made love to each other. Now, I don't know why you wanted me here, but I'm sick and tired of playing the role of the forgotten housewife. I'm absolutely fucking done!"
"What does that mean? Done. Done with what?"
"Us!" I said without realizing what was coming out of my mouth.
"Baby!" He reached for my hands again, his eyes practically popping out of his head. "I'm sorry! Okay? I know. I know I've been fucking up a lot lately-"
"You forgot our anniversary. And my birthday. Twice!"
"I said I was sorry about that. You know I was-"
"Working on the album. Yes, I know. I forgave you because you were under so much stress. But I'm stressed too, you know?" I pulled my hands away from him, wrapped my arms around my middle. "I'm here in a place that I still don't know that well. I don't have a single friend here that isnt your sister or one of the guys. And no matter what, they would tell you if I was feeling neglected or sad. But they shouldn't have to tell you! You should just know because we've been together for seven goddamn years and you know me better than anyone. You should know I'm not feeling well." I took in a deep breath before continuing. "But you don't. You don't notice that I've lost weight because I've been under so much stress that I can barely keep any food down. You don't notice that I clean this house spotless at least twice a week because I have nothing else to do, or that your laundry is always washed and put up. You don't notice anything I do for you and it hurts! I've given up everything in my life just to be with you and you. Don't. Care. That fucking hurts, Shawn! It hurts that you haven't realized that I'm not happy anymore!"
He flinched like I'd hit him. "You've never said that to me before," his intense gaze dropped to the floor.
I've never said it out loud before either and I felt just how powerful and hurtful those words acfually were. Not only for him, but for me. It hurt me to say that to him. To see his face after I said it. "Look," I said, guard down, defeated. "I'm going back to y/h/t for a little bit. I just - I need to get away from this for a while."
"Do you know when you're coming back?" He reached for my hand again and played with my fingers, swirled the promise ring he gave me six years ago that, even through all this, I've never taken off.
I shook my head. "No."
That's when he started to cry and I knew I had to get going before I changed my mind. "I need to do this, Shawn. I think it'll be best for the both of us. We need to figure out if this relationship is really what we want. If it's still worth the fight."
"I want you, y/n. I've never wanted anyone else the way I want you. Please." He took my right hand and rested it on his cheek, locking it there with his own hand. "Please stay. I'll be better. I'll work less. I'll make you feel as loved as you should be. I'll do anything you want me to. Just please," he begged again, his voice cracking. "I'll be lost without you. I can't- I can't lose you."
I sighed and kissed his temple, retracting my hands from his once again. "I have to go," I grabbed my bags.
He followed me out to the car, tears still streaking his face. I put my bags in the trunk and checked my purse to make sure I had my passport and ticket. Then I closed the trunk and stood face to face with my broken boy.
"Can I kiss you? Is that allowed?"
I nodded. I wanted more than anything for him to kiss me and never stop. I wanted this kiss go be enough to make me forget all that's fallen apart between us. Forget all the pain I've suffered watching him live his dream while I put mine on hold and stay in this house that isn't home, even when he isn't coming home and he can't send me something as miniscule as a text to tell me so.
But this lips still felt so good against mine. Like they were made to connect to my lips. His tongue wrestling with mine was heaven. To taste him again after so long without him felt surreal, and that's when I started crying because how could we be so terribly fucking broken and still be able to share a kiss like this? How could he still make my stomach do backflips when his fingers combed through my hair?
And how could it still not be enough?
"I love you," he pulled back, his forehead creasing as he fought back more tears.
I wanted to say it too. Wanted to put him at ease, but I'd been crumbling in that place for months upon months and some part of me, no matter how small, wanted him go hurt the way I have. Leave him wondering like he's left me. So I got in the car because the kiss, his words, they weren't enough.
***
So that's the end of that. Let me know if you want a part 2 I guess!
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