#i do therapy i do the work i have never missed a single dose of my meds im doing everything im supposed to

[actual-changeling]

great this is officially all my psychiatrist can do for now. all my meds *work*, I am worlds better than before and we have covered every necessary neurotransmitter

and still

depression is a 10/10 and so is everything else. it's not gonna get better than this apparently

[mysticdreamcafe]

Health, health, and more health

I have stopped all my old mental health meds and started another one. Now I am off the roller coaster and feeling more like the me I used to know.

The immune therapy is working for the most part. My numbers are up but after the last week I've had a fever for a couple days, i.e. why 2 days in bed.

I'm going to say that the universe stepped in, you can call it God or whatever you wish but an intervention was made on a cosmic level, and annoyed me with pop up's of Johnny Depp clips. I found music again and was reconnected to listening to Alice Cooper. Listening to music triggered the urge to write which triggered the need to improve my health overall. All that, I call it the plague of JD during my instability phase, drama made me make Dr's listen and change the ones that didn't. Now, the insanity has halted but may reoccur at some point. I say this because when your body is slowly attacking your brain you never know what the future holds.

My insurance company called a few days ago and said I qualified for a free health care pack. This has an iPhone, BP monitor, Glucose monitor, and scale included in it. Everything is smart and will sync to an app on the phone via Bluetooth. This is monitored by people at the Ins. company and I have to do readings at least 3 days a week. They prefer daily readings.

All these extra tasks add to the ones I already have to do. Thus, adding to the cycle of doom. This is were I have so much to do I get stressed out, don't eat right, push myself to hard to get stuff done, miss medication doses, and cause myself more harm than good.

You'd think after 11+ yrs the Dr's I see would understand how the cycle of doom works and stop giving me more shit to do. I've told them over and over for years, yet if I stop journaling, exercising, or any other task they give me then they say I'm not adhering to my treatment. Basically, I'm not trying to help myself get better.

I've single handedly moved solid oak furniture around this house and freshened my bedroom for a month when I'm able. I do this to organize, declutter, and reduce allergens for a better living environment. I call that exercise.

I just heard a collective wave of thoughts saying, "you need a routine". Yes, I do. I'm always trying to create and stick to one. The problem is the bad days. I can't cook because I burn and cut myself or throw stuff when my arms jerk. Sometimes I can't hold anything without dropping it or I have trouble swallowing. So, I've limited options of what to eat. I stagger when I walk and sometimes fall over. Speech and cognitive can be glitchy. Pain can be unbearable when I move. Vision can be blurry, tunneled, or like there's a dark black fog I'm looking through. Sometimes I can't sleep and others I sleep only to wake, pee, eat, and go back to sleep. Any of these issues can hit singly or all can join forces to take me down. They can last hours or a week.

So routines are extremely difficult. My answer is to keep premade protein shakes on hand and frozen dinners in freezer (I make them when I am able to cook). My meds are in pill containers and done monthly. My watch and phone remind me when to take them.

Basically, I do what I can when I can but have backups ready when it comes to the essentials. There's canes, walkers, and seats/stools scattered about because my mom is way more unsteady than I am. Even if she refuses to use them.

Well, I've vented and now need to get something done around here. It's warm today so I'm digging my heals in about moving from the open window next to me. Good day for a nap, but that won't make dinner.

Thanks for reading if you got this far.

MV

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

101 Open MHA Gen Prompts

I had a very long ask game where people gave me fake titles and I came up with fic ideas to go with them.  Multiple people asked to use some of them as prompts, and some of my friends have lately maligned the lack of gen prompts out there, so I decided to compile them all into a single post.  Almost all of these are gen, aka not shipping, but you can do what you want I’m not your boss.  Everything is free and open to use WITH CREDIT, so have fun with my word vomit.

1. In Dreams I Had the Sun - Being the number one hero isn’t all it’a cracked up to be, Toshinori realizes early on

2. The Chainlink Fence that Held the Ocean - In his new book post-retirement, All Might opens up about his regrets, struggles with mental health, and his issues with the hero system as a whole.  The backlash is swift and intense.

3. Welcome to the Loud Silence - After an injury, Izuku is rendered deaf.

4. Water Since Turned Red - After a villain attack nearly kills All Might, the beach where Izuku used to go to find comfort now feels tainted.

5. all scrap left untouched is bound together - A group hero students who failed the provincial license exam for the third time, effectively ending their careers before they start, get together to take revenge on UA’s first years who beat them out.

6. You’ve saved more more times than you know - Times All Might saved people without his powers, just by being a cool, nice dude.

7. No Amount of Tragedy Can Justify Your Actions - A dying All for One tries to justify his centuries of cruelty to an uncaring Toshinori.

8. To Leave a Cage Locked - One for All is conscious and has a will of its own, one that doesn’t always line up with Izuku’s wellbeing.

9. Okay, who let in the Kraken? - Izuku is the reincarnation of an ancient eldritch horror.

10. keep us alive up above - Izuku and Shigaraki get trapped together somewhere.  Izuku knows he needs the villain’s help to survive and escape, but the other would rather they both die.

11. The world will revolve around me neither less - The ebbs and flows of AFO’s influence over the years.

12. More Roulette, Not Russian - Kids get their quirks swapped.

13. Patron Saints - Toshinori teaches a class about pre-quirk superhero comic characters and their influence.

14. Don't Come Back - Touya Todoroki’s first few weeks after a severe injury resulted in his father abandoning him.

15. The Blessed and the Fool - Toshinori meets up with a few of his ua classmates after retiring.

16. Not Your Sacrifice - Some of the other kids have started adopting some of Izuku’s self sacrificing habits and the teachers are concerned.

17. Break in the Storm - Villains use a power outage as an opening to break into ua.

18. One Day Those Consequences Will Finally Catch Up - Even though the teachers don’t take her concerns seriously, Inko saves every piece of evidence regarding people hurting her son.

19. a garden in their eyes - Izuku meets a fan who got injured after trying to step into a villain fight, just like he did, and it makes him question some things.

20. what could have been, if not for you - After Inko divorces him, Hisashi’s goes to the press to say All Might stole his wife and son.

21. Promised Misery - All Might finds out the severity of Bakugou’s bullying, and warns him he’s on thin ice with him.

22. Fly Up Higher, Blossom Brighter - Izuku has to write a paper for middle school about being positive, intercut with all the bullshit he has to deal with.

23. Libre Me from Hell - One of Izuku’s new quirks is spiral related.

24. No One to Blame but Yourself - Izuku’s kindness doesn’t extend to murderers, tragic backstory or not.

25. At Its Finest - Izuku accidentally gets involved in a hero commission coverup.

26. A Rising Issue - Izuku starts developing more severe side effects of his injuries.  He’s convinced he’s under the influence of a quirk, while the adults thing he’s finally gone too far hurting himself.

27. What you are in the Dark - Izuku usually keeps most of his anger to himself until he can’t.

28. nowhere to go - Inko moves into UA after their home was destroyed.

29. Something Without - My theory about the 2 OFA vestiges that are blurred out is they don’t approve of izuku as a successor.  Izuku tries to figure out why. 

30. Walking with a Ghost - Toshinori joins the OFA dreams while he’s in a coma.  He gets to reunite with nana, and is more open to Izuku about his past and feelings.  Part of his starts to wonder if it’s worth waking up, since he will die and join the others eventually.

31. Death By Crying - Izuku is affected by a quirk that will suffocate him if he expresses any emotion.

32. Justice is Subjective - The hero commission gets to Shigaraki before AFO does.  

33. Undo / Underdog - Death loop fic.  Izuku keeps reliving the day he met all might after being killed by the sludge villain.  he has to find a way to break the loop and survive, but he gets s little weaker every time he restarts.

34. Like Wildfire - A rumor that Izuku is All Might’s bio son picks up steam, and the characters have to decide whether to deny it but risk suspicion or play along and add a new layer to the lies protecting one for all.

35. Once Upon A December - All Might and Inko actually met in the past trope.

36. Some Legends Are Told - All Might’s first interview post-retirement.

37. Will The Real Mentor Please Stand Up - Aizawa considers himself the better teacher, but a lot of the kids seem to like All Might more.

38. I don't want the cure, I want the POISON! - Inko is killed in a hit and run, and Izuku becomes desperate to find the killer.

39. I will kill my heart before I dance on stage for these bigots - Izuku is interviewed as a rising star of UA, and the interviewer brings in some of his old bullies because they claimed to be his friends from middle school.  Izuku does not play along.

40. Split Ends - A quirk gives Izuku brief visions of what would have happened if he made different decisions.

41. Dreamless Sleep - A One for All dream leaves Izuku with a cryptic half-warning, and he desperately experiments to try and figure out how to trigger the visions to get the rest of it.

42. toxic flowers and pretty blades - Young Inko escapes the constricting life of her cruel wealthy family by becoming a vigilante.

43. The Suns we Orbit - Some of the other teachers believe Izuku is too codependent on Toshinori, and separate them for a time.

44. Submerged - Similar to those buried alive fics only someone’s in a box at the bottom of the ocean.

45. Deprive - Izuku also loses his stomach to an injury, and struggles to adjust to the necessary lifestyle changes.

46. The ashes fall like snow - Post Kamino cleanup.

47. Home will always be here - Inko cares for Izuku after he’s sent home due to “trouble at work study” but he refuses to clarify what that means.

48. Playing Favorites - A look at several times where Izuku was punished, while Bakugou got off scot free.

49. Elusive Dreams - Some kind of training or issue forces the kids to stay away for several consecutive day, and they start losing it.

50. Fracture - Izuku struggles through physical therapy after a severe injury that leaves his hero career in question.

51. Starlight, Starbright - Space cadet au

52. Someone in Your Corner - Gran Torino looking after Nana, Toshi, and finally Izuku through the years.

53. I cast magic missile into the darkness - Generic “the gang plays d&d” fic.

54. One Month At A Time - Izuku breaks a limb, and has to let in heal naturally over the course of several months.

55. Head Above Water - Izuku runs out of his pain meds and can’t get access to more doses for a while, so he has to endure not only the pain, but the withdrawal symptoms.

56. Are you going to leave a path to trace - All Might uses a new strategy to try and get Izuku to be less self sacrificial: what about all the young kids who are going to look up to him?

57. The View from Halfway Down - Izuku realizes that a risky move has just landed him with a potentially life threatening injury, but the fight it still going.

58. The Dust Bites Back - A villain All Might defeated early in his career is back and out for revenge.

59. The Absence of your Worth - Nighteye thinks he’s put together a rock solid case for why izuku isn’t worthy of One for All.  All Might’s response is to ask if he has something against quirkless people.

60. Behind the Screens Nobody is Afraid - All Might explains some of the context of his most popular hero videos to Izuku.  They are much more tragic than the media has spun them in hindsight.

61. Under the Light of the Moon - Someone gets turned into a werewolf.  And I ain’t talking the wattpad piss shit.  I’m talking full-on back-breaking monstrous transformations into a bloodthirsty abomination set to Bad Moon Rising.

62. some dreams were made to be broken - Bakugou crosses a line and finally gets expelled.

63. You Say You're Into Closure - Izuku finally beats Bakugou in a one on one fight fair and square, but Bakugou is a sore loser.

64. Something or Someone Missing - AU’s memories of Izuku get wiped, but those closest to him can’t help but feel an absence.

65. Too Little Too Late - Izuku’s father returns to find he’s been replaced.

66. Collecting Dust - Inko goes through the stuff Izuku didn’t take to the dorms.

67. Where the souls of wanderers go - Toshi meets up with a retired hero support group.

68. Fragility of Trust - Suspected traitor au

69. no one answered - Izuku is trapped in a cell in a building that’s collapsing in slow motion due to a quirk.

70. Eye of the Storm - One of the other kids has a panic attack for the first time between public appearances.  izuku has never seen from from the outside.

71. To Whom It May Concern - The kids find a mysterious collection of letters from previous students hidden in the ceiling of the classroom.  Some are ominous, some are incomprehensible.  Aizawa has no answers.  They enthusiastically go to try and solve the mystery within, but that excitement quickly diminishes the more they find out.

72. Of Popsicles and Ponytails - All Might gets in a discussion with the other teachers about whether the Clark Kent glasses thing would actually work.  All Might bets them it does, so he goes around town with no disguise other than his hair being up, and no one bats an eye.

73. All Men are Not Born Equal - Word gets out to the public that izuku used to be quirkless.  Everyone finds out just how deep anti-quirkless sentiments run when some begin to question whether a quirkless kid should be at ua, regardless of whether or not he has a quirk now.

74. Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies - Something about encountering death in person for the first time being the dividing line between child and adult.

75. Sins of the Father - All for One has had many children over the centuries, and has made numerous attempts to groom them into the ideal heir with several different methods.  None of them worked though.

76. Where The Dead Come To Rest - The kids come home after a long, grueling mission where they saw some shit, and are too tired to process what they went through.  They take off their gear for plain clothes, then sit in the common room in silence long into the night, not wanting to open themselves up but also not wanting to be alone.

77. Rivalry - Nighteye tries to pit Izuku and Mirio against one another.  It goes right over Mirio’s head, but Izuku becomes convinced the other boy is in on Nighteye’s plan to wear him down until he gives up One for All.

78. A Subtle Language - All Might and Nana never said out loud that they loved each other, but little things told them that they did.  All Might hopes to pass a similar love down to his own successor.  But Izuku is very different than himself as a kid, and he needs to learn a new subtle language of affection.

79. It’s Gone - One for All stops working one day.

80. A Sight For Sore Eyes - All Might looking after Izuku in the aftermath of the second movie.

81. Loose Lips (sink ships) - Bakugou blurts out something about One for All during a rage, so the rest of the class jump on him and Izuku for answers.

82. No Expectations - Word gets out that All Might is going to choose a successor.  None of the theories or speculation online resemble Izuku in the slightest.

83. Eden was Only a Garden - Izuku gets hit with a quirk that erases some of his most traumatic memories, but in doing so loses part of who he is.

84. Run it Down - With all Izuku’s new quirks and his incredible skill, some of the other students with similar powers (Iida, Sero, Uraraka) start to feel like izuku is upstaging them.  And it affects their friendship.

85. Fool's Gold - Bakugou grows even more jealous of Izuku having One for All, and his relationship with All Might.  He thinks that if he could just prove himself to be more worthy, All Might would change his mind and name him his successor.  But in reality, he ends up jeopardizing the relationship they already have.

86. somewhere down the road - The final deadline for Nighteye’s predictions passes, and All Might lives.  He debates telling Izuku, as even though it would be a weight off the boy’s mind, he doesn’t want to jinx it.  He will still die eventually after all.

87. Just For You - All Might has certain rules and boundaries for fan interactions that he completely ignores for Izuku.

88. if these walls could talk (their whispers would be maddening) - Montage of training accidents in a ‘cursed’ ua gym

89. If Only I Could... - Nighteye tells Mirio about One for All, including that he thinks he’s more deserving than Izuku and he plans to pressure him into giving it up.  Mirio struggles with the knowledge that his mentor, someone he respected more than anything, only saw him as a replacement for All Might, meanwhile watching Izuku strain under the pressure of that mentor’s impossible expectations.

90. This is a Test Designed to Provoke an Emotional Response - shameless Blade Runner AU

91. Once and for All - Retelling of the Superman story “What’s So Funny About Truth, Justice, and the American Way?” with All Might.  Some new heroes use much more aggressive and violent tactics against villains while also upstaging All Might.  That, and there general approval from the public cause All Might to question his moral code.

92. Sitting In The Rain - Tsuyu likes to just sit out in the rain sometimes.  Not do anything, just sit there.  Some friends decide to join her.

93. At Sundown - Mysterious creatures start attacking ua every night.  The gang works tirelessly during the day to find the cause and a solution, while defending their school and each other at night.

94. The 1000th time's the charm - Uraraka has been practicing a new move in secret but they just can’t get it right.  She wants it to be perfect before showing it off.  But one attempt gets her seriously hurt while training alone at night in one of the gyms, and she’s too hurt to get up to the phone to call for help.

95. Sunflower Seeds - All Might attempts to start a garden as a new hobby.

96. What It Means To Be Human - Sun god Toshi starts living among people.

97. Eyes on Me - All Might teaches Izuku some unarmed fighting moves to defend himself from bullies.

98. one remains - Izuku has developed all but one of the quirks he’s slated to, and he has no idea what it will be.  Anxiety ensues.

99. Come Back Home - Izuku vanishes from campus and everyone assumes he was kidnapped, but in reality he ran away to try and clear his head after a depressive spiral.  He goes by train as far away as he can until he comes to his senses and calls the others.

100. I Won - Izuku accidentally managed to kill Shigaraki during a skirmish, and while everyone around him praises his heroics, he struggles to deal with the fact that he killed someone.

101. Ivory Tower - All Might grapples with how much izuku suffered as a quirkless person, how he could have done more for quirkless rights in his time as a hero, and how now people may not care as much because he’s retired.

Reminder to credit me if you use any of these prompts, and a special thanks to everyone who submitted titles!

[wendystales]

Memories - lrh (Chapter Thirteen)

Memories (also on Wattpad)

Chapter Twelve ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ Chapter Fourteen

I position myself in the center of the panel, making the 104th pose that morning. Brandon guides me from one shot to the next, making everything easier.

Six makeups. Six hairstyles. Six changes of clothes, even though the focus was on my face. Why did I get into this?

The photo shoot was for a cosmetics brand, for which I was the cover girl. It wasn't a 7-headed bug, as I had been thinking all night, which resulted in an irritating insomnia. And even though I arrived shy and lost, when I saw my look all produced, I felt like a great hottie, which gave me the confidence to go to that studio and rock.

I was having fun, as Leah advised me. I threw my hair, made faces and danced. I shifted my attention between Brandon's camera and my cell phone, where Nico, one of the helpers, was filming behind the scenes and stirring up my social medias.

It's fun, but after the fourth change of clothes, I was exhausted. After all, that spotlight doesn't leave me and the light gets too hot.

“For you.” Nico hands me a pink lilies bouquet. I open a smile, confused.

The team that was with me today, the agency, the brand and my parents had already sent me some bouquets earlier today, congratulating me and celebrating my return to the fashion world. So whose would it be?

I hunt for the card, opening it in a rush. Nico rested his head on my shoulder, wanting to read along with me. The handwriting didn't make me doubt, they were Luke's.

“To make your day more beautiful.

Congratulations on your return.

Love, Hemmo.”

I open a smile completely shaken by that. I burst out laughing when I see under his name “and the rest of 5sos” written in a different hand.

I ask Nico to take a picture of me with the flowers and send it to him, who quickly responds with a Petunia figure with heart eyes. I know I need to drop the bouquet and go back to the photos, but it feels so difficult.

Finally, I leave the flowers to the dressing room and I focus myself. Brandon praises my goofy smile and begs me to keep it up.

I knew everyone wanted to come today and watch the photo shoot, but I begged so hard not to. If without anyone I was already terrified of, seeing everyone there, staring at me, I wouldn't leave the dressing room.

[...]

Leah and Kiki were at my house, getting ready for Ashton's birthday, and of course, to gossip. They were both super curious to know how my first shoot was and how I was feeling.

besides telling about work, I comment about Luke's flowers and, finally, I tell about yesterday's dreams that still haven't left my head, taking root in my mind, blooming when I least expect it and leaving me out of breath.

“Oh, you naughty one!” Hastings tosses me the pillow. "Are you going to tell him?" she sits up in bed.

“No! How do I tell this?” I question, not understanding.

“Luke, I remembered when we were like two pervert rabbits and we were always having sex in the corners. Simple.” Kiki shrugs, going back to making up her eyes.

“Kiki!" I reprimand her. I hide my face, laughing embarrassed. "We weren't like that…I think…were we?" I look quickly at both of them.

Kiki looks at Leah, holding back her laughter. The brunette stares at me in disbelief. Oh my God, we were! It takes time to sink in, because with Stephen, I avoided sex at all costs. It was so cold and awkward, that most of the time I was bruised and, in all cases, unfulfilled.

I remember the touch of the dream and how it felt so soft and intense, and so good. However, I still find it hard for me to have been so turned on that I started having sex everywhere.

“Are you sure?” I ask suspiciously.

"Oh, honey! I will have to tell you about my dad's birthday, have I?" Leah hugs me, making Kiki laugh.

"What about your father's birthday?" the same way I was feared of Luke when he started telling me about the day I threw up at his feet, I get with Leah.

“Well, it was my dad's 50th birthday. A big, big party and of course I invited all of you. We had just got back from Milan, you were away from Luke for a couple of weeks, so you’re kinda getting crazy by missing him.

"Make it crazy." Kiki comments.

“The plan was for us to arrive in the morning, you'd have time to see each other, and then in the evening we would go to the party. But our flight was delayed and you didn't have that time. So you decided to open the bathroom.” Leah gives a fake smile.

I took a few seconds to understand, and then I widen my eyes, wanting to sink into the ground. I can't believe we did this.

“Calm down! She didn’t told the best part”. Kiki leaves the bathroom, joining us.

“Oh, that's cool, is there a better part?” I look at them both desperately.

"Of course, there is a best part. Leah escorting you guys out of the bathroom" Kiki throws herself on the bed, laughing. “Oh God! Your faces were the best.”

“Was after that our friendship beat all the limits and you know, we got really close.” Leah smiles to me.

What was my problem? Oh Lord, I never, ever, in my all life, thought I'd give one of those. If anyone asked me, who would be most likely to do this, I would definitely say Leah, Kiki, and even Bethany, but I would never say my name.

What did Luke do to me?!

I look at my friends, shocked. They both start laughing, amused by my reaction. A few seconds later, I give up, starting to laugh too.

"Is there any other similar situation that I should know about?" I inquire with fear.

"Yes, but we don't have time right now." Kiki gets up from the bed, slapping my foot, asking me to get ready.

We turned on the music and continued to get ready. Leah goes down to the kitchen, returning with three beers. The subject changes and we start to gossip.

After hours of producing us, I come down wearing my silver sequin jacket, finding Leah with another beer in her hand.

“Well? Good? Great?” I take a stroll, showing off the leather pants and black tank top that valued my tattoo.

"I definitely would ask for your number!" she replies, making me smile.

"Do you think people will like it? I mean, isn’t that much?” I stop in a few poses while she watches me.

“Rephrase the question.” she leans against the table. I stare at her without understanding. “What you want to know is whether Luke will like it." I open my mouth a few times.

“Perhaps.” I answer softly. Hastings snorts, hiding her face.

“You two should pay for my therapy. Because it's not easy to take it.” she takes a deep breath.

I give a guilty smile. I head to the bar, grabbing a shot of tequila and flipping it quickly. I would find Luke in a few minutes and I still don't know how to face him. I close my eyes, letting the alcohol burn my throat and warm my body, along with the memories. The flashes come back to my mind, clear as water. I can hear the girls' voices again, telling them about Mr. Hastings' 50th birthday.

“Let's go?” Kiki's scream brings me back. Standing near the door, they wait for me to down another shot of tequila before we go.

Along the way, we took several photos, already moving our social medias. At the door of the restaurant, the swarm of paparazzi was already in place and as soon as we got off the car, they surrounded us. Hands and arms linked, the three of us entered, being saved by the huge walls that didn't let them see anything that happened inside.

We went to the back of the restaurant, in a more reserved space, where a long table took up half the back wall. Right away I spot Luke, laughing as he chats with Jack and another guy I don't recognize. I analyze your look, social pants and a black t-shirt.

How can someone look so beautiful, so simple?

I swallow hard when he notices our approach and looks directly at me. I look away, unable to hold on; the images screamed in my mind.

Irwin approaches, already quite excited, trying to hug the three of us at the same time. When Leah and Kiki go to greet the other guests, I calmly hug my best friend, congratulating him once more.

“Make yourself comfortable and behave” he leaves a kiss on my forehead, going to welcome other guests who have just arrived.

I turn in time to see Hemmings approaching, one glass in his hand and the other in his pants pocket. How? I hold my breath, giving a terrified smile. He opens his smile even more.

“Hey!” he says excitedly, close enough for me to hear. Those lips… what have they done… I close my eyes quickly, shutting my mind.

“Hey!” I answer awkwardly.

“How are you doing?” he hugged me, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. I close my eyes again, feeling it radiate with amazing speed throughout my body. I let out a breath in a sigh. I manage to catch his eyes as he walks away, hiding a more mischievous smile.

“Well!” my cheeks catch fire and the jacket starts to bother me. "Thanks for the flowers earlier today." I thank, while Luke leads me to the bar. His hand firmly on my waist reminds me of that hotel room. I bite my lip, holding back the urge to bang my head on the counter. "A shot of tequila." I ask desperately.

Luke raises his eyebrows in surprise but says nothing. I turn it over without a single thought, asking for another one, just in case. The heat that spreads through my body is the result of three doses ingested. I take off my jacket and, through the bar mirrors, I see Luke shamelessly sweep my body.

“It was nothing!” he says after clearing his throat. "I'm glad you liked it. So, how was your first shoot?” he leans his elbow on the counter, propping his head on his hand, visually interested.

The effect of the alcohol starts to kick in, and so I feel lighter in his presence, not bothering with the memories between the two of us, nor the fanciful situations that my mind starts to create. I tell about the rehearsal and how fun it really was to do it. In the middle of the answer, I get enthusiastic, telling everything in minute detail. Luke looks at me smiling and interested, without interrupting me.

“I’m sorry!” I cover my eyes, laughing. “I'm talking too much.”

A few more people had already arrived, but the two of us were still there, sitting at the bar. The most interesting thing was, everyone who arrived didn't dare come here and interrupt us.

“No! I love hearing you talk.” he smiles before taking another sip of gin. I lower my gaze, totally ashamed.

"I think we'd better go sit down." I comment, seeing everyone settling into their chairs.

“Let's go?” he offers his hand, helping me off the stool. I hold into his arm, walking to the table. "Should I keep an eye on you today?" he laughs. I repress the urge to say yes, but that's not the answer to his question.

“No! I won't drink that much.” I press my lips together in a thin line, embarrassed by Ash's party.

We sat next to each other, with Calum and Noah in front of us. Luke leans his arm on the back of my chair and I'm not shy about getting close to him, even with everyone in our group staring at us curiously. We embarked on a lively conversation with everyone around us.

Michael rushes in and apologizes for being late, taking his seat next to Hemmings.

"Was she with her?" I hear Luke ask, taking my full attention.

“Yep!” Mike gives a shy smile.

“Who she?” I almost walk through the body of the australian beside me, wanting to get close to Mike.

“Nobody special.” he shrugs.

“Yeah! Go for it.” Hemmo lets go, laughing. Michael slaps him on the head.

“It's nobody special. Just a friend. I swear!" he closes the matter, but he doesn't convince me.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about it." I whisper, complaining to the blonde at my side.

“Sorry, there was no time. Also, I didn't even know it could lead to anything.” he shrugs. I stare Luke, waiting him to continue, but he is easily distracted by the napkin holder. I slap his head like Mike. “Ouch! What was it?” he looks at me shocked.

“Tell me!” Luke turns to face me, rolling his eyes.

“Her name is Sophie. They met at a Fortnite stream. She beat him and he went to congratulate her on the match, so they started talking and apparently it’s hitting something.” Luke shrugs, finishing the story.

“This is so cute. I hope it works!” I see Michael laughing over Luke's shoulder. “Is she pretty?” I question.

“This is a dangerous question.” I look back at him, confused. "Is there a chance you slap me?" I laugh.

"No." I don't get why I would hit him for finding someone pretty.

“She is pretty!" I hit him. “Hey! You said I wouldn't be hitten.” he accuses me.

“Sorry, it's just funny.” I defend myself by laughing. Luke turns forward, annoyed. I wrap my arm around his, which were on the table and come closer, placing a kiss on his cheek. "Are you going to be mad at me?" I question laughing.

"And I can do it?" he turns to me. His eyes drop to my lips and mine to yours. It would be a perfect time for a kiss, but I don't feel comfortable with all these looks on us.

Hemmo seems to understand my internal battle and just leaves a kiss on my forehead. I open a grateful smile and once again guide my attention to the conversation between Noah and Brian.

After a couple of hours of eating and drinking. We started to spread out through space, forming several conversation circles. I was having a blast with everyone. We sing, dance and record videos that we'll definitely regret later.

After starting to eat, I stopped drinking alcohol, after all, trauma still reigns inside me. So I wouldn't feel like the only sober one at the party, Hemmings decided to join me, stopping drinking too.

Relieved, of course, is the word to describe this night with him. I thought it would be hard to look at it with everything I remembered, but it was so light and fun, I admit I freaked out over nothing. As usual!

All through dinner, I try not to pay too much attention to everyone's eyes on us. We simply could not do anything that someone just needed to die of love. Luke was amused, while I just wanted to sink into the ground.

Yes, I may have had a clue as to how much I feel about Luke, but I still want to take it easy. I want to be sure, and for that, I need to stop being afraid. I know he's been realizing how I've changed and I'm letting him get closer and closer.

Our kisses, touches and smiles. Everything is falling into place and the fact that he doesn't put pressure on me helps me a lot. I already totally trust him, it just makes stronger.

Considering it was easy to stay close to him, without letting the shame take me, I didn't pull him away for a second, because most of the time he pulled me along and I liked that. I like being close to him.

“One round. Just one round.” Jack pleads, hands clasped under his chest.

“No! I've had too much today.” Luke denies it again, making his friend fake a dramatic cry.

"You drank when you arrived. A beer and a shot of gin. That's nothing.”

“I'll drive later and I'm keeping Marnie company.” he squeezes me tighter to his chest.

"Can't you drink?" Jack looks at me confused.

“Of course I can, I just don't want to, you know, make a scene. Or something like that.” I shrug. Jack rolls his eyes, turning back to Luke.

“One round.” he begs, making me laugh.

The boys were preparing a round of Answer or Drink with 10 different types of drink. So, they played and still got drunk.

“No!” Luke responds with a laugh.

For a few seconds, I leave the two of them arguing and go to the table to get my coat. With the lack of alcohol, I start to feel the cold of the air conditioning. On my way to the table, a voice stops me.

“Look what a wonderful surprise.” I turn quickly, feeling all the blood freeze through my body. "What a coincidence, isn't it?" I watch his smirk, knowing what his presence there would do.

“What are you doing here, Stephen?” I take a breath deep, controlling the urge to fly at him. Just like I did with Pam.

It's the first time we've seen each other since the diary report and I couldn't feel more disgust and loathing.

“It's a public place, Lizzie, and don't worry, I didn't come chasing you. I'm with friends.” he points to a table. “I just came to say hello.”

“Don't call me Lizzie, you know I hate it and why don't you take your fake education and stick it in your…”

“What are you doing here?” Luke walks past me, coming face to face with Stephen. "I already told you to stay away from her."

Soon, all the boys approach, ready to intervene. I grab his arm, trying to keep him close to me.

“Let him.” I beg, not wanting it to explode in the middle of the restaurant.

“Calm down, Hemmings.” the name comes out acid and full of poison. “I just came to say hello to Lizzie.” he laughs, hands in his pockets. "Don't worry, I'm not kissing her."

I close my eyes, feeling that hit both of us. That's low, very low. Luke steps forward, taking me with him. Noah and Jack are already starting to put their hands between them. Ash, Mike and Calum begin to put their hands on their friend's shoulders, pulling him along.

“Do not worry. I'm not going to spend my time punching him. But I'll just say one thing, Stephen.” he uses the same acid tone to say his name. "In case you're still dumb enough not to understand. It’s over! What you and Marnie had is over! So stop coming after her, because she doesn't want anything to do with you. She is with me.”

His tone of voice and body postureme impress. I've never seen Luke like this, so nervous, holding back so he doesn't explode, the veins in his neck bulging, proving how much he's controlling himself. I tighten your arm more tightly around my body. I bring my hand down until it's entwined with his, deceptively hoping that it will calm him down and bring him back to me.

“Funny. Cause from what I heard, you guys broke up, didn't you? What? You couldn’t stood the cheat?” he laughs, like he's made a great joke.

I don't know if he intended to hit Luke again, but without realizing it the words hit me. My blood boils and the words written in my diary take shape in my mind. Damn imagination.

I let go of my hand, putting myself in front of Stephen, who takes a step back. His gaze, full of curiosity and mockery, fixes on me.

“That’s enough, Stephen! I don't care about you. Pretend I never called you, just like I was before the accident and disappear from my life. I know you cheated on me and I don't want this torment in my life anymore. Go away.” I let go of everything contained, trying not to fly off his neck.

"Are you really going to believe their bullshit?" Stephen crosses his arms.

“Nobody had to tell me. I remembered." I see his eyes lose their mocking sparkle and he lose confidence. It's a lie, but he don't need to know. “There are at least twenty people here and they all want to hit you, including me, who wouldn't mind breaking my cast on your head. So if you don't want to get out of here on a stretcher, get out!”

I take a step back, feeling my heart pound and trying my best to keep myself from crying. Luke's agitated breath pulses against my spine. I lean against him, feeling his hand intertwine with mine, squeezing it delicately. Amazing how I feel safer, just with that touch.

Stephen passes his eyes around everyone and walks away without saying anything else. When his body pulls away, I release all the air I didn't even know I was holding. The boys start telling us to go back to the table.

I turn, pulling Luke, who is still standing there, facing my ex, who is sitting at the table with a group of friends. He turns around, pulling me easily into his arms. His hands tighten around my waist and I feel him exhale against my neck, giving me goose bumps. I stroke the back of his neck, trying to calm him down and show him that everything is fine.

We walked back to the table, striving for the mood from before. Ashton orders his birthday cake and we ourselves lull into the music, excited, mocking Irwin. While we devoured the cake, no one broaches the subject and I thanks for that. I know Hemmings and I will probably talk about it, but I don't want to involve the guys in this.

Gossip reigns at the table again. The entire group is engaged in conversation about the most disastrous trips ever made, minus the blonde and me. I watch him with his jaw still set and his gaze filled with rage, fixed directly on Stephen, who is across the room, staring at me.

It's a cycle: Luke stares at Stephen, who stares at me, while I stare at Luke.

I feel terrible for making him go through all of this. My amnesia, our breakup, my ex's return. Lucas doesn't deserve any of this. I need to reward him, but how?

“Hey!” I whisper, resting my chin on his bicep, but he doesn't hear me. "I want to leave, will you take me?" I question, hoping to gain any sign of him.

He looks at me nonchalantly, then blinks back to reality. Luke stares at the bleached on the other side, wanting to see if he's still trying something. I drop a small kiss on his shoulder, gaining his attention again.

“Of course! Let's go?” I nod, getting up.

Nobody is opposed to our leaving, I believe as much because of what happened as because it was the two of us. We walked across the room hand in hand, and with me clutching his arm, just to make sure he didn't fly into someone.

But I need to remember that Luke is just as classy as I am. Not just for the fame or the spectacle it would be, but because he was brought up that way. Educated not to go into violence, even if there was someone on the other side who deserved to be slapped.

I'm scared by the frantic flashes that start to pop when they notice the two of us. I cling closer to Luke, who makes room for his car. The delay for the questions to start is just for them to reason that it was the two of us there, together, after announcing our break up.

I keep my head down, focused on his thumb moving up and down, stroking my skin. Luke opens the car door and I settle in, still feeling the flashbulbs burst above us.

With great difficulty, we got out of that sea of ​​people. We remained silent until we reached the intersection of the main lane that led to my house.

“Do you want to go home?” he asks, softly.

I can't identify any feelings in your voice. He is neutral, indifferent. Apart from the isolated fact, this night has been amazing and I don't want it to end, not in this mood.

“No!” I turn in the seat, facing him. "Isn't there anywhere I'd love to go? Or that we both went a lot?” for the first time, I see a glint run through his eyes.

“Yeah! In fact, there are two.” he cracks a smile, causing me to smile too.

Luke takes the other path, heading to some place I couldn't even imagine. The subject comes up between us and so the mood softens. As we talk, I list a number of places I've always liked in Los Angeles, wanting to guess where it would take me.

We turn onto Wilshire Boulevard and I guess where we're going. Hemmo parks his car near the Urban Light and I look forward to getting out of the car.

Before we exit the vehicle, he pulls two caps from the glove compartment, giving me a dark gray one. I look at that accessory, wondering if it was always mine, if we always wore it when we went out.

“Why am I not impressed that this would be the first place?” I question, holding his hand.

By the time, the sculpture was a little empty, with only a few couples taking pictures. Luke and I went unnoticed, walking between those huge poles.

We walked around, with me admiring those lighted poles. I've always liked this sculpture, I've always found it romantic because so many people are proposed here, and I love the lighting.

“Oh no!” I push Luke, finding your phone pointed at me.

"This one got blurry." he laments, pointing again.

“Luke!” I exclaim laughing. I try not to scream so as not to draw attention to both of us.

“Sorry about my behavior at the restaurant.” Hemmings says after a while, surprising me. I lean against a pole, watching him.

“Why are you apologizing?” I frown. Luke leans against the same post, shrugging.

"I didn't mean to spoil your night." he answers.

“You didn't! If there is one responsible, it is him! Stephen knows he shouldn't have shown up there.” I comfort him.

His blue eyes meet mine. I take a step toward him, standing on tiptoe, reaching for his lips, leaving a simple kiss there. Without pulling away completely, I see a goofy smile appear on his face, which also appears on mine.

"What's our second place?" I whisper, next to him.

“My bed.” he lets go.

“Lucas!” I push him away, laughing again. His laugh is contagious. If he knew about the memories…

“Just kidding." Uh-hm… "Ready to get full of sand?" he asks, holding out his hand.

“Always!” I grabbed, leaning my head on his arm as we made our way to the car.

Follow me on Twitter: aquela_wendy

[z-o-r-a-k]

5 years on HRT

Here’s some transition pics, from before I started up to now.

Paragraph under the cut ^^

2014

I’m 15 in this photo. I had just got my braces off and they give you a discount to some photography place so all the poses from the set are super cheesy. I think it makes for a good comparison to how I’ve changed though. I was only just realizing my identity at this point, and was still unsure of my gender and how I wanted to present. It's a good photo, but it was a rough time. 

2015

This is my 16th birthday, right after I had come out to everyone. Nobody else really got why I was wearing a dress if I wanted to start identifying as male, but I still liked dresses and I liked boys in dresses and I didn’t want to restrict myself. Later on I did end up getting rid of about every single clothing article I had that could be seen a even slightly “girly” because I wanted the people around me to take me more seriously. I really miss some of the pieces I got rid of tbh.

I don’t have any pics from 2016-2017. I avoided taking pictures as much as I could and deleted any that I had of myself. I was extremely depressed during this period and attempted suicide. I was not happy with my body or myself or who I was or the fact that I was a trans person at all. I felt disgusting and put myself down and compared myself to cis people constantly, telling myself that I was never going to be happy or fit in to society or have a decent friend group or find love as long as I was transgender. I avoided getting to know other trans people or anyone in the LGBT community because I cared so much about what cis, straight people thought of me. I was so terrified of being some “annoying trans person” that nobody wanted to be around because I’d never shut up about it. People don’t realize how much your transition really takes over your life when you’re starting, or in the thick of it, trying to get the right dose of hormones, waiting on name changes, it’s a constant thing that you don’t ever get the option to take a break from. It is your life. I’m really glad I don’t give a fuck what cis people have to say anymore. They can suck my whole entire ass because we’re honestly so much better at gender presentation than them. 2018

Right before I turned 19. This was an alright year. I met my partner, I had a job I liked that introduced me to a lot of good Vietnamese food, I started actually saving money and planning for the future for the first time in my life. I actually started feeling like I /had/ a future.

2019

Age 20. I moved to Georgia and moved in with my partner, I gained a sense of independence from my parents and having that is very important to me, and I met more trans people! I had some god awful jobs and stressful moments too, but in terms of gender stuff, it was a good year. I finally started getting correctly gendered on a more regular basis, and I began to introduce the feminine aspects I enjoy back into my style. 

2020

Age 21. This last year I started caring less about how I present to other people and doing it more for me. Being inside for a lot of the year probably helped with that. I started focusing on my art a lot more, and I moved into a household full of queer people and it’s the most open and loving environment I’ve ever lived in.

2021

I took this picture today. I’m 21, going on 22, and I’m extremely grateful to be where I am. I have wonderful people in my life that I’m so so lucky to know and be supported by, and even on bad days my heart is full of love. I don’t know where i’d be if I hadn’t started transitioning, and I don’t really want to know. I’m glad that I’m here. I’m glad that I made it to 5 years. I’m not always happy with my body and I may not have gone through as big of changes as other people might on HRT, but I’m doing better at liking myself every day and I’m proud of myself for making it this far. I’m proud of myself for transitioning. I’m proud of myself for being alive.

January 21st marked the 5 year anniversary of when I started hormone therapy. This year has been stressful and messed with my perception of time, so I was really bummed out to realize that I’d forgotten about it until just yesterday. But, It’s still worth celebrating, even if it’s not exactly on the date. Just because I forgot something doesn’t mean it’s lost importance to me, and it hasn’t.  I know multiples of 5 don’t actually mean anything but it still feels like a little bit of a deal to get to them. It’s a milestone that I really looked forward to reaching when I started my transition, and I’m really proud of myself for being here. Sometimes I wonder if I even would be here had I not started my transition when I did, and I honestly don’t think I would be. It’s not like this has alleviated every ounce of dysphoria I have, or stopped me from getting mis-gendered entirely or stared at weird by old straight men, but it’s made those things feel smaller, easier to get through. It’s made me more confident in the feminine ways I want to present, like I can do “feminine” things like wearing makeup and certain clothing without feeling like it invalidates my identity as a man or as a trans person and without caring so much what other people think. I’m getting to a point where I don’t feel disgusted with my body every day. Sometimes I even like it, and feel like it’s worth celebrating. It is. I’ve put a lot of work into my identity and where I am today and I’m proud of that.

[daughterofhel]

.

My icon died last night.

The little black and white cat, Auk (or-ick). A silly name from a badly remembered name from my childhood.

He was pretty much deaf; car got him.

I haven’t seen him since I left Texas, as I moved for a year to VA before finally moving to be with my wife in Vento. One of my guy friends family took him in on their ranch.

It was fitting; I did get Auk from a ranch. He was used to it, loved it even. And this was without the competition of an unhealthy amount of breeding stays like the ones I grabbed him and Ivy up from. I could only take two, my friend the same.

Funny. I had originally gone there to see the birth of a colt only to leave with a cat. Return the next day and get one more, a friend for my tiny runt of a thing.

And who should but all demand it be him to leave with me but Auk? The friendliest of cats that I’ve ever had the pleasure to be around. He also thwarted my attempts at having two girl cats. He was insistent to leave with me and you don’t argue when you’re chosen you know?

I won’t detail the tears following or the rough road and chaos that went on, but many double shifts back to back to back endlessly, a medicated clumsy grandmother with rapidly failing health, and complex roommate situations, I just wasn’t able to provide the needed time and care for my cats.

I cried the entire 45 minute drive to my buddys property when he said he could take them in. I had to pull over twice. They also cried the entire time, being afraid of the car, which made it harder. My buddy, He was the same guy who rescued a big pup clearly abandoned some years back. I had helped train him to not jump on people and other stuff. His folks also owned a longhorn ranch, lots and lots of space.

Those cats deserved better and this was a familiar element, now neutered, vaccinated, and with no stray competition and the dog was so careful. But god. I never wanted to say goodbye to my cats. It didn’t matter though, what I wanted; they needed care and time I wasn’t able to keep providing.

So I dropped them off. As expected, Ivy kept close but never got too close to the family. She simply doesn’t trust; I’ve no idea why such a little thing bonded instantly with me and remained quite the fixed cuddle bug. But she had. I felt worse about it with her than Auk if I’m to be honest.

Auk loved attention. Loved fetch. Belly rubs. This cat was a classic dog and a huge whore for attention. XD He essentially made himself at home and lavished any and all attention, to which my buddies mother instantly fell for this fuzzy dorks charms. He has been well cared for.

I know younger me could’ve and should’ve done better when I got these cats. Mind you, I’ve been gone for over 10 years now, so it has been quite some time. I’m doing what I wish I could have done for my cats then with the two rescues we got last year here.

I was young and working so many hours for nearly no profit after stuff was paid, even living at home and with roommates. I couldn’t afford the extra vet fees I needed or the fanciest of foods or any of that. I loved them, and I felt them being with me instead of the half starving state they were in from constantly competing with so many other cats, was still a better option for them. I still was at least able to do some of the important visits for them.

I cleared their fleas and earmites. I never did get rid of Ivys worms, though I desperately tried. I tried so many ways to get this pill into that cat. Even crushed into wet food. Friends helping to wrap and hold her to make her swallow. All the tricks we found, failed. She just. She wouldn’t take it. And I didn’t have the cash to go every single day and time she needed a dose to a pet clinic. I had checked more than once. It was so much money.

Older, better situated now.. I’ve been able to do right by the cats, Nyx and Tivali, that I have now.

We even saved Nyx’s eye. We have a system to give her her seizure medicine every 12 hours. They’re both fully up to date with their shots and are fixed. Ears totally clean. Monthly newly added anti flea tick collars.

The best food we can reasonably find at the local pet shop; their pelts are beautiful, soft, shiny, and they never smell.

We’ve even found a biodegradable corn based litter we can flush which has been the greatest find.

We get semi regular check ups on our girls and they’re doing just fine now. I’m still proud about saving Nyx’s eye. It was a tedious ordeal. 3-4 times a day we had to clean and medicate a cats eye. We got good at it even if she wasn’t fond of it. Thankfully the vitamins they required were like treats. Even the antibiotics from the colds they had from the shelter.

I miss Auk. And Ivy. And I wish I could’ve not only given them the life I’ve given my current cats now, (I’ve constructed basket beds, hammocks, a whole canopy jungle gym and rope bridge to boot for them with my wife!), but I wish I could have been the one to have them in my life still. I know it was not possible. It wouldn’t have been possible.

But I think of them. A lot. And I knew it was inevitable. Auk would’ve been well over 13 or so years by now. A little old but could’ve lived longer yet for sure. My buddy didn’t mention he has gone deaf. Of course he rarely goes home himself; I don’t blame him. Life’s complicated.

I have mourned these two cats multiple times now. So I’m not thrown into tears upon this news, I’ve cried plenty over the years already. But I’m still sad to hear that fuzzy delight has passed on. I won’t ask, but I hope, and believe, the accident was a quick end for such a friendly guy.

I’ll mourn him eventually in full. I know I will. But considering this is the fourth major bad news I’ve gotten in less than a month and most of it a week, I thought to write about it. If only to keep sane.

May I not receive the same news of my grandmother or my sister who both remain in the hospital.

And god. May my mother stop forcing me to recall and talk about our shared trauma under my father and just keep me up to date on my families health. I don’t want to be crushed under this suffocating vice on my neck that makes me hesitate to call and see my family. I know she needs to vent. And god. I try to let her. I do. I try to be kind; she needs it.

But it isn’t the time and place when I’m trying to figure out if my grandmother is dying or getting better. I shouldn’t have to receive that confirmation, be granted a brief video called hello and check in, with the price of an hour long dredge through a past I personally have gone to two different types of therapy through to try and cope with. Which, only to some degree, have helped.

One of the last longer calls we had she all but said she hoped her theories on my father possible molesting me were true, so, you know, that would be one more trauma we had in common. She went on and on, even trying to provide loose evidence to her theory. Troubling sentences I would say in my rare visits. Etc. She just. Wouldn’t. Stop. And that was after an hour of recalling how terrible her life was with my father and the abuse, the screaming, the terror, the hiding, the injuries, all of it. As if I wasn’t left to live my life with this very man she said her three years with ruined her more than all her past shit combined.

She assured me she was a good mother who tried. And honestly. No. But I do believe she tried. But she was already weak emotionally and mentally and my father wrecked what was left. She left me sometimes for a couple days lock in that house when I was in diapers. You don’t forget that shit. I’m still scared of the dark. I can’t reason with myself on it. But being mad about all of it doesn’t change anything and would hurt a woman already broken. Why would I do that.

Still. It bothers me. So fucking much. But she’s such a fragile person in a fragile emotional state with everything else on top. She’s been heavily depressed for many many years and it’s a bunch of other stuff that spirals and honestly, at this point, she’s toxic even to herself. I’ve tried working on it with her but it matters not if she’s not willing to work on it too. I don’t know my mother besides her many traumas. We’ve been separated and estranged for most of my life. Unless I was physically able to actually be there and provide a use.

But that’s par for the course; no one will have you around if you’re unable to provide something for it. My wife’s the first person who genuinely seems to enjoy having me around just because and wants nothing more. I do stuff of course; but with her I am not afraid a slip up could mean everything it taken away and lost. I can forget the dishes once or had a bad mental health day and stay in bed without it having catastrophic consequences. She’s such a wonderful kind woman; I cannot help stressing over how to repay her.

I try and I’ve expressed my distraught on the topic and though she always seems baffled and confused about my insistence that I should be doing far more, that lass doesn’t agree at all. It’s her parents home so I am not able to freely run the house as I would on our own, as I’m able and have in many places, so I’m often less useful with the restrictions. She’s also use to the flow and swing of things and has things half done before it’s being asked.

Our own place will make life smoother and calmer for both of us; most importantly her. I’ve watched this family, sweet, but absolutely tone deaf to how many and often their demands are tossed to her. All the other kids moved out with partners. Hell, the oldest s child basically lives here. Our own hurdle with raising a kid who we don’t have the final say on any single thing. His grandparents are enablers cuz they don’t want to hear any loud noises, no matter what. And that causes strain when the kid can and does get anything and everything as long as he kicks up a fit. And he sure as hell does. There are days it’s so bad my wife’s in tears. And that pisses me off. The kids a good person, but the fact no one will actually parent and draw definite lines and be firm with No’s can also make him horrible too.

I’ve to deal with the chess match that is my father. I often call him my own personal Devil. He kind of is. But one I’m familiar enough with at this point in my life. I know where and when to cut my losses, where to step around, when I need to swallow my pride or the easily seen through lies, and nod my head. If he was all terrible, I could have cut him from my life. But no one ever really is. And I do know I owe it to the man; he has helped tremendously in my life as much as he’s been a big problem of it. I know his biggest fear is to be alone and forgotten. I wouldn’t do that, not even to the devil.

I need some bland news. Not thrilling. Not depressing. Just some ‘hey that happened’ ‘oh cool.’ Kind of news. Just a small reprieve.

Im. Scared. Of what’s next.

I. Know that things are teetering dangerously into a very very tragic terrible story on my mothers end. I know her husbands already super suicidal. My half brothers severely autistic, non verbal, among a few other things and will require his whole life to have someone be there for him. He’s not stupid, and I hate when people treat him as so, but he is absolutely unable to care for himself. He doesn’t have the right motorskills even, though we’ve gone to many different places to try and help him find ways to do actions in his own way that still get the same result. I admire how he’s such a positive little man, generally not just happy, but delighted. I aspire to look at the world like he does. He reminds me to try. I do love that about him.

He is, however, a Big boy, 15 now, and growing. He’s also very strong now. My mother is getting to an age where his, as well call em happy slaps, are really hurting her. He is generally good about slapping your hands and not your back if you provide them. But when he is upset he is a shover; one bad fall could really cause a lot of chaos for my mother with her health. The husband spends most of his time locked in his room.

My half sister is epileptic. They have done tests for years and can’t figure out all her triggers or the whys. They just sometimes stop for a long time then suddenly happen. She’s 16, turning 17 soon. And I don’t even know if she’s going to be, since my mother won’t let me know. And there are large gaps from my sister being on tech due to concerns of what triggered her seizure this time so she’s often removed from electronic devices for a time.

When I had turned 21, my mother and her husband tried to have me sign a paper to become legal guardian of my half siblings, should something happen to them, so the kids didn’t get separated.

At that time, I was still taking care of my fathers mother along with working at a shit job, and had a house full of temporary roommates who I had offered rooms to as a sort of safe house for them. I have a knack for finding people from broken homes, what can I say? With the house my father and I built, we had space, so I used it. I was able to help the girls get out of toxic places, get on their feet, and move on. Not all of them always. But it did generally work out. One has a boyfriend who was growing worse to her on top of getting more and more into hard drugs while also she dealing with an abusive aunt who got worse once her mother died of cancer. So she was stuck with the terrible boyfriend. I had her stay with me as soon as I heard.

Another was complicated, but generally revolved around the alcoholic mother and the many, shady, men in and out of the house. The dangers of that alone were.. problematic without the friend also being suicidal and not taken seriously. I’ve stayed many times with her to just hang out, clean, cook, or even read a book cuz she just wanted to hear someone talking and such. You know? Until eventually I had her move in with me too.

Another’s mothers died of a cancer and dad an alcoholic; not abusive, he just became childlike and super forgetful. To a hurtful degree in his totally dependent state, whenever he was home. Plus their whole little trailer smelled of piss. And her boyfriend (they’re married with kids and happy now) was in jail. He had a bad past but had cleaned up his act quite well, but. Well that’s complicated. We all know that the police don’t squint at details of any issue if the accused has a problematic past.

I had two different girls with trouble at home who were being used by their family to constantly work, clean, and pay for everything.

I had an ex and her girlfriend with problematic homophobic parents who were terrible and semi violent so I had them stay with us so they could be together somewhere safer.

I did not. At all. Have the assured means to also be a parent of ten children with very different needs nor any medical benefits to help out with.

I also knew, that, with how my mothers husband was, if he had some guarantees for his children’s safety, he would likely end his life if he could. He’s been so close so many times. If signed this paper, he would have the last big most important concern that’s kept him from.. I just. I didn’t want him to do it. I selfishly didn’t want to be responsible for my siblings that would take away any bit of time I had for myself away. If anything happened, I would not abandon and forget my siblings. That’s absurd. But my mother implied heavily she wanted to be sure of that. And thus this paper.

I was struggling to find aid for college so I could go to school (never got to, by the way. Minus two classes in total. Aced them both, but it doesn’t matter. Credits in the wind). I was already dealing with my grandmother. The girls I chose to help. My shit job. My fathers temper and his horrible horrible ‘on again off again’ girlfriend. The chaos that alone committed.

I was busy providing a safe space in my home and making sure it stayed that way for the rare times trouble makers made the mistake of stepping up to my door to try and harass my girls.

I often worked 10 days in a row before a day off. Many of those days often had double shifts which were 16 hours. Sometimes I got an hour nap on the double shifts.

I just couldn’t do it.

And now. I remember something that came to mind back then that comes back to mind now. My moms husband adores my grandma. She’s been better to him than his own mother. She’s dying. He’s not taking it well and his mental health has always been pretty low and in the last couple years, already dangerously rock bottom. I’ll admit, same.

His daughter is now in the hospital. My brother is smart but there are some things we can’t really explain for him to get. He understands something is wrong but not sure what and it upsets him. He doesn’t like change and gets super fussy for it. Which can be taxing and hours and days and weeks of it. Grandmas been in the hospital for a couple more or more now. She coded a few days ago but they got her back.

If grandma dies. If something happens to my sister…

God. I don’t see that man sticking around.

And with my mom isolated. A lot of it her doing with her own family but also a good part of it being dumb petty bs of other folks that have no reason to behave like that (a whole drama I don’t have the energy to keep up with..). I just.

I see it as a domino effect of terrible terrible events I don’t want to write.

My mothers side im not very close to. I don’t blame my cousins, we were kids ajd our meetings were brief as they were. But the adults kept their distance with me. No one expected me to survive and decided it was easier to not get attached. To not get involved with me, and by extension, the devil himself, my father. So I never got the chance to know that family. Even when I tried.

So the only family I do have some ties to ajd know, is in a hospital bed, or on my dads side, and they’re dying to. And I get it… that at a certain age in life, many of the people around you start to. It’s just life. Ajd it sucks. And I miss having a best friend. I miss having friends who just seem to like to have me around. Want to have me around.

And I wonder if the friends I thought I made with my roommates were just because I provided something for them. Sure we laughed a lot, we cried over shared traumas, celebrated holidays together so as to not be alone.

But not a one speaks to me now. And hey. That’s also life. But it makes me feel pretty shitty; every where I look in the past, I can’t see any relationship, family, partner, friendship, that ever had me around unless I was providing services they wanted and needed. And I don’t mean the natural give and take.

I’m aware that I’m not the friend folks have around. I’m a fun distraction at best and have been told and reminded as such. I feel like shit cuz my wife’s wonderful and the best person in my life, and yet I still mourn having close friends to hang with. I miss gaming together the most. Or the bullshitting. Sharing food.

I’m not a nice person. I’m working on it. I am. I’ve also, for years, been working on my own personal problems so as to not bring them into even conversations. I don’t know what I am doing wrong but I just.. can’t seem to keep anyone around. And frankly.

I find myself crying about it a lot with no idea what to do.

And. I’m burnt out.

I don’t want to make friends anymore. And yet I still crave it. Which sucks. I can’t stop seeming to want that. And I keep trying. And trying.

I’m trying to accept and be happy with any bit of time I get from the few friends who talk to me. I try to take my chances where I can to hang out (online, as they’re all distance by now), cuz I know it’s a short window and I’ll be lucky to get a next time in the near future.

Online is harder to provide a use, and once the ‘honeymoon phase’ of the friendship winds down, some drop off the map entirely. A few abruptly. And I just. That’s fucked me ho a ton. I can’t even express how many hours I stay sitting. Thinking. Unable to understand what I am not doing or what I am.

It’s a pity party. I know. But it’s fine. I’m still the only one at it and though I’m quite forward even with nerves eating away at me, I still just don’t know how to keep anyone in my life.

It’s taken almost 6 years for me to relax enough to believe my wife will, in fact, stick around.

But at this point in time, I’ve realized, on a note I just keep getting really sad over, that the bits of friendship I’ll get to experience with people, will be brief, snippets, and frankly, only if I am providing something they’re not getting.

I’m essentially the magazine next to the toilet when you have a bad bad stomach bug and your phones dead.

Man’s that’s.. probably my own doing. I know I’m a lot of woe is me in here. And it’s a post talking to me, so I’m indulging in it. I absolutely can’t out loud or in life. I’m working on just.. trying to feel instead of ignoring it. Per my therapists suggestions. So I feel fucking overwhelmed, sad, and alone. Isolated. Heavily.

Ignorance is bliss for real. I wish I wasn’t so aware that I was the friend you go to when all options are down and you’re bored. When you are in a bind and need a safe spot (I don’t mind that one but it does suck that it’s the only time some folks pop back in or up). That if I’m not working then no one even has a small little want to just say hi. I wish I had people who just wanted to say hi because they just.. missed me? I gues?

I wish I knew how to be better as a person and a friend. I thought I was making strides on that. I really had. And yet.

Here I am. Just.

Bitching to the void. Becuase my wife doesn’t need me to add more to her life with her father (finally back from the hospital after surgery) and his health concerned along with everyone else’s and the own sets of ordeals here. I don’t need her to fret over me.

She’s needed distraction and I’ve left her alone for a couple weeks now to her drawing. Probably one of the best things I did do for her was clean up a space for a literal drawing room for her. She’s happier for it. People compliment her art and she rather enjoys the well deserved attention.

I personally would love to have her around more. But I’m having a lot of bad shit days. Weeks at this point. And I’m using my energy to be useful in setting the table or doing the dishes, the cats, playing with the nephew, etc.

All I want to do is sleep.

Frankly. I’m tired of waking up.

But for her. I will.

[insomniaccreates]

Frostbite Ch. 1

Read it on AO3 here 

Chapter Word Count: 1.5k

Important Tags: Vigilante Fuyumi, Fuyumi Todoroki centric, References to past child abuse, Enji is not trying to be better in this fic, Endeavor’s terrible parenting, LOV plays a prominent role, Timeline Transcendent but mostly during the Paranormal Liberation War Arc, Hawks plays a prominent role, Natsuo plays a prominent role

Summary: Fuyumi wants nothing more than her family's safety. Its all she's ever wanted since she was a child, for her mom and brothers to be able to live freely and happily. There was a time, when she was very young, about 12 or 13 where she thought that somehow the whole family could find a way to live in peace. That they could all be a normal, happy family again, but after Touya's death she realized the truth. That could never happen. And she knew who was to blame. Ever since then she's been working and scheming to right the wrongs that have been done to her loved ones, and even helping others along the way. However, when walking the fine line of what is and isn't legal lands her in deep trouble she is faced with painful reminders of the past and must challenge her own morality. 

Chapter 1: Capture

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” a raspy voice taunted as a man with long, unkempt, pale blue hair and the driest skin Fuyumi had ever seen on a living person walked into the room.

“You must be Shigaraki,” she greeted in reply, a mockery of her usual polite tone painting her voice as she sneered at the notorious villain.

The man just humphed before looking down at the captive woman, “And what’s your name?”

Fuyumi leveled a cool, steady gaze at her captor, “I go by Frostbite,” her tone was level and calm, but left no room for debate, a tone very similar to the one she often used on her students.

“I don’t care about code names, I want to know your real name,” Shigiraki pouted. If the man didn’t have the ability to disintegrate her with a single touch it would have been amusing how much like her students he was.

So instead of laughing she instead raised an eyebrow and shot him an unimpressed glare, “Too bad, I’ll tell you my real name if and when it becomes relevant,” she knew it was risky taunting him while in arms reach, but she knew showing weakness was worse. Power-hungry maniacs tended to have more respect for those who refused to back down in her experience.

“I think it is relevant, I need to know who was trying to overthrow a faction of my army!” Shigaraki persisted, beginning to anxiously claw at his neck.

Fuyumi frowned, “Well, you’ve got the wrong person, anyhow, if that’s what you want,” she protested, “I wasn’t trying to overthrow anything. At least not anything to do with you or those Liberation nuts. I was just looking for something,” she explained calmly, if a little indignantly. Honestly, if they seriously grabbed her for a fucking misunderstanding she was going to scream.

“Really? Then why come so far out of your usual territory? Why go blatantly rampaging around asking about us and the drugs Overhaul developed? You weren’t really subtle, girl,” he hissed, shoving his prematurely wrinkled face in hers.

She resisted the urge to freeze him where he stood in frustration before responding in a calm, placating tone, “I am looking for the quirk-erasure drugs that Overhaul supposedly developed but that has nothing to do with you other than you being a lead to getting them. This is something I’ve been working on for years, long before the League of Villains was formed,” she explained.

“Oh? But those drugs are pretty new. The permanent version has only been around for a matter of months,” he grabbed her throat keeping one finger raised, threat clear even as his voice tapered off.

“I know, those are a new addition to my plan, but it doesn’t change that my target has nothing to do with you. I’m not even after a villain at all, I’m after a pro hero. So there’s no reason to get upset, right now we’re on the same side,” she clarified quickly, anxiety spiking from the rough, clammy hand wrapped around her throat.

Shigaraki paused, lifting his hand from her throat before smirking at her, “We’re on the same side? The Queen of Vigilantes is going villain? Now that’s interesting,” he chuckled and Fuyumi could feel her stomach churn violently, “You aren’t just saying that to save your head, are you?” His taunting tone only caused her stomach to sour further, but she resisted the urge to flinch. Any sign of fear would only be used against her and make her response seem less genuine.

“I never said I was going villain, but I’m also not just saying that to keep my head. I’m really after a pro-hero and right now we are on the same side. We have similar goals. You want to destroy hero society, right? Well, I don’t entirely disagree with that. It at least needs massive reform,” she took a deep breath, trying to calm her emotions before explaining, “Heroes are untouchable. Get a high enough ranking and you can get away with unspeakable cruelty no matter how well known that cruelty is… other heroes, the police, and the public will all rally behind the hero while his victims are silenced into submission… I just want to hold them responsible for their actions, starting with the biggest bastard of them all,” her voice trembled slightly in her anger so she took a steadying breath before continuing, “I guess you could say I align with Stain, even if I don’t agree with all of his judgment calls. Most of your members are followers of Stain, right?” She asked, meeting his crimson eyes.

He smirked, “I still don’t understand why Stain was such a big deal, but yes, most of my more trusted members at least were Stain fanboys… Are you looking to join us or something?” He asked, sizing her up.

“I’m looking for my freedom,” she shot back, struggling in the heavy chains strapping her down to the chair she was sat in for emphasis, before swallowing her pride and hesitantly adding, “and possibly some assistance. I really need those drugs, and judging by how defensive over them you are and the fact you guys attacked Overhaul immediately after his arrest, my lead on you was right. I just need one dose, you can keep the rest,” she tried to read the crimson glare giving her a calculating look but couldn’t decipher his thought process.

After a few moments that felt like hours, he finally spoke, “I’ll think about it. I’ll be back to talk it out further…” started to walk towards the door, before turning back to the captured vigilante, “I’ll make sure none of the Liberation freaks bother you so try to spend this alone time thinking about how you’d be willing to pay for that bullet,” his tone was taunting and menacing but he was honestly the least of Fuyumi’s worries.

She had no qualms spending her father’s vast fortune on his own downfall, she planned on destroying him anyway so money wasn’t really an issue. No, she was much more concerned with being stuck here for who knows how long. Not only was it going to be problematic if she didn’t show up at home before morning or, god-forbid, miss work, her costume included contacts to make her grey eyes appear blue (a pale, frosty shade much lighter than her family’s usual turquoise) and make her usual glasses unnecessary, so if she fell asleep or if it took to long for her to get out of here she was risking permanent injury without them laying another hand on her. She’d just have to try and stay awake, she supposed not much she could do about it with her hands encased in a metal cage. Still, being left alone in a dark room for an undisclosed amount of time was something that made her skin crawl, too many unpleasant childhood memories reflected this scenario just a little too closely. At least it didn’t automatically set off panic attacks anymore. Clearly therapy had been doing something. If only she could get Natsu and Shoto to go too.

Speaking of Natsuo, she was now very glad she had denied his request to tag along on her hunt for the quirk erasure drug. Ever since he’d found out about her life as a vigilante last year he had been trying to get more and more involved. She tried to keep him away from it, but now he’s known amongst the underground as Blizzard, her impulsive, short tempered sidekick. Not that she lets him join her on her patrols or missions often. His impulsive, hot-headed nature paired with his stubbornness made her extremely nervous for his well being. He had a tendency to run into unnecessary fights and where she was careful to disguise herself with a wig, contacts, and contour, Natsuo only opted for a ski mask, despite Fuyumi repeatedly explaining why that was a bad idea. She doubted he understood how high the stakes were, that they weren’t just risking death, but if their real identities were to be discovered or if they were to be arrested that they could lose their jobs, Natsuo could be kicked out of school and they’d both be thrown in jail, leaving Shoto to deal with their father alone again. They weren’t like most other vigilantes. They both had a lot to lose. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if he got himself hurt or destroyed his life due to something she let him do. Something she introduced him to. She just prayed that she got out before he realized she was missing. She knew he’d probably try to look for her, he may even try to drag Shoto into it if he was worried enough, and that was the last thing that needed to happen.

Hopefully, though, she’d be able to put all of this behind her. Hopefully, once she was done with Endeavor their family could settle back down, no longer having to live in constant tension and fear. Hopefully, she’d soon be able to retire from being a vigilante and just enjoy being a teacher and spend time with her loved ones. She just had to get those drugs and get back home. That’s all. She could do that.

[punksarahreese]

I haven't had another episode, except last night was touch and go + Mr Crockett

Episode | Crockett Marcel

Excerpt from a psych!AU I’ll never write; Crockett is an inpatient in the psych ward and he has therapy with his favourite Psychiatrist

Prompt: “I haven’t had another episode, except last night was touch and go.”

Word count: 1797

CW: Psych ward, talks of depressive episodes, brief mention of dermatillomania, schizoaffective disorder, child death

***

“Mr. Marcel?” the voice at his door made Crockett groan, recognizing the voice as the nurse who always disturbed him at ridiculous hours. He wanted to have a talk with whoever decided pill time would be at six in the morning, how was he supposed to “heal” if they never let him get any sleep?

“Maggie, can’t you let me sleep for another hour,” he rolled over and sighed when she shook her head. Medication and vitals were a morning routine, every day before the sun even thought about rising completely. Routine was good, they told him, a routine would help with figuring out what was reality and what was his mind playing tricks. He didn’t think so, nothing would stop the fact that he saw his daughter clear as day despite the 5th anniversary of her death steadily approaching.

“Up and at ‘em, mister,” the nurse mused as she marched over with his tray and the cart carrying the monitors. He obliged because he had no choice but to do so, even though he hated the way the pills made him feel. Antipsychotics were something Crockett hated, ever since his diagnosis back when he was just twenty-one. They made him feel incorrect, as if he was floating through life with blinders on. He knew they were supposed to help, to show him what was really there, but he couldn’t help but think it made him more miserable.

“You have one-on-one therapy today,” she reminded him as she watched Crockett take his pills and then checked under his tongue to ensure he wasn’t hiding them. He had tried that a couple times and sometimes it worked on the younger nurses, but not Maggie. She knew all, especially these kinds of tricks, and Crockett wasn’t about to risk mandatory IV medications for another month just for one day without the drugs.

“Oh lovely,” he muttered, “Not that Charles guy again, right? He’s insufferable.”

Maggie laughed, “Oh please, Daniel is just fine.”

“Insufferable,” he restated with an eye-roll, still complying when she held out the pulse oximeter to clip it to his fingertip. Maggie just hummed, watching the machine for a moment before speaking.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. If it makes it any better, though, you’ll be seeing Doctor Reese today.”

That brought a smile to his face, though it was one that never quite reached his eyes. Maggie wasn’t sure if she had ever seen a genuine smile from Crockett, certainly not since Harper’s death and the worsening of his illness. Still, if one thing made his days more bearable it was sessions with Doctor Reese, who Crockett had started to consider more of a friend than a physician by that point.

“Our Sarah,” he hummed as she took the device off his hand, “She’s lovely.”

“She is,” the nurse agreed, “Now go get ready for the day, Crockett. You’ll be expected in the dining hall by 7:00 and I certainly won't have you slumming around in your pyjamas all day; you know the drill.”

***

By noon, Crockett was ready to go back to bed. Breakfast had been as dull as always, with his friend Ava in solitary for the next two days he didn’t have many people to speak to. Well, Natalie liked to talk to him but, if he was being honest, she could be a little much. She was just excited, Maggie insisted, but she tried to get Crockett to talk about his hallucinations far too often for him to be comfortable.

Jimmy sat with him that day, though. He didn’t talk much, or ever really, but he was decent company. They played cards together sometimes and always partnered for the team-building exercises in group therapy. Crockett didn’t press for verbal communication and Jimmy never judged him for his episodes; it was a friendship built on silent respect and they were both pleased with that arrangement. Still, Crockett often preferred to be alone, and that day was no different, so he retreated to his bedroom the second they allowed him to.

When nurse April arrived at his door with her tablet in hand, Crockett had been staring blankly at the TV. It wasn’t on, never was, but he watched it as if the most riveting program was playing. He wasn’t focusing on a delusion, though, and he promised April that when she asked if he was okay. The meds got rid of most of his visual symptoms, though the auditory ones were still a frequent occurrence with or without the drugs. He just liked to look at the TV, letting his mind wander to a time where he could actually enjoy television. It had been about five years by then, the last movie he remembered watching being the Princess and the Frog. Harper had loved that movie and talked excitedly of visiting New Orleans to see where her papa and Princess Tiana were both from. She never got there, unfortunately; the cancer taking her before her dad had the time to buy plane tickets.

“Come now, Crockett. Sarah is waiting in the conference room for you.”

He let the nurse lead him down the hall, silent because his head was still miles away. He was alert and lucid, that wasn’t the problem. Today it wasn’t delusions that plagued Crockett, instead it was the memories that had started to hurt him the most. Sarah would ask about that, especially once she saw the semi-lunar marks along the inside of his wrists, turning to scratches that curled up towards his biceps. Maggie hadn’t seen them because of his long sleeve shirt that morning but Sarah would check, she always did. It’s not as though Crockett did it on purpose, but when he couldn’t sleep at night and his skin was crawling all he could do was dig his nails in and pray for it to stop. The bugs weren’t there, Sarah always said they weren’t real, but his skin felt wrong and nothing would stop it. He had to scratch, he would tell her; it was the only way to make it stop.

“Crockett,” she greeted him cheerfully the second he stepped into the room, “Have a seat.”

“Hello, Sarah,” he replied as kindly as he could, though he was a bit distracted. His mood had been pretty low all morning, which was probably evident in his posture and demeanour.

“How have you been doing?

Crockett just shrugged, occupying himself with studying Sarah’s name badge. She had gotten a new one, the piece of plastic now boasting “psychiatry fellow”. She had been his secondary therapist since she was just in her second year of residency, so it was nice to see her climbing the ranks. It was well deserved, of course; Sarah had been the one constant in his most recent stay that kept Crockett relatively sane.

“Crockett?”

“Fine, I guess,” he muttered, “I haven’t had another episode… except last night was touch and go.”

“How so?” She was always so patient, not pushing too much, but she did need answers. If he was still having episodes on his antipsychotics, they may need to adjust the dosage again. He hoped she wouldn’t, though, because he hated the constant brain fog that came along with high dosing.

“A low, again.” he was fidgeting with his sleeve, not able to make eye contact at that point. His depression was a topic he never liked to discuss, since it was an aspect of his disorder he hadn’t been aware of until after Harper. Before it was just schizophrenia, a diagnosis that came about after a paranoia episode landed him in handcuffs in the security office at his university. However, when he hit a major low after Harper’s leukaemia was found, his primary psychiatrist noted that his diagnosis may be more than they expected. Schizoaffective disorder with the depression variant, he was told, and that was probably a factor in why he didn’t respond to the medications in the beginning.

“I see,” Sarah typed something onto his chart before looking up at him with gentle eyes, “Do you want to share how you felt?”

“I miss her,” he admitted softly, “It’s hard.”

“I know, I’m genuinely sorry, Crockett. Harper must have been so loved, I’m sure she misses you.”

“The meds…” Crockett huffed, “I can’t see her anymore.”

“Crockett, she’s not there,” Sarah’s words were gentle but still firm, as if he needed a reminder that his only daughter was dead before she even got to live a proper life. That reality was something that never left his mind, a nagging feeling that haunted him every single day. Meds or not, it was hard, but without seeing Harper daily, Crockett began to feel like he would forget her.

“Sarah, I need to see her.”

“I can’t do that, you know how unsafe it can be to take you off such a high dosage. I know you are upset but we can talk through this, okay?”

“No!” he was getting frustrated, even though he hated to yell at Sarah. She didn’t understand how important this was. He didn’t care if she was dead and she claimed the delusions weren’t real, he just wanted his daughter back. Even if it wasn’t the proper reality, maybe Crockett didn’t want to live in one without Harper. He told Sarah that much, upset that she would claim that she isn’t there anymore. She is always there; sitting on his bed and playing with her stuffed bunny, singing songs from those Disney shows she adored so much. Crockett saw her, held her close when the bad feelings returned and he felt like he was drowning. His baby would never leave him, she couldn't; Harper was all he had left.

“Hey,” Sarah spoke quickly when she recognized his agitation, “I’m sorry. Tell Harper I didn’t mean any harm, next time she’s around, okay? Can we start over, please?”

He frowned, knowing what she was doing, but nodded all the same. He didn’t want to fight with Sarah, she was one of the only staff members around here that he properly trusted. She didn’t want to upset him and she didn’t want to take his daughter away, it was just hard to recognize that sometimes. She wanted to help, to understand his mind, and maybe it was time for Crockett to let someone in again. It had been far too long.

“Start from the beginning,” she prompted as he slowly relaxed again, “How long ago did this low start?”

[ghostmartyr]

how a life can move from the darkness [1/?]

Yo.

This wasn’t at all how I planned doing this, but who needs plans, really?

This is the first part of a fic not intentionally designed to be separated into parts. It’s unedited, somewhat long, and very indulgent.

What it contains:

Two drug addicts meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery.

High octane awkward Eren and Historia brotp. Pure gen, pure disaster.

EMA feels of the brand where Eren doesn’t make out with either of them, but if he did, you wouldn’t, like, be shocked? The One True Threesome energy stops at the gen door, but it’s there.

Ymir is there (though not yet; slow burn in all walks of genre), and she and Historia have emotions, and it’s complicated, and they’re morons. The parts where they make out on a countertop haven’t been written yet, but it’s very clear that if they could, that’s all they’d spend their lives doing.

And before I ruin mobile users lives, uh. I worked really hard on all of this, even though I never reached the editing stage, so if you wanna comment if you like any of it, that would be rad.

With that, off to the races.

Eren hated going to meetings. He hated the squeaky floors. He hated the creak all of the chairs made when someone sat down. Or moved. He hated the steadily more concerned looks the group leader, Petra, sent him when he stopped opening his mouth during. He hated listening to all the horrible things everyone had done to the people they loved. He hated knowing he had done worse.

He hated the look on his mom’s face when he didn’t go.

He hated that it made him think of pills. Over a month after rehab, over a month of several meetings a week, and every time someone had an emotion near him, he wished he could go back to being high.

He kept hearing that was normal.

The itch under his hands, the loud thump of his heart, the violent mood swings. The nightmares. All normal. Everything that had got him hooked was a normal part of the recovery process.

“My name’s Eren, and I’m an addict,” he said at meetings. Sometimes he’d try, just in case there was something to it. Sometimes he talked about his mom and the missing lock from his door and how much he missed—living alone. He’d grown out of having his mother hover over him, and that was a normal thing to feel frustration about. Even though he deserved it.

Normal.

What he never said at group anymore was, “My name’s Eren, and I’m a murderer.”

That was less normal, and it made everyone uncomfortable. They were all thieves and liars. Some of them had watched people die. One person was there every single session, gnawing his fingernails down to bloody stubs, because he knew what it was like to watch the light leave someone’s eyes when they were gone for good. That was when he knew he had to get clean.

That was when Eren had decided to get high.

No one liked to think about what it was like to be the cause.

He’d gone to therapy for it, before everyone had agreed that rehab was the more necessary treatment. He’d yelled a lot. The therapist said that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself over an accident, and he’d yelled more and stopped going.

He didn’t yell at meetings. When people yelled at meetings, it bounced back around the gym. Like one of the basketballs in the locked cage in the corner. It made Eren’s ears ring and a scream that had nothing to do with words would build up in his chest until he tasted blood in his mouth.

That didn’t help much. It brought back to mind cramped cars and more hysterical screams and flashing lights and his father’s hand in his hair and tears that felt like fire and burnt flesh and he hadn’t taken anything in over a month he couldn’t be floating this far from his body and group was over.

Group was over.

He could hear Petra announce it.

It echoed less the third time he heard it.

He wasn’t the last one to stand up. The chairs all screeched together, but standing wasn’t something any of them wanted to do. He wasn’t a great participant, but he could at least listen. Their lives all sucked. No one was in a rush to go back to the real world. Except maybe the tall freckled guy. Marco. He was mastering his recovery, and all set to head back to grad school any day now. His worst problem was fearing that it would all go away when he went back. Eren hoped it didn’t. Marco had lost it trying to support his sick grandparents, dosing himself with anything to make it through the day. He wasn’t a bad guy. He was the kind of guy the rest of them mugged for drug money.

Eren wandered over to the vending machines, where the refreshment table was set out. Petra brought cookies most weeks. She told him she baked to keep from getting baked. One of the guys in group had laughed so hard that he wet himself, and no one was that surprised to hear from his buddy that he was back in rehab.

Petra’s cookies were terrible. Eren made himself eat them. She smiled when he did, and the ritual put something in his stomach. He had trouble eating before meetings. He was supposed to be talking about that. He wasn’t, because it all came back to murder and discomfort and…

His mother told him he needed to try.

She was right. He hated that, too. He hated it so much that he stopped in the middle of breaking his teeth on Petra’s stone-hard chocolate chip cookies and stared at the wall wishing he could have his meds back before he thought about something stupid like killing her too.

Drugs. His drugs. Not meds. When they were meds, they were always someone else’s. He was never supposed to be on anything except painkillers for his broken leg.

Petra had told him on their first meeting—had taken him aside and put her hand on his shoulder—more gently than she had any reason to be, that she wished they worked on broken hearts too.

He hadn’t been planning to go to the second. She said that, and he did.

He hated meetings.

He chewed through the rest of his cookie mechanically, trying not to let it show on his face that swallowing felt like swallowing a hundred tiny pebbles, and trying not to think about bright eyes chattering about dinosaurs and digestive strategies.

The first went okay.

The second had hatred wrapping around his throat like a vice of fire, and the table he was grabbing shook enough to rattle the rock cookies against their plate. Petra brought her real plates for them. They were loud and unbearable under the massive ticking clock stapled to the wall and he wanted to hurt things.

It was not the time for the tiny blonde girl who sat across from him every week to walk over and say hello. It was not the time for anyone to be saying hello to him, when he already had one body on his ledger and that hadn’t been enough to stop him from getting into fights and watching the blood spill, and fuck he needed something to stop this.

Something said, quietly, “Do you want to share an apartment?”

The table stopped rattling. The clock above it didn’t stop ticking.

Eren stared blankly at the girl. “What?”

The same dead eyes he saw in his mother’s bathroom mirror before he smashed it stared back at him, missing any hint that something strange had just been said so completely that he wondered if he had taken something and was now obliviously tripping into oblivion.

“My sister won’t let me live by myself. I need a roommate.”

Eren was still staring. His mom would say he was being rude. Another thing she was right about, but guilt was preoccupied with too many other things. “Have we talked before?” he asked.

He didn’t think she ever spoke in group. He saw her there almost every time, and some days they’d make eye contact and keep it because they always ended up sitting across from each other. They were both so dead inside that it wasn’t creepy. Eren thought that might be the other way around, but his eyes needed something to stay stuck on when he didn’t feel like talking, and she never said a word about it.

“No,” she said, “but you said last week that living with your mother wasn’t going well.”

Eren had taken his hands off the table. “It isn’t,” he said.

“You don’t need to pay rent if you don’t want to.”

Eren was twice the girl’s size. There was no reason to worry about her succeeding in harvesting his organs. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to wonder about it. “I have money,” he said. Defensively. He couldn’t work some of the jobs he wanted to anymore, but he wasn’t broke. Yet.

“That’s fine too. I just need a roommate.”

Eren was tired, he hated everything, and if he had a home he could go back to without pain, he would be going back to it. He looked at the girl. She was still tiny. A tiny, breakable drug addict. “You were there the day I said I killed someone, right?”

His voice broke in the wrong places, making him sound wrecked instead of threatening.

The girl nodded.

“Yes,” she said, before adding, the way his mom remarked on the weather these days when they were alone in the kitchen and no one was speaking, “I killed my father too.”

The clock was ticking too loud to think time had stopped. Or even slowed. If anything, it was speeding up. Eren reached for another cookie. He couldn’t make himself take it. His fingers were too heavy. He dropped his hand back to his side before he sweat all over Petra’s hard work.

“Oh,” he said. Maybe out loud.

His heart was beating too hard again. Several people were still loitering by the chairs. No one was walking over to the refreshment table. The people who went to meetings and got along with each other went out to coffee. Or invited each other over for lunch. The leftovers were not going to think Petra’s cookies were worth interrupting the weird, staring children who didn’t want to be here.

The weird, staring children who weren’t trusted out in the world on their own. Because they murdered people and did drugs.

“When can I move in?”

----

Her name was Historia. If anyone asked, they were sponsoring each other. Specifically, if Petra, Eren’s mother, or Historia’s sister asked, they were firmly united in their journey through continued sobriety, and weren’t leaving home so they could run away and do more drugs. They were mature, responsible adults, and being able to live in their own space would make them less likely to kill again.

Eren hadn’t meant to say that out loud when he and Historia were practicing their lines. They agreed to leave it out of the final cut.

The final cut never seemed to end. His mom was relieved that he had a friend, but the suddenness of Historia’s introduction and their decision to move in together set off the same alarm bells that landed him in rehab. Historia’s base personality didn’t help. His mom was used to him being unhinged, but seeing it in someone else just brought in the question of which drugs were involved. She’d insisted on speaking to Historia’s sister, and if Eren had anything breakable left in his room, he probably would have gone after it. He wasn’t sure if he was a child or a prisoner in her eyes.

Or just her last remaining family.

That line of thought put him down a very bad road, so he didn’t engage. After the fifth dent in his wall.

Historia’s sister Frieda, in comparison, was easy. She took one glance at Eren, said, “isn’t that a familiar look,” and told them both that she was keeping a key. She wouldn’t go out of her way to bother them, but she would show up without asking. She would be their final, invisible roommate.

Historia said Frieda was a social worker. Eren didn’t think he had a feeling about that, but anything that made her more comfortable measuring him up was probably a positive in all of this.

They were not allowed to be in the room when his mom talked to Frieda. He and Historia spent an hour staring at peeling wallpaper in the living room. Interspersed with thoughts on how their family members would get along. They died off fast. Eren hadn’t known Frieda long, but she was better put together than any of them combined, and it showed.

Even if he’d caught the same shadows his mom had when she looked at Historia.

After a harrowing conversation with his mother pushing for someone to help him pack up his things (someone someone someone like he didn’t know exactly who she meant), he was set to go. He asked Historia if she was okay being his someone, even though she was tiny and not anyone’s choice for a moving buddy, and that kept his mom from digging her heels in too deep.

“They are still your friends, Eren,” she’d said. Volume worked with her to make the point, and for once Eren hadn’t had a smart answer to fire back.

He didn’t know if his mom knew the exact number of the ignored texts and calls on his phone, but he did know Historia was the only person who’d willingly stepped into his house since he destroyed everything.

Not thinking about that was a symptom of treatment. He wasn’t going to improve if he kept dwelling on the negatives.

He wasn’t sure if the lying had come with the drug habit or after, but if he ever met himself in a dark alley, he’d add another body to his count. One without all the guilt.

Moving into the new apartment was weird, and he told Historia so. It only had two bedrooms, but it was gigantic, and even though he knew that Historia had lived there once before, the space was completely scrubbed of any personal touches. It was like being in a hotel. Historia said maid service would do that. She was not joking.

Eren couldn’t figure out if he was stable enough or dead enough to adjust to the concept of strangers regularly cleaning his room, but Historia was a stranger to start with, so he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on anyway.

The giant area rugs kept the echoes to a minimum, and there were no ticking clocks that he could hear. There was also much less white than he’d expected, walking around Frieda’s place. He didn’t want to ask if that was because it made her think of hospitals too. Historia answered any and all questions honestly, and it made him want to return the favor.

Petra would be delighted.

---

“How bad is it if I punch the walls?”

Historia was lying on the floor. She spent every day trying to lock herself in her room, then lost and stepped out into the main room with a textbook under her arm. There was a chance she really read them. It still reminded him of past someones pointedly flipping a page and not looking at him when he committed such heinous crimes as finishing off the wrong brand of cereal.

Eren’s chest hurt along with his scraped hands.

“It depends,” Historia said, resting her chin in the middle of the pages. “Breaking your hand might count as drug-seeking behavior.”

He hadn’t thought of that. He should have. He should have had any thought at all that stopped him from wanting to scream at the top of his lungs and letting the swell of rage take over until hitting things sounded like a good idea.

His head joined the pain party. He wanted his pills.

“I was more concerned about the walls,” he said.

Historia shrugged. “The walls are easier to fix than we are. Money works on them.”

Eren couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He thought he wanted to laugh. He walked over to the couch and sat on it, putting a step between him and staring listlessly at the ceiling. He was still being a pathetic bastard, but he was finding speed bumps. They were easier to hit out of his mom’s house.

He had no idea if Historia was finding any. He was probably supposed to, if they were taking the sponsor thing seriously, but he wasn’t sure if they had anything to say about everything without bringing up patricide. That was a loaded first topic. The walls could use a break.

“What are you studying?”

“Veterinary medicine.”

“Cool.” He wanted to lie down. He could not lie down. “You want to be a vet?”

“Things are dying around me all the time anyway,” Historia said. She turned a page.

Some roommates had chore wheels. Maybe they needed a conversation wheel. Only they’d need someone else to build it so they had topics besides drugs and death. Eren gave it a shot without one. “Most vets just say they like animals.”

He didn’t know why that was the wrong thing to say. He had never been good at this. But that look wasn’t the look small talk was supposed to bring out. Historia looked like Armin that time they got lost at a theme park—

Eren really wanted to lie down.

“I like animals,” Historia said. The words came out like pulled teeth. She looked at him. “What do you like, Eren?”

Eren stiffened. At the tip of his tongue should have been something about fightingdrugsarminmikasa. A joke or a truth. Something about the ceilings they kept staring at instead of going outside and doing something with the rest of the world. Something.

There should have been something.

Maybe that was why it was the wrong thing to say. Historia couldn’t remember what it was like to like things, either.

---

Eren still had two of his jobs. He wasn’t sure how. He would have fired him. He was supervising rock climbers while he was high. Never outside the building, since his manager wanted to be sure he was recovered from… His manager wanted to be sure his body was in peak condition when he went with the free climbers. His manager had saved lives, and now Eren peed in a cup and they didn’t talk about it.

Keeping his other job was less surprising, because his clients didn’t have to worry so much about his mental stability. They just needed someone to train with.

That used to cover broader categories. Then he had a flashback over breaking his sparring partner’s nose and. And. Now he mostly stuck to advertising running.

It shouldn’t have been a challenge to change that on the website, but every click brought him closer to the guy who set it up for him, who had made this possible past just word of mouth, and just because Historia let him scream himself hoarse in the bathroom didn’t mean it was where he wanted to be with his life, but every single time…

His best friend. Not just some guy. His best friend.

Armin.

Eren lost a step to his pace. Reiner, huffing behind him and swearing, didn’t notice. Eren had met him in rehab, and Reiner had kept his number. He’d been even worse off than Eren, and when he started coming out of it, he spent all of his time trying to get his body back. Pushups when he was supposed to be sleeping, pull-ups on parts of the building that weren’t designed for it.

He’d done amateur MMA. Like Eren.

Reiner was going to make it back to that if he had anything to say about it.

Running wasn’t the magic bullet for emotional release that fighting was, but it got Eren outside, people were still paying him to kick their asses into high gear, and when they asked him where he’d been, they weren’t looking for a real answer.

Eren ran up the hill, Reiner trying to close in behind him. No one had put him through physical therapy while he was indulging his drug habit. Eren had seen clips. They should have fought before they forgot how to be sober. It would’ve been fun.

Now he thought about punching anyone but himself and all he could feel was warm blood pooling around his freezing hands.

His shoe hit a rock.

This was where he was supposed to call his sponsor.

He was running. For work.

The trail summit wasn’t far off. Reiner sounded like he needed a break anyway. They could stop, and he could tell Historia he was having a rough day. Like he didn’t go home and put that on full display every single time it happened. Every single day.

He called a halt too soon. He didn’t know if that meant he had been running too fast or if he’d spaced out again, and Reiner’s heaving breaths didn’t point any helpful fingers. He walked over to the bench that looked over the hill and started his stretches against it. He wasn’t hiding pulling out his phone. He wouldn’t lie if Reiner caught him with it. He just didn’t need to call attention to it.

He checked over his shoulder. Reiner was taking in the view and the overfriendly bird pecking at his shoe. The wildlife here had learned that humans meant food. The Parks and Rec department’s disagreement didn’t have much of an effect on that. Reiner was reaching an empty hand down for the critter to investigate.

Eren couldn’t tell if Reiner enjoyed nature or thought part of his recovery had to be learning to enjoy nature. Everyone he hung out with these days was stuck in a cycle of healthy behavior whether they were into it or not.

He looked down at his phone. He brought up his messages to Historia before he could read the number of unread texts from other someones. Armin. …Mikasa. He thought they’d added a digit. He wasn’t going to check. The curiosity bred hope, and the memories behind that led to wrath and busted walls.

He looked at his phone.

It is Tuesday morning and I want drugs.

Nice.

He couldn’t come up with a good way to say it. A way that sounded like he was making some progress instead of straddling a fence. But he’d promised his mom he’d try. He’d promised himself he’d try. The person who didn’t try was a thieving jackass, and he wasn’t going back to that. So he sent the bad text.

Historia messaged him back.

That’s unusual?

Eren held his phone under his head’s shadow. To read the words better.

They didn’t change. They weren’t joined by any more, either.

He closed his eyes. Opened them.

He sent her a picture of the bird Reiner had coaxed onto his shoulder.

They both sucked at this.

[next]

[jamaiskookie]

mutuals (pjmxreader) [bonus:celibacy]

~mutuals~ [youtuber!reader x idol!jimin] social media AU

synopsis: park jimin is a (slightly problematic) idol singer, and he becomes completely smitten with a youtuber after stumbling upon her dance cover to his own song.

genre: fluff, a good dosing of cracK, literally two seconds of angst blink and u miss it

word count:  2.3k

[A/N]: thank you for all the love you’ve given mutuals! can’t believe it’s only been like one week since this blog has been up hehE enjoy this drabble of thirsty!jimin after he found your video. if you have no idea what i’m talking about gO READ THE FIRST CHAPTER

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           When JinHit first hit record sales with the success of Jimin’s mini album, and RAPLINE’s first title single a couple years ago, Jin finally gave in to Jimin’s begging and gave all the artists their own personalised studio in the JinHit building. It’s where all the greatest hits on the charts are written. It’s practically the modern eighth wonder of the world, considering the names and talent that have graced the walls. 

          Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon all have their separate studios to write, produce, and record in, and all three of the small rooms are located next to each other. Partially because of design and common sense, but also so all three friends can conveniently annoy each other when needed. Jin’s office isn’t too far away either, just across the floor. Usually, if they’re all working in the studio, they’ll walk over to Jin’s office during lunch hour and leech off his amazing personal pantry in his office. The office is much, much bigger than their studios, and Jimin never fails to remind Jin that. 

          All three artists have grown a little attached to their studios. It’s where they do what they all love most, after all. Yoongi barely lets anyone into his ‘Genius Lab’, and ever since a staff member accidentally messed with his coffee machine, he hasn’t let anyone step foot in. Nobody’s even allowed to come inside Namjoon’s studio during what he calls his ‘namjoon talent time’ which is basically just a period of time before comeback season where he locks himself in the studio, writing music 24/7. 

          He occasionally asks Jimin to listen to his unreleased files for suggestions, but other than that, noone except Yoongi goes inside his studio during ‘namjoon talent time’, and Namjoon only reluctantly lets him in as his bandmate. Not that Jimin minds, he hasn’t been let inside since he accidentally mistook Joon’s studio for his own and brought one of his one-night-stands over. Joonie was horrified, and made Jimin sanitise, wash and clean every part of the room, all while he cried about how his ‘baby was molested’. It was traumatising for both parties. 

          Out of the three, Jimin’s the least protective over his studio, even though he’s the one who put the most effort into it. He’s spent years perfecting it, making it the best place for inspiration and writing music. Everything in the studio has been personally chosen and thought out by him. The snacks and custom mini fridge, the wall of his entire discography, trophies, music awards, and his personal favourite, the official JIMIN logo sign above the couch. 

          It lights up in purple.

          Despite being a pretty stereotypical assholey partying douche idol, Jimin’s likes to think he’s actually quite talented. He’s been named ‘Most professional idol’ on every single online survey he can find (He’s also always voted for ‘Most handsome’, but that’s besides the point), and it’s true. Jimin never sells himself short. He is a professional musician, singer, and producer. He writes his own music, choreographs his own dancing, and uses his platform to spread positive, meaningful messages. There’s a reason he’s so internationally successful, and it’s because he’s talented. 

          Maybe right now isn’t a great example of his talent. Jimin was in his studio, holding his head in his hands. Sure, he’s a globally recognised and accomplished songwriter, but to be honest, he hadn’t written a single piece of original JIMIN music since he wrote ‘Filter’ with Namjoon months ago. He was in the biggest creative slump in his entire career. He had tried almost everything, co-writing, exercise, music samples, playing around on instruments. Hell he even tried music therapy. Whatever melody he tried to create, whatever lyrics he tried to write, it all came out sounding like garbage. 

          Yesterday was a little bit of a blow to Jimin’s ego. It was three in the morning, and he’d been in the studio for seven hours, with only one verse written. 

I love to let loose,

Have you ever tried eating moose?

It’s all so bananas,

Tony fucking Montana. 

          Yeah, it’s pretty embarrassing. It’s not even a verse, it looks more like a kindergartener’s attempt to write poetry. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t really feel like writing music or putting his thoughts in a song. Jimin is just plain out of ideas. He has nothing to write about. And if he doesn’t have good content to put out, he’d rather not put anything out at all. 

          But he still hates it. All his life, he’s coped by writing, singing and dancing. This writer’s block has been too frustrating. Too many sleepless nights and crumpled papers have been wasted over it, with no progress or music in result. Plus, Jin might be one of his closest friends, but Jin was also a boss, and he still needed more tracks for Jimin’s big comeback, happening end of the year. 

          He can’t help it. Jimin has nothing left to write about. He opened one eye when he heard the distant ding of his phone coming from somewhere in the studio. Grumbling incoherently, he opened the notification, to find… you. 

          Jimin’s mouth was hanging open the entire video. His eyes twitched the tiniest bit and he almost dropped the phone when you said his face was “decent”, but he had to watch it again, because the first time around, he didn’t hear a word that came out your damn mouth. He was otherwise… preoccupied. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t tear his damn eyes off the screen. Curse Min Yoongi for sending him this. 

          He even cringed when he had to bring his sleeve up to wipe the tiniest bit of drool off his face. Practically salivating. What the fuck? How old was he? He was Park Jimin, why was he popping a boner from watching some stranger on the internet dance to his songs? He’s been in the industry for way too long now, he was practically immune to scantily clad women prancing around him. So why he completed concentrated on your stupid little crop top? Not to mention, you were practically insulting him at this point. What was so special? 

          For one moment, Jimin forced his eyes off the screen, wondering if the sleep deprivation had really affected him that much, or if this was another side effect of the writer’s block he’s been having. It’s the partying ‘clean act’ ban Jin’s been forcing me to go on, he thought, even though Jimin wasn’t totally convinced of that. (Despite swearing not to, he looked straight back to down at his phone afterwards to reply the video.) 

          He was so fixated on the screen, he didn’t even notice when Yoongi flung the door open and walked inside. Jimin only lifted his head when he heard Yoongi’s obnoxiously loud groan. 

          “What- When did you get here?” Yoongi recently went back to a fan-favourite hair colour of his, and Jimin was still not used to seeing him with bright mint coloured hair. In his opinion, he looked like a highlighter, but Yoongi seemed to not mind it. 

          “I’ve been standing here for the past two minutes, drinking my coffee. The fuck you watching on your phone that’s got you drooling?” 

          “NOTHING.” Yoongi narrowed his eyes, and before Jimin could even move away, he managed to snatch the phone away from Jimin’s hands. 

          “What the fuck- how? You know, this is why your fanbase thinks you’re a cat.” Yoongi ignored his words with ease. “Oh my god,” He said. “Are you watching the video I sent you? I didn’t expect you to actually watch it.” 

          “I always watch my fan’s videos after a comeback!” Jimin insisted, clawing upwards to steal his own phone back, but Yoongi kept slapping his hands away. 

          “Yeah, but this isn’t a fan. This is just like, one of your fanboys and a girl roasting you.” Yoongi stared back at Jimin suspiciously when he tried to defend himself. “Why were you watching this girl dance like a starving man, Chim?” 

          “Just, because- what- I was nOT watching her like a starving man. Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of a pervert!” Jimin finally managed to grab ahold of his phone again, and he threw it behind him on the couch, away from Yoongi. 

          “Hyung,” He sighed. “I think maybe it’s Jin’s new ‘clean, good boy’ rule. Along with this stupid fucking slump I’ve been having these days, I just don’t feel great, okay? So don’t be so fussy with me. I can’t write, I can’t party… If I want to ogle over some random girl on the internet, I will.” Jimin cringed once the words came out of his mouth, but Yoongi slowly nodded, sitting down on the couch. 

          Min Yoongi may be a little too gay to understand Jimin’s womaniser ways, but the frustration behind not being able to write music, that, he understood. “You’re trying to justify being a perv by using your mental problems, but I’ll talk to you about that later on.”

          “Chim, we all have our slumps. It’s honestly a wonder that this is your first serious creative block. Me and Joon, and every single artist in the world, is bound to go through that at some point. It’s not the end. You’ll still be able to write good music soon, you’re a good writer.” Jimin refused to meet Yoongi’s eyes, even if what he was saying did make a little sense. He just chose to stay silent. 

          “You just have nothing left to write about. You can’t keep living like this though, Chimmy. It’s unhealthy.” 

          “What do you mean, unhealthy? I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” 

          Yoongi stared at him deadpan, gesturing to the entire state of his studio. “It’s a complete mess in here,” He said. “Plus, I don’t think you’ve left this studio for days. The others may not want to say it to your face, but we’re all a bit worried about you. Stop forcing yourself to ingest all these redbulls to try to keep writing.” 

          “When inspiration comes, it’ll come. You can’t force it, it doesn’t work that way. What you need, is a break. Go back home for once, maybe visit your mom. And for god’s sakes, take a shower please. Trust me, okay?”

          Yoongi doesn’t like admitting it, but he’s the most caring one out of their friend group. Anyone can tell from the look in his eyes right now, that he’s genuinely concerned about his friend. He’s also the one with most sense, but Jimin will never tell him that, because his advice, no matter how sensible, is useless. 

          All he’s known is singing, writing, and throwing himself in work. To just stop? Even if it’s to take a short break, it doesn’t feel right to Jimin. Instead of telling Yoongi his problems, he just poked his tongue in his cheek. If lightbulbs actually popped up above people’s heads when they had a good idea, a massive one would’ve appeared on top of Jimin’s. 

          “I’ve got it!” He said, excitedly. Yoongi sat up straight. “You’re going to take my advice for once?”

          “No, of course not, Hyung. Don’t be silly.” Yoongi slouched his back again, closing his eyes. 

          “I’ll just hit this girl up!” Yoongi’s eyes snapped open. 

          “What.” 

          “Yeah! Who knows, y’know? Maybe I’ve been keeping myself to Jin’s rules a little too well. It won’t hurt the company if I let myself go just once. Blow off some steam, come back fresh and recharged.” Jimin rubbed his hands together like a bad Disney villain. 

          “It’s too early for this.” Yoongi whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

          “It’s three in the afternoon.” Yoongi ignored him. 

          “You really aren’t going to take my advice, huh.” 

          “Nope!” Jimin said, popping the ‘p’ annoyingly. 

          “You promised Jin you’d go celibate.”

          “I said I’d clean up the partying act. I don’t recall taking a vow of celibacy.” Yoongi just sighed, and fell back down on the sofa, mindlessly sipping at his coffee. 

          Jimin hesitated. “You’re not going to… tell me not to? Or give me another one of your eco-feminist speeches again?” Yoongi shrugged. 

          “You’ve heard it too many times. Plus, I have a feeling this is going to be funny.” 

          “Funny? Hyung, what part of this could possible be funny to you?” There was a brief pause filled with awkward silence, before Yoongi blinked slowly. 

          “When she rejects you, of course.” Jimin threw his jacket, aimed straight for Yoongi’s head. His stupidly fast cat-like reflexes managed to dodge it, but Jimin scowled at him nonetheless. 

          “She’s not going to reject me.” Jimin walked over, picking up the very same jacket he threw at Yoongi, before plopping his sunglasses back on his face. “No woman has ever managed to reject me before, and I intend on adding her to that list.” He pursed his lips. 

          “Plus, she’s super hot. Great ass. Attractive people attract attractive people.” Jimin turned his phone back on once more to sneak one last peek at you in the thumbnail of the video, before stuffing his phone into his back pocket. “I just need to get it out of my system. This might be what I need to get me out of this creative rut!”

          He could’ve sworn Yoongi muttered something under his breath, something along the lines of ‘fucking asshole’, but he chose to ignore it. 

          “Alright, well, see you, Yoons!” Jimin practically skipped out of the studio, startling the producer’s assistant outside with his slightly disturbing enlarged grin. 

          “Don’t come crying to me when she refuses to get in your pants, you fucking diva!”

          Jimin continued walking towards the elevator, but he threw up his middle finger behind him. 

“DON���T RUIN MY EXIT, BITCH!” 

[taglist:] @notmontae97​​ @lucedelsole97​

[phoenix-angel-suyari]

I’m having a really rough day and I can’t even drink.

I don’t even know where to start...

So, I think I’m just gonna bullet point this bitch. 

- On Monday, I missed my therapy appointment which I only get once every 2-3 weeks and never seem to be long enough at anywhere from 20-40 minutes per session depending upon my therapist’s availability. There’s a LOT wrong with my therapy situation, but at the moment I’m honestly, seriously lucky to be able to have therapy at all in the first place. So as much as it sucks, at the very least I am receiving mental health care and that’s all that matters. 

However, my missed therapy appointment was not my fault. The night before I was called by the office in regards to my appointment and the coming storm. I was offered a rescheduled in person or a telehealth appointment. Now, as much as I despise the telehealth appointments - entirely because of my living situation - as rare as my appointments can be, semi-consistent therapy has caused me to sort of NEED them. I never get around to actually talking about what I need or want to talk about, but just venting some things is helpful so I opted for the telehealth appointment instead. I was told my appointment had been turned into a telehealth and would retain it’s time slot. 

The next morning, I made sure I was awake and prepared. Nine o’clock came. No phone call. So, I waited. Ten o’clock came. No phone call. By eleven, I thought, I’d make brunch (I only eat twice a day) because I needed to take my medication. By twelve, I figured, I’d go shovel because the snow was coming down by the foot. My therapist called while I was shoveling and was told I was unavailable. She said she’d call back at 1. So I finished up, took a quick shower to get warm and waited. I ended up waiting all day and she never called back. 

I’d assumed initially when time was going by and she wasn’t calling that perhaps I had been the only one who opted for telehealth and she’d misread an email that had let her know she essentially had the day free. I still don’t know what happened there, but I am hoping it doesn’t count as some sort of strike against me (the hospital has a three strikes and they drop you situation) because it was NOT my fault. 

Regardless, now it’s gonna be over a month between when I last spoke to my therapist and when I next speak to my therapist. And honestly, the only saving grace is that I will be seeing my Psychiatrist on Tuesday and she’ll listen to me and I can cry in her office if I need to then. 

- I’m smack dab in the middle of a mid life crisis and I’ve been struggling with it. I know I’d still be where I am if not for covid, but I still can’t help like feeling as if covid has made me lose valuable time I will never get back and which I am quickly running out of to turn my life around. 

This has not been aided at all by a slew of strange but not disturbing, just confusing as hell dreams, and my family being my family. 

- Speaking of my family...

Yesterday, some of us who have been tested recently and/or already finished receiving both doses of vaccination got together for the first time in a year. And it was nice. Enjoyable. I couldn’t really drink because my new meds really do not mesh well with alcohol - which I tested safely at home and learned the hard way. 

Now, it’s important to note that my sister has been pressuring me to open an OnlyFans because in her opinion it’s something easy I can do to make money and it makes no sense for me not to. (We’re not going to get into these “discussions” held previously, only know there have been way more than there should be.) 

So, we’re talking and I point out that everyone sitting around the table is married already and so they at least don’t have to worry about finding someone in all this mess, as it drags on longer and longer. I finally caved and after years of just letting them come at me while not bothering to ever do any work like introducing me to someone they thought I might get along with, I confronted them about it. I was like, “Look, everyone seems to forget they met their spouses through someone else INTRODUCING them. So, if you know someone who’s single and looking for long term - marriage and a family - then please, feel free to hook me up.” 

I was then told - rather seriously - that I should go on a tv show. I - rightly so - pointed out that I didn’t trust shows like that to set me up with anyone because they’re all about the drama and why should I even have to go on tv for something like that. My sister then proceeded to tell everyone how she thought I should open an OnlyFans. Instead of being surprised or anything by this, my family proceeded to spend the next hour trying to convince me to do something I don’t want to do. They basically laid it all out in a start to finish establishing a fan base and getting a patreon to crowdfund the basics for an OnlyFans. They worked out and tried to sell me on content I could offer and when I countered, “Even if I wanted to - which I DON’T - explain to me how the hell I’m supposed to do any of that in THAT house.” The answer being that it was entirely possible. I just had to figure it out. 

My sister said, “You do it like you do when you exercise.” And like when I WHAT?! I’m not ALLOWED to exercise. It “makes too much noise” and invites derision. Which I then have to suffer through. She then proceeded to inform me that I could always establish a career as a Sugar baby. “You don’t even have to have sex with them, you just have to dress pretty and make them feel important.” Can I do the second one? Absolutely. The first is not possible. We argued about it and she was like, “It works! My friend did it in college and she got an apartment and everything!” And I countered that even though there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s a LIFESTYLE and it’s most lucrative for people in their twenties, not someone like me. Which apparently, is an excuse? Because I need an excuse to object to something I fucking objected to when I was IN my twenties. 

So, anyway, I learned that my family seems to enjoy my singleness as a source of conversation, if not entertainment, but which is somehow fulfilling for them because even when I come right out and fucking ASK THEM to HELP ME find someone, it somehow becomes that I don’t need a someone when I can be a camgirl instead. 

I even pointed out that I could make JUST AS MUCH with a cute dog whom I could make an entire social media platform for and was told in like the most what the fuck moment of the evening, “With what money?!” Like, are you fucking SERIOUS?! There was a whole conversation detailing and planning how to get me to be a camgirl and we can’t figure out a fucking DOG?!

I am so fucking done with all of it.    

- I was feeling really sick last night when I got home, like I might throw up and so I just took a shower and went to bed. But, because I did that, I never took any of my meds last night - which is when I take the bulk of them - and my body is just NOT HAVING IT. 

- For some reason my family wanted to have a dog movie marathon today that like, I enjoy those movies, but they’re emotional as fuck for me and I was already not feeling okay, and then wanted to subject me to that. I watched like half an hour of one and then left. 

- I’m not even getting into the dinner fiasco. 

I took a fucking swan dive into a depressive oubliette and the only thing I can hope for is that taking my meds tonight will give me the protective boost enough to not be completely lost tomorrow. I have now learned the hard way that my explanation to my doctors about how my anti-depressants are like doing the brunt of the work to make me capable of daily life without a complete mental breakdown is in fact not a handy analogy. I have learned my lesson. I will not be missing a dose again. 

I’ve never been a smoker but my god, could I use a cigarette right now. 

I did receive some good news this week at least. My liver’s finally healed. I’m gonna have to be on medication for the rest of my life to ensure that, but that’s one organ that forgave me at least. 

I’m going back to sleep. 

[mybeloved73]

My name is Chelsea and I’m a ITU Nurse.

I’m also a newly qualified nurse - I literally left Uni last year and began my job in the September.

My background - I didn’t always want to be a nurse. I wasn’t cut out for that sort of compassion or care. I dreamt of being a PT, an athlete, anything that was sports driven.

Until my boyfriend had a bike accident, that then left him in ITU. He later succumb to his injuries and passed away. The nurses looking after him, changed my life. Shining light kind of moment - I want to be just like them kind of thing.

Granted it took me 4 years to build up the courage, battling my PTSD, severe depression and anxiety to even apply to uni. But I did it - and Sept 2019 I got my Pin as a registered nurse.

Now, if you 1) think covid19 was made up, a conspiracy or the numbers have been made up as a scare tactic or 2) you actually believe wearing a face covering will cause ‘respiratory arrests’ ‘acidosis’ blah... stop reading. Because this isn’t for you. Or even 3) you have the view of ‘its their job’ - back away from your screen.

You’ve seen in the news about the public sector pay rise? That nurses aren’t included, nor the junior doctors, physio’s etc (I use etc as there are so many people being forgotten in all this and it is used lovingly and not to cause offence)? Honestly, Im so glad that others are being recognised for their input and help during this - the teachers who put in extra work for children of key workers, who sacrificed their home life to entertain little ones every day and try give them the education they need and deserve, to the police, military - anyone receiving this recognition. Honestly you deserve it. And the NHS will not shadow that or take it away from you.

We agree’d to a 3 year pay deal, that had the options of being reconsidered earlier than the final date if there was a change in circumstances. Covid19 should really be considered as a change in circumstances. I mean being told that you’re already ‘unskilled’ and watching people clap to STOP pay rises... was hard enough. But to have everyone else recognised for their vital contributions and lay something that was agreed in 2018 - is inexcusable.

You realise that most nurses didn’t get to see your claps on a Thursday? That’s handover time. And due to covid19 if their handover time was earlier - they were usually late because of how busy it was and still missed it.

I saw one. Because it so happened I had come off of nights the night prior.

So! My life during covid19 starts off with the busiest winter that my hospital has seen in ITU. We have 10 beds. We are funded for 7/8? We had to open an escalation centre that we stole from our day surgery unit to give us a further 3 beds.

Which in itself is hard - looking after seriously sick patients away from your actual designated and designed ward and without the continuous presence of doctors.

That wasn’t enough.

We had to then stole half of the recovery room, which usually houses patients post surgery whilst they wake up.

Going up to 16 patients. Remember - at this point. I’m THREE MONTHS qualified.

Learning is hard, steep, and in-depth. You’re suppose to be trained over the course of a year as a newly qualified, with study days and help from mentors etc. I couldn’t attend some of those days because we didn’t have the staff to look after the most patients our ITU had ever seen.

Now I know ITU is hard. I picked it.

I knew what it entailed, well partly.

I have to maintain my patients artificial airway. They either have a tube in their mouth or in their throat.

They’re then connected to a ventilator.

Every single setting on that machine, every button - changes something drastically.

From the fio2, PEEP, PS, PC, TV, MVE, PEAK, RR, PF ratio, ... one button, one alteration or mistake... literally can stop this person breathing. Cause respiratory distress, arrest.. trauma? anything.

Did you know I have to move that tube in their mouth every hour to stop pressure sores developing in their mouth? And I still have to brush their teeth and give oral care?

I have to suction down their throat and clear their lungs? Or suction their actual mouth for extra secretions?

And record all this data hourly.

To ensure that this patient is comfortable with this tube... I have to medicate this patient.

I have to keep them in an artificial coma.

Titrating the drugs to their optimum levels.

Some are measured mg/hr, mcg/hr, mcg/kg/min..

some have limits on maximum dose per hour you can use.

Some have really severe side effects.

Such as noradrenaline. Which can literally cause your fingers and toes to become necrotic.

I have to monitor someone’s glucose - whether you’re diabetic or not, and correct it if needed with insulin or dextrose.

I have to give diuretics but not allow your body to become too negative, I have to give fluid challenges to ensure you’re not vascular depleted.

I can help your kidneys with the use of a dialysis machine. Literally filter your blood of toxins your body can no longer remove without help of a machine. This requires constant blood tests to ensure that you aren’t collecting dangerous toxins or you need additional support from the machine.

I can use a machine to check your cardiac output and interpret it to make sure that you have enough fluid vs a drug that’ll help squeeze your heart instead.

I can read an ECG and tell if you need additional supplements such as potassium. Do further tests for magnesium, phosphates etc. And deliver those.

I can feed you through a tube down your nose, and ensure you absorb it. But it’s okay I can give you medication to also help that - these require me to do daily ECGs though, and interpret the data of your QTC to make sure it’s not affecting your heart.

Now. If that’s not enough. Covid happens.

Now remember our record was 16 patients?

Try doubling that.

We worked in our ITU,

Escalation centre

Recovery - we took the whole thing.

Next - we took over operating theatres.

3 patients in theatre 6

3 in 5

3 in 4

2 in 3

We stole theatre staff, recovery nurses, ODPS, ward nurses, retired nurses, health visitor nurses, anyone we could relocate to help us.

March - I’m 6 months qualified.

I’m now the most qualified ITU nurse in my theatre.

I have people who have never looked after a ventilated patients before asking me for help. Please don’t silence my alarm if you don’t know why it’s alarming. I know it’s loud and annoying but it’s telling me everything I need to know with enough time before I need to panic.

Now - covid patients weren’t just sick. Weren’t just needing help to breathe. These patients were all sorts of ‘new’. Nothing made sense!

These patients COULDNT be ventilated. We needed to paralyse them to literally be able to take over their breathing properly! No amount of sedation worked! Their lungs were fibrous and acting like elastic under tension.

Side note - if your patient wasn’t sedated enough compared to paralysis - they could be silently awake, but completely paralysed. Knowing everything happening to them. But unable to do anything - not even breathe. Every time you start rocuronium you need to remember that. If you’re withdrawing treatment - TURN THE ROC OFF FIRST. And wait before you do anything else.

Back to it. They were so unstable that you try roll them, which we usually do 4 hourly to prevent pressure sores - they desaturated to numbers so low that you would usually see some hypoxia brain injury after.

We couldn’t roll these patients without risking that. So you know what. You don’t roll.

So we couldn’t protect their skin integrity. You just watch them, and feel guilty.

Nursing school 101 - pressure sores are PREVENTABLE. Roll your patient. Skin care and hygiene is your best friend.

Now covid went against everything a nurse knows and holds dear.

Our ITU never had pressure sores. Until covid. Some had grade 4’s.

Maggot therapy.

Vacuum dressings.

These patients were also clotting, and sending off clots to their kidneys, liver, heart, brain. Covid made your blood super sticky!!!!

People were having strokes whilst being sedated, going from fit to multi organ failure in days. I’m trying to save these people, knowing they could possibly wake up with complete left side paralysis? Never talk again? Never be them again?

Now you know about these past medical histories etc?

You realise what that is?

that it could be Type 2 diabetes?

Hypertension?

That was it for some.

None of this thinking they were super sick, with lists longer than my arm, and that’s why they didn’t make it. No.

Literally things that happen with age. Poor diet? That 120/80 you’re happy you got - THATS PREHYPERTENSION.

I was probably hypertensive the entire time with anxiety.

Did you know We had to use the old anaesthetic ventilators. None of us had used those before. Those big bellows you see in films going up and down rhythmically. Those.

That was scary.

I’m use to a single touch screen button (hello modern technology) to deliver 100% o2 if my patient needs it. This has a switch to a bag, a button, dials to titrate o2 with normal air. And if I didn’t monitor the crystals in the bottom my patient would retain their own co2 and I wouldn’t know why.

New found love for anaesthetists and ODPS - these machines are NOT designed for prolonged use. But they helped us keep our patients alive. By literally guiding us and helping us look after the machines so we could do our job.

Now. All of this is made worse by PPE.

I’m hot.

It’s hot.

And intense and I’m working hard because tonight, I have 3 ventilated patients. By myself.

I have a gown on.

2 sets of gloves

An apron

An FFP3 mask

A hat

A visor

And no air con.

But I’ve got this. I can’t do my hourly checks because I am one person.

My super sick patients now have 2 hourly because it is physically impossible.

Where are the other staff?

Sick.

You’re watching these people struggle to breathe on machines and then being told your close friends at work, your mentors, your seniors are spiking temperatures. Some being admitted to hospital. Some not being able to come back to work for weeks.

Some ending up on your ventilators. It’s okay. I’ve got this.

I’m an ITU nurse right?

CPR wearing that get up. Is TOUGH. 27mins. I cried that day.

We lost 3 patients in 12 hours.

I held the hand of so many people as I turned off their ventilators because their families couldn’t be with them and no one should die alone. No one. I tried my best.. and then once my day had finished, I had to come home to my dad who is immunosuppressed. Who doesn’t understand boundaries. “Kevin stay in the other part of the house!”

*knocks on bedroom door with dinner*.

Proning. What an experience that is. And doing it Daily. The complications of that were scary before you even approach the patient.

So I’m going to flip my patient - who has a tube down their mouth to help breath, who is on medication for sedation, paralysis, to keep their blood pressure up.. from laying on their back - to laying on their front.

Seems easy?

Well it’s not. And requires like 8 people.

8 people.

We don’t have enough people as it is. So we now develop a proning team made up of everyone.

There are consultants, there are experts in their fields, there are physios and then I don’t know who else.

Honestly I couldn’t thank these people enough. More people would have died if we didn’t have a proning team. But now, people spent 23 hours laying on their front. Pressure sores on their faces. Potential of going blind? New complications of not being able to breathe we never expected.

We are finally back into one unit now. I’m still less than a year qualified. And I’m still running on adrenaline expecting this second wave. Those still reading, I know you’re thinking that she picked this job.

She knew what it meant.

And you’re right! Give me those complex drug calculations and ventilators. Oh and the scrubs!

But a pandemic? I didn’t pick that. The world didn’t pick that.

Honestly thank you, to the ward nurses - your lives got flipped upside down.

The physios who became best friends.

Consultants who literally got down and dirty with us.

To the domestics who cleaned furiously for us.

OT’s To literally orientate our patients when they’re waking up like 70 days later.

Every

Single

Person

Who

Helped.

Oh communication team made up of medical students, who updated the families because... I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave my patient. Not like this!

Matron who literally had to facilitate all this, with people who knew nothing about ITU. Being in ITU. Looking after ITU patients. Whilst her own ITU staff were sick, in hospital, or newly qualified, or working to the point they broke.

To the countless companies sending food, goodies, moral support !! Oh my god that was incredible to come to after not having a break for 6+ hours ... mmm... food!!

Did you know they’re offering support for the nurses to stop PTSD, or anxiety or just to help up digest what we saw? Psychological support for just doing your job?

But it’s okay.

We got a deal in 2018 for the pay.

We got clapped thursdays.

We all know that’s not enough, but we will still turn up for work.

We can’t leave our patients.

We can’t strike.

They’ll always mean more to us than pay. And the government knows that. Abuses that.

540 NHS staff lost their life doing ‘just their job’ - today the NHS staff walked through London protesting, to be heard. To be listened to. To be acknowledged. To be paid fair.

Sign the petition for us. Because we aren’t just here for covid. We’re here for life.

https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/316307

And just put your mask on - please - for that hour you go shopping.

I’ve been wearing mine since March 6th. 13+ hour days. Developed a nice grade one on my nose, my friends faces bleeding from using a rubber respirator....

And We’ll be like this for the foreseeable future.

Now that we have the stocks to do so anyways.

Oh and I’m pissed my graduation was cancelled! All that and I don’t get to wear the hat and gown. Bastard virus. (I understand there was more lost but humour me).

Signed, your registered ITU nurse. We will always continue to monitor.

[dougbeamer]

Brightburn - Movie Review *Spoilers*

I saw this movie almost a month ago. I tried doing a video review for it several weeks ago and idk...nothing stuck. What I wanted to say just felt like it could be the same as everyone else. I just don’t think I’m gonna add anything new to the consensus.

But then I got thinking about it again for some reason I felt a desire to talk about it again.

So! Let's start with the plot and what this movie is about.

Brightburn is a film that came out in May of 2019 and tells the story of a family Tori and Kyle Breyer trying to have a kid. By a miraculous miracle, a spaceship crashlands on their farm and they adopt the baby boy inside naming him, Brandon. Many years later the family begins experiencing weird things with their now 12-year-old child. He sleepwalks to the barn where the ship he crashed landed in mumbling a strange language and trying to get inside. 

Eventually, Brandon Breyer’s powers take effect and he starts using them to kill people rather than saving people. Brandon Breyer’s is on the full path to becoming a supervillain.

With the plot, in a nutshell, I can tell you there isn’t much more to it than that. If there is anything that I don’t like when making my reviews is explaining the plot. I know I need to in order to give everyone a heads up of what I am talking about but I never seem to talk about the plot specifically enough. I never actually describe it well. My store manager had an opportunity to see this film and said it pretty simply. “It’s like Superman meets Annabell”

While I never have seen Annabell it seems like an apt description. Annabell seems like a small film in scale and terrorizes folks who come close to it. The stakes are personal, intense and not much beyond what you are given. Of course, Superman is the spot on the comparison you can give because this film screams, “WE ARE SHOWING WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF SUPERMAN WENT EVIL!” as a concept piece.

Every time I think about this film the less I like about it. 

I know there are some people out there that probably L-O-V-E this film and can’t wait to see what is next in this obvious start to a twisted franchise. 

This film is basic. Very basic. Nothing more to it than a kid coming to his own with superpowers with his parents in denial of what he is capable of. The father is less in denial than the mother is who refuses to think her child is capable of such things.

At the beginning of this film, I actually loved it. The took just enough time to create the conflict between these two that they wanted a child. Just then their house is rocked by an earthquake and they proceed to check it out. It was mysterious, it was solid. 

The rest of the film...not so much. 

When I watch a film I lookout for a few things. One of them being dialogue, moments to establish the relationships as true, real and tangible, stakes that make sense no matter how much it derails the people involved, and above all else how the film constructs this. Bring it all together with enough pomp and circumstance to say we are functional.

To me, this movie is barely functional.

Dialogue is stiff. When people talk to one another it's so short and to the point that it feels like there is more than can be said. This may not be a legitimate critique but I do feel like the technique of talking is wasted here.

There was a scene where after Brandon crushed a girl's hand and the following scene the parents were all talking in the principal's office. The mother of the daughter was clearly upset and rightfully so. She was spouting this and that, “he should go to jail” and other justifiable remarks. Until...she talks about Brandon's real mother and calls her an inbred psycho. This obviously crosses a line as Tori simply states that if trash-talking a 12-year-old child helps erica sleep better at night maybe she is the one that needs help. After that, the scene wraps up and it's over. It's not without consequence, of course, but I feel that the scene was stunted with a lot of missed opportunities with dialogue. Instead of Erica overstepping her bounds and Tori putting her in her place within seconds of the scene ending I felt that should have been the biggest conflict in the scene. A longer more emotionally driven scene. 

Granted I know the script has been flipped and instead of Brandon being the good guy he's bad. The parents are sticking up for him wrongfully but are on the side of good and Erica is in the middle. The scene conveys mixed emotions that I feel no one is good, no one really knows what to say or do. Brandon is not arrested, he is suspended and will have therapy there afterward and one simple insult closes this off and they move onto the next subject. With the knowledge of the looming fate, Erica will endure.  I feel the scene should have been at least a few minutes longer where we are given a chance to really understand where other people are coming from. By this point, we know where Kyle and Teri are coming from but not Erica. She is actually smack dab in the middle of a situation she has to immediately respond to. Before that, she only was apart of Brandon’s birthday and saw him throw a temper-tantrum where the electronics around him went out. No speaking lines and that may be enough for her to call Brandon a psycho but allow me to point out...

There is an entire bit of backstory faded out to the prolonged stare Teri was making with her son Brandon. A lot of dialogue was muffled out do to her zoning out. They only time she snaps out of it is when insults are being thrown out towards Brandon and questions of who his real mother is. 

That entire scene should have been insightful! Erica could still stay as the emotional mother who just hears and sees the aftermath of her daughter's hand crushed but we could have known at some point where she stood with the family, what kind of friends they were and some back history. Cause we just found out in that very moment more than just the family knows about Brandon’s adoption. That there in of itself leaves me to believe a lot has to be assumed in order to understand where everyone is coming from.

My mind goes to the phrase Expectations vs Reality. When I think about this movie there were a lot of expectations and when the reality hit we basically see what could have been opposed to what we got. Brightburn had a criticism that its full potential was not realized.

This is where I have to disagree. 

Yes, I have to disagree. 

We have had over 10 years of great storytelling and bad storytelling at our expense thanks to Marvel, DC, various TV shows throughout the last decade. We know exactly what we want in these types of films. So when we get a what-if concept there are only a few ways we can go with it.

Our expectations are seeing a complex take on the tale of Superman becoming evil and the reality is we see a kid who is being manipulated by a ship speaking an evil language. We don’t really see where the kid is coming from except for getting upset that he is different and was lied to for 12 years.

The reality is this is probably the best way to convey a what-if piece. Keep it Simple. Keep it just as grounded as it is right now. My biggest gripe is how everyone talks to one another. How the situations play out are almost perfect to convey such an excellent concept. 

So sticking up for this film in this regard, it did exactly what it was setting out to do. Become a concept piece that would show the makings of a villain that was based on one of the most powerful superheroes we will ever know. In fictional terms of course.

The fact that it didn’t go in any direction we were really hoping it to is not a bad thing though. Sure maybe we could have seen the makings of a villain rise up and maybe the parents are in on it. Maybe the mother takes Brandon under her wing and teaches him to channel his evil tendencies towards people that deserve it much like dexter. Instead, Patricide and Matricide are inflicted, Uncles and Aunts are killed, and next-door neighbors are terrified in cliche fashion before they are horribly killed.

What really doesn’t make this film work for me is not really buying into the fact that this kid who seems well to do, not a single psychopathic bone in his body is suddenly turned when the spaceship he crashed landed in, activates.

The film does not do a good job giving us anything that could give us a clue into Brandon’s head. Is he being controlled? Is he acting out of rage? Well, the answer to that is yes and yes. But when? When are those moments? Because one scene he is going back to the girl (the one whos wrist was broken) and tells her that she is the ONLY person who knows how special he is.

One scene before it or after it I can’t remember which...shows him going into a rage as soon as he figures out what the alien message is saying to him. So he either had a small influence then took what he could and left the rest. Or he gets small doses of this throughout the time he first encountered it. Its really unclear.

One big thing is how people write off each weird happenstance throughout the story of the film. The father, Kyle believes Brandon got in and killed some chickens late at night. The best excuse Tori has is that a wolf opened up a locked door and killed some chickens. 

I mean, the reasonings of what to talk about and what not to talk about is out of this world.

The parents find Brandon's secret stash of naked women that soon turn more grizzly where there are pictures of surgical diagrams and graphic photos of organs. Tori exclaims, “Maybe we should have the talk”

In the next scene, they go on a camping trip and the father and son have an awkward conversation about this. But the only thing mentioned was sexual urges and nothing more. DUDE, you found diagrams and organs! That is much more specific than showing off a desirable swimsuit model! TALK ABOUT THAT! This stuff gets pretty redundant after a while. You get it. Dialogue doesn’t work, the scenes and situations mentioned don’t add up when they need to talk about more important things, the relationship between the mother and father work but not with the kid, sadly. 

I feel this movie did deliver upon its potential I just feel it could have been written better. I could care less that it was a cliche horror murder movie. Give me something basic and grow from there. You could have had the characters a lot smarter, capable, flesh out the scenes better and you would have had one solid film on your hands. 

Perhaps I don’t have anything better to say than anyone else but this movie came close to frustrating me on how it presented itself.

The ending sparked more curiosity and obvious means to a sequel that I feel should have been introduced in the middle of the film. But, hey, that's just my expectations talking. 

I know there are some out there that love the film. One who can justify actions and means of what really could have been going down. But I am a very literal person so if it ain't shown to me I am not going to assume so much happened in-between scenes. I am not a psychic so I don’t know what one is thinking and if you keep a kid quiet I won’t know where he is coming from. 

That is exactly what this film did. It alienated me. Me no likey.

**/***** (2 out of 5)

[fortuitousmind]

Living Life in the Era of COVID-19: We’re Not Feeling too Hot

Check in on your friends. Check in on all of them, but especially the friends that you know struggle with mental illness.

I’m about to make myself incredibly vulnerable, but at this point I know I can’t be the only one feeling this way. This entry is moreso an avenue to vent than an informative resource. Things in my head are bad. They’re really bad.

They’re so bad that I was off of work all last week because I had some symptoms of illness and I still could hardly bring myself to show up this morning. I’m having a hard time convincing myself to make it in tomorrow. Being alone is hard. Being around others is scary. I’m worried about my family. I went through a bottle of hand sanitizer in six hours at work today. I’ve been having panic attacks because I’m terrified of getting sick. My lungs are garbage and my inhaler hasn’t been helping. I’m the only person at my apartment and if anything happens that causes my lungs to give up, nobody is going to know. That scares me.

At first I was indifferent about school going online, but I’ve started to realize everything that’s been taken from me. I have a lot of friends that I’ll probably never see again. I finally had a group of people around me who consistently worked to build each other up and genuinely just enjoyed each other’s company, and I’ve never had a steady group of friends in my life, and now we’re separated. A lot of us are seniors. I was looking back at all of the pictures I’ve taken in the past year and there are so many memories that I was ready to make more of.

On top of that, I can’t read on computer screens. I just can’t. I got a concussion the winter before last and it still hurts to read anything on my laptop. My eyes don’t focus on the words. Pitt shut down their printing services. If I can’t physically take notes directly on the article, I don’t understand what I’m referencing when I look over it again later. My memory has gotten so bad that my doctor referred me for a neurocognitive function assessment. I missed class the entire week before spring break because of my mental health. I have no motivation because my mental health is so taxing right now that I can’t put energy into anything else. My grades are going to suffer.

All of my mental illnesses are flaring up at once. I keep having panic attacks related to my PTSD that aren’t even touched by the medication I’ve been prescribed. I have constant anxiety about every single thing that’s happening all at once. I’m so on-edge that if more than one noise happens at the same time, my brain just shuts down from overstimulation. I’m paranoid from being alone. My depression is the worst it’s been in years (and I keep saying that, but each time it comes back I seem to slip further and further into the abyss). I need a medication change, but I don’t have a psychiatrist right now. I know exactly what dose of which medication I need because it’s been effective for me in the past, and I have an entire bottle of this medication, but I can’t get ahold of my PCP to ensure that she can refill it if I start it back up. I need therapy, but my therapist isn’t making appointments because she and her husband are both vulnerable to severe complications if they get sick. My chronic passive death wish has gotten more intense and is at the point where, if it gets any worse, I’m going to need more help than I can give myself. I don’t trust myself because my impulsivity has skyrocketed and nobody is here to check me on it. I’ve started falling back into the pattern of attempting to sabotage my relationships so nobody has to deal with me anymore because I’m exhausting myself with my own mind and am afraid of people abandoning me first. I haven’t been nice to my body either. I’m glad it’s still cold outside.

For a lot of people, myself included, being isolated at home alone can quickly become dangerous as we lose access to our typical mechanisms of care and coping, as well as our ability to reach out to others for help in ways other than speaking over the phone. One of my go-to safety measures is going to a friend’s house so I don’t lock myself in my room and so I know I’ll be in a safe environment. All of my friends are either working, sick, or hours away. I can no longer engage in the one thing that has never failed to guarantee my safety. I can’t distract myself by going to museums or walking around the city or hanging out in a coffee shop. I can’t get to the store to buy things that I know would significantly help me. Even if I could go to the store, I am paranoid and anxious and afraid of what could happen. I’m not supposed to hang around other people and my darkest moments have always been when I’m alone with my own mind.

I’m not sharing this for a pity party. I don’t need anyone to call the cops to come check on me. I have a lot to live for and so many things to do and so many people to help and so many places to go and so many concerts to see and so many dogs to pet (I would like to mention that the highlight of my day was my parents surprising my sister and I with a puppy. Our dog passed away last June), and I still haven’t hugged Harry Styles.

I just want people to know that a lot of us are struggling with a whole bunch of things right now. Remember to be kind. Remember to be loving and to spread the love. Remember that things will not be this way forever (although it sure does seem like it right now). It’s okay to not be okay, and we are all significantly less okay at this moment in time, and it’s okay to break down the wall and express that instead of hiding it away. I want people to know that they’re not alone in their struggles.

Some things I tell people I work with all of the time that I’ve been trying to remind myself of:

Things are not going to be like this forever.

Things are going to get better.

There are a lot of people who care about us.

We have to be patient with ourselves because we don’t all have control of our own minds.

We need to trust our instinct when our brains tell us we need some assistance.

It’s okay to need help.

We don’t need to go through this alone.

I am struggling, and I know I’m not the only one. Every time I look on social media, I am reminded of the state of the world and the fear and sadness that plagues it. I fall further down the rabbit hole of negativity and can’t pull myself out of it because it seems like it’s all that’s out there right now. Check on your friends. Check on your coworkers. Check on the people who can’t stay home. Check on the people who have to stay home. Check on yourself, too.

[tonystarkisafruit]

Hello! How are you? Just saw your TS:IM rant, ur rage is understandable. I have a question though, why would an atheist such as Tony Stark place so much trust and power on AA. I even read somewhere on CBR forum that he should try The Sinclair Method which is very effective on alcoholics and it’s scientific. Why is AA treated as the only way to help alcoholics? Im sorry if this is an uncomfortable topic, I mean no offence if this comes off wrong. Thank you! :)

I was gonna write up a how long thing about opioid receptors and opioid antagonists but aa beyond belief already did a pretty good job of it:

Tl:dr the Sinclair method is using a medication like Naloxone which is an opioid receptor antagonist. Opioid receptors are a part of the pleasure/reward pathway. Opioid receptor antagonists are things the bind to the receptors without activating them and so not activating the pleasure/reward response. If you take something like naloxone one hour before drinking it'll prevent the flood of endorphins so it'll reduce the craving to drink. You still get drunk but it doesn't feel as good.

Okay so my tl:dr is a little long. Oh well. But my take:

AA isn't the only way to treat alcoholism! Many people I know go to one on one therapy, including me, but AA is the only way that's guaranteed free in the US.

I am also an atheist, and the Christianity aspect of traditional AA made me deeply uncomfortable. There are, however, secular AA groups and when i go, i go to one of those. I also don't actually go anymore. I have health insurance finally so I can get therapy now.

The Sinclair method is really good for people who literally just cannot control their cravings. Like they just are consistently relapsing or can't even get themselves to consider abstaining from drinking.

But to be frank, i don't think the Sinclair method would work long term for me (and by extension people like me).

One. I am notoriously bad at remembering to take medication. the adhd and anxiety just make it impossible for me to remember every dose (i use reminder apps and alarms and still forget). If you miss taking the opioid antagonist on a night you drink then you'll spend that night drinking like you used to.

Two. I didn't drink so much bc it felt good, i drank bc i felt bad. Like even tho I have an addictive personality, i never had a problem with pot bc pot for me didn't ever make me lose awareness of myself. I've smoked weed 3 times and was just disappointed by it and annoyed with myself the whole time even tho it felt good. The Sinclair method will prevent the high from drinking but I'll still get drunk. So, without the emotional support from AA (and now therapy) I'd definitely end up relapsing. So i would have had to do aa or therapy a long side the Sinclair method.

And other reasons but honestly all of this is to say that no single way is prefect.

In traditional AA groups you'll get people who are deep in that Christian belief that one must suffer to better theirself, and they'll scoff at the Sinclair method, but those people are assholes. Unfortunately, that often means people won't talk about it so a lot of people just don't know about the Sinclair method. And bc the US is a hellscape insurance companys won't always cover it. So it's just not as accessible. Which is honestly why I don't talk about it. It wasn't an option for me so it's not really on my radar.

As for why Tony doesn't try it, when demon in a bottle was written the Sinclair method was about one (1) year old. It wasn't an option for him. But as for why he doesn't try it now, he just doesn't need to. Tony is capable of maintaining abstinence. He really only relapsed bc he was manipulated into it.

For the Sinclair method to work you have to drink which, yaknow, if you drink a lot is dangerous. The Sinclair method makes people drink less, but that's over time. The 1st few months people will still be drinking a potentially dangerous amount. So, tony would have to start drinking again for him to use the Sinclair method.

If you can maintain sobriety without it then that's kind of the better option. Cravings fade away over time even without the Sinclair method.

[ittakesrain]

Track Your Shit

I sat on the couch in my psychiatrist’s office with my arms crossed and steam billowing out of my ears.

“Are you on cocaine?” he asked without a hint of sarcasm.

“No,” I shot back, completely bewildered but appropriately defensive.

“Then you’re bipolar.”

Yup. That was how I was diagnosed.  And to my memory, that was really the only major piece of information my psychiatrist gave me that day.  There was no supplemental information given to me, no sort of enlightenment or introduction into the all-consuming project that would be managing my difficult and sometimes debilitating condition, and I left the office with what felt like a really random label and a higher dose of Abilify.  I was nineteen years old, I was a chemistry major in college, I’d kicked the hell out of an eating disorder, and I was bipolar. The facts didn’t matter too much. Right?

Over the next several years, I really didn’t hear the word “bipolar” all too frequently, in or out of my psychiatrist’s office, despite the increasingly, uh, intense fluctuations in my moods and energy as well as steadily growing anxiety and irritability. Weird, am I right? For a diagnosis that impacts pretty much all aspects of a person’s life, in one way or another, to not be mentioned nearly enough times? There are more fitting words, but sure, we’ll go with ‘weird.’

By the time I graduated college, I knew my diagnosis was playing a larger role in my life that I originally assumed it would.  I started keeping track of when I took my meds (and with that tried not to miss any doses). I recorded my moods more frequently.  I did some cursory research into my disorder. And I finally started noticing patterns in my cycle and knew to watch out for specific warning signs.  And mind you, doing all of that was a pretty big accomplishment for someone who was given virtually no guidance. Not to mention a medication regime that was significantly lacking.

The first thing I realized was that my episodes often began with feeling “emotionally itchy,” or “like I want to rip my face off” and “jump out of my skin and out of who I am as a person.” Thanks to the knowledge I have now, I can use different language to describe what actually goes on as I inch ever closer to a major episode. I become incredibly irritable and experience what’s called “dysphoric mania.”  I have the racing thoughts and flight of ideas that come with manic episodes, meaning my brain is running at a million miles a minute and I can’t keep myself focused on one idea long enough to think it through, but it’s not what anyone would call a happy feeling (not that mania is to be confused with mere happiness). In my dysphoric state, I have too much energy, so much so that it physically hurts me as it swells from within me and threatens to burst open at any second.  I often cut myself in such a state because I need the assumed and metaphorical emotional release as well as the physical release of endorphins in response to injury.

Then I began to see that if I missed my meds for any period of time longer than a day or two, I felt the effects about two weeks later. If I forgot (or “forgot”) to take my Abilify for let’s say a full week, I’d be in the middle of a relentless and torturous depression in about fourteen days. Sidenote, I shouldn’t have missed ANY days of meds, but lo and behold, I wasn’t exactly warned all too well against it. But to see a pattern, to determine the cause of a specific (and dramatic) dip in my moods, was hugely influential in my life. Not to mention, it brought me to google how the medication I was prescribed actually works. And, spoiler, every single human being who is prescribed any medication at all should be aware of what the fucking medication does and how it works and all of that. Seriously. So important. Turns out Abilify is “long acting” and takes about two weeks to leave my system.

Furthermore, Abilify is a type of drug called an “atypical antipsychotic.” Those types of drugs are frequently used as mood stabilizers. They’re the second generation of drugs that you’ve probably seen being used on dramatic medical shows or movies about psychiatric hospitals that knock people who are acting “insane” out. They’re used as tranquilizers. Haldol is an example of one that works fast and Thorazine is an example of one that works somewhat slower. Those are called typical antipsychotics. Atypicals like Abilify have fewer side effects. They work to influence serotonin (the neurotransmitter sometimes called the “happy molecule”) as opposed to blocking signals from dopamine (the “pleasure and reward” neurotransmitter).

Right. So as you see I’ve become fairly well-versed in the goings-on of impending episodes and the key pieces of information surrounding them. Again, this is phenomenally helpful. But my point is that I should have been given this information from the get-go. I should’ve been prepared and taught, should’ve been armed with education given to me by a human being who knew what the fuck was happening to me and how bad it would potentially get if I didn’t have the fucking said information! I got there myself, and I’m damn proud of myself for doing so. And it still brings me peace of mind and a sense of control to research bipolar disorder, and learn new things about treatments and meds and biochemistry, and to work through my recorded moods and symptoms to find existing patterns or warnings. But for fuck’s sake, why wasn’t I told about the importance of recording the fluctuations or about psychoeducation as a tremendously powerful tool?

Alright alright, not going to continue dwelling on the past and how I was royally screwed (at least not in this particular blog post). Because as I look to the future, I know things will at the very least make more sense. I’ll at least be able to understand this bullshit and from there hopefully combat it better.

Which brings me to a few months ago as I began to embark on a new and more um, intense journey of self-discovery and understanding –which, in turn, is allowing me to feel significantly less dread about my eventual (and inevitable?) next episodes. It started when I wound up in the emergency room for the first time in October 2018 when a depressive episode took a terrible turn for the worse. I was 27 years old and at the end of my rope. Exhausted from years of worsening symptoms and my cries for help going unheard, my begging and pleading remaining unnoticed, I collapsed into chaotic despair.

The good that came from that particular visit to rock bottom was that I subsequently found a therapist (no, I hadn’t been in therapy previously and yes, that was really dumb) who is literally the coolest person ever, in addition to being really fucking good at what she does. And a few months after that, my amazing therapist helped me find a better psychiatrist, and from there we all began the arduous task of getting my act together and trying to stabilize the shitshow of my life.

As it turns out, since I was on a medication that didn’t do much for me for such a long time, my bipolar disorder was able to “mature.” To further develop and overall just get worse. Literally look it up. It’s a known thing that bipolar worsens if left untreated, and I absolutely feel that mine at the very least wasn’t being treated properly. Lucky me.

But since beginning to see my therapist in November and my new medication provider in February, I’ve learned like, so so so much. I know to stop and breathe when I start to get worked up, because I know I have gone for long periods of time without inhaling and exhaling like a functioning human. I know that I fidget around and repeat purposeless motions (“display signs of psychomotor agitation”) because it comforts me when I’m anxious. I know I have issues with control, with the desire to feel safe, with things that aren’t fair.

Also. Insomnia is a huge red flag for me and for the majority of bipolars. It’s both a symptom of approaching mania and a trigger for it. Meaning, when you start staying up all night long, you’ve gotta find a way to get some sleep before it gets worse and leads to an episode. It also means that you can’t voluntarily pull all-nighters (if you can help it) because that might land you in the middle of a manic break as well. And as if that wouldn’t suck enough, a despairing depression would most certainly follow the agitated (hypo)mania.

Alcohol is another one. Now, I’m not huge on drinking. I never partook in any of that before I was of legal age anyway (which is perhaps a testament to my nerdy younger self haha), and once I started drinking, I had trouble getting past the gross taste. I still do. But when I drink as an adult (which I haven’t done in a few months, mind you), I drink to get fucked up. So basically, I drink in a way that’s literally terrible for my bipolar. It’s a cycle, too.  I’ll have a bad day and come home and take five shots of fireball, and I get shitfaced so I have a terrible day the next day. It’s similar to insomnia in that it perpetuates itself and that I’ve gotta be responsible about it.

[On that note, by the way, I should say that maintaining stability involves quite a few key things (such as sleep hygiene, med compliance, the nutrition you fuel your body with, the way you move your body, being mindful and having the ability to focus on breathing, following pre-set routines, your support system, your coping skills and crisis-management tools, and your healthcare professionals…to name a few). It’s imperative to keep up with each thing to prevent all hell from breaking loose.]

I’ve also come to see that, for whatever reason, my major episodes usually have a definitive end but not a clearcut start. As in, I can identify the specific day my depression ends, but the irritability and frenetic energy and aggressive outbursts start out kind of slowly and increase steadily until my moods surrender into despondent melancholy. At this point, I believe the phenomena has to do with my tendency to ruminate and nearly drown in repetitive thoughts. I really struggle with redirecting my brain away from negatives. It could also be because of my coexisting ADHD, but either way, I can’t knock myself out of a bad mood as easily as most people can. So even something small going wrong has the potential to send me spiraling. I can’t think myself out of it. But I can easily make it worse –by ruminating and letting the negatives repeat like a broken record in my head. The decline, therefore, moves like a ball rolling down a ramp. On the opposite end of a “crazy spell” (as I called them way back in the day before I learned all this enlightening information) we have the ball being yanked back up as if it was attached to a string or something. As in, something good can happen that completely “snaps me out” of a major depression. It’s wild to think about. Like, fuck, why can’t more good things happen? Maybe then I’d spend less time wanting to die. I have, however, come to learn how to put myself in the line of things that have the potential to knock me off the crazy train. File that under “bitchin’ coping skills.”

Thanks to psychoeducation, I’ve also come to understand some of my personality traits. I’ve often called myself “volatile.” I fly off the handle fairly quickly, I accelerate from zero to 100 faster than the Kinga Ka roller coaster at Six Flags. My therapist calls it being reactive, and I prefer that phrasing now. My reactivity is part of my personality, but I understand it more clearly by looking at it through the lens of what I know about bipolar disorder. Similarly, in addition to reacting more, I react bigger. I guess some people might call it being dramatic, but again, I prefer to think of it in terms of how my therapist explained it: I’m wired intensely. I feel things in a bigger way. She once said something along the lines of “you can light up a city with your emotions,” and I don’t think she used the word emotions, but that was the gist. My intensity if a part of who I am. And honestly, as much as it can be super annoying and anxiety-producing, it’s not all bad and I choose to label it as a good thing.

Oh, and I pretty much knew this already, but I like to write/type because in my bipolar brain, the thoughts move more quickly than my mouth can move. It causes me to stutter, or stumble over my words, or lose my train of thought because I didn’t say something the right way and I can’t make my mouth move in a way to correct myself because I have fifteen thousand other thoughts flying through my mind and I can’t focus on any of it now. I exhibit pressured speech. Oh yeah, that’s one of my faves.

Thanks to psychoeducation, I’ve learned why I cling to my routines with a death-grip. Doing so is legitimately helpful to people with bipolar. Which is why going on vacation or starting a new job or a new chapter in life can throw bipolar people off in such grand ways. Circadian rhythms are screwy in us. We need to work hard to keep that shit in check. And the sleep-wake cycle and yes, routines, are part of that.

Okay then. With all of this knowledge being attained and a few more trips to rock bottom (and the emergency room) since October 2018…here I am. Still holding on, and doing better at that holding than I have in a while. A month and a half of normalcy without anything rocking the boat? I feel pretty damn good, thank you very much.

Oddly enough, stability can be just as scary for me as the complete and utter chaos of the rest of it. Like, now I have no excuses for not moving forward. Ugh, I have to move forward. But ya know what, I will. Because I’ve got the bipolar symptoms under control at the moment. There’s really nothing stopping me, so I’m sure as hell not gonna stop me.

Keeping records is absolutely fucking necessary. I’ve got no choice but to record my moods, anxiety, and irritability. I’ve gotta take my meds every fucking day and keep track of if I ever miss a day (which I shouldn’t). I need to write down other factors that play a role, such as my periods and when I have therapy and life stressors and stuff like that.

It’s taken, holy shit, so much work to acquire the awareness I currently have. And moving forward will require consistently working on what I know and actively seeking more information. But dude, I’ve come this far. I’m not gonna stop now.