#i guess you could say it’s a traumaversary but it’s not like it was One event

[ribbonmiku]

oh with my 26th birthday coming up its about to be the 10 year anniversary of the best part of my life coming to a crashing end. huh. huh.

[wewalkadifferentpath]

@qpraphael tagged me in this fic thing?? called 20 First Lines? so here we go folks

I suppose you’re supposed to just copy the first line(s) of your 20 most recent stories. Ft. the bonus: Look for a pattern.

idk what order to do it in, most recent to furthest back I guess? plus yet-to-be-published ones? I’ll wing it:

1. “You need to stop hiding like a coward from the people that love you.“ (Umbrella Academy) From you’re the reason why I’m closed   2. “Five still isn’t used to grocery stores.” (Umbrella Academy) From ever living ghost (of what once was)  3. “The reunion with Luther is a bit of an accident. “ (Umbrella Academy) From tell me when my sorrow’s over  4. “The first thing Five hears when he wakes up is the sound of his own name.” (Umbrella Academy) From traumaversary  5. “Since the day that Ben had visited him in the library for the first time, they had taken to-- well, Ben would call it hanging out-- there. (Umbrella Academy) From tell me when you hear my silence  6. “ Ben finds Five in the library. “ (Umbrella Academy) From you’re the only one who knows  7. “” “Knock knock.”” (Umbrella Academy) From tell me when you hear my heart stop 8. “The brick wall spewed dust as Raphael’s fist made impact. He would have coughed, if he were a mundane.” (Shadowhunters) From Dreamin’ for a place to be

9. “Time seemed to speed up and slow down at will.” (Teen Wolf) From 20 Gay Teens  10. “Hypervigilance: noun; an “enhanced state of sensory sensitivity accompanied by an exaggerated intensity of behaviors whose purpose is to detect activity.”” (Teen Wolf) From Cracks  11. “Derek knew that he was into girls when he fell into Paige.” (Teen Wolf) From All those things (I didn’t say)  12. “Derek sighed viciously, slamming the cupboard door closed as hard as he could without breaking it.“Fuck.”” (Teen Wolf) From glitter on your cheeks like a sparsam  13. ““Magnus, I’ve got him.” Cat’s voice was soft.“ (Shadowhunters) From I need you here with me All of those are on my ao3 Time for unpublished ones! Bc it seems like people are mostly doing half and half? I only had 7 unpublished in the works though so y’all get an uneven thing 1. ““Well,” Patrick said, inclining his head sideways and bracing his forearm against the desk, smirking just slightly as if he knew the gesture rattled David (which it did), “I’ve never taken a bus before, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”“ (Schitt’s Creek) from an as-of-yet-unnamed fic 2. “Everyone in his life dies. That isn’t hyperbolic; that is a fact.” (Shadowhunters) also unnamed and not finished!    3. “Klaus once got a poignant nugget of wisdom from a man named Richard, in a conversation about ass-wiping.“ (Umbrella Academy) From tell me when you see me falling , which will be the next installation in my series 4. ““Here, I have an idea,” Magnus said. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, barely longer than a blink, and then swirled his hand around his face; purple tendrils followed his fingers, coalescing into his palm as he closed it. “How about this?”” (it’s not the first line of the series but the first line that I wrote, of a Shadowhunters/Umbrella Academy crossover that I’m working on shhhh)  5. ““Hey bro,” Klaus says, plonking down on the seat next to him.” (Umbrella Academy) From by blood and by me which will come after tell me when you see me falling  6. “When the other young man showed up, Anne wasn’t watching Raphael.” (Shadowhunters) A sequel to Dreamin’ for a place to be that I haven’t finished or named yet 6. ““My friends will love you. And if they don’t, they’re not the people I thought they were.”” (Schitt’s Creek) just a drabble I’m working on!  7. “Some days, Klaus learns, are about survival.” (Umbrella Academy) An eventually fic that’s still hella in progress about the family’s healing okay uhhhhh @iactlikegarfieldonamonday @some-thrilling-heroicsand  @enkelimagnus y’all already did it right? wb @raphaelxantiago @kindaresilient @royaltybane @magnusbicon @themimsyborogove @facialteeth @ofteasandinks uhhh suddenly I’m forgetting the url of anyone I’ve ever talked to ever on here so like... if y’all a writer and wanna do this long ass thing that’s actually kinda fun feel free to pretend I tagged you I totally won’t tell 

[ficdirectory]

Somewhere Inside (Disuphere series #4) Chapter 45

(To listen, click here) - 20:41

Even though Carla’s gone - even though he never had to see her - or speak to her?  Levi can’t stop shaking.  The time in the bedroom with Pearl, Dominique, Mariana and Francesca had been hard:

Pearl shut the door, and then opened it again, sticking her head out to hear.  Dominique insisted Francesca stay on the far side of the bedroom, in a corner, out of view of the door.

“But I wanna listen!” Francesca whispers.  “What if Jesus needs us?”

“Jesus has Dudley,” Mariana whispers, putting an arm around her.  “Dudley will protect him.”

The minute Levi hears Carla say she’s Pearl’s mom, Levi darts into the bathroom.  Shuts the door.  Locks it.  Outside the door, Cleo yips and sends Levi lurching for the toilet.

The last thing they need - he needs - is for Carla to be alerted to exactly where they are.  Levi knows how strong Carla is.  Remembers how she grabbed him.  Pulled him toward her.  Pulled his clothes off.  Snapped, “Get in the shower,” like she was just so over him.  And then how he’d stood as she directed, braced against the wall of the shower, his back to her, as she…

Levi can’t hold it in anymore.  He’s throwing up.  Afterward, his hearing tunnels so he can’t make out any sound at all.  Levi’s vision dims a little.  If he can’t hear, how will he tell if she’s coming? How will he tell if she’s close?  His hearing doesn’t clear until he’s been sick again.  Until he has nothing left inside.  

Even though he’s terrified of Carla hearing the noise and coming to investigate, Levi flushes.  The next thing he knows there’s a knock on the bathroom door.  Levi glances around.  He’s perched on the closed toilet.  Arms wrapped around his knees, just like then.  Like he’s still doing what she told him to years ago and not moving a muscle.  Not making a sound.

Now, he’s out, but it feels like it doesn’t much matter.  Levi feels so exposed.  Hates that everyone can see how weak he is, because this is no lowkey shaking this is full out, just-escaped-a-predator shaking.

He doesn’t feel like he should be around Jesus at all right now.  For one thing, Jesus is the one who handled Carla.  Who apparently knew what to say to make her go, and even give her key back.  If Levi weren’t so weak, nobody would’ve reacted like they had.  No one would’ve gotten so scared.  It would’ve been no big deal.  But Levi made it one.  He made it so Jesus had to deal with Levi’s trauma even though Jesus has his own to deal with.

Levi’s on his feet and on his way out the door before he can really think it through.

“Levi!  Hey!”  Dominique calls, catching up to him as he fumbles for his keys.  “Stop for a sec.”

He’s so ready to jet right now, and Levi can tell that Dominique can see it, too.

“Remember what we said,” she explains, taking a slow breath, and letting it out.  “You don’t have to take off when you feel like screaming.  Get in the car.  Close the door.  Be by yourself.  Scream all you need to.  But don’t leave.”  Dominique’s watching him.  All but begging.

Levi keeps his eyes on her.  Unlocks the car.  Tosses her the keys.  Then, he gets in and locks the doors.  He waits until she turns away.  Until she’s walked all the way back up onto their porch.  

Then he screams.

(All of his stuff in his room at Pearl’s - rifled through.)

Screams.

(The old phone somehow untouched, lock box in the mess in his closet.  Just where he left it.)

Screams.

(The blankets on his bed thrown aside, when Levi made his bed every day.)

Screams.

(Her three days ago, looking for Pearl.)

Screams.

(Her going through his lane saying nothing, just looking at him with that look on her face.  Like he was disgusting.  Like she hated him.)

Screams.

(Her waiting on him and his mom at The Barn in June.)

Screams.

(Her telling him to turn around in the shower.  Her face as she sprayed off his legs.  And doing more.  And him screaming.  Screaming.  Screaming.  Her saying, “Stop.  It doesn’t hurt!”)

Screams.

His voice is gone.  But what good was it anyway?  What the hell good was it?

Finally, Levi gives up, laying his forehead against the steering wheel.

--

Pearl needs something to occupy her mind.  Years of attempting to cope through miserable anniversaries have taught her that nothing soothes her quite as much as being in the kitchen.  And nothing soothes those around her quite as much as her homemade hot cocoa.  She gets the okay from Mariana before commandeering Frank’s crockpot and starting the largest batch that she has ever made.

“Cleo wants to see,” Francesca says softly, bringing her closer.  Cleo licks Pearl’s arm.

“Careful out here,” Pearl urges, though she hasn’t even plugged in the crockpot.

“What can I do?” Francesca asks, undeterred.  “Mariana said I needed to come out here and practice positive coping.”

“What now?” Pearl asks, tuning into what Francesca’s saying.

“Because I still feel like I’m a bad sister...and I like...sometimes do bad things to myself when I feel bad.  But I told Mari and she sent me out here, to see how you cope.”

Somehow, an anxiety-riddled smile comes to Pearl’s face.  “Well, I don’t always cope in the best ways.  But making hot cocoa definitely counts as a positive way to deal with stress.  Plus,” Pearl lowers her voice, “This is something Jesus really likes.  So, maybe if we make it, and bring him a cup, and set it down near him, he’ll have some and feel a little bit better.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to cope right now,” Francesca insists.  And Pearl notices the desperation in her eyes.  Just how hard she’s trying.  Cuddling Cleo.

“Okay.  So, find a bowl for me?  A small one?” Pearl coaches.

Pearl spots Francesca as she climbs on a chair and finds a bowl.  Climbs down, while making sure she doesn’t step on Cleo, who’s sniffing around Pearl’s feet.

“Next, we need to mix the baking cocoa and the sugar together.  We need to make this recipe for six.  So what’s 1.5 times 6?”

Francesca looks at her blankly.

Pearl tries again:  “1 times 6?”

“Six,” Francesca answers.

“Okay, good.  Now .5 that’s a fancy way of saying ½.  So, do this for me.  Each of your fingers is ½.  Count them until you reach six.  Like this,” Pearl demonstrates.  “One-half, one, one-and-a-half, two.  You’re up to four fingers right now.  Can you do the last two?”

“Two-and-a-half, three?” Francesca asks, holding up six fingers.

“You got it.  Very good.  So now.  Last step to figure out how much cocoa and sugar for six people.  Six plus three?”

“Nine.” Francesca says quickly.  “Addition’s easy.”

“You figured it out!  So we need a tablespoon.  Can you find that?” Pearl asks.

“T-S-P?” Francesca asks, pulling out one.  

“Almost.  You want 1 T-B-S-P.”

The next one Francesca pulls is correct.  Finally, she’s ready to measure out cocoa and sugar.  Pearl turns the crockpot on low and stirs the milk while checking in with Francesca.

“How’s the measuring going?  Count out loud if you need to.  That helps me keep track.” Pearl advises.

“What if it’s too heaping?” Francesca worries.

“Don’t worry about it.  No such thing as too much chocolate, right?” Pearl winks.

“Oh gosh, you’re right.  What was I thinking?” Francesca flashes a bright smile.

Pearl’s urging Francesca to mix the sugar and cocoa together.  Then, sends her to find vanilla.  Then the Junior Mints.  Francesca does.

“Here you go!” Francesca beams, holding out the Junior Mints.  

“So, you think vanilla, or no vanilla?” Pearl checks.

“Oops, I forgot.”  Francesca goes to the pantry and finds it.  Brings it back.  “Jesus’s favorite candy is Junior Mints.  Did you know that?  Is that why you got them?”

“Actually, Levi got them.  And he didn’t know they were Jesus’s favorite.  He just guessed.”

“Mmm, he’s a good guesser then.” Francesca approves, sneaking a Junior Mint.  “Are you okay?  You know, that your mom’s so mean?  And from your traumaversary?” Francesca checks.

“You know, it’s been really hard? But I can’t imagine how much harder it would have been without you guys.  I really appreciate you all coming to support me.”

“You’re welcome,” Francesca interjects sweetly.

“And baking with you is helping me, too.  So, thank you for that,” Pearl nods.

“We help each other.  It’s a thing,” Francesca shrugs, a mirror image of Jesus.

“You shrug just like your brother,” Pearl points out.

Francesca laughs.  “Everyone says that.”

--

Dominique’s still sitting on the front porch, when Levi glances up.  Hesitantly, he gets out of the car.  Walks toward her, eyes down.

“Sorry,” he apologizes.

“Hey, no…  Actually...I was wondering…  Could I have a turn?” Dominique nods at his car.

Levi does a double take behind him.  “What?  Yeah.  I mean..  Yeah.”

“Could you stay out here?  But not...watch me?  Not listen?” Dominique asks.

“I won’t watch.  But...you couldn’t hear me from where you are, right?” he checks.

“No, but I have a feeling I’m gonna be loud…” Dominique ventures.  “And I wanna know you’re here.  But I don’t wanna...I don’t know...and think…  Can I keep the keys?  Not forever, just...you know...until…”

“Yeah.  I’ll sit with my back to the car,” Levi tells her, his voice a hoarse croak.  “I won’t watch you.  Won’t listen.  Keep the keys if it makes you feel better…”

Dominique strides across to Levi’s drive with a confidence she doesn’t feel.  Well aware that it hasn’t been long at all since Pearl’s mother was out here.  In this space.  Trying to do her thing - manipulate and dominate and control.  Just being in proximity to toxic shit like that sends Dominique back through time.

Sure, she’d guarded Fran well enough in the bedroom.  But Cleo barking back there had scared Dominique so bad she’d temporarily lost control of...well...everything.  

Francesca had looked at her with a combination of confusion and alarm.  Mariana said it was okay, and kept urging Francesca to stay quiet.  Once Levi cleared out of the bathroom, Dominique went in and changed.  Pulled on sweats.  Double checked the floor in the corner, to be sure it was clean.

Now, Dominique shuts herself in Levi’s car, locks all the doors, hunches over in the seat so her face is hidden from the windows and screams.  Harsh and hard and loud and long and all the ways she’d never been allowed to before.

Scenes flash through her head like a stop-action film.  

Hands over her mouth.  

Being grabbed out of a parking lot.  

Bandage changes in the hospital.  

Taylor.  Men.  Fire.  Agony.

Dominique screams about all of it.  And just like he promised, Levi doesn’t turn around.

When she gets out she feels tense.  On edge.  Like she might really deck somebody if they even look like they’re gonna come toward her.

She’s walking up the porch steps to give Levi his keys back when the cabin door opens.  Dominique acts on instinct, moving in front of Levi, in case.  (She can’t forget the way he and Pearl looked, realizing Carla had gone through all their stuff.  So shaken.  Levi still hasn’t lost that look.)

“Hey…” a little voice says, stopping where she is.  “It’s Francesca…  Blanket?” she offers, holding out the grey one Dominique brought along but has yet to use.

She nods.  Takes it warily.  Watches Francesca offer a giant fleece blanket printed with moose to Levi, who takes it, and covers up gratefully.  Behind Francesca is Pearl, with cups.

“Hot cocoa.  If you want.  I’ll leave it here,” she says, setting the cups on the table nearby.  

Then, they retreat back into the cabin.

--

Pearl and Francesca have just been through the living room with hot chocolate.  Jesus doesn’t want anything resembling food anywhere near him, but Francesca tells him:

“You can drink this if you want to, Jesus.  There’s Junior Mints in it.  For extra protection.”

Even Francesca knows the story of how Mom knew it was really Jesus at a police station in L.A. by saying his secret safe word: Junior Mints.  Saying it, meant he was feeling in danger.  Somehow, though, over the years, it’s morphed into proof that he is safe.  Like Fran says.

She’s giving him a once-over.  “You got your yellow blanket and your yellow scarf.  And your hot chocolate,” she says like she’s reviewing everything.

“We’ll give you guys space,” Pearl nods, shepherding Francesca back to the kitchen.

When they’re gone, Jesus eyes Mariana.  Then, the hot chocolate.  “Are you gonna make me?”

“Make you…?” Mariana asks, confused.

“Have that?” Jesus asks, nodding at the cup.

“Jesus, if you wanna drink it, that’s your choice.” Mariana insists gently.  She has her own cup in her hands.  A bright pink blanket across her lap.  Somewhere, Jesus is glad the other Avoiders haven’t forgotten her.

“Not always…” he ventures.

“No, not always.” Mariana echoes, sad.

(It feels weird knowing that Jesus has the full context for being force fed, and Mariana doesn’t, but might think she does.  There’s some deep shame in him, that makes it impossible to even share with Mari about Moms and what they did.)

“She said I was like Him,” Jesus offers, staring straight ahead.  “Because I wouldn’t let her see Pearl.  Like I was keeping her against her will…”

Mariana’s eyes narrow.  “She can go...jump in a lake…” Mariana manages, seething.  After a minute, she keeps going.  “She was lashing out, Jesus.  Because you weren’t giving into what she wanted.  It doesn’t mean what she said was true.  It means she’s abusive and immature.”

“But what if I am?  Like Him?  I did manipulate her,” Jesus points out.

“I think...you learned...from that situation.  You learned how to survive.  You learned...how to protect yourself.  And others.  That’s not bad.  That’s impressive.”

Jesus considers this.  Then offers more of what he’s mulling over:

“She said I have Stockholm Syndrome,” he says, disgusted.  Finally, he picks up the hot chocolate.  Takes a sip.  “God, the 2021 version of Pearl’s hot chocolate’s even better than the 2014 version…” Jesus sighs, relieved to taste something so wholly comforting.

Mariana smiles, but then it fades.  “I learned at school...and more importantly from you?  That Stockholm Syndrome is a thing people say...when they don’t have all the facts.  When they can’t, like...grasp the fullness of what trauma like that does to a kid.  It’s easier for her to blame you.  To say this bandaid explanation.  Stockholm Syndrome.  Than it is for her to actually...accept that trauma is a thing.  To accept that children are humans with rights to boundaries and safety.  Her saying that to you?  Was her telling you the truth about her perspective.  About how she has zero respect for kids.  For boundaries.  But she wasn’t telling you the truth about...the reality of what happened.  I don’t know if anything I’m saying is making any sense…” she hedges, laughing nervously.

“I hate that Moms have spent the last 13 months basically making you doubt yourself,” Jesus tells Mariana honestly.  “I get that some things are harder for you now.  I see that.  I respect it.  I respect you.  Your accident?  Doesn’t change the fact that what you have to say makes a lot of sense.”

Mariana looks away.  Sips her own hot chocolate.  “Okay…” she ventures, covering the hurt she obviously feels at Moms’ treatment with a smile.

“You notice things, Mari.  You noticed Francesca was having trouble.  You sent her out to make hot chocolate with Pearl.”

“Yeah.  And?” she asks.

“And that helped.  She’s gonna remember that.  So maybe next time she starts feeling overwhelmed she’ll reach out to you or me or Dominique instead of going all internal.”

“Don’t.  You don’t have to try so hard…” Mariana says, waving away his comments like they’re annoying.

“They feel like I’m trying too hard…” Jesus starts, making an effort to slow down what he’s saying, because he hasn’t really been paying attention to it.  “Because you’ve pretty much only heard the opposite.”

Mariana sighs.

Jesus winces, pain rippling through his back, reminding him that Hell Week is still lurking in his subconscious.  “I know it’s not the same thing?  But I spent a long time being told every word that came out of my mouth was dumb.  It’s been ten years since He last said any of that to me, and I still fight against it.”

“I know,” Mariana says, quiet.

“When I say stuff you do well?  I’m helping you fight against it,” he explains, gentle.

“You don’t have to,” she insists.  

“I want to,” Jesus tells her honestly.

“Can I do anything...like to help...your other trigger situation?” Mariana asks, rerouting the conversation.  Diverting the attention from herself.  Jesus recognizes the tactic.  He’s used it himself - an early kind of boundary.

“I feel...like I just got the shit beat out of me…” he confesses.  More than he has said to anyone about Hell Week ever.

Jesus can see his own pain reflected back in Mariana’s eyes.  “That sucks,” she says.  “And I know it doesn’t make it better...but...I’m here.  Which means, you’re not There.  Not really.”

“Trauma thinks I am,” Jesus comments sarcastically.

“Yeah, well, Trauma should drink some Junior Mints hot chocolate.  ‘Cause I’m pretty sure that’s another thing it didn’t have There.”

Jesus takes a sip.  Closes his eyes.  “More proof.”

“Proof?” Mariana asks.

“That trauma’s wrong.  As usual,” Jesus leans back, trying to breathe.  Trying to relax.

“But it does make sense.  Seeing as you did just deal with a giant peanut butter cookie and her nonsense…”

Jesus snickers.  “You call her that and she seems so…”

“Ridiculous?” Mariana fills in.  “That’s kinda the point.”

“Trauma’s a thing, but I’m not?” Jesus checks, opening one eye to look at his sister.

“You’re a human being,” Mariana reassures.  Not mocking his need to hear it at all.

“I can be Jesus?” he asks, super soft.

“You are Jesus,” Mariana insists.  “You never have to be anybody else.  Okay?  That’s over.  Trauma doesn’t know it.  But it’s over.”

Jesus reaches for his hot chocolate again.  Catches sight of the first nail on his right hand.  It’s perfect, except for a tiny scar by the first knuckle.  He bends the finger.  Testing.

It doesn’t hurt.

He picks up the cup.  Take a drink.

It’s small.  But it’s progress.

Maybe the truth is finally starting to get through.

[vvildflowerrr]

10/18/2020 Sometimes Things Aren’t Better

content warnings // mental illness, self harm, mentions of ableism

So a lot of the time on the internet, specifically around ‘spiritual’ communities, you’ll see a lot of advice on how to be better. I know that these types of posts and the sentiment in general is well-intentioned, wholeheartedly. But for a really long time I’ve found myself struggling to follow through with the advice they often give. Recently I’ve done a little thinking about it, and since this blog is for thinking I’m going to get some of this out here.

I myself struggle with a lot of mental illness, including some really not fun PTSD. I’ve found myself doing so great and wonderful up until I get triggered, and then I can’t remember the last time things were okay. This sucks, especially when I feel like there’s some amount of pressure to be all love and light with the spiritual community. Existing is messy and hard. There are obstacles. There are slip-ups. Unapologetically I’ll admit my bad days are really bad, sometimes I’m not kind to myself and that’s just part of my existence. Everything is open ended to me and I know I’ll grow and change, that’s like the entire axis of my worldview.

If I’m being honest, the reason this blog has come to be is because recently I had a really bad day. It was a traumaversary, I spiraled pretty bad, and ended up relapsing in self harming for the first time in a really long time. Now this isn’t a good thing, I know, I need help and I’m constantly working on healing myself. But after I’d done that I felt an extra layer of guilt for trying to work on my tarot page and wanting to start making a business in helping others heal. I almost felt disqualified from being someone who could do that, because I wasn’t in a good spot. But without getting cheesy I think I’m realizing that being in the thick of it is good for being able to relate to others.

I’ve reached out to people before at my lowest and gotten what felt closer to being talked down to than anything else, I guess that would be the best way to explain it. There’s very little to me that feels more gross than having someone present as having all their shit together and tell you how you can do things how they did while you feel like you’re either buried or drowning or both. Genuinely, I think my course of action is to do my best to relate to people I meet through my work with the most genuine compassion I can offer.

And typing this now I’m just kind of thinking of healing as a concept. I think I see a lot of, “You need to get here!” in regards to it and that really isn’t conducive for a real and lasting healing process. People say things are meant to be a journey about so many things but that’s kind of the route I’m going with this thought. There is no destination when it comes to healing. Because there’s never going to be a time where there isn’t going to be pain. With that, you’re not going to react the same to every kind of pain, nor will you react the same to the same kind of pain every time it happens. And that’s because people are fluid. Even me, a person with the fixed placements stacked literally all the way through their chart, is fluid.

I constantly see people pushing others to keep their chakras cleared and aligned, focus on the right things, use your tools correctly, don’t think about negativity, do everything with intention, and all these things are good! But you’re getting this information from a lot of people who have the time and resources to do these things, or others emulating them in an attempt to go down the same path. But what about poor people, disenfranchised people, people who don’t have access to the luxuries a lot of us do? What about people like me, with trauma? Or disabled folks, people with chronic health issues? If you are one of those people and you can do all those things by the way, I’m really happy for you! I’m just trying to say like, the spiritual community is far from accessible for everyone.

Big example of this is with medical stuff. I’m all for natural cures, believe me, that’s almost always my first go to. But goodness, they don’t fix all of my problems. I have people I love deeply who need modern medicine to survive. But then you’ve got spiritual folks on the internet encouraging people to go off of their medications or not wear a mask because “this isn’t a pandemic, it’s just pandemonium” without even considering that our life experiences are vastly different. Or that there are vulnerable people listening who will be directly affected by dangerous rhetoric like that. Like alright dude, I’m so glad you don’t need medications but my brain is a scary place and even with my spiritual practice I haven’t been able to fix it by myself. I’m so glad you have your theories about the current state of the world, but I’m watching friends and family members die in front of me.

I see that stuff a lot and I wonder how one can get so “enlightened” that they forget that they still live in a human body, around other humans. People who get to that point and purely use their platform to push other people to join them and listen to them and do what they do honestly sound no better to me than the fundamentally religious people I was around before carving my own path. It’s gross, and coercive, it’s a big roundabout way of guilting people with kindness and I think it leaves a lot of people behind.

So I guess the main point of all of this is that there’s more than just every one of us. Life is really fucking messy and sometimes we mess up. Messing up doesn’t disqualify us from our journey, or from helping others. Going with the flux and flow of things is just nature. And also, whatever you do, make it accessible for everyone, and don’t be a dick!

Not sure how to end this. Also not sure how my tone is going to come across. I don’t even think I said what I wanted to. But I’m posting this anyway!! We’ll see.

Have a good one!

~ Will :)

[scaradviceblog]

I'm having some trouble eating, and I don't really know what to do about it. Right now, I'm super-hypersensitive to everything, and so eating anything with flavor basically sends me into a panic attack. But I don't think people should subsist entirely on Cheerios, pasta, coffee, and ice cream. This is a traumaversary thing, so I'm hoping it will get better soon, but any tips in the meantime? (I eat regularly, just not very much/with variation/without panic.)

Hey there,

Sorry to hear you’re going through this, but hopefully there are some things you can do to mitigate this. I highly recommend potatoes. You can make them as bland as you want. They’re also really easy to make. You can just boil them or cook them in the microwave. Plus, they’re pretty healthy.

I think your biggest issue right now could be nutrition. You can have nutritious food without spices or grease, but it sounds like that’s not how things are working out right now. Maybe there’s something you can add to the pasta. Beef stroganoff is pretty simple. I add a can of cream of mushroom soup for every pound of ground beef and then just add to egg noodles or whatever’s handy. It’s more nutritious than noodles on their own. Another thing I like to do is just add an egg to my cup of ramen noodles. It adds protein to my diet. Obviously if you don’t eat animal products, these suggestions aren’t super helpful. I guess you could add tofu or beans. (Black beans go with just about everything.) It’s probably just a process of trial and error.

Be careful about the coffee though. Too much on an empty stomach can make you feel sick and not want to eat. It’s a coping mechanism that I use to stay awake after a particularly rough night, but it can cause problems. There are some caffeinated teas that are easier on your stomach, but a good rule is to drink that first cup of coffee while you eat something.

Since it’s a traumaversary thing, you may just have to wait it out and eat what tastes good to you. It’s better than nothing, and we don’t want you going hungry. I think baby steps could help too. Maybe set a goal of eating one thing out of your regular list. So maybe you can say “Today I’ll eat a vegetable” and do that. You could also get a nutrition shake mix to mix with milk (or almond/soy milk) to supplement what you’re already eating. Don’t use it exclusively or as a long-term solution, but it could fill in the gaps. For the same reasons, I take a multivitamin every day.

I hope this helps. Feel free to tell us if you find something that works better for you.

- Red

[ficdirectory]

Somewhere Inside (Disuphere series #4) Chapter 35

(To listen, click here) - 12:51

“Before we go, I just wanted to mention...tomorrow and Sunday are Trauma Weekend for me…” Pearl ventures.

“What’s that?” Francesca wonders, glancing up from her drawing.  

“It means...it’s the anniversary of when my trauma happened.  So, things are probably gonna be harder for me.”  Pearl glances at Jesus.  “It would help, I think, for you guys to be aware of that.  And, maybe to check in?  Ask how I am?  But don’t ask about what happened directly. Please.”

“Oh, you mean traumaversary,” Francesca fills in.

“Wait.  There’s a term for it?” Pearl asks.

“Well, in my family, there is,” Dominique offers.  “We have cake.”

Pearl raises her eyebrows, incredulous.  “Why?”

“It helps.  I don’t know.  It takes something powerfully negative and just turns it into power.  Doesn’t have to be cake.  Doesn’t have to be anything.  You do you.  Just putting it out there, if you want advice.”

“I do, yes,” Pearl nods.  “I’ll take any advice I can get.”

“You can watch movies you like.  Read.  Or just talk to us, as needed.  It’s really up to you.  The key is, to treat yourself gently.  Trauma’s hard enough on you.  It doesn’t need your help adding to it…” Dominique shares.

“Hmm…” Pearl muses.  She’s beginning to see why Levi likes hanging out with Dominique.

“I don’t like celebrating mine,” Jesus shares with the group.  “Because it was pretty scary.  I just like it to be as close to a regular day as it can be.  But I like people to ask about how I am, too, like Pearl.”

“And I...I’ve only had one.  And Moms made it really awkward at dinner.  Said how glad they were I was alive and stuff…” Mariana bristles.

“So, they made your anniversary about them?” Pearl asks.

“Yeah.  It was really awkward,” Francesca adds.  “And then they yelled at you in the car on the way home, remember?”

“Yeah,” Mariana sighs.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal if you didn’t go to my concert.  You could see it on YouTube later.  But Moms thought it was a big deal…”

“They said I made them feel guilty...like...not wanting to be in the car that day.  It made them feel like the bad guys.” Mariana mutters.

“Well, they were,” Francesca insists.

“Anyway...I don’t have any advice because my first one was terrible.  So...sorry…” Mariana says.

“Hey, the first one is brutal,” Jesus offers.

“What if...you can’t remember yours?” Levi hesitates.  “Just an age.  Maybe a time of year?  But maybe not?”

“Maybe you count the time it started being a thing?” Dominique asks.  “April-something?”

“Great.  So I stole your birthday and now I stole your trauma month?” Levi sighs, sending a regretful look Pearl’s way.

“Hey.  You didn’t steal anything from me.  You gave me something.  I get to share our birthday.  Now, I get to share our trauma month.  It’s good.  You know, not to be alone with it.”

“I don’t have a trauma month,” Francesca observes, still drawing.

“That’s a good thing, buddy.  We don’t want you to have to have a trauma month.  They’re a scary deal,” Jesus says.  “And we don’t want you to be scared.”

“Hey guys, what are we gonna do for your birthday?” Francesca asks, looking at Levi and Pearl.

Pearl glances at Levi.  “That’s a couple months away,” she tells Francesca.

“So we have two months to plan,” Francesca says happily.

“I appreciate that you wanna plan something, but right now I really need to focus on getting through the next couple days.” Pearl says gently.

“And I have to focus on going to work...which I hate…” Levi rants.

“Hey, I’m coming as backup,” Dominique says.  “Maybe even dressed as Kaz this time,” she smiles.

“And I can go,” Jesus offers.  “I mean, if you guys want.”

“You’d come?” Pearl asks.  “What if Gary recognizes you again?” she asks, thinking back to the last time she and Jesus went shopping at SuperOne together years ago.  Pearl had had no idea Jesus was so recognizable.

“He can borrow my Sadness costume…” Dominique jokes.

“Yeah, being blue wouldn’t make me stick out at all…” Jesus laughs.

“Seriously.  Do you want to take my car?” Pearl asks.  “That way you too have an option for driving around, but staying really local.”

“Nobody has to go,” Levi sighs. “I mean, I do.  But you guys don’t.  I don’t want a repeat of yesterday with everybody having a terrible time because of me.  Just stay.  It’s safer.”

“But not for you,” Pearl insists.  “And I want you to be safe.  As safe as you can be.  You know if that damn store wasn’t ground zero for my trauma, I’d be there in a second.”

“I know.  But you need to be taking it easy this weekend, remember?” Levi says.

“Levi,” Dominique says.  “We wanna go.  We want to be there for you.”

“I want to,” Francesca says.  “I wish it wasn’t late so I could go.  

“You got super tired,” Levi points out, apologetic.

“So?  It was so fun!  Dominique said I could smell all the bread I wanted as long as it was wrapped.  And I looked up sloth videos on her phone.  And I talked to her friend, Lena, from her apartment on video,” Francesca recounts.  She leans across the table and whispers conspiratorially to Jesus: “You should definitely smell the bread.”

“I mean, if I do that, I might end up eating the bread…” Jesus jokes.

“You can, if you pay for it first,” Francesca says, matter of fact.

Unlike her own mother, who would sit silently after a comment like that, or ridicule Pearl for making obvious remarks, Pearl finds herself smiling gently and saying, “That’s true.”

--

Levi does his best to sneak away from the table as the time edges near a quarter to three.  But Dominique has already disappeared into one of the bedrooms.  She comes out in her pink wig, purple contacts and suit.

He catches sight of Jesus across the kitchen filling a big purple lunch bag with snacks.

“Oh, no way!” Pearl sounds happier than Levi’s heard her in days.  Maybe months.

“What?” Jesus asks, confused.

“You still have it?  That old lunch bag I packed for you?” she asks, touched.

“I’ll do you one better,” Jesus says, and unzips the side, pulling out a handful of folded notes.

“Ohhh, you still have these, too?” Pearl gushes.

“What are they?” Francesa asks, curious, and climbing up on a chair to see.  Levi watches as Jesus naturally puts an arm behind her, to steady her.

Levi glances at Mariana while the rest talk about whatever the notes are.  “He’s sentimental,” she says, an explanation that somehow clarifies everything and nothing.  “Hey, take the sanitizer with you.  You might need it.  In case you run into Peanut Butter Cookie.”

“Who?” he asks, a laugh bursting out of him.

“Your trauma.  Peanut Butter Cookie,” Mariana insists, straight-faced.

“Right.” Levi smiles.  “Somehow my trauma sounds way less scary that way…”

“Keep taking away its power,” Mariana advises.  “It gets smaller.  You get stronger.”

“Is that how it works?” he asks.

“I mean, I guess it’s a thing?  Seems to be for Jesus and Dom at least.” Mariana insists.  She really does grab the apple hand sanitizer from the table and put it in his hand.  “Seriously, if it helps you feel more secure, keep it.”

“We should go,” Levi calls out softly.  He nods at Mariana, tucking the small bottle in his pocket.  “We can just take my car, if everybody’s cool with that.  Y’all can drive it around while I’m working.  I don’t care.”

“Just come back for him,” Pearl insists, rushing forward with her arms open.  

“We will, Pearl,” Jesus promises.  “We won’t forget.”

“Please, please, please be so careful.  I’m a nervous wreck at the thought of you being there tonight,” Pearl says, practically smothering Levi in a hug once he opened his arms to accept her.

“I’ll text you on breaks.  So you’ll know I’m fine,” he hugs her tight.

“Send me selfies?” she asks.

“As long as I get you and Cleo ones back…” he agrees.  “Okay, I love you.  I just gotta go.”

“Okay, I love you.  If you really need me, I can come with mace,” Pearl offers, brave.

“No, no need.” Levi insists.  “Thanks, though.”  He makes the rounds, hugging Frankie, who’s about to be real upset if Levi leaves without hugging her, and Mariana who Levi wants to be sure feels seen.

“Have fun tonight,” he tells Francesca.  “Watch a good Disney movie for me.”

“I will.” Francesca agrees.

“And hey, thank you for my secret weapon,” Levi says quietly, embracing Mariana.

“Anytime,” she says, and her hug still feels just as perfect as the first.

--

Jesus surprises himself getting into the front passenger seat willingly.  He’s not even freaked out about it.  It could be that it’s been fourteen years since he got in That Car.  Could be that the trigger of getting in this particular seat has faded with time.  It could be that Levi’s just a kid.  Younger than Jesus.

Whatever the case, Levi’s driving, and Dominique seems to relax, realizing neither Jesus nor Levi will be joining her in the back.

While Levi drives, Jesus asks if he can have Levi’s info.  “So we can text.”

Levi passes it along, and Jesus gives Levi his.  It’s a major act of trust.  “Just don’t share it around?  If you wanna give my info to somebody, just refer them to me first.”

“Yeah, of course.  I’d never give y’all’s numbers to randos.  Or anybody.”

“So...we’ll probably just hang out in the car until it starts getting dark.  Then we’ll come in and see if there’s anything we need.” Jesus passes along when Levi parks.

“Text us if you need us,” Dominique adds.

“Yeah, will do.” Levi scans the parking lot and takes a deep breath.  “She drives a black car.”

“We’ll watch for it,” Jesus promises.

“Actually, let’s go in with him,” Dominique insists.  “Make sure he’s good.”

“You guys don’t ha--” Levi starts, and then, realizing that Jesus, Dominique and Dudley are all getting out of the car.  “Okay, you’re really doing that.”

“Yeah, we really are,” Dominique insists gently.

(Jesus hasn’t heard her use her Kaz voice once since putting on the costume.)

They wait as unobtrusively as possible while Levi gets set up.  Jesus gives the front of the store a once over.  Then, they’re on their way out to Levi’s car.

“Francesca wants a sloth,” Dominique remembers.

“But does she need a sloth?” Jesus smiles.

“I mean, you weren’t here when she was making me watch all the videos about them...and talking about how they were like her…”

“Like her?”

“I didn’t say it, but...slow.  Slow, like her.  Speed-wise.” Dominique shares.  

Jesus laughs.  “That was always her favorite part of Zootopia.  Now I know why…”

She keeps an eye on the parking lot, not letting her guard down until they’re safely back inside Levi’s car.

“Look at this one.  If I buy it for her, can I send it to your place?  Or hers?  Or mine?  I’m kinda freaked out to send anything to your parents’ to be honest.”

“Yeah, you’re not the only one…” Jesus muses.

“You okay?” Dominique asks.

“That’s cool, it actually holds onto her,” Jesus says, looking at the toy Dominique’s found.  “Send it to you.  That way, you can give it to her yourself when we hang out.”

“Is it okay?” Dominique double-checks.  “I mean, it’s not like…  You’re not mad I’m spoiling her?”

“You’re not spoiling her.  It’s one toy.  You said yourself, she feels a connection to it.  I think she’d dig having a little buddy like that clinging onto her.  It’d sure make it easier for her to bring places.” Jesus observes.

“You’re avoiding, Avoider.  We don’t avoid each other.  Unless you don’t wanna say how you are.  In which case, I totally respect that,” Dominique rambles.

Jesus takes an intentional deep breath.  She does, too.  “Dominique.  We are okay.  If you’d feel more comfortable somewhere else, we can go somewhere else.

“No, I got it.  Just...it’s a lot.  It’s been a lot.  You know?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he nods.  “But your thing with Francesca?  Your relationship with her?  I appreciate that.  So much.  Not sure if I ever mentioned it.  She really needs you in her life.  She does better.  I think she feels really seen by you.”

“Well, I feel the same,” Dominique says back, reserved.  “So...I’m sorry but I have to ask...I’m not coming on too strong with her?  You’re not mad I’m a bad influence?”

Jesus’s eyes widen.  “Are you kidding?  You’re the best influence.  I’m so glad she has you.  I’m so glad we all do.”

“So, I’m not too much?” Dominique asks.  “Falling apart in front of her?”

“Falling apart in front of her teaches her it’s okay to do,” Jesus points out.  “That’s a good thing.  That’s needed.”

“This is hard,” Dominique admits cryptically, glancing out the window.

“I know,” he echoes.

“But we have each other,” she breathes.  “And Levi has us.”

[ficdirectory]

The Crossing (Disuphere series #3) Chapter 10

Scene IV: Out There

On Sunday afternoon, Dominique finally has no excuse left.  She’s eaten all eight of Jesus’s cookies in four days.  She’s washed his Tupperware.  It’s officially time to woman up and knock on his door to return the thing.

She takes a deep breath.  Knocks.  Waits.  Knocks again.

Finally, the door opens.  “Hey.  Just returning this,” she greets, ready to turn around and leave.

“Wait.  Wanna come in?”

Dominique stays where she is.  “Anybody ever tell you you come on strong?”

“Not really.  No.  Can I ask why you’re blue?  Like literally?”

“I’m Sadness.  Deal with it.”

“Okay…” (Count Jesus in the 1% of people who have never seen Inside Out.)

The silence keeps growing and Dominique can’t help it.  She has to fill it.  “Listen.  Sorry if it was weird yesterday or whatever with the cookie.  I didn’t mean to like make light of your stuff...or whatever.”

“I didn’t take it that way.”

“Oh.”  

“I have a cat.  By the way.  I’m so sorry.  I babble when I’m nervous.”

“Why would you be nervous?”

She shrugs, not ready to admit she knows him - kind of.

“Okay, well...see ya, I guess…”

“Yeah.  I guess,” she manages.

--

“Honey, if you’re nervous about hanging out with him somewhere that’s not public, try somewhere that is,” Mom suggests.  It’s Sunday night, and she and Dad are over for belated traumaversary lemon cake.

It’s one thing in her life that’s going right.  This cake right here.  Her parents, still coming through after all, not thinking she’d suddenly be 100% fine on her own.

“Mmm…  This cake, Michael…” Mom moans.

“I consider it one of many skills, my mastery of boxed cake mixes and bundt pans…” he offers dryly.

Dominique cracks a smile.

“Ooh, got a smile out of Sadness!” Dad exclaims, like his day is made.

“I don’t know.  I don’t really want it to seem like I’m too eager or something.”  She drops her voice.  “You guys know he’s Jesus from the news, right?” she asks.

“The little boy from 2007, kidnapped right off of Villa Mariposa?  No, I did not know that,” Mom breathes.  “It’s good to be cautious, all right?  It is.  But I think it’s not a bad idea, if he’s got a good head on his shoulders --”

“--Like you,” Dad interjects.

Dominique nails him with a skeptical look.

“What?  You’re smart.  I can say that, can’t I?”

“If it’s true…” Dominique ventures, soft.

“It definitely is,” Dad says.  He’s quiet, too, but confident.

“Right.  If he’s got a good head on his shoulders - like you - I don’t think it’s a bad idea to maybe wanna be his friend.  You two might find some common ground.”

“We have common ground - he lives right across the hall.” Dominique quips, raw still, from the time of year, and everything it means.

That night, she texts Mom privately after they both leave:

How come you and Dad never talk about it?

Mom:

We do.

Dominique:

I mean, to me.

Mom takes a long time responding, but Dominique’s got nothing but time:

Mom:

We were advised not to, by a therapist, after you got home.  Not to bring it up unless you did.  We didn’t want to make things harder on you.

Dominique:

You bake a cake but you won’t talk about it.

Mom:

Maybe, in his own way, Dad is talking about it when he bakes the cake.

Dominique:

And what way are you talking about it?  

Mom:

I’m sorry.

Dominique turns down the volume on her phone and plugs it in away from her so she doesn’t have to see it.

--

After an intense week of work, Dominique finally has time to breathe.  She’s left a message with Lena, to let her know not to come in, because she’s got other plans today.  She takes her phone, and her journal to the quiet little park near their building and snaps a few pictures of the nature.

It’s pretty.  It’s a break from the four walls of a hospital and all the memories inside it.  On one hand, she feels okay there.  Known.  Seen.  People there have seen her at her absolute worst.  On the other hand, though, she remembers everything that happened there.  And that truth is so heavy, she could easily drown in it.

She needs to focus on something good for a while.  

It’s been a while since she’s written any poetry.  It comes in bursts.  Some in stanza, some stuck together like stream of consciousness writing.  She thinks about hope.  About light.  She starts:

Night becoming day.  Sun streaking across a deeply shadowed, sleeping sky.  Colors streaking, waking, being.  Sun rising.  I am rising.  Because I have lived to see this new day.  This new moment.  This fresh glory.  Because it exists and I exist in the light it throws out.  Because the name I keep secret means light.  So I know, that is what I am to be.  It’s why Daylight and me, we have a kinship.  A deep connection.  The light is the thing I strive every day to be.  To light up shadows.  To show secrets.  Yet how can I do that, be that, believe that, when so much of who I really am is, in fact, a secret?  Light gives me hope, but do I give hope to those around me?  Can I be something I only rarely feel.  For seconds when the daylight creeps over the horizon?

Next, she catches sight of her Hunger Games jersey, and the braid over one shoulder.  Remembers that today she is Katniss (without bows and arrows).  She continues, thinking about fantasy; about what it means to her:

There is safety

Within these castle walls

Within these sheep skins

And borrowed sins.

Envelop me

In tulle

And myriad tools

Appear.

It takes her the better part of an hour, but after she writes, Dominique does feel better.  Lighter.  She breathes and glances around.  Checks her phone.  Lena had texted and Dominique let her know it was fine to go into the apartment and clean a little if she really wanted.

From behind her, a throat clears and she looks over her shoulder.  

Jesus.  

He raises his eyebrows slightly at the empty side of the picnic bench.  

Dominique nods, carefully, thinking of what Mom said.  He sits down with his own pad of paper and she finds she can’t concentrate on writing a thing.  So she looks through her pictures instead.  Checks for Dudley, who’s found shade under the table.

“Can I take your picture, Dudley?” she whispers.

He glances her way, and she takes it.

It’s perfect.

Dominique swallows, feeling eyes on her.  Jesus, who had been busy with a pencil and what looks like a sketchbook, isn’t drawing anymore.  He’s gathering his stuff to leave.

“Hey, whoa.  What just happened?” she asks.

“I’m not great with pictures on the DL,” he admits.  “So, I’m just gonna go.”

“Listen, I took one of Dudley.  Not of you.  I swear.  And I asked him first.  He turned and even smiled for it.  Look.”  Dominique holds out her phone as proof.  “You can look at them.  I don’t photograph people.  I do nature.  And animals.”

Jesus has warily accepted her phone and is flipping through her pics.  “Is this your cat?” he asks, a little breathless.

“It is.  That’s Roberta.  She’s a diva.”

“She looks...intimidating,” Jesus admits.

“Well, Dudley’s kinda imposing, too.  Like, he could eat Roberta in three bites, but I’m not judging him, am I?” Dominique asks lightly.

“True.”  He hands the phone back and Dominique sets it on the table.  

“You can sit back down if you want.  Over there,” she nods to his side.  “I’ll leave my phone there.”

Dudley comes out from under the table and stands next to Jesus until Jesus can walk back to the table and sit.

“Can I see what you’re drawing?”

He turns the book and slides it toward her.  She takes it in.  A dark room.  A single, small window, high up on a wall, with light streaking through it.

“I like this.”

“It’s nothing.” he dismisses.

“No, I like the window.”

“I always wanted one,” he comments softly, before he blinks and seems to realize he’s spoken aloud.  Questions and panic are on his face.

“I know,” she finally says, acknowledging.  “We’re the same age.  Both grew up here.  Hard not to see the news,” she offers, apologetic.  “Sorry.”

“So, truth time?” he asks.

“Sure,” she agrees.  She doesn’t know what truth time entails, but honesty sounds good to her.

“Are you cool with me now ‘cause you figured out who I am?”

“I’ve known who you were since well before we rode the elevator together, and I was a jerk to you several times since then,” she points out.

“So, what changed?  You used to not want anything to do with me, and you do now?  I don’t get it.”

“We’re in public,” she admits.

“Oh.”

“I’m Dominique Williams,” she says.

“Jesus Foster,” he returns, looking her in the eye.