#i need better coping mechanisms but it’s so easy to just turn to substances when you’ve never learned how to cope w your emotions

[angelstrawbabie420]

in my quest to quell my pain ive only hurt myself worse. damned if i do damned if i dont.

[conduitandconjurer]

how does ur blog personally handle the klaus cult storyline? i saw in ur tags abt how u didn't like it so i was wondering if u were canon divergent about that part of season 2? sorry if this is a weird question lfjdksljfdklsfj

Not even remotely a weird question, and please don’t apologize, Lucky dear <333   Media crit is like My Thing™ so I love this kind of question.

My blog handles the Klaus cult storyline by de-emphasizing it, which is not so much an attempt to duck it entirely as an attempt to encourage others to find it occasionally funny in an ironic sense (more on that later) but mostly to not rely on it as a comedic staple, and even less so as a staple of Klaus’s character.  It’s a symptom not of his growth but of his continued stasis, and probably his biggest stumbling block in the entirety of season two. I don’t go completely canon-divergent and deny that it happened, because I believe there are lessons to learn in the folly of it, and because it reveals character flaws (or perhaps better put, maladaptive coping mechanisms) that Klaus needs to overcome.  

Klaus forming a cult in Season Two is revelatory: revelatory of where Klaus is emotionally himself, and what he needs to change.  It’s uncharacteristic of him, because Klaus is, at heart, beneath the sarcastic bluster and the addiction, a kind and vulnerable person who doesn’t want to control anyone--in fact, I’d argue that, despite his individuality, Klaus is a problematically passive person, who lets himself BE controlled--and cults are ordinarily ways to prey upon and ideologically control socially vulnerable, often young, people, and indoctrinate them in toxic beliefs.  So it’s uncharacteristic,....until you realize that he’s using the cult as one more big way to DEFLECT from his problems, and take the easy out.  Klaus is necessarily weaponizing his queerness and pacifistic tendencies to pad himself with monetary and social support, in the increasingly anti-war, pro-free-love, hippie sixties.  Moreover, he is anesthetizing himself with empty hedonism: this time--instead of with drugs--with the pure, unfettered, casual love of perfect strangers.  

Why (beyond staying alive and safe in a volatile society that is even more homophobic than the 2010s?) Because he thinks the rest of his family didn’t survive the time jump.  The cult signifies an emotional REGRESSION. And why is it ironic? Because in trying to escape his problems, Klaus has circles right back around to them. What is his cult--clawing at him night and day, begging him for words of wisdom, begging for his help, exactly like? The ghosts that haunt him 24/7, knowing only he can see them. The cult  members are displaced and marginalized, desperate for answers, in the same way that ghosts are. And THAT, i will admit, is good writing. THAT is worth not throwing the baby out with the bathwater. 

Is it bad of Klaus to deceive people this way? Yes. Is it irresponsible of the writers to turn a cult storyline into a joke about “haha look at Klaus being eccentric and lazy and conniving again”? Yes.  In fact, the TUA writers have a pattern of irresponsibility and insensitivity when it comes to Klaus as a character. They make a punchline out of his addiction, too. They have characters coded by the narrative as morally superior (Ben, for instance) calling Klaus a loser and a “junkie” (which is a pretty slurry, offensive term for an addict) and shaming him; the writers should not be doing that.  Worse, they equate Klaus’s “usefulness” (read: his intrinsic worth) with his sobriety (he can only conjure when sober, and conjuring is the only “good” thing he can do, which, given t he fact that Reginald raised these kids, isn’t their fault per se, but at some point the writing needs to counter this very wrong-headed, abuse-based rationale, and it hasn’t).  The writers shouldn’t do this, either.  But they do. So am I surprised that the same people who made a punchline out of substance abuse also made a punchline out of cults? No. 

For those reasons, I wish this plot device had never been used (particularly when we talk about squicky things like the sexual flings he’s had with devotees simply because they think he’s some kind of prophet).  I don’t think it’s particularly funny, and I think there would have been other ways to show Klaus diving headfirst into hedonism to avoid mourning his “dead” siblings.  But it happened, and I can’t deny that it’s in-character for a falling-off-the-wagon, emotionally regressing Klaus.  And in its way, it’s a good way to reveal that he isn’t doing any better than he was when he was homeless and strung-out. 

On the other hand, is this a cult on the level of certain religious sects, or Charles Manson?  Of course not.  Klaus doesn’t give a damn if these people exist under his control, agree or disagree with him.  He wouldn’t ask them to do illegal things, or things that cause them emotional or physical pain.  Basically they ride around in a rainbow painted hippie van, travel the world fully funded by a rich elderly lady, probably eat vegan, and live in a gorgeous mansion.  They’re deluded, and that’s wrong, but they’re only deluded about the fact that Klaus is  really not a prophet, and is just spewing nineties song lyrics that haven’t been written yet. In a sense this diminishes the ethical squick, and I can live with it. I still don’t write about it much here, and I continue to decentralize it, because it’s still a dumb insensitive idea about a subject that causes real people real harm. 

[split-reality]

who am i?

26 / f / jane

i don’t know how to introduce myself. i don’t even know how to run a blog. i’m currently on my first few days of wellbutrin. truthfully, this blog is probably a symptom of the resulting mania.

i have an entire pharmacy in my room with meds i’m apparently supposed to dispose of. who can relate? my mom taught me not to throw anything away. she struggled with hoarding. we all struggled with it. she passed away from covid. 

other than the hoarding and childhood trauma, my mother was an amazing person. i am not being sarcastic when i say that either. i don’t know if i had it easy compared to my four older siblings, or if my childhood coping strategies of daydreaming, escapism, detachment, and splitting, preserved my loving feelings for her. but i love her. i always will. 

side note: who knew daydreaming was so dangerous? is daydreaming as a coping mechanism (split worlds) the root of splitting itself? daydreaming, if used as a way to cope, can cause idealization. daydreaming is also a primitive form of childhood play and spontaneity. the difference is that children who are just playing know how to return to their safe (just as “good”) world. what if play (spontaneity) in children is severely criticized and punished? the child then begins daydreaming excessively to the point of idealization and creates a safe “reality” in their mind where they get their needs met by idealizing love, attention, and affection from the people in their life. they then have an image of the “good” mom that is available with endless love and affection whenever they want it. their core being (spontaneous self) in the unsafe world (actual reality), is locked away to protect the underdeveloped child from conflicting feelings they cannot yet process. the split world divide causes the child to become more withdrawn, antisocial, and detached from their reality. the child might hallucinate or see things that aren’t there which explains lingering symptoms of psychosis in some adults with bpd. over time, when the child begins to understand what a core identity is (adolescence), they realize it is underdeveloped and no longer serves them. they try to resolve their core identity through spontaneous acts that mimic childhood play in order to work out this internal-external conflict. these activities (coping strategies) usually engage all the senses and the physiological result is strong enough to temporarily “snap out” of the split worlds they created. these activities can include sex, substances, and thrilling seeking. the question is, where does the child’s core identity go? is it locked away for safekeeping? does the child have an underdeveloped core identity that is put on pause? what prevents it from developing? would play therapy help adults with borderline personality disorder develop spontaneity? 

growing up, i did not have a close connection with my mother. the youngest of five siblings, my mom was too exhausted to pay much attention to me. the attention she gave me was very surface level. i learned quickly that acting out would get me noticed. any recognition was better than none at all. 

before my mom passed, i pressed her for details of “that time when” and laughed at my failed attempts of evoking love from her. she told me about the times i would cry because none of my siblings wanted to play with me. being the youngest, i just couldn’t understand the games that they played. all i could understand was that they wouldn’t. play. with. me. i would run over to the towers that they built out of wooden blocks, say “fuck this shit!” and kick them down. i was a shit kid. this is how my futile attempts at love made me the scapegoat in my family.

and i was good at it. i became the outlier. the hyperactive child who just will. not. stop. i became the outsider compulsively looking for a way back in. 

my mom often told me stories of my odd and downright disturbing behavior. 

there is one that stands out in particular. i was three years old. she said my eyes were as big and shiny as cherries when i looked at her and said, “mom, jane isn’t going to take this fork and stab herself in the eyes and twist to pluck them out. jane isn’t going to.” 

my frightened mother hugged me and said, “jane, why are you acting like this?” i then looked at her and said, “i’m not going to!” and started crying. most parents would take their kids to the nearest psychiatrist, but as a child of immigrant parents, my mental health was a figment of the imagination. a myth. a fake illness they use to lock you up and pump you with prescriptions. 22 years later, i was locked up anyway, my pupils big and glossy like cherries. this time from lexapro. 

my mom told me of another time when she came home from school, too tired and hungry to play with me. she said i took a big ass potato from the kitchen. this potato was not just any potato. it was as long as an iphone 12 pro max. and i said, “i’m going to throw this potato and hit you!” she asked me why. perfectly reasonable question. i looked up at her and said, “because no one loves me, mama.” 

i asked my mom if my dad ever dropped me. perfectly reasonable question given the circumstances. she said he didn’t drop me, but he did lose me once. 

my mom claimed she loved and cared for everyone the same. i believe that was precisely the problem. she did not recognize our core being, our individualism. i don’t blame her. we were living in a bad neighborhood where, as a child, i would play and find needles on the ground. her hard work allowed us to get out of there. how could i find fault in that?  

side note: some might say that i’m making excuses for my mom. to be completely honest, i’m not sure if that’s the case. sometimes i wonder if i’m not fully processing my childhood anger and hurt lurking underneath. if it’s so deep, i can’t even reach it. more on that later. 

there are so many stories regarding my childhood antisocial, attention-seeking behavior but i just don’t have the energy to share. the only one that worth sharing is when i pretended to be mute for six months in preschool. 

my mom was called in for an appointment at the school. the teacher said, “what are you thinking? you wanted to fool us into thinking your child is normal? she has not spoken for six months!” baffled, my mom turned to me and said, “jane, why are you not talking?!” i said, “because i didn’t want to talk to them, mama.” my mom said the teachers turned pale. before then, not one peep had come out of me.

- jane (shit adult)

note: i know that there are few 26-year-olds named jane, okay? i get it. i couldn’t come up with a name. black and white thinking prevents me from making decisions for myself. no grey area results in a fear of failure and perfectionism to avoid it. 

another note: sorry to all the janes out there. i know you all still exist, but to be frankly honest, i don’t even know a jane. the name reminds me of morgue scenes from Law & Order SVU. 

maybe i’ll call myself olivia. 

[disastergay]

Normally I’d just post the link in the answer to an ask, but this person requested multiple fics.

Title: Miss Brightside

Prompt: Body Swap AU

Rating: Teens & Up

Ship/Pairing: Ibuki Mioda / Mikan Tsumiki

POV: Third person limited (alternating)

Genre(s): Fluff, humor, romance

Content Warning(s): Empty hospitals, substance abuse as a coping mechanism, hints of past abuse and childhood trauma

Ibuki wakes up to lungs filled with the stench of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol. Yawning, she stretches her arms behind her head and opens her eyes just a crack to squint at her unusual surroundings. There’s drool pooling on the cover of a neatly organized, Usami-themed planner, and the steady, harmonic hum of air conditioning and the fluorescent lights that flicker above her fills up every gap of sound in the room. It’s almost enough to make her pass out again, but fortunately her unparalleled hearing ability hasn’t fully kicked in.

Nose crinkling at the sharp tang of iron that’s gradually climbing up the back of her throat, it finally clicks: she’s not in her room. This isn’t too much of a surprise--after learning she’s been above the legal drinking age for years without knowing it, Ibuki’s taken to getting drunk off her ass every weekend; she should be used to waking up in unfamiliar places by now. Last week--or was it earlier this week? The passage of time doesn’t really matter much when you have nowhere else to be--Mahiru clobbered her over the head with a rolled-up newspaper after she’d fallen asleep badly sunburnt and tangled up in the slats of a pool chair.

While Ibuki Mioda is no substitute for an Ultimate Detective, it doesn’t take her long to use the process of elimination to figure out where she is. There’s only one place on Jabberwock Island that reeks of medicine and blood--the abandoned hospital.

Her head snaps up and she jolts out of the chair she’s sitting in, unceremoniously banging her head on the low-hanging cabinets above the desk. Muttering several creative curses, she rubs at the tender spot on her forehead, already feeling a bruise begin to form. One quick glance down at her feet tells her two things: firstly, she’s wearing someone else’s pajamas, and secondly, the black nail polish it took half an hour to apply has been wiped clean off her fingers. Not the best place to fall asleep, or the best clothes to borrow, she acknowledges, making note of the sizable holes in both socks.

Guess everywhere else was too crowded and I wasn’t feeling picky, Ibuki muses, absently rubbing the dust out of her eyes. The hospital is the last place she’d ever want to visit, all the torn cobwebs and empty chairs give her the creeps--NOT an ideal ambiance for the Ultimate Musician to take the stage. She doesn’t understand why anyone would want to come here, let alone check in and stay, and she definitely doesn’t get how Mikan spends most of her time holed up in a building that shudders at the slightest breeze, the fresh coat of paint on its walls already starting to peel.

Nobody else really comes here. Except for Nagito, the weirdo. He sometimes waves in passing on the way back, clutching a bottle of over-the-counter pain medication in his metal hand. Some of that stuff would be pretty damn useful right about now, but Ibuki decides looking for it isn’t worth the trouble.

Popping open a first aid kit from one of the nearby cabinets, she pokes through a wad of bandages and several tubes of ointment, neither of which are particularly helpful for treating bruises or aches, looking for something better to no avail. Fortunately, she spies a mini fridge tucked underneath an emergency use medicine cabinet on the far side of the room.

Jackpot.

Inside, there’s an assortment of blood bags and syringes that make Ibuki shudder. She already figured that the Ultimate Nurse probably doesn’t have the munchies often since she’s never seen her let loose and get hammered, but it’s still an unpleasant sight.

At least there’s an ice pack shaped like a goldfish in her freezer, if nothing else.

Grumbling to herself about how she should’ve accepted Akane’s “girl’s only night” sleepover invitation instead of ditching the Ultimate Gymnast and holing up in Rocketpunch Plaza (where she proceeded to drink until she was absolutely smashed), Ibuki headed down the hall towards the bathroom. It takes a minute for the lightbulb hanging from the tiled ceiling to flicker to life, and Ibuki taps her foot impatiently to give herself something other than darkness to focus on. The electricity coughs to life, filling the room with a dim spark of light. It’s not much, but it’s just enough to make Ibuki freeze on the spot when she casts her gaze to the mirror.

What little light can be found casts dark, foreboding shadows in the shape of grotesque fingers on the Ultimate Nurse’s pale face, making her nearly unrecognizable. Ibuki’s caught off guard by her unexpected presence, how on earth did she sneak up on her so quickly? She didn’t even hear the soft sound of her footsteps approaching from down the hall.

Ibuki lets out a startled laugh, equal parts struggling to recover her composure and grateful that it’s her classmate instead of a ravenous monster. Whipping around to face her shy acquaintance, she forces herself to draw in a shaky breath before speaking.

“Jesus fuck Tsumiki, don’t sneak up on people like that! You scared the shit out of… me…” Her voice sounds shrill and sharp with fear, almost a full two octaves higher than her speaking register. It’s easy to dismiss as nerves, but dread begins to grow in the pit of her stomach once she realizes something especially odd--no one else is in the room with her.

“Tsumiki? Komaeda…? Hey, this isn’t funny, you guys! Totally uncool!”

She peers out into the hallway, half-expecting to see one of her classmates sprinting away, but the only sound is the quiet echo of water dripping from a broken pipe near the entrance. Normally it takes a lot to make her feel anxious, much less genuinely fear for her safety. And she’s not quite there yet, but something is definitely off.

“I’m never drinking again,” she groans, rubbing her at temples. Okay, that’s definitely a lie. Maybe she can at least start by not getting blackout drunk every Friday night like fucking clockwork.

Grabbing the least grimy-looking towel from the rack next to the sink, Ibuki goes about making herself a cold compress. It requires some extra elbow grease to turn on the water, but eventually the squeaky faucet groans to life. Setting the ice pack aside, she leans forward until she’s up close and personal with the mirror, trying to assess the damage.

But instead of her own familiar face, she finds herself less than an inch away from Mikan’s.

Jumping back with a yelp, Ibuki throws up her hands as a show of apology and backs out of the shy nurse’s personal space… only to watch Mikan mimic her body language perfectly.

“Wha-- are-- how did you get stuck in the mirror?!”

Mikan’s lips move in sync with her own, the sound of her voice coming from Ibuki’s mouth instead of her reflection.

“No, wait, that’s not it--hang on a second.”

Gazing down at her--Mikan’s--ugh, whatever--body, she looks a lot paler and skinnier than she remembers. Squeezing a bicep with one hand, Ibuki’s distraught to find that all the muscle she built up from carrying her guitar everywhere is gone, replaced by bone-thin limbs with little strength in them. Bringing a hand to her face, she pokes and prods at the cheeks, nose, and lips she’s only ever seen from the outside before now. While Mikan is painfully skinny and definitely needs a more suitable meal plan, Ibuki can’t deny that her skin is so smooth and baby soft that it’s pleasant to the touch.

“Oh my god,” she whispers to herself, running her free hand through her fringed purple hair, “I’m in Mikan’s body.” A beat passes before she blurts out, “IS SHE IN MINE?!?!”

It’s a good thing she’s not as anxious as the Ultimate Nurse, otherwise she would probably be freaking out way worse right now.

Wait. Oh shit, doesn’t that mean--

Sprinting out the door and down the path, Ibuki makes a beeline for her cabin with one thought on her mind: find Mikan before things get even more out of control.

[lovenotereminders]

Coping mechanisms for anxiety for when therapy isn’t an option

I’ll slap a big caveat on this and point out that I’m not a therapist or a medical professional, so take all of this with a pinch of salt and make sure to do your own research - I’m just passing along things I’ve read/heard from others, and things that have worked for me.

I of course always recommend seeking medical help if you’re able to. Anxiety is an illness, and should be treated just like any other. But these are things that could help people to cope if you can’t afford therapy, or are on a long waiting list to see a therapist, or any other reason that might prevent you from going. 

Even if therapy isn’t an option, it’s worth looking into seeing if going to speak to your GP is. For example, if your doctor has a record that you’ve been having these difficulties, it can be easier to get support in things like getting a sick note or extenuating circumstances or additional accommodations if you need something like that for school/work etc. You could also potentially access medication even if therapy isn’t an option, which may be more affordable/accessible. There are a bunch of really effective anti-anxiety meds out there that are worth looking into - people talk about mental health meds as if they dope you up and make you into a zombie, but that’s usually not the case with a lot of the newer medications out there, and there are loads of different options you can try if you feel one type of medicine doesn’t agree with your body, or your side-effects aren’t worth it. 

Attempt to keep track of your triggers. There are a lot of really great mood tracking apps (I use Daylio personally) that you can use to identify how you’ve been feeling on a particular day, and what you did. Being mindful of what you’re doing and how it’s making you feel, and examining if you can identify a cause of your anxiety spikes can be really helpful in the long run, because it helps you identify behaviours that make your anxiety better or worse, and allows you to change the way you act and avoid any triggers you identify. Similarly, you can also identify coping mechanisms you’ve tried, and examine whether they’re healthy or unhealthy, and how effective they are.

I know this is really cliché, but some super accessible things that a lot of people do to cope with anxiety are things like mindfulness, meditation, yoga, and breathing exercises. Stuff like full-body mind scans and progressive muscle relaxation are really easy to do, and there are dozens of apps and youtube videos and stuff out there that can guide you through exercises that you can use if you’re feeling particularly paranoid. They can also help to calm your physical symptoms and interrupt thought spirals. Of course they don’t work for everyone, and they aren’t a cure, but they can be a really helpful coping mechanism.

If you’re not able to access therapy in person, there are still a lot of resources you can use. If cost is a factor, there are a lot of lower-cost online therapy options, as well as free support services like online counselling (i.e. 7cupsoftea) and anxiety helplines/hotlines that allow you to speak to an adviser over the phone or via instant messenger, which might be helpful if you find yourself particularly panicky and need someone to talk you down.  As well as that, there are a lot of online resources to help you cope longer term. Mental health charity websites can often be a good place to start looking to research potential treatment options and coping mechanisms.

If you’re a student at a school or university, see if your institution has a counsellor, or any sort of mental health support accessible through that institution. If you’re employed at a large-ish firm, there may be resources you can access through your company, like through HR. 

A lot of CBT worksheets are available online for you to work through by yourself - even if you don’t have a therapist to go through them with, you can still do those exercises. If you google something like ‘CBT anxiety workbook’ or ‘CBT anxiety exercises’ you should come up with a ton of resources that you can flick through and see if you can identify any that you think might be helpful. Examples of some of these exercises:

Stuff like making a table to record details of your anxiety spikes can be really helpful (these usually involve details such as: when it happened, what was happening at the time, why you think it happened, how bad was your anxiety on a scale of 1 to 10, what actions did you take to try and calm those feelings, how effective were those actions, how bad was your anxiety on the same scale after taking those actions) in terms of identifying patterns in your behaviour, and what helps and what makes it worse. The physical act of writing everything down makes you more aware of and more likely to examine your own thought processes and behavioural patterns, and also allows you to identify patterns you may not have seen before. 

Another CBT exercise I’ve read about that can help with feelings of anxiety in the moment is a likelihood exercise - asking yourself what your anxiety/paranoia thinks will happen, estimating how many times you’ve thought that would happen, thinking about how many times it’s actually happened in reality, and comparing that, can help you rationalise those fears.

Other techniques include:

Doing some sort of vigorous activity to clear the anxious energy from your body - short periods of exercise, house/yard work like vacuuming, turning up some loud music and having a dance, etc. 

Making a list of soothing activities (i.e. having a hot drink, taking a shower, washing your face, wrapping yourself up in a blanket, etc.) and picking one when you’re feeling shaky to help self-soothe

Trying to get some mental distance from your worries by finding something else to focus on to interrupt those spirals - try and make it something productive and/or enjoyable. Doing something productive, even if it’s really simple like gathering up dirty laundry, gives you a task to focus on and can help you feel like you’ve accomplished something.

Setting aside daily ‘worry clearing time,’ in which you write down the things you’re worried about. If these worries arise outside of that time, try to tell yourself ‘I’ll worry about that later, but not now.’

In combination with the above, you can make an action plan of what you would do if any of your worries happen, so you feel more secure and prepared.

Some people find it helpful when they’re identifying their worries because they can them see the ones that they have no control over, or that aren’t actually that big a deal, and decide to set them aside and prioritise other things.

Try not to avoid your anxiety, or the things you don’t want to do because of it. Acknowledging it as something that you’re experiencing but that is separate from yourself - a external entity or force inside your head, can be helpful. When you start to feel anxious, some people actually address their anxiety and talk to it like it’s a person - this can help to separate it from your own personality and help you forgive yourself for being symptomatic.

Research unhealthy coping mechanisms so you can identify them. Things like over-reassurance (asking for a bit of reassurance from a friend/family member/partner is fine, but if you’re doing it all the time or need to repeat themselves because you don’t believe them at first), stress eating, avoidance, and substance use are some common ones, for instance.

Again, I stress that I’m not a doctor, and this is not a substitute for medical care, but it may be of some assistance if you’re not able to get that medical care yet. 

If anyone has any other tips, drop them in the replies! 

[superbestwoodrouter2020]

Best Wood Router

A router is a hand device or energy device that routs (hollows out) an area in difficult material, together with wood or plastic. Routers are specifically utilized in woodworking, specifically cabinetry. Usually they are hand held or fastened, with the cutting come to be, in router tables.

The hand device form of router is the real shape. It is a specialized hand plane with a extensive base and a narrow blade that projects properly past its base plate (giving it the nickname antique girl's enamel). The electricity device form of router, with a spindle driven by way of an electric powered powered motor, is now the extra commonplace shape. The hand tool model is now regularly referred to as a router plane; for a few responsibilities, it although has some advantages over the electricity tool. Some employees preserve in mind the electrical router one of the maximum flexible woodworking energy equipment.[1] CNC wood routers put in force the advantages of Computer Numerical Control (CNC).  VIsit Here

Related to the router is a smaller, lighter version, designed specially for trimming laminates. It can be used for smaller popular routing artwork. For instance, with the ideal jig it can be used for recessing door hinges and recessing lock faceplates. Even rotary tools can be used as routers even as the right bits and add-ons (at the side of plastic router bases) are related.

Chip formation

Modern plunge router displaying dirt extraction tube Routing and milling are conceptually similar, and surrender mills may be utilized in routers, however routing wood isn't always like milling steel in terms of the mechanics. Chip formation is specific, so the maximum dependable tool geometry is one-of-a-kind. Routing is well applied to pretty susceptible and brittle materials, normally wooden. As the ones substances are inclined in small sections, routers can run at extremely immoderate speeds, so even a small router may also moreover reduce unexpectedly. Owing to inertia at the ones excessive speeds, the everyday timber cutting mechanism of Type I chips cannot take vicinity. The cutter facet angle is blunt, drawing near ninety°, and so a Type III chip bureaucracy, with waste fabric produced as first-rate dust. This dust is a breathing risk, even in benign materials. The forces closer to the cutter are light, so routers may be handheld.

When milling metals, the material is tremendously ductile, despite the fact that remaining sturdy even at a small scale. A Type II chip paperwork, and waste can be produced as non-forestall swarf. Cutter forces are high, so milling machines should be sturdy and rigid, commonly large systems of solid iron.

Intermediate substances, along side plastics and occasionally tender aluminium, can be reduce through way of both technique, although routing aluminium is usually more of an improvised expedient than a production process, and is noisy and hard on gear.

Makita laminate trimmer Routing is typically constrained to tender metals (aluminium and so on.) and rigid non-metals. Specially designed cutters are used for an expansion of styles, cuts, and edging. Both hand managed and system managed/aided routers are not unusual nowadays.

Workpiece geometry Routing is a shaping approach that produces finished edges and shapes. Some substances which might be tough to form with one-of-a-kind methods, which include fiber-glass, Kevlar, and graphite, can be fashioned and completed properly thru diverse routing strategies. Apart from finished edges and shaping, cutaways, holes, and capabilities also can be formed using routers.

The spindle router is positioned on the finer cease of the scale of labor completed by the usage of a moulding spindle. That is to say it can lessen grooves, facet moulding, and chamfer or radius the brink of a piece of timber. It is also feasible to apply it for cutting some joints. The form of cut that is created is decided by way of the scale and shape of the bit (cutter) held within the collet and the intensity via the depth adjustment of the best plate.

Variety of routers There are an expansion of router styles, a few are plunge, a few are D treated, some are double knob dealt with. Different manufacturers produce the routers for one-of-a-kind timber works, as Plunge Routers, Fixed Base Wood Routers, Combo Routers, Variable pace Routers, Laminate Trimmer, CNC Wood Routers.[citation needed] Nowadays, maximum higher exceptional routers have variable velocity controls and could have plunge bases that also may be locked in area so the router can also be used as a hard and fast base router.[citation needed] Some have a gentle-begin feature, which means that they build up velocity progressively. This function is specifically applicable for routers with a large cutter. Holding a 3 horse-strength router and turning it on without a gentle-start might be dangerous, due to the torque of the motor. Holding it with two palms is a ought to. For routers with a toggle kind on / off transfer it's far important to check to affirm the switch is within the off function, previous to plugging it in. For safety, large router cutters can generally only be utilized in a router that is installed in a router table, this makes the tool even greater versatile and stable.[citation needed]

The reason of multiple cope with preparations is relying at the bit, control is much less difficult with different configurations. For instance, when shaping the brink of a first-rate table top, many customers choose a D cope with, with variable pace, as it seems to permit better manage and burning the wood can be minimized.

Routers have many makes use of. With the help of the multitude of jigs and numerous bits, they're able to generating dovetails, mortises, and tenons, moldings of endless sorts, dados, rabbets/rebates, raised panel doorways and frames, reducing circles, and loads more.[citation needed]

Features of the present day spindle router

template manual bushing secured in the base around the router cutter The device usually includes a base housing a vertically installed ordinary electric motor with a collet on the give up of its shaft. The bit is peak-adjustable to allow protrusion thru an opening in a flat sole plate, normally via adjusting the motor-mounting peak (the mechanism of adjustment is widely numerous amongst manufacturers). Control of the router is derived from a deal with or knob on every issue of the tool, or thru the more currently evolved "D-cope with".

There are two wellknown types of router—plunge and glued. When using a plunge-base router, the best of the bottom is located on the face of the art work with the reducing bit raised above the artwork, then the motor is grew to come to be on and the cutter is reduced into the paintings. With a fixed-base router, the lessen depth is about in advance than the device is have become on. The sole plate is then each rested flat on the workpiece overhanging the edge just so the lowering bit isn't always contacting the paintings (after which getting into the artwork from the component as quickly because the motor is have become on), or the sole plate is positioned at an angle with the bit above the paintings and the bit is "rocked" over into the paintings as soon because the motor is grew to become on. In each case, the bit cuts its way in, however the plunge router does it in a greater sensitive way, even though the bit used want to be formed so it bores into the timber while reduced.

The baseplate (sole plate) is normally spherical (though this, too, varies with the resource of individual models) and can be used along with a fence attached to the bottom, which then braces the router towards the edge of the artwork, or thru a straight-element clamped across the work to achieve a at once reduce. Other manner of guiding the gadget encompass the template manual bushing secured inside the base around the router cutter, or router cutters with integrated manual bearings. Both of those run closer to a right away facet or original template. Without this, the various reaction of the wood against the torque of the tool makes it no longer viable to govern with the precision generally required.

Table mounted router

View under a router table displaying plunge router attached. A router can be established upside down in a router table or bench. The router's base plate is installation to the bottom of the table, with a hole allowing the bit to protrude above the desk pinnacle. This allows the paintings to be passed over the router, instead of passing the router over the paintings. This has blessings even as jogging with smaller objects and makes some router operations more secure to execute. A router desk can be equipped with a fence, fingerboards and other paintings-guiding accessories to make the operation more secure and further correct.

A easy router desk includes a inflexible pinnacle with the router bolted or screwed immediately to the lowest. More complex answers may be advanced to allow the router to be without difficulty eliminated from the desk in addition to facilitate adjusting the router's bit height using a boost mechanism; there's a sizable range of commercially to be had systems.

In this mode, the router can carry out obligations similar to a spindle moulder. For smaller, lighter jobs, the router used in this way can be extra convenient than the spindle moulder, with the venture of set up being without a doubt quicker. There is likewise a much wider range of bit profiles available for the router, no matter the fact that the size is constrained.

The router desk is normally orientated just so the router bit is vertical and the table over which the work is exceeded is horizontal. Variations on this encompass the horizontal router desk, in which the table stays horizontal but the router is set up vertically above the desk, in order that the router bit cuts from the aspect. This alternative is for side operations, which consist of panel raising and slot cutting.

Profiles made in timber with the aid of several common router bits.

Two typical router bits: (pinnacle) a ¼-inch shaft Roman Ogee with bearing, (backside) 1/4-inch shaft dovetail bit. Router bits are available hundreds of types to create either decorative results or joinery aids. Generally, they're categorized as both excessive-speed steel (HSS) or carbide-tipped, but a few recent innovations consisting of solid carbide bits offer even extra range for specialized duties.

Aside from the materials they're manufactured from, bits can be labeled as part bits or non-component bits, and whether or not or now not the bit is designed to be anti-kickback. Edge bits have a small wheel bearing to act as a fence against the work in making aspect moldings. These bearings may be changed via using using commercially to be had bearing kits. Changing the bearing, in effect, adjustments the diameter of the lowering place. This is particularly vital with rabbeting/rebating bits. Non-facet bits require using a fence, either on a router desk or attached to the work or router. Anti-kickback bits rent delivered non-reducing bit material across the circumference of the bit's shoulders which serves to restrict feed-rate. This reduces the threat that the workpiece is driven too deeply into the bit (that may result in first rate kickback from the reducing issue being unable to compensate).

Bits additionally range via way of the diameter in their shank, with ½ inch, 12mm, 10mm, ⅜ inch, 8mm and ¼ inch and 6mm shanks (ordered from thickest to thinnest) being the most commonplace. Half-inch bits cost greater however, being stiffer, are a whole lot less at risk of vibration (giving smoother cuts) and are much less probable to interrupt than the smaller sizes. Care need to be taken to ensure the bit shank and router collet sizes match exactly. Failure to do so can motive permanent damage to either or each and might lead to the damaging state of affairs of the bit popping out of the collet for the duration of operation. Many routers encompass removable collets for the well-known shank sizes (within the USA ½-in and ¼-in, in Great Britain ½-in, 8mm and ¼-in, and metric sizes in Europe—no matter the truth that within the United States the ⅜-in and 8mm sizes are regularly most effective available for extra value).

Many cutting-edge routers allow the speed of the bit's rotation to be various. A slower rotation lets in bits of big decreasing diameter for use efficaciously. Typical speeds variety from 8,000 to 30,000 rpm.

Router bits can be made to in shape nearly any possible profile. Custom router bits may be ordered. They are mainly useful for domestic restoration initiatives, in which manufacturing of the specific trim and molding has been discontinued.

Sometimes complementary bits are to be had in devices designed to facilitate the joinery used in body and panel production. One bit is designed to reduce the grove inside the rail and stile quantities at the same time as the other shape the edge of the panel to in form inside the grove.

CNC router

A CNC timber router is a pc controlled device to which the router or spindle mounts. The CNC Machine may be both a transferring gantry fashion, wherein the desk is constant and the router spindle movements over it, or consistent bridge design, in which the desk movements under the router spindle, or hand-held style, in which the operator movements the system to the location to be reduce and the device controls the superb adjustments. CAD/CAM software programming is used to model the component this is to be created in the computer after which create a device direction for the device to comply with to reduce out the part. The CNC moves alongside three axes (X-Y-Z). Most CNC routers have a 3 motor power machine the use of either servo or stepper automobiles. More advanced routers use a four motor gadget for added velocity and accuracy.

Similar tools A tool just like a router, however designed to maintain smaller reducing bits—thereby making it less difficult to deal with for small jobs—is a laminate trimmer.

A related device, referred to as a spindle moulder (UK) or shaper (North America), is used to maintain larger cutter heads and may be used for deeper or large-diameter cuts. Another related device is the pin router, a bigger static version of the hand electric powered powered router but typically with a far extra effective motor and exclusive abilities which includes automatic template copying.

Some profile cutters use a decreasing head reminiscent of a spindle router. These want to now not be stressed with profile cutters used for metallic plate which use a flame because the slicing technique.

We wish this may clear your visions approximately wood routers work, to buy the quality one please visit at: https://bestwoodrouter.Stay/

[rookisaknight]

No Cult AUs, but like, still sad about it

The thing is I'm deeply uninterested in "no cult" AUs where the Seeds are just like, completely functional members of society because so much of what we see of their personality is linked directly back to their own trauma. Obviously, your pain doesn't necessarily define who you grow up to be, but just because they're not inherently evil doesn't mean they wouldn't have rough edges. Starting a murder cult in Montana isn't the problem, it's a symptom of the problem. (That's a fun sentence)

I want a Jacob who did some fucked up things during military service, and who didn't get the help he needed. Who still spent time in the shelter before John and Joseph found him. Things are a bit better in Montana. At the very least he finds some solace in the woods, away from people and overwhelming stimulus.

But he still refuses therapy. Refuses to sit down with anyone he thinks is trying to poke around in his head. He's unwilling (some might say afraid) to give up all the ugliness inside of him. Miller, juvie, his father, all of them shaped him into the man he is. He doesn't know who he is apart from all that, and he refuses to find out.

He's as mean and tough as the timber wolves he trains. More than a few establishments have barred him for violent incidents, sometimes when he's having an episode and others that are just a part of his personality. There's very few who understand that there even is a softer side. That there's only a handful of people on this rock that he cares about, but he'd move heaven and Earth for them without batting an eye, no questions asked.

Jacob also struggles a lot with his own understanding of his masculinity. Juvie and the military were both toxic environments for a boy to come into manhood. He's not a monster, but it's hard for him to push that out of his head. To not snidely remark that maybe John should try skirts if he's gonna spend so blessed long on his clothes. To stop himself from pushing Rachel out "while the men talk" or snort that maybe Deputy Pratt is "batting for the other team" if you catch his drift. And it sucks, and it's gross, but it's there. 

It's also the only part of himself that he allows to change. Grace Armstrong is one of the few Hope County veterans he actually talks to and feels any sense of connection to. They get drinks on occasion, swap the few war stories they actually have any fondness for and shoot the shit. And one night, she quietly informs him one night that while he’s probably the closest thing she has to a best friend if he calls Adelaide Drubman a whore or insinuates that Jess needs taming, she will not hesitate to stick her boot so far up his ass he won’t shit right for weeks. She’s giving him a crash course on “feminism for gross white mountain men” and helping him come to terms with parts of his own sexuality that he’d been afraid to look in the eyes before. He’s not there yet, but he’s learning.

There are untold sleepless nights. Many of those spent curled up under his blankets, blocking his ears against imaginary gunfire and closing his eyes tight against what he fears he’s going to see. Jacob Seed wakes up every morning, looks in the mirror, and doesn’t recognize or like a single bit of what stares back at him. But he hopes he’ll find peace in the mountains. He’s taken up wood-carving. Maybe using a knife for a less bloody purpose would help...

Joseph takes regular medication for schizophrenia. Alarms are set on his phone (An old flip model, Faith has yet to convert him to a touchscreen), and he rarely misses a day. The meds aren’t perfect: the drowsiness can make his temper shorter than it should be, and the weight gain and constipation can make diet maintenance a struggle. But he’s a disciplined man. He manages. And keeps the voices at bay to the best of his ability.

Medication and regular therapy (when he could afford it) have killed off the more manic sides of his religion, but it hasn’t taken away his faith.  Their miserable youth drove Jacob farther from God. It drew Joseph closer. Perhaps an instinctive desire to understand whatever it was that drove their father into such fits over perceived wickedness. And yet, the God he encounters is not one that belonged to his father. It seems to be one that belongs entirely to Joseph. Not exactly a comfortable Hallmark brand, but something that compels him to disciplined behavior. Fills him with peace, and a desire to share that peace with others.

He talks theology with Jerome on fishing trips. They don’t agree on a lot regarding God. But there’s a kinship there. If they’re two blind men trying to feel out the shape of an elephant and coming to different conclusions on what they hold, at least they agree there is something to feel. 

He remains something of a manipulator. Father Seed is an open and accepting presence, one with the ability to reach into the very heart of your pain, expose it, and then apply a quick and ready balm. When he takes the lectern he is a gifted thinker, an eloquent speaker, and a charismatic communicator. Perhaps its an aspect of himself. But when he goes home Sunday night, takes off the suit and steps into jeans, he becomes reserved once more. Those who have seen the transformation find it almost spooky. The eyes go from a warm embrace to a cold calculation. The Father doesn’t get crossed often, but those who scheme against his congregation or offend his family finds themselves quickly exposed by him, their insecurities laid bare and attacked. It's unnerving how he can easily pick up on the tells of a weak self-image, of a troubled family or a problem with drinking. The Sherriff sometimes jokes he’d make a good detective. Or a con man.

Joseph Seed has a knack for sowing discomfort. Something about him is a little too...open. Like he unlocked a part of his soul most keep to their private selves and laid it out on the surface. But his perceptiveness gives him great strength as a counselor, and for every person who swears he's a devil, there's someone who knows he helped them out of their deepest and darkest places.

John had to work hard to unlearn the lessons from his abusers. He could afford the finest therapists in the world but until Joseph found him he refused to go. At some point, before reaching adulthood he picked up on the general notion that parents shouldn't hurt their kids the way all of his had. But it was so hard to tell himself that he didn't....deserve it.

Was it wrong to say there were moments where he was almost proud of it? The world was full of sinners, but thanks to his parents he had the courage to face it. To take his punishment and atone. The self-mutilation, the whippings and fasting and hours in prayer until his voice was hoarse and his knees bled.....maybe others viewed them as grotesque but to him, they were redemption. He didn't ask why it had to happen to him. He could only think that maybe the world would be a better place if everyone did it.

It created a split in his sense of self-worth. On the one hand, he viewed himself as a maggot straining for approval from on high, unworthy of even the crumbs of forgiveness yet anxious to gobble them up. That self-loathing tormented him, drove him to drown his agonies in substance abuse and turn to the pain of a knife or a needle to make him feel punished enough. And yet, on the other hand, he saw himself as superior to everyone else. At least he knew his place in the hierarchy of creation. Better a worm that knows he's a worm than a worm that thinks he's a lion.

John's a mess of coping mechanisms. In college, there was the bottle, self-harm, and a lover or two or three. Always putting himself in the most degrading position possible, because at least then he felt like he could deserve affection. And after graduation...there was a tight control. Every hour was stuffed for maximum productivity because free minute meant time where the dark thoughts could creep and catch him unawares. he wouldn't let himself go to bed until he was ready to drop from exhaustion.

Joseph, Jacob, and even Faith learn to spot the signs of when things are getting bad for him. When the dark circles under his eyes are growing more and more prominent but his clothes are immaculate. When Joseph finds him stashing razor blades (he hasn’t hurt himself since moving to Montana, but having them within reach becomes important to him). When Faith finds him screaming at someone because they brought him the wrong blueprints for the youth center. It's tricky, because openly acknowledging The Thing will only make John try harder to cover it up. But they find subtle ways of defusement. Jacob lays off giving him a hard time, for once. Joseph finds ways of lessening the work on his table and manages to carefully sneak in commendation during their weekly meetings. Faith insists on cooking for him and visiting regularly under the pretense of discussing her college plans. It's not a perfect system, but its the best they know to pull him out of it

Rachel Jessop still takes the name Faith Seed. Not for any heraldry purposes. But because she wants to feel....a part of something. The converting process asks you to put off your old self. Rachel Jessop, the druggie, the abused, the disappointment, the unloved, was such a bundle of hurt and anguish and self-destruction that the only way she felt she could put it behind her was to recreate herself. The last name was easy. The Father had given her a family, and she would wear that fact proudly. 

Faith was because it was what was required of her every day. The faith that tomorrow she would be able to stay off the needle. That she wouldn’t harm herself tomorrow. That the only tears she would shed would be tears of joy. Joseph said faith was perhaps not the right word for it. After all, all these things took effort on her part. But for her, they also required trust in a higher power, to guide her and keep her on the Path. 

Though she cast off Rachel’s name, so many of the worst parts of her followed into the new identity. The codependency and abandonment issues, so strong sometimes that she can’t go home that night, to the small, but empty cabin that she’s made her own. Joseph and John both have a guest bedroom set aside for her, and she takes advantage of this frequently.

Her desperate need to please the people around her is often imperceptible. She seems so bright and happy and full of life that many take her as the finest example that Eden’s Gate saves lives. But there is so much pain behind the smile. An offhanded comment about her hair from one of the teens in her bible study sets her off in an obsessive spiral for a couple of days after. At church events, she stays longest, cleans everything up. Her phone is constantly buzzing with messages from all the lonely hearts of Hope County. She neglects her mental health in favor of helping others.

If she can just....if she can prove to Joseph that she was worth saving...She hated feeling like a pity case. Like in her core she was still that same wretched sinner that showed up stoned to her first sermon. Who stole her best friends credit card and went on a shopping spree. Who baited her sickly mother with empty promises of daughterly love in order to get money for rent, or more often, meth. She’d been hurt by so many people in her life that she had felt like she was justified in hurting everyone else in a directionless act of revenge. And now that she’s older, she’s worried she’s ruined herself for honestly helping others. Every act she does is not enough to assuage her guilt, that sometimes fills her up so much it makes her nauseous.

She’s working with Joseph on this. They meet once a week to discuss her spiritual progress. At his recommendation, she also visits a counselor fairly regularly, which seems to help. And in all honesty, this might be what makes her connect so well with the teenaged population of Hope County. She knows what its like to feel like an unlovable outcast, to worry that you are disappointing everyone. Faith, in her own way, is dazzling. Most just wish that she knew that too. 

[lovenotesuggestions]

Hello! So I've got a problem with like, my thought process I guess you could say. I think it's because of my mom, but honestly I don't really know. I get paranoid really easily over the smallest to the most overly drastic and dramatic things. For example, my girlfriend likes to drink alcohol, and while my morals are against alcohol, I'd never stop her from drinking, and she likes to go with her best friend maybe 2-3 times a month (🍥 part 1)

And while I know that's not an amount that could do extreme damage to her body, I'm always terrified of something going wrong. And another example would be like, I could make a minor mistake, and I'll be terrified that I've angered or upset my girlfriend, and I would sometimes refuse to stop talking about a problem until it's resolved in fear that I would lose her before I can and the last thing we do together is argue (like in super dramatic movies) (🍥 part 2)

I know it's EXTREMELY toxic of me, and is very self-destructive. And I know it's a combination of my anxiety, insecurity, and paranoia. Heck, I don't even think it's my mom's fault. She used to tell me smaller things, like I needed to stop eating rice or else I could get diabetes (it runs in the family) but I think the small things like that built up, along with dramatic movies that always tugged at my emotions, that made me paranoid. (🍥 part 3)

Anyway, I kind of got off topic giving you some bg info. What I wanted to ask is, what advice would you recommend to stop or at least lessen such a terrible thought process? Therapy isn't an option for me, so I was hoping you'd have another possibility for me. I probably sound super crazy and unstable, but honestly this stuff doesn't affect me too often. It just fluctuates every now and then. But I'd appreciate the advice. Thank you listening to my craziness! (🍥 part 4/4)

Hello! I sent an ask a couple days ago that consisted of 4 parts, and a 🍥 emoji, and I didn't realize that it was claimed already! So I was wondering if I were able to claim 🍓💕? Thanks so much for what you do!

You don’t sound crazy or unstable, and you don’t sound like a toxic person - you sound like a person with symptoms of anxiety. And whilst it’s good to recognise when your behaviours might be harmful to yourself and to others, it’s not helpful to anyone for you to beat yourself up and be self-deprecating. You’re not crazy - you’re experiencing symptoms. I think that’s the first thing worth trying to do: be more aware of the language you use to describe yourself and try and adjust it to be a little more fair and a little kinder to yourself. If you wouldn’t talk about a close friend that way, try not to talk about yourself that way. 

I always recommend seeking medical help if you’re able to - I appreciate that therapy isn’t an option, but if you’re able to see your GP that might at least give you some support. For example, if your doctor has a record that you’ve been having these difficulties, it can be easier to get support in things like getting a sick note or extenuating circumstances or additional accommodations if you need something like that for school/work etc. You could also potentially access medication even if therapy isn’t an option. There are a bunch of effective anti-anxiety meds on the market that you might find helpful if you’re able to access them. For instance, I’m on beta blockers that I take as and when I need them if I’m feeling particularly anxious, and they can reduce the physical symptoms of anxiety (like trembling/fast heart rate/feeling nauseous, etc.) which can make anxiety spikes a little easier to cope with. If this or any other type of anxiety medication is of interest to you, and you have the means to visit your family doctor to talk to them about it, that’s another potential treatment option if you can’t access therapy. 

Another thing worth trying is to attempt to keep track of your triggers. There are a lot of really great mood tracking apps (I use Daylio personally) that you can use to identify how you’ve been feeling on a particular day, and what you did. Being mindful of what you’re doing and how it’s making you feel, and examining if you can identify a cause of your anxiety spikes can be really helpful in the long run, because it helps you identify behaviours that make your anxiety better or worse, and allows you to change the way you act and avoid any triggers you identify. Similarly, you can also identify coping mechanisms you’ve tried, and examine whether they’re healthy or unhealthy, and how effective they are. 

Also I know this is really cliché, but some super accessible things that a lot of people do to cope with anxiety are things like mindfulness, meditation, yoga, and breathing exercises. Stuff like full-body mind scans and progressive muscle relaxation are really easy to do, and there are dozens of apps and youtube videos and stuff out there that can guide you through exercises that you can use if you’re feeling particularly paranoid, and they can help to calm your physical symptoms and sort of reset your thought practice. Of course they don’t work for everyone, and they aren’t a cure, but they can be a really helpful coping mechanism.

If you’re not able to access therapy in person, there are still a lot of resources you can use. If cost is a factor, there are a lot of lower-cost online therapy options, as well as free support services like online counselling (i.e. 7cupsoftea) and anxiety helplines/hotlines that allow you to speak to an adviser over the phone or via instant messenger, which might be helpful if you find yourself particularly panicky and need someone to talk you down. 

As well as that, there are a lot of online resources to help you cope longer term. Mental health charity websites can often be a good place to start looking to research potential treatment options and coping mechanisms. A lot of CBT worksheets are available online for you to work through by yourself - even if you don’t have a therapist to go through them with, you can still do those exercises. If you google something like ‘CBT anxiety workbook’ or ‘CBT anxiety exercises’ you should come up with a ton of resources that you can flick through and see if you can identify any that you think might be helpful. Stuff like making a table to record details of your anxiety spikes can be really helpful (these usually involve details such as: when it happened, what was happening at the time, why you think it happened, how bad was your anxiety on a scale of 1 to 10, what actions did you take to try and calm those feelings, how effective were those actions, how bad was your anxiety on the same scale after taking those actions) in terms of identifying patterns in your behaviour, and what helps and what makes it worse. The physical act of writing everything down makes you more aware of and more likely to examine your own thought processes and behavioural patterns, and also allows you to identify patterns you may not have seen before. Another CBT exercise I’ve read about that can help with feelings of anxiety in the moment is a likelihood exercise - asking yourself what your anxiety/paranoia thinks will happen, estimating how many times you’ve thought that would happen, thinking about how many times it’s actually happened in reality, and comparing that, can help you rationalise those fears. 

Other similar techniques include:

Doing some sort of vigorous activity to clear the anxiety from your body - short periods of exercise, house/yard work like vacuuming, turning up some loud music and having a dance

Making a list of soothing activities (i.e. having a hot drink, taking a shower, washing your face, wrapping yourself up in a blanket, etc.) and picking one when you’re feeling shaky to help self-soothe

Trying to get some mental distance from your worries by finding something else to focus on to interrupt those spirals - try and make it something productive and/or enjoyable. Doing something productive, even if it’s really simple like gathering up dirty laundry, gives you a task to focus on and can help you feel like you’ve accomplished something. 

Setting aside daily ‘worry clearing time,’ in which you write down the things you’re worried about. If these worries arise outside of that time, try to tell yourself ‘I’ll worry about that later, but not now.’ 

In combination with the above, you can make an action plan of what you would do if any of your worries happen, so you feel more secure and prepared. 

Some people find it helpful when they’re identifying their worries because they can them see the ones that they have no control over, or that aren’t actually that big a deal, and decide to set them aside and prioritise other things. 

Try not to avoid your anxiety, or the things you don’t want to do because of it. Acknowledging it as something that you’re experiencing but that is separate from yourself - a external entity or force inside your head, can be helpful. When you start to feel anxious, some people actually address their anxiety and talk to it like it’s a person - this can help to separate it from your own personality and help you forgive yourself for being symptomatic. 

Research unhealthy coping mechanisms so you can identify them. Things like over-reassurance (asking for a bit of reassurance from a friend/family member/partner is fine, but if you’re doing it all the time or need to repeat themselves because you don’t believe them at first), stress eating, avoidance, and substance use are some common ones. 

I’ll slap a big caveat on this and point out that I’m not a therapist or a medical professional, so take all of this with a pinch of salt and make sure to do your own research - I’m just passing along things I’ve read/heard from others. 

I hope that’s helpful, and I wish you all the best in your road to recovery 💕

Followers: if anyone else has any tips for this anon or experience you’d like to share, feel free to do so!

[mvrnic]

*please be aware serious topics are talked about so tw for; miscarriage, substance abuse, relapse, mental health. please look after yourselves.

DISCLAIMER/PSA/IDK; THIS ALL TECHNICALLY HAPPENS AFTER CHRISTMAS BUT DANI IS ON A WEEK HIATUS BEFORE THE CHANCE/MIA WEDDING AND ITS THAT WEIRD PERIOD WHERE EVERYONES A LITTLE BUSY SO I PRESENT TO YOU

THE TEGAN AND DANI FUCKS SHIT UP AGAIN SHOW.  okay so previously on  “some fuckery we pulled” marnie and angel lost their second child in a miscarriage, first trimester so it was pretty early but a horrible experience for them both. obviously. in the events of this marnie stopped taking her BPD medication and went down into a really bad mental health period and angel has relapsed into his alcoholism and substance abuse. (please be aware the breakup is intense but they will get back together bc mum and dad) so after angel gets into some car crash and totals his car marnie has to come and pick him up from the police station, the following is a recount of their breakup that we wrote last night bc we’re headasses. 

guilty. that was definitely a good way to sum up how he was feeling right now, nervously pacing around the holding cell of the station, absentmindedly fumbling with the rings on his fingers. drunk was another way to describe him too, but he was doing his best to mask that fact. it wasn’t too hard to tell though. his eyes were bloodshot and he already looked like a broken shell of himself. he let out a sigh of... relief? but also panic? as marnie walked in. he avoided eye contact until it seemed nearly impossible, a tired, half-assed smile upturning the corners of his lips. “hey.” he didn’t really feel like explaining himself, but he knew he wasn’t going to have much of a choice. not when it came to marnie. marnie didn't let shit slide, that's why she was good for angel, she called him out but she stayed by his side to help work on things. she wanted him to grow, she knew life was hard and healing wasn't easy  --he did the same to her. they helped each other.  it was a last minute rush to mia and chances house asking to mind xander just for an hour or two, she knew she could count on them for these last minute things especially at such a stupid hour but there wasn't a chance in hell she was bringing xander to the fucking police station this late at night to see his father in a state. she walked in with exhausted looking eyes, licking over her lips as she looked at him looking like a caged puppy who had done something wrong.   "hi," she responded in a near whisper looking to the cop as they unlocked the cell.  there was something sickening about seeing him behind bars,  "...okay...well...lets get you home i guess." angel hates being this person. especially in front of her. he couldn’t even imagine being anything like this in front of xander. in fact, the thought made him sick to his stomach. he’d done such a good job at separating his current self from the person he used to be in the past, but now, having to be led out of a jail cell, it felt an awful lot like stagnancy. he’d never really changed, had he? his head hangs low as he exits the cell, and he keeps his hands shoved in his pockets, not making a move to grab her hand or her waist. he didn’t want to touch her— to hurt her. because that’s all he ever did to people. it was almost laughable at this point. he’d been doing so well, and he’d went and fucked it all up in the blink of an eye. “im sorry.” he muttered under his breath. he was on such a good road, he had been doing so well and she had been so proud but the second something in their personal bubble seemed a little hard he freaked out. but that was what a relationship had to deal with, there would be hardships and he couldn't do this every single time, it wasn't about him getting 'fixed' it was about him healing and they were two very different things but until angel realised he didn't need 'fixing' he needed HEALING there wasn't going to be a change.  but weirdly enough the blank i'm sorry and lack of effort to physically or emotionally reach out to her was what got her.   "i know." every time something went wrong, he snapped right in two, and marnie had to be there to pick up the pieces and stick him back together. he’d voiced his concern before about her being a crutch for the rest of her life, and although she insisted that that wasn’t the case, it sure felt like it was. god, he felt so stupid right now. she deserved so much more than him— so much more than he could give her. she was way more mature than him most of the time. he couldn’t fathom why she insisted on staying with him. maybe he’d just played her right... played her like every other person he’d let into his life. he’d went and sucked the soul right out of her because he didn’t have one for himself. just the thought disgusted him. he didn’t want to be a shit person— not to her— but he didn’t know how to fix this. he brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, reaching to hold open the door for her, and gesturing for her to exit. he couldn’t even think of anything to say. he didn’t want to talk to her. he didn’t want to be around her. not like this. her eyes were glued to his hand as he opened the door, she was going to be there for him that wasn't even a question in her head, when she said yes to his proposal she has said yes to a lifetime with him. she'd said yes to the ups and the downs and weathering out the storm together. but she had just lost their baby not long before and she was going through it herself, this time she didn't have the strength or the energy. this time she needed him and he wasn't being her crutch. the silence between them was awkward, which was a bad sign because their silences were almost never awkward.  over the past week the mood of their house had dropped, which she had expected considering losing a child when you wanted them on this earth more than anything was the hardest thing to go through. what she didn't expect was losing angel too.   "how much have you had to drink?" she knew, it would've been stupid for angel to think marnie didn't know him like the back of her hand at this point. his features twitched in annoyance at her questioning, and he stayed silent for a moment, waiting for her to step out of the building so he could follow suit. “i don’t want to talk about it.” he finally retorted, his words a bit snappish in tone. if marnie knew him, she’d know he was bound to get hot headed right about now. it almost never failed. he just felt an overwhelming need to defend himself against... well, he didn’t really know what. he just felt the need to argue and make stabbing remarks at the first person he saw. hating on other people was better than hating himself. “—- let’s just get in the car and go back to the house, yea?” he’s growing impatient, as evidenced by the way he’s toying with the chain around his neck. he couldn’t even call it home at this point. that’s not what it felt like. all it did was make him feel anxious and small. wrong time to snap angel, that'd be the only advice anyone could give him. she was tired, she had to beg a friend to mind THEIR child while she picked up her grown ass  FIANCE from the police station, after going through what may have been one of the worst moments in her life.   "you don't wanna talk about it, okay," she scoffed turning on her heels.   "no we're not getting in to the car, answer my fucking question, how fucking drunk are you angelos?" her brooklyn accent always got thicker when she was angry, livid might be a better word.  "you're not going anywhere near xander when you're like this." he was an asshole. he knew it; now he just had to accept it. maybe it’d be better to be just that. it was his most authentic self. it was who he always jumped back into being the moment something got the slightest bit tough. that’s who he was. an asshole. a scoff escapes him as she uses his full name, his eyes involuntary rolling along with his words, “who the fuck cares?” he hisses out, “can’t stop me now. get the fuck over it.” maybe it would’ve been different had he actually reacted to his own words slipping past his lips— had their been any hesitance... but there was nothing. every last syllable escaped him easily, and his expression remained stoic. “i don’t want to be around him.” not like this, “—- fuck this. im calling a cab. whatever. see if i care!” she didn't believe it at all, she knew who angel was when he was comfortable and content what he needed to work on was his coping mechanisms. hurting people wasn't how you cope.  but marnie grew up on the wrong side of town, you just didn't fuck with her and her fire was as lit now as it was when she was younger. this was dangerous.  "roll your eyes at me one more time i'll slap your fucking face," she threatened before her nails started to dig into her palms, a habit angel had to know too well, he had mended the bleeding and pierced palms before.   "i fucking care you absolute moron," she hissed in return .  god she was angry, she didn't have the chance to even be hurt by his words because every ounce of pain she had been feeling over the last week was being lashed out on angel.   this bitter, disgusting laugh coming from her lips at his words.  "you don't wanna be around your son," she said slowly, but her words were full of venom.   she was vicious at this point, you could see her seething.  "you call a fucking cab and you don't take it to the house." angel had grown up having everything he could ever possibly want handed to him on a silver platter. that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to be cruel though. it made him an expert. you didn’t make it in high society if you couldn’t fight back. searing comments were all he’d ever known. he’d only ever received backhanded compliments from his parents. lashing out like this felt mundane. he met her gaze, holding it for a moment to make sure that she was paying attention to him before he gave another roll of his eyes. she could slap him. it wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s felt today. he already had a huge bruise on his cheekbone from smacking his head against the window as his car crashed. he almost has to laugh at her demand, a cocky, shit-eating grin taking over his features as he looked down at her, taking full advantage of his tall stature to loom over her menacingly. “i’ll do whatever the fuck i want to.” he begins, “that’s my house. i bought it. and your fucking lambo? that’s my car. you...” he begins, gesturing towards her. “... you don’t get to tell me anything.” and that was the first time he’d ever alluded to being above her in any way. he’d never wanted to dehumanize her before, but he was just shooting for the lowest possible blows now. she wasn't sneaky, marnie had never been conniving or backstabbing, she was just straight up and straight forward to your face. if it came across rude, that's your problem. but marnie wasn't nice, that was just fact. but angel knew she kept her word, she wasn't empty that was one thing that was both good and bad. and almost as if on queue at his eye roll she brought her hand back and swung it right across his face. she was tiny but boy did the girl have a strong hand.  he was scary, he was tall and broad but marnie had dealt with worse men.  "okay take the fucking house, take the fucking car...your money and your purchases don't mean shit to me angel," she retorted.   now she was starting to feel hurt, he was acting in a way he'd never done before and suddenly she hated who was in front of her. this wasn't angel, this wasn't the man she was going to marry and she refused to believe it. a low hiss of pain escaped through gritted teeth as her hand made contact with his skin. he brings his own hand up to his cheek, unable to stop himself from wincing as his fingertips met the tender spot on his face. he was still human, after all. no matter how much of a god complex he could have. he was human. and he hated it. he hated being vulnerable like that. his arm falls back down to his side, and his hands are balling into fists as he stares her down. “take your fucking kid and all your shit and get the fuck out of my house then.” almost as soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them, but he wasn’t letting that on. his glare remained icy. “ask me if i fucking care.” he pauses, shaking his head slightly. “—- i don’t.” she flinched at those words 'your fucking kid' and her gaze upon him lost any and all love in that split moment. he was her soulmate, she was still sure of it, but those words made her cold and suddenly she was the marnie she was to absolutely every man that had ever hurt.  and she simply stared at him, there was literal disgust in her eyes.   she dangled the keys and dropped them at his feet,  "there's the keys to your fucking kid" she said harshly,  "drive yourself home...maybe you'll crash again and finally feel something in that cold fucking heart of yours." that hurt. he couldn’t deny it. all he’d ever wanted was to be a good father, but he couldn’t do this when he was so susceptible to breaking like this. to his drunk mind, the logic made sense: leave marnie, leave xander, hurt her so she’d never come back... it would just be less pain in the long road. and he’d get to happily waste his life away on drugs and parties and hookups and not have to worry about hurting anyone. that would just be his brand. “fuck you.” he shot back, bending down to pick up the keys from the floor, squeezing them in his hand with an iron grip. “you’re so fucking stupid.” he growls, pointing a finger at her. “im drunk, and im still smarter than you. good fucking luck taking care of your kid.” he lets out a bitter laugh, refusing to call xander by his name or even refer to him as his son. that would hurt him too much. he’s not trying to be hurt. now she was deathly scared, she didn't know how to be a mother by herself. she didn't know how to do this when every time she looked down at xander she was looking at angel. if he thought pushing her out of his life was good for her he was fucked in the head because now she had a constant reminder of everything he tore away from her. a partner, a best friend, a father to their child....home.  "i'm stupid?" she retorted, that might have been his lowest blow yet, that was something she was so desperately insecure about and really angel was one of the only ones that had ever made her feel a little more comfortable about it.  but crying wasn't something she could do right now, he didn't deserve her tears.  "you're the one who pushes the good things out of his life only to blame everyone else for leaving," she said stepping into him,  "you're the one that isn't smart enough to stay sober," if he wanted low blows, marnie could throw low blows.  "you're the one thats losing something here...i'm the best fucking thing that has happened to you," she gets closer,  "i'm the best fucking thing you'll ever have....and you're dumb enough to lose me," if he knew her, which he did, the look in her eyes wasn't hatred it was pain. it was the angry pain she held when she knew she was going to cry because hated crying.  "and i'm smart enough to walk away." his eyes lacked any and all emotion; his features were hard as stone. the worst part was that he couldn’t even deny it. she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. she was the best thing that ever would happen to him. he knew, looking down at her now, that he would never find anyone that could replace her. never. but he couldn’t be with her. because she was right. he wasn’t smart enough to stay sober, and he couldn’t risk being this version of himself around xander or around her anymore. “—- then go.” he states firmly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder to push her away from him. he still couldn’t touch her with anything less than softness, though his eyes read something completely different. “we are fucking done.” she hated how he was standing there lacking anything and yet she still couldn't hate him.  she was sure she'd never be able to hate him, she could act cold, fuck, she could feel cold towards him in that moment but unlike everyone else that has come and gone she couldn't hate him. he was, would always be, her person.  it might have been gentle but it was the meaning behind it. her own touch to smack his hand away harsh.  "don't fucking touch me, you piece of shit," she hissed.  "you don't get to ever fucking touch me."  but fuck he had a hold on her.  "yeah, we are, and i hope when you wake up in the morning you realise what the fuck you've done," she said backing away from him but then as it hit her she couldn't control the single tear that escaped. marnie instantly wiping it away, pulling out her phone to order an uber. oh and there he was with xander as her screen background, she closed her eyes and stood still for a moment.  but she wasn't going to talk him through this time, beg him to see her side, she just ran her fingers through her hair and actually walked away down the street. @ofangelos

[zitavoros]

serotonin machine broke

Resources:

National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

North Carolina Crisis Line: 1-919-231-4525

The Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386

There are also text and chat options online, and I highly encourage anyone needing support to reach out to friends, family, or the hotlines if you’re in a bad place.

At the beginning of the semester, when our Branding of Me professor told us we were going to have to write 2 blogs a week, I thought barely anything of it. 2 posts a week? Writing about myself? Easy.

Turns out, it's not as easy as I thought. Like anyone else, I have stories to tell and opinions I like to share, but putting myself on blast for everyone on the web to see is so much harder than I originally anticipated. Despite my efforts to engage with people in person or online, I find that my day-to-day interactions are very surface-level, and never breach the personal, and for good reason. I'm actually a pretty closed-off person, and like to be left alone for the most part.

Although I say I seek comfort in isolation, it has been proven over and over to be a major cause of death across all ages. It is comparable to the mortality rate of smoking, and twice as deadly as obesity. If you thought this blog was gonna go in a different direction, you're wrong.

My personal serotonin machine is broken. Not sure if it came faulty, or it gradually wore down from overuse, but it ain't working right now, nor has it worked since high school.

Talking about mental health without making self-deprecating jokes about depression and suicide is difficult for me, but it has to be done. I've been struggling with a number of problems, and it's recently taken a toll for the worse, resulting in inpatient hospitalization this past week. It was a highly embarrassing low point for me, one that I had gone through before many years ago, but did not expect to happen again. One of the leading factors for it happening was loneliness.

I don't know if it's because of my brain, or because I'm shy, but the cycle of depression and self-isolation is a common one, and not just for me. It's an unfortunate pattern, where depression fuels isolation, and isolation in turn worsens depression, or the other way around, depending on where you begin- depressed, or lonely. It'll be both one way or another.

Eventually, this can lead to problems like self-harm, substance abuse, even going as far as suicide.

Logically, my brain understands that turning down offers of hanging out and cancelling plans is worse for me during these times, but I can't help it. It becomes difficult to flash my customer-service smile all day, much less be an active participant in conversations. It's a lot easier to lay in bed and contemplate the meaning of life alone, despite how it negatively impacts things in the long-term.

Vulnerability inspires connection and change, though, and that is something that is reaffirmed almost every time I open up to someone. For a couple of years, I took part in Carolina United, a program that fosters dialogue about diversity on campus. In a week's time, during which we share our personal stories and discuss avenues for bringing positive change to campus, I've heard countless personal stories and have shared my own. It's during these moments of vulnerability that connections are sparked, and you feel closer for knowing things that otherwise may never be shared.

Problem is, I seek isolation during my worst times, when my brain refuses to do its thing and keep me feeling alright. My friendships, connections and accompanying support systems go out the window, often for months when I withdraw purposefully. This leaves little room for other feel-good tricks. Sometimes, certain coping mechanisms can help, but during times of emotional distress, writing down happy thoughts or drawing for fun does nothing to keep me from falling into a cycle of self-destructive habits, which include browsing social media, cutting, and often combining prescription medication with alcohol to numb feelings. Funnily enough, it's the social media that makes things worse- the rest make me feel better.  

Suicide is the tenth most common cause of death in the US, and loneliness is a major contributing factor. Personally, if you told me I would be dealing with a sudden spike in suicidal thoughts due to loneliness (*among other things*) I would've probably laughed. I have a significant number of friends on Facebook and Instagram who I interact with relatively frequently: how can I be lonely? Turns out, with the increasing prevalence of social media comes the loneliness epidemic, with younger generations the primary target for depression to hit due to negative social media experiences. The direct correlation of depression linked to loneliness from social media use is not offset by any positive interactions over the web, making the problem a persistent and ugly one.

Forbes has an amazing article and infographic outlining this epidemic. There are countless articles out there that discuss this problem- I’m only linking a small percent of them. Negative social media interactions worsen mental health. 

By negative interactions, the studies don't mean active harassment or bullying. People find themselves lost in comparing themselves to others, even while fully knowing that social media only highlights the good and hides the ugly. Regardless, loneliness increases through social media use, and like the depression-isolation cycle, the use of social media increases the more lonely someone feels. 

I can't say for certain how much of a correlation social media use has to do with my suicidal feelings, but it's definitely not been helping. Even my art account on Instagram, where I follow a plethora of artists I'm inspired by, makes me feel worse to scroll through. Facebook, with the constant posts of starting jobs and grad school acceptances, is a place I try to avoid but keep getting sucked back into. LinkedIn is similar, and Twitter is mostly the news for me, which is just a whole different avenue of negativity altogether.

I don't want to sound like a stereotypical old person, as I am only 23, but there is so much more value in face-to-face interaction than any online one. It inspires connection, allows us to open up to others and get to know them (and ourselves) better, and it helps break the pattern of social isolation and depression, even if just for a little while. That's not to say texting is pointless, but a physical proximity to someone tears down the walls that phone screens build, and I am a firm believer that we should all make our best efforts to try to keep in contact by means other than just texting. It sounds hypocritical, of course, but I can't deny the fact that grabbing lunch or seeing someone in person makes me feel eons better than receiving a text from them.

If you know anyone close to you who may be struggling with depression and/or suicidal thoughts, I'd like to encourage you to reach out to them, and maybe make some lunch plans or grab coffee. Go bowling. Do an activity. Insist on it. They may not feel up to it, but social interaction does wonders to the isolated and depressed brain, and it may just end up saving a life. One interaction can make way to more, and give someone an avenue to reach out for help and take their life back into their hands.

I will personally start reaching out to my friends, and making attempts to re-connect after my long period of isolation. It may be slow and it definitely will not be easy, and I may fail, but I'd rather try to break out of this cycle and help my serotonin machine start working again than not be alive to give it that chance.

[angeltriestoblog]

18

Welcome to my first blog post as an 18 year-old! And yes, I am well aware that I can legally drink and could be sent to jail, thank you very much. (Not that I have any plans to, though.)

I reached this milestone in my life last July 5th. As I mentioned in an earlier entry, I decided to not go the traditional route and instead, opted for a trip to Korea last April and a week’s worth of festivities with family and friends.

I kicked off the celebration with lunch at a Korean barbecue place with my parents, then had a feast with my extended family (mother’s side) in Italianni’s.

I even got my cousin, Miguel, to go on with me on the ferris wheel nearby where I tried my best to admire the beautiful view of Manila Bay before us while screaming my head off.

For my actual birthday, I treated my closest friends from high school at yet another K-BBQ place for lunch, and then went to my favorite buffet place with my family for dinner. My friends Junelle, Danna and I also finally pushed through with our months-old plan of dropping by the karaoke bar relatively near to us, which served as a great release for pent-up emotions and a showcase of our non-existent vocal abilities.

This year, I also decided to go out on a limb and hold a project of my own. I was originally planning on giving away some of the old books I had piled up in my room to nearby orphanages, but with the time constraints I had, I couldn’t really afford to execute something so grand. So, with the help of my mom, I decided that it would be best to start small. We bought these tumblers from the nearby grocery and filled them to the brim with candies and chocolate bars, then gave them to the kids selling sampaguita at our church. I was really iffy about writing this part, because I know it’s easy to misconstrue my intentions for doing so: some people will probably just dismiss this as some put-on act of charity posted for clout. But, the experience was just so rewarding for me I had to. The children were all so appreciative, beaming at me, expressing their gratitude through belated birthday greetings and musings of how they could use my little gift for school – it kind of made me feel like my heart was on fire, but in the best way possible.

Anyway, now on to the standard realizations I make sure to include in nine out of ten posts.

This birthday in particular was a big deal for me, for obvious reasons. I had always regarded 18 as the age of independence and freedom: I equated it to having the liberty to do whatever I wanted, go anywhere I pleased with anyone at all, make the big decisions and know the answers to all the questions I’ve been asking my elders since I was a kid. I guess I forgot that I’m not the protagonist of the coming-of-age films I grew up indulging in, but a sheltered kid who has had most things done for her and thus has yet to acquire the basic life skills needed to survive The Real World. My parents said that I’m this way because they wanted to give me a life of convenience, and thus did anything that required me going out of my comfort zone, for me. All these years, I never found myself complaining about it or demanding that something be changed but for some reason, this stage of supposed adulthood has pressured me into thinking that there’s something terribly wrong with this because now, I have so much growing up to do.

Obviously, the biggest life change that I’ll have to deal with would be college: having to balance academics, extracurricular activities and different people in an entirely foreign environment sounded so terrifying for me. People would always tell me that grades have and could never be an issue for me: I was born the Smart Kid™ with a lot of potential, remember? I was generally a star student in all the schools I had attended, and everyone knew about it: I didn’t have to exert any effort to prove myself to those around me, because my grades did the talking. But, suddenly I’m about to enter this prestigious university with a rigorous screening process that takes in the Smart Kids™ from institutions all around the country. How am I expected to stand out in a place like that and get the Latin honors I can’t help but aim for?

Extracurriculars also have a huge bearing and apparently are an essential part of the whole college experience, which is weird to me since I’ve never really committed to a specific club all throughout my grade school and high school life. It seemed like more of a requirement to me than anything else, so deciding which one to join was like playing pin the tail on the donkey with my friends.

And, while I’m on that note: what about making new friends? I do appear to be outgoing and loud—especially if you’ve heard my piercing shrieks in my old Grade 12 classroom—but I’m only like that around those I’m truly comfortable with, and even that number has dwindled over the years. It’s hard to find people with the same interests as I do, and I’m growing more and more unsure of the fact that there are Ateneans who like K-Pop boy groups and laugh at the jeje memes I have in my camera roll. (I will cry if I don’t find anyone who can watch Japer Sniper videos with me.) I haven’t had to introduce myself to a new person in two years both IRL and online and I let them lead the conversation for a long while before I can think of warming up to them.

I also have to learn how to drive, which can come off as a surprise to anyone who’s known me for a while. I’ve always been the type to let go of the steering wheel and cover my eyes when the situation got out of control at the bumper cars. But, once I found out that ADMU isn’t actually the most commuter-friendly of schools, I didn’t really have a choice. On my first day of lessons, I was scared to my very core: my mind couldn’t stop bombarding me with stories of vehicular accidents and picture slideshows of cats that got run over. Although I did pass all four days and am now eligible to have my own license, I still have much work to do before I can take our Civic for a spin along Katipunan: please pray I learn how to parallel park without crashing into anything. I guess it would also be a bonus if I learned how to commute to and from places. I love going out, and I wish I always knew how to get to where I wanted to go and what mode of transportation to take instead of always relying on trikes and taxis all the time.

Since I’m of legal age, I’m also qualified to register to vote. I’ve started immersing myself in current events and politics a few years back, and I witnessed several people my age get shot down by adults when they did so much as express their opinions. “Masyado kang bata,” they’d argue. “Di nga kayo botante eh, wag na kayong makialam!” (But, the indifference of the youth would still be met with biting remarks like, “Wala na ba kayong ibang gagawin kundi mag-Internet? Magkaroon naman kayo ng pakialam sa nangyayari sa paligid!”) So now, I feel a certain kind of satisfaction in finally getting a say in who runs my country. But, at the same time, there’s also an intense kind of pressure since I am expected to discern which candidate serves the people’s best interests and hopefully lead us out of the downward spiral we’re currently making our way through.

It was only very recently—towards the start of the final month of my vacation—that I realized how stagnant I still was a person. Must be surprising for some of you. I feel like I somewhat project this image of being constantly put together. Very rarely do I let myself be vulnerable around other people. This is probably why every time I turn to someone to talk about my problems, I’m always met with reassurance: I, of all people, would have it under control, they say. I have absolutely nothing to worry about.

But, that’s the thing: when we’re on social media, we have this tendency to present only our best selves, turning our accounts into heavily filtered highlight reels. This is not only pretentious but toxic behavior, because of its failure to put things into perspective and show that everyone has their own fair share of both good and bad days. My Instagram feed may be its busy and color-coordinated self at the moment, but it doesn’t show the many nights I’ve spent crying because of how overwhelmed I was by this sudden surge in responsibilities and my inability to handle all of them. I mean, things can seem way beyond your control when your brain refuses to shut up and calm down.

I guess my failure to prepare for everything could be traced back to the beginning of this summer. In hindsight, the goals I had set for my four-month break were all very short-term and not exactly centered on self-improvement. I looked through the bullet journal I was keeping at the time, and found items like “clean my room”, “delete Facebook friends and Twitter followers I don’t interact with” and “buy a new study table” – one word for April 2018 Angel: why? I easily could have used the time to learn a new language or pledge to write 10 posts, maybe even pick up an instrument so I could have started a career as a Soundcloud artist and gotten myself a record deal instead of going to college (Mom, Dad, I’m kidding.) But for some reason, I didn’t even think of setting my standards that high. I spent a lot of time lying on my back, scrolling through the same old timelines several times a day as if the constant refreshing would bring anything of substance in my life.

It's much easier to let the regret paralyze me, to beat myself up for all the mistakes I’ve made and wonder why I didn’t do better. But, we all know that won’t help me get anywhere. As of now, I’m trying my best to be more vocal about my problems with other people so they don’t build up inside of me until I spontaneously combust. I admit I’m also quite the emotional person, so I really want to work on having a rational approach to whatever I’m going through.

I found this thread of healthy coping mechanisms and emergency plans to use during times of distress floating around. In case you guys are too lazy to click on the link, it basically says that you should first identify the trigger thought or whatever is sparking the negative emotions, identify the unhelpful thinking style that you are subscribing to and counter them through coping thoughts and actions to bring your mood back to the center. Twitter user thecolor_teal also says that one important thing to note is that you should never believe in your thoughts without critiquing them.

I’ve been doubling down on the worrying and channeling all that energy on pursuing other interests and planning my life out. I’m on my fifth book in the span of two weeks (I have a post coming up on this, so watch out!) and I just hit the 2k word mark on this post, so I can pretty much say I’m on a roll.  I also came up with three main goals that I want to prioritize as I venture into this new chapter of my life. I read somewhere that publicizing whatever you want to work on, jinxes them in a way but since there’s no scientific evidence to back it up, I’m taking the risk. It could serve as a constant reminder of what I have to do, or pressure me into following through because I’ve put it up here to everyone to see: either way, I win, I guess.

1. Be more involved – maintain a firm stance of my own in issues concerning the country, give back to my community, continue to take genuine interest in the lives of those around me and do whatever I can to help them

2. Be more sociable – judge people less; get to know and interact with people from as many different social circles as possible; learn how to make the first move, engage in small talk (!!!) and not end the conversation with an awkward laugh

3. Be more street smart – be confident when on my own in public places, distinguish when I’m being fooled by people, learn how to get out of sticky situations without having to ask for help

I don’t exactly have everything down pat yet but at this point, it’s become somewhat comforting for me to think that I’m not expected to, and that no one my age knows exactly what they’re doing. We’re all clueless kids with no idea what the future holds and if we’re truly capable of handling it – we’re all hanging on to our empty attempts at reassuring ourselves. Anyone who denies this is probably just trying to make themselves feel better and I’d like you lot to know that we see through you! Despite the sheer hopelessness of our situations, I hope you all make amends with your right to not know whatever the heck you’re doing with your life right now and learn to trust the process. You’ve probably been through worse in the past, but here you are: beaten and bruised and still dusting yourself off from the last time life let you down but still alive and valid and fighting and that’s all that matters. We got this, fellow adult-er. And that is not to be mistaken for adulterer, by the way. That’s not something we should strive to be.

[senior-sem-thesis-draft]

On April 14, 2020, I wrote:

i hate reality which is why i do drugs lol

Back then, and for most of my life, the reality I inhabited was not pleasant. It was no wonder I wanted to escape from it so frequently with such drastic methods.

My reality was generated by the framework of my mental state- I was fully immersed in the toxic narrative of my traumatized ego and I held everything it told me as the absolute truth. If I thought I was ugly, my face and body appeared grotesque. If I thought my teacher was singling me out for punishment, I was being unjustly targeted. If I thought my friends were mad at me, nobody liked or cared about me. And so on- my experiences were constructed from my unerringly critical and pessimistic worldview.

Since I was younger, I’d always been fascinated with states of altered consciousness. But I didn’t really get into doing drugs until my forced leave of absence in 2017 after I tried to kill myself and ended up in the ICU. During my leave, I didn’t have the structure of school to keep me busy, so I turned to other things.

Substance use became a coping mechanism- a method of indulging escapism- but also eventually, a tool for healing.

I would insufflate a stimulant to get something done. It made whatever activity I was doing more rewarding and engaging. Or I would ingest a dissociative and withdraw into the depths of my own dazed mind, leaving my physical body behind for up to a couple hours. I would smoke cigarettes and vape. I would use entheogens and psychedelics when attending EDM shows. I would pop pharmaceutical  benzodiazepines and opiates to cope with my perpetual state of anxiety and despair.

I grew to adore getting fucked up. I loved the precarious feeling of free-fall, the way my heart vibrated in my chest when I was on the cusp of being not okay. I wasn’t ever scared because I wanted to be dead, anyway. In those fleeting moments, I was able to let go of both my corporal form and thinking mind. I eagerly leaned into the overpowering sensations, which came naturally since I was always looking for a distraction from existing. I was truly free, if only temporarily. Once I came back down, I desperately wanted to lose control again.

I think I hit my rock bottom, or one of them, when a breakdown triggered me to take two bars of Xanax and finish the bottle of soju I had in the fridge. I don’t remember what set me off, but I was so incredibly upset. I felt completely hollow yet brimming with guilt, rage, and shame. Even with the high dose of sedatives, I couldn’t stop myself from smashing the bottle on a table. My former partner came over to clean up the broken glass everywhere. Then, I would’ve called it pathetic, but I now feel overwhelming compassion for my past self- she was going through so much. I understand intimately how distressed she was and how she was incapable of coping with her illness in a healthy way.

But it wasn’t just the intense highs I chased. I smoked daily, multiple times a day, during more than a few periods of my life. It was such a quick, effortless, and reliable fix- it would unfailingly make me feel better when I was sad, which was very often. Because I was always able to distract myself with weed, I never felt the need to address the root cause of my negative emotions.

I was somewhat aware that it was an issue, but I would rationalize my use because I was still functional and getting good grades. In fact, I would smoke before doing schoolwork when I was upset, because the subsequent mood boost was enough to get me out of bed and to my desk. But frequent use resulted in unavoidable consequences.

I lost my ambition and drive, since all I wanted to do was go back home and smoke. I put in the bare minimum to ace my classes. I grew comfortable in my painful reality and accepted my profoundly depressing life as it was. I constantly overate, overslept, and woke up feeling groggy and numb. I cherished the social aspect of weed, but in hindsight I was always awkward and never fully present. I became more forgetful, and my ability to focus waned. Eventually it grew to amplify my fear of abandonment, causing more conflict in my interpersonal relationships. Even my physical injuries started hurting more when I was high.

Despite all this, I didn’t stop. It was just too comforting and easy.

There were other aspects of substances that became meaningful to me. At some point, it developed into more than a way to distract myself. As a naturally curious person, I became enthralled with pharmacological pathways, harm reduction, and purity-testing reagents. I became friends with other drug lovers. I grew to appreciate the ritual of it all.

Most importantly, I started respecting psychedelics and intentionally using them to change my mindset and heal from my traumas. Thanks to the lessons I learned from them, I was able to rely less and less on substances to numb my feelings and escape reality. Psychedelics initiated my shift from trauma conditioning, survival mode, and self-sabotage to becoming consciously aware of patterns and developing the ability to non-judgmentally respond to thoughts, emotions, and situations.

I was forced to stop smoking when I came to Korea last year because it’s illegal there. The cloudiness of my mind gradually dissipated, and my attention span returned- I didn’t have to rely on stims during time crunches in the semester anymore.

I quit my very frequent nicotine use because it is shown to inhibit wound healing. (My knees, wrist, back, etc. were all injured from lifting.) Surprisingly, quitting was not that hard once I began to actively value my body and prioritize healing my injuries instead of chasing the buzz I barely even felt anymore. One day, I just put my vape down and never picked it up again. I decided to cut alcohol from my life- I was never a fan.

Now, I have a much healthier relationship with substances. I don't compulsively smoke weed or do any other drugs to numb my feelings anymore. After addressing the root cause of my addictions, I am able to enjoy drugs rather than depending on them to escape a painful reality.

[countesscruor]

I’m ready

I’m ready to live life beautifully. So much of my time has been spent surviving. Surviving guilt, grieving death, surviving depression, grieving my loss of innocence, surviving my anxiety, grieving my past, surviving my fears. So much of that involves drinking the pain away, numbing the fear, silencing the voices with a smoke. Those vices are enticing but one day I decided I didn’t want them anymore. I’m battling my mind with what I need and want and it’s been a losing war. I know I don’t need a drink but sometimes I want the taste of liquor to remind me what the quiet is. Sometimes I hate the cough but after a smoke your body relaxes and what mattered before seems unimportant. Those are moments that are valuable but my body aches from the hangover, and my lungs are congested from the smoke. My body can’t take it anymore. I’m older, I’m getting older everyday and what seems harmless now screams “I should know better”. I’ve seen people suffocate to death shouldn’t that be enough to quit smoking? Weed isn’t everything, there are more ways to relax and I want to find them for myself. What nourishes me destroys me, and I’m beginning to weigh the consequences. I no longer feel the need to be constantly altered. I want to relax without substances. I want to go to bed with out needing a drink, a smoke, or a cookie. Food has also been a comfort but it’s all holding me back. It’s holding me back from feeling proud of myself. I don’t like binge eating after a smoke, I don’t like binge drinking after a hard day. My body needs to rest, to recoup. I need to remind myself that addictions seem sweet like honey, but the pain is real like a sting. I’ve been hurting, there is no lie there. But the way I’ve been coping doesn’t make sense for a happy future. I’m with the love of my life and I want life to be happy like the way I feel with him. I don’t want to be ashamed of my body and the way I feel. I want to be myself without limitation and doubt. Self conscious girls lose their shine and it’s a bothersome sight to see. I want to smile without an underlying tear, a tear stemming from my self hate and torture. I know that I want to live long and happy, but my coping mechanisms are tainting my vision of myself. I want to make myself proud. I’ve been smoking way less, I completely stopped for awhile, and that made me proud. It showed me self control and will power. Now I want to get rid of the last vices that hold onto me. Food and Alcohol are not the answer, a momentary fix that just brings sadness in the morning. I want to be refreshed, be healing, and truly rested when I wake up. I want my body to reflect my good decisions not my bad. I’m almost 30 and that’s been growing heavy on my heart lately. What have I done so far? What are my goals? Is surviving enough? Sometimes yes, yes it is. I don’t regret my life. I’m here for a reason and everything has turned out for the best I have to believe that. But now I want to make myself proud. Not hang on every moment to prove something to someone, prove my love, my friendship or my spirit. That’s nobody’s business. I am who I am and I don’t need excuses for love. I can just simply be and that’s enough. I’ve lost a huge confidant and she’s busy now. She’s confused in her own life and just trying to take things day by day and it’s not her fault I feel lonely. I’m an adult and a mother only raises you til your 18 really. I’ve learned to fend for myself but it hasn’t been easy. I miss her and she was all mine til one day she wasn’t and that’s ok. Life goes on. I’m ok, I’m ok where I am and that’s what needs to be seen, not the moments when I feel sorry for myself. I want to make myself proud. I want to start living instead of surviving and I think I’m ready. I think I’ve come to a place where now i see all I need to take care of is me, and I need to enjoy it while it lasts. Maybe one day I’ll be a mom and I won’t have days like these anymore. These self reflective times are valuable and I need to listen to myself. I’m ready to make myself proud. I’m ready to open a new chapter. It’s time to grow up.

[chris-phd]

not having artblock?!? can u give me some of this ?!? teach me man

With pleasure My Queen!!!!ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡*sends to you anti-artblock , motivation and inspiration with the speed of light*

Tbh it’s more of the coping mechanism against all the stress around that turn into a nonstop killing my brain machine that gives me headache and not wanting to do anything else but that x’D hyperactivity in the brain is such a drag..like since morning if no one would have call me to help around I wouldn’t let the pencil down mostly because there are so many yelling and cursing around I need to get away from them somehow ~ (and now they are all mad that I stayed hide in my room and didn’t come to help x’D  )

But fun fact, you know how everyone says that in the past artists/writers/etc were on drugs when they were feeling full of inspiration and get rid of the artblock? Well it’s actually the fact they were just extra excite their nervous system with such psycho-excites substance we find in the coca-cola or pepsi or coffee  orrrr CAKE!!!!~ (it’s known that the brain loves sweets! he soooo addicted to sugar X’D) now also the alcohol even if he’s not a stimulate substance  or more a semi one ~ he gave you that “euphoria” mood in which ( I offer myself as example) write faster or have a little boost of energy ( little as fuck! like donno…1 h…of such fast writing and drawing then I’m really a big lazy cat with a stupid smile on my face X”D)

*lights his cigar with the lightsaber like a badass* This are too much logical stuff, it’s all in the mood you feel inside tbh ~ a sketch is easy to make, I mean I bet you got lots of awesome sketches but never got the time to finish them and here comes the thing that gives artblock…the mood around you, not just how your soul feels like, and time you have. For me…having my family around gives me studyblock AF!!! Srsly! just today I wanted to open my docs to read for the exam and thannnn le fight appeared and ..well good bye good mood to study X”D so I pretend I was reading but instead I sketch shit X’’D So events happening around are chores are the ones staying in front of us….I mean i don’t remember Michelangelo’s mother calling him from 5 to 5 minutes to help her around! OFC HE GOT TIME! X”D Environment means a lot, like a looooottt!!!….tbh all the artists I saw that they weren’t living with the families had a better way in evolving in art OxO” or maybe is just my impression ^^”” donno~ 

(omg sorry it turned into a ‘say no to drugs, stay in school kids ‘ answer x’D I am sorry it sounds stupid or smth! Idk how much it helps, at least I hope you had fun reading it~  ) *distracts you with a beautiful bunny  *

[a879a4-blog]

1, 14, and 29! :D

42 character development questions | accepting

ooohh boy i had to put this under a read more because it got ridiculously long, i even had to shorten it ( if only i could write this much for threads and drabbles sigh )…….. Here We Go

1. How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy?

When it comes to body language, Kovir is… usually pretty expressive, as you might have already guessed. They are known to walk with a slow, provocative strutting gait; sometimes even adding a bit of hips swaying here and there — you could basically call it a model walk… But that is to say, assuming they can get away with it; they are able to tell when something is going to be way too inappropriate / unprofessional to do in a determinate situation, and they wouldn’t dare to behave like this in front of, say, motherfucking Zarkon ( they’d likely tone it down a bit even when around someone like Sendak, I suppose; better safe than sorry ), but yeah… pompous would be an accurate word to describe them. Kovir is essentially a peacock ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Strutting aside, they also tend to gesticulate a lot and dramatically. ( i.e: opening their arms wide when making a speech in front of their soldiers, putting their hand(s) to their chest, not to mention all the poses they’d make with their weapon… ) When it comes to the amount of energy they put in their movements, that kind of depends on the mood: generally speaking they tend to move somewhat slowly, some might even say languidly, as if trying to conserve their energy for the right time; but Kovir is actually quite easy to excite depending on the circumstances ( hint: their axe. give them a reason to use their axe and fuel their bloodlust ) or the people they are around with, and in that case… oh boy. It would be like watching a bunny doing the blinkies, ESPECIALLY if under the effect of their medication, which is… most of the time anyway…

This might not be surprising, but I guess it’s worth mentioning that when Kovir is genuinely angry — and I don’t mean it in the “Oh I’m so outraged now!!! >:(” way, you wouldn’t see any of these traits because their demeanor would change drastically: it’d be an uncommon sight, but if they do get to that point you can bet they’d throw whatever elegance and drama out of the window, and even if they didn’t express their rage verbally their body language, scowl and grip on their fuming axe shaking would be more than enough to get the message across. Being in the same room with a livid Kovir would be the kind of atmosphere that’d make most subordinates that know better go completely silent.

14. What do they care deeply about? What kind of loyalties, commitments, moral codes, life philosophies, passions, callings, or spirituality and faith do they have? How do these tend to be expressed? 

As a Fleet Commander who has been part of the military since they could just barely be considered an adult, they do feel a certain loyalty towards the Empire… but it’s something more related to fear and resignation than like, genuine devotion. Had they complete freedom to do anything they wanted with their life, they would have likely pursued a dance career — that was one of their dreams when they were a teen — not join the army. Kovir has long since accepted their life as a soldier ( “ The Empire is absolute; how could you ever hope to make it out alive if you rebel against it? ” ), and in some way they are thankful that at least it has given them a purpose, a role in society. They know what their place is, even if it means they could die at any moment because of it.

…Now, things have gotten somewhat more complicated with the introduction of Commander Vetara. Before she stepped in, Kovir’s commitment was very simple: serve the Empire as best as you can and bear with it because that’s simply the kind of life that was given to you, something something Victory or Death™, make Lord Zarkon happy. But Vetara, in a few words, gave them the support and validation that they so desperately needed, and at the time the concept of showing genuine compassion to your low-ranked subordinates was entirely new to Kovir.

With the development of their relationship, Kovir’s loyalty for their superior became much, much greater than whatever allegiance they felt for the Empire ( which, again, was built on fear: it was either to be a follower or die ). All the effort they put in their work was and is ultimately because of her, not anybody else. She might have been missing for a long time by now, but she’s still a huge influence in Kovir’s life, to the point that they have selected bits and pieces of her character and philosophy, assimilated them and essentially turned them into part of their own identity. Granted, their research has gotten a bit more passive over the years due to their duties obviously not allowing them to dedicate their full time looking for her whereabouts, but they would spend their entire life looking for the truth — as long as they don’t die before then.

Over the course of their life, something Kovir has learned is that the weak are simply meant to be trampled over by the strong; stepping stones to be used to progress, nothing more, nothing less. The end justifies the means etc. etc. Kovir’s morality is pretty corrupted — there aren’t many things they wouldn’t do to fulfill an objective. But even then, they generally don’t feel any particular hate or animosity for whoever they deem as weak… annoyance at most, maybe, but mostly just disinterest. Which is why Kovir tends to be willing to engage in “friendly” conversations even with those who are supposed to be the enemies if they don’t have a reason to resort to violence right away, and has even spared innocent bystanders occasionally. The suffering of others, first of all, is a necessity for the sake of the “greater good”, although this doesn’t negate the fact that they do take pleasure in playing with their victims before killing them off sometimes; it’s just nothing personal ( usually ), as they would say.

Despite how messed up their morality is, there is one thing that they are definitely never going to do on their own volition, and that is to use lethal force on children. They’ll avoid harming kids as much as possible if they can help it, and they also don’t enjoy hurting pregnant people or new parents for personal reasons. The only case in which they would actually go through with something like killing a child would be if they got forced by a higher-up, and even then they would hesitate a lot in doing so… not to mention it would make them feel absolutely miserable afterwards.

tl;dr: kovir loves vetara and they might as well die after finding her, their philosophy is no hard feelings but if the weak are not to be exploited then what else do they exist for, get over it, killing children is BAD tho u piece of shit… also vetara is love, vetara is life 

( i was gonna elaborate the ‘how do they express all this shit’ part but i don’t wanna make this any longer omg… long story short: kovir’s axe alone essentially symbolizes their loyalty, their commitment, their passion and their calling all in one, pretty much )

29. What kind of activities, interests, and hobbies do they have? What significance and impact do these have in their lives, both positive and negative?

The main activities Kovir carries out throughout the day involve training / working out, reading / writing reports, and anything else pertaining work really ( though they genuinely enjoy exercising as a hobby )… but responsibilities aside, socializing with others. There’s nothing new about this: Kovir is a social butterfly and not at all shy about interacting with complete strangers, but unfortunately also happens to have the bad habit of getting a bit too overfamiliar, resulting in them invading others’ personal space without giving a shit ( they have their limits thankfully… the most aggravating thing they’d do to an ally would probably be to pick them up without their consent ) — but that’s another story lmao

Basically, drinking, partying, dancing… these are all things you might get to see them do outside of their job. They also really enjoy taking care of their appearance and looking good at all times — if their flaunting didn’t make it any more obvious — to the point of getting somewhat fussy ( they hate getting dirty and messy ). Sex is, admittedly, another important aspect in Kovir’s life and has been for a long time, even before creating the persona they are making use of today. Another hobby of theirs that doesn’t involve the company of people is taking care of flowers and collecting gemstones and other pretty objects ( bonus points if they also shine and sparkle ), something you would definitely see if you ever had the chance to walk into their personal quarters.

Kovir’s extremely social behavior is essentially a façade and a form of escapism to disguise and distract themselves from all their negative feelings, as well as a means of giving other people a reason to like them; Kovir wants to be noticed and validated, they want to be praised and trusted, they want to be relied on and they want people to depend on them, both for their exploitatory purposes and their own personal pleasure. Recreational substances like alcohol are other unhealthy coping methods of theirs that unfortunately do little more than provide temporary relief, but hey, what is Kovir without all their self-destructive mechanisms.  Nothigng .   absolutley nothi

thought machine broke

[lynchkavinskyparrish]

Ronan/Kavinsky

11. “You’re going to make it. Just stay awake.”

 Ronan was at one of Kavinsky’s substance parties, steadfastly ignoring said party’s host. Ignoring the smug looks and ignoring the thought that, Kavinsky, in his element, was truly something to behold. 

He may have come to Kavinsky on his own recognizance, but he had given up enough of his pride by showing up to the damn thing, he wasn’t about to give Kavinsky any more satisfaction by staring. That didn’t mean he couldn’t listen.

The strange crossbreed of the New Jersey and Bulgarian accent gave Kavinsky’s voice an almost melodic lilt. It made him easy to distinguish from the crowd and nearly impossible to ignore. His particular cadence was marred by the harsh words he spoke with even harsher syllables, but Ronan found he didn’t mind the added roughness.

 It was to be expected from Kavinsky and, recently, Ronan had found comfort in the expected. Everything in Ronan’s life had been turned on its head, nothing felt stable. Even Gansey, the most constant part of his life, had become irregular. Gansey’s Glendower obsession had become more real and Ronan had become less tethered. 

Everything was changing, but Kavinsky, Kavinsky was a constant. Ronan liked to use that idea, liked to pretend that was the only reason he came to the party. The alternative, the idea that he was drawn to the fire in Kavinsky’s eyes, was less desirable.  

It was pathetic but, while Ronan may not have done any of the substances at the party, he was there to meet an addiction. Every so often, he had to visit Kavinsky, just to reminded himself of why he was a bad idea. Ronan would stage a ‘chance meeting’. Kavinsky would say just the wrong thing. And Ronan would leave, anger temporarily burying desire.

The problem was that, recently, Kavinsky hadn’t been too bad. His insults had become routine and they’d lost their potency. Ronan was having to replace quality for quantity. 

He knew it was a shitty excuse, but anything was better than admitting that he simply wanted to see Joseph Kavinsky. Every time he saw him though, it was getting harder and harder to deny the way he affected Ronan.

Kavinsky reminded him of lightening;  bright, violent, alive, and impossible to contain. It was more than just that though, Kavinsky was loud. There was an air to him that told Ronan that there was no possible universe where Kavinsky wasn’t a king. Here, he may have been the king of the damned, but he could have made himself a king of any situation.He was something other, something ethereal. 

Kavinsky seemed to only get harder to understand the more Ronan tried. Unfortunately, the reverse didn’t seem true. Even through his obnoxious glasses, Ronan could feel Kavinsky’s piercing gaze.

Kavinsky understood things about Ronan that no one else did. He saw through Ronan; he had taken him apart and put him back together again in just a few encounters. Yet Ronan only knew enough about Kavinsky to know which pieces were the most artificial. He knew more than most, probably because no one else cared enough to try, but that was the problem. Ronan cared. Ronan cared about Joseph Kavinsky.

And anyone who knew anything about anything knew there was nothing more futile than caring about Kavinsky. It was like re-watching a sad movie, knowing what was going to happen, and hoping, against all odds, that it wouldn’t. Kavinsky was a train crash waiting to happen: hard to look at, harder to look away from. Most everyone knew this; it was fairly obvious Kavinsky was mentally unstable, perhaps even deranged, but that was part of the appeal to them. They wanted a show. They wanted the spectacle that was the rumor of Kavinsky. No one cared that the drugs and booze were poorly-disguised, self-destructive, coping mechanisms.

No one but Ronan that was. And even then, Ronan resented the fact. It was useless to care about someone who couldn’t be saved and Kavinsky was king of the damned for a reason. 

Ronan knew all this but, sometimes, he needed the visceral reminder that was Kavinsky in the flesh. He finally broke his vow of stubborn apathy and looked over at Kavinsky.

He was leaning against Proko’s golf, surrounded by his pack and some people Ronan didn’t know (he doubted Kavinsky knew them either). The party-goers seemed to orient themselves towards Kavinsky even when he wasn’t doing much of anything. Kavinsky, however, decided to face Ronan.    

His smirk seemed to grow when he realized he Ronan was looking back. “You here to party Lynch or are you just creeping?”

Ronan rolled his eyes but didn’t respond.

Kavinsky then patted the hood of the car he was leaning against, as if beckoning a loyal dog.

When Ronan scowled and flipped him off, Kavinsky changed tactics. He leaned down towards to cooler at his feet, grabbed a bottle of beer, and waved it in offering. He was offering a way for Ronan to do what he’d requested without forfeiting his pride.

Ronan could have gotten a beer himself. He could have ignored the offer and walked away. Better yet, he could have gotten back in his car and left the party all together. 

He did none of those things. 

Instead he walked over to the car, the crowd parting for the ‘guest of honor’, and took the beer.

Kavinsky’s started shit talking as soon as Ronan leaned against the car. “Dick know his pet’s out for a walk?”

Ronan started standing up to leave, but Kavinsky held out his arm to stop him, silently agreeing to stop the Gansey comments, at least temporarily. He then patted Ronan’s chest and made a tsking sound. “So sensitive.”

That didn’t even receive an eyeroll from Ronan, but Kavinsky persisted. He pulled a baggie of designer silver pills out of his pocket and offered one to Ronan. Ronan shook his head but Kavinsky didn’t quit. “What the fuck are you doing at my substance party then?”

That was a question Ronan couldn’t answer, but he knew what to say to get Kavinsky to drop the subject. “I can leave.”

Pursing his lips and sighing, Kavinsky took a pill for himself, and put the bag away.

They both knew this game.

Kavinsky knew Ronan would have taken the pill had they been alone. And Ronan knew Kavinsky didn’t want Ronan to leave. It was a precarious balance that, more often than not, ended poorly for everyone involved. That never stopped them though.

The party went on, unconcerned with their hard-won balance. Unfamiliar music rocked the car, people came up to Kavinsky to exchange substances and money or favors. No one talked to Ronan, and Kavinsky was occupied with other people, but Ronan would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t enjoying himself.

With Kavinsky being less obnoxious than usual, Ronan was forced to acknowledge his charm. He watched him strike deals and manage the party effortlessly and couldn’t help but appreciate his sharp wit and silver tongue. And, even Gansey would have had to admit, Kavinsky wasn’t hard to look at.

When the crowd died down Kavinsky caught Ronan staring. He had been planning to say something lewd and insulting but he was stopped by the look in Ronan’s eyes.

The spark there captured Kavinsky; he was temporarily frozen, trapped by the electricity between them.

Kavinsky felt vulnerable and exposed. Even so, had they been alone, he probably would have acted on it. But they weren’t, so he took a swig of vodka and tried to brush it off. He paid no mind to Ronan as he climbed on the hood of the car and made an announcement. “Who’s ready to fucking go?!”

The crowd, drunk and high, cheered at the vague statement.

Kavinsky then jumped off the car, motioned to Jiang, and walked over to one of the many white Mitsubishis without looking back at Ronan. Ronan saw Jiang nod and get in his own car. 

People moved closer to the edges of the dirt road, vying to get a better view as they placed bets on the race. Ronan abstained, choosing to move to the top of the golf and watch silently instead.

He wasn’t hurt by Kavinsky’s reaction. Ronan understood and he was, quite honestly, grateful Kavinsky had killed the moment. It wouldn’t have ended well for either of them if he hadn’t. Ronan had been acting stupidly. There was no happily ever after for them, and there never would be.

Still, Ronan couldn’t help but fantasize about a different universe. One where Kavinsky wasn’t as broken as he was. A world where his sharp edges weren’t quite as sharp and didn’t cut as deeply. In that world, a world where Kavinsky could get better, Ronan thought they could have worked. But it was a futile, reckless, thought and Ronan tried to quash it right away. He decided to blame his stupidity on the alcohol and turned his attention to the race. 

Kavinsky was slightly ahead of Jiang but, when they rounded the corner, he veered off the track. He drove his car head first into a tree without slowing down. It was as if he hadn’t even attempted to correct his course at all, and all Ronan could think was that it hadn’t been an accident.

He jumped off the car and moved towards the crash site. No one else moved. Possibly, no one else knew what to do when the commander could no longer command. More likely, they thought it was all part of the show.  

Giving up all pretense of emotional detachment, Ronan started running towards the wreckage. Apparently, his concern was contagious, because someone finally decided to call 911. The call, and the knowledge that the police were en route, killed the party and Ronan heard people heading out.

Soon enough the the sounds of the rapidly departing party-goers died down and the fair grounds were silent except for the ticking of the dying engine and the arguing of the core members of Kavinsky posse. When Kavinsky hadn’t open the car door they’d joined Ronan in rushing over. 

Ronan, in an uncharitable moment of bitterness, was genuinely surprised they cared.

He pushed these thoughts asside as he arrived at the car. He couldn’t see much over the smoking engine but thankfully the driver’s side door wasn’t completely trashed. He was able to pry it open and Kavinsky, having forgone his seat belt, fell out onto the unforgiving red dirt. 

Ronan pulled him the rest of the way out of the smoldering vehicle and kneeled next to his head. He was conscious, but just barely.

The only thing Ronan could think to say was, “the ambulance is on its way.”  

Kavinsky groaned and managed to glare at Ronan. He cursed in Bulgarian. Ronan’s confused stare seemed to remind Kavinsky of his company. 

He translated his cursing in a strained voice. “Fucking ass face.” The anger in his eyes matched the venom in his voice. “I don’t need a god damn hospital.”

Raising his eyebrows skeptically, Ronan replied. “Yes. You do you idiot. You could have fucking died.”

Kavinsky laughed, slightly manically. “That’s sort of the fucking point dick.” His laughter was cut off by a pained groan and a cough.

Ronan went from worried and confused to furious. His next words were spoken through clenched teeth. “You might still get your fucking wish.”

Kavinsky turned his head to the side to cough out blood before snorting and letting his eyes close, apparently too tired to keep responding.

By this point, the remaining few had congregated around the pair. They remained silent and Ronan ignored their presence completely.

He didn’t shout at, the possibly unconscious, Kavinsky, but it was a near thing. “You selfish asshole!” Ronan took a deep breath in an, unsuccessful, attempt at calming down, before continuing.  “I finally start fucking caring and you - you  try to fucking off yourself?!” When Kavinsky just coughed Ronan kept going. “You’re a God Damn coward Kavinsky.”

Kavinsky sighed and weakly patted Ronan’s thigh. Ronan was suddenly drained of his anger, more exhausted and worried than anything else. 

He lowered his voice and spoke in quiet desperation. “You’re going to make it.” He close his eyes briefly. “Just stay awake.”

Ronan opened his eyes in time to see Kavinsky crack one of his own open. He tugged roughly on Ronan’s bracelets then closed his eyes and struggled to speak. “Fucking … hypocrite.”

There was nothing Ronan could say in response, but he knew better than to let Kavinsky fall asleep, so he slapped Kavinsky across the face. It worked, but only enough to make Kavinsky glare at Ronan as he spoke through coughs. “just … let me die … fucker”

Kavinsky’s eyes closed again but Ronan could hear the ambulance approaching. It drew nearer, the noise increased, and Ronan felt secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be heard over the sirens. “I swear to God, if you survive, I will fucking make this work.”

Ronan’s voice cracked and he fought the tears gathering in his eyes. “Drag your dumb ass to rehab or some shit.” He couldn’t remember why he shouldn’t care about the broken boy, dying in his lap. 

His desperation reached a crescendo and even Ronan couldn’t tell if he was addressing Kavinsky or God. “Just give me a fucking chance!”

Before anyone could respond to Ronan’s request, the paramedics took Kavinsky away. Then Kavinsky’s pack scattered and Ronan was left alone, kneeling in the dirt, covered in a dying king’s blood.

Eventually he’d clean himself up and drive to the hospital. But, for now, he waited. He waited until the sirens were only a distant echo and even then, he didn’t move. After an unquantifiable period of time of this, waiting for nothing, he stood up and walked slowly back to his car. 

He’d head to the hospital, visit Kavinsky, see if he lived, and go from there.

It may have been an awful, pointless, decision but Ronan had said he would try and Ronan Lynch was everything but a liar.