#ill just take it on tuesday after therapy or something

[cass-ass]

I got together like 6 bags of stuff to donate/give to people and there's a parking lot where a lot of homeless people are camping and I want to just give it to them but my social anxiety is so high when doing anything where there's a large group of people and there's at least 30 people there 😔

I want to give to them directly but fuck I dont know how to approach this social interaction and I dont know these people so I cant script it. I hate my anxiety (aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)

Also where do I park my car that isn't intruding on them? I dont wanna intrude upon their house- no matter how temporary it may be.

[lastoneout]

Hey uh @ people with ME/CFS I got a question...

Everything I've read and heard about kinda seems to go hard on the idea that over-exerting yourself tends to lead to exhaustion that just never gets better at all no matter how long you rest after, and like I always assumed I didn't have it, because yeah overexerting myself tends to make me way more exhausted than is does other people and the exhaustion lasts like, a week or more sometimes, but it does eventually get better.

Like last weekend I went shopping for my birthday and also to an art gallery, and then I did a few small errands, and I conserved my energy as best I could, resting often, using mobility aids, ect, but I had to spend Mon-Fri in bed doing basically nothing aside from watching youtube, listening to music, and playing tetris because that was all I had the physical and mental energy to do. And granted that was dragged out a little because I had to go to the ER on Wednesday due to a migraine that got triggered by all this(bcs overexerting myself almost always triggers a migraine) and on Tuesday I sat in the car while we took my cat to the vet for a quick nail trim, but aside from that I just rested and even though I am feeling a bit better today I'm still just SO fucking tired and I know I'm going to have to take it easy for a few days more just to be sure I'm okay.

Which like, idk doesn't sound normal, that's for fucking sure, but I do know that with enough rest eventually I will return to my normal, which isn't everyone else's normal but is still normal enough that I can make myself easy meals and sit at my desk and talk to people and make phone calls and run errands without it killing me too badly.

But like idk my doctors seem convinced that I don't have any kind of autoimmune condition(although they haven't actually ran any tests they just keep insisting I'm not showing the signs of one and to keep up with physical therapy even when I tell them that just going clothes shopping for a few hours puts me on bedrest for the next 2-3 days) but idk again this does NOT seem normal. I legit feel SICK sometimes when I push myself too hard, like I think I'm coming down with a cold or something but it never actually turns into one, I just have that "eugh" sick feeling for a day or two and then it goes away once I've rested enough(also for clarification I never get any real cold/illness symptoms like a temperature and I mask literally everywhere and this ONLY happens after exertion so I don't think I'm actually getting sick). I also don't usually feel rested when I sleep but I always chalked that up to the insomnia more than anything?? But it does happen even when I have a good night's sleep with no tossing and turning or nightmares...

Anyway if anyone who does have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome could maybe explain to me what it's like for them I would appreciate it because idk what else could possibly be going on with me but I am so fucking tired of my doctors acting like there is nothing wrong. It might not be ME/CFS, and I have been diagnosed with fibromyalgia so maybe this is all just that? So I also wouldn't mind if someone who has fibro can tell me if this is all just fibro stuff. But idk I just want to know for sure, you know? (If it helps in addition to the fibro I also have arthritis, hEDS, orthostatic Intollerance, and occipital neuralgia.)

[slippery-minghus]

been thinking that the reason i'm so hesitant to tell my mom that It's Not Working is because i'm afraid i'll only be able to get my point across and draw a boundary by going nuclear - which would of course prove that i'm unreliable and unsafe to be on my own and that i'm a monster - and that i haven't grown at all since i was a teen and those things were "true".

but i just realized. and all the tension i've been feeling since therapy this morning sort of evaporated.... it's not that i'm afraid of myself here. it's that i know my mom is the one who won't be able to take me setting this big of a boundary without going nuclear. any boundary i set that involves limiting her access to me will be taken as if i am attempting to inflict malicious, mortal injury. and i know in my gut that she hasn't grown enough as a person to not still carry that in her.

she'll talk like she won't. she knows the language of boundaries and talks big about respecting them. but her ability to compromise still falls 75/25, in her favor. on a three day weekend, she'll accept coming saturday morning instead of friday night, and she'll leave midday monday instead of after you leave for work on tuesday. she'll tell you that she gets it, that she knows you need your time alone to recharge--because she's the same way! she can understand because you're the same person as her, after all. but she will spend the whole trip rubbing your nose in how little time you've given her. she'll tell you she respects it, but in the same breath that she isn't happy with it. she'll make an off hand comment that she's okay to cancel if you need to, but everything about the way she says it tells you how Upset she will be if you do cancel. and you don't want to Make Her Upset. but she totally respects your boundaries!

i recognize that i'm afraid to get triggered in the conversation of telling her i want to limit contact. afraid that i will be pushed to reacting instead of responding, and that i will act in a way that betrays my choices and my integrity. that i will lose my ability to choose. again. that she will take that choice away from me again.

i've been reading this hefty psychological thriller book with my friends. there was a section that was a collection of letters to the protagonist from his institutionalized, mentally ill mother. i saw so much of my mom in those letters, but didn't realize the key component until my friend pointed it out: the mother was manipulative. the manipulation became more overt as the chapter went on, hard not to name, but to the point i was at when we were discussing the chapter, it hadn't become obvious to me. it just seemed like my own mom. not normal, no, but the way an anxious mother desperate for their next fix of their child would behave.

i don't want to feed my mother's addiction. her manipulation. i don't want to be there ready to serve up a platter of myself every time she needs Motherly Reassurance. the entire time she was here at the end of august, i did not feel for a moment like we were two people interacting. she was the addict and i was the substance. she didn't care what i had to say, took no interest in my life - only talked at me about hers, dug herself deep into the triggers my presence ignites in her. she got to remind herself that she had a child, an object to make her important. and i went back to work exhausted after a taxing weekend of masking.

i feel like this is a full conversation i need to have with her. that i have to set the boundary clearly, overtly. that i have to justify it and leave room for her to tear it down. she's my mother, i owe her that much, don't i? i promised that i'd talk to her about important things, didn't i? i promised that if she did something to upset me, i'd tell her and we'd talk it through, didn't i? i promised, implicitly, that i wouldn't cut contact with her (like my dad) (again) (ever again) (never ever again or else or else or else or else orelseorelseorelseorelse), didn't i?

but i don't owe her these things. for my own integrity and clarity of boundaries, i want to have a conversation, to draw a clear line. but i know that i won't be met on an even playing field. i know that i won't be entering into that conversation with another equal, rational adult. she will not let me have this hard conversation, she will not meet me in good faith. my integrity will be overridden, named as malice, and i will be left to defend myself from the wrath i committed the indelible sin of instigating.

it feels unsafe to take the route of withdrawal. it feels incomplete and like i'm just gray rocking until she dies and leaves me alone. it feels like i'm setting myself up to wait for her to notice me and attack--and that when she does i will not be prepared. it feels like i won't be able to stand against her if she attacks, but i know that i will not win if i take the battle to her and initiate myself, either. i know i can't win.

i'm okay to not go fully no-contact with her. i don't think it needs to rise to that level of defense. but i need a break. and i need to be released of the obligation to provide her supply of Motherly Reassurance. i don't want to call her on holidays. i don't want to be held hostage on the phone for hours. i want to be able to have a normal conversation, once or twice a year, and not be reminded for the seven thousandth time about how much i hurt her when i stopped talking to her for ten months in 2015.

it's such fucking bullshit. i'm 30 years old, my mom should have gotten over not having me around over a decade ago. she should have done the work to be a person and not a mother so fucking long ago. but i'm still here, passing her metaphorical cigarettes like she didn't quit when i was 10. i shouldn't have to live like she's going to attack me the instant she asks for a cigarette and i say no. i shouldn't have to slowly trim down the cigarettes i give her until someday she notices she's not getting the same high from me that she used to.

i wish she'd realize that i'm a person, and either treat me like one or just. fucking. stop.

[chaotic-archaeologist]

What does a week in the life of a grad student look like?

So the answer to this will depend heavily on what stage of research you are in. I'll give my answer as someone who is currently in pursuit of a Master's degree, because this is currently my only firsthand experience.

As a Master's student, I am expected to take a certain number of courses, usually about three a semester. Often they meet just once a week, for 2+ hours at a time, and they are discussions/seminars rather than lectures.

On top of that, I have my teaching assistantship, which is contractually for 20 hours/week, but can go above or below that depending on when students turn in assignments.

With that being said, here's a week in my life:

Sunday: A heavy work day, during which I do most of my reading/work for Monday's class, catch up on emails, run errands that didn't get done on Friday. I do not go onto campus.

Monday: In the morning I finish up my reading for class in the afternoon. Depending on how much I have left to do, I will also do administrative tasks for my TAship, or work that needs to be done for my own research. Right now that means filling out internship and fellowship applications. Class from 2:30-5:15, after which I come home and eat dinner. From 6:15-7:30 I do reading for Wednesday's class.

Tuesday: No classes of my own today! If students for the class I TA have submitted assignments, I will spend an hour(ish) working on grading those. I am responsible for grading about 100 papers at a time. I try to spend no more than 2 minutes per paper/quiz. The class I TA meets from 2:30-3:45. The professor lectures while I do work on my computer. I get home and do more reading/work for Wednesday's class.

Wednesday: In the morning I finish any reading/work that needs to be done. If I have been productive in the front half of the week I use this time to run errands or do my own work. If I have not been productive I am cramming for class in the afternoon. Class goes from 2:30-5:15. I come home, eat dinner, and then do reading for Thursday's class until 7:30.

Thursday: In the morning I finish the reading for class in the afternoon. Class meets from 2:30-5pm. I come home and give myself permission to not do any work because my brain is fried and I do not have class tomorrow.

Friday: No class today! I start the morning with therapy, and then this is my day to attend to personal errands. This is mostly grocery shopping, laundry, and tidying. In the evening I often go out with friends to things like hockey games and bar trivia. Sometimes I go to Friday night Shabbat services.

Saturday: This is my day to decompress. I sleep in and then spend most of the early afternoon doing nothing. I paint my nails, read for fun, or take my dog for a long walk. In the afternoon I'll do something social—most weeks this is volunteering with Big Brothers Big Sisters.

Not pictured are daily activities that include, but are not limited to:

Checking email. Seriously, so many emails. I was not prepared for how many emails I would be getting in grad school

Classwork that I need to be turning in like paper abstracts, discussion posts, meeting with faculty

Doctors appointments

Cooking for myself. Trader Joe's frozen meals are a life saver

Attending talks/programs held on campus, usually in the evenings. These are prime time for networking

Hanging out with friends before class sometimes

Miscellaneous meetings

Walking my dog

Evening routines like Duolingo, journal entries, creative writing time, etc.

NAPS

Unexpected crises

Also, keep in mind that as someone living with a chronic illness/disability, I operate with less energy than some of my peers. But overall, my MA schedule is similar to my bachelor's one, but with fewer classes that each take up more time, and alongside working as a TA. My academic commitments with three grad classes are about the same as my undergrad semester when I took six classes.

As always, other people are free to chime in with their own experiences/observations.

-Reid

[xaykwolf]

Why I was gone for like...two months:

So as some of y'all know, as part of my psych doc program, I have to do several year-long trainings without pay as exposure experience. Well, last July not only did I move apartments in one of the most stressful times of my life, I also started a training site at a behavioral health hospital for peds and adolescents.

Over the course of the last 7 months, I witnessed and had to hold space for some of the most severely-ill kids that our society is only happy to continue neglecting. During that time, I was expected to help them find hope and some behavioral changes with very little support from the organization (and, up until half a month ago, from my supervisor as well). I lost my appetite completely and somehow still managed to gain weight, I now have gray hairs when I didn't even grow them under my emotionally abusive supervisor during my intermediate training year, and I began making far too many serious jokes about suicide and homicide. I already don't get enough sleep, but I got even worse somehow, and took up a coffee brand with the highest caffeine content I could find. I obviously dropped off the face of the Earth here, and I stopped being able to engage in pretty much every other thing that brings me joy in life. Our caseloads climbed to extreme just before the winter holidays, but we were assured that it would dwindle again after we got back from the week. They did not. We lost two therapy students, one for health reasons, and one for bureaucratic bullshit during that first week back, and so those of us who were left behind were left holding the bag. We were then informed that major structural changes were going to be made to the partial hospitalization program we have, with little control over how it would affect us and very little notice as to when the changes would be made. To make matters worse, as an advanced student I had also taken on some diagnostic duties. That meant I was working with a practically full caseload and doing testing alongside it with insane deadlines for reports. I tried to let my supervisor know that I needed these dropped or at least reduced, then we got 23 referrals for testing in a single week. The diagnostic students went from 1-3 cases to 3-4 at a time, which is not viable in the slightest, and I knew things were gonna get even worse. And then, the heart palpitations started. I'd wake up with squeezing chest pains, especially on practicum days, and they no longer went away throughout the course of the day. I already know my genetic destiny is a cardiovascular nightmare, so I knew something had to give. I talked to my school, and they decided that I would be pulled from the site BUT because I couldn't finish out the school semester, I will have to redo my entire advanced training year. They may have me set up to go to a private practice site that aligns much more closely with my philosophy and needs, but as of right now I'm waiting to see if I scored an interview. If not, it's back to round 2 of applications for next year YET AGAIN.

All that to say, now that I'm finally officially out of my position at the hospital site, I'll have more time for things like Tunglr. It may take quite a while before I recover, all things considered. Tuesday is the first day I would usually be back at prac for the week, so that may be when my soul can finally acknowledge that it's over and I'm not going back. I've learned quite a bit about myself personally and about how I work as a therapist, so I can't say I regret my time at the hospital per se, but I know things will be much easier if I can score a position at this private practice for next year. In the meantime, I'm choosing to try and push it out of my mind. I've got my last two regular classes to finish, and I've got time to devote to catching up on my dissertation. I reconnected with a buddy with intention, and he and I are doing the parallel play of working on recreational skills we want to learn while talking over vidchat. (I've finally started on a Bee AMV that I've been wanting to make for years now!) I've got video games, and maybe streaming(?), to get back into.

I've made the decision to choose my heart, both physically and metaphysically, over an expedited academic path, which is not the choice I would've made a few years ago. So I don't know how long it'll take for things to go back to "normal" here, but I'm at least back on the right track for myself. Progress and all that. 💙

[i-am-still-bb]

In the interest of “breaking the stigma” I think I’m just going to name what I’m dealing with outright, because if my husband had had complications from his gallbladder removal in January I would not have hesitated to share that. And I really believe that mental illness should be treated no differently.

(check tags before you click “keep reading”)

On the Monday after Easter (April 10, 2023) my husband told me that his aunt and uncle (S & D) were coming over to take him to the hospital. I asked why and I assumed it had soemthing to do with the emergency gallbladder removal surgery that he had at the very end of January. He told me that he had been thinking about killing himself. And that he has thought about it off and on for years. I learned no more in that moment because S and D arrived to take him to the E.R. He was admitted to a Crisis Stabilization Unit (CSU) that night. It was voluntary, but underthreat of the pink slip (sectioned / involuntarily committed). 

I felt like someone hit me over the head with a 2x4. I knew that something was wrong, because he’d been acting really weird since I arrived home from Sacramento (April 2) and he had been acting weird for a while. I had expressed my desire for him to stop taking the Adderall that he had started taking in early February because that was really the only thing I could see that had changed in recent months. (Doctors have since told him to stop taking it.)

On Tuesday I found his journal and found out that he had intended to attempt suicide on Easter if he could get out of coming to a family event with my son and I. Why Easter Sunday? Because of that family thing. Some of my family lives 2.5hrs away, so my husband would have a guaranteed 8hr window at least. And if that failed (which it did) he intended to try on Wednesday April 12th in the 1hr window from when I leave for work at 10:30 and when he has to pick up our son from school at 11:30.

The rest of that journal was basically a log starting on the previous Wednesday (April 5) (actually the same day that he had a therapy appointment) of all the things that were wrong in our relationship. How he views it as a failure. That he thinks there is nothing left to salvage. And more. That document is thousands of words long. I skimmed because I could not stand to read it. 

He did reveal these thoughts and plans (only the Wednesday one) to S and D on Saturday April 8th. On Monday the 10th he messaged S something that alarmed her and prompted the immediate trip to the E.R.

While he was in the CSU he was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD), and Bipolar 2. That last one is pending because if Bipolar is diagnosed in an inpatient, emergency setting it should be confirmed in an outpatient setting once the patient is more stable. That appointment is early next week. I guess fingers crossed, but not crossed?

MDD - duh, given the suicidality

CPTSD - I had suspected this for a while

Bipolar 2 - I was not expecting that, I know too much about bipolar to be really optimistic. 50% of bipolar individuals attempt suicide at least once. 40% have a mixed episode meaning that they can have the suicidality of the depression and the focus and drive of the mania making them more likely to plan and attempt to carry out their plan. Their risk of suicide is 30x higher than those with no mental illness. Their life expectancy is 10yrs shorter than the rest of the population. 83% of diagnosed cases are classified as severe. And its unpredictable. You can be stable on meds for years, decades, and then suddnetly you’re not. 

He was released late Monday on April 17th. And he returned to work. Before he was admitted to the hospital he did inform his manager that he was being admitted to the hospital and I communicated with HR while he was in the CSU giving them updates that consisted of that he was feeling better, antsy to get back to work, but still in the hospital. He returned to work on Tuesday the 18th. At end of business on Friday (April 21) they fired him. And given his glowing performance reviews, the amount of money that he had been making the company, the only real reason has to be the hospital stay. (On that note it looks like they’re contesting the unemployment claim.) 

This set him spiralling. He was planning suicide again. And didn’t tell me. Again. I was told that he was an 8/10 (0 being no suicidality or feelings and 10 being that an attempt was imminent) and I tried to help get that number down, but it went up to a 10. On Saturday he was still at a 10. D and I wanted my husband to call a crisis line. D reached out the the CSU and they contacted us. CSU asked my husband if he could come in for an evaluation. My husband agreed (he later told me that if he had been at a 10 in that moment he would not have agreed). D and I thought they would just talk to him, remind him of coping skills, etc. They decided to keep him for 23hrs. D and I were shocked. When they went to admit him the oncall doctor decided that my husband needed a higher level facility (severe suicidal thoughts is what they put down, and my husband disagrees with that, but can’t tell me what he wanted them to put). So the CSU sent my husband to the ER to be evaluated and later transported to a local hospital that has a lockdown wing. Once again it was “voluntary” under threat of the pink slip. He arrived at the lockdown unit Sunday morning. Everyone being admitted is subject to a 72hr hold and at many places weekends and holidays don’t count toward that. They did release him Tuesday morning (so only 36hrs into the 72hr hold). So he’s home again.

And he has barely spoken to me. 

I visited him in the lockdown unit on Monday. And it did not go well. He tried to tell me what to tell the nurse practitioner so they would let him out. I don’t toe anyone’s party line. And I did not respond well, but I tried to. I really tried to remain calm, and explain myself. But he decided that because I wasn’t just rolling over and saying “yes, master, whatever you want” that I didn’t believe him and that I was against him even though I repeated stated that I heard and understood him, and repeated his words back to him. No one is against him. They’re against the illness. I now know that some of this could be part of psychosis, a common symptom of Bipolar and would explain some of the other things like him believing that everything he is doing is wrong and bad. But that could also be the Depression. There is so much overlap between these things, which obviously makes it hard to diagnosis. ADHD, bipolar, CPTSD, and schizophrenia all overlap. But they each have a few things that makes them stand out from the other. but they may overlap as much as 75+%

So that visit did not go well. We pretty much sat in silence for the last 20m of the 45m I was there. And that silence has effectively continued ever since.

He went to group therapy yesterday and then went to S and D’s house without telling me, which, given the present circumstances raised my anxiety levels. Which I already have plenty of. If there’s a negative feeling or emotion I’ve probably experienced it in these past 2.5 weeks (except shame). 2.5 weeks that have aged me years. 2.5 weeks that feel like a lifetime. I’ve screamed, I’ve wailed, I’ve been numb, I’ve cried more tears than I can count, I’ve nearly puked from the emotions. 

And we still haven’t really talked.

And I can’t share anything I’m thinking or feeling with him because as of now the only triggers that he has identified for his suicidality are spilling food/drink, breaking dishes, upsetting me, me crying, or him feeling rejected (by me or by anyone else). Let it be known that I’ve made it very clear over the past decade that I don’t care if something gets broken or spilled. I want to know about it so I can replace the item, and I want the ensuing mess to be cleaned up. 

And as for me rejecting him. I didn’t get him lunch on Saturday because I assumed that he was still asleep. He was still in bed. He looked asleep. And I only got lunch for my toddler, not even myself. But in his mind he twisted that into proof that I don’t care about him or love him. He wrote that in the journal. He wouldn’t tell me that directly because I would get upset. He wrote more in the journal. And it’s pretty much all about me.

I trigger his suicidality. 

I KNOW that it’s the disease talking. But it really binds my hands. I can’t do shit without him taking it the wrong way. If I’m not making eye contact, because I’m trying to create a more comfortable space for him to be in while he talks, it means that I can’t bear to look at him, etc. 

And I know that I have my own things. I grew up with a highly neglectful and emotionally/financially abusive father, took up a lot of responsibility at a young age, had two relationships that had mild to significant levels of coercion when it came to sexual contact. Since our son was born in summer ‘21 I’ve had a lot more problems with anger and resentment. To be honest I probably fall somewhere on the mild end of the spectrum. And I’ve been so burnt out. And each time I expressed a need for my husband to even do basic tasks like putting his socks in the laundry, not letting food spoil on his desk, cleaning his bathroom (there are 3 bathrooms, I hate cleaning bathrooms, I am only cleaning 2), he feels like an absolute failure and wants to die. Forget about asking for help with our child when I’m massively overwhelmed and need a break. 

I am looking for a therapist of my own. 

And we were supposed to start couples counseling this week, but it was Tuesday morning and he wasn’t released in time to make it to the appointment, so it starts late next week. But I feel like most of our problems stem from the Depression. Him taking my face/words/actions the wrong way, his inability to do basic tasks (this is not new, he has been like this at least since August 2014), are all probably linked to the diagnoses. And I’m sure there are things about me that he wishes I wouldn’t do or would do. And I have asked that question explicitly several times. And I don’t get an answer. Because he doesn’t want to upset me. 

Leading up to this event I was asking him what was wrong. But the same thing happened that always happens. He just shut down and stared at me. And I would keep asking and trying to engage in different ways. And then I would lose my shit and yell. And then he would tell me something. And then we’d talk about it; and it was usually something ridiculously minor that he had blown out of proportion. And now I think he was in a suicidal place each of those times and he just threw me a bone to make me shut up. And now I don’t feel like I can trust him. But that’s something to be addressed in couple’s counseling that isn’t linked to mental illness. But he will probably see my mistrust as just another way that he has failed me, another reason why I would better if he weren’t here, so I don’t even think I can share most of this stuff in couple’s therapy because it’s all just going to trigger him. Maybe if we reach a point of stasis? But then I won’t want to talk about it for fear of triggering another depressive episode to begin. 

But to him (I think) I’m somehow I’m just supposed to be who I was on Monday the 10th while I was at work teaching my students about the Impressionists, who I was when I went to the gym after work, who I was blasting music in the car on my way home with the windows down and the sunroof open, who I was in the shower and getting dressed and thinking about what I was going to do with the rest of my Monday, who I was before an atom bomb was dropped in the middle of my life. 

And I’m not.

And I will never be again. 

I’ll be similar, but I’ll never be the same. 

And that upsets me. I have negative feelings about that too. Grief for who I was, grief for what I thought my future was going to be like.

And a grief for what the past was. Because I want to go back to before, but there really isn’t a before. He’s been dealing with this for most if not all of our relationship (we tarted dating in early 2012). And now when memory photos pop up on my phone I can’t help but wonder what he was really feeling, where his mind was. We went on a camping trip late last summer and those photos have been popping up. In each one where my husband isn’t standing or walking somewhere he’s slumped with his head down. And I feel like I can’t have good memories of that trip, because it really looks like he was in the middle of a Depressive phase. Or I can have the memories, but they are now tainted with knowledge that I did not have at the time. 

--

I am trying to take proactive steps. I’m looking for my own therapist to help me deal with this trauma that is likely to be ongoing, but also the anger and stuff. I also have a small worry that what is going to probably going to prove to be a repeated trauma is going to trigger something in me because my dad and his biological mother probably have/had undiagnosed mental illnesses.

I’m reading books about suicidality so I learn about it, but also so I can learn what I can do to help and support.

I have books about bipolar and CPTSD that are on my list. 

I agreed with no hesitation to the couples counseling. (I actually thought my husband would be the most resistent to this given his opinions on mental illnesses or having problems that require therapy/counseling meaning that you are broken, but I guess that may have changed and that is a good change.)

I’m taking a seminar with NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness).

My husband and I have a meeting with a NAMI coordinator on Friday (he hasn’t yet told me if he’s going or responded to my calendar invite). 

I’m considering going to some of their support groups for friends and family if I can make it work with childcare.

I’ve gone to church more in the past 2.5 weeks than I have in the last decade. I’ve been thinking more about mindfulness and trying to let go of desire because the desire is causing suffering. Religon has returned for me, I guess. 

But I’m pretty helpless in this situation. And I’m trying to accept that if he wants to he will find a way to end his life no matter what I say or do. And if he does attempt and complete, its not my fault even if it feels that way. 

--

EDITTED TO ADD: And now that I have legitimate reasons to be worried about his safety he keeps turning his location sharing off. We share our locations with each other. And it really only gets used to see “are you still at X? if so I have a question / request, but if you’re not there anymore, its no big deal” or “are you on your way home with dinner?” It was on earlier today when I used it for the first reason. He’s in the neighboring city visiting his grandma. Our rat needs something from the vet, but I don’t want my husband to be agitated if I ask for him to stop by the vet and he was already on his way home. I can probably call them tomorrow and pick it up on Saturday morning, but if he’s 5m away now it would make sense to do it now rather than me driving 30m there and back on Saturday morning.

(Location sharing is also what kept me from calling the police and ERs on April 8th when he was at D and S’s house. He left for a martial art around 11, told me he was eating with a friend around 1:30-2. And then wasn’t home until after midnight. I started to get worried when it was after 4 and he wasn’t home. But I saw that he was at D and S’s house so I wasn’t particularly worried.)

So I check his location. He’s still at his grandmother’s. I send the text. It’s short enough that the preview would probably show him the whole thing, so no big deal if it’s not “read.” I check a bit later to see if he’s “read” the message or responded. Nope. He’s been gone for 3hrs now and I check to see if he’s on his way home. So I know whether or not to add the perscription only rat food stuff to my to do list. And his location is turned off. WTF.

So he saw my message. Didn’t respond. And turned location sharing off. Thanks. That makes me feel great. Does he want me to be upset? Does he want me to bring this up? I’m not going to because I don’t want agitate him or myself. I’m getting so tired of the passive aggression. Just tell me your pissed. 

[ventilation4thesoul]

The past few days have been rocky but overall really good! today was pretty fantastic up until about 2 hours ago. After his drive home, po texted me and just said they got home, and goodnight. no i love you, or sweet dreams or anything like we usually say. it feels like i upset her somehow, but the only thing i can think of is its something that po thought about on the drive home. Whatever it is, speculating wont help me, itll just make it worse for me. I know po loves me, he told me extensivley today, and i trust her. Po is upset, but i will not know anything until they tell me. it is not my duty or responsibility to find out why theyre upset, and if it is even with me. I can not act, apologize, or react until they tell me what they are feeling, or if they have an issue. i expect to hear about it sometime tomorrow, and that is ok. its weird, because even tho im hesitant, i actually believe that all. Im nervous, i feel like a little kid afraid of doing something wrong no one will tell them they did, its triggering a bit of my fear of abandoment. BUT i *know* that this is not po leaving me. this does not take away the love po has for me. this does not take away my worth. this is not my responsibility until po asks it to be. Im using the few strategies ive learned so far and wow suprise they actually help XD things are getting better for me, and for po and i. despite nights like this, we are growing. things will not be perfect, they might never be. but we're both working really hard and its showing. we've had such crazy progress lately that something was bound to come up, but its ok. because we will handle it together. I believe that.

on a diffrent note, i have a SUPER busy week!! im honestly excited about it, although i fear how ill feel come sunday. Tuesday i have a training in the morning, then work, then hang out with kage. Wednesday i have therapy in the morning, work, and a work party after. Thursday i have integral care appointment, work, and then therapy with po. friday i have training in the morning, work, and then potentially FUR. Saturday im going to the renfaire! so YOOF- good stuff but god damn im gonna be dead on sunday XD and thats when hours and lesson plans are due!!!! everyone i know is hving a hard time right now, so im gonna try to keep my head up, my spirit high, and remind myself that if i start feeling bad, its not gonna last forever. i will feel better soon, it hurts now but it will stop hurting in a day or so. its 12:12. i think im gonna end it here. hopefully tomorrow is full of light.

[public-school-quotes]

(submitted by someone i wish i could tag not my shit whoever did this because tumblr won’t let me see it i love you)

i am just going to make a masterpost of my school’s shenanigans

a: “ill tell you where its from after we get outta hearing range of (teacher). dont wanna get in trouble“ has gotten in trouble for swearing^

b: “(name) most of the things you say would get you in trouble”

a: “.. fair”

c (teacher) was proctoring and so we were in another classroom. he walked in, and immediately said “whats up knuckleheads”

d: “bbq beans???? its 07:11!!!”

e: “yeah”

f: “hand or mouth?”

g: “teeth”

f: “no”

h: “no”

a“please add arson (to a story) if you didn’t already”

b“that’s their first date wtf”

b“i want to add a dark turn to my story but half of the characters are already dead”

a “kill another”

b “hes gonna die later!”

a “whats wrong with a necromancy”

b“he already died once already!”

a“whats wrong with a SECOND necromancy?”

b“he only has 9 lives”

a“what about 100th necromancy?”

a“stab and run!”- quoting a list of crimes

b“thats a 6 year old”

a“what”

b”ripping out organs wasnt an issue”

a”oh thats just tuesday!”

b”what are you scared of?”

a“someone opening my writing app and reading it… (this bitch wrote porn!)and also the koolaid man.”

b”ohyeah”

(about pot stickers (the food)at school)

a “the outside of this tastes like pasta… lasagna ass bitch”

d: a

a: yea?

d: go home!

a: ok (turns around and leaves, mom picked her up)

“let go of the tree!”

“it makes oxygen for me i love it”

i just. saw a kid taking a swig of honey. it is nine in the morning. why. i am in fear

a “i dont care if its good i care if its done because mine sure isnt”

b “insurance???”

b “but seriously. how do you tone (english class)”

a “………….. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa”

c “austria said ‘its mine! kick rocks.’”

c “austria said ‘i want to control it all because i have problems and therapy doesn’t exist yet’”

c “idk what you learn in b r a i n c l a s s” about psychology

i “i will cut out your spleen if you dont”

a “…”

i “jokes on u im into that shit”

a “do i even have a spleen?????”

i “NOT WHEN IM DONE WITH YOU!!! YOU WONT HAVE A PROBOSCUS. wait do you know how to spell that cuz i sure dont”

c throwing a basketball at the hoop “LEEBRON”

he missed

c “for michael jacksons legacy” missed bball shot

c “theres some guy! hanging from a Thing there!”

c “hes crying on a donkey! name something more sad!”

a“crying not on a donkey, donkeys are expensive”

a kid showed off his playboy hoodie to our teacher. she did not know where the logo is from and he walks a free man

a (hands croc to a mf): i entrust you with this to protect yourself and the money

g immediately: threateans a known kleptomaniac with the croc in defence of 5 high-schoolers pizza money

i took a yearbook picture of my friend pretending to draw in a notebook with a stylus for a touchscreen. will they notice? will they put it in the yearbook? who knows! only time will tell!

a “the pile of ppl are growing!”

a “there is a guy on the floor here. .. he is scuttling..”

g “hey colonoscopy man. leave.”

colonoscopy man “you talked to jesus didn’t you��

g “colonoscopy man leave”

j “stop mistreating- manhandling my banana”

honorable mention: molotov soaptail which caused emotional support among us

[lielowat-lupins]

Favorite Wolfstar Fics thru 2022:

EDITED TO INCLUDE LINKS NOW!

- All the Young Dudes + Out of the Blue (mskingbean89 - 526k words)

- Flight 143 (thebiinbitch - 66k) - Sirius is seated next to his ex-boyfriend Remus on a flight from London to NYC and he has to come to terms with his still-lingering feelings as they continue to run into one another in the city.

- good old-fashioned love boy (all2well - 157k) - After POA, Peter is captured, Remus returns to Hogwarts to teach, and is surprised when Sirius is announced as the new Charms professor.

- that’s the art of getting by (sarewolf - 40k) - Remus is given Harry to raise after Halloween '81, begins raising him in small town, Sirius is freed early on from Azkaban, and moves in to help raise Harry. ANGST

- saccharine (moonymoment - 26k) - Remus falls in love with Sirius, the ghost haunting his apartment, and his love begins to make Sirius more real, but the reality of a future together seems unlikely. (I sobbed)

- To Be Alone With You (Shay_Fae - 16k) Remus's suicide attempt during the summer before 6th year forces Sirius to confront his deeper feelings.

- Of Memories and Milk Thievery (moonymoment - 57k) - Sirius and Remus can't seem to leave each other alone even though they have been divorced for four years and their immaturity and lack of communication really starts to weigh on their son Teddy.

- Billet-Doux en Noir et Blanc (MoonCat457 - 29k) - Remus and Sirius have been hooking up for 7 years, but Remus wants something more and wonders if the trip to Paris that Sirius has just invited him on as his wedding date will finally be his chance.

- How Remus Got His Groove Back (RealityShowJunky - 42k) - When Sirius rejects Remus's love confession, Remus decides he needs to take control of his own life. And Sirius realizes the mistake he made.

- Text Talk (merlywhirls - 141k) - When Sirius texts a wrong number, he accidentally launches into a new friendship with the chronically ill Remus Lupin.

- A Wolf’s Heart (mizdiz - 87k) - After meeting in a bookstore and starting to fall for one another, Remus is hesitant to let himself love Sirius because of his fear of being a burden because of his serious chronic illness. WARNING: will definitely break your heart

- The Incomplete Recounting of Four Nonconsecutive Tuesdays in the Spring of 2002 (BrujaBanter - 11K) - Sirius and Remus decide to try couples therapy to work on their issues after Sirius comes back from the dead years after falling through the Veil.

- The Art of Falling in Love (MessusMinnow - 67k) - Moony and Padfoot start to fall for each other as anonymous texting pen pals without realizing they actually know each other in their real lives.

- all my cards are here (haey1 - 112k) - Bartender Remus joins a band called The Marauders as their new bassist and begins to fall for drummer Sirius. He soon begins to suspect Sirius might have feelings, too, which complicates things as the band rises to fame.

- The Impossible Season (coyotesuspect - 21k) - Sirius returns from the Veil, but he is 17-years-old and doesn't have any memories of what happened to him as an adult. Remus is conflicted about what to do with this new version of Sirius in his life.

- Carry the News (sleepingtigers - 25k) - Set in the ATYD universe, Sirius’s POV after 1981.

- Let Nothing You Dismay (montparnasse - 18k) - Sirius works through his deep feelings for Remus and his confusions about his own self.

- i found you (de_sire - 23k) - Sirius finally finds his Soulmate after searching for years and years, but wonders why Remus didn’t try to find him.

- My Empire of Dirt (FivePips - 15k) - Sirius learns he has terminal cancer and wants to make things right with his ex Remus.

- Just what the doctor ordered (WrappedUp - 96k) - Sirius falls for his new vet Remus after rescuing a puppy, but his immaturity and struggles with loving himself cause the relationship to implode; Sirius works on personal growth and a plan to win the love of his life back.

[nevermindirah]

I hope Simone Biles gets to curl up in the fluffiest blanket and hear the funniest jokes from her very favorite people today.

She's 24 years old — she's an adult, and damn did it show today when she was put in the position of announcing to the world that mental illness symptoms caused her to withdraw from an Olympic event. But fuck, 24 is so young. The idea of being forced to disclose what are probably very severe mental illness symptoms to a global audience while those symptoms are happening, my heart just breaks for her.

The media talks about Simone Biles like she's a superhuman. And hell yes, she's the most exceptional gymnast in history! Rave about her all day long! But she is a goddamn human being. I'd forgotten that Larry Nasser abused her, because the media attention is so laser-focused on her historic talent. The media didn't let me forget that asshole abused Aly Raisman.

I just, the human mind was not built for the intense scrutiny this young woman is facing. And so many of our institutions were built specifically to extract money from the dehumanization of Black women. I just really, really hope all the people who love her are holding and protecting her.

Simone Biles makes stunning withdrawal; U.S. women’s gymnastics takes silver

American gymnast Simone Biles withdrew from her final Olympics team competition in Tokyo on July 27, which ultimately lead to Team USA taking silver. (Allie Caren/The Washington Post)

full article under the cut

By   Emily Giambalvo Today (Tuesday July 27, 2021) at 1:39 p.m. EDT

TOKYO — When Simone Biles soars through the air, her skills flow in an effortless rhythm that makes the extraordinary seem simple. She’s been superhumanly dominant for nearly a decade, even with a load of pressure and expectation always resting on her shoulders. But as Biles pushed off the vaulting table Tuesday night, her first flight of the evening, a peculiar sight emerged: She looked lost and shaken as she flipped and twisted, unable to perform the skill she intended.

So Biles did the unthinkable. She stepped away from the meet and her role in the United States’ quest for another Olympic gold medal in the women’s gymnastics team competition.

After her unusual vault, Biles scurried out of the arena with a medical staffer by her side. She said she realized she wasn’t in “the right head space.” When she returned to the competition floor, she pulled her sweatsuit over her leotard and hugged her three teammates, who suddenly became aware they would have to compete without her.

At first, they were stressed and in tears. Ultimately, they earned a silver medal, placing second to the Russian Olympic Committee team.

At 24, Biles is the veteran on the women’s team. But she says she doesn’t trust herself as she used to. The sport doesn’t feel as much fun, she says. Nerves bubble to the surface, especially in the high-stakes environment of an Olympic gymnastics team final. And on Tuesday, it all became too much for the world’s best gymnast.

“I know that this Olympic Games, I wanted it to be for myself,” Biles said afterward, tearing up. “I came here, and I felt like I was still doing it for other people. So that just hurts my heart that doing what I love has been kind of taken away from me to please other people.”

Biles stands among the world’s most popular athletes. She holds power to spark change with her words. She’s been an outspoken critic of USA Gymnastics, the national governing body she represents, and how it failed to protect gymnasts from sexual abuse. Biles is the only self-identified survivor of former national team doctor Larry Nassar’s crimes still competing at the elite level.

After the United States qualified for the team final in second place on Sunday, Biles wrote on social media: “I truly do feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders at times.”

When asked about those comments following her decision to withdraw from the team final, Biles said: “Yeah, that s---- heavy.”

Five years ago, when Biles led the United States to a gold medal at the Olympics in Rio de Janeiro, she probably wouldn’t have made the choice to withdraw, she told reporters. She said she might have pushed through, attempting dangerous skills while second-guessing herself and “fighting all those demons” that occupied her mind. In 2021, she said, withdrawing was the right option — for her safety and even for the team’s medal chances.

“We want to walk out of here,” Biles said. “Not be dragged out of here on a stretcher or anything. So it's like, got to do what's best for me and that was what was best for the team.”

Biles arrived in Tokyo with the expectation that she could earn up to five gold medals. Now she has a silver and a spot in five individual finals — the all-around competition, as well as the final for each apparatus. But she doesn’t know what lies ahead for her at these Games.

“We’re going to take it a day at a time and we’ll see what happens,” Biles said. She confirmed that she had no physical injury, “just my pride is hurt a little bit.”

With the all-around final Thursday, Biles admits that there will be a quick turnaround. Annie Heffernon, the vice president of the U.S. women’s gymnastics program, said USA Gymnastics has a plan in place to help get Biles the professional support she needs. Biles said in the past, therapy has helped with mental health challenges. But this high-stress atmosphere of the Olympics made the struggle on the competition floor too much to overcome.

“Going into the next couple days, it’s like …” Biles said, pausing to collect her emotions as her teammates wrapped their arms around her. “Sorry,” she then said. “It is what it is. Whatever happens, happens.”

Biles could return to herself — a dominant gymnast who understands that her performance here is secondary. Or she might not feel comfortable enough to compete again. Biles said her goal for the rest of the Olympics is to “focus on my well-being and [that] there’s more to life than just gymnastics.”

As Biles trained for her second Olympics, she said she wanted the Games to be about herself — not about what others thought and not all those otherworldly expectations that she can somehow usually meet anyway. As these Games approached, she said, she felt that mind-set drifting. The struggles seeped into her training, prompting mental errors. The vault in the team final was the first public sign that something was not right, but her teammates had witnessed similar episodes in practices.

“She was giving us a little heart attack,” teammate Jordan Chiles said.

“It just sucks that it happens here at the Olympic Games, because it can happen any other time,” Biles said. ���But with the year that it’s been, I’m really not surprised how it played out.”

As Biles stood on the sideline Tuesday night wearing a white sweatsuit and cheering for her teammates, she processed the drastic decision she had made on the sport’s biggest stage.

“At the end of the day we’re human, too,” Biles said, “We have to protect our mind and our body rather than just go out there and do what the world wants us to do.”

[curious-menace]

Can you do headcanons of any Riddler getting cared for and gentle kisses from reader after getting beat up? He needs some loves.

SO I MAY HAVE SUGGESTED THAT MY ULTIMATE FANTASY IS TO GIVE RIDDLER A HUG WITH BACKRUBS AS HE TELLS ME ABOUT HIS DAY AND I STAND BY THAT WHOLE-HEARTEDLY .

i freaking love this stuff so im going to do all of them mwahahah

post asswoop riddlers getting loves

Arkham riddler

He’s VERY quiet, which knowing him and his inability to stop talking, is  bad news.

I paint arkham riddler as a cry baby and i stand by that. this is the hill i will die on. He’ll have dragged his sorry ass into your apartment or house , dripping blood on your floors but he wont bother calling for you. he’ll just sit at the table with his head in his hands having a lil pity party until you find him.

when you do finally get home, he’ll be looking like a kicked puppy. he’s gotten stuck in his own head, mentally beating himself up even more. he got a fright when you came in because he was so caught up he didn't even hear you at the door.

He’s literally sits there like a child with his arms up for you to come scoop him up. he’s not even sure why his first thought after getting beat up was to come here, he’s probably lead the cops here or something and that was so stupid and- you should probably give him a lil soft smooch on the head to stop him before he goes into a spiral.

he needs more emotional and mental care than physical. Talk to him while you're patching him up. any topic, it doesn't matter just keep him focused on your voice and not the one in his head calling him dumb.

he wont admit he wants to be held and coddled after something like this. get your softest blankie and 2 mugs of coco with marshmallows and just ramble at him. tell him about your day or ask him to explain something boring and complicated so he’s focusing on that rather than how upset he is. let him sit on your lap or between your legs on the sofa and watch how its made or mythbusters or something until he falls asleep. he should be ok again in the morning, he doesnt stay down for long. 

Blacklight Riddler

He’s used to getting his ass kicked, either by batman, the other rogues or once he’s a PI, by unhappy clients and the people he put away. He might be tiny but he’s pretty tough. 

even if he’s really hurting, his probably trying to crack jokes and tell blood and bruise related riddles. He doesn't like to see you worry so even if he’s in a lot of pain or a bit upset about things, he’s trying to make you smile.

he likes kisses on his bruises. even if he just banged his hand on the table he’ll come to you because he wants you to kiss it better. 

He’s a decent fighter, unlike a lot of riddlers who couldnt fight their way out of a paper bag. He can throw punches but he lacks in defence and with his bad knee, dodging can be a little hard. even if he wins the fight he’s still likely to need you to patch him up.

He likes kids plasters. like hello kitty and spongebob. no im not joking, he ALWAYS wanted them when he was little and his parents always said no. now he’s an adult he’s going to use them whenever he damn well pleases.

 if it was a particularly bad one, he’ll be ok in the moment even if he has to go to hospital. But he’s going to drop the facade at some point and let you see how upset he is. winding up in hospital after being beat was a common occurrence in childhood. even after doing it time and time again as an adult it doesn't make it any easier on him. he’ll want to stay in your bed, be close to you for few days until either he starts to heal or something snaps him out of his funk.

BTAS Riddler

he really prefers other people to do the fighting for him. well physically anyway. he can handle his own arguments...most of the time. He’s going to need you to nurse a bruised ego more than anything. he probably got dunked on my batman or crane and now he’s huffing.

i don't know if this counts as care and kisses but he clearly needs you around to keep his sorry ass alive. he hurt his side in a fight once and said he wasn't hurt. believable... until he started to act a little confused, a little dizzy. needless to say it worried you enough to take him to emergency care. 

He was obviously in agony by now but he was still fighting with you the entire drive there, insulting you and insisting he was fine. its a good job you took him when he did, turns out he’d ruptured his spleen and would probably be dead if you weren’t around to act like his common sense.

he still hasnt apologised for that. or any of the other times you insisted on medical care to stop him from pushing up daisies. he just pretends like you know he’s grateful so he doenst have to admit he’s bullheaded, stubborn and worst of all, wrong. 

if he has been seriously hurt, he acts more indignant about it than anything. he wants to be waited on and pampered while resting in bed. he can be a genuine pain to deal with, talking about how lucky you are to see him in such a vulnerable state and how you should be grateful he’s letting you do this for him.

He doesn't want to admit how much he actually needs you. his goons wont put up with him when he’s like this and he’s freaking paying them to do it. you do it for free and no matter how annoying he is you havent left him yet. he doesn't tell you but youve noticed he starts getting you more gifts about a week after he’s recovered. like its taken him a day or two to work out he should probably thank you for all you do.

Original Riddler

this riddler is just weird. like he gets a freaking hang nail and he pretends like he’s dying. but he could nearly lose a limb and he’ll say “tis but a scratch” and still try to hobble about like nothing is wrong.

actually he’s more like olaf “oh look i've been impaled.”. he probably tries to laugh off life threatening injuries like its nothing, taking maybe 3 steps before he collapses on his face in a blood puddle and lets out a tiny “help”

good luck moving his tall lanky ass around. better get a gurney and maybe those vets at the zoo who deal with giraffes. seriously if you want to take care of him you are going to need help or some sort of action plan and a go bag because with his limp butt this will not be easy.

he’s kinda like BTAS riddler in that he needs you to tell him the injury is serious. hes not dumb he just has a high pain threshold and genuinely doesn't realise that injuries are as bad as they are. 

he can be a bit of a baby while being patched up. he doesn't like a lot of blood or gore, it makes him feel a little sicky. better give him your phone to play with like a kid at the doctors or put the tv on for him to watch while you bandage  him. word of warning, he will pass out or throw up if you try to give him stitches.

i think you should focus your love and attention on him AFTER medical care. just focus on the job, be silent and as fast as possible to get it over with quickly. you should probably bring him something sweet too. no not just you, although you are sweet for looking after him. give him something sugary because he’s going to be light headed after seeing any blood. maybe you could give him a lolly for being a good patient. 

Telltale riddler

this riddler is essentially a metahuman. he can REALLY take a beating and bounce back fairly quickly. just look how many times batman punched him in the face and it barely stunned him! he doesnt usually need patched up after a fight. maybe just a lil smooch and some hugs

he did really need your help after the whole pact thing. having his friends abandon him hurt like hell, more than any physical injury ever could.

after that, he clings to you. almost obsessively so; we know he’s got some serious mental illnesses but he usually has the worst of it under control, even without meds. now? it seems like he’s experiencing ptsd and is afraid to go anywhere without you, like you might up and disappear if you arent in his line of sight at all times.

i think this riddler might need the most intense care from you. hugs and gentle reassurance wont be enough. you’re going to be responsible for taking him to therapy, keeping him taking his meds and grounding him to reality. this is the kind of responsibility you took on when you got involved with him but i doubt you realised how hard it would be. i cant promise it will all be worth it but i can promise he wont ever forget your kindness.

the kind of care he needs after such a hard knocking down is just stability. im not one for romance or any mushy gushy stuff but please just pour your love into the cracks in this poor mans soul.

its hard going, but he has his moments. his gallows sense of humor is still there and hey, after him being in and out and gone for so long, it might be nice to have him around more.  

Zero year riddler

INSUFFERABLE LITTLE SHIT THIS ONE. he could LITERALLY be bleeding out in your arms and he’d STILL be backseat driving on your medical skills. the temptation to just leave him there to bleed is INCREDIBLE.

he’ll drop the act eventually. he’ll ask and maybe even beg for your help. man has  no shame and all the self preservation instincts of a lemming. dont get me wrong, he can be a total coward some times, only looking out for himself . but when he’s actually hurt ? not a fuckin clue. does this head wound need an ice pack or heat pack? is this spurring blood wound worthy of medical care? no idea. he was a very sheltered child who never got so much as a bruise so he has no idea what to do when he’s hurt.

he gets the everloving shit kicked out of him on a clockwork basis. like you could hear knocking on your door at 3 am and already be at the table with a first aid kit like oh its tuesday riddler must have broken his nose.

he takes entirely too much joy in making you patch him up. youre starting to wonder if he’s doing it on purpose just to see you in your little apron and latex gloves . he’s getting off on this and you know it but god help you, you just  cant resist his dumb face asking for your help and would you also wear this pink nurses outfit while youre at it?

one time he lost a LOT of blood. he would be fine but he was pretty damn loopy from lightheadedness. while you were trying to get him into bed to rest he started flirting with you. can you believe the audacity? he’s lost 3 pints of blood and he’s still more focus on his libido? 

he’s actually going to be both humble and grateful for your help when he finally comes round. dont get me wrong, he’s still a bit of a prick but at least he says thank you for saving him before he demands you kiss all his booboos and ouchies. 

nonnie i am having a stroke. i was trying SO hard to just pick one but i COULDNT because i am WEAK for hurt and comfort.

theres a reason i have a tag that literally says “i have naughty hands and no self control”

someone needs to stage an intervention

got something you wana talk about? send me an ask or a dm! im always game to talk about our favorite curious menace 💚💜

[bo0zey]

y’all i think i m deadass hallucinating i keep seeing this lil ran brown bug crawling rlly fast out the corner of my eye but there’s nothing there it just looks like a lil blur of skittering air n i keep seeing like the same thing briefly in the air also earlier while driving i glanced at my reflection in the rear view mirror and my forehead looked like it was actively changing different hues of purples and blues n like i’m pale asf so i thought it was just my skin but it was rainy and cloudy out so ik it wasn’t the sun and the colors were literally fading in n out of focus n it was only for a few second s then i had to drive again anndddd rn as i’m typing this my psychogenic itch is starting to act up n i haven’t experienced it since like the summer n i used to only get it before going into a fullblown hypomanic episode but like it wasn’t happening as often once i started lamictal i mean i used to cycle once a month w 2.5wks of depressive episodes n then a few days of mixed episodes that’s basically just to prep me for the mania to come n i mean ok ya i have been sleeping less for the last week and bc i just don’t rlly feel like it bc i’m writing again n would rather do that than anything else??? i don’t know exactly how many hours i’ve been up i think i slept like a few hours every day last week n they got progressively shorter w each day that passed n i tried to calculate it n i’m pretty sure i’ve gotten 2hrs of sleep in the past 3 days n that was on Tuesday when i went to bed at 10am and had to wake up for class at 12pm but like i was fine n i still feel not like exhausted rn atm but i’m worried bc i have an 8hr shift at clinical today in the ER and i just hope i don’t start crashing or getting delirious or something bc the last time i was awake for almost 4 days straight n i deadass went into a state of psychosis in a KROGER while trying to do some DAMN GROXERY SHOPPING aFter my therapy session like!!!! (fun fact that’s the same session my therapist dx’d me hehe n i was like girl relaxxxxx no wayyyyh) n then i finally forced myself to take a nap bc my body was like “ok we vibin again” n i was like no we not!! n fell asleep for 4 hours and was up again doing nonsense smh. anyways i’m just worried i’ll act like that again or something at clinical :// i feel like i could try n force myself to lay down rn but i have to be up in 4hrs anyways n also finish my paper for this clinjcL that was due on sunday so i wanna get it in before i see my prof at clinical bc she’s as hardass and emailed me abt it yesterday and i’m worried she’ll call me out at clinical if i don’t turn it in before then n i am so annoyed at myself and irritated i do these things to myself i can never prioritize my time like i’ve been awake for 3 days and i couldn’t find the fkcin f time to do my easy ass assignments?????? i hadn’t written in so long so i missed the mania for that ngl which is why i think i let myself get so distracted and hyperfixated on all 6 of my current stories n ugh it’s my fault i know but i wish i could like explain to her that i didn’t mean to not do the paper i just can’t stop being mentally ill n now i’m getting itchy again and i’ve been talking so fucking loud and rushing my words and we had to present a pwrpt on tuesday and my brain was going so fucmg fast even i couldn’t understand what i wanted to say like omfgni hope i don’t make a fuckjg fool out of myself today i wish i could just be left alone in my room i promise i’ll catch up on sleep:(( and turn my paper into her later today i promise n omg my palms r itchy n my arms n upper back i can’t even write anymore idc wtf to say i need to do my paper but i feel like being bad to myself i feel the same strange impulse that i’ve been pretty good abt not engaging in when it came up but now it’s the same level of impulsive feelings of no self preservation as before n argh im gonna shower to ignore the bad thoughts and hopefully the itching will stop cuz if it doesn’t then ummmm houston we have a problem🤨🤨🤨

[theartistichuman]

Tma 200 spoilers

I might post this to my ao3. This is a rough draft so please ignore the subpar writing.

Summary-

Melanie and Georgie heal.

They never did find the bodies in the end. That’s not for lack of trying; they scoured every inch of what used to be The Magnus Institute. They found a plethora of tapes, and some preserved Leitners (Georgie insisted on throwing them out, despite Melanie insisting that they were safe, and even if they weren’t they couldn’t hurt her anyways) but not a single body. Not even of the previous archivists.

Neither of them knew exactly what that meant. Georgie stayed stubbornly optimistic, but Melanie knew better. Georgie may have had her encounters, but Melanie almost was an encounter. She knew what it felt like to be afraid of what you’re becoming, but to want to hurt people anyways. She knew what it felt like to want to burn the world around you, and just keep walking. Melanie wanted to believe what Georgie did- that those two were dead and at rest- but she didn’t have the hope to keep it up. Not like Georgie did.

It takes time to make a new normal. Most days it felt like the world was holding its breath; waiting for the moment that their rest would be interrupted and they would be dragged back into their fear. Georgie started going to therapy, and seemed all the better for it. Melanie saw a psychiatrist every month or so for a check up, but after spending so long with Laverne worshipping her, she knew she needed a bit more time. It wasn’t good to put it off, but Georgie (and, by proxy, Georgie’s therapist) insist she take her time.

Georgie starts her podcast up after Melanie scolds her for getting stir crazy (employment was still fickle). She changed the theme, citing t that people probably wouldn’t want to speculate about the supernatural after they lived it. Instead she starts inviting people to send in her stories.

“Community counseling”Georgie told her over their celebratory dinner (dinosaur chicken nuggets and boxed wine) “people might feel better if they get their stories out there.”

Melanie highly doubted that, but she was the first guest on the newly rebranded ‘What the Apocalypse’ anyways. (It did make her feel better, but she suspects Georgie knows without her admitting it.)

The Admiral is different from how he was before. He didn’t pounce on things and his separation anxiety got so bad the vet put him on meds. The Admiral didn’t seem to like the dark much either, but according to Georgie that might not be because of the end of the world.

Every morning they take their meds together at breakfast. Melanie (with the assistance of her Scanmarker Air, that she refers to as her “sketchmarker air” to Georgie’s dismay) gets The Admiral his tuna, as Georgie makes them cereal.

Every evening they sit together and listen to their favorite books. Georgie will order them Hungarian on Fridays, and Melanie buys a cat carrier for The Admiral for Tuesday walks. It feels like family, and Melanie loves it so much it hurts.

Basira wanders in an out of their lives. Melanie isn’t sure what she’s up to, but she seems lost. Before she always seemed headstrong and powerful: like she knew where she was going and why. But now, without the pressure of the world on her shoulders, Basira seemed... timid almost.

Whenever Basira came over Georgie and Melanie would bring out their board games. They would drink an obscene amount of apple juice, and laugh until the sun came up. Basira never stayed past that, and they never asked her to.

One day Georgie interrupts their newfound evening “Melanie, we should talk.”

“About.....?” Melanie tries to point her face at where she approximates Georgie’s is. Georgie gently touches Melanie’s chin and guides her face up.

“Up here babe,” she says, fondly, “but I’ve told you that you don’t need to do that.”

Melanie knows she doesn’t need to do it, but the hand on her skin makes it worth it.

“I know.” She says back. “But I’m being polite.”

Georgie snorts. “Polite? You? You made Martin cry in your first week of work.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Melanie takes the hand on chin, and rubs her thumb across the knuckles. She ignores the small pang of loss she feels at his name. She thinks that in a different life they would’ve gotten along, maybe even been friends. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Martin, actually. Well, Martin and Jon.” Georgie said. “I was thinking, and I understand if you disagree, that maybe we could... do something for them? Like a funeral or memorial or something? Maybe even just a headstone or something.”

Melanie opens her mouth to respond, but Georgie rushes in before she speaks.

“And I know you and Jon never got along, but I just think that after everything he deserves it. And even if he doesn’t , Martin certainly does. Even if neither of them deserve it I think it would help. My therapist told me I need closure, and I just thought-“

“Babe, babe, slow down,”Melanie interrupts, “I’d love to. Even if Jon and I... even if he was a bit of a wanker, he did sacrifice himself to end the apocalypse. And. Well, I just think t-that-“

Melanie stutters to stop for a moment to think. Georgie seems to understand that she’s not done, and squeezes her hand. Melanie takes a deep breath before continuing.

“I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. Or after that. It was just me and my dad. When he died, they told me- they told me I couldn’t bury him. I couldn’t even have the ashes. Some bullshit about how he was part of a crime scene, which, looking now, didn’t make any sense. Not that I had enough money or time for a funeral, but... well, any closure would have been nice. I just- I just- I just don’t think I could let anyone close to me go un-un- I don’t know it’s just... it’s just bad.” Melanie winces a bit at her ending.

Georgie doesn’t say anything. Her hand stills from where she was playing with Melanie’s fingers. Melanie realizes a little belatedly, that she’d never talked about her father’s death with Georgie. After all they’d been through it seemed almost silly that Georgie didn’t know.

“And even if Jon was a wanker, Martin certainly wasn’t.” She tacks on in attempt to lighten the mood.

Georgie snorts at that. “Jon was... an acquired taste. He was a lot less uptight in University, but good god sometimes you could actually see the rod in his ass.”

“Hey!” Melanie says in mock offense “don’t speak ill of the dead!”

“You literally just called him a wanker!” Georgie retorts.

“Yeah but I’m allowed to! I don’t like him!” Melanie smacks her arm.

“Anyways. What do you want to do for them?” Georgie says once she stops giggling. “I was thinking a headstone, but that might be too much upkeep.”

“And people may not take kindly to a memorial to ‘The Archivist’ and his plus one.”

“Exactly,” Georgie agrees, “ so out with it. Give me an idea, oh wise prophet.”

Melanie pinches her hand. “Shut it, you. Maybe- maybe like a... bench or something?”

“A bench?” Georgie says teasingly, “that’s the best you’ve got? Not so wise after all.”

“Okay prophet, what have you got?”

“Maybe we could do something here? Like a photo album or something.”

“We don’t have any photos of them.”

“We could, like, write a heartfelt letter and burn it.”

“Maybe.” Melanie says with no small amount of suspicion.

“Okay, fiiiine maybe I don’t have any ideas.” Georgie relents.

They sit in silence for a bit after that. It should be uncomfortable, and probably would have been if it wasn’t Georgie and Melanie. Eventually Georgie gets up to find her phone so they can listen to the next chapter of their book. Melanie tries to lie down in the warm spot Georgie vacated, but The Admiral had already taken up the vacancy.

Melanie’s head lands in his soft fur, and he chirps inquisitively before curling around her head. Melanie buries a hand in his fur, and he rewards her with a content purr.

“Comfortable?” Georgie says when she re-enters the room. Melanie groans.

“Yes yes you fuss pot. Ready for our next chapter?” Georgie sits on the edge of the couch by Melanie’s head, and when she starts to pet her head, Melanie wishes she could purr like The Admiral.

Georgie snorts. “I think I might have a type.”

“And whats that?” Melanie nuzzles further into Georgie’s hand.

“Yeah,” Georgie pokes her cheek, “my type is ‘cats re-incarnated as people’. You can’t tell by looking at him, but Jon would absolutely melt at the slightest hair petting.”

Melanie is just about to protest being compared to Jon when an idea hits her. She sits up abruptly, and she hears Georgie give a little gasp in response.

“That’s it!” Melanie shouts.

“What’s it?” Georgie says, almost as loud.

“I’ve just had a great idea.”

Melanie gives her proposal, and even though she can’t see it, she knows Georgie is smiling the rest of the night.

—————

A week later, Georgie and Melanie walk into their apartment with two boxes. They would have just used one, but they were nervous the little ones would fight in the car ride that Rosie graciously provides them (with the payment of demanding photos).

And so Jon and Martin entered their lives.

One of the kittens is sleek black with golden amber eyes and short hair, and the other is white with blue eyes and so much fluff that he looks three times the size he really is. There were more kittens in the running, but these two were at the top (according to Georgie, they were basically photo copies of their namesakes), but Melanie decided these were the two when the woman at the desk told her they were inseparable.

They were worried about how The Admiral would react to their new additions, but it was proved irrational within three hours. The Admiral seemed to take a liking to them immediately.

“Maybe it really is Jon.” Georgie jokes when she stumbles on the three cuddled together. “Sometimes I thought The Admiral liked him more.”

(That was obviously false; anyone with -or with damaged- eyes could tell The Admiral adored her.)

They barely had to make an adjustment to their routine- the only real difference was the number of bowls during breakfast, and the number of feet that pattered in the halls.

Basira didn’t know what to make of it at first, but Georgie later told her that she stumbled in on Basira apologizing to Jon. Neither of them judge her for it; both of them did the same thing when they got him.

The days stretch to weeks, and the weeks stretch into months. Melanie goes to therapy, and attempts to keep houseplants. Georgie records her podcasts and teases Melanie when she fails to keep a cactus alive. Together they make their home with new cat toys (that The Admiral still refuses to play with), a cat tree (which the Admiral is more than interested in), crotchet throws from Rosie and the occasional mug from Basira.

One morning Melanie wakes to find the last bit of residual anger in her gone, and when she cries Georgie holds her tight.

Melanie loves it so much it hurts, and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[katblu42]

I have tossed up whether or not to post this, but I've decided to just go ahead and see how it lands. It is very personal to me, and I'm posting it because today is 2 years since I had to say goodbye.

This is basically a rambling vent that came out after the most traumatic period of my life so far. I needed to write it all down, chronicle it and get it out of my head, and the original destination for it was (my other) fandom.

It is more detailed than the story I posted earlier in the week, but it requires all the same warnings for some pretty unpleasant stuff. Please take heed before continuing.

Warnings for Death Illness Hospital Cancer (Medical) Drugs Medical Procedures CPR

Deep breath Late in 2018 my husband, S, began complaining of a sore throat. He's the kind of male who won't go to the doctor unless he is literally dying. He finally went to his GP in January and was told there was an issue that needed more investigating. He was supposed to go back to the GP in 2 weeks, but we were on holidays then, so he ended up not going back until mid March. GP sent him to a specialist, but the earliest appointment was early April. Consultation, camera down the throat and $400 later the specialist says Cancer - two of them, one in the mouth, one in the throat. Next appointment is the biopsy. By now S has lost almost 20kg because he struggles to eat (and because apparently Cancer can do that to a person anyway). Now there are appointments at the local hospital with the Radiation Therapy Dr, the specialist in Chemotherapy and a dental team (who wanted to take all his back teeth out at first, but changed their minds when they saw where the mouth cancer was, and how hard it was for S to open his mouth wide). During all this I'm still juggling work commitments as we are building up to one of our busiest periods, which covers pretty much the entire month of May. I'm sharing appointment chauffeuring duties with his Dad. It is decided that due to S's weight loss and difficulty eating it is advisable to put a feeding tube (that they call a peg) in his stomach. This is basically a precaution in case he can no longer swallow anything at some point during early treatment. Surgery after Chemotherapy begins will be difficult to recover from. As it turns out the peg is never actually used for feeding S. The first cycle of Chemotherapy begins on Wednesday 8th May. The plan was to do at least 2, probably 3 cycles of Chemo and then begin combination Radiotherapy/Chemo. At first things seem to be going okay. Three medications are administered as part of the Chemo - 2 are done on the Wednesday at the Cancer Clinic, and the third he has to carry around with him for 5 days, returning on Sunday to have the rig removed once that one is done. The peg starts leaking during these 5 days. He is given advice over the phone not to worry about the leak - but I wonder about that advice. I can't be with S all day - work is busy, and he's a grown up who can ask for help if he needs it. Only he's the kind of male who will not make a fuss if he's feeling "not okay". By Tuesday (14th May) S is not feeling much like "eating" - which consists of swallowing soft stuff like milkshakes, jelly (jello), custard and the like - and I basically have to force him to go for a walk around the block with me, just to keep him from lying on the couch all day. (Tuesday is my regular day off). He seems okay, in the "so-so" sense rather than the "fine" sense. He's not particularly nauseous, just a bit Blah. Wednesday - while I'm at work - S stays home all day, which is unusual for him. He is a social butterfly who can't resist going across the road to the Bowling Club just to sit with his mates for a bit. The peg is still leaking, and he feels tired and a bit yuck. By now I have asked him a few times if I should be calling the hospital for advice and he says no - doesn't want to make a fuss. I don't stress too much because he has an appointment at the hospital on Thursday - it's with a Social Worker, but I know that he will be at the hospital, where they will ask him how he's feeling, and if they think he needs something they will take care of him. Thursday comes and he doesn't want to get out of bed. I go to work, telling him to make sure he gets to his appointment, even if he doesn't feel like going. His Dad calls me at lunch time and tells me S didn't go to the appointment. He got in the car, they got down the road, then S told his Dad to just take him home. His Dad tells me S doesn't look good, he thinks S should be in hospital and I wonder why he didn't take S straight there if he was that worried. I get home just after 5pm and S is in bed feeling miserable. I don't get much of a good look at him - the room is dark - but he talks

to me. He's not feeling nauseous, not throwing up, but also not eating or moving much. Over the next few hours he's up and down to the toilet at least once an hour. I ask if he has diarrhoea, because if he does I should take him to hospital. He says no, "not much is coming out". It's after 10pm, Thursday 16th May, when he calls out to me from the bathroom. Something about the way he calls out makes me get straight up to see what's wrong - normally I yell back "what's wrong?" or "just a minute", but this time I think I had an instinct that said something was wrong. I find him sitting on the toilet, slumped forward with his head between his knees. He can talk to me at this point, but I have to help him sit up - he really can't move - and his skin is quite yellow (which alarms me). By the time I have him sitting upright he's not talking to me any more, his eyes are only half open and not blinking and he can't squeeze my hand. I run and get my phone and call an ambulance. Now his breathing is laboured, and as the emergency call taker is asking me to "say now every time he takes a breath" his gasps are getting further apart. I have to get him clumsily onto the floor of our tiny, narrow bathroom and give him chest compressions. 2 ambulances are on their way. Minutes later I have 4 ambulance crew members working on my husband in our tiny bathroom, and I have no idea what is going on. By midnight S is in emergency at the local hospital, and I'm in a private waiting room, alone. I call my Mum - I've already called his Dad on my way to the hospital in my car (they didn't take me in the ambulance). It's about 12:30 when a doctor comes to talk to me. Infection. Kidneys and liver struggling. Blood pressure through the floor. No white blood cells. This is by no means good. By the time I get to see him in Emergency I have my Mum and his Dad with me. S is basically in an induced coma and about to be moved up to ICU. It's about 1:30am. Once he's moved to ICU we wait in another waiting room for more news. A surgical consultant comes and sees us - I think it's nearly 3am - she says surgery is not an option. The infection is in his digestive system. There is no clear area to surgically remove, and his system is so weak it would not take well to surgery anyway. S's Dad leaves soon after that. This is hard for him. It was only 3 years ago that he was here in this very ward with his wife. This is where she passed away after an infection she just could not fight. He tells me "don't let them put him down" - I guess because he had to make that decision for his wife/S's Mum. I think it's after 6:30am when I decide to go to the intercom and buzz the nurses station to find out what's going on. They let us in to see him. All they can tell us is that they are throwing every kind of medical support they can at him in the hope they can help him fight off the infection - blood products, meds to raise the blood pressure, antibiotics. He's been ventilated through a tube in his mouth since the ambulance. They have to run a heating vent to raise his body temperature. They let me into the room, but I see no point in holding his hand or anything - he is unconscious, he won't know I'm there. We go home. I had about 3 hours sleep. By the time I could crawl into bed it was about 8am. By 11am people are starting to text me asking what's going on, checking if I'm okay. I had managed to text my boss about needing to call an ambulance while I was in the emergency waiting room. He's now replied to say I don't need to be at work today, but in the back of my mind is the fact that I have a show to work on, starting on Sunday - we are so busy that there will be no one else who can replace me on this show. (And we had a Federal Election on Saturday as well, so I was going to have to fit voting in around visiting S). At some point on this day a doctor calls me to get permission to administer a drug to S. This drug is not approved for use in Australia, but it is approved in the US. As a result they will have to ship it in from interstate, because there is not much

stock in the country, and I have to sign my permission for them to use it. It is a reversal drug for the 5 day chemo medication. It works best if administered soon after the chemo treatment - we are already past the ideal timeframe, but it is our best shot at helping S. S is unconscious and fighting for the next couple of days, and I'm half dreading that call that says things have taken a turn for the worse, come now! Instead, I see him for a short period each day, but he doesn't know I'm there. And I keep doing the work I have to do - at least this show is close to home for me, and close to the hospital. He is being supported by the blood pressure medication (Noradrenaline) which they are slowly able to reduce in dose, his temperature is stabilising, and the chemo reversal drug has had some positive effect. His white cell count is coming up - probably with the help of the blood products he's been given. By Tuesday 21st May S is awake and aware, and they have been able to remove the ventilator tube. The Physio is concerned about how weak he is - movement in his arms and legs is limited. He is breathing on his own, but it's hard work because his muscles are weak. His lips and mouth have been bleeding a bit around where the tube was. Still, we are seeing slow, small improvements and hoping for the best. On Friday they have to re-insert the breathing tube - he is too weak to maintain his breathing without assistance. This is a set-back, and comes with a warning that the breathing tube can't stay in his mouth/throat for too long, because it can cause all kinds of complications, especially in his compromised state. They tell me that without marked improvement soon they may have to perform a tracheotomy and insert the ventilator there. By this stage they have moved from nasogastric feeding to Parenteral nutrition (intravenously). The peg is still leaking. I'm now getting into a rhythm visiting S when I can for as long as I can around my work hours, and answering enquiries about his health and well wishes from family and friends on both my phone and his. I no longer have rehearsals every night, and the weekend's performances go pretty well. I know he's still critical, but he's stable and despite the set back S seems to be on a path of slight improvement again. The next set-back comes in the form of a flare up of the infection. The gut is still very inflamed - particularly the bowel. More blood products, more antibiotics, Noradrenaline dosage increased again. There is a mention that he probably has a slow internal bleed somewhere. Clotting is a problem - the bleeding in his lips and mouth is evidence of this too. Before I go to my Friday show I have to sign the permission for them to perform the tracheotomy - they've decided it needs to be done, and an emergency surgical team will do it but it could be a day or two before the operation actually goes ahead. Through this entire week S has been awake and aware, communicating with me as best he can around the breathing tube and the bleeding lips, which are scabby and sore. He is still very much alive mentally, still able to laugh at our corny jokes and request the music be turned up! Being in ICU he's not allowed flowers of gifts or anything, but they did allow me to take in a little blue tooth speaker so he could have the radio on all day. I see him as early as visiting hours allow on Saturday 1st June - his 42nd birthday. I have 2 shows on this day, and won't be able to see him again until Sunday. I leave the hospital soon after his Dad and brother arrive for a visit, around 11:30. Around 12:30, while I'm running sound checks for the matinee show, I get a phone call asking me for permission to do the tracheotomy. At first this confuses me - they have permission already. Apparently they are now doing it in ICU, not in the emergency theatre or wherever. He was more drowsy on the Sunday, after the tracheotomy, but still essentially in the same condition - stable. I cried off sick for work on Monday and spent a bit more time with him - I knew I had to be at work on

Tuesday for a morning staff meeting. The hospital social worker called me before I went to visit S, wanting to arrange a "family meeting" for this week some time. At first we settled on Friday morning, but later they asked me if we could arrange a time earlier in the week. After re-arranging my work schedule we agreed on 3pm Tuesday, even though S's Dad would not be able to be there anymore. Then I arrived for my Monday visit with S. We had the radio on - S likes to have music playing, even when he's falling asleep - and the announcers were talking about the State of Origin (a Rugby League series of 3 matches between rival state teams, New South Wales and Queensland). I told him I'd make sure we put the radio on the right station on Wednesday night so he could listen. Suddenly the most important thing in the world for him was finding a way to be able watch the game! I told him I'd find a way. Tuesday comes and I get through my staff meeting and a few other things on my now half day before running back to the hospital for this family meeting. It turns out this is just me, S, his ICU team, his oncology team and the social working re-capping what S has been through so far, and then scaring me (and more so S) by saying out loud the words "Palliative care". Essentially they are telling us we are out of further options. He is being given everything possible to assist recovery - the blood pressure meds are now at a low dose, but they still have to support his blood pressure, he is still on a ventilator to assist his breathing, the infection is still not improving, but it has not got worse, they have run out of different antibiotics to throw at the infection, it still seems the bleed is present, the scabs on his lips are still apt to bleed more than they should if they are disturbed. If his organs start to fail there will be nothing they can do - surgery will more than likely not be an option, and one failure will lead to another until his heart, then brain will go and that will be it. So, if we start to see organ failure palliative care becomes the only option. This is the point at which I am in disbelief. He can't be that bad. He is still totally alive mentally. How can we be discussing "making him comfortable until he dies"? And S is even more disbelieving and scared than me at those words. Yes S has looked better, yes he has spent over 2 and a half weeks in ICU, yes he has a lot more hard fighting to do if he's ever going to beat this, but his brain is fine, he is completely aware of where he is and what's going on around him - just a bit inclined to tire quickly. I stay with him longer than I intend to that night because he starts to complain of stomach pain. It gets worse. Really bad. They give him morphine. He says it doesn't help. His breaths start hitching, like something is stabbing him or something. He finally gives me the description "like hiccoughs, but sore". I can see how swollen his stomach is - fluid retention. And he is also complaining that he wants to lie on his side. We have to wait ages for the right number of people to be available to turn him on his side, to a more comfortable position. But his stomach is still giving him intense pain and whatever spasms are causing the breath hitches and grimaces. I have to leave him like that - in pain, but with the nurse on duty doing whatever he can to ease the discomfort, administering Morphine whenever possible - visiting hours are over and I'm asked to leave. On my way to work on Wednesday morning (5th June) I get a call from the head doctor in S's ICU team. He wants to know what time I can be there today - S has had major abdominal pain since last night (I know, I was there!), and they are investigating the cause, but it looks like the kidneys are failing. He tells me he will update me via text when he knows more, I tell him I will get there as soon as I can after work. I get no texts all day. I get to the hospital around 4:45pm - armed with the all important iPad mini for him to watch the State of Origin game on (yes, that is still a priority for S! God

love him!!). I'm told S has been taken for a scan and I need to come back in about an hour. So, when I return and he's back from the scan, I get the iPad hooked in to the Wifi and open the app he needs. Then I have to have the conference with the doctor. His kidneys have failed. Fluid is building up in his stomach. They want my permission to put a drain directly in his belly to ease the pressure. I give it. I have to wait outside while they get this done. There is a brief discussion about surgery - but that would literally be futile. Again we have the conversation about palliative care. This is the beginning of the end. His body is shutting down. S can't fathom this. He says the words that still break my heart, pointing to his head to indicate his mind he mouths "I'm still alive". He has so much to say, but we can't understand him through the scabs on his lips and his inability to make any real sounds. We try to get him to write things down, but his hands are really too weak. The doctor has asked if he wants to have the pain medication increased so he can slip away peacefully. The sentence he writes is "I just want to see how I go" - he wants so badly to keep fighting. He doesn't want to die. Once the doctor is sure he is comfortable for now he leaves us to watch the game - no S has not forgotten the game! He does not administer the pain medication, but he gives the authorisation for its use once S requests it. And although I had not planned to stay and watch the game (which starts around the time visiting hours end), I do. They let me stay. He nods off a bit during the second half, but I know how much seeing it means to him, so I rouse him for the good bits, and make sure he sees the end - a good result for him, a come-from-behind win for his team. I say my goodnight and leave S to get some sleep. I have told my boss how dire things are, and he has told me I have leave starting now for as long as I need. I get a call around 9:30 on Thursday morning asking me what time I will be getting to the hospital. Apparently S has been asking for me. I had a couple of things to do before I could get there, so I arrive just after 11:30am. S is not as awake and aware as he was last night. They have started giving him the pain medication (Fentanyl) the doctor was talking about, and it has affected S's ability to focus, and therefore communicate. He has apparently been asking what's going on - last night he knew the story, now he's unclear. I wish they had held off on administering the drug. I would have liked to speak to my clear headed husband today. His kidneys have failed, the liver is failing. We are out of options. His Dad and brother are in and out today - we are kind of rotating our breaks until early afternoon. A Palliative Care consultant, and the social worker and the nurse looking after S want to have a meeting with me, and it takes me longer than it should to realise that this meeting is for me to give the final word on the beginning of the end. They are focusing on making sure I am okay with what's about to happen. Making sure I know that I have the final say, and once I give the go ahead they will stop all meds that aren't making him comfortable - the Fentanyl dose will increase, but the feeding, the antibiotics and finally the Noradrenaline will be stopped. It will then be a matter of minutes or hours before he is gone. I know they are trying to be helpful, but having them ask if I'm okay, having them tell me how strong I have been for him and how much of an advocate for him I have been is only making my heart break more. That afternoon, his brother, sister-in-law and their 4 kids, my brother and sister-in-law and 2 of their kids all come in to say their farewells. The Fentanyl dose has already been increased, so S knows they are there, but he is so drowsy it's hard for him to open his eyes. His sister-in-law wants to stay with me. She doesn't seem to understand I need to be alone with S for this. But, at last she gives me space. I'm the one who has to give the green light. It's really hard to do, but I know we

are out of options. As soon as they stop the blood pressure medication (Noradrenaline), S opens his eyes and looks at me. He is as focused as I have seen him all day, his grip on my hand is desperately strong, and I explain to him one final time what is happening, tell him I love him, tell him I'm sorry things turned out this way, sorry for all the things we had planned that we won't get to do together, and tell him it's time to stop fighting and just let go. I try to tell him not to worry about anything or anyone, that it's okay to go. I hope he understands. It must be about 40 minutes before he is unconscious. They stop the ventilator. I turn off the radio - he can't hear it anymore, and he and I have different taste in music! I know he can't feel it anymore, but I won't let go of his hand until he's gone. He holds on for over an hour without the ventilator. Then there are no more breaths. I know he's gone. His hand is already much cooler than it was an hour or so ago. I am a widow. It has happened so fast. It feels strange, but I don't think the full weight has hit me yet. I am bursting into tears at random moments. I am thinking of stupid things like "what am I going to do with all these Fruit Loops - he eats those, not me!", instead of dwelling on the hard things like having a funeral to arrange, and dealing with all the people who keep wanting to do things for me, or stay with me.

That was two years ago now. In excess of 300 people came to his funeral service - a testament to how many friends he made, how many lives he brightened just that little bit with his generous spirit and ever-present smile. Of course, I still miss him. I still have my teary moments. I still struggle with guilt. But I remember his smile, his laugh, the way he would sing along to the music and make up his own words (often to make the song about us), his spontaneous dancing and all the love!

[meetthehannah]

I think I've been dissociating regularly

I don't know why

the view from my apartment looks like a painting, not real

I could step into it

fall into it

ill look down at my hands and feet and legs and arms and body and it won't be my body

I don't know what to do

how many fucking problems can a person really have before people think they are just looking for attention?

a lot of people don't know this about me but I have a significant gap in my memory between 2nd and 5th grade. only thing I remember was mainly spending time with my best friend at the time. school thought I had adhd so they put me on medication after medication. I don't know if it was the meds that clearly weren't meant for me, or my constant reading books and not looking to the world around me, or something else that my mind may have blocked out

my mind wants to go to the simple answer. I tuned out the world, so I don't remember much about it. it seems simple. and convenient. its hard to say what really happened. but its such a mystery to me and I desperately need closure

I know where a lot of my trauma comes from. my sexual trauma comes from older men taking advantage of me in high school and a shitty ex. my relationship trauma comes from a string of bad dating choices. my food trauma starts with my mom. was there something that happened before that, between 2nd-5th grade? something that made me even more susceptible? one of the most disheartening statistics I learned in psychology classes was that the the most predictive factor of someone experiencing trauma in the future is having experienced trauma in the past.

I don't know, maybe this is just stupid speculation. but so was my being autistic at first, turns out that had legs.

anyways, welcome to my personal fucking diary apparently, on this hellsite that just continues to bring back horrible shitty memories. not that I don't have a special place in my heart for this place, its just that it's been a minute since I felt this depressed. but I felt depressed before I got here, so this site isn't to blame

well, therapy is on Tuesday so I guess I have one hour to discuss this with my therapist and open up yet another lovely little door the we get to explore together

[comedyborderlinenonbinary]

BPD- When I go quiet

If you have been reading. Then you know, I've been away for few weeks.

I actually have a lot of shit in my head that I need to "let go"... if ever possible.

I'm older than you think. over 30. Still, I was diagnosed with BPD last year. only last year. I am on the waiting list to get mental help (for awhile now). Ever since diagnosed, I've been researching, reading and watching videos about the illness and people who live with it.

I can only imagine what it would be like to actually have help... how would it be like? how can therapy save me from myself? and most importantly. Would I ever be "normal" enough to experience a healthy relationship? would I ever be loved?-- trust me, the fear of dying alone and forgotten is very real.

I have days that I wake up having a lot things to do. I feel useful. I love getting involved with a lot of projects- to make myself feel included and with an aim, a goal... Sadly, it only takes one small thing to go wrong to completely loss all motivation, give up everything and decided it's time to die.

I know how it sounds. How a "small thing" can take you from A to Z in hours? well.... I overthink everything! one thing led to another and I went from: "we'll have a second chance at our next meeting" to: "this is the reason. the world is never going to change. I feel like a box my employers saw as an opportunity to get ticked. A token. I'm a nobody and I have to accept my role in this society, a pathetic loser."

I convince myself I will never be good enough: to fight for my community human rights, to keep applying for higher job roles, despite all the rejections, to have a family. I'm not worth it enough to steal anyone's heart . Her heart. I'm not worth it enough to have anyone remembering my name after I'm gone. I should simply not exist.

It is always the same thing, now I'm aware of it. I'm just too tired to carry on trying.

Everything new I start, I'm the happiest, the most positive and passioned human being. Then something doesn't go according to plan and then I'm done... Last Sunday (today is Friday), I sent an email to my project managers, I quit pretty much every single inclusion project I had... I'm a fraud! I'm not a leader, I'm not clever and clearly, I was unable to get diversity toilets (gender neutral toilets) at my work place. I failed to make my voice heard when I complained how I feel not being able to hangup to customers when they discriminate/ made fun or any other situation I had been put through. Now I'm paranoid and doubt every single person that comes my way, especially if they are white.

I cry every day, several times a day and for no apparent reason. Last Tuesday or Monday (honest cannot remember), I took one too many pills and ended up in hospital. At this point it feels very natural and organic visiting the hospital under those circumstances. Like, I was half gone while the doctor was talking to me, all I remember saying to her: "ok, ok, can I go home now?" then put my clothes on and left, another doctor followed me- I shouted at him and left.

I cannot explain it, but I really want to die. I honestly feel, I got nothing to do here. It might sound like an exaggeration, but it's true. I mean, main reason I'm writing this: I'm a burden to my friends and anyone who meet me and dares to get to know me (I know it is like that, imagine having a friend who is always doubting, sad and only wants to talk about depressing shit), when I call the helplines- if they answer, 50 minutes later they start asking me to call back again if I need to keep talking or advise me to go to sleep. I feel I have nobody to talk to... and love, damn it! I like a lot of women and I hit on all of them and they all say "I have a partner". I have to delete their number because I'm dying to find an excuse and text/call her? but she doesn't want to be with me anyways.... Just another (quite powerful, have to admit) reason to not be in this world anymore.

I was told I won't learn to control it, but how to live with it (BPD).

If that's the case, I could have stayed with the ex who abused me. I was definitely used to her and in a sick way, but I wasn't alone and we were still kissing and fucking. I would have never be able to control the situation, but I knew how to live with her.

I don't really know where I'm going with all of this... I miss her, I want to be with her, I want her family to see me as a member and I want to be the one to remind her how beautiful she is every morning. I don't know who "she" is. I'm scared of living with only the production of my imagination and never really get to know her. But right now, imagining what it would be like, it's kind of what keeps me going... I'm not able to meet anyone new and the people I know, think that I'm a creative weirdo- still bad... and my "real" family, you know the one by blood- they are as far as they can be from me and my heart; almost wish I had forgotten their names, but cannot deny my roots. So, I still have it to remind me of them.

I'll leave it for now.

hopefully in future entry, it would be less chaotic and even positive... don't know.