#it's me I'm people with a digestive disease | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

infiniteglitterfall · 9 months ago

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know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

#covid isn't over #covid 19 #disability rights #disability advocacy #wear a mask #covid conscious #covid cautious #mask up #wall of words #public health #health care

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ink-asunder · 1 year ago

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We NEED to reevaluate how we view people with "red flags" that don't actually indicate harm to anyone. Things like "doesn't like animals," "doesn't have pets," "my pets immediately distrust them, so that means they're Secretly Evil."

I have a psychotic disorder. I suffer from flat affect. I have zero control over how I am emoting, and very often my emotional readout is completely blank. A LOT of animals (dogs especially) have exhibited aggression and fear around me ever since this started. (There are only TWO dogs I've met in the last five years that didn't BITE ME.) Dogs are unsettled by me because of a symptom of my psychosis--a condition that is out of my control that IS NOT DANGEROUS and doesn't harm anyone.

I also have a severe autoimmune disease and severe allergies to basically all animals. Whenever I tell people I can't come over because they have pets, or I don't have/want pets of my own, the IMMEDIATE response I always get is "why don't you like animals?" So I'm always pretty pissed off when I have to say, "I'm severely allergic. Don't fucking assume I have an undesireable quality just because I'm not a pet owner."

Another ableist red flag we need to talk about is "has no other friends/all their friends break up with them." Hi. I'm physically disabled with a digestive disease and a degenerative disease in my spine. That means my dietary restrictions are stupid and I can't sit/stand/walk for more than 15 minutes without being in pain. Most of the friends I break up with, I do so BECAUSE THEY ARE INCREDIBLY ABLEIST TO ME with no visible potential of changing. From people relentlessly harrassing me about lifestyle changes to not accepting correction or feedback when I tell them "hey, you CAN'T do x because it triggers y condition." If they argue or blow me off, I'm not their fucking friend!

Tl;dr: Disabled, chronically ill, and people with "scary" mental illnesses are often lumped in with "bad people" for characteristics that hurt no one and aren't in their control. Stop using "my dog is uncomfortable around them" as a litmus test for everyone you hang out with.

#chronic illness #disabled #disability #chronic pain #ableism #saneism #not to mention that its literally dangerous for disabled and psychotic people to be isolated and demonized.#its not just that no one want to be my friend. its that people are that much closer to putting me in danger because i dont fit-#-their standard of a 'good person.'

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pygmi-says-hi · 2 months ago

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writing tips - sick/poisoning fics

so since you guys ate up the injury thing like holy fuck 1.5k notes in 24 hours??? hello?? I thought I'd do a semi-related one about sickness.

disclaimer because you guys thoroughly reminded me of this: medicine is fucking weird and everybody reacts differently. this is blanket statement information, not the mayo clinic. idc that 'oh my cousin had that disease and he didn't have that symptom' okay whatever like sorry but that's not the point of this post. this is just to eliminate egregious mistakes. I'm not looking into every possible way this illness will show up. chill your tits. the comments on the last post were just like. dude. chill.

aurkay so.

poison-related illness.

okay poisoning is such a cool concept and there are literally so many cool effects it can have. Idk why everyone goes with the holy trinity of hallucinations, fainting and nausea. like yeah those are good but there are so many other things???

like internal bleeding. literally the best. I love it. It's slow but hella deadly and sometimes people can't even feel it/don't know what's happening. that's such a great option for whump or some angst. like they didn't know until it was too late. gold.

also - some poisons are not dissolvable in food or drink. Like certain medicines, they lose effectiveness if digested instead of injected intravenously. obviously you don't have to know that but if you wanna get into it, do a lil bit of research. could bring up some intriguing scenarios.

infection or sepsis

yoooo. sepsis is lowkey terrifying. infections are similar to actual illness but are caused because of an unsanitary wound. lots of interesting symptoms to browse here:

fever, cramps, fainting, hallucinations, dehydration, delirium, nausea, sores, sepsis, organ failure and on and on and on.

infection happens so fast too. like forget to change a bandage once and boom it could be infected. (is that a whump opportunity I hear...?)

sepsis is like the point of no return pretty much. Unless you've got crazy medical technology, sepsis is really really bad. basically, it's when the body overreacts and starts to damage its own tissue. leading to organ failure and then eventually death. spooky.

regular illness

this just means like a virus or something. a key point of viruses is an elevated temperature and dehydration; the body's primary responses. burn the bug out and dehydrate it.

depending on the illness, symptoms will vary. respiratory infections or viruses involve congestion, coughing, sore throats, a rattly breathing sound, and productive coughing (phlegm and mucus). Stomach illnesses include cramps, nausea, dehydration, dizziness, low blood sugar, weight loss, and diarrhea. these can overlap but mostly those are the groupings.

with fevers come achy joints and sensitive skin. fever is inflammation, like mild swelling everywhere because of how intense the antibody reaction is.

dehydration sets in really quick. really bad dehydration induces dizziness, nausea, diarrhea, delirium, lethargy, and fainting. great motivation for a whumper to possibly restrict whumpee's water intake...?

just some prompts! kinda low energy today sorry I haven't been posting, xox

#writing help #writing advice #how to write #fiction writing #creative writing #on writing #writblr #writing tips #writer #sickfic #fever whump #sickfic prompts

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herzspalter · 1 year ago

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Since I've been talking about it here and have been asked about it, I want to give you all a short health update. The short version is, we've finally figured out why I'm so fatigued, and unfortunately, it's not gonna go away, and I can no longer do as much art as I want to.

I want to keep this short: Very basically, most of you know that I've been struggling with fatigue for over two years now, and that every doctor's been telling me that I'm actually perfectly healthy, even though I'm clearly not.

Now, after a year of running to different doctors in vain, I've been diagnosed with Crohn's Disease. This explains not only my fatigue, but also my funky digestive issues, bizarre eye inflammation and other stuff I've had for a while and just thought heal on its own eventually.

Since it's a chronic disease, it won't go away, but we hope that it'll at least get a bit better once this flare up has been treated. What this means for me, is that I can never go back to drawing for hours as I used to. As much as that hurts me, I have to come to terms with it. I want to put my time into finishing commissions now, and dedicating the energy I do have into my comic project, and anything else like fanart and other doodles is going to be completely up to the spurts of energy I occasionally get.

It's nothing new, you all know how little I've been posting over the last year and longer, but now we at least know why. I'm still here ofc, nothing really changes, I just have to adjust my personal life and get used to this.

I'm okay, the people treating me are very kind and helpful, and while I am genuinely very upset at the prospect of likely never feeling fully awake again, I am too relieved to finally have closure and start treatment to be sad right now. Gonna have to move forward, there's no other choice anyway.

Thank you for reading, and thank you for being patient with me. I'm a private person and I don't like sharing too much about medical shit on here, but I know lots of you struggle with fatigue too and had asked me about my progress in the past, and I wanted to make sure that you know the conclusion to that whole odyssey <3

Love you all, take good care, I wish you the Best!

#medical stuff #health #might delete but fuck it it's nothing super personal

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rhq2744 · 28 days ago

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Urgent!!

Vertified by @el-shab-hussin , @nabulsi ,,, Num.221 on the list :

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1yYkNp5U3ANwILl2MknJi9G7ArY4uVTEEQ1CVfzR8Ioo/htmlview

See below 👇👇

Hello, I am Raghad Qanou, a second-level medical student in Gaza, or I was. For a year, we have been suffering from genocide. I, my family, and my people have been exposed to it. Many crimes have occurred. We have seen a lot and are still seeing. I have lost my loved ones, my friends, my home, my university, and my entire future. We are trying hard to cling to life and survive! We have been clinging to life for a year, but we are tired, and we need help. We are very tired.We feel that we are alone now. We cannot find our daily food. We have lost our money, our jobs, our home, and everything. We have lost our life savings, on rubble, tents, and primitive life. Although it is primitive, it is expensive. In light of the siege and famine we are experiencing, there is no food or... Water or medicine, and if it is available, the prices are crazy. My family and I live in tents. Since last November, we have been living next to a public toilet with a destroyed sewage system. Can you live next to the sewage for one day? Me, my family and my younger brothers, we live hereAlmost a year ago, we haven't gotten used to it yet! We are not accustomed to the ugly sight of filth and excrement covering the oven on which we cook, nor are we accustomed to the insects and worms that feed on us all night, nor are we accustomed to the reproductive system diseases that we suffer from this polluted toilet, which we are forced to enter. It is also a mixed bathroom, there is no privacy. There is no respect for us as girls. We are subjected to terrible harassment and disrespect, and we suffer from many, many reproductive, digestive, and skin diseases, in addition to respiratory, due to the fire.

To cook food, that is, if there is any food. My brothers and I are very sick. We suffer from hepatitis. It is like an epidemic here. Everyone has yellow eyes, exhausted and tired. It is as if we were zombies. We are all lying on the ground, unable to do anything. It is heartbreaking the state we have reached. To him, and to see your world collapsing, and you do not know what the solution is, what is the way to end this nightmare, there is no way out, except this link,

Please, even if just a little, try to help us. It hurts me very much to see my family, especially my beloved brother, in this condition. He is thinking of committing suicide. The children here are crying and banging their heads against the wall from the force of the shocks they are exposed to, and from their regret for their childhood that was lost in the sewers and displacement. This is painful. I think I'm big, I can handle a little bit.

But please, for the sake of these children, donate what you can. If you do not have the money, post the link. Everything makes a difference in our situation, and remember, the little you have means a lot to us, and it may save the life of an entire family somewhere, so do not hesitate!

The verification :

#all eyes on gaza #gaza fights for freedom #gaza fundraiser #gaza under bombardment #gaza under siege #north gaza #children of gaza #gaza solidarity encampment #gazaunderfire #palestinians

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sweetbillwriting · 2 months ago

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In The Dead of Night

ELEVEN

Characters: AU Eric played by Bill Skarsgård from The Crow (2024)

Setting: This story is set in A WHOLE OTHER WORLD than the movie. Shelley isn't a part of this story. Eric will be different from the movie.

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, heavy themes.

“He was in a coma six months ago? For how long?” I asked in shock, but Robin didn't react to it.

“A month, I think? I learned about it after a couple of weeks. His friends didn't know if they should call me and... Heroin. I thought he had stopped with that shit, but one of his weird friends told me he had overdosed on purpose because of depression.”

I looked down at the ground, thinking back on my dreams. Could it be that Eric was in a coma? Believing he was dead? I dragged my hands over my face and shook my head in disbelief. I had started to believe the dreams were just dreams, but now I thought back on it again. The Spotify playlist, the name of his biological mom, the places and drawings he had shown me... Could he in some way visit my dreams while he was in a coma?

“Are you listening?” Asked Robin a little irritated, and I nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. It's just so much… He hasn't told me this.”

“He's probably embarrassed. He has overdosed twice and lived while other people who do something with their lives die of diseases. He gets saved.”

I sat with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, trying to digest everything. I started to get a headache from it all and dragged my hands through my hair, but still I had questions.

“Do you see him as your brother? You cried when you found out he was in a coma, but you talk about him like an invader in your family.”

Robin bent down in a similar way as I and looked down at Odin laying on the ground.

“No. He's just Eric to me. He's my parents foster kid, but he's nothing to me. I get that sounds harsh, but I never understood who he was as a kid, and then in my teens he moved in with us permanently and made everything difficult. But… They also favored him so hard. Dad cut down work hours to be home with him; mom was with him all the time, and they gave him expensive gifts, and we traveled more.”

I looked at Robin’s sad face and how he dragged his feet through the wet leaves on the ground. Maybe it was actually true? Maybe they actually gave Eric all that. I could imagine they wanted to give him all the things he had never gotten to lay a bandage over the abuse and trauma his mom caused him, but it was too much to not get Robin's attention. On top of that, Eric had magical powers? I wanted to laugh at my own thoughts but couldn't do that when Robin sat next to me, but it really seemed like Eric was something more. He talked with animals, was kind to everyone, liked by everyone, and could escape death and visit my dreams. He sounded like a Disney princess.

Robin was quiet just like me for a while, but he wasn't thinking about Snow White; he prepared a confession.

“I never told mom and dad I was gay... It would have given them one more reason to love him more than me. Instead, I was the weird one, never meeting a girl. Did you know he slept with my best friend? And later, two other friends. He was clearly straight and on top of that an asshole. Now he has slept with a fourth friend of mine…”

I looked at Robin up and down uncomfortably. I didn't want to believe Eric had slept with his friends, but I could also see how that could have happened. Eric had been tall, hot, and sexy since his late teens, and on top of that, he had taken drugs then already. I swallowed hard when I thought about how many he probably had slept with.

“I'm sorry, Robin... I don't even know what to say, but… He didn't know we were friends. I've lied to him too…”

Robin shook his head to himself and looked down at his hands playing with Odin's leash, then he sighed.

“I guess I can't decide who you date… But can you promise me you will never force me to like him? And that you're careful? He is an addict, whatever you say.”

I smiled with relief, happy to have his blessing, but it fell when I thought about Eric. He would never forgive me.

“I don't think we need to talk about that even… He will never forgive me…” I took a deep breath to calm myself down because I could feel the tears pushing behind my eyes.

“Ehm, before I talk about him, can we go home? I don't want to sit here and ugly cry in front of everyone.”

Robin nodded quickly and fixed Odin's leash around his hand.

“Of course, of course.”

We went to my home, and with a big cup of tea each, I told him about my love for Eric. How he had pulled me in at once and how I couldn't stop myself from loving him from the first time we met.

“I had these dreams about him when I thought he was dead and… He really was everything I ever wanted from a guy. Nothing like Dante, then I met him, and he was the same, and… He really sees me. He really cares for me, and even if you can't see it, he makes me feel safe.”

I cried so hard, I didn't know if Robin could hear me, but it seemed like it. He looked uncomfortable, even upset, but nodded slowly.

“I… Well, okay, I guess. If you feel like that, I will not say that it isn't true; it's just that I can't see anything else than how manipulative and selfish he is. That's my picture of him, but… Clearly, you see other sides in him…”

I nodded and dried my wet cheeks, but new tears came.

“But it's too late now…”

Robin shook his head.

“In rehab, they talk quite a lot about how to ask for forgiveness and to forgive others. If he learned anything there, he would listen. It's worth a try. You should call him.”

I looked at Robin, who met my eyes. It was big of him saying these things even if he didn't like Eric. Once again, I dried my tears, and then I gave him a hug. At least he was a true friend to me.

I waited until Robin had left to call Eric, and then a bit longer after that. I didn't dare at first. Maybe he was really angry and would curse at me. I wouldn't be able to handle that. I thought about leaving it be, so I could imagine him not being angry and grieve what was of our relationship. However, in the long run it wouldn't give me anything, so I collected myself and called him with shaking hands. I heard signal after signal, and the fourth I thought about hanging up, but just when the fifth started, he answered.

“Hey,” he said shortly.

“Hey.”

“Hey… Ehm… I don't know what to say, Eric, more than I'm so, so sorry for… everything,” I said with a dry throat and was forced to even cough after I had spoke.

“Yeah…” he said with his thinking voice. I knew he was in deep thought just in the way he answered.

“I love you. I love you, so so much,” I said desperately. Eric was quiet, so I continued to talk.

“I just wanted to be with you. From the first time I saw your photo, I was—”

Eric cleared his voice awkwardly. It was probably a bit much hearing me explain my love for his photo.

“Maybe, maybe we can talk for real?” He said it in a dreamlike tone, and for a second I would have believed he had smoked marijuana recently, but I knew he often sounded like that when he tried to master his big feelings and sensitive heart. “I can come to you tomorrow?”

My own heart beated hard. I didn't want anything more than that.

“Of course, of course!” I said excitedly, I couldn't contain my happiness.

“Good… I'm sorry, by the way?”

“What? For What?” I answered with a giggle, like he was joking. I couldn't control the euphoria I felt of just knowing I would be close to him soon.

“For what happened with Nick and all that… I guess drugs are the thing I think about when life sucks. Like when you had those extreme menstrual cramps and you asked for—”

“Stop!” I said with a loud laugh, and Eric laughed too. It was a joke, a joke about that time I had such horrible period cramps that my ass cramped so I had begged him for anal sex like it was the only thing that could save my life.

Fortunately, it subsided by itself before we had time to do it, and then it felt awfully scary.

I could hear Eric's sweet little giggle in my ear, and I sighed with love.

“I really love you the most in the entire world, you know.”

“I love you most in the entire world, too, babe,” he said warmly before we hung up.

×××

“I'm sorry, but it sounds super weird you dreamed about me,” he said after thinking about what I had said for a while. I had told him I dreamed about him, but I didn't dare say I believed it was actually him visiting my dreams. It would be too much and sound a bit like an excuse from a stalker.

“It was! After the first time seeing your photo, I started to dream about you, and you were amazing in the dream, just as amazing as you are now, and yeah, I just wanted to meet you for real. And you were so different from Dante. Even the person you were in my dream was everything I wanted.”

Eric looked at me with big eyes and nodded. He put down his cup on the coffee table, then he moved closer to me smoothly.

“You have said many times that Dante was a really bad guy… What does that mean?” He searched my eyes, but I just looked away. I didn't want to talk about Dante like that.

“You can talk to me… I hope you know that.”

I moved closer to Eric and looked into his kind eyes. I was safe with him.

“He hit me a couple of times.”

I looked at Eric's Adam’s apple bob in his throat.

“He hit you?”

“It was just a few times, but I provoked him, so it's just embarrassing to talk about. I don't want people to know how annoying I-”

“Hey!” Said Eric, upset, and it made me jump. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he said softly when he realized he had scared me. “No guy has any right to hit you, even if you're annoying as hell. I don't care what you say about yourself, he is the one in the wrong.” He looked at me seriously but suddenly looked scared. “You know I would never do that, right? I know people say it's a bigger risk for abused kids to become abusive adults, but I would never ever in my life do that. I would kill myself if I ever did that.”

His words were sincere and worried, and his face, cute. I kissed his full lips and dragged my hand over his smooth cheek.

“I know that, Eric. That's why I love you so much. I would never doubt your kindness.” I kissed him again, and it led to us making out a bit. I crawled up in his lap, and he took his chance to pull down my tank top straps so he could play with my chest with his big hands. His lips found a nipple, and once again he sucked so hard it felt like he thought his next dinner was there. I dragged my hands over his head and cradled him against my chest while he found comfort against me.

“My boy… I'm sorry for everything that has happened to you in life…” I whispered and made him look at me, still with my nipple between his lips.

“I'm sorry that your biological mom didn't treat you well and that you met so many others that have hurt you…”

Eric released my nipple and looked away but still lay against my chest.

“I know it's her fault I am the way I am. That I crave... That I need drugs to calm my loud thoughts down, but I'm not mad anymore. She was disturbed. She was sick. The men… They're just faceless idiots to me, so there is no one to be angry with.”

He sounded so mature and calm, and I felt proud and smiled at him a little. It would be a good person like Eric who could see life from that angle.

“But when you are depressed, what is that about?”

He shrugged his shoulders and sat up.

“Depression doesn't always have an explanation. It's just like everything drops for me. Like nothing is important. It just falls to the ground, and I can't see an end. Of course I can have nightmares about the men who kicked me around or the times Linda tied me to the radiator for a day or two.” I gave him an upset look, but he didn't seem to notice. “But it's not those memories that make me depressed. That's just my brain shutting off.”

Eric looked at me and then smiled a little.

“You don't need to look so worried; it was fifteen years ago. And Linda is dead. She died of a failing liver when I was eighteen or something.”

I nodded a little and patted his cheeks. It was hard thinking that a kind soul as Eric had gotten treated like that, and it made both my chest and stomach hurt. I kissed his lips softly a few times, but I noticed quickly that Eric wanted more than that. I giggled when he pulled down my tank top again to touch my chest and when he licked my lips to be able to get permission to dance with my tongue.

Deep tongue kisses made Eric pleasurably groan, and when I moved in his lap, I could clearly feel he was hard. I dragged myself over his sex and could feel his cock grow to its full size in the loose-fit track pants. Eric knew what he wanted but also what I wanted, so he stood up and let me hang around him like a koala bear.

“Am I not heavy?” I said with a giggle. I knew I wasn't for him, but I wanted to hear it.

“Fuck no, you don't weigh a thing.” He said, shaking his head. He probably knew I just wanted to hear that but answered seriously so it would feel even more real for me. I giggled and leaned back while being in his safe arms. I could lean back a long way, and Eric let out a sound of admiration.

“Fuck you're sexy,” he said, and then put me down in bed. His words made me feel my self esteem grow, and I smirked while taking off my clothes while lying in bed. I moved sensually, letting him be my small little audience while I started my masturbation show for him. Eric stood and looked at me with an open mouth and pulled off his big gray t-shirt. I looked at his muscles shamelessly, and even if he was so close, I fantasized about having him even closer. I sat up, drunk of hornyness, and pulled him closer to me with a grip of the elastic to his dark blue pants.

From his navel down to the hem of his pants, I made a small trail of kisses. I licked the lines going down to his groin while teasingly pushing down his pants with his boxers. Eric chuckled a little when I licked closer and closer to his loins and helped me take the last of his clothes when my lips moved closer and closer to the root of his cock. He kicked the pants and boxers away with his socks and then turned around. His idea was to just attack my lips with his, but I stopped him because I wanted to look at him. Eric scratched his ear while I looked at his body up and down.

“Damn boy,” I teased and bit my lip. Eric chuckled, embarrassed but also proudly. He had a hobby you could see clearly how much he worked on, but also, he won a lottery in anatomy.

“Can I fuck you now?” He said and moved closer to me, and I nodded with a giggle. With a smile, he kissed me and moved over me, his body so broad it felt like it swallowed me up. He smelled like one of his expensive perfumes, mixed with herbal tea, and even that smell was intoxicating. With a swift motion, he had pushed me down on my stomach in bed so he could enter me from behind while he held me close to his body. I wonder if I could ever get used to his size or strength. I hoped not because every time he was close, I felt so blessed and protected, and I hoped I would never take that feeling for granted.

×××

Eric fell asleep after our lovemaking; most of the time he had held me up against the wall, and I could see that would even be much for him, but I couldn't deny what a feeling it was to be held like that. I felt small and vulnerable in his arms, full, overwhelmed, and light as air. He had instead held me up by the thighs while also moving in and out of me with fast, hard strokes. No wonder he was tired.

I swept my finger over his nose, following the straight nose bridge out to the upturned tip. He wasn't bothered by it; he just continued to sleep. Warmth rose in my chest while I looked at him, but another feeling started to take over. Hadn't it been very easy for me to be forgiven by him? I had lied and gone behind his back, but he forgave me after just a few minutes, then slept with me in the best way. The last time I saw him, he had also laid in a bed but had asked for drugs. Did that craving just disappear? I thought back to the moment in his bed and what he had said. He had wanted the morphine pills he had seen in the bathroom. Pills I hadn't hidden away before his visit. I stood up from bed and pulled on a floral kimono as I walked to the bathroom on light feet. I know you can guess what I found—nothing. The pills weren't anywhere to be found. I searched over and over in the bathroom, but there weren't any pills. I could feel the panic grow because I didn't want to believe it, but still it was there; Eric had just forgiven me and slept with me to steal my morphine pills.

I stood and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, more or less waiting for the inevitable breakdown. I loved him so much, but he clearly loved other things more than me, even if he had said he loved me most in the entire world. I waited for the breakdown, but it never came; maybe it had just been too much the last few days and there were no tears left.

I walked back to the bedroom, where he still slept with just the cover on his hips. I looked at all the badly made tattoos, the clues to what life he had lived and probably would soon live again. I wondered if he was high on something while we slept together. Maybe it was amphetamine that gave him his stamina. I kicked his shin with my foot over and over. That was the only way I wanted to touch him; otherwise, I wouldn't be able to keep my cool. I kicked quite hard after a while to make him wake up, and after three hard kicks, he looked up at me confused.

“I'm sorry, have I slept a long time?” He said with a raspy voice and rubbed his eyes.

“Did you just sleep with me to be able to take my pills?” I said crass with furrowed brows. He sat up and scratched his chest. He looked adorable with his big eyes shifting, but for me, that was just proof he had taken them; he couldn't even look at me.

“What?”

“My morphine pills; you have taken them!”

“What? No?”

“God, I never thought this about you, Eric!”

“But I haven't-”

“Don't lie to me!”

“But I-”

“Maybe you are just the fucking junkie everyone says you are!”

Even if he was the one in the wrong, I swallowed hard when he looked at me hurt.

Without a word, he stood up and started to dress. My instinct was to say I was sorry and beg him to stay, but he had used me for drugs, so there was no hope for us.

I stood with crossed arms and shiny eyes while his naked body disappeared into soft fabrics. He walked by me without a look, out to the hallway.

“Can I have the pills?” I tried to sound cold but didn't know if I succeeded very well. The question made him finally look up at me with sad eyes.

“I don't have them.”

I sighed and looked down at the ground disappointedly. It wasn't like him to lie to me right in the face, but I guessed drugs made him into someone else. I looked at him while he pulled on his bomber jacket and turned on his heel to the door. The jackets were the only place he could have them, and for a few seconds I regretted not looking in his pockets but brushed that away; it didn't make any difference. Eric closed the door silently behind him; he would probably never be the kind to be violent in front of a woman. I stared at the door for a long time after he had left with tears in my eyes. I couldn't say why, but it felt like something didn't add up, but I tried to say to myself that it was just me who wanted it to be that way.

I sat down on the couch where our teacups still stood on the coffee table. I breathed heavily, trying to find acceptance, but it seemed like other thoughts knocked on the door and wanted in.

He hadn't even been in the bathroom. He had been by my side all the time.

I thought back to his visit, trying in every way to find a time he could have taken the pills, but there wasn't a time. In panic, I ran to the bathroom, looking again through every cabinet and box after the pills. I threw things out on the floor to see everything better, but they were nowhere to be found. I cried hysterically because I couldn't find an explanation.

“Maybe you are just the fucking junkie everyone says you are!”

Even if he was the one in the wrong, I swallowed hard when he looked at me hurt.

Without a word, he stood up and started to dress. My instinct was to say I was sorry and beg him to stay, but he had used me for drugs, so there was no hope for us.

I stood with crossed arms and shiny eyes while his naked body disappeared into soft fabrics. He walked by me without a look, out to the hallway.

“Can I have the pills?” I tried to sound cold but didn't know if I succeeded very well. The question made him finally look up at me with sad eyes.

“I don't have them.”

I sat down on the couch where our teacups still stood on the coffee table. I breathed heavily, trying to find acceptance, but it seemed like other thoughts knocked on the door and wanted in.

He hadn't even been in the bathroom. He had been by my side all the time.

“Maybe you are just the fucking junkie everyone says you are!”

I heard my own words in my head. Had I thrown that in his face, and he hadn't even taken the pills? He must have taken them. Where else were they? I needed to talk to someone, someone that could tell me I had done the right thing. I called Robin with shaking hands, sitting on the toilet lid with legs bobbing up and down in panic.

“My morphine pills were gone, so he must have taken them, but I don't know when he could have done it, but he must have, right? Right? I mean, where are they otherwise? He came here and pretended to be the perfect boyfriend again just to take them!” I rambled with a runny nose.

Robin was quiet on the line. I wasn't prepared for that; I thought he would just say I had done the right thing.

“I have them.”

I didn't understand what he was saying and furrowed my brows in confusion.

“What?”

Robin sighed deeply.

“I'm sorry, I thought I did both of you a favor by taking them away. So he wouldn't be tempted.”

“Huh?” My heart beated hard against my chest.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I had accused Eric of stealing my pills without any proof, and here I now sat with the truth. Eric was really the perfect boyfriend, but I had called him a junkie.

“I didn't want to do a thing out of it because I was afraid you would be angry if I said anything that could be critical to your relationship.”

Robin sounded sincere, but right at that moment I didn't care. I had called Eric a fucking junkie. I thought about his hurt expression but how calm he still continued to be. Always so respectful and sweet, even when hearing such things.

“Oh my god... Oh my god…” I said with a shaking voice and laid a hand over my mouth to cover my sobs.

“I'm really sorry, Della; this wasn't my plan at all!” Said Robin with guilt and stress in his voice. I didn't say anything because I was busy trying to control my tears.

“I would never do such a thing to you. Him, yes, but not you. I can punish him with mom and all that, but I wouldn't-” he interrupted himself, and I could almost hear his panic.

“...how do you punish Eric? What? How do you punish Eric??” I said, upset, and raised my voice. I had a bad feeling—a really bad feeling and ideas about what he had done to Eric spun around in my head.

“Nothing!” Robin sounded mad, but I was quite sure it was a way to mask that he had said way too much.

“Tell me now!”

Robin was quiet on the line. “Is it something about him not seeing Lotti? Huh? Have you kept them from each other?”

Robin sighed like he was irritated, but instead of saying anything, he hung up in my ear.

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #fan fiction #writing #story #bill skarsgård writing #bill skarsgård fanfiction #fiction #the crow #eric

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teaboot · 11 months ago

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Your post about art vs content got me thinking about the differences between the two. To me there is no difference besides the mindsets. One is of creator and the enjoyer, the other is content and consumer it removes the personhood, the joy/emotion, from the equation. Like a writer or video creator may not see their work as art so content creator maybe a way to refer to themselves comfortably but it sounds so machine, emotionless and lifeless, like a cookie cutter recipe mass producing something verses people lovingly crafting something...then again Disney uses a cookie cutter recipe for the most part and it brings out bangers cause people lovingly make it their own so maybe I'm thinking too hard on this

Does my long-winded rant make sense?

see, I get what you mean, but I still feel like the willingness to entertain calling art of any kind "content" reduces it to the facet of consumption where in reality, the experience of consuming art is not the sole defining trait of it.

Reducing arts like music, writing, painting, dance, voice acting, theater, etc. to the role of "content"- a thing created to be consumed, measured and valued by how pleasant or easy it is to digest- I feel that it was our biggest red flag to herald the incoming tide of AI "art".

Because if art is "content", if arts are nothing but consumable matter, then obviously the key to success is to produce as much soft, tasty, edible paste as we possibly can at the lowest possible expense.

It's the same issue I have with "meal replacements", diet culture, nutrient slurries, twenty-step skincare routines, 24/7 body padding and shapewear and laxative teas and "grind culture". It's not a cause, but a symptom, of the disease that is late-stage capitalism.

Things must be produced at low cost and remain in high demand forever. Things must be perfect and palatable and the new hit trend forever. People must pay hand over fist to consume without asking anything in return, and if they start dropping like flies at the unending unrewarded thankless demand of it all, then that must be treated as a weakness. We should all take pride in how much we can spend, pay, give, produce, and think as little as possible about what we ask for ourselves.

So, who cares if, of two identical paintings, one was made by a person and one was made by a computer program? It's the same work, so what does it matter? What does it matter?

I am an artist. I make art. I ask a question, make a statement, declare something horrific or challenging or upsetting or wrong or grotesque, and when you respond, we are together experiencing a conversation. We are existing, two people living one life and reaching out and touching across time and space. No matter the work, you're at the barest minimum saying, "I'm alive, and you're alive, and at one time or another we shared this same world, and at the end of the day we aren't too terribly different. My heart is worth sharing, and your heart is worth the struggle of understanding."

An AI-generated piece, a computer-generated voice, a CGI puppet of someone long since dead and gone, they cannot speak. They have no voice. Ay best, they are the most chewable, consumable, landlord-beige common denominator possible that you can sit and listen to like the lone survivor of a shipwreck listening to the same three songs on a broken record, and at worst, they're the uncaring vomit of an empty, unloving, value-addled hack wearing the skin of someone I know over their own.

When you abandon art to say that you make content, that should not be a point of pride. That's an embarrassment. That's not sitting down for an intelligent discussion with an equal, that's kneeling at the feet of the crowd and saying, "what do you want to see me do? I can be anyone you've ever loved. I can be them, I can be anyone, as long as you love me."

I can make content. I can be consumed. What do you want to consume? I'll make myself consumable. I'll make myself just like anything you like. And I'll make so much of it that you'll never have to go anywhere else, because it'll all be right here, and under all the cut-and-paste schlock you've seen before I will sit alone in the dark and the silence and I will know that I am safe, because I am valued, because I am desired, and I need to be desired or else I am worthless like a factory that no longer churns out steel or a hen that no longer lays eggs or a cow that is too old to make milk.

Content, the most literal meaning, is something which is contained inside a container. What it is doesn't really matter, and the best it can hope to be is something worthy of being scooped out and used.

Art is an experience that transcends value. Art is something you can eat without paying for. You can make it out of anything and anyone can do it. It can be crude and vulgar and bad, and that's a strength because it means something. It always, always means something, and it doesn't matter if you like it or not. It's not content because it doesn't fill anything. It's a living, breathing thing, and whether you want to birth it or eat it, then you're going to have to be willing to put the fucking work in

#I want to apologize but I'm not going to #This is important to me #I do not want to create content #I do not want to be universally loved #I do not want my existence to revolve around being used #I'm not a machine I'm a person and I'll do what makes me happy #Even if that isn't good or useful #I don't want to be pretty I want to be alive #Don't look at me #I'm breathing #I'm screaming #I'm ugly and sharp and painful to hold #And that is not a bad thing #To come back to

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carusocarousel · 4 months ago

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Hello, I am a human medicine student from Gaza City. I am asking you for urgent help in publishing the link for my family and delivering it to people interested and able to help us. I did not want to do that, but the tragic situation we are living in is what made me have to do this. I feel sad and helpless, after we had Everything, we are now homeless on the streets, we live in a tent next to a dilapidated public toilet and there is sewage, filth and waste everywhere, we sleep on it! We suffer from terrible heat, insects and scorpions, the danger of death, bombs and missiles, in addition to hunger of course, and the danger of pollution and terrible diseases.Especially digestive, respiratory and reproductive! My younger siblings are suffering and very sick. They are terrified of everything, especially scorpions and insects. My father and mother cannot bear it any longer. You have the right to imagine that when you spend your life building for yourself and your children to live a decent life, all of this goes away in the blink of an eye, and now when you reach the age you should To rest in it, you are forced to start over !!? , but the most important thing now is to try to stay alive and protect your children from all the factors of death that surround us! I ask anyone who has humanity or conscience to feel our situation and put himself in our place. How can a person who has lived with dignity all his life accept this? We are dying slowly every day. Please, if anyone can help, even if just a little, do not delay! Your little means a lot to us!

https://gofund.me/5f12ba33

Help the Qanou family escape to Egypt

Vetted by Nabulsi

Raghad Qanou is a second-year medicine student at Al-Azhar University in Gaza. She and her family of 8 used to live peacefully in a Shujaiya neighborhood; however, after the events of a Oct 7th, the family was forced to move a total of 7 times.

They are currently trapped in Rafah, in a narrow corridor next to a public toilet with a broken sewage system; this has caused the spread of diseases running rampant, such as hepatitis. They have barely been able to obtain food, water and anything that can keep them alive.

Raghad has already left Gaza thanks to a medical scholarship, but her family is still stranded. This campaign will help them escape to Egypt and maintain themselves for the next couple of months.

As of July 2nd, 2024, the campaign has gathered £2,323 GBP out of £55,000, from 130 donations.

Being one of the campaigns with lower donations in comparison to their goal, I ask you to share it around more and donate under your possibilities

#palestine #palestine donations #palestine fundraiser #free palestine #rhq274 #Qanou family #Raghad Qanou #Please share #please donate if you can #Gaza #gaza donation

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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This is maybe an odd thing to put on a good news/reasons for hope blog, but I've also had people tell me that they find this info really, genuinely comforting, so I'm putting it up. Also, further understanding could do a ton to advance medicine, esp. re: allergies, autoimmune diseases, and depression. You can read more about this at the link.

"More than half of your body is not human, say scientists.

Human cells make up only 43% of the body's total cell count. The rest are microscopic [co-contributors].

Understanding this hidden half of ourselves - our microbiome - is rapidly transforming understanding of diseases from allergy to Parkinson's.

The field is even asking questions of what it means to be "human" and is leading to new innovative treatments as a result.

"They are essential to your health," says Prof Ruth Ley, the director of the department of microbiome science at the Max Planck Institute, "your body isn't just you."

No matter how well you wash, nearly every nook and cranny of your body is covered in microscopic creatures.

This includes bacteria, viruses, fungi and archaea (organisms originally misclassified as bacteria). The greatest concentration of this microscopic life is in the dark murky depths of our oxygen-deprived bowels.

Prof Rob Knight, from University of California San Diego, told the BBC: "You're more microbe than you are human."

Originally it was thought our cells were outnumbered 10 to one.

"That's been refined much closer to one-to-one, so the current estimate is you're about 43% human if you're counting up all the cells," he says.

But genetically we're even more outgunned.

The human genome - the full set of genetic instructions for a human being - is made up of 20,000 instructions called genes.

But add all the genes in our microbiome together and the figure comes out between two and 20 million microbial genes.

Prof Sarkis Mazmanian, a microbiologist from Caltech, argues: "We don't have just one genome, the genes of our microbiome present essentially a second genome which augment the activity of our own.

"What makes us human is, in my opinion, the combination of our own DNA, plus the DNA of our gut microbes."

It would be naive to think we carry around so much microbial material without it interacting or having any effect on our bodies at all.

Science is rapidly uncovering the role the microbiome plays in digestion, regulating the immune system, protecting against disease and manufacturing vital vitamins.

Prof Knight said: "We're finding ways that these tiny creatures totally transform our health in ways we never imagined until recently."

It is a new way of thinking about the microbial world. To date, our relationship with microbes has largely been one of warfare.

-via BBC News, April 10, 2018

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vorthodoxy · 11 months ago

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ok but hear me out. An immortal pred who has a fucked up sense of love, falling in love with mortals and not wanting to leave them behind when they eventually die. so the best course of action? Eating them and digesting them. The pred thinks this will keep them together forever, and is totally fine with it, despite the guilt of hurting their love. The pred will eventually digest them of course, and in the morning the pred will lovingly caress the new fat on their tummy, having their partner apart of him forever

It's RLLY angsty but also kind of hot idk...

-🍓🎭

yESSSSS I'M ENTIRELY ON BOARD FOR THIS thank u strawberry thespian

the pred is lonely, part and parcel with being immortal, but the world is filled to the brim with so many interesting people! they travel from city to city, spending just long enough to get to know each one like the back of their hand before moving on to the next one, and then coming back once it's been long enough for the city to grow and change and transform.

they LOVE people. no matter where they go, they immerse themself in the lives of others, fascinated to see the way mortals learn and grow and make mistakes and leave a legacy. they dance with them, they tell stories with them, they tumble into beds with them.

every so often, they meet a particularly interesting one-- a savant of the generation, a genius, or a true humanitarian, or someone with enough ambition to strike the gods down from their seats. the pred will become this person's lover, their confidant, their muse. and they'll reveal their immortal nature to the sweet, brilliant, fascinating little human.

and, almost unfailingly, the mortal who has won their favour will ask if it's possible for them to share their immortality.

the pred will often play coy, piquing their mortal's interest even more fervently.

well, there is one way. it's wonderful. you would become so much more. but it's also painful. it... changes you in more ways than you know. i would only share this with someone i truly trusted.

and the mortal is so eager to prove their love, to prove they're trustworthy, that they're worth bringing into the aeons.

i would love nothing more than for you to join me.

the pred helps plan their delectable little artist's "last day as a mortal." the best day of their life, the day in which they finish their magnum opus, and prepare to become part of something much greater.

it's almost time. i trust you. do you trust me?

and the mortal nods...

hours later, the pred's immaculate, ravenous belly is gurgling and squeezing playfully around its squirming prisoner, hard at work processing the new hefty meal.

the pred is amorously massaging their massive gut, trying to get their tasty lover to just relax, it's okay, let it happen. you wanted to be part of something greater, and I wanted you to be part of ME. and now we both get what we want! shh, shh, i know it's scary, but i'm right here, i'm all around you, and i'll keep you safe... soon, nothing will be able to touch you, no blades, no disease nor famine, not even time itself... i couldn't leave you behind to waste away, to fall to dust, you're too (uuurp) beautiful... and delicious... just stop squirming and let my belly take you apart~

of course, they planned this perfectly, they've had practice. no one will disturb them this evening, or the next day. they fall asleep still rubbing their great, bulging tummy, trying to soothe their softening meal.

the next morning, their gut is about halfway done redistributing their lover to their hips, chest, thighs, and waistline. they happily pinch and squeeze the new layer of soft, warm pudge on their body, delighted to see their lover taking so well to their new position in life. they spend the day in bed, celebrating their lover's "immortality".

then, in the evening, they sigh, squeeze into their traveling clothes, and set out. it's time to move on to the next city.

#strawberry thespian #asks #thanks anon!#my writing #long post #digestion #honestly this could be a series. following this pred from ancient rome to the european dark ages to edo japan etc etc etc

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renlyslittlerose · 12 days ago

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Yesterday was my sixth month post-op date.

On the one hand it's been absolutely wild to me that I went through such a major surgery and returned to living my normal life almost two months out from the surgery. But at the same time, I'm still dealing with some issues. And any time I start to get frustrated I have to remind myself that I had organs removed, scar tissue and endo lesions cut out, an ovary drained, and cysts removed. That takes *time* to heal, and sometimes it's that last 5% that takes the longest.

Scar tissue has formed again, which I knew would happen. I can feel it pulling on my left side when I breath to deep or move in a certain way. I can also feel it behind my belly button, tugging away now and again to remind me of the surgery. I can still feel gas bubbles sliding over my old sutures and that hurts. Like. A lot. My lower half still gets sore now and again, especially after walking for too long or sitting for too long. I think I'm gonna go to a pelvic floor therapist soon, but I keep balking at the price.

As for my health? Better in some respects, but much the same in others. I don't regret the surgery in the slightest - not having to worry about bleeding ever again, dramatically decreasing my risk for ovarian cancer, and completely eliminating cervical cancer chances is a great boon. And my digestion feels way better - I can actually eat spicy food!

But a part of me wishes that this was a cure, even though I knew it wasn't. I'm sometimes struck with the reality that this is a *lifelong* condition, and even removing organs and lesions and other detritus isn't a cure. But I also take care to remember that we're on the frontier of endo treatment - it's going to get better and better with each passing year. At least, I have to hope it will. And maybe in the future there will be a cure, and maybe they'll be people who are diagnosed after me that won't have to resort to the extremes I did to get some relief. Maybe one day it'll be as easy as getting a preventative vaccine, and people won't ever be diagnosed with this disease.

As for now, I continue to heal, to educate, and to support. I open myself up to questions from anyone and everyone, trying to dispel some of the myths and satisfy people's curiosity. I should get a shirt that says 'Ask Me About my Vaginal Cuff'.

And for those who have been supporting me these last six months - thank you 💗

#lemon gets spayed

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fantasiawandering · 1 month ago

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I've been struggling a bit lately and could use some advice from the hivemind. It deals with a lot of the emotional baggage I've been trying to carry lately, so I'm putting it under a cut if you're not in the headspace for that sort of thing right now.

So the relevant backstory: Dad was in love with Mum since high school, and when she died, he went to pieces. My sister, who'd been living at home, helping take care of Mum through the cancer, basically put her grief on hold to keep Dad going through the next six months. Then, on the way home from Mum's memorial six months after her death, he told my sister he was seeing someone. He met her at work when he returned from bereavement leave. Now, I do understand this is a man who never learned how to handle his own emotions. He'd always had my grandmother, then my mother, to manage them for him. But in the next year, he did pretty much everything he could to drive both of his children away for a woman who bailed on him the moment the going got tough. Without getting into too much detail, my sister checked into an institution a while back because she was having some pretty dark thoughts about her own life, and her triggers were feeling like a burden to the family. Mum assured her she wasn't, and that she'd always have a home as long as she needed it. But as soon as that woman moved in and Dad didn't need my sister anymore, he started emotionally abusing and berating my sister, telling her what a burden she was every day until she had no choice but to leave. This was in the middle of the lockdowns. My sister landed with one of the greatest people in the world, and they're living in poverty but relatively happy. Because of this, Dad has convinced himself that not only did he do nothing wrong, he was actually a great Dad, making sure his disabled child developed independence.

But after multiple infections thanks to the woman he was living with (who believed that COVID was "just the sniffles" and vaccines were poison, and as long as they drank colloidal silver they'd be fine), Dad now believes he's developing dementia. His doctor thinks it's actually "pseudodementia," which apparently is mental health related. But Dad watched his mother lost to Alzheimer's and nothing scares him more. And the second colloidal silver and celery juice didn't cure him, the woman he'd moved into the house bounced.

Now Dad's scared. And he's been pressuring us to move in with him to take care of him. My sister will never trust him or put herself in that position again, and I'm of the same mind. He used to do similar to me when I lived there. Meanwhile, I'm still sick with a mystery disease that has no cure yet. I've got GP who actually believes in Long COVID, and a series of specialists I can get to in under 20 minutes. They're basically hacking away at the hydra heads of my symptoms until modern medicine figures out where the heart is. I'm still very much disabled. If I get ANY infection, my immune system goes berserk and starts doing the equivalent of firing a bazooka into a crowd in hopes of hitting whatever is off. I'm just coming off of about 2 months of throwing up at least once a day from the havoc it's wreaked on my digestive system. I can barely take care of myself, let alone another person, and if I moved three hours away to a small town with no public transit, at a time when there's a provincial crisis and NOBODY can find a new GP, not only would I lose my health network, but I'd be essentially housebound in a way I'm not in the city. I also know that I physically cannot handle a three-hour commute either way on days when I have to go in to work, so moving in would involve giving up the career I've been working toward for twenty years.

For all of these reasons, I said no. His siblings are coming at me with varying degrees of "it's your filial duty." None of them really understand just how sick I actually am, but I also don't think that would change things. And I feel guilty. Despite knowing that moving into a place with no infection control could make me bedbound or worse, and that I can't afford to be without a GP or a medical team, I feel like I've failed somehow. I love my Dad. But I can't take care of him and keep myself healthy at the same time. I've been doing what I can from here since he first started feeling like he was losing it. Every other day, I call him and read him a chapter of Sherlock Holmes, and he's told the rest of the family how much he enjoys it. And sometimes it's exhausting to read for that long, but I do it because he needs me and it's something I CAN do. I've also offered to help with his banking and things, but he's turned me down whenever I offer.

Now, since I said no, Dad has said that he wants to sell his house and move into a care community, and that what's holding him back is knowing if he did, there'd be nothing left for me and my sister when he's gone. And I don't think that's an attempt at manipulation, I genuinely believe he's concerned, because he knows how much we both struggle currently. But honestly, neither one of us was counting on getting anything anyway, and as much as we're still deeply hurt by what he did (he also threw my mother's remains away and then informed us in an add-on to an email forward, which broke me in a way I've never been broken before, and when my sister called him out on it, HE got mad and said "it was none of your business, this was between a husband and his wife."), we still want him safe and not alone and scared. We've both told him as much, and that neither of us are the kind of people who'd be sitting around going "raaah, how dare he spend our inheritance! Who does he think he is taking care of himself?"

But it's not an easy thing to deal with, especially given that I'm the one he's leaning on hardest -- I think even he realized he didn't just burn the bridge with my sister, he nuked it from orbit. I've been crying on and off for the last three days. And I don't know how to get myself out of it. Anyway, if you've made it this far, thank you. And yeah, that's what I'm dealing with as I try to drag myself out of this funk. So here's where the advice part comes in. I've been reflecting on a lot of things, and one of the conclusions I've come to is I need something to DO. I fill my days when I'm not working with movies and playing video games with my sister, but I think I need a physical hobby. Something to do with my hands. Something that lets me create things.

I've had to put a lot of what I used to do on hold. My brain still hasn't healed enough to write reliably. I started knitting, but COVID did something to my eyes, and when I look at the knitting for more than a minute or two, the rest of the world goes blurry and I can't see clearly again for another thirty minutes. I have similar problems with the beadwork I used to do. Anything that involves leaving the house is iffy due to my health, so it's got to be something I can do from home. So. Any ideas? What brings you joy?

#Fantasia rambles

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