#kids it’s like our life revolves around everything except each other and i kinda miss being 15 and having nothing but school to worry ab and

[a-ikuoliver]

i never saw an issue with it when i was 15 but sometimes i regret not having that stupid teenage love phase

[jjba-hell]

Black Velvet

Last day of prompts and I had no choice but to act a certain way.... So this is a somewhat yet another continuation of Take of Epitheus but it’s not as juicy. My fellow fic writers know that you usually get an idea and run with it which is exactly what happened here.

Some triggers: suggestive content, some self-loathing, mention of drug use and nicotine use and no proof-reading (we die like men, today) and that’s about it

Okay I swear this is the last one for a hot minute so: @lasquadraweek2020 @risottoneroo @giogio-gucci-gangstar

2K words and Reader is GN, Good Luck

You sat back in the bay window as you watched the water run down the window in streaks. The bottom window was open for you to hold your lit cigarette out and away from the kitchen behind you. The weather seemed to fit your mood perfectly- after everything you’d been through, everything you’d done- now you had no one to blame for your current situation other than yourself and the new level of self-loathing was taking a toll on your mental health.

Giorno Giovanna, despite his young age, held a cunning manner of getting what he wanted and luring you in with an innocent enough promise of freedom under a singular, seemingly doable, condition was how you ended up with a packed suitcase standing in front of your bedroom door.

What you had seen when your stand held onto Giorno’s soul was enough to warn you that you had sealed your own fate in the mafia. His father was someone...or rather, something... you’d thought belonged in the flights of fancy of Victorian era romance novels. His bloodline was as muddled and convoluted- his true identity of his father being hazy and unsure but you gave him direction into possible siblings and family he could have.

You believed that you did more than your fair share in finding the Speedwagon Foundation and Erina Pembleton’s descendants- how it connected with the name Jonathan Joestar.

But it wasn’t enough.

What’s worse, you had gotten what you wanted. Your team was healed and allowed to do as they pleased and had indeed disappeared from the mafia’a control- instead being used as nothing more than a tool to the Don and his team to get what he wanted.

You groaned, pinching the bridge between your eyes. Were you really being bossed around by a kid at this age?

The steady sound of a motor running outside your window among the near-silent street suddenly caught your attention.

If it was a car, it wasn’t big- in fact you wagered it was probably a motorcycle but why it was standing so close to the house you were close at, you were unsure.

You ditched the cigarette and stood up, slipping the revolver from your kitchen cabinet into your hand, double checking the bullets in the chamber before clicking it back into place and heading down the stairs to the front door.

Ever since you started helping Giorno you’ve had a myriad of people from rival gangs as well as some government-looking officials on your behind and as much as you hated the position you were in, the last thing you wanted to do was traverse more bullshit from anymore organizations.

Your door was locked but a bit too easy to pick. When the scratched in the door started you knew being on your guard was the right course of action. So you stepped closer to the wall and pulled back the hammer from the barrel.

Eventually the door clicked open and coming to stare at the end of your gun was a face you didn’t think you’d see again.

“Melone?” You frowned, not lowering the weapon.

You had heard through the grapevine that your old team had all retired and gone under the radar- so seeing Melone standing in front of you made your heart drop to your shoes. And yet...it felt so good to see a familiar face. You dropped your raised weapon to your side with a frown. “What are you doing here?”

The signature lustful smug slithered onto his face. “Am I not allowed to miss the most attractive person from my old team?”

You were about to roll your eyes but the comment only made you give a chuckle. “Oh please- I think Risotto takes that title a bit better than me.”

“Mmmm he is, but to me it’s like choosing pizza or cake.”

“Both good but for different occasions?” You sighed as you pushed the door shut behind him and grabbed a towel from the guest bathroom nearby.

“Exactly.”

You would usually not have stood for this bullshit, Melone’s lecherous comments wasn’t something you enjoyed but it felt good to see a familiar face until you led him to upstairs to towel off.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, knowing damn well he probably used BabyFace to track you.

His gaze was fixated on the suitcase outside your bedroom door.

“You’re leaving?”

You could only groan in response, stomping off back to the bay window.

“Y/n, I thought you were still working with the Don.”

“I am, they’re the reason I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

You gazed over at him as he approached.

“You know I can’t disclose that.”

He slid beside you on the seat as you lit your second cigarette- watching you as you angrily tossed the lighter across the floor. For a moment he let you sit there in silence, letting the itch to talk to him overwhelm you.

It did and with a frustrated puff of smoke you ran a hand through your hair. “I fucked up, Mel. I fucked up bad and there’s no one to blame except me.”

He didn’t respond- he was probably trying to get you to talk a bit more.

“I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that I’m still stuck in this crap or that-“ you let out a hysterical laugh. “That I’m being pushed around by a kid almost 10 years younger than me.”

You wanted to pull your hair out and scream, raking your nails over your scalp and pulling the hair as you gazed down at you bend knee.

Melone’s hand wrapped around the wrist beside your head and gently pulled out. Your eyes shot up and for once in his life he seemed more somber than usual. “Y/n, relax.”

“You’re clean.” You realized out loud.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I’ve kinda been cut off when I left the mafia so you’re welcome to use my real name.”

“Who knows you’re here?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Stefan.” You were the one to grab hold of his wrist this time. “I’m not having you risk your freedom for some drugs.”

He gave a huff of laughter, his hand loosening from your wrist. “I know you don’t touch the mafia’s drug trade. I’m not here for drugs.”

For a moment you were just confused. Was he really here for you? You couldn’t believe it, not with his track record.

“So why...?”

He lounged back in his seat. “Is it so hard to believe I wanted to check up on my teammate?”

“You care?”

He seemed be taken aback for a moment, his gaze going down. “I know you think I was just half high all the time but I did appreciate you treating me with some dignity. Which is something I can’t say I experienced from the all of our old team. It wasn’t the drugs talking when I insisted you coming on missions with me.”

You sat there, kind of dumbfounded by it all. Melone off of drugs was definitely something you weren’t accustomed to- it seemed like his first thing in the mornings was to pop an ecstasy pill or two so to see him in front of you like this caught you off guard.

He cleared his throat and stood up, moving to the stacked wine rack.

“You’ve definitely not been here long, the wine rack is untouched.” He joked over his shoulder.

You got up and followed him as he was surveying the bottles. It was probably cruel of you to do what you did, you knew the only reason you were feeling anything for him, wanting to do anything with him was because you felt so alone and him coming to you, telling you he was still here, still cared about you...

You placed a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Stefan, I like you too.”

His eyes widened for a moment and for a split second you thought you had misread the signals but what came out of his mouth was what you knew you wanted.

“You don’t have to like me.”

He put the wine bottle back into the rack, your hands finding his wrists to hold in front of your chest.

“No, you don’t understand. I do like you. And...I’m sorry I just...” you gazed up at his odd colored eyes- seeing another part of him you’d never seen. Was it vulnerability? You suppose it was selfish but you wanted to find more, explore more, be surprised by this new side of him. “...really want to kiss you.”

His eyes lidded as he leaned down slightly to bring your noses together, face to face.

“Just say when you want to stop.”

You let out a sigh as you pressed yourself into him, lips meeting into an intense kiss.

You never did say stop. Not when you were peeling his wet clothes off of him, not when you were pushing each other into walls, not when you both dropped onto the bed and found bliss in each other’s bodies. Not even when you were holding each other, pressed into each other’s warmth under the sheets like you were each other’s lifeline. You swept away a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, pressing your hand against the side of his face.

He smiled so warmly at you, so beautifully that you had to return it but your forced smile soon turned into tears spilling over your face.

He brought his hands to your face and wiped away the tears from your eyes.

“I wish I could help.” He whispered.

All you could do was weep into his shoulder. You had said your pained goodbyes at the front door. Only when you walked back did you notice he had left a piece of paper with his number scribbled at your landline. It only made your heart ache so much worse.

That night you stood in the house with the lights off and your suitcase fully packed.

“Why don’t you fight back?” An echoing voice called from the living room couch. You’d recognized it as your own voice so you turned around and faced your stand sitting on the arm rest of the coach.

“Why do you exist if I don’t have a will to fight back?”

They scoffed, turning their head to the side to look down the only lit hallway. “I exist to keep you alive, that was the fighting spirit you had.”

You scowled at them, narrowing your eyes. “I’ve grown out of the ‘save the world’ mentality I had when I was a kid.”

“Have you? Didn’t you say you felt like you had more to give the world.”

You stomped closer to your stand who seemed as unbothered by your presence as you were by other people.

“I’m starting to think what I had in mind and what that actually means are two VERY different things.”

They only shrugged, “Perhaps you need to start reconsidering how you’ll be contributing.”

You hated having your stupid stand bring up the parts of you you didn’t want to talk about. It was of course true you just didn’t want to deal with it anymore.

So you picked up the number Melone had given you on a piece of paper at the landline and turned it around in your hand. You wanted to see him, you wanted to see your team so bad yet it only dawned on you then the reason why.

They’d become your family. Prosciutto had said that it was because you were so used to being the only ones watching each other’s backs that it became habit but you suppose when you’re staring your death in the face it hurts too much to call each other family.

You pocketed the number in the jacket you’d be flying in tomorrow. It wasn’t a goodbye. That much you were determined to prove- even if it was for yourself.

You left for Florida the next day- looking for the oldest Joestar descendant your research could find. Jotaro Kujo.

[bloodwynes]

OOC Q’s!

1.     What do you want to get out of playing this character(s)?

I mean, I get enjoyment out of playing any of my chars, so that’s probably my main motivation.

2.     Describe your character(s) with three words.

Protective, troubled, tired

3.     What made you decide to write this muse?

I’ve been writing her since I was 16 and I adore her, she’s a dumbass, she’s dealing with a whole lot of shit, and I kinda relate to her in some aspects. There’s different versions of her, and I really like this one I’m writing here in TI.

4.     If you could change one event in your muse’s life (in their main or canon verse), what would you change?

The disastrous relationship that she now has with her daughter. If Booker had managed to kill the witch that cursed Philippa, the girl never would’ve become bitter and dangerous. Booker feels terrible because she believes it is her fault that her daughter turned out to be a monster, but in other universes they have a real good relationship, with Booker being a queen and Philippa as the spymaster of the court. I miss them being okay with each other, they were an unstoppable team (and Zara was alive too!)

5.     If you could tell your muse one thing, what would you tell them?

“I adore you and I feel bad for all the terrible, terrible shit I’ve put you through, but holy fucking shit woman, you always get away with everything. I’m surprised you haven’t been punched in the face more often. You’ve done stuff here that makes me damn mad, pls learn to be better.”

6.     If you could give your muse one gift, what would you give them?

A kitten. Crazy cat lady can always have more cats around.

7.     If you had to take one positive thing away from your muse, what would you take away?

Her protectiveness. What would Booker be without her desire to keep others safe? Just a selfish, angry drunk. If she lost that aspect of her personality she’d be lost, she’d be nothing.

8.     If you could “borrow” one aspect of your muse and apply it to yourself or your own life, what would you borrow?

Gimme those mma skills plz omfg. How AWESOME would it be to have those fighting skills!? They could be so useful.

9.     Do you genuinely want your muse to be happy? What do you think would make them most happy in life?

I want this idiot to be happy, she’s an ass sometimes but she deserves happiness. I know she will probably never admit it, because she wants to believe she doesn’t need anyone else in order to be happy, but boy is she lying hard to herself. She’s pretty traditional in some senses, and honestly? All she wants is a family, even if she keeps saying that she does NOT want kids. She wants a house in the woods or the beach, a wife, kids and a whole lotta pets. It’s not super exciting, but that’s the whole point! With how rough and crazy her life has been, she craves nothing more than a little stability and just a very simple life.

10. Do you enjoy putting your muse through angst? What do you think would break their heart the most?

I do enjoy it sometimes cause a little angst is always necessary to make things fun imo, but I don’t want her character to always revolve around angst, or constantly be part of super angsty situations, I like to mix things up. Being unable to protect others is the one thing that will definitely break her heart, mostly because her being unable to protect others in the past has cost lives and her daughter’s well-being. She feels it’s her duty to keep her loved ones safe no matter what, and if she is unable to protect them she feels as if she’s failed them, creating a feeling of worthlessness. It’s kinda what happened to her when she lost her eye, she became unable to fight, so she had no idea what to do, how to help others or keep going so she just… pushed everyone away and vanished. Was it right? Nope, she fucked up big time. Is she ever going to admit she did something bad and hurt lots of people she cared about? Also no, she’s tired and done but she’s still goddamn stubborn.

11. What do you love about your muse?

How goofy she can be, despite everything she’s been through. Yeah, she can be grumpy and mean as hell sometimes, but she still has a side of her that’s super sweet and fun and sooooo loving.

12. What do you hate about your muse?

She needs to stop being so stubborn. This woman will never admit she is wrong and will ALWAYS play the victim. Sometimes I feel like she really needs to grow up.

13. What about your muse amuses you?

The amount of shit she’s been through. Her poor body doesn’t have more space for scars, and yet she keeps on being an angry hothead that seeks fights, despite being tired and super done with everything. I’m surprised she’s been able to go on this long. Right now the fire that made her fight for important things has waned and died out, so now she mostly just gets into senseless bar fights.

14. What about your muse makes you sad?

Her own family hates her guts, except for Lys, and she lost the one person who loved her the most. Her mother treated her like shit all her life, and when Booker finally ran off and found someone who truly loved her, who made her feel like she belonged, this person died. She has lost way too many people, and she grew up hearing how terrible she is and how she doesn’t deserve her wings. She’s excellent at hiding it but BOY IS THIS WOMAN’S SELF ESTEEM LOW.

15. How would you describe your muse to someone about to meet them, in person, for the first time?

“You are gonna recognize her immediately. Tall, with a thick accent, and a mane of red hair. Seriously, it’s like she got pulled out of a Vikings episode or something. Don’t mind her humor, she’s a bit awkward but she’s fun to have around.”

16. Would you like your muse as a person if you met them in real life?

I think I’d have a crush on her if I’m being completely honest. Now, if I got to know her better? Idk, she’s intense and I’m way too lazy, but I’d think she’s cool.

17. In what ways are you better than your muse? In what ways are they better than you?

Im not a hothead like her, or egotistical and violent, so I guess I could say I’m better at handling my emotions than her. Booker is wild, a bit unpredictable and super volatile, I’m glad to be the opposite most of the time lol. Now, she’s better than me in the aspects that she can fight really damn well and I’m barely a yellow/white belt in karate, she can also cook really well while I’m here burning boiled water, among a LOT of other things, because this woman has been around for 400 years and knows how to do many things.

18. Why do you think you connect to your muse?

Well, unfortunately we share something that I definitely wouldn’t have added if I knew it was gonna happen to me too later on, cause it brings back a lot of pain. We recently lost a family member at the hands of someone violent and dangerous. We have to live on with that loss, knowing that the person who killed our family member is still out there, living. It hits way too close to home, and I don’t think I’d ever be able to explain the level of anger and pain I feel with words, so I get how Booker feels, I get why she is angry, why she is drunk, why she feels helpless and has zero fucks to give now. It is something so deeply personal, so wild to people who haven’t experienced something like it, and like… it hurts, a lot, but here we are, still existing, still going on, and trying to make damn sure we keep the memory of those we lost alive.

19. What aspect of your muse’s personality is most important to you? What aspect of your muse’s personality do you think is most important to them? Is it the same? Why or why not?

I think the most important aspect of her personality is her protectiveness, and she’d probably say the same. Booker lives to protect others, in the other places I wrote her she was a Queen, and a really good one might I add, because she was fiercely protective of her people and her family. Booker is a guardian, that’s her whole thing.

20. Has your character(s) changed over the time that you have been playing them? How have they changed?

I actually started writing the accent™️ now, so that’s new. Other things that have changed is her personality in general, she’s a bit shyer than before, overall the things I’ve changed are just small details that probably aren’t very recognizable, with the exception of a few bigger details. She’s also drinking a bit more, it’s starting to become a problem. She’s not doing great, but she’s good at hiding it (kinda?). She’s also a little more aware of what she wants in life right now, her views on some things have changed. For example, before she left, she just craved adventure and an exciting life, I decided to change this, now she wants simplicity, she wants a family. She is not the same person she was before I took a break from TI, and the changes will begin to seep out slowly.

[amoureuseeee]

Pauve du Train

written by a.v. concepcion

“Mommy, when I grow up I want to be just like you.” a small voice said.

“Why me?” the woman asked.

“Well, because you’re strong and pretty and you can do anything! So what’s your secret?”

“Ali, in order for you to become strong and pretty and capable of doing wonderful things is to find your truest self first.”

“But how?”

“You’ll find out soon enough when you’ve become a grown woman.”

“I can’t wait to become a woman!” Alina giggled.

 “hmm..hmm..hmm….hm..”

I really am bored. The only thing that’s keeping me sane is my mother’s song. The song I’m humming right now. She used to sing it to me every night before I went to sleep when I was a kid and this song is literally saving me right now in this train full of Frenchmen who are such snobs.

Those were the good old days… I thought to myself.

I am Alina Perez but my friends call me Ali. I am currently travelling by train from Gare de l'Est in Paris, France to who knows where. This is just one of my crazy trips where I really have no destination. No, really, I have no idea where I am going. I never plan my trips. I just randomly pick out plane or train tickets when travelling anytime and anywhere.

Suddenly I was pushed forward from my seat because…Oh! The train stopped, there must be new passengers.

“Mademoiselle, est-ce que ce siège est pris?” (Miss, is this seat taken?) a moreno man asked.

“Je ne parle pas français, I only speak English.” (I don’t speak French)

“Oh, then I guess I won’t have a hard time seated next to you.” he smiled.

“Go ahead, that seat is not taken.”

I smiled, contented that I may have someone to talk to.

Woo! It’s been a long long ride and all I got from the people here were rude stares so it’s nice to have someone who’s willing to speak to me in English. They knew that I could not speak French and as a tourist I should know how to speak French but as I said, I don’t plan my trips. Oops! Guilty as always.

Did I mention that he has a nice smile? What? He really has a nice smile and it looks genuine but he does look tired. He doesn’t look French to me, hm, maybe Asian? He has nice skin too…It’s a nice shade of light brown. Guess I have to find out! HA!

…..

It’s been ten minutes since he sat next me…So how can I get him to notice me?

I looked at him for a minute or two until he finally noticed that I was staring at him. More like gawking.

I gave him a little smile then I said “You don’t look French.”

“Well, because I’m part Asian” he lifted his hand for a handshake and said “By the way, I’m Matias Hadid, Mat for short.”

While I reached for his hand he smiled AGAIN. Ugh, I’m starting to love his smile.

“Perez…Alina Perez…so what brings you here?” I asked him like we were friends. What? I befriend anyone I meet pfft!

“I’m on a trip to anywhere.” Hmm..are we the same? Is he a traveler too?

“And where exactly is ‘anywhere’?”

“I don’t know.” he said with a sad tone. Now this is awkward. I don’t want to intrude his private life but I’m kinda curious.

The scene became awkward so I decided to shut my mouth.

A few minutes have passed .I’m starting to get bored again. Or I’m just starting to remember a sad memory.

“Come with me

To a place and we’ll see

Where we’ll feel safe and sound

We’ll never be unhappy..”

I tried to sing as quietly as I could but my seatmate suddenly looked at me and paid me attention so I continued singing but I didn’t make it obvious that I knew that he was listening. I’ll just pretend that I’m a shy one ;)

“Come with me

Let’s climb up a hill

Let’s see the sunrise and sit sti..”

“What’s that song?” HE TOOK MY BAIT!

I looked at him and smiled then I said “It’s my mom’s..She always sang it to me before I went to bed when I was still a little girl.”

“She writes well.” he said then suddenly he added “and your voice is nice. I wish I could write like that again. Work’s been stressful. Writing used to be my escape pod but now I really don’t know.” he talked in a serious tone like he was in a deep thought.

Wait a minute…Did he just open up to me???

“I know the feeling. I used to be a singer but ever since something happened I really don’t know how to come back up and return to my past.”

“I think we have more things in common than I thought.” he stated with that charming smile of his.

“I think so too….Is it weird to say that I want to be friends with you all of a sudden?”

“Well, I think that’s weird but I’ll make an exception for you.” He’s nice too!

“Well then ‘new friend’ do you wanna sing with me? I brought my ukulele.”

“I’d be happy to but let me tell you that I’m just a writer not a singer.” He’s funny too. J

We sang and sang and sang until we had our voices hoarse. I felt happy. I felt like what I felt before.

It feels like home…

We got tired eventually but it was fun. I realized that moments like these were gold to me. It’s been awhile since I sang with that much enthusiasm. It was my passion. Singing. It’s been so long since mom…

Alina, forget about it already!!!!

I did not want to remember. No. It hurt too much.

“Are you alright?” Mat asked.

“I’m fine.” I answered in a hurry.

I didn’t realize that I got lost with my thoughts again.

“You know, its better to grieve than to not feel anything at all.”

“How did you know?”

“I just know cause’ I’ve been there.” He gave me that comforting smile while he said that to me.

He continued, “When I lost someone I loved, I didn’t know what to do. I became a person I’m really not. I gave my full attention to work and after that I really don’t know what comfort and fun feels like until now. Until I met someone like you.”

I didn’t know what to say anymore. I was speechless. He’s more than what he looks like…He’s miserable like me…

I wanted to change the subject so I said “It’s never too late to have fun.”

“It’s never too late to mourn.”

I was taken aback. He is what I call a “sly man.”

“We really are the same.”

“But we’re opposites.. but still… the same.” Did he just copy what I said?

“Then I think that its nice that I’m not the only one.” I said while smiling.

“So where are you going? I forgot to ask.”

“Same as you. I don’t know where to go. I just picked out a train ticket randomly.”

The train suddenly stopped. I think we’re at the next stop already.

“Do you wanna join forces? I can’t let go of you yet.”

THAT SMILE AGAIN!!!

Well, the train was still on halt so I carried all of my belongings and stood up.

“I’d be glad to.” I said while smirking.

Then he followed me while carrying his belongings right after I said that.

 It’s been years since my husband and I met. I think our love story was very unexpected. I was all over the place literally and figuratively, confused on who I was as a person. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have had the time to grieve for my mother’s death. If we didn’t become friends on that train ride I probably would still be travelling to places alone just to forget about the heartache that has been with me for a long time.

By the way, let me tell you the summary of what happened to us.

After getting off that train, he followed me until who knows where. As I said, I had no destination. I just walked by myself while he was behind me until my stomach made a loud sound. Then I heard his laugh.

“Come on, let’s get you some food.”

We got to know each other through dinner that night. We travelled around France for a few days but eventually he needed to go back to work. We thought that that was the last time that we’ll see each other so we kept each other’s cellphone number to catch up from time to time .

Of course we still had contact with each other. He always mentioned from time to time that he’s starting to hang out with his friends again. Work didn’t revolve around his whole life anymore. He learned how appreciate the things around him and he started to learn what the word ‘fun’ means right after meeting me.

I, on the other hand, still travelled around a few countries in a span of one year. I met a few people who I became friends with. I went to every tourist destination the country I went to had to offer. It stayed that way until I was reminded of what he said to me on that train ride. Now, I’m a 100% percent ready to let go of the hidden burden in my heart. I said to myself while I was enjoying the exquisite sights Bali had to show me that had me thinking deep.

.....

I was staying in the Philippines for a few days in my hometown where my mother and I lived. I went back to visit her grave just to say that I’ve moved on and I was happy for her because she could rest and leave the pain that she was feeling while she was on dialysis.

“Hi mom, I’m back. I’ve grown up to be the woman you wanted me to be. I finally found my truest self and I think I’ve done everything that I wanted to do since I was a kid. I hope you’re doing fine now that you’re with him up there. This is not my final goodbye mom, I’ll come back from time to time but goodbye for now.”

Finally, I feel at ease. I just need to go home now.

But I just realized…Where is home?

I felt like I needed to go back to France and so I did. I immediately booked a flight and went back to the train station where I met Matias. Again, I was reminded of the time I was with him. Suddenly, my mind and heart told me to go to the address he gave me through text a few months back.

*knock.. knock.. knock*

The door of his apartment opened and then I saw him. The man of my dreams. My home.

And that was just the beginning of our love story.

-THE END-

#CreativeWriting #ShortStory

image source:

https://i.ytimg.com/vi/qtYfVtZIpZ8/maxresdefault.jpg

[dcnativegal]

Compulsion & Identity

Ruminations of a Certified Alcohol & Drug Counselor--Intern

I’m sitting in one of the group therapy sessions with clients who have kept sober from a variety of substances for months or perhaps only days. They pee into a cup or suck on a saliva stick to prove their sobriety to me and their probation officers. They are biding their time and showing up and jumping through hoops that include community service, visits to Treatment Court, and paying off probation fines. Each one of them has harrowing stories. I have so much respect for them. Even when I know for sure they are flat out lying.

I’m trying to understand what it’s like, mentally, emotionally, and socially as they maneuver through their lives and all their important relationships as a sober person. We talk about it. One person admitted, I still don’t know who I am, sober.  I know I was funnier when I was high…

I’m learning all about “Substance use disorder” which is the newest term. (No longer abuse, and less use of the term ‘addiction.’) I have a stack of books with titles like “Buzzed” and “Uppers and Downers.” I remember from my early social work training that there is a stunting of brain maturation when a person starts using a substance regularly. Each of these people starting using as young teenagers. The growing human learns to navigate through life with the help of the mellowing effects of pot, the mania and energy of meth, the disinhibitions of alcohol. There are supremely stupid choices that are made under the influences.  They don’t know how to deal with frustration, with a broken heart, with the moments included under the umbrella: ‘shit happens.’

I don’t know anyone who deals with ‘shit happens’ perfectly.  Well, maybe the Dalai Lama, and the late great Maya Angelou.

My personal drugs of choice are carbs and yarn. Carbs may kill me in the end. I’ve developed pancreatitis, in large part because it’s a side effect of an injectable drug that worked well for me for a couple of years. The other part of why is, simply, gluttony. (Noun. Habitual greed or excess in eating. Ouch. Literally.) My side started hurting in December, and I self-diagnosed kidney stones, so upped the liquids. Didn’t get into see my family nurse practitioner until mid-January. NOT kidney stones but pancreatitis. What the…?  Clear liquids for me. Who knew that there are dozens of kinds of broth.  Although the pain did not disappear, it lessened, and the lipase and other lab values went down to normal when I stuck to liquids. When I eat solids again, the pain and labs worsen. So I’ve been off and on solid food for a while. Every one to two weeks, I give a couple of vials of blood and 3 hours later, my nurse scolds me. Kinda like peeing into a cup, or sucking a saliva test strip. Clean UA? Good labs? It depends on behavior.

Humbling.

A client ‘bangs’ (injects) meth. I indulge in a cookie, or three. Not equivalent, exactly. But pancreatitis is dangerous. Meth is, too.

When ‘shit happens’ to me, which includes simply a bad day, I realized some time ago that I have  a sense of entitlement, of somehow ‘deserving’ the special treat of new yarn, or a Peppermint Patty. Because…. Insert self justification here….  I can imagine that some of the same justification goes on in the mind of people who use meth or pot or beer compulsively.  “I’ve been good… It was a shitty day… Fuck you, bossy bitch, I’m going out… “  As I stand in the checkout line at Safeway, I’m like, I’m tired, just one Peppermint Patty won’t kill me…

Dark chocolate, ice cream, cookies. I’ve heard alcoholics say that if there’s alcohol in the house, it calls to them. Same for me with chocolate. Valerie hides it. At the moment, I think we are totally out. Which is good. (I found her stash. ‘Bye, ‘bye stash. I am a gluttonous theif.)  I’ve been keeping a pile of tiny chocolates in my office for my clients. I give up. They’re all gone now. I couldn’t resist them. I’ll put stress balls in the box that held the mini-snickers and Twix. The Twix were very popular. I was especially fond of the mini-Milky Ways with dark chocolate. Val discovered Russell Stover’s sugar free peppermint patties. Oh. My. God. They are now on the banned list, even though they are sugar free. Even after I start feeling sick, I can eat 10 at a sitting. Like the rat hitting the cocaine water until he dies.

I knew someone who had a compulsion to use pornography. The idea would take root and next thing, that person would be walking into a strip club. Feeling disgusted later, dirty and depressed, the urge would diminish for a while, until the next time. My basic feeling about this whole arena is: tip the sex worker very well and be respectful. But, the compulsion, if it harms relationships with real live humans outside the club, is a problem. Not to mention how porn distorts what men think women actually enjoy.

Cravings.

Chocolate or yarn doesn’t HAVE to be a problem, but for me it is. Everything in moderation, except for me with sugar or yarn. I can ignore a wine bottle. No interest in illegal drugs. But keep sugar away from me. And no more yarn… hm… until I hit the new Willows store in Christmas Valley again.  Seed planted, insert rationalization: I’m supporting an independent local business! (I think this is called ‘stinkin’ thinking’. )

What is your ‘self medication’ of choice, dear reader?

Weed, which seems to be the drug of choice for teens in Lake County is a mixed bag. Pun intended. It made me paranoid and more anxious than I already was when I used it in college. It’s legal in some states but federally illegal. The medical marijuana card is a great thing for those who need it. I’ve seen the videos with people who have Parkinson’s go from violent tremors to graceful movement. For young people, though, I’ve seen it among my kids’ friends, how all motivation seems to vanish. It is the slacker’s drug of choice. I have teenaged clients who are mandated to see me because of weed, and they pee into a cup. I want for them every ounce of motivation to get them out of poverty and do well in school, find a trade, make a better living than their parents.

Our group discussion gave me a chance to revisit my own struggles with identity, as well as my own compulsive behavior.  Perhaps there is a parallel between my deep discovery in my early 40s that I am really and truly gay and my clients’ growing familiarity with their sober selves. For me, it was 2003. My husband had given me permission to figure out whether or not I was gay, bi, whatever. He’d had a serious heart attack, and earnestly pointed out that life is short. What a gift. What insanity.  This journey led to the end of our marriage, which was a hard and painful process but also, to lives lived with authenticity. Thank goddess for therapists. The kids survived and thrived, and he has been with a lovely, gifted, hilarious and STRAIGHT woman for something like 10 years. I have been with the cowhand for nearly 6.

What made that part of my history relevant, perhaps, to the path of the newly sober, is that I had to regroup my identity. As my children’s father put it, I’d changed teams. Not only was I on a different team, that team had a culture, a lingo, a look and feel that was perceptible by something called ‘gaydar’ which I had the beginnings of but really needed to step up. I rented every classic lesbian movie I could find, and some of them were terrible, but all of them taught me something. As a feminine-appearing gay woman, I needed to learn about femmes and femme culture since I am so not a butch. I read Joan Nestle, founder of the Lesbian Herstory Archives, and the hilarious Leslea Newman who wrote, ‘Out of the Closet with Nothing to Wear’, and the classic, “Heather has two Mommies.” I watched lesbians, especially in lesbian spaces. I learned about my own body, my own range of gender expression.

I moved to the Oregon Outback to be with my sweetie full time instead of half the year, and out here, I miss gay space (like a gay bar, community center, or Pride event), other gay people, any tiny glimpse of a gender bending queer sensibility.

We all feel this way, in each of our identities. Jewish people feel more comfortable when surrounded by other Jews. Women feel relaxed when there are no men present, and vice versa. Alcoholics can avoid the stigma when they are with other alcoholics. Ranchers enjoy the company of other ranchers.

Just this past week I met, FINALLY, another gay person who lives in Lake County. This person is married, and so now I know there are FOUR GAY PEOPLE IN LAKE COUNTY.  We’ll have a tiny gay pride parade in our living room come June, with a very large rainbow flag.

For my newly sober clients, it’s an adventure to learn who they are with their families, with their wives or husbands or girlfriends or boyfriends, with their employers, at their church. To say to their children, “yes, I have messed up, and I’m getting it together. No need to be sarcastic with me. I am still your parent.” They seek out the company of others in recovery to survive. There are several twelve step meetings in the county, thank goodness.  Since all of my clients started using in their early teens, there is a lot of growing up to do, all the while they have very real and heavy adult responsibility. It’s a lot to manage, in a punitive and financially strapped environment.  

For the sober, a hot bath has to take the place of a beer, or a bowl. All of those strong emotions cannot be mediated by a substance. Frustration? Anger? Sadness? How does one deal with those without an upper or a downer?  And if I have a rough day, I do not have to buy a Peppermint Patty.

I seek to relate to them and their stories, even while I immerse myself in online courses about substance use disorder. It’s a bit narcissistic, I know, to search for my own parallel struggle to humanize theirs. But as Anne Lamott once so wisely said, I am the turd around which the world revolves.

On New Year’s Eve, I went to Soul Collage at Toni’s house in Paisley, and made a New Year’s mandala (which I shared a picture of, two posts ago.)  In the center is a primate surrounded by bananas, and around the primate were examples of embodiment, words of encouragement, and healthy foods. It was shortly into 2017 that I was diagnosed with pancreatitis. I am now FORCED by my side pain and bad labs to get my eating act together, out of the realm of gluttony. Be careful what you wish for.

I went to Soul Collage again recently, and created two cards to help me tell the story of my clients, and also my own story. They depict the journey from serious faces to happy faces, with stops at

·        Know thine enemy and maybe befriend them, (the man and the skunk, the user and the dealer, the lesbian and the Trumpette)

·        Find your people and cuddle up to them to rest (like a pile of kittens)

·        Be creative in all things, with colored pencils or your new sense of who you can be now

·        Get used to feeling your feelings including the negative ones. They will not kill you. Smoking or ‘banging’ them away is procrastination. So are Peppermint Patties.

·        Do the work. No way to short cut the work. Carry the water that needs carrying and don’t be a whiney child about it. I know it’s a bitch to be a grownup and exercise self-control when other people are allowed to be such pains in the asses!!! Remember: sometimes, I AM THAT BITCH.

·        Allow time for joy, for running free, for deeply enjoying pleasure that doesn’t carry guilt. Find that joy if it’s new to you, the guilt-free kind! (Salad? Sigh. Knitting with the yarn I already own? YES.)

·        Make a home within yourself if not in the outside world. Make that home cozy and full of love. Beautiful and familiar. Full of life and healing. (I’m ALWAYS working at this, the finding and maintenance of home…)

The journey to sobriety, to a whole and generous life, is not a straight line, more like a circle or a spiral, hopefully forward. All the same, as Proust said,

The real voyage of discovery consists in not seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.