#like - you can look at fucking dopamine. straight up. not just at brain activity but the actual neurotransmitters!!!

[k-phoenix]

hello! i would love to hear the rant about PET scans :3

Holy shit so okay I'm in the train for the next 20 minutes, and I _know_ that's not enough time to get into all of it, but I could rant about this for hours, so. Maybe we cap this at 20 minutes. [20 minutes later] Okay so I wrote a huge wall of very boring text that barely started getting into it, so let me provide way less detail, actually:

It is massively expensive. A PET scanner costs a lot. And it's not a one time purchase, and then you can do scans, no, you wish. You also need some very expensive equipment to create radioactive tracers (which are what is used to do a PET scan) on site, because that stuff needs to be created fresh (under an hour) before every scan. To create the tracers is ALSO incredibly expensive. A single PET scan costs multiple thousands.

This also means that PET research makes use of as few participants as possible. A study with 15 participants is considered big. You simply cannot infer from 15 participants to the whole population. This also means that, statistically, it is highly likely that you don't find an effect even though it exists - meaning if your PET study looks for the effect of A on B, it is highly likely that it will find that A has no effect on B even though it does - simply because you didn't have enough participants (if this explanation doesn't make sense, let me know, and I can explain in detail)

This, together means, that an absolutely absurd amount of money is used for research that, by design, will not find results, because to find results, they would need more participants and even more money.

Because scientific publishing is a shitshow at the moment, research that doesn't find results very rarely gets published, especially not if you can't even be sure whether the result is right. So absurd amounts of money put into research that doesn't even get published.

And I haven't even talked about the results they did find and issues with them. Don't ask me to explain those. Don't tempt me to put hours into writing a multiple page essay that nobody will read.

So, in conclusion: PET is an absolutely amazing feat of engineering that is magnificent in detecting cancer and with it we could learn so. Much. More about the brain and how it works. But to do that, a lot of the basic organisation of how we do science would first need to change. Many labs would have to collaborate and be okay with making the collected data openly available, so appropriate sample sizes (=numbers of participants in a study) can even be achieved (Here's a paper on that). That probably won't happen, though.

Now, obligatory note: one of the professors who taught me about PET is a man who wrote an extremely controversial paper about exactly this stuff, despite also using PET in his research. If you like niche drama in science, look into this paper and all the articles that are responding to it.

[kojoty]

As someone who was watched hazbin its literally all true the writing is so bad and the colors are so singular its like edgy teenager cocomelon. I can't talk to anyone about it because if they publically enjoy it I don't trust them. The fans suck the show sucks the creator sucks its just rot all the way down. I want to stop getting dopamine out of the mold poisoning and I can't fucking get out because my brain thinks the teeniest slivers of the possibility of a good story is the chewiest thing ever. I can't even say I'm in hell about it. Anyone who has more self control than me please don't subject yourself to hazbin or helluva boss its not fucking worth it, it's not even funny edgy cocomelon. I hate it here

I totally get what you mean. Honestly, as someone who has been down the cycle of spiraling about media that like, has just a *kernal* of concept that devours me, amid a sea of bad writing decisions, derision for a fan base, a haphazard bad faith construction of character, a rabidly unlikeable fan base, a rabidly unlikeable creator, et all.... It is so so so easy to start consuming it with a hater mindset, so that the criticism almost becomes the way you engage with it... (let alone if you experience autistic hyper fixation or Ocd spirals of engagement/obsession).....

Okay. It's hard and it's uncomfortable and it's difficult, but the best thing you can do, and I'm saying this out loud as a reminder to myself to, I think this is like. Important to acknowledge sometimes. Sometimes the best move is to not even like. Critically engage with it at all, even on a meta level. Sometimes the best recourse for your own peace of mind and happiness is to just.... Point blank block it from your awareness. Just not engaging. Just straight up choosing to not give a shit.

Hazbin is just one of those for me. Outside of this. Lol. Conversation on my blog right now (I know I know call me a hypocrite, look, I had a long day I deserve a little discourse as a treat) , I point blank and staunchly just refuse to engage with that media in any periphary. Block and move on. You know? Sometimes you just gotta know when to actively ignore it. Certainly lessens my fight or flight rage

[khashanakalashtar]

A few months ago I would've reblogged this with no addition, maybe left a #felt or #mood in the tags, but in the meantime I've had my meds switched out.

The thing I was on before was great at making me not suicidal, I was on it for like seven years, I would have told you I loved it. The first sign that it had stopped working?

Was not being slightly dissociated literally all the time. Which was leaps and bounds a better place to be than miserable, but I had straight up believed real wonder and awe were something I had simply grown out of. I did not think I was capable of those emotions anymore, the kind that lets you stare at a grasshopper and go, "fuck, this EXISTS, look at it!" The mindful kind. If anything, I thought those were emotions reserved for people not living in a world falling to pieces around them, people who had real-life friends and partners and job satisfaction, people who made it to the gym and took walks and ate well-rounded meals.

My meds stopped working and I got back highs and lows, both, I got back wonder and awe and feeling alive and I got back lying in bed using all of my strength not to hurt myself. A whole range of emotions I thought I didn't have anymore.

The first thing they tried me on muted the highs and lows again, but it did nothing for my executive function, and I straight up told my psychiatrist, the amount of sugar I'm having to eat to get myself to do anything is not sustainable. Honestly I could probably handle the bad days if I could function on the in-between days, but I can't make dinner or take a shower or get through a workday without eating handfuls of chocolate, even if my mood feels fine. And I pointed out to my psych: My old medication was a dopamine/norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor. So she switched me to something with epinephrine in it.

Y'all, someday is now.

Someday I'll read this book, someday I'll paint that picture, someday I'll start job hunting, someday I'll schedule an eye doctor appointment--it's now. I'm doing it. I can do it.

I read a YA novel in one sitting. I haven't pulled that shit since high school. I can do more than one thing in a day now. I've scheduled like four things, done the household chores before they started gaining sentience, tried to visit the cobbler and an art exhibit, gotten my mother's Christmas gift, refilled my meds, made serious progress on three pieces of art, applied for several jobs, read that book, planned my Halloween costume, and voted within, like, the last week.

Because, now? I can decide to do a thing and just do it. There's minimal arguing with myself. It doesn't take effort to move from the "fine I'll do it" stage to actually doing it.

I keep cycling through a couple repeating thoughts. "Is this what it's like to be neurotypical?" "It was never supposed to be this hard?" "I've actually been disabled for my entire adult life, in the legal sense of significantly impairing my ability to do things in several areas of my life and not just the 'mental illness counts' sense?"

And also, "Every time I thought, 'Is this really all there is?' the answer was no?"

It's not perfect. Brain still requires more rest than I want it to. Couldn't leave the house today, or spend the daytime working on art or applications, but I took a shower and did the laundry, including the ironing, and that's more than I usually get out of days like this.

(And you know what, it's a lot easier to get exercise or eat balanced meals or clean your shower before it molds or do activism if you don't have to fight yourself about it for hours. It's like the opposite of a negative spiral. It's easier to maintain friendships and develop new ones and consider career paths and find things that give you joy and purpose.)

You know how we're always telling suicidal teens that they don't know what their life is going to be like yet, that they can't begin to imagine how different adulthood is going to be and the person they're going to become? I think we need to stop forgetting that this applies to every stage of life to some degree. Teenage Kieran had no idea what life was like, because they had only experienced a piece of it, but early 20s Kieran and late 20s Kieran also had no idea what life was like, and they would never have believed Kieran today existed. I can only assume that I still have no idea what life is like in my 30s and 40s and after. The idea that "you never know what the future might hold" has actual meaning to me now.

I don't want to imply that all of you just need to get on better meds, I know that's not the answer or even feasible for everyone. I just want people to know that it isn't a platitude when I say you never know what the future might hold. You might get to practically-30 and have the hopeless grind of a life that you can't look too far in the future of without depressing yourself suddenly look like an opportunity.

Also that "not actively suicidal" is a fine first goal for an antidepressant, but maybe don't stay on it for seven years without at least considering raising your standards.

Someday might come.

i thought my suicidal late teens were the hardest years of my life but nothing could’ve prepared me for my 20s waking up everyday with no purpose, feeling so lost, unable to keep up with friendships, watching everyone move on with relationships and careers and being unable to catch up. and I’m such a “life is not a race” type of person but damn I’m losing so hard rn

[thebeltanequeen]

The (Blurred? Nonexistent? Inconsequential?) Line Between Canon and Fanon: An Impromtu Essay by Me

I’m currently have an existential crisis. An absolute, balls to the walls, pull my hair out, stare at the walls wondering what the meaning of existence is, kind of existential crisis. Why, you may ask? Because the older I have gotten, the more Fanfiction I have read. That’s normal. Millions of other people read fanfic like me. Well, in the past few years, I have also realized that the more fanfiction I have read, the less shits I give about the actual canon of the media I love. I care less and less about what “actually” happened, and delve into fanon instead. It’s as if the two have SWITCHED ROLES in my brain. The canon is the lie, and the fanon is the truth. This used to not be the case though, so how did we get here? And why… why is this realization sending me into an absolute spiral of insanity? Why do I feel like I have been sucker punched in the jaw? Let me explain.

I’ve been reading and dabbling in writing my own fanfiction for over twelve years. It used to be an escape, a way to further delve into my latest obsessions and become consumed by them. I have this annoying habit of also picking ships that do NOT become endgame, so I’ve always sought out fanfiction as a balm for my shipper’s soul as well. I still read fanfiction as if my life depends on it… but now it’s at the expense of reading new books. Watching new media. When I do eventually dip my toes into a new fandom, I either reject it quickly or become consumed again and make a grab for fanfiction… but in the past few years, something in not only me, but in fandoms in general has shifted.

The difference between me now, and me back then is this… I used to uphold the canon as sacred. Untouchable. Set in stone. The only credible source for the media I consume. All of the fanfiction I read was just beautiful window dressing. A lovely past time to further increase my dopamine intake.

This is no longer the case.

Now, when I read and write fanfiction, it’s as if it is an act of protest. I am actively seeking to reform the narrative. It’s to “take back” the story, the characters, EVERYTHING, for myself. To make it anew. To make it perfect. I’m not alone either. I see you. I see all of you. Now more than ever, I see more and more of us doing this exact same thing.

THIS is why I am having an existential crisis. I have just realized that I will no longer be content with the canon. Ever. Even the canon of my favorite media. It’s not enough. It’s no longer enough. It won’t ever be enough again. Why? Because there will always be places where the canon is falliable. The authors of the canon, are falliable. As an author myself, this is at once an alarming yet powerful realization.

I went to college for creative writing. At the beginning of my academic career, I thought of fanfiction as a beautiful fairytale world. It was glorious, but it was other. Separate. Not as credible as canon. Had I read fanfiction better than the media it was based on before I entered college? Absolutely, but in my head it still didn’t matter because the canon was the word. The canon was the law. As a writer, I held the power of the author (and by extension the power of myself) as sacred. By the end of college, that began to change.

The more I was taught about writing, the more I came to realize that sometimes, authors are just straight up WRONG. Sometimes, there’s soooooo much potential… AND THEY JUST FUCK IT UP!!!!!!! The bones are incredible, but the canon is weak, the logic is lacking, the story makes no sense, the characters don’t reach their full potential and you know what? I’m tired. I’m tired of it. This is why fanon is canon’s salvation. Fanon makes canon look pathetic. But… if I accept the fanon as the reality, and make the canon the lie, does that still make it fanon? No. I don’t think it does. I think fanon has become something other. Something greater.

I have become disillusion by “published” or “credible” books. 95% of the novels I actually buy at the store today are garbage. Trash. Half written nonsense that only serves the purpose of paying people. I’m TIRED OF IT. I’ve become disillusioned by the “power” of the author. I have become disillusioned by canon. FUCK canon, quite frankly. Rip it apart. Dissect it. Take out it’s beating heart and transplant it into a new body. Give it the soul that the narrative was begging for. REVIVE IT. LET YOUR OWN IMAGINATION MAKE IT ANEW. Characters mean too much to people. Fiction means too much to people. Stories mean too much to people for anything less. Only then will you or I be satisfied.

Now, even an impromptu, unedited, gibberish essay is not complete without examples. I’ll start with one that you probably thought of while reading this. Game of Thrones. I think that two years ago, the ending of the most influential show of the entire decade, is where my subconscious began to shift in this direction. Now, I doubt my opionions about GoT are the same as yours, but you know what? It DOESN’T MATTER because FANON CAN FIX THE CANON. The stories that meant so much to millions can be fixed by accepting the fact that THE CANON ISN’T THE LAW! IT FUCKED UP!!!! CANON DOESN’T DESERVE TO SPEAK ANYMORE!!!! TAKE BACK THE STORY AND TRANSFORM IT INTO A VERSION TRULY WORTHY OF THE GLORIOUS BONES IT HAS!!!!!

We also can’t ignore the role that monetization plays in the media we consume. Why leave our fiction in the hands of just the big names? Why let money dictate what is real and not real? WHY SETTLE FOR MEDIOCRE STORYTELLING JUST BECAUSE IT WAS SOLD TO YOU AND THEREFORE IT’S “LEGIT CANON”??? FANFICTION IS FREE, AND THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PIECES OF WRITING I’VE EVER READ WERE WRITTEN BY FANFIC AUTHORS WHO DID IT FOR THE STORY. WHO DID IT FOR THE ART. WHO ACTUALLY DID IT JUSTICE. FUCK THE CONCEPT OF FANON AND CANON. THE STORY WE WANT IS ALL THAT MATTERS. GET MONEY OUT OF HERE.

Ahem. To avoid going on even more of a tangent, I’ll move on and give the example that triggered my existential crisis in the first place. Sailor Moon. To give some background, Sailor Moon is it for me. I have grown up with it. I’ve watched it my entire life. As a child, I ran around with my toy moon rod and desperately wanted to be Usagi. Ironically, I grew up to be quite a bit like her (but with Rei’s temper admittedly). It is my comfort show, my happiness. It makes me laugh, it makes me cry. I never tire of it. It makes my heart swell. I have never, nor will I ever, love any piece of media the way I love Sailor Moon. Flash forward to today, I watched Sailor Moon Eternal, the two new movie adaptations of the Dream arc in the manga (stick with me non-manga and anime lovers). I liked the films, but I was left with a deep, disatisfied yearning. I want back the feeling of complete bliss I experienced while watching the 90’s anime as a child. The problem with this? I’ll never get it back. I’ve just realized this. I’ll NEVER get it back. Why? Because it’s no longer the perfect version of Sailor Moon that it was to my young eyes. Crystal, while good, is also not the perfected version I seek in my adulthood, and Eternal has not scratched my insatiable itch. I am heartbroken because I’ve realized that Sailor Moon in its perfect form doesn’t exist anymore. If I held any canon sacred, it was this. But the story is flawed. The manga is flawed. The anime is flawed. It’s not infallible, as much as it truly, deeply hurts me to admit to the world and to myself. The only perfect version of Sailor Moon is the one in my heart. It’s the one I choose to piece together for myself with the building blocks that others who came before me have handed over.

Another, more recent example of falliable canon is The Grisha Verse. More specifically, the Shadow and Bone trilogy. I was brought in to the fandom by Ben Barnes’ depthless eyes and magnificent scruff. And you know what? I liked the story, but I stayed for Ben Barnes. I liked the Darkling so much that I bought the entire grisha verse books. It was a premature decision. I’ve only made it halfway through Storm and Seige, and you know what? I’m tired of the canon already. It’s not that great. The bones are there, but it could be SO. MUCH. MORE. I haven’t read the crow books yet, and by all accounts Leigh Bardugo has improved tremendously as a writer. Which incidentally proves my point. Authors are falliable. Ergo, the canon is falliable. I can’t help but think while I read these books, “Damn. I could write this better.” and you know what? I’ve read fanfics that HAVE written it better.

Am I saying this to trash Bardugo? Or even GRRM? (Yes I admit to trashing D&D but that’s beside the point ahem…). NO. I am NOT trashing the writers. I’M A WRITER. I GET IT. YOUR STORY IS YOUR BABY. I G E T I T . But I’ve realized, and what I think future authors will also have to realize, is that fiction doesn’t belong to anyone. As soon as it’s out the door, the fiction no longer belongs to the author. It belongs to us. The people. That’s what is beautiful about fanfiction. It’s not here for the money. It’s not here for the clout. It’s here for the fiction itself. Plain and simple. It belongs to no one and everyone.

In the past, I would have fought this. I would have wanted my work’s canon to be law. To be the word, the truth, the way etc. Now? I can’t be a hypocrite. I can’t be selfish. It isn’t about the author. It’s about the vision. It’s about the story, the narrative, the characters. It’s about art. And sometimes, the authors give birth to the idea (and they deserve credit for that without a doubt), but it’s also true that sometimes, someone else just writes it better. Someone else quite simply saw the vision, the story, the characters, more clearly than the author did. I make this vow now, as an author, to strive for the vision. If someone takes my vision and does it better than me, that only improves my perspective of my own story. It improves the world of fiction as a whole. It makes me better.

So, canon? Fuck the canon. Take back the story. Take back the characters. Take back the art. Fiction is ours. It belongs to us, and we can do with it what we please. Let’s strive for OUR OWN perfected version of the media we love. Canon doesn’t truly exist. The concept of Fanon doesn’t even exist anymore in the way we used to think of it. The author’s version of events is their own Fanon of the story. Canon is meaningless now. There is only the story that you accept in your own mind. There is only the story that I accept in my own mind, no matter how different it is from yours. There is only the art. There is only the limitless potential of countless people’s imaginations. Let’s continue to collaborate and celebrate beautiful stories together, in any conceivable way, over and over and over again, until the end of time.

Fin

[aryn-writes]

And we are back to over sharing to deal with my mental health

TW: Caps, Eating Disorders, Self-Harm, Depression, Anxiety

Venting Post!

I am so tired. And before you ask, yes I sleep over six hours every night. When I can, I sleep over 12. So my sleeping is not the issue.

The issue is that I have no fucking clue how to exist anymore.

I was initially trying to remain as the person that I was. They were a happyish ray of sunshine that was so good at helping people. And they did! People came to them daily to vent, get advice, or just letting them know that they are doing better. And I wasn’t doing great mentally then, but I was making improvements!

It has been over a year since we went into lockdown.

And you know, there have been good things that came out of the isolation.

I know I am nonbinary! And I was getting closer to dressing how I want!

But I am exhausted.

While I am at a healthy weight now, I have been slipping in and out of my ED habits. My family has also been continuously shitting on me for gaining weight. (if you’re curious, I am 5’4” [~162 cm] at 135 lbs [~61 kg]. I used to be at 100 lbs [45 kg]. And I would continuously dip back in double digits.) So, I have a fear that I’m going tot get bad again and that is just not something that I can handle at the moment.

I also can’t socialize, because holy fuck that shit is terrifying.

Like there are times when I can’t even talk to my family.

My closest friends? One of them messages me daily to make sure I’ve eaten at least one thing (which I agree, very kind, but I will explain why I don’t like it in a bit.) The other I haven’t talked to in months and it is so awkward when we try to talk. All the other people I used to consider close haven’t talked to me in a year, even after I would attempt to reach out to them.

I know that it is partially my fault; I am horrible at messaging and keeping conversations going is one of my weaker points, even in person. Along with that, I have been having depressive episodes more often that I care to keep track of, and I push people away and isolate myself during those times. So I get that it might be difficult to talk to me.

But there are people who I will reach out to, and they read the message and just don’t respond.

Like... I will literally say “hey! It’s been a while, how have you been?” (No response)

A week goes by

“I’m just checking in to make sure you’re doing alright” (left on read)

Another week

“Me and this person wanted to plan a small hang out online! She found this really cool website that we can play games, and we can use discord to chat. Wanna join?” (No response)

And it goes on.

For over seven months.

So if you have an active imagination and are prone to overthinking, you can imagine that my thoughts are “well shit. They just don’t like me and were only friendly bc i was dating him.” (Him being my ex boyfriend; we broke up a month into the quarantine.)

And so that kinda fucked with my anxiety even more.

I don’t blame them for not talking to me. The logical part of me understands that sometimes you just don’t respond, or maybe you forget or just don’t want to. I get that. But the part of me that has been overwhelming is pretty much like, everyone hates you and you’re a burden.

And it’s really hard to open up to the people you are close to when you feel this way.

So we come back to the close friend who checks that I’ve eaten.

He is wonderful, do not get me wrong. We became acquaintances around September 2019, and friends a few months after. At this time, I was dating my ex, who was an acquaintance to the close friend. (We are going to call the close friend Edward from here on out.)

At that time, I was struggling with my body image and my eating disorder. (Every year I go through a relapse and recovery, it fucking sucks and sometimes the relapse take over almost the whole year, but not the point right now.) One of his first memories of me is me having a panic attack because I ate a sandwich.

So during this pandemic, Edward has been messaging me to make sure I’m eating, because he doesn’t want me to get really bad again. Which is nice!

Except he doesn’t really understand mental illness.

He has been trying! Do not get me wrong, he does try. But his way of going about talking to me during a depressive episode is “Just don’t let it get to you” And “Be happy” and my favorite, “I don’t get why it’s so bad.”

😃🤡

Along with that, he gets incredibly upset when I don’t respond to his messages within like thirty minutes.

Keep in mind, I have been going through many, many depressive episodes and am constantly struggling to get out of bed and keep up with my school work. I have told him this. I have told him that sometimes I just cannot handle checking my messages and participating in conversation.

And a side note, I am in my last year of high school. Which mean I have online learning and in a few months I will be graduating. Which means I have a few classes I need to pass in order to graduate. If you keep up with most high schoolers, we have been getting an absurd amount of work with due dates every fucking day. That plus depression does not go well, and so I am very tired all the time, but since we have actual lectures instead of recordings, I keep my camera on for every single class because the teacher’s get sad if we don’t. And yes, there are classes where it is just me and the teacher with our cameras on. And yes I constantly disassociate during class and stop focusing because I forget to.

So yeah, it is fucking hard to just keep up with that, and socializing isn’t really something my brain sees as important because of the constant negative energy I receive when I do try to talk to people. So I have told him that as of late, it is just difficult to do much besides school, and things that produce any sort of serotonin or dopamine.

And he got upset that talking to him wasn’t making me happy!

Which, it does! Because he is a great friend! But he is so rude about the things involving my mental illnesses! And acts like he understands it better because he is in a psychology class! So in this state, I do not feel as comfortable talking to him since he only wants the ‘happy’ version of me that struggles to eat so that he can ‘fix’ my eating disorder and be able to feel like he did something!

But I continue to try to talk to him, because he is an only child and I am one of his only actual friends. (I really wish I was kidding, but when we became close, he told me that I was the first person to ever actually care about how he’s feeling and how he is actually doing rather than just taking advantage of his presence. He almost cried when I said that I appreciated his existence.)

And I do care about him. Edward is definitely a close friend, and I appreciate that he tries. But lately, he only does it for the validation of knowing he did something good, and it feels like he is just tired of having me around since I can’t bring myself to speak much.

So I have been trying to push myself to be a good friend to him. And I am doing what I can to pretend that I am getting better so that he can be happier. Which is just tiring me out even more.

I feel empty most of the time now, and I am so easily put over the edge. I can hide it pretty well, but it has been getting to the point where I am contemplating self harm again just to feel something.

I don’t remember how to properly do things. I am really just trying to get through every day. But it feels like I am headed straight for doom and I am so tired of it and I just want to leave!

Which in a few months, technically I will. I hope to go out of state for college (to get as far as I possibly can from all of this shit) but as I apply to more scholarships, I want to scream and cry because I have no clue how I am going to pay for college because my parents make too much money and my mother spends it all on herself so I am stressed out. I didn’t do enough extracurriculars, and I have been rejected from so many scholarships that it’ s starting to look like I might need to stay here, and I can’t do that. I just can’t.

So I have been crying and trying to escape from this shit, and I feel like at some point I might just constantly think that nothing is real and none of this shit matters, because that is on my mind more and more.

But hey! I have been reading, writing, gaming, watching anime and drawing to cope so that shit exists (even though it’s all shit so I won’t post it) and I’m making improvements with that so that is something?

I don’t fucking know lol.

I am just tired, and this was a rant. I don’t fucking care. Hope you have a good day!

[muslimsonic]

ADHD: Executive Dysfunction

Alright, so I’ve been seeing a lot of stuff about how people struggle with understanding what ADHD is, how it operates, and how it differs from the experiences of the middle 50% [25%-75%] considered the average. And I didn’t research ADHD for 9 hours straight not to dump all of this here.

Note: I have ADHD, I’ve researched this, but I am not a medical professional blah blah blah ok now onto the fun interesting stuff!!!! 

I put this under a cut bc its,,,, longish.

What is executive functioning?

Executive functioning is what carries you from day to day tasks. It’s like the constantly active personal assistant in the back of your head. Let’s call them Effie. Effie constantly makes lists and breaks down tasks for you! I don’t mean large projects, I mean the simple stuff!

Like doing your laundry.

If you have ADHD, or anything with executive dysfunction as an issue, then you probably already know that the simple stuff hardly ever feels simple.

Doing your laundry requires many motions, most of which you omit in listing what you must do to complete this task.

Someone with executive functions in working order, probably

1. Take the laundry basket/bin/thing to the washing machine

2. Put the laundry in the washing machine

3. Put the detergent in the machine

4. Turn on the machine

5. When it is ready, put the clothes in the dryer

6. Collect the clothes when finished

7. Take them back to your room

8. Fold and put away

Tada! All done. There are quite a few steps omitted that you would consider givens. However, try and apply this precise list to someone with executive dysfunction, and you will most likely not have the same success, because of the number of places where steps conflict, being thrown out in favor of what is done immediately. Here’s a small idea of how many cracks are in this plan, even at step one:

1. Take the laundry basket/bin/thing to the washing machine

When?> I’ll do it after I finish what I’m doing > Oh no I just remembered something else > What did I forget to do? > Oh no now I have no clothes for work/school/whatever > MISSION FAILED

When?> Someone else is using the washing machine now, i’ll do it later > What did I forget to do? > Oh no now I have no clothes :( > MISSION FAILED

Why? > I have enough clothes right now, I’ll be fine > Oh no I ran out of clean socks + underwear > MISSION FAILED

What?> There’s no detergent so I can’t do this  > (at the grocery store) I think i have everything! > Oh no i forgot detergent > I have no clean clothes :( > MISSION FAILED

When?> I have too much free time so I’ll do it after I take care of this other thing that’s equally important > Oh no I forgot to do my laundry I don’t have anything to wear > MISSION FAILED

In what order? > There’s too much to do and they are all registered in my head as permanently equal priority so I have to do them all at the same time, but I can’t do them all at the same time, so I physically am unable to proceed until this loop/error is resolved.

What extra steps are involved?> Huh i know i have to take my laundry to the washing machine, but there’s also stuff in the washing machine area/on the way there that needs to be moved in order to do it, but I haven’t thought of that, instead seeing metaphorically an indistinct looming mass of extra equal priority work around taking my laundry to the washing machine > I don’t do it > MISSION FAILED

And that’s only a few of the cracks in step one.

See the problem?

Let’s take a closer look at how deep it goes. Do you know how much you rely on executive functioning in your day to day life? Yes? No? How did you get out of bed this morning? How did you open your eyes? Everything you do, even running away from something chasing you, is dependent on executive functioning. Memory. Recall. Starting anything, and I mean anything. Breaking down what needs to be done. You’re so used to it, you see a lot of the steps as givens not needed to be stated. When do you do this? What priority level is this? Every success you’ve had in your life, you would not have had without your executive functioning.

It’s the messenger, sending signals from the hub, recall this, you have to do this, this task is more important than this, this is what you’re going to do. It translates thought into action, idea into concept into reality. It’s the Director, streamlining things, going into crisis management when you make a major mistake or fail to do something, or have something due, or or or. Granted, executive functions aren’t the be all end all of human success, but they are to you as a foundation is to a building.

Scary to think what would happen if it just

stopped.

You could think all you want, of course. You need to do this. You want to do that. You scream and rail and fight against a prison of your own unresponsive limbs.

There’s nothing physically wrong with your limbs. They are in perfect working order. Or at least as working as they had been before. There’s no reason for you to feel like this. You feel like your brain is setting itself on fire in its attempts to send it messages to get a response any kind of fucking response. You feel hopeless. You gain no mental traction. You gain nothing but your own hatred and frustration and gain the same of others too.

Because they think you’re faking it. That you just don’t want to do it hard enough. That you just need to apply yourself.

The thing is, you’ve been trying. Your mind is a car in a swamp, uselessly running its wheels to no avail, sinking deeper and deeper into the muck. You are straining as hard as you possibly can. There’s no more gas in the tank. You have nothing left to give.

And you have nothing to show for it.

In this hell, you’ve accomplished nothing. You’ve succeeded at nothing. Nothing you do, nothing you say, and nothing you want can ever happen in this moment.

You almost feel like dying. But you can’t. You can’t, not because of will to live, not because of hope, and not because of love, but because you cannot get your limbs to remember what motion is, your brain to remember the past, and your heart to remember restraint. Frustration, anger, hatred, all of the ugliest emotions the soul has to offer spill over. You feel like you can never be happy again. That you’ve never felt happy before. That this awful feeling crawling into the crevices of your lungs and trachea and curling its way around your stomach and spleen is what you will feel like for the rest of your life.

And then you forget. You forget everything that got you to that point. the wave recedes. you feel nothing. you remember only blurs of what occurred at best. only to experience the same fucking thing again, and again, and again and its always as raw and drowning as the first time you felt it, you never grow used to it, and it will never stop, it will never cease, and no one believes you when you say you are trying. You are a soul inside a vessel that doesn’t want to be yours.

anyways! while this may seem like an extreme, the last few paragraphs are a pretty solid descriptor of how living with executive dysfunction feels like! this is also a solid reason why people with ADHD are more likely to have anxiety and depression! the same thing is characteristic of people with disorders that have executive dysfunction as a symptom!

so TL;DR: Executive Dysfunction is not the same as laziness; it is a fundamental difference in the brain structure and wiring or a deficiency in neurotransmitter production.

speaking of that, moving onto the physiological side of executive dysfunction! Yes! There’s actually a physiological side to ADHD! Pretty sure that’s a characteristic of all brain disorders illnesses and the like but people still say its fake! :D

ok i’m getting tired so heres the rundown:

lower catecholamine levels: catecholamine is a class of neurotransmitter that includes fun stuff like

Dopamine: the motivation sauce

Seratonin: Happy Happy Happy

Adrenaline: you put this in epipens. fight or flight

Noradrenaline: also fight or flight. includes attention as well. at higher levels, anxiety. Thanks, God.

Its bad. bc the body’s natural reward system (dopamine) isn’t at normal levels, the nice little feel good kick after you make your bed or brush your teeth?? nope!!!!!!! Thus there is little internal motivation to do anything. WOW!!! How did adhd get passed down in the gene pool???? is it recessive?? bc im rly at a loss. idk someone with a medical degree in brain science dm me abt it. I rly need to understand.

Also the frontal lobe, y’know the thing controlling judgment, morals, impulses, emotions, all of that fun stuff???? it’s usually behind in development, typically evening out mid to late twenties, but its still,,,,, not Great. Wow!!

White matter abnormalities are apparently a thing too?? White matter is the brains messaging system so when that’s messed up I’m pretty sure thats not a good thing.

anyways, i’m tired now, its been 2 hrs since i’ve started writing this and I have a metric ton of things that I needed to start but didn’t, so

TL;DR: ADHD (and by further extent, executive dysfunction)has a basis in science and has physiological stuff associated with it that (i think since MRIs aren’t being used to diagnose adhd) is just being studied recently, and uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh google exists use it b4 getting into arguments abt the existence of disorders and such. plz. im begging you.

[namjoonsteeth]

Circles (Part 1)

Summary:

 Like watching a movie and already knowing the end No matter how hard we try to run away We’re always in the same place Always come back to me Again in the same place In the end, like this Back in place again Why is it so hard to leave Again in the same place - G Soul Circles

Paring: Dabin X FC (Jasmine)

Word Count: 2.1k

He’s drunk, Jasmine,” I shouldn’t have answered my phone. The only time Christian calls me is if it’s about Dabin. Considering we never actually grew to like each other, despite how much time we spent together, we didn’t make it a habit to speak. Over the last year though, his name has popped up on my phone more times than when I was actually dating his best friend for two years. 

“I’m busy, Christian,” 

I look over at my date who is busy grating a block of parmesan cheese over the pasta we spent n hour making. Dinner was finally done, the movie we’d ordered already set up, the condoms in my purse begging me to free them. 

“He’s asking for you,” he sighs. “He’s-,” 

He pauses, exhaling a large overdramatic breath. 

“He’s been crying, Jasmine. Please, just come get him. You know he’s good for the gas money,”

“I’m on a fucking date,” I whisper harshly. I didn’t mean to be cruel. Not to Christian at least who hasn’t done anything wrong other than letting him get this far. 

“That fucking explains it,” he says quietly. 

It stings. It burns. It ignites a fire in my chest. He has no right to do this every fucking time. He’s selfish. He’s an asshole. He’s the one who broke up with me. 

“What do you want me to do?” I sigh, already scanning Lucas’s apartment for my things. 

“Just come get him, take him back to yours, calm him down,”

“I’m not his babysitter, Christian. That’s your job, remember?” I say bitterly. As shameful as it is, how close they are really used to irk me. If he wasn’t with me, he was with Rome. If I called him, Christian was always in the background reminding him that they had work to do. If I wanted to spend the night at his place, Christian was usually the first person I saw in the morning as Dabin sleeps too late even for me. 

“I can’t take him back to mine. Nicole has-,” 

“Fuck, I know, Christian. Whatever it is going on with your girlfriend, once again you can’t take care of your best friend,”

It’s harsh again, I know. I’m frustrated. 

Ironically, I don’t think Nicole is particularly fond of Dabin either. I was always protective when Christian had to choose her over Dabin. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m just...this has to stop, Christian,”

“I’ll see you in a little bit,” Christian says hopefully. 

“Yeah,” I say, clicking the call off. 

I look behind me again. Lucas unties the adorable apron from around his waist and reaches up to grab two plates from his cabinet. How organized everything is here always freaked me out. I’m not used to neat boys. I’m used to Christian’s protein powders taking up half of the coffee-stained counter that had at least one empty americano plastic cup. I’m also not used to real matching dishes in a man’s house. 

He’s good for me, I tell myself. I’m going to ruin this because of my ex-boyfriend who I run to save whenever he calls. Sighing, I get up and grab my purse while slipping on my heels. 

Lucas looks up at me a frown on his pretty face. 

“Is everything ok?”

I shake my head. My fingers pick at the strap of my bag. Dabin used to laugh at the point in all my straps that shows my nervous habit. This is a new bag, I scold myself forcing my hands to drop along with my eyes. 

“I’m really sorry, Lucas,” I begin. 

What’s your excuse Jasmine? My ex-boyfriend is drunk and crying in a bar because he misses me and for the third time in half as many months, I’m going to take him back to mine because I’m the only person he has to take care of him. 

“My friend is really drunk at a bar right now. I have to go get him,”

He doesn’t even blink at the fact that I’m leaving to go to another man. He just moves to grab his keys off the counter. 

“Jesus, Jasmine, I’ll take you before he gets himself in trouble,”

He’s nice. He’s really totally nice. I’ve always had a thing for genuinely sweet guys. Dabin is sweet. He’s nice too. He’s not Lucas nice and maybe that’s why I’m choosing him. 

“It’s my ex-boyfriend, Lucas,”

He pauses for a second before shrugging. “It’s fine,”

I sigh. “No, it’s not fine because this is going to happen again and every time I’m going to leave and go get him because we’re all each other has really. Eventually, it’ll come between us and I’ll still choose Dabin and I don’t want to put you through that,”

His head tilts adorably. “Are you, are you breaking up with me?”

I nod slowly. I feel bad. I feel angry. With myself mostly. 

“I’ll call you in the morning, Jasmine,” he says finally. 

“Lucas-,”

He interrupts me. “Just go do what you have to do. I’ll call you,”

Lucas is one of the ones who won’t realize what I’m saying until he shows up at my apartment and sees Dabin half naked on my couch. Still, I don’t have time right now to give him anything else. I leave, turning my head when he tries to kiss me. Luckily for Dabin, Lucas lives halfway between the bar and my place. It only takes me twenty minutes to get to him. 

I park my car and make it to the bar just half-past nine. I spot Christian right away, mainly because eyes usually follows his every move. I move toward him as quickly as I can in these heels. He’s hunched over someone, patting them on the back. Dabin. My heart sinks. Despite everything, I ache. 

I cross my arms over my chest psuedo-protectively. 

“Hey,”

Christian turns, his brown eyes brightening when he sees me. He moves out of the way so I can get to Dabin. His cheek is pressed against the bar, one hand tunnels through his hair while another grips an empty shot glass.  

“What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” I whisper, shaking my head. They’re both at fault. Christian for letting it go this far and Dabin for yet again being an idiot. 

“Dabin,” I call. 

He doesn’t move. I lean over to the other side to step into his line of vision. His eyes are squeezed shut like he’s trying to hide in plain sight. 

“Can she see me?” He slurs. He’s cute even when he’s shit face drunk. The hand that’s been funneling through his hair moves down to cover his face. I roll my eyes and pull the hand. I actively ignore how his skin pulses against mine when I touch him. 

“Let’s go,” I say. “Can I have two bottles of water?” I call out to the bartender. He nods and hands me two bottles shaking his head when I try to hand him a wad of cash I pull out. 

“I swear I’ll leave you here. Let’s go,” I instruct again. 

His eyes pop open, he lifts his head and turns his whole body, his arms wrap around my waist as he holds me tight against him. His shoulders start to shake, and I drop my head back. 

I can’t cry. Not right now. Not here. I try to talk to him calmer, coasting him to come with me. 

“Dabin, just come with me,”

He looks up at me, his watery eyes blinking. “I’m sorry, Jasmine. Are you mad at me? I’m mad at me. You should just leave me here. I don’t,” He hiccups. “Deserve you. I don’t deserve you,” he repeats the phrase, his tears coming down slowly. 

My eyes burn with every tear that soaks through my dress. I can’t keep doing this to myself. This is the last time, I promise while wiping my eyes quickly. I pull at his arms until he stands. I shoot Christian a glare before leaving with my arms around Dabin’s waist and his arm on my shoulder. 

Luckily get him seated and buckled isn’t hard. He falls asleep as soon as I start driving. He wakes up when we’re just about ten minutes from my place. His head taps against my window, only stopping to take large sips of his water. He’s sober enough to be embarrassed now. The air in the car is filled with tension from everything he doesn’t say and everything I don’t yell. 

I never yell. Not at him. I can’t bring myself to do it. Why can’t I just hold him accountable for his actions?

I grip the steering wheel tight in my hand. 

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” I whisper. My throat feels dry from all the tears I’ve been keeping back. 

“I know,” he says softly. “I’m sorry,”

“I can’t be in your life like this anymore, Dabin. Not when-,” I still love you. I cut myself off quickly. 

“I’m sorry, Jasmine,”

“Are you, though? It seems to me that you’re fine with keeping me around just so I can come clean up after you,”

Dabin stops banging his head on my window and looks straight ahead out the windshield. For however long we’ve been together I never got tuned to his thoughts. I can pick up his mood, but I would never be able to tell you exactly what he’s thinking. I used to think that it was because weren’t able to get close, but that’s not it. That’s just him. He knows how to hide well. 

“Have you ever heard of classical conditioning?”

I roll my eyes because I know where he’s going. He’s not wrong but right now I don’t give a damn about Pavlov and his dog. I pull my lip between my teeth a habit that happens when I’m trying to hold my tongue. Snapping on him does nothing. Telling him that he’s slowly turning into a dependent mess won’t help either. 

“I was on a date, Dabin. I was with my boyfriend in his apartment about to eat pasta because for the first time in a long time I wanted to be with someone else,” I sigh as I come to a stop at a red light. 

“And then you call and it’s like I’m Pavlov’s dog again. I see Christian’s stupid name and dopamine just shoots up to my brain because it’s you. Because for some reason my dumbass is ok with you being a douchebag because at least I get to see you again. At least you want me again,”

Dabin looks at me for the first time since he got in my car. His dark hair is a little longer, his full lips a usually pretty pink are so pale like he’s been gnawing on them. 

“Don’t come,”

“What,” 

He pushes his hands through his hair and drops his hair back on the seat. His eyes close again. 

“Next time just don’t come,”

“Fuck, Dabin. You think I’m going to just let you fucking die of alcohol poisoning. Get your shit together and then I won’t have to stop my life every single fucking time,”

We’re silent for the rest of the ride home. I know he’s still too drunk to have a real conversation. And I’m hungry, tired, and if I’m honest sexual frustrated. I park in my building’s lot and wait for him to get out. He moves slowly, still stumbling a little but at least he can walk on his own. Still, I hook an arm around his waist so he doesn’t fall and knock his head. 

When we get up to my place I let us in. I watch as he flops on my couch, his head thrown back and eyes shut. I roll my eyes in frustration and go to get him some Advil, blankets, and a pillow from my room. I set it all in his lap before going into my room to get ready for bed. 

I leave my door open so I can see him from my bed. This is what you do for people you love. You take care of them. You make sure they’re safe and comfortable. But there’s a limit. There shouldn’t be and obviously, right now there isn’t but I run every time he calls; only to be reminded in the morning when he’s gone before I wake up that nothings changed. It’s a cycle of that we’re stuck in. And as much as I could yell and scream, as bad as he feels in the morning, nothing will ever change. 

When he’s this close again, as bad as it seems, I know that I don’t want it to.

[akira-seijuro]

Hmm you see I turned 24. I am not narcissistic but I am when it comes to my birthday, I am the Empress of every existential entity on this one fucking day. You don’t get it? Fine, but I do.

Lets see, a small girl holding a peach colored teddy bear in a world filled with dinosaurs, mammoths and well, plants and water bodies. Beautiful world. But just one girl standing there, right there absorbing all that she can and believing that the world is just this, till the sight of the horizon with no one to communicate, the only human growing a spine. I do not actually mean those historic beings, it’s metaphoric for all character-set society with standard roles to observe which is rhetoric and non-adaptive at the same time because every one looked like they belong to different species of humans. She was the weird one trying to be one of those historic beings, the best of those for 13.5 years bearing all the torture of the dirty minds, passive minds and well, stupid minds trying to make believe that she was one of them, one of all those there. Nevertheless, she was beneficial to every single person she encountered in that ice age and the Mesozoic era before, she helped them by remembering the paths as to where they could find food, how they can play defensive and the offensive. She was the damn good empress of that small world democratically praised. But then once they didn’t need her, she was cast aside and sent into exile. Oh if you are wondering about her parents, she was brought up by two humans that belonged to the Mesozoic era. So she was self sufficient in food and all other she needed to survive to perform her duties as the little girl before and after the peach teddy bear tore apart by her cousins. So, as I was telling you, she was exiled by her fellow Mesozoic human species after they became self-sufficient, a common characteristic of many homo sapiens I would say.

Then she realized she either needs to adapt and become one of them, one that could tear up a person after he/she is no use or leave them. Well, given her character, common, she is the main character what else do you expect?  So, she left them. Lived alone for years, seeing the the destruction of ice age and Mesozoic era and  how the world turned it’s back on the creatures it once homed and nurtured because it was unable to accommodate them. It just put itself as first priority just like how the air hostess always said, put your own oxygen mask first then get to your child. It just followed the rules very strictly for once. While this transformation into a pure Cenozoic happened, there came fossil fuels that were made out of her so called friends, she learnt to be able to use the fossil fuels, not her friends, now to go to places and electricity and for the good, blah blah blah. See, the transition, it wasn’t smooth, it had taken the lives of many, well it also was making the lives of many Mesozoic humans inhabitable, so she saw all the struggle. World turned it’s back on her father, so she saw him trying to adapt with all the means available and fellow Mesozoic humans pretending, sometimes truthfully trying to use their.. Wow. Finally. the word comes out. their ‘brains’ to go against the world that was turning it’s back. She used to think, weren’t we all supposed to be the same, we all have digestive system, nervous system, reproductive system in all our bodies. Why different DNA’s? Why these DNA’s were not able to adapt. Why weren’t we able to become X-Men, so much of collateral damage so that the world can find it’s perfect match as to who can live on it. How inhospitable was this environment because of the competition, why was there a lot of chaos all of a sudden and suffering, pain and difference in standard of living across the world based on a paper product that was different everywhere. How could a paper dictate how forward a world can be at one place and different at another. I know too many real questions. Obviously she tried going with the herd, fell in love that was never nourished, she was laughed at because the questions were too real, some called her retarded for not being able to fake an emotion, some called different names because she believed that humans can co-exist without taking gender and blood into consideration. Family doesn’t necessarily mean having the same last name. Scientifically we all have the same last name. Sapiens. But fuck science, right. Doesn’t let the bureaucrats flourish, doesn’t promote Julius Ceasers’ because you know not all the can be Julius’, but being the senators who stabbed him, it was always easier to be one of them in all the universal  time coordinated plus or minus based time  zones. North pole keeps shifting, still humans fasten the process by a year, 34 miles. Record. So proud. El Ninos’ don’t stop, plates keep rubbing against each other, volcanoes, my god, they have had enough. They bottled up for centuries and they were sick and tired of tiny bugs trying to show off everywhere. So, yes, where was I? co-existence. Fancy word. She realized she needed to get out of this comfortably disillusioned circle and go to some oblong place where she can see some things straight as in how she needn’t prove her character or have to put in so many efforts to see what is in front of her. Congratulations babe! she thought she finally made it.

Just about to enter the free zone of independence, she was hit hard with neoplastic activity in her family. Metastasis to her beloved man who made her feel like a princess for 14 years. It was an achievement. Trust me. I haven’t seen anyone who has more guts than her when it comes to standing up for what she believed in. Man taught her well, though he himself couldn’t do that. He was her army, her general, her armor that cut through anyone that tried to fight her. Though this might be an exaggeration, she was one of the closest to being an ideal human according to Epictetus and Buddha, a Julius Caeser species, say some 60% because she stuck to her ideals which sometimes did not shed the light, which sometimes threw her into infinite darkness, because her body and brain were not built to live in any other way. So metastasis was one of those things that threw her into infinite darkness, because of just one word. Love. What the fuck man, a chemical reaction in brain can cause a human with wbc, rbc and thrombocytes go bizarre? Shut up. But it is true. No wbc can counter the excessive production of cortisol or insufficient production of dopamine. She badly needed serotonin-nor-epinephrine re-uptake inhibitors. She, only she made all the calls to define the way she could take care of herself, because no one could and no one gave a damn because everything looked strong and alright on the outside. She met more cenozoic humans, mesozoic humans, got more cortisol and got her brain shrunk and body bulged up. She practically was failing in terms of self defense of the mind game. Note that she was commendable at playing video games. She tried to channel many people struggling with the same cortisol function, such as Vincent Van Gogh, Ellen DeGenres, Angelina Jolie. She read tirelessly, she painted and developed her signature styles in everything, she wrote countless pains, she wore her broken heart on her sleeve, trying to spread warmth even when she knew that there was no hope. She defined herself, she built a character and strength for herself and was real. She became the human who could be happy, sad, depressed, ecstatic, a person who could jump when someone she believed in succeeded and cried when someone she saw was in pain. She was emotional. But, she always had the right emotion with respect to the situation, just how a human could be. A real human being. She was good, she was bad, she was warm, she was cold. She was distant and she was close. There wasn’t a single human whom she met, who didn’t connect with her soul, the ones whom she believed in especially. Likewise they were able to be their own selves with her because she was accommodating and simply put, she gave everyone a chance, she gave a fuck. But that’s a dangerous zone. Being original. So people tend to deny that. But nevertheless, she was a lone wolf crying in silence, howling at the moon every night. When she lost, she accepted and held her head with grace. She took charge and tried to honor her dad’s death. She was the person who tried until the very end just like her dad. She still is too. Unfortunately, not all want to be given so much fuck. Because shit gets real when they live as an original. She fell in love again, this time consciously and responsibly, she did not want to give up without trying. But cenozoic human liked her too, at least she thought he did and she wanted to live with a renewed hope. That she could do it. That she could have almost everything.That she would laugh, she would cry, she could have a safe space that would not require her to put in efforts, she felt understood, but little did she know about that differently placed human. The reason why she could make friends with anyone on the planet, who necessarily was not from her place was because she was a human being first and she behaved like one instead of affiliating herself with certain alias of the herd. That was why people opened up, she encouraged being real, she made people dis comfortable first, but then comfortable with themselves later, that created a bond. She never forgot to show gratitude, she was loyal and worst, she was courageous to grow a spine everywhere, every time life threw a punch at her. But world was may be too real to believe in, her renewed strength turned into pain, unbearable and shattering once again. She was not a dark person, but life was dark to her. People she loves, always left her and disappeared one way or the other. She just wanted someone to make her laugh. Stop saying bullshit that you don’t need anyone to make you laugh, you alone are enough. Yes, she alone was enough to survive and sometimes happy, but having someone to share it with, who could have her back, being able to love someone takes shit load of strength and courage, to believe to share a future, which might sound melodramatic, but man she laughed without pain because of this guy many times. Now she is afraid if she could ever laugh again. I don’t think she does anymore. She gave up. She realized, she is probably cursed and would never be happy, would always see the loss and renewal of the world but she would always be alone. The only thing she could probably do is live authentically and help those who are not enabled like her. Because there might be many little girls, but not all would have the belief of beauty or the privilege of being self sufficient when they are in their own ice age and Mesozoic era. As she thought before, she is broken beyond repair, beyond any save. She is exhausted and she is done to an extent that a cry for attention by ending, on her birthday would eventually turn into a blame game, worse would not actually gain any attention for a second, even though many people would meaningfully shed a tear for her, because she is an inspiring, bold, emotional and brilliant badass woman. She is now a woman standing at the edge of a dessert still growing a spine to see the sun rise beyond the horizon on the other end, all alone, without hope and without love because she still has a leash that only lets her be in the dark fearing to explore beyond what eyes could make her see, trying to keep her mind in its right size, fighting every breathe, because she is universally disappointed and unloved.

[mer-m-a-i-d-s]

on my fucking complexion

Oh..well I made it back. Actually, to be honest, I kind of looked forward to writing most of the day. Turns out I have a lot of shit to say. I’m like a modern day Carrie Bradshaw except I don’t actually have anything useful to offer, I don’t get paid to complain and I think I was actually called a Miranda by a friend the other day. To be fair, I don’t even know what that actually means because when Sex and the City was more popular, my mom would mute or pause the TV and look up at me guiltily because she felt like it was inappropriate for me. One of the very few times I ever saw one of my parents try to ...control? the media I consumed. Either way, I had no intentions of plopping down on the couch next to my mother and listen to some old lady on TV talk about sex toys....Nah, I just went back into my room to my beloved internet and quietly destroyed my soul and innocence with a variety of horrifying materials. But that made me the funny and dark person I am today..or it just made me depressed...Honestly, its a crap shoot at this point but I wouldn’t have it any other way because my meme game is on point.

But I ain’t here to talk about that today. I’m here to talk about something way worse - my fucking face. And now that I’ve sufficiently covered my face in 12 different slimes of varying prices and potency I’ll be the first person to tell you that I’m vain as hell. It’s some deep rooted self hatred that I will no doubt embarrassingly expand on one day in other blog post. But I am. I said it. I am vain as fuck because I don’t feel like I deserve love if I am anything less than perfect. So you can imagine my absolute panic when I started noticing some shit wasn’t right. 

It crept in real slow. I never had acne as a teen or young adult. (I guess I’m just a regular adult now and that really fucks me up) My skin was lovely and I got many compliments. I took it for granted and carelessly enjoyed something that people struggle with for their entire lives. I didn’t even wear foundation until my mid twenties. I was a lucky bitch and I didn’t even know it. 

Then the thyroid happened. Or stopped happening. In 2015, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s disease. I swear to fuck that stupid gland has been the bane of 90% of my life’s issues. But one day I woke up and shit was just different. 

the melasma

NORMAL stuff, obviously, some skin looked a little...less tight around 25-26. So I decided I would never tan again and began religiously using skincare products and that was cool until a horrifying day in 2017 when I went to the beach. I came back from a day of swimming and my face looked..dirty. Weird. WEIRD. Except that shit didn’t come off. A quick google search told me I had melasma. I found it was hormone related, that women typically got it during pregnancy...the thyroid, that slowly deteriorating son of a bitch, had struck it’s first blow to something that really mattered to me (being a functioning human was apparently not high on my list of things that mattered). I cannot begin to tell you how many creams, serums, acids and whatnot I have tried to get it under control. It is literally the worst. It shows through my foundation, it makes me look older because of the shadowing ON top of the signs of aging that I’m already experiencing. I will literally burn that shit off of my face and then 10 minutes of careless sun exposure brings it right back.

the cystic acne 

But recently, as of April, some other shit went down that I am just not fucking here for. I always had a few clogged pores, MAYBE a pimple on my chin but I began experiencing the WORST and most PAINFUL cystic acne of my LIFE all over my chin. HORMONAL ACNE. It’s calmed down a lot thanks to some intense research and minor lifestyle changes but it always flares up every cycle..oh and it scars. So the post acne marks look like i have some amazing double chin contour going on that just makes me feel like the bees knees. 

the ...fuck I don’t know, being old AF? is that what you wanted me to say???????

So besides those two amazing things actively waging war on my face, I’ve also started dealing with seeing some serious signs of aging. I’m doing what I can, I barely drink alcohol, use sunscreen, try to sleep, drink as much water as I can and put more shit on my face nightly than I ever have in my entire life and yet...it persists. I know I can’t stop it but I mean, let’s be real, if you are here, you have seen my instagram (aka horrifying shrine to my vanity where I collect internet ass pats from strangers so my brain will release dopamine) so you may have the slight indication that my face is important to me. My thyroid unfortunately also partially to blame because it makes me unable to retain any kind of moisture. I’m a fucking sad desert of sadness, fine lines and skin flakes. I don’t like it and I regularly ponder my first world problem. How do I become more moist as a human? Am I using too much acid? Not enough? More oils? DIFFERENT OILS? Korean skincare? STRAIGHT FUCKING CHEMICALS? Should I just hermetically seal myself inside of a plastic bag filled with liquid at night and hope for the best? Do I just need to accept my fate as a person that will eventually become filled with various plastics and begin my journey? Am I a Dolly Parton or a Barbara Eden? I’m probably that weird lady with the cat face.

So I mean, beyond me complaining about this shit and you reading it for some reason (seriously props to you if you’ve made it through this narcissistic bullshit) what am I going to do about it? Well, I guess I’ll do it in list form because..this shit is getting long.

- Go to the Dr and harass them into doing a hormone panel

- Continue to take the herbal supplements that I’ve taken in the past and the new ones I’ve introduced recently and give them a decent time to work

- MORE ACID but also with some heavy duty moisturizers

- ..Exercise. That is it’s whole own bloated post.

- Better quality nutrition and possibly buckle down on real intermittent fasting (not just starving myself)

- Accept it and love myself and know that the people who are worth it in my life will love me even if I have chin pimples, wrinkles and what looks like two poorly healing black eyes? Even if I have a cat face one day? No, fuck u. I ain’t there yet...but I genuinely hope to be.

[melissochka7]

Strategies to quit juuling:

The first thing to do is to not mention “Juul” as much as you can. That word will not be used in this article, because even the thought of the item can trigger the habit. Don’t watch videos or pictures of them. Those are for people who care about it, but you don’t care because you have quit from it. It is now irrelevant to you.

The first week, prepare to be sick. Imagine you have a cold or a flu instead of your cravings, so eat a lot of healthy and delicious food, put on movies and snuggle in blankets. Or just do whatever you usually do for rest, but extend it to a week. However, if you do have energy bursts, it is very important you stay active with a hobby. Don’t get too bored. Play games or clean or go run. But don’t run back. Just like you can’t do anything with a cold, you cannot go back to the habit.

By the second week you are a bit better off with withdrawal and are ready to battle cravings rather than holding tight. You will have to battle cravings for a long time, so get started with all these new habits to become a pro.

Any time you really need it and you are alone, do some exercise. Go jog around the block quickly before neighbors see you or do 100 jumping jacks or whatever is a good 5 minute intense workout. Cravings last about 2 minutes on average. By the time you finish your set, you will be over your craving. But there’s more, because working out releases endorphins into your bloodstream and gives you a natural buzz (which you will like considering your past interests).

Like it or not, cardio is just about the best thing you can do to quit. You don’t need to do it to quit, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t try it. Cardio will reverse many of the bad effects you got from the J-word. Nicotine is not good for your heart but cardio can train your heart back to healthy. If you can’t run, do the elliptical. Or go biking, or play basketball. Do anything that gets your heart rate up. It is so important and

There are other not-as-healthy tactics of course. You may continue to rest and distract yourself with food and TV throughout the days.

If you don’t like either ideas of working out or resting, you may want to start trying to do fun things that don’t require your habit. If you have a lot of money, go treat yourself to the mall, go skydiving, go on vacation, go to an amusement park, or anything that’s fun for you and gives off a lot of thrill. Going out and doing fun things will show you that you don’t need that old habit to have a fun life or be cool. You are having fun now and making cool memories. Take lots of pictures, dress nice, do things from your bucket list. Do things that will excite you. Sorry if your biggest idea of fun is going to the nightclub, because nightclubs are not the way to go here.

Alcohol can severely increase the amount of cravings you have, and you’re also less likely to say no because you’re not thinking straight. If you still go to a nightclub or any place where you’re drinking alcohol, bring a friend and ask her to not let you do the bad thing and to protect you from it. Pick a good friend. If you don’t have a friend that is free of the habit, it’s best to stay away from drinking and from hanging out with your friends in general. As much as you might love your friends, you need to split with them just for a bit to get yourself back on track. They will distract you, unless you aren’t shy to ask them to avoid it around you. Some people hate that and some don’t.

Don’t try a cigarette because that’s even worse and it DOES count as a relapse even though it’s different.

3rd week?

Good going, you are achieving probably one of the hardest goals in life, beating intense addiction. But you’re still an addict, so you can’t go back now or nothing has changed. I’m gonna guess that you probably relapsed a few times by now, but keep your head up high and continue the quitting challenge. It will get easier the more and more you hold back, reversing how you started the addiction: it got harder the more and more you gave in.

If you want, go get a MONQ essential oils vape pen. This isn’t an ad, but it replaces your habit with something that’s harmless and healthy. It can be satisfying to repeat the old gesture. Because let’s be real that at this point, you are thinking about become a casual user again, just so that you don’t have the dreadful feeling of “quitting forever”, where suffering doesn’t stop.

Or so it seems that way to your rewired brain.

Have you been crying a lot? There’s not really a way to stop your sensitivity in feelings. Even if nothing is wrong, there’s a feeling in you that makes you want to cry sometimes. It might be because of a legit reason that you feel sad, but it is most times because of your withdrawals. When you quit, the world suddenly starts to seem horrible, and people are out to hurt you. Someone hurts you -> you feel upset. Something bad happens to you -> you feel upset. Nothing happens to you -> you feel upset. The truth is you are feeling upset because you are not getting your normal dopamine fix. The world is actually the same, and people are the same. Your feelings are just now in reverse. First you feel upset, then you subconsciously look for things in your life to rationalize why you are upset. It goes like this: you feel upset -> you look for things that are wrong to explain why you feel upset -> you find things and start to have all these reasons why your life is horrible. This is hard to understand because we cannot explain our emotions all the time, and we aren’t always logical. The trick here isn’t just to “stop being upset” but rather accept it. Cry just to cry, but do not think of your life as horrible. Do not try to find reasons why you are upset. You are upset because your body is adjusting to the lack of dopamine. Every time you cry, do it to drain out the excess stress you’re building up and do not let it control you.

If you can start sobbing, try laughing. It seems crazy but laughing and crying at the same can take off a lot of stress and will make you realize nothing is actually wrong in your life. You are laughing at the consequences you knew would happen as soon as you started the habit. You are laughing because the world is great and you’ve had this small item start to convince you that it’s not. That’s crazy right? You will get through this. Do not let the tears change your mind on your decision.

People handle emotions differently, and you can never tell until the time comes up about what kind of person you are emotionally. If it is impossible to stay positive no matter how hard you try to laugh at things, you’re going to fall in depression. Depression is only now starting to become known as a more serious disorder than just being “sad”. Depression will trap you and will make it that much harder to quit and to live a better life because now you have to battle 2 of the most hardest things in the world: quitting nicotine and overcoming depression.

The scary thing with depression is that it’s so common in some areas that it’s considered normal. Treatments for depression are looked down upon by many because people without depression cannot comprehend how people just can’t “get over it”. Depression is so confusing even to the person that has it, so why should we expect anyone else, especially people without depression, to understand? If you do not feel happy with your life right now, if you do not have motivation to make your life better, if you go through something rough and it makes you lose your urge to live, if you do not have hopes for the future, if you are losing good friends for stupid reasons, you are in some form of depression. Stop telling yourself that it’s fine!!! You need help. Just fucking accept it. If you don’t treat depression and just think that you’ll be fine someday, it will literally cause brain damage and eventually your depression will be irreversible. Talk to your family and/or a psychologist about it and make a plan to overcome that. Just do this one favor for yourself no matter how embarrassing or wimpy you think that is.

This doesn’t apply to everyone, but many people are simply depressed because of their lack of serotonin. Serotonin is the chemical in your brain that gives you motivation and hope for the future. It’s the chemical that says “Yeah today is a shitty day, but that’s life and everything’s going to be alright”. It’s the chemical that gives you a will to live. Because of that, serotonin is practically the most important chemical you need to have in supply. What’s the point of trying to better our lives if we don’t even want to live? If you have ever been depressed but are “not depressed” anymore, take a look at your actions. Study them hard. Do you do self destructive things often? Do you have morals but don’t follow them? Do you often feel like an outcast because of your behavior? You might still be depressed but it isn’t extreme enough for you to notice. You think this is how life is supposed to be but it’s not. You are supposed to be excited to live. You are supposed to be motivated to follow your dreams. You are supposed to be happy and grateful for the simple things. If you do not have these things, you might not be depressed but you do have to get your life together in other ways.

Being “grateful” is something that is preached a lot but often not achieved. Think of the things and people you have that are important, and imagine them gone. Think of the people who want to be in your place, because there always are people lower than you. Go through the day and identify things that you appreciate. If you cannot appreciate them, get rid of them. If you cannot get rid of them but do not appreciate them then you are ungrateful. Just do something about it. Promise yourself you are going to work on it starting now.

Back to serotonin, if you are sure you are depressed, you might want to consider SSI’s. Those reuptake your serotonin inhibitors, but you will not fully understand their benefits until you’ve taken them for 6 months or more. Try them out, and don’t give up if the first meds you take don’t work. Everybody’s brains work differently sometimes. What works for some doesn’t work for others. For me personally, I’ve always had problems just staying motivated and finding a purpose in my life. I engaged in destructive behaviors, and when I started to quit my habit, I became suicidal. I was already suicidal 4 years before that, but I thought I was cured. It turns out that my depression was never actually cured, which is why I had so many rebellious teenage problems. I felt like an outcast, and I just didn’t like the world. I didn’t think I was depressed though. I just thought the world was fucked up. I started taking Zoloft, and I still cry sometimes or wanna stay in bed all day. Except now, I feel like a normal human being who actually wants to do something with their life. Life already has its ups and downs. But life should never be all downs. I didn’t want to take Zoloft at first because I was skeptic of taking a pill everyday. I also didn’t want to feel like a robot without any emotions. I also didn’t want to feel brainwashed into being a happy freak. I was wrong- it made me ME again.

[chriscanwell]

New Post has been published on Develop Attraction

New Post has been published on https://www.developattraction.com/power-sex/

How to Have Sex with a Woman the Right Way (the Power of Sex)

This article will show you how to have sex with a woman so she falls for you and becomes even more emotionally attached to you.

Men and women are biologically designed to come together to reproduce and ensure the survival of the species. In most cases, sex marks a definite turning point in the relationship. It’s the moment when a woman physically submits to a man and allows him to become intimate with her.

When a woman has sex, a series of powerful chemicals are released. This chemical release makes a woman feel closer and emotionally attached to a man.

During sex, the areas of the female brain that are affected by arousal are the amygdala, ventral tegmental area, nucleus accumbens, cerebellum, and the pituitary gland.

One reason why sex has such a powerful effect on women is that it activates so many areas of the brain all at once. It’s not so much that love is blind, but the chemicals within our bodies that make us blind.

Why Sex with a Woman Leads to Attachment

A study published in the Journal of Neuroscience found that male and female brains light up like a person taking heroin when experiencing orgasm. A whole host of chemicals are responsible for this pleasure overload. First, a dopamine release lifts our mood and gives us feelings of pleasure.

At the same time, prolactin relaxes us and makes us feel satisfied, while oxytocin makes us feel closer and more attached to the person we have sex with. It should be noted that oxytocin is released in much greater quantities in women than men.

Finally, phenylethylamine, a stimulant that is also found in chocolate, improves our energy levels, and, at the same time, makes us feel happy. This is why sex is so addictive and powerful. The moment you have sex with a woman, there’s a good chance she’ll become addicted to you.

A man who understands the power of sex can make a woman fall in love with him simply by sleeping with her. There is, however, sex that increases attraction and sex that kills attraction.

If you have sex in a weak and submissive way, you can still turn a woman off. So, what exactly constitutes weak, submissive sex?

Case Study: Uncertainty Kills Passion

Harry had been dating Chloe for almost two months, and this was the first time Chloe had been to his apartment. The moment Chloe arrived, Harry made her feel right at home. He took her coat then invited her in to watch Some Like It Hot (Chloe’s favorite movie starring Marilyn Monroe).

As Chloe relaxed, watching the movie, Harry went into the kitchen and brought out a big bowl of lasagna and a Greek salad. Chloe was impressed—this was homemade cooking at its finest.

Three hours later, Harry and Chloe were sitting on the couch together, sharing a bottle of wine. Time to make a move, Harry thought, but how?

An hour later, Harry still couldn’t figure out how to make a move without being too obvious about it. It was then, after growing restless, that Chloe looked Harry straight in the eye and said, “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

“Sure, of course,” Harry replied. “I’d love to.”

Ten minutes later, Harry was lying in bed next to Chloe. “I want to kiss you again,” Harry said as though waiting for Chloe to give him permission.

“No need to ask,” Chloe whispered.

“I’m so excited, I can feel my heart racing.” Harry stroked Chloe’s face, then kissed her on the lips as he reached around to unfasten her bra. “I’m sorry, I can’t undo it,” he said.

Chloe reached behind her back and unfastened the clasp. She was now completely naked.

“You look amazing,” Harry said.

“Thanks,” Chloe whispered as Harry climbed on top of her and slowly inserted himself. Chloe flinched.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked.

“I’m not ready.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it okay?” Harry said as he pushed deeper inside her. Harry continued to thrust and wiggle on top of Chloe for a couple of minutes before she stopped him by placing her hand on his shoulder.

“What is it? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t working,” Chloe said as she pulled away from Harry and slid out from underneath him.

If you rush intimacy, you risk turning a woman off. In the same way, if you try too hard to please a woman, you’re making the woman’s pleasure more important than your own—this also turns women off.

Don’t be Too Passive in Bed

So how can you have sex with a woman and remain attractive? As always, it’s important to seek intimacy without regret and without apology. You mustn’t shy away from intimacy; instead, you must pursue it fearlessly. As with all things masculine, actions speak louder than words.

One issue that infects so many lesbian relationships is a phenomenon commonly referred to as lesbian bed death. Labeled “bed death” because lesbian couples frequently have less sex and intimacy than heterosexual couples.

Because women don’t produce the same amount of natural testosterone as men—testosterone that drives sexual desire and brings a man and woman together—lesbian relationships often suffer from a lack of sex and intimacy. But don’t be fooled into thinking that bed death only occurs in lesbian relationships. Heterosexual relationships often suffer from bed death as well.

If you’re passive and wait for a woman to make the first move, the woman will resent you and come to view you as weak and submissive.

To arouse desire, you must abandon inhibition and throw yourself into sex with passion and gusto. Men often worry that if they do this they’ll offend a woman’s delicate sensibilities.

These men are quick to put a woman’s needs first and make her pleasure their number one priority. The danger with this approach is that it does nothing to stimulate desire. As a man, your pleasure should be your number one priority.

You must take control of the interaction and lead a woman into the bedroom as though you can’t wait to rip her clothes off and make love to her.

One of the most common complaints leveled against men is that men have become too passive and submissive in bed. They lack passion, refuse to take the lead, and the sex is often predictable and boring. There’s no sense of danger or eroticism.

If you make a woman feel as though she’s there to serve you and give you pleasure, her enjoyment will come as a direct result of your pleasure.

If you’re in any doubt that sexually dominant behavior is desirable and attractive, you only have to look at movies like Fifty Shades of Gray, 9 ½ weeks, and Secretary to see that women, by and large, are obsessed with the idea of dominance and submission.

Women have More Orgasms with Masculine Men

A study carried out by researchers at Penn State University noted that women reported more regular, earlier-timed orgasms during sexual intercourse with men who were more masculine and dominant. Furthermore, the Penn State study also discovered that women experienced more frequent orgasms during or after a man’s orgasm.

In other words, if you’re enjoying the sexual experience, a woman is more likely to experience pleasure and orgasm as a direct result of your enjoyment.

What turns you on? What makes you feel excited? Think about this for a moment. Once you know what you want in the bedroom, you must have the courage to go after your desires without inhibition. Sex doesn’t have to be complicated; it just has to be fun.

Being sexually dominant doesn’t mean you have to use whips and chains and wear a gimp suit. To be dominant, all that’s required is your masculine presence. You come to the interaction with a “loaded gun,” ready to engage in a dramatic encounter.

As the woman waits for you, you can no longer contain yourself. You must have her even if it means ripping her clothes off and destroying her panties. This type of behavior, however, doesn’t come naturally to nice guys, especially men who are trained from birth to hold women in high esteem and respect physical boundaries at all costs.

Women Love Sexually Dominant Men

As you become more dominant in the bedroom, there will be times when it feels as though you’ve crossed the line between what’s acceptable and what’s unacceptable. The attractive man, however, understands one simple truth: women crave controlled danger, they crave the attention of sexually dominant men, and they crave submission.

Sexual dominance, in this instance, is not about using force or aggression (although in some instances it can be). Sexual dominance is about letting a woman know what you want and having the courage to make her submit to you.

It’s important to note that sexual dominance is made up of two components: the physical and the verbal.

When it comes to physical dominance, let’s imagine you’re having sex in the missionary position. To display dominance, all you have to do is hold a woman’s hands above her head or out to the side, pressing her down against the bed. In the same way, putting a woman’s legs over your shoulders, forcing her into a more submissive position is another way to exert physical dominance.

If you’re having sex with a woman from behind, you can slap her on the butt (an act that drives women wild and makes them feel even more submissive). Additional ways to introduce dominance in the bedroom include twisting a woman’s arm behind her back to force her into a more submissive position.

Even when she’s riding on top of you, in what is supposedly a dominant position for the woman, you can lightly pull her hair and slap her on the butt to make her feel even more submissive. Light hair pulling and soft choking is another way to force the woman into a state of submission and spike arousal.

When it comes to verbal dominance, telling a woman how much you want to fuck her is a sure way to drive her wild. For even the most prudish woman, dirty talk can be a wonderful aphrodisiac.

Get Her to Submit to You

Another important part of the dominant/submissive relationship is getting a woman to comply with your requests. When you tell a woman: “You love fucking me, don’t you?” Most women will accept and internalize what you say. Even if the woman doesn’t respond, it’s of little importance. As you continue to engage the woman in sexual intercourse, you can introduce more dominant verbal language to intensify arousal.

Simple, short commands often work best: “Don’t stop.” “Keep going.” “Make me come.”

The more you get a woman to comply with your requests, the more submissive she’s likely to become. If, for whatever reason, a woman refuses to submit, you must become more forceful and direct in your approach. If she continues to put up resistance, you must cut the interaction short and pull away as a form of punishment.

You must never let a woman’s resistance affect you for she’s simply asking the question: are you man enough to make her submit?

[ravingsofajunkie]

“At least you’re still alive”. It’s almost as bad as “at least you’re sober”. I really have no idea what those mean to me. Alive…dead…sober or high, I don’t see importance of one state over another. Suicidal, I am not. I’ve been suicidal before because I thought that’s what you do when you’re depressed. A suicidal thought would cross my mind saying life would be much easier if I weren’t here. I would go with that thought believing it was real. But if there was any amount of known pain involved in a certain method of suicide I wouldn’t want use it. So the best way was Tylenol. Right? As if! Twice even!

My belief system had been this: I’m capable of thinking a thought therefore it must be true and I have no choice but to follow that one path. I really didnt know, deep down, I had a choice about everything…and I mean e-ve-ry-thing until about 2013. My first lesson was in 2004. Being sober for almost a year I found some solace at a Methodist church in the Lakeview neighborhood of Chicago. I attended an orientation class for those who were curious about becoming more involved with that specific church. The straight pastor who had been suspended from serving this church for marrying gay couples said, “we’re more universalist than Methodist here. Some of us actually believe that Jesus didn’t rise from the dead which doesn’t mean youre not a Christian.” I knew what he said was Truth yet still I was flabbergasted and gratitude radiated from my body like light from the sun.

The second lesson was in 2011. I had been using crystal meth off and on for about a year. My most personal and revealing tweak was carpet combing. I would spend hours (in total adding up to days and days) combing through my carpet to see if I or anyone else had dropped any crystal meth whether or not it was used in that part of the apartment. The sense of lack in my life was fierce. Lack of choices. Lack of friends. Lack of money. Lack of worthiness. I wanted more T and that shiT was expensive. Letting the cat out of the bag and revealing my tweak to a “friend” he said, “You have a choice. You need to tell yourself to get up off the floor and do something else. That shit is pathetic”. Why did he have to add THAT at the end? My sense of lack was so loud I had neglected my truer instincts.

I have never understood concepts such as a God based out of major religions, baptism, funerals, I am supposed to give a shit about the plight of every human being (especially when I could imagine aspects unknown to my experience and without judgment), and the importance of “at least I didn’t die”. Gosh, I must be a heartless person. That’s not what most people have told me, though. My first sponsor (in AA) of eight years mentioned that I was very altruistic at least once in every conversation, always trying to affirm my worthiness. I had no idea what that meant, at first, so I looked it up. It meant I was a very giving person with no expectation of reward or reciprocity? Please. No one…absolutely no one I know is the perfect model of altruism. A reward always awaits in anything we do or are with the simple release of the feel -good-chemical dopamine. I had started to hate all people because I gave too much of my energy trying to be friends with everyone. I sat on the term, altruism, for quite a long time trying understand why he would say that. My sponsor also sat on a pedestal where i had placed him until it came crashing down during the “relapse” or “revolving door” years between 2009-2012. I recall six major flaws in our relationship. 1. He would always forget routine activities that had been happening for years. 2. When I started “relapsing” on Crystal Meth his ignorance and lack of curiosity of what I was going through climaxed with “you were gone for three months and you still have your teeth”. 3. He actually meant “intuitive” or “empathic”…not altruistic…u’s, t’s and i’s…I see it. (And yes ive had almost all UTIs…LOL) 4. The statement, “you are now a chronic relapser” stung. 5. I was way too sensitive. 6. I placed him on that damn pedestal…he’s not perfect.

In 2013 my experiences had been traumatizing enough to bring me back to sobriety and rehab for what I had thought would be the fifth and last time. I had been attending back to back workshops at Haymarket, the boot camp rehab center in Chicago’s West Loop (two blocks away from Oprah’s Harpo studios) for poor and mandated-by-court patients.The difference between previous rehab experiences and this one was I had sensed an overwhelming flood, an abundance, of worthiness with no external motivation but the observation of a few opinions being thrown my way. Id, ego and super-ego were bookended with the father, son and holy spirit in a matter of a couple hours. Accompanied by my “mind, body, and spirit” theories floating around in my head I had made the connection between the holistic, religious, and psychiatric examples. They’re all the fucking same. Fuckers. Everyone. The whole bit. We, as human beings, have come to a place of identification and political correctness, no matter how liberal or conservative, dividing ourselves into the most lonely of separation. It’s all the fucking same. We’re all the fucking same. A fun bitterness accompanied those thoughts and feelings…just pure instinct, knowing, curiosity, and worthiness. Or was I just close enough to the A-Ha energy emenating from Harpo Studios? Who cares?! Naturally, bitterness arrived in the grieving process of letting go of old conditioning, assumptions and ideogy later on but I knew I had touched on Truth. Without knowing I had set out on a mission to choose my own belief system. The excitement of a clear internal motivation allowed me to hear the quiet “no of all nothing” (e.e. cummings) and the little guide posts externally along the way, aka synchronicity. A common phrase in AA made more sense to me then and now. “These (ideas, thoughts, 12 steps, clichés) are merely suggestions. You can take them or leave them”. Now if they, as one example of a recovery community, actually knew how to do that I would still be involved.

Ironically, despite my internal spark, two pieces of advice that I can give anyone today to achieve this state of mind, of knowing abundance, are not of my own making.

1. Set a hoola-hoop around you on the ground. Whether or not you have done this literally or in your mind’s eye, the only thing you need to worry about is inside this hoola-hoop. Dudes…all that gobbledeegook out there, i.e. media, government, gossip, your neighbors, etc are mostly a distraction. Everyday, all day, little by little, I gave this thought and asked myself, “why am I doing this? What is my motivation”. I have a tendency to over do things but the importance of being able to take all of my attachments and examine them overwhelms me with gratitude. My goal was to identify and keep my sense of inner motivation. Ironically I discovered that abundance after quitting injecting crystal meth on my own yet still getting high as a kite. More on that later.

2. Get religion out of ‘spirituality’. I don’t give a fuck if you’re atheist, muslim, naturalist, scientist, evolutionist, creationist, christian, or a devil worshipper. It’s all the same and 99% of all people can relate to this definition. The most important thing next to feeling worthy is being able to communicate our worthiness to each other. Just retrain your brain. Easy, right? If you’re too lazy to do it, fine. Ive been super lazy about lesser important things about which most people have pigeon-holed me into a being bad person. True, external motivation/inspiration exists but I cannot give you your worthiness. You have to feel that all on your own. So, take it or leave it.

Spirit - that life-giving source…the spark of life…energy everywhere…infinite microcosm….infinite macrocosm…atoms…universes…the unknowable thing that makes you or me breathe or get up in the morning or feel or do or be or the fact that scientists say that energy cannot be destroyed.

—“I’ve got spirit! Yes, I do! I’ve got spirit! How 'bout you?!”

Spiritual - expressing that energy. For all people and things something is being expressed. Even a rock.

Spirituality - experiencing the energy from within and from without. The sharing of that energy. Giving and receiving. Selfishness and selflessness. Reciprocity. The flow. Not Aunt Flo….but…The Flow.

What does this have to do with the phrases “at least you’re still alive” and “at least you’re sober”? Because I feel that it’s all the same, life, death, energy. To say otherwise is to imply shame or that I am not as good of a person for being high or dead. I’ve given myself the chance (time and space) to experience where motivation, creativity, inspiration, passion, love, hate, boredom etc comes from. All of these are within the realms of the abundance and gratitude I feel. I think it’s a lot like the idea of Zen….that energy and motivation are coming from the “no of all nothing”. Relax and go. And it’s even okay to question it all because I am naturally human, merely a doubter, a forgetter, blinded by my ability to separate, organize and categorize. In that painful distraction I can experience an even more powerful understanding that “it’s all the same.” Through the Flow of every experience, high or sober… dying or living, I can allow my humanness to evolve into knowing a little better than the last time I forgot. I have come to accept that, over time, I have seemingly no choice but to evolve in any state of being through some higher purpose…or inner purpose…or. Maybe I’m limiting myself by saying I have no choice in the matter. But until that discovery my options seem endless. And only by experiencing and expressing will I be able to see and know those options.

I am existence. I am energy. I am expressing my True Self through the tool of categorization (aka the Ego or Original Sin) and with each glorious experience. I choose to believe in my worthiness through the abundance of my expression without as much filter of seperateness and as many boundaries as I need.

Life is a paradox. I am a paradox.

May The Force be with you.