#makes recovery for myself feel scarier

[harrylights]

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[honeysuckle-venom]

Warnings for: discussion of dieting/intentional weight loss, medical issues, eating disorders, and related topics

Here's the thing. On a general level, I don't believe in dieting. I think it's bad for you, the science shows it almost never works, it makes people miserable, it usually comes from an unhealthy place, and it encourages unhealthy behaviors. And. At the same time. I have a rare disease that could potentially have very dangerous complications if untreated/if it progresses, and it seems to be progressing. And genuine research has shown a significant correlation between developing hepatic adenomas/having more adenomas/having more growth in your adenomas and "obesity." Now, there are links between lots of things and "obesity" and often not nearly enough research is done into WHY and whether any correlations actually have anything to do with causality. And I don't fully know why obesity and hepatic adenomas are correlated, I have to talk to my hepatologist about it, though from what my dad found in his research he suspects it's a combination of adipose tissue producing more estrogen and potentially other metabolic effects (more research/answers are needed there). If someone says "being fat makes you unhealthy in x way" I always want to know the underlying mechanisms there, because it's never that simple. But the point is that it does look like, in this case, hepatic adenomas and obesity are at the very least significantly correlated.

There are not a lot of treatment options for hepatic adenomas. The first step is always going off any hormonal birth control, which I did a year ago. If things shrink, great, you can keep monitoring and hope that things stay shrinking or at least stable and probably leave it at that. If, however, things continue to grow, well that becomes concerning, because the larger the tumors are the more risk there is of them rupturing or becoming cancerous. If your tumors are larger than 5cm, like mine, and not shrinking or goodness forbid growing then just continuing to monitor may not be a safe long term solution. So you'll have to look at other treatment options, none of which are great.

The next step in trying to get them to shrink after stopping birth control is almost always weight loss. Because the only other options are a) transarterial embolization (a very gross procedure I looked up that I'm terrified of having to do in which blood flow is cut off from the tumors), b) ablation (which isn't recommended for tumors larger than 3cm which mine are), c) liver resection (which I'm pretty sure I'm not a candidate for because I have too many large tumors in too many places, and anyway is a very scary and risky surgery with months of recovery) and finally d) liver transplant (an ever scarier and riskier surgery with significant risks of mortality). And as much as I don't believe in or want to diet, the other options are worse.

Which means that it is very likely that in a few weeks, when my therapist gets back from vacation, I will be seriously attempting to lose weight for the first time since I was an anorexic teenager. And I don't want to, I so don't want to, but I suspect it's going to be the best choice out of a group of bad ones. But I'm so scared. I'm already having crazy relapse thoughts, I'm already struggling with horrible OCD food research spirals and calorie counting and thinking about food for hours and hours and hours each day. And it sucks. My hope is that it will actually get slightly better if I genuinely try to lose weight with my therapist and use a detailed meal plan, because then it will at least be set in stone and not just me panicking indecisively about everything. It'll be predetermined in therapy, so I won't have to spend hours thinking about it on my own. But I don't know, it still feels very risky for my mental health. I know how easy it is for me to obsessively count and calculate everything and how much that sucks and how much I hate it even as I can't stop myself. And I'm just. I'm just so stressed about the whole thing. Also like, it almost feels like it would be a slight betrayal of my values, because I really don't believe in dieting and I hate diet culture and love the anti-diet and fat acceptance movements. But at the same time I wouldn't be doing it to look better or whatever, I'd be doing it with the very specific goal of hopefully shrinking my tumors. And if I do go down this path and it turns out that the main reason obesity and hepatic adenomas are correlated is indeed higher estrogen in fatty tissue I'm going to talk to my doctors about monitoring my estrogen levels, so that I'm looking at the underlying cause and trying to focus on that number instead of just the number on the scale. But idk. This whole thing just. It just sucks and it's scary and I'm in awful OCD hell and I really wish my therapist wasn't away for the next week and a half.

[fedzkun]

anon who couldn't stop thinking about your fics here, it was both actually! i really like mind control esque fics and lullabies/claim+indisputable both scratched my brain in different ways.

in lullabies' case, you got a lot across in what was a pretty short word count, especially in the second fic. you added just enough emphasis in the moments you wrote that it was easy for me to fill in the blanks for the parts you didn't write. it was really masterful writing to me. i couldn't stop thinking about the possibilities and what izuku experienced before he was rescued for him to turn out that way.

in indisputable's case, a lot of the moments felt sus to me while reading, but i didn't put all the pieces together until the very end. the ending really surprised me, but at the same time i felt like i should have seen it coming. i read the whole thing again afterwards and was really amazed by all the foreshadowing. for every detail i noticed there was another one i didn't think twice about haha. and rereading it while putting myself in izuku's shoes really messed me up but in the best way. the whole thing is definitely my favorite take on his dynamic with afo.

Aha, I see!

Yeah, in lullabies above, which was my first bnha fic, I think I was mainly getting a feel of things and a lot of my angst style carried over from previous fandoms. I think it’s also just scarier overall to let readers imagine what horrors Izuku went through, and make it look like recovery for him is an impossible task. I really want to update that series soon. Fun fact, but since it was my first, I’ve only watched until S4 that time. Haven’t read the manga yet then, so reconciling then and now should be fun.

On the other hand, Claim+Indisputable were brain dumps when the New Order Quirk came out, so it was angst directly in concert with the manga.

Thank you! I appreciate your patronage of my wares! 💕💕💕

[topazadine]

On making your mental illness your entire identity

I've noticed a really disturbing trend where people turn a mental illness into their entire online persona. I noticed it a lot with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), which is a very real and very unglamorous disorder rooted in deep, catastrophic trauma.

As someone who has been in recovery for bipolar for over a decade now, I'm telling you that this is a terrible idea that will just keep you stuck.

(Rest under cut to spare your dash lol)

It's good, honorable even, to be open about your mental illness, but it has to be productive. When I talk about bipolar disorder or my C-PTSD and its attendant horrors, it's not to say it's so uwu quirky like the TikTok girlies, but to share resources and get helpful support from others - not just sympathy or attention.

This cultivates a healing mentality amongst myself and others: we're trying to get help and build our coping skills. Why? Because mental illness sucks, and if you wallow in it, that mental illness makes you suck.

Mental illness isn't fun. It's not something that makes you want to dress up and dance around for attention. It eats away at your life, takes away your joy, makes you struggle to do even basic things like cleaning your house or staying focused on tasks.

More than that, mental illness can make you bitter. "Why me? What did I do to deserve this? Am I just a bad person, born wrong?"

If it's C-PTSD, you get angry: "Someone else did this to me. It's their fault. Why do I have to clean up their mess? They should have to fix this!"

Unfortunately, it is your responsibility. You have to manage it, cope with it, get help for it to the best of your ability and funding. You can run from it for a while if you want to, pretend it's not a big deal, or even glamorize it to make it seem powerful - or to make you seem like a poor little waif who needs everyone's attention.

But it will catch up to you, and the fall will be even harder if you've turned your mental illness into a load-bearing aspect of your identity. Suddenly you don't want to get better, because there's nothing else to you.

Fixing the illness will mean you need to develop something else to make your "thing," so you cling to it. Treatment is scary, but losing your entire persona is even scarier. This throws you into a spiral where you get worse and worse, refusing to get help so you don't have to rebuild your life from the ground up. And, sadly, I suspect that this could literally kill people, if it hasn't already.

I am not at all saying that you need to be ashamed of your mental illness or hide it. In fact, hiding your illness is also bad, because you won't want to seek help if you're too embarrassed to admit what's wrong.

Being mentally ill doesn't automatically make you a bad person, and you shouldn't feel guilty about it. But you also shouldn't turn your mental illness into a comfort object and a shield that veils all the other important parts of you. It should never be used as an excuse for bad behavior or a substitute for a real personality.

I have found that thinking of my mental illness in the same vein as chronic physical illness ensures that I don't think of it as some magical condition that elevates me beyond "normies." No one gets online and turns diabetes into their schtick. No one walks up to strangers and introduces themselves as having liver disease. People may say that their Hashimoto's disease is kicking their ass today, but they don't use it as an excuse to be a dick to other people (at least I have never seen that).

You need to do the same thing with your mental illness. In many ways, it is who you are - bipolar disorder, for example, changes your brain chemistry and even puts you at risk of certain organic diseases - but it is not all you are.

Instead of making social media accounts where you post nothing but your mental illness, make an account about something you chose about yourself, whether that is cosplay or a hobby or a special interest. Yes, that may not get as much attention as the wildness of mental illness, but it won't get you stuck.

And don't get addicted to the attention you get from disorderposting. All those strangers who like your posts don't really care about you; worse, some of them don't want you to get better because you are just content to them, and when your content becomes more "normal," they'll drop you without a second thought.

You'll destroy yourself for a few dopamine hits from seeing line go up, and is that really worthwhile? Is that fair to you - to your story and your overall life? No. It's not.

You deserve better than that, and you deserve to want better than that. So if you're thinking of making a social media account dedicated entirely to whatever mental illness you have - don't. Please.

[florilegiumofblips]

This past year I spent a lot of time learning how to be honest with myself. I've spent a good portion of my life trying to be the Poster Girl for Everything Always. I can't always pinpoint what it's rooted in, but I have a long history of shaming myself relentlessly when I'm not meeting up to some imaginary but ever-pressing standard of perfection. I think this is partly why I always have a project going. I have to make sure I'm earning my figurative keep. I'm worthy! I'm valuable!

(I'm in recovery.)

This shaming includes (but is not limited to) when I have completely human emotions and reactions to life. Instead of meeting whatever I find with some semblance of kindness and honesty, some, hey this is totally human and normal, I desperately shove it down and berate myself if it has any scent of imperfection. This won't do, put it away, nobody wants to see that. So, I've spent time gathering up the courage to let my outsides match my insides, so to speak, to have loving permission for myself to be whatever mess I need to be in order to feel like I can live with some kind of integrity, wherever I am. For the sake of being genuinely loved. What better thing is there than to be honestly loved for who you honestly are?

I don't mean this in the fake-real sense that's often flaunted around on the internet, like, "Here's what I look like without under-eye concealer! Look how vulnerable I am!" I mean it in a much heavier sense, like, hey I feel like I might be failing at marriage and I'm scared. Because one part of this mess I had been lugging around inside had to do with my marriage. I had taken what were completely normal feelings and pathologized them; I had used them to turn against myself and tell myself I was some kind of failure. I let them fester for so long that if I kept it going, I'd guess it could've destroyed me, or my marriage.

So, this year I found the courage to look my husband in the eye and tell him all of the things I had been feeling but pushing away, or covering up, or talking around, with the unfortunately misled hope that if I ignored them for long enough, or dressed them up enough in the right lighting, I wouldn't have to deal with them. Things like,

Sometimes, I think I got married too young.

Sometimes, I think I squelched concerns about you that I shouldn't have, back when we were dating.

Sometimes, I wonder what my life would be like if I had given myself the chance to explore more relationships.

Sometimes, I want out of the box we've closed ourselves into.

Sometimes, I feel a panicked suffocation at how we are parents now, how we made a life together and how none of this can be un-done.

What I know now is that these are totally normal. These are things one thinks after being with the same person for nearly a decade. I was reading about the seven year itch a few months ago, and how most of these questions come with it, and that people either decide to leave or they process it and take their relationship to a new, fresh place.

Now I know all of this, but upon first feeling these things, I thought for certain I had done something wrong. This isn't what someone in a good marriage feels. This isn't how it's supposed to go. If it's good you don't also want out sometimes. So I tried to privately think them away, but, wherever you go, there you are. Because I didn't air them out, they got darker and perpetuated. They swam around my head at night, making me sweat and toss. They were scary to utter internally, alone, in the quiet, dark space of my heart where they lived, and they were scarier still to see falling off my lips and into the open air in front of my husband, this man who I loved so dearly. For a long time, I held them all gingerly in my hands trying to keep them contained, turning them over and over quietly, because I couldn't make sense of them.

I was so happy, but then I wasn't. How does that work?

Turns out that's kind of just how it works.

It also turns out that it's ok.

It's ok.

[vulturesawake]

Not exactly sure how to phrase this but. If you are in the throes of an eating disorder and don't feel ready to recover, take a peek under the readmore.

I struggled with various eating disorders for many years. For most of it, I thought I was doing it the "safe" way. I was hitting my micros/macros, eating almost every day, and making sure to eat nutrient-rich, low-calorie foods along with vitamins. I didn't even lose any hair or get black nails or anything like that, even though I lost over 100lbs in a year. And you know what?

I still fucking disabled myself. I can no longer work even half as much as I used to. I get tired just sitting up. I'm exhausted every minute of every day. If I have a hard shift at work, I can't do anything but lay in bed after, sometimes for days. I'm always in pain. I'm forced to depend on others to survive. I never thought I was "that sick", even refusing to admit that I had an eatong disorder, just "disordered eating".

Enablers, along with your disorder, will have you picturing dying from an ed as being a tender waif wasting away in bed surrounded by people quietly mourning, asking God why he took away someone so young and beautiful. Oh, how we regret our part in this. If only we could have done more! We will remember you as our sweet darling whom we failed so miserably forever.

In reality, you'll die shitting yourself, screaming at hospital staff for giving you a feeding tube, nails brittle and hair patchy and skin yellow and blotchy, wracked to the bone with anxiety and anger and despair, completely out of control. All while everyone else around you is bitter and angry at you because you could be better, you could be alive and well and none of this would be happening, if only you would just Fucking Stop. They're angry at you because you're killing yourself in one of the most horrible, violent ways imaginable and forcing them to watch. The friends and family you have left, anyways, since eds famously force you into isolation.

And what if, at the end of all of that, you don't even die? What if you're like me and many others and you just have to live with the consequences for the rest of your life?

It's not my intention to guilt trip you here. I'm trying to give you a reality check. I know that recovery is hard and scary and some days feels so far out of your reach that it feels like you don't even want it. I understand you and feel for you; recovery is undeniably one of the scariest and most exhausting things you'll ever do. But trust me, eds are so so so much scarier.

You're never "not sick enough" to warrant recovery. The moment you develop disordered eating thoughts, it's an emergency. I'm not kidding. Eds are the most dangerous mental illnesses. They will destroy you from the inside out and it will hurt the whole time you're dying. It's like strongly considering putting yourself through a wood chipper, no hyperbole or irony.

You may not always win. You may not always trend upward, even. But for the sake of yourself and everyone else around you, please please keep fighting it as much as you can possibly muster.

[theatlasrealm]

SHORT KAI HCS/SMITH TRIO HCS

—-Kai visibly Looks shorter than the rest of the ninja however he looks taller than Jay only because of his hair gel but in reality he and Jay are the same exact height

—-I said this before and I will say it again to reach kitchen cabinets or any high place kai either does one of two things :

1) airjitzu’s and sets the entire place on fire 2) becomes an Olympic gold metal gymnast

THERE IS NO INBETWEEN

—- Kai doesn’t get bothered much that cole and Zane are taller then him bc they are older… but the fact that his YOUNGER SIBLINGS are taller than him keeps him awake at night..

—-sometimes when nya or lloyd wake up in the middle of the night, scared and shaking, they go to the same person they’ve been going to all their life for nightmares: Kai

—-kai influenced/helped Lloyd a lot. And I mean a LOT, just as much as he helped nya. hair care routine? yeha kai showed Lloyd. how to deal with panic attacks? kai helps him breathe, and taught him how to handle it in case Lloyd is ever alone. Also someone else also said this btw but Lloyd’s weapon is a sword gee I wonder why

—-KAI IS THE FASHIONISTA SIBLING I REPEAT HE IS FASHIONISTA SIBLING-

nya: Kai if I was in your shoes

Kai: first of all my shoes are pieces of art second of all you shouldn’t even be in those shoes good lord we need to go shoe shopping I can’t have my dear sister walking around like that

—-guess who’s holding all the shopping bags when the trio goes shopping! Ur right it is nya and lloyd

“kai please stop we don’t need more clothes”

“lloyd, life is a runaway what do you mean we don’t need more clothes”

“kai that’s it we are going home if I have to carry one more bag-”

—--nya and Lloyd can’t hide crap from kai he just knows

Lloyd, thinking: I hate myself

“hey Lloyd u okay buddy??”

“YEAH!!”

Kai brother instinct triggered

Kai pulls out weapon: abominable hug

weapon was effective lloyd is feeling better

—-kai is a good liar/actor to most people except nya girl sees right through his facade

nya, “hey kai everything okay?”

Kai,” yeah don’t worry everything’s fine!”

nya gently hugs kai and Kai has an emotional breakdown: a sequel

—-kai,”how’s the weather up there”

nya and Lloyd,” we weren’t aware garden gnomes could talk”

—- when any one of them is sick the remaining two know exactly what to do.

Nya is sick? Give her some soup ! Give her some space! She’s independent and isn’t a fan of being taken care of (lloyd respects that!) but yk kai….Kid isn’t scared of nyas rages 💪

Lloyd is sick? give him some soup! make him laugh! hug him! Thankfully he’s smart enough to stay in bed and recover because he knows if he does that the recovery process will be faster! the real question is if kai knows that…

Kai is sick? Code red full lockdown bro is gonna go try and discover a new species while burning at a high temperature. um kai isn’t scared of nyas rages but when she yells at him for not resting while sick she’s like ten times more scarier someone save the poor boy oh look savior lloyd has arrived oh wait nope false alarm he’s yelling at Kai too

—-they all casually share hoodies, graphic tees, etc. but for Kai it looks little too big.. um…. don’t tell him that though…..

—--if things are too overwhelming for Kai he goes to nya and Lloyd. everything seems to melt away when they look up and smile at him

—-don’t insult nya or Lloyd in front of Kai or Kai’s gonna do a full sailor moon transformation and then into a VICIOUS garden gnome.

—-whenever nya’s inventions/ideas don’t work out, she gets angry and frustrated at herself due to her perfectionist nature. Kai always manages to make her feel better

“hey don��t worry nya, you have wonderful ideas and such a smart brain! you created so many things and I couldn’t have been more proud. how about we go eat a snack and then you can come finish this project later! I’ll even help!

—-Kai is really good with ‘feminine’ stuff like sewing (he probably used to stitch up ripped clothes when him and nya were kids) and hair. he knows 7384377348 different hairstyles and does nya’s hair whenever he can. he also tried to teach Lloyd but the poor kid became jumble of confusion. he managed to teach him braids though!!!

you think this is it? naw shawty I’ve got part two coming out soon.

[selfiecharmedlife]

Re: Face/Off or Recovering from FFS

CW: Body stuff

As of today, it’s been just over a week since I had facial feminization surgery (FFS). Leading up to the procedure, I felt very isolated. Not many people undergo FFS in the first place and most of the people I spoke with that had undergone the procedure were far removed from the anxieties I was, and am still, feeling. Luckily, I did have the chance to talk to some people who had journaled in the weeks leading up to their procedure and shared their thoughts during that time. So now I’m writing this down so that maybe I can pay that forward to someone else.

FFS is an umbrella term for a number of procedures. Specifically, I underwent a forehead reduction, hairline advancement, brow bone reduction, mandibular angle reduction and chin reduction. My surgeon assured me that recovery would be significantly easier than vaginoplasty recovery, but that didn’t help my nerves. I was so anxious that I asked for an additional meeting before the procedure so we could touch base again just so I could feel a little more secure in my decision. It didn’t help. In the weeks leading up to my surgical date, I barely slept most nights and had a hard time focusing on anything during the day. 

The image of walking into the operating room stuck with me more than anything else. The wording of my pre-op instructions made it sound like I would have to walk into the OR instead of being wheeled in like my last procedure. There was something about that idea of having to open the door myself and place myself on the bed that was so much scarier than anything else. It would be like strapping myself into a Tower of Terror ride; a leap of faith that I had to take myself. For the record, I hate thrill rides for this exact reason. 

Even if everything went right, I might still not be happy with my outcomes and $20,000 USD for the worse. There is always the chance of a negative reaction to anesthesia or things healing poorly. Nevermind how some portion of the outcome is going to be up to the aesthetic preferences of the surgeon. With all that in mind, I still knew that I would regret it if I didn’t go through with the procedure.   

When the day came, my partner and I were up at 3am. I say we were up, but I was too nervous to sleep. All the same worries about outcomes, complications and the cost of the procedure kept knocking around in my head. I ended up going with the same surgeon that did my vaginoplasty a few years ago. He is still working out of the same hospital so it felt oddly familiar walking back into the same waiting room. My partner and I ended up sitting on the same bench where I had cried years ago. Sitting there, I clearly recalled how it felt asking my caretaker if she thought I was doing the right thing as if that was a question anyone could answer for me. This time, even if I didn’t know if I was making the right choice, I found comfort in knowing I wasn’t making a bad choice.

Everything else from there to the OR was routine. I winced as the anesthesiologist put the IV in my arm and tried to look unbothered when one of the nurses kept calling me a man. Mercifully, they wheeled my bed into the OR. I was a wreck of nerves as I passed the point of no return and then the lights went out. I woke up hours later in the recovery room. All that work researching the likelihood of waking up during surgery for nothing. 

My eyes were almost swollen shut, my head was wrapped in bandages from the brow up, my mouth was full of painful sutures, my threat was irritated from the breathing tube and to make it all worse I immediately threw up. The combo of existing irritation and vomiting was worse than anything from the actual surgery. My body was producing flem to try to soothe the irritation but that ended up making it difficult to breathe. Coughing to clear the flem irritated the sutures and…you probably get the picture.

Back at home, I spent the rest of the day in bed communicating with my partner via text messages because it hurt too much to talk. I couldn’t bear to look at myself in the mirror and my partner astutely covered up all the mirrors I was likely to walk past. An eyewitness told me that the bruising was extensive around my eyes and my face was so swollen that it looked like a perfect sphere. Eating anything but ice chips was painful. Did you know Pedialyte makes popsicles now? They rule. 

The surgery was on Friday and the following Monday morning my doctor removed the dressings and gave me a chin bra to wear for the next four weeks. It’s a weird looking compression wrap that goes under my chin to support it while it heals. According to him, my healing was going great but I still refused the mirror when he tried to show me what I looked like. 

Despite my best efforts, I did end up seeing my face eventually. Our brains have a very advanced neural network for recognizing our own faces. Between the still painful swelling, incision marks tracing my hairline and (still) black/bloodshot eyes, my brain popped an error message. Yes, I could touch my face and feel it. I knew I was looking at myself. Emotionally, it just didn’t click. I didn’t want it to. 

Physically healing has been fine for the most part. I can’t smile or laugh too much before my jaw hurts or eat solid food just yet, but every day is a big step forward. At this rate, my sutures and incisions should be healed in another week or two as I’m getting ready to head back to work.  

But even as things get better in the short-term, FFS is a long and complicated healing process. Things will continue to shift and settle for up to a year before I really know what my face will look like. I’m sure that at some stage of the healing process, I’m going to look in the mirror and feel disappointed before things shift again. 

Everyone I’ve talked to has told me that they’ve ultimately been happy with their results, but what if I’m in that small percentage that isn’t? What if those nerves never reconnect and large parts of my face will always be numb? Those are all possibilities right now. 

There is a happy ending for now at least. Despite my best efforts, I caught myself in the mirror again this morning. It wasn’t long enough for me to recognize the incision, bruising or swelling, but my brain did see the stranger in the mirror and think “she’s kinda cute.”

[a-random-aroace]

Ok so AU where Deku almost got turned into a Nomu when in U.A, and instead of being all depresso espresso he has gained a very dark sense of humor, and he can also sharpen his fingernails and teeth into basically claws/knives (Like killua).

He doesn’t really talk about the experience but with the info from the dark as hell jokes they can piece together some of what happened. When the class tries to be soft with him he gets very annoyed, because he doesn’t really like being treated like a soft baby that will cry at anything scarier than a bee.

Sometimes he will freak out and think he is back at the lab, and either run somewhere (most of the time he ends up finding All Might) or attempting to fight the class.

He doesn’t like to go to Recovery Girls or hospitals because the lab was like a fucked up hospital of pain, and smelled like a hospital. So when he goes to Recovery Girls he freaks out. He still has OFA so that can be a problem sometimes. They have found out that bringing Recovery Girl to Deku works a bit better.

When the Leauge Of Villians attack, he freaks out and kinda goes into “kill mode” or he runs away. It really depends on his mood.

There are a few people who can calm him down and get him to feel safe, and they are All Might, Uraraka, Iida, Recovery Girl, and sometimes Aizawa. He feels comfortable around most of the class, and to Bakugou’s disliking, he is not really afraid of him anymore.

He is still a mega fanboy, and still has a lot of the same personality as before, just those changes. He has changed a lot, but is also the same at the same time if that makes sense.

Ok so I’m editing this and boom here ya go

................................ ................................ ........................

I was walking around the city, hoping to find somebody to help, when I got a feeling I was being followed. I whipped my head around to see nobody. I sped up my pace.

It was early Sunday so I wasn’t expecting to see many people. I turn a corner, and feel the eyes on me again. I take a left into the first alleyway. I walk in a square and turn my head around. I spot a hooded figure standing there, staring at me. I quickly go back to the street.

Fuck my life I think as I speed up, trying not to run. I quickly make my way around into a more populated area. Did everybody just decide to avoid this place today?? I finally see people. Thank god, maybe I can lose them in the crowd. I walk as calmly as possible through the crowd, but still feel the eyes.

I feel tears start to well up in my eyes. Goddamnit I shouldn’t be crying, this isn’t a big deal. I wipe the tears away, and start to make my way to a less populated area.

All of a sudden the sidewalk seemed very interesting. I look up to see a tall, blond, bony figure turning the cover ahead of me. I sprint around the corner, tears already falling. Dad... he can help...

I feel something, no, maybe someone, wrap their arms around me. I whip my head around, looking down already, and...

“Izuku?” I turn around completely and see the kid clinging to me, crying. “Let’s get you home.”

Home. That never sounded so good before. I feel myself get picked up. The eyes are finally off me. I bury my face into All- dad, and feel more tears coming. Sobs escaped from my lips. Dad patted my head.

“Don’t worry Izuku, you’re safe now. I will protect you....”

[kaypeace21]

i’m a survivor too, and i found that certain scenes/stuff will said just really struck me as ‘csa-survivor’-like? i felt a bit uncomfortable about headcanoning it happening to someone else, especially for a fandom as wild as this one, but your metas have really been a comfort to me because they’ve been able to pick out and explain things that i couldn’t necessarily find the words for myself.

and yeah, i would love to have a character like me that is powerful and who finds love and who gets a happy ending. the people who call the theory disgusting always kinda hit wrong with me because although csa is a difficult subject, we shouldn’t be ashamed about sharing it. they sound like they’re trying to say that it’s a bad topic to talk about and implying that it can’t happen to kids, which uhhhhh-

(i’m sure that’s not what they mean, precisely, but it’s still what they sound like, and i wish that they would stop implying that we can’t exist, especially in popular media. we do, and i’m not gonna pretend we don’t, and if they feel uncomfortable with the topic they can just use the block button. we deserve to have some well written representation just as much as anyone else. also, i really really hope that will gets a happy ending.)

anywayyyy i love your theories and i can see your post in the tag so i think you’re fine?? have a good day ❤️❤️❤️

SORRY, this ask took so long to respond to. It always warms my heart to hear other survivors speak and say they found comfort in my theory.

Yes, I think I and a lot of c*a/r*pe victims (subconscious or otherwise) were triggered by some of the symbolism/visuals in s1-3. And s3 made it hard for most of us to ignore the past imagery- since s3 wasn’t as subtle.

I get why people have reservations about the theory. But the debates to the contrary are usually just plain offensive. Or people trying to be respectful but being the opposite. There’s the obvious bad-apples . I got many anons after part 1 of my DID theory saying it “ruined/tainted byler”, and “if that happened to Will i’ll stop shipping byler” , or that it  “ruins the best gay character” ,  and to “remove the post immediately”. And this was when I was open about being a gay c*a victim. I obviously blocked them. Many survivors don’t come forward because they’re afraid people will see them as “tainted”, “ruined”, “ just their trauma”, or blame them for what happened. So yeah, it pisses me off when people say similar stuff about Will (and thus other c*a victims). Not even diving into the messed up psychology about byler/mileven shippers (knowing i was a lesbian c*a victim) but purposely spreading bs rumors about me being a p*do that was into Will/Noah-all because of the theory. -_-

Then there’s the people who try to be “respectful” but literally do the opposite.

I’ve heard numerous times it’s somehow “less offensive�� to just use r*pe imagery to make monsters scary. Rather than have  the monsters have that imagery cause Will created the monsters from his memory/imagination-and st is a story of Will healing from that trauma. SORRY- I disagree. Using the worst experiences of peoples’ lives (and triggering their trauma) for no real purpose- except to make their monsters scarier to the normal/general audience who haven’t gone through it so won’t be triggered like us - is MORE OFFENSIVE to victims! NOT LESS! At least to me.

Then there’s the people who say “c*a should never be talked about (in stories).” Which I disagree with. V*ctims have already been told by ab*ser’s  and enablers of the ab*ser- to never talk about what happened to us  . So it rubs A LOT of us the wrong way when people say this.  Because (subconscious or not) you remind some of us of the people who used to hurt/silence us. People say this -simply for their convenience (like ab*sers) and cause deep down they’re uncomfortable with our existence and equate the despicable act to us the innocent v*ctim ...or just want to deny the horrible reality of the situation (like many enablers who deny the truth and hurt us because they don’t want to accept reality) . And 1) It brings us back to a time where they told us to NEVER talk about it- and makes us feel like we did something wrong when we didn’t! 2) Every psych professional says with-holding/keeping the ab*se a secret is detrimental to our mental health.

Plus, there’s a HUGE difference between sugarcoating/minimizing trauma or WORSE glamorizing, condoning, or romanticizing C*A in stories (ex: pretty little liars) VS showing how the action is wrong, causes trauma, but showing recovery and happiness is still possible for v*ctims.  if the story shows how accurately traumatizing it is (instead of minimizing/glamorizing it)- it’s incredibly rare for that character to get a happy ending. Having a story about recovering from that type of trauma and finding happiness despite such hardships would be amazing for US survivors! We rarely get stories with a happy ending-  it’s more harmful to us survivors to never see ourselves get happy endings in tv/film/books. How can some survivors (in a dark place) think there’s a light at the end of the tunnel- if it’s never shown?Also if Will has DID too- it’s good mental health rep, along with queer rep (and survivor’s rep.) All 3 groups rarely are treated well or get happy endings in media. A lot of people may feel more heard, seen, and a bit more hopeful for the future - If Will (and other characters) get a happy ending.

And even though st has many themes- like say homophobia. To try and hand-wave all the disturbing  r*pe imagery away  as ‘Will is just gay so the monsters are like that”. IS SOOOOOO offensive. Trigger warning for examples. I’m sorry what part of Max saying when Billy had c*nsensual s*x it’s “good screams” but when possessed by the mf he causes Heather to do “bad screams” read as gay???! Having the possessed ch*ke/dr*g people before throwing them in trunks (like it’s implied Lonnie did to Will -since Jonathan checked Lonnie’s trunk for Will in s1)?Tying their arms and legs up/ g*ging  them and  getting on top of them and saying “stay VERY still it’ll all be over soon”-before a monster shoves it’s tentacle into someone’s mouth and inserts a goo - just gay??? Similar to the sentient vine/shadow monster forcing itself down Will’s throat. Let alone Will saying things like “he made me do it”, “i felt it everywhere”, or being tied to a bed and screaming “help! stop! it hurts! let me go!” While Jonathan is the only one who’s visibly triggered by this and has to literally turn away and hug someone . Or barb, billy, and El spiting up a white liquid from their mouth (similar to will spitting up a slug and lying to his mother about it ).El/billy touching a suspicious looking slime with their hand and looking at the substance confused . El drawing Papa with 3 legs (the middle one being shorter) ,  trying to undress in front of the boys , and Benny saying “I think she’s been ab*sed or something”.The theme of ab*sive dads- brenner , Lonnie, and Neil . Even when the demogorgan (called in d&d the “deep father”/ in the show “a man without a face”) attacked Barb it’s chopped up with scenes of Nancy having c*nsensual sex (the monsters are doing the opposite symbolically). There’s way more examples but NO- to try and hand wave /equate ALL OF THIS to just “gay imagery” or an “a*ds metaphor” is WAY more problematic. And just offensive (specifically to gay people) than just admitting what it may actually represent. R*pe imagery and gay imagery is NOT THE SAME THING!

Also ST has never been a kid show- maybe rewatch the show and see the rating of tv-14 . Goodness sake- s1 has a st*ged su*icde, k*dnappings, m*rder, discussions of physics, h*mophobia, and s*x (with stancy in s1 & jancy in s2-s3). S2/3 discuss at their finalies recovering from tra*ma . S2 had gra*ic de*ths,  a man causing a women br*in damage/ and faking her m*scarriage, and a gang of vigalantes k*lling criminals. s3 had critiques on capitalism /media/s*xism, many d*eaths, and questionable imagery like the prior seasons. The Duffers constantly reference  movies & events from the 80s (capitalizing on 80s nostalgia /subverting 80s motifs that middle age people  from that time remember)! Those people were their intended age demographic . Most 80s centric refs go over most kids’ heads (heck a lot went over my head too since I wasn’t alive in the 80s XD).The Duffers even said in the book “worlds turned upsidedown”  “it’s not a kid’s show despite having kids”. And maybe it’s a coincidence but when Lucas in s3 hands Will the “devil’s baby” firework (a hint about Lonnie) he says “18 and over only.” Which idk is a weird/random af line unless it’s foreshadowing that the show will get darker about various themes- and maybe even change ratings.

I get people wishing nothing bad ever happened to Will or Jonathan. And being apprehensive and not trusting the Duffers to do such a story justice (cause it’s difficult to do). But personally i trust them to do so tastefully with tact and not be exp*itative, (overly gr*fic) or offensive to v*ctims. You can disagree and think the show is about something else (or not trust the Duffers)- but it’d be great if people could stop using these other messed up talking points. While trying to appear ‘(fake) woke’ and like they care for victims- cause we see through it that you really don’t.

Have a lovely day anon ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Update- I just really agreed with and appreciate the tags in this reblog

[sevensav--d-archived]

@random-oc-questions-fairy​ sent  What does your character think of their present? What would they change about it? If you had to choose one moment that led them to where they are, what would it be?

**Everyone in the main cast (Fukumi, Itoshi, Nomiko and Satsuka) will be answering. **NOTE. BASED ON MANGA CANON, SPOILERS FROM THE WAR ARC WILL BE PRESENT. **ALSO TW FOR SU*CIDE MENTION

“I didn’t think that things could ever get this serious.  Not when I’m...This young, you know?  I’m sixteen years old, but I’ve seen so much violence and death... I’ve been in a war, for Pete’s sake.”  She sighs, looking down at the arm she’d broken during the battle.  It’s been fixed now, thanks to the help of Recovery girl. She’s quiet for a moment, before she adds, “You know... I don’t think things would be different, even if I wasn’t here.  If anything, it would probably be... Even scarier.  My mom and sister wouldn’t have been offered UA’s protection.”  She looks off down the hall towards the room her mom and sister occupy.   “The thing is... What led me here, I don’t regret that.  This is where I’m supposed to be... But... Maybe if I’d trained harder... Or insisted I be closer to the actual fight...”  

Her bandaged fists clench.  “If I could have stopped that giant monster...  Then maybe.. Midnight would still be here.”

---

“Jesus Christ, what wouldn’t I change?”  He’s sitting on his bed, working on a replacement arm.  Since moving back into the dorm after his time at the hospital it became his priority to replace the limbs that he’d worn during the war.  They were far too stained with blood to ever be worn again.  “My classmates almost dying, my teacher getting mutilated, another teacher of mine being killed-”  He rattles on, looking more and more frustrated.  “My stupid parents refusing to take refuge at UA, being expected to just go right back into school, fucking Midoriya leaving-”  

He exhales with a groan.  “I feel like all of this would have happened with or without me being involved, so saying me choosing the path of being a hero isn’t worth talking about...  But I think I made a discovery about myself during the war.  I can’t get hurt like most people.  When I saw my teacher in danger, I ran for him, knowing that there was next to no way I could ever be hurt as badly as he was.  But that isn’t enough.  I need to be stronger.  I need to find a way to make myself stronger.  Harder to break, harder to burn.  That’s how I’ll keep people safe.”

---

She was one of the last of her classmates to be discharged, so by the time she came back to the dorms, she found them overcrowded wit hadults.  The parents of her classmates.  She knew she likely wouldn’t see her own parents there.  Her mother was so far away, and her father had been the one that put her in the hospital in the first place.  But, in going to her room she found her mother waiting for her.  “It feels weird havin’ her here.”  She mumbles, jamming her hands in her pockets.  “...I wish I coulda finished Husk off, at the bare minimum.  Or at least stopped him.  But as far as I know, he’s still alive.  He made threats, that he was gonna hurt my friends.  I don’t like the idea of killin’ nobody but.. I feel like I don’t have a choice.”

---

“I tried to kill myself when I was sixteen, and again when I was 25.  But the past few weeks makes those times in my life seem like walks in the park.”  She’s exhausted.  Between acting as a grief counselor for the students and staff, helping the parents acclimate and counseling them, and worrying endlessly about her injured friends...  She feels like she’s barely holding on, that she could shatter at any moment.  She insisted she was strong, and that she was fine but there’s only so much longer she can keep that lie alive.

“I wonder, if I’d become a hero like I wanted to when I was younger, instead of going off and working for the Government... If I could have been more useful in the fight.  I had to stay back during the battle and I know if I’d been allowed out there I could have helped...  I don’t know if we would have had a clearer victory but... I can’t help but wonder.”  And lose sleep.  Lots and lots of sleep.

[writingfromthepit]

drops

TW // mentions of self-harm, ED

the strange, and sometimes infuriating, thing is that i can feel myself getting worse.

every time, it's like a fog that descends onto my brain, leaving me disconnected and numb. and then it's the drops, random times where i plunge down to my worst for days or weeks. 

after that, it's just darkness and self-destruction.

the terrible thing about this is that i have no way of stopping it. anything i do seems to make it worse, mostly because "anything" usually involves a relapse of some sort. either i step back on the scale, trying desperately to control something, or i take it out on my body. either of those leaves me feeling worse, and i get trapped in the inevitable cycle of self-harm. 

i wonder why i'm like this, sometimes. why i'm wired to be miserable. it gets a hell of a lot harder to pursue recovery when i think that maybe, i'm just destined to fail. 

it seems like a cruel joke played by the universe that maybe i'll spend the rest of my life like this because of a problem with something as tiny as DNA. sometimes i forget how long i've been carrying this weight. but then i realize that i can't remember a time without the darkness anymore. i can't remember what my thighs looked like without scars, or when i could look at my stomach without cringing. it's been so long since i was able to rest. since i was able to breathe freely.

it's almost funny how my brain works. i get worse, and i feel powerless, so i control my body or food or blood. but that only helps until you get trapped. and when that happens i feel even more powerless. so i throw myself into the depths, because it's easier than staying where i am and listening to the fucking screaming in my head all day. i do this over and over and over. and it's terrifying to think that maybe i'll keep doing it, over and over, until i can't claw my way back out. until i'm so drained and defeated that that jump into the abyss is my last. that's no way to live, trapped in my mind. 

but then again, i don't remember the last time i truly lived.

i don't know if i ever have. and i don't know which of those thoughts is scarier. 

[compassionatereminders]

I really resonated with your post on Mental Illness Lying To You. It was like a big weight off of my shoulders knowing that it isn’t just me against myself. But just my mental illness lying to me. Thank you for sharing. Xx

You're welcome! Basically I think that while your mental illness is a part of your life and affects you, it is not "you" - and I think it's important to maintain some degree of separation. Cause otherwise you can end up in a situation where letting go of your mental illness feels like letting go of yourself - which can make the recovery process even harder and scarier than it already is. That's why it's so important not to let your suffering become the defining aspect of your entire identity.

[one-abuse-survivor]

do you have any advice on getting your parents out of your life completely? I'm still a teen (14, to be exact) but I plan on getting a job, saving up, and moving out the moment I turn 18 and knowing how to cut them out before hand will make things 10 times easier. Thank you for any advice you do or do not give and please the care of yourself this holiday season.

In terms of never needing to see or contact them ever again, I really recommend that you have all your legal papers with you when you leave, as well as all the belongings that you don’t want to leave behind. My decision to cut my abuser out for good was very sudden, and I had to meet with her quite a lot of times afterwards to get my belongings. To this day, I still don’t have some important documents like my vaccination card (dunno if this is a thing everywhere, but it is where I live) or my family book, which gives me quite a lot of anxiety when I think about it. Same about my drawings and photos from childhood – those aren’t a necessity, but I just personally value memories a lot. So yeah, you know yourself best – when the time is nearing and you’re home alone, just go through everything in that house that belongs to you and try to make a list, mental or physical, of what you want and don’t want to take with you. Investigate on what papers you need where you live and make sure you have them all with you!

And in terms of socially cutting them out of your life, I think a big part of the process for me was (and still is) letting the people around us know that I no longer have any kind of relationship with my mother. Family members, friends in common, old teachers and friends who know her… it’s slow, but little by little you’ll need to let them know. And by this I don’t mean you have to plan it ahead, or anything: just that when they ask questions like “oh, how are your parents doing?” or the like, even if you can’t bring yourself to do it at first, you’ll eventually have to reply that you don’t know because they’re no longer in your life so that people stop asking.

It may sound scarier than it actually is (it did for me XD), but most people won’t ask questions, because most people prefer to avoid conflict and just roll along with situations that aren���t “socially acceptable” (like cutting out any family member) and keep their thoughts to themselves. But for the few who ask the invasive questions and generally just question your decision, my therapist gave me the sentence “that is between my mother and I”. Basically, I memorised this sentence and repeated it over and over when necessary, establishing that boundary so that people would know insisting would get them nowhere because I don’t want to share any details. 

This last bit, of course, is for the people around you who aren’t close to you. Another important part of cutting out your abusive family and recovering from abuse is to have or slowly build a network of people around you who can give you a sense of community and normalcy so you don’t feel isolated and like you don’t fit in the world around you. For me, these people are some of my friends from high school, but also one or two people from uni. Internet friends can help A LOT too in terms of having people to talk to who understand, but my therapist made it very clear that I have to avoid isolating myself irl because growing up in an abusive household made me feel isolated and separated from the world and like I would never get free, so an important part of recovery (for me!) is integrating myself in the world. She also told me this is really important because, in a similar fashion to how some people will miss their abusive ex when they’ve been separated for a while, it’s a common experience to suddenly have moments where you viscerally miss your abusive parents when you’re outside of the abusive situation. This happens, at least to me, because once the bad moments aren’t flooding your mind, the good memories start coming back, but I know other people who miss the parent they wish they’d had. It’s different for everyone! In any case, having people around you that can support you through the bad moments of recovery and give you feedback on your thoughts can make a huge difference.

Other than that, some things I recommend are not telling your parents that you’re planning on moving out until it’s already done, so that they can’t guilt-trip you into staying or withhold resources that you’ll need in order to leave. I’d also recommend not telling them where you live once you get out, and seeking therapy if you can and want to so you have professional guidance with PTSD and with the issues that may arise with your parents when you cut them out (I’ve had to text my therapist regarding my mother trying to contact me more than once 😅). I personally don’t reply to my abuser when she texts me and am looking forward to blocking her phone number as soon as she doesn’t know where I live, although I know I personally have to be careful with this, because it’s healthy to not reply to her texts if it’s an active decision to set a boundary, but it’s not so healthy if it’s an avoidance strategy. 

I think that’s all that comes to mind. If anyone has any other advice, feel free to add to the post! I hope you’re taking care too, nonnie. Sending a hug 💗 

PS. Sorry if this is a lot – I can only speak from personal experience and from where I am now, but I don’t want anyone to feel overwhelmed or like recovering and getting out of their abusive situation is just unattainable. I got out of my abusive home and started my recovery process almost by mistake, having no idea where I was getting or how to get there, and now I’m better than I have ever been. Even if you don’t have everything planned and you’re just rolling along with it and even if you mess up along the way, things can turn out fine 💗

[who-peed-in-your-cheerios]

Went to the gym this morning for body balance and pilates, morning workouts are the best, especially balance. Then had my allergy injections wooohooo done 13 so almost half way through the weekly ones.

I had a really good session with my therapist after. Even though I'm not in a recovery mindset I can still make changes. I want to try and regulate my eating in terms of times and also start having actual breakfasts and lunches instead of just snacking throughout the day. It's a really scary thing to do because even if it's the same calories something about actual meals feel scarier. And am also going to work on reducing weighing myself. My mindset has shifted to a more neutral stance because up until now I was so resistant to making any changes or to maintaining my weight or talking about it even so it's an improvement even if I'm pretty ambivalent.

Also figured out something that might play a big part in why I find it so hard to tolerate the physical feeling of food inside of me and why I jump straight to suicide when I have those feelings and also that I should actually get tested for any food sensitivities ugh, I'll ask my allergist next week who I need to talk to about that.

I feel validated lol even though what I wrote felt really weird and stupid.

I have my SW later and just gonna sort out documentation for my disability reassessment next week.

I've made a bit of progress with my final project (after restarting on Friday) and just wanna get through it already, I'm gonna just try my best and hope it's enough to finish and pass and try not to let my perfectionism scream.

Idk...I feel weirdly okish right now 🤷🏽‍♀️

[ms31x129]

Woohoo! Time for Chapter 4! I had to make a another DJ! I felt compelled! I hope I have ideas for 3 more! @cultureisdarkbeer @monikafilefan @today-in-fic

Chapter 1 - Courage to Jump Tumblr LINK  AO3 it is HERE.

Chapter 2: Luck of the Irish Tumblr LINK or AO3 it is HERE.

Chapter 3: Graffiti of the Heart Tumblr LINK or AO3 HERE.

Chapter 4: Leave Your Demons At The Door  (Click on the name for AO3) or if you like Tumblr just clickity-click on the Keep Reading link below.

{Summary:

After seeing the past through Dana Scully's eyes, Jackson decides he needs a cold one. With the letter remaining in his possession, he finds a motel room to stay for the night and heads out to check out the nightlife. Of course, the past decides to hitchhike a ride. Jackson's internal conflict reaches a fever pitch when he steps into his birth parent's past at a time when they were fighting the future.}

“All men should strive to learn before they die what they are running from, and to, and why.” -James Thurber

Jackson entered the motel room and tossed his knapsack off his shoulder, its buckles scraping along the surface of the small table as it came to a halt. Not ready for any type of sleep, he flopped on top of the bed with an arm cradling his head and flipped blindly through the channels to drown out the noise of the rest of the motel.

A lonely emptiness ate at his soul like the dying feasting on its last meal. There was nothing scarier to him than the idea that he could be sentenced to a purgatory of existing like this, nothing and no one with whom to speak. No compassion, no remorse, his soul had darkened to the point of charred coal without a hope for recovery. So why not embrace it? Why choose to be alone in madness?

Guiltily, he had found pleasure in cruelty, a joy in its power as a boy growing slowly into a man. Not for the first time, impossible questions riddled his mind. What if inside he was one of them? A bomb waiting to detonate; his existence serving its purpose to end it all. He thought he’d never be pure enough to make it through the gates of heaven anyway.

Why toggle the light and dark? He wondered while rubbing the barely there stubble along his chin. What was he afraid of besides loneliness? What was there to fear when you were the monster?

The springs of the sagging mattress creaked out a warning as he rose up and headed out to clear his head. At least he could find company in the loneliness of numbers.

The streets he walked were nothing like any he had traveled before. Yet they were etched in his head with a sharp knife, a scalpel scoring information deep into his DNA like some strange work of art. As he passed storefront windows and busy restaurants, there was a familiarity there that tickled at his brain akin to recognition. The insistent feeling led him to a bar and his height and a little illusion granted him a bar stool and a beer.

“You’ve got to train for that kind of heavy lifting,” said the bartender as the used beer glasses clinked, clanked, and stuttered against the highly polished, lacquered wooden bar. After several drinks, Jackson was barely able to steady his arm enough to prevent them from crashing to the floor. “Having a bad day?”

“You could say that,” Jackson sighed, chasing down a hiccup with what was left in his glass. “You come here often?” he smarted back.

“I’m the owner of this establishment actually,” she returned as she wiped up the last of the spilled beer. “Tonight’s been busy so I’ve been helping out.”

The other bartender finished doling out the last of the drinks to the customers and joined her to help clean up. He pointed at Jackson hunched over against the bar. “You look familiar... and I never forget a face.”  

He didn’t reply, afraid of it getting him tossed out, instead pointing at the bar for another round.

“So what brings you here?” The older woman asked, her short blond hair wisping over her forehead like bangs. She said it casually, but Jackson got the sinking feeling she was either testing his age or his blood alcohol level. Both of which were enough to refuse him any more service. It would only take a closer examination of his ID to uncover it was created courtesy of a man in a long trench coat in a dark alley.

The two bartenders were waiting for an answer and his depression overruled his logic. He opened his mouth intending on just feeding another lie to strangers who cared nothing for him, but carelessly started to ramble instead and the room spun without him.

“I’m part of an experiment to conceal the truth about the coming apocalypse,” he scoffed, wondering if that were even true anymore while he fingered the condensation on the beer glass. “Contagions, on a global scale to wipe out the planet except for the chosen few. I’m the atomic bomb: the savior and the sinner, and I can choose to destroy or save every man, woman, and child on this planet.”

Jackson chuckled to himself at how crazy his tale already sounded. His hands and arms were now animated as he spoke, staring at the bartenders straight in the eye.

“So of course they killed my parents. I’ve been forced to leave my girlfriends, drop out of school, I’m more of a bad joke than a friend. I’m Jackson, but they call me William…”

The man had the same look plastered on his face that most people had at hearing anything remotely “out there.” The older woman just look resigned, as if she’d heard this same shit on a different day. Maybe she had. Nothing surprised him anymore.

Noticing they both were still waiting for him to finish his spiel, he dove right back into the bullet point version of what he called his life.

“I realized I was part of the X-Men when I was just a kid,” he huffed at comparing himself to hero’s when he felt like a manifestation of evil. He leaned back with his hands gripping his knees, blowing a stream of air through puffed cheeks. “And now I chase after threads of sanity, trying to find who I really am, armed with a letter and a prayer hoping to find the courage to go to my birth mother, hoping she still wants me and has some answers. I’m shouting to the heavens or whoever is out there on the other side of my one-way sonar that the sky is falling. It’s goddamn Armageddon: earthquakes, flooding, fire, and disease.”

Jackson shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Knowing anyone else—anyone “normal” would consider this insanity, yet they were the building blocks of his life. They were what made him him . Saying them out loud as if he were confessing to his mom’s priest at their old church on Sunday mornings felt like a slap in the face.

“I’m the shitstorm of alllll time.”

“Well, that sure makes me feel better about myself,” the woman joked as she closed out his tab. “Looks like 86 is your lucky number, kid,” she told him, effectively ending his rant.

Jackson got the joke. She didn’t believe him and thought it was all some big hallucination from his consumption. Through her stimpering chastisement, she was throwing him out and refusing to serve. The depression and irritation at not being taken seriously yet again sunk from his heart into his stomach.

“You know, I’ve come to realize that one is the loneliest number,” he said, sulking with an arched brow and bathing in self-pity.

“That’s where I know this kid from,” the male bartender interrupted. “You remind me of that Spooky Mulder man. The woman passed him a curious look.

“You remember the FBI agent? Used to come in here years ago with his pretty redheaded partner.”

The female bartender smiled and nodded, a glimmer of recognition danced across her face and she added, “I hope the poor bastard realized she was crazy about him and grew a pair to finally ask her out.”

“Spooky Mulder?” Jackson questioned. That was them. Goddamnit! he thought, realization dawning. Once again following in the shadows of their history; literally it seemed.

“Yeah, I remember him bringing in his partner, what was her name?” she asked the other bartender.

“It was the same as the famous baseball announcer.” He snapped his fingers while Jackson gaped at the irony of it all. “Vin Scully—Scully was her name. Brought her in here after saving her life out in the arctic or some shit. Or she saved his life? I don’t know if they ever got that straight. Anyway, they would drink in here sometimes.”

The woman examined Jackson’s face. “Now that you mention it, he kind of looks like them.”

Jackson was afraid the jig was up. He tossed a couple fifties on the bar and stood, using the barstool to steady himself as he blinked twice to bring his doubled vision into focus.

While stumbling towards the door, a gang of bikers were making their way inside, marking out their turf like a wolf pack. They were rowdy and demanding, pushing the crowd aside as they grabbed their barstools and ordered drinks, harassing the patrons. Another younger, inexperienced bartender tried to settle them and it only appeared made them angry. One pulled him by his collared shirt to whisper something in his ear. Another one held out a knife, fingering it like he couldn’t wait to use it, while another man displayed the holster of his gun. If this was a bar frequented by the FBI, they were taking the night off.

Jackson’s heart pounded within his chest with what felt like a force hard enough to crack a rib as it yearned to beat free of its cage. His senses went on high alert and every color in the bar glowed brighter, every noise louder, smell stronger. With every movement anyone made he was prepared to react.

The song “Glitter and Gold” played through the bar’s sound system. Adrenaline and anger spiked in his veins like he had a double shot of caffeine. They were going to pay for their drinks and their disruption.  

In a dopamine rush, Jackson covered his frame in illusion, a monstrous form he invented as a child. Everyone froze at the sight of Ghouli before them. The eyes of the witnesses of Jackson’s transformation bulged and he could hear their strangled cries of mortal terror. Bulbs burst from the fixtures until there was barely enough light for shadows. The darkness fed his rage. Even the stars and moon seemed to cower behind clouds through the window preparing for Jackson’s storm. Everyone, everything, was now his prey.

Through the mirror at the bar, Jackson caught a reflection of a young boy with utter terror taking over his once innocent features, and his mother with her arms wrapped around him ready to give her life for his survival. In that moment, something inside Jackson snapped, or finally broke free perhaps. He heard it like a twig cracking in his mind, a subtle deafening sound. He ran. The bikers fled fearing he was headed their way, but Jackson was running away, not towards. Running to feel the sweet pain in his lungs, lactic acid building in his muscles, reminding him that he was real, he was human.  

Jackson “the monster” was no more. The old him really had died in the depths of the water on that cold night at the docks.

Now outside, the cars zoomed as they passed him, the drivers never taking notice of the monster running down the street, half human half Frankenstein as his illusion faded. People were too busy hurrying back to a welcoming home, eating their sirloin steaks and mashed potatoes with their family, making sure the children ate their vegetables. Somewhere parents beamed happily as they knelt down to tuck their kids into bed with a story in hand...

Would he ever know that comfort again?

Depression and self-loathing, like liquid death swarmed inside him, the blackness flooded and choked him begging his body to choose his future.

Heaving and gasping for breath with his avatar long gone, he slowed and finally stopped, leaning on his knees as he hunched over and concentrated on not vomiting. The sky spun and he heaved out the night’s libations. He wasn’t much of a successful drinker to begin with. Somehow he ended up on the damp ground, not certain how it happened, but he could feel the frigid water seeping into his jeans. His hands rested back into the soil as his feet dangled off the curb and into the street.

That monster was not him and it would not return.