#my paternal grandmother was maybe bipolar

[roiiibintheibis]

same

I come from a long line of people with something wrong with them

[toomanythoughts2]

what are your thoughts on autistic murderface or murderface with bpd???

I could make an argument that all of the members of Dethklok are autistic, but I won't because it wouldn't be much of an argument. Lots of folks see the members as autistic already, in one way or another. I have nothing against autistic Murderface (or any character of MLT), in fact, I love HCs stating that a member(s) are autistic because, honestly, I see it as well.

(I'm just going to go off of what I am aware of autism and BPD as a whole and I am in no way, shape, or form an expert on them.)

Autism, especially untreated and/or undiagnosed autism (which is what I believe Murderface would be experiencing), would affect his personal hygiene as a teenager and they would have followed him into adulthood, like they have in episode like "Dethsub" and "Dethcarraldo". Same thing with his grandmother, Murderface states that she had always had a smell to her that he hated. Stella might also have autism, especially since autism seems to be contributed more from the father's side than the mother's side (but it could come from anywhere, and I'm assuming that Stella is Murderface's paternal grandmother.) Autism affect your sensors, so Murderface having problems with certain smells or food textures also makes sense. He has a very strong interest in history and "morbid crap" like Pickles once said, so a special interest would explain that characteristic of his. With autism, Murderface could also be suffering from emotional deregulation, which explains his outbursts, like anger, his sense of defense, and depression.

Murderface having untreated BPD could be very very real, and honestly a very fair assumption to his character, maybe even more so than autism (though the two could co-exist together). The impulsivity, the anger issues, than suicidal ideation, the emptiness, the intense relationships, I mean, it would hit the nail on the head for a lot of things that Murderface goes through.

Murderface's character is very troubled and mentally unwell. I don't think anyone would fight on the fact that Murderface has mental health issues, especially about self-worth and image. He has this idea that all of his problems would disappear if he was handsome because he believes that all of his problems started because of he was born ugly. BPD unfortunately doesn't have any concrete causes (yet) but emotional trauma, the witnessing of his parents murder-suicide, living with an unstable grandmother and grandfather, neglect; those all could have been causes for his BPD.

So my thoughts on him having autism or BPD or both is that it's very likely. I accept it, if someone were to write Murderface as such, I would believe it was in-character for him. That's the beauty with fandom is that if you can fill in a lot of blanks or underdeveloped areas and really see the fandom shine through.

I would also accept Bipolar Disorder, but I think that would fit Toki and Pickles better than Murderface, only because BPD seems to hit a lot of his characteristics.

[whiteshipnightjar]

Anon from the The Outrun question: if you wanted to share some quotes I‘d be into that 💗 thank you for your answer!

My pleasure! Sorry for keeping you waiting with my reply a bit. Here are some quotes on bipolar disorder and mental illness that Amy talks about in her book. Also, the last one is quite spoilery but maybe you'll be interested or just skip that one, I'll write a comment not in italics before it for you (NB: to anyone reading this please note there might be some triggers for mental illness and suicide, idk how to tag this appropriately, I'll try to just in case):

"He was fifteen when he was first diagnosed with manic depression, now known as bipolar disorder, and schizophrenic tendencies. Since then, periodically, he has ups and downs of varying amplitude. Our family life was rocked by the waves of life at its extremes, by the cycles of manic depression."

"When doctors ask, I say there is no history of heart disease, cancer or diabetes in my family. Mental illness is another matter. It’s on both sides. Mum’s dad was also a manic depressive and only recently I learned that a paternal great-grandmother committed suicide. There were times I thought that if I stopped drinking I would discover that I was bipolar too, that I was just self-medicating. If I were to go mad, it would come as no surprise at all."

"I was coming around to the idea that alcoholism is a form of mental illness, rather than just a habit or lack of control."

"I grew up with mental illness: unpredictable flurries of unusual and wild behaviour, followed by withdrawn lows." [ed. This is in reference to her parents rather than her own mental illness though we could speculate , it's just a super long quote. It is quite beautifully written though, like how Saoirse keeps saying how poetic the book is? It really is, the descriptions are stunning, I really recommend reading it if you're into it]

"Alternatively, although as far as I know there have been no other alcoholics in my family, I could have a genetic tendency. I could blame mental illness: I’ve read that all types of anxiety disorder are more common in children of manic depressives. Or it could be something that happened. Adverse childhood experiences are linked to an increased risk of addiction."

Ok the last one is quite spoilery for the book, but it'll probably be the clearest answer to your previous question, so read it only if you don't care for spoilers:

"The idea that I’m not mentally ill but was pursuing my own mania fits what I was searching for with alcohol and how I tried to make myself feel. In a way, my drunkenness was an attempt to emulate and even impress, although I didn’t succeed, my dad: I was wild and free and alive."

Can I ask your thoughts on The Outrun?

[wyrdify]

A bit of an explanation for the stronger depression because I’m an info-dumper, and this shift is boring as fuck right now anyway. Plus, I know it affects my ability to write, and, well, I haven’t done that in a while, which is what most of y’all follow my blogs for.

---

We’re gonna break it down into parts:

Seasonal depression. Winter tends to increase my depression overall due to less sunlight, colder temperatures, and more time indoors. This is something to check on for yourselves, by the way. 

Apartment bound. Save for the one night a week when I get to go to trivia, I am basically stuck in my apartment 24/7. We are working to get my car fixed to help remedy this problem, but I have not driven in over a year, and we’re entering the winter season in New England.

My soul-sucking job. I cannot emphasize this one enough. My hours just got cut again for the week of 12/11 when I was promised they wouldn’t be, and I’m going to have to scrounge around to get them back up to 28.75. That’s all I’m allowed to work, and that’s for $12.75/hour (minimum wage). Management is poor and retaliatory, coworkers/assistant managers micromanage me to death, I don’t get recognition or praise for the work I do---the list goes on. But, because I can’t drive myself anywhere, and other work-at-home jobs that aren’t strictly customer service are hard to come by, I have to stick with it.

December in general. It’s a hard month for my family. Eleven years ago this Christmas Eve is when my paternal grandmother passed away (maternal passed away last year in late November, and I wasn’t as close to her for various reasons). While the wound isn’t as fresh as it was when I was 21, it still fucking hurts, and I still have trauma related to this whole Christmas season that I’ve been trying to deal with. When your grandmother was the center of your family, and she was the one who made Christmas a big deal at her house, the holidays lose a lot of their cheer. 

I have bipolar depression (bipolar II). If you want to learn more about what that means, Mayo Clinic does a decent breakdown here about bipolar in general. I’ve had this since I was at least in my teen years---that’s when I remember the depression getting worse, at least---but I wasn’t diagnosed until a couple of months ago. It means that when I hit a low, I hit a low, and I can stay in it for days to weeks at a time. Hypomania? Lasts maybe a few days if I’m lucky. Then there are the mixed episodes, also known as depression with the energy to act on it (for me, at least).

I’m not out to my in-laws. Because these are the holidays, I’m spending more time around them. I love my in-laws, but they are staunch conservative Catholics, and I’m not out to them as nonbinary. I get misgendered (not intentionally) a lot when I’m around them, and it’s hard. I’m sure a lot of my gender-nonconforming friends here can relate.

---

What I’m doing about each of these things:

Seasonal depression: Being aware of it, turning lights on, and staying on top of my diet.

Apartment bound: Working on getting my car fixed (husband is researching tires), finding opportunities to get out when possible.

My soul-sucking job: Just taking it one day at a time, venting here and there, keeping my head down, doing the bare minimum work wise*, focusing on what I can control, continuing to look for other jobs, working on a loan repayment plan to get my FAFSA done to get college restarted so I can work on an MLIS, not responding to work emails or slack messages while not on shift.

*paying minimum wage = minimum effort

December in general: Acknowledging the grief, communicating about it and when it’s hitting harder, not pushing myself too much. Also going to try and decorate the apartment for Christmas to get some of that holiday cheer in.

Bipolar II: Educating myself on my disorder, therapy, medication (and working with my med manager), tracking my sleep, journaling, writing poetry, tracking my moods.

Not Out to my In-Laws: Husband and I need to find a time to talk to his mom alone about it, and that’s probably not gonna happen for a bit. So, I’m tabling it for now.

---

Doing all of these things doesn’t change that the depressive episode is still hitting hard right now. It was super bad yesterday, and I’m sort of crawling out of it just now. I’m still going to isolate for the time being, especially since I have the Bioshock collection to distract me for a bit (started yesterday, and whoo boy it’s a trip so far). 

I’ll respond to discord messages when I get the energy, and my brain stops being snappy. That’s one part of depression no one likes, and it’s one reason I isolate: I can be mean, and I don’t want to be mean to my friends. My brain goes “Lol no one’s listening to/they’re ignoring you anyway, so go isolate.” You know, that leftover toxic thinking from being raised by abusive parents where I had to scream for even slight acknowledgment. Super fun. I’m working on challenging it, but, in the meantime, I just step away and not talk so I don’t say something mean. 

Anyway, this got longer than I thought it would, and I got distracted several times by work. Thanks for reading if you did. Have Vincent sitting on the internet as a reward.

[anniecohens]

(romee strijd, cis female) - have you seen annie cohen? annie is in her senior year. the dance major is 22 years old & is a sagittarius. people say she is disarming, playful, compulsive, and volatile. rumors say they’re a member of kincaid society. i heard from the gossip blog that she dropped out of this past summer semester last minute to check into a psychiatric unit.

it’s me, tessa, back again with an older muse of mine! she holds a big ol’ chunk of my heart, so we’re testing the waters and seeing how she does at yates. ~big fish, big pond~ i’m going to try and keep this bio brief(ish) and then just run with things, so bear with me, we’re throwing everything to the wind with maybe, potentially very little information :D fun! if we end up chatting about our muses i’ll be able to tell you more, this is just what’s coming to me.

name: annie luelle cohen nicknames: a, lu age, birth date: about to turn 22, december 1, 1998 hometown: napa valley, california major, university: dance, yates university sexuality: pansexual

pinterest!

HISTORY

annie is the only daughter to jameson cohen, single father and vintner. they live on their winery in napa valley, a large expanse of land with neighbors such as domain chandon and beringer vineyards.

annie’s parents had her young—at the ages of 21 and 22—which resulted in her mother leaving shortly after her birth. she doesn’t know much about her, save for her name (emmeline), how she looks in a few old photographs, and the shit talk comments her paternal grandmother mutters under her breath about how she must be galivanting off in italy or greece to this day.

growing up with her father had its difficulties, seeing as he was plenty busy running the business and estate. still, he did his best to prioritize her upbringing and devote a lot of time to her. and when it got to the point where it just wasn’t possible to juggle everything, he hired an au pair (fr). madeleine, 24 and from france. she quickly became something of an older sister figure, even teaching annie almost perfect french over the years.

seeing as she was still pretty lonely in that big ol’ house, madeleine suggested that james enroll annie in dance classes at a very young age. this would end up being a cornerstone of the girl’s life, from your standard baby’s ballet class (well, pre-ballet) to advanced pointe technique.

insert montage of this bright blonde kindergartener girl running around a stage, dad and maddie in the front row, to twelve year-old annie in the role of clara in the nutcracker, to a young adult seventeen year-old annie as juliet in romeo and juliet.

she was definitely ‘the dance girl’ throughout middle and high school, taking four sick days in a row every winter to perform in the annual nutcracker production. carrying her dance bag around so that she could go straight to rehearsal after school. always saying, sorry, i can’t, i have dance.

truly, though, she adored it and still does, which is why she’s pursuing it as a career (as well as taking some business courses here and there in the case that she has to manage the winery at some point).

MENTAL HEALTH / SECRET

tw: mental disorder / bipolar: around her sophomore year of high school, annie started experiencing rapidly changing moods and confusing emotions. for a small while everyone deduced it to “hormones,” but after what was revealed to be a manic episode, she was diagnosed with bipolar I and put on medication by her new psychiatrist.

however, she kept the situation on the DL, only her father and maddie being aware.

enter university. annie graduated, got accepted into yates due to stellar grades and her impressive pursuit of the arts, and was off to the east coast.

however exciting, the downside was that she started slacking on taking her medication. not often or for long periods of time, but still. everything seemed to be going along seamlessly, though, so she didn’t take it as seriously as she should’ve.

that is, until this past summer. she’d registered for classes throughout the summer semester, but a week long episode that resulted in spotty memory and regrettable decisions prompted her to drop the classes just before they started and check herself into a psychiatric unit a few towns over.

now she’s back for the fall semester and her senior year, giving the cover story that she decided last-minute to take the summer off and visit home after all.

PERSONALITY

tiktoks for a bit of a vibe: one, two, three

and my personal acc tag for her: here

+ sweetheart, playful, outgoing, a bit of a flirt - in that fun, lighthearted kind of way

- compulsive, stubborn, withdrawn when upset

emotional, which really can be here or there, depending on the situation

looks like a hiiii girl, often acts like a bruh girl

“sorry i told you about my trauma, do you still think i’m hot?”

“noo, don’t take care of me, it’s rotten work aha”

romantically calls you dude, platonically calls you babe

but also

stay away from people who make you feel like you’re hard to love

you are such a soft and messy thing, nobody knows how to take care of you

???? you know ????

the kind of person that doesn’t act out for attention, but doesn’t at all mind attention, either

she’ll get up and dance on the table with you, she’ll approach someone and tell them they’ve got pretty eyes, she’ll repeatedly raise her hand in class, she doesn’t mind being looked at

loves horror films/shows, but especially the type that are driven by story or are psychological (think the conjuring franchise, hill house, midsommar). one of her favorite things about watching or reading anything is talking to someone about it afterwards and going in-depth.

 is either wearing sweats and a basic crop top type deal or knee high boots and a short skirt, there’s no in-between

CONNECTIONS

honestly awful at WCs, so i started a tag on my personal acc and am slowly starting to reblog with random ideas

maybe a kind of darker counterpart to her brighter personality. sort of like unexpected friends?

guy friends she fucks around with (not literally!) like fun idiots

girl friends she takes out on friend dates and calls beautiful 24/7

down to just plot the basics (oh, they’d recognize each other from x! they’re in the same society! maybe she probably, most likely would have a  small crush on them! etc.) and then just go with chemistry from there.

believe me when i say i’m down for almost anything, though, do your worst (best?)

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Wet Sugar” [Part 11 of 30]

"I won't make you pull out Getting it all tonight (All that I want) I just wanna go down In history how you like (Wanna be the one) As the one who makes you comfortable 'Cause your lips, they got me feeling very vulnerable (The way that you speak to me, freak with me Gives me a rise)

In too deep Don't wanna pull out (And I think we're) In too deep Don't wanna pull out…"

DVSN—"Too Deep"

Summary: Erik & Yani take a big step...

NSFW. Mature content. Smut. As always, Like/Comment/ & Reblog if you enjoy it! Happy reading!

Erik spent an hour soaking his right hand in ice. His knuckles were bruised from handling Chez.

Yani was quiet after they dropped Twyla off at Leona's. When he took her back to the compound to retrieve her car, her silence bothered him.

"You okay?" he asked when they arrived at Klaue's.

"I'm fine."

"You still look shook up from what happened."

"It was a lot to see."

"Can you stay over for a bit?"

"No, I have to get back to Sydette and then I'm heading over to my cousin's house."

"Can I come see you tonight? We can watch TV…I can help watch the kids—"

"It's better if I babysit alone. Bam is not good with new people and he won't let us watch TV in peace."

"Can I see you tomorrow?"

Her eyes wouldn't meet his and she rubbed her right hand over her thigh in a nervous tic. He stepped closer to her and let his left hand cradle her face.

"What's wrong? You still worried?

"Yeah."

He pulled her in for a hug and he felt her soft body relax into his, her tension draining in his arms. Her face rested on his chest.

"Nothing is going to happen. Believe me."

He tilted her chin up to him and bent his head to kiss her. Her lips took his and he was gentle with her mouth.

"Call me tomorrow if you want to hang out," he said. He didn't want her to commit to anything if she still needed to get her bearings.

"I will," she said.

He watched her leave and wondered if he ruined their fragile reconnection.

Hand cool and feeling better from the ice, Erik took a look at the security feed from all around the compound. No intruder detections. No weird glitches in the security system. He checked on the secret vault in Klaue's main house under the large world globe that held the man's liquor. Afterward, he took a walk to the gun range and made his way to a false room that led down into a fully functioning wide-open workspace.

Erik had already moved in the equipment he would need to work on Klaue's arm, the prosthetic secured behind a magnetized forcefield. He had carefully disassembled about forty percent of the arm to study the mechanical functions. Klaue confided that it was a modified Wakandan mining tool he had stolen when he snatched the cache of vibranium for Erik's father. The arm used sonic and electromagnetic tech, and it was Erik's second introduction to technology from his father's homeland.

The entity known as Ultron had rendered Klaue an unwilling amputee, and somehow Klaue had jerry-rigged himself a haphazard weapon from the Wakandan tool. The first thing Erik did was to implant a secret tracking device. Once he figured out how to fix the vibranium issue in the arm, he would deliver it to Klaue personally. He would always know where the man was anywhere on the planet. It would make Erik's life easier. He made a note to order some robotic tools through Marisol in Brazil and have it FedExed to the P.O. Box he had set up in Havensight under an assumed name.

Sound was his specialty, and his days at M.I.T. were spent studying sonic warfare. He was actually excited about working on perfecting the weaponized arm. He had a small glimpse of Wakanda by accident when he was a child. Rubbing his right knuckles, Erik thought of the night he had snuck out of his parent's bedroom with his father's kimoyo beads. He was almost ten and working hard on a science project to enter into the Stark Science Expo. An affordable personal homecare robot for the elderly, that's what he was creating for the expo. Something to help his Nana who had become too frail to care for herself the way she used to. His great-grandmother was one of the great loves of his life. He wanted to make something for her to help make life easy the way she had done for his mother before he was born.

Erik chuckled to himself. How strange it was to remember how he was so enamored with anything Stark related when he was a child. Then to become Tony Stark's intern at nineteen and getting to know the man behind the Expo was a whole other level of irony. To think that Iron Man himself had unknowingly helped prepare Erik for his takeover of the world by giving him access to cutting-edge cyber tech as a teenager was a feeling he relished. There would come a day, one day soon perhaps when Erik would look that man in the face again. Maybe they would have another conversation like the one they had ten years previous where they had shared some personal things with one another during a time where Erik's father had left him a small clue reminding him of what his destiny was.

The night Erik slipped away from his parent's room with the kimoyo beads had been a life-changer. Tinkering with his robot all day with his father as a test subject and observing his father's beads glowing with a silver light prompted Erik to wait for his father to slip the beads off of his arm and rest it in the velvet casing he kept it in at night near his bed.

Erik could remember it like it was yesterday. Watching TV with his parents on their bed, his father nudged him to leave so that he could make love to his mother. His parents hadn't even noticed him slipping the beads into his pajama bottoms. He left their room and went into his retrieving the fingerprints he had lifted from his father when he touched Erik's robot project. Erik knew that his father's beads weren't just decoration. They heated up sometimes. Changed colors. Glowed when Baba didn't think Erik noticed. Vibrated.

Sometimes his father stroked the beads, not as one would do to adjust jewelry, but more like he was typing a code into it, his subtle taps catching Erik's eyes. When Erik tried tapping the beads himself, nothing happened. So he set out to collect his father's fingerprints, trying to collect enough oils in the print to try and see if he could figure out a code that he was sure his father was using to make the beads stop glowing or even vibrate.

He could hear his parents making love, something that was normal to him as a child, and it was the perfect time to experiment with the beads. His father was a deep sleeper after he had sex, and Erik knew he could put the beads back before the sun came up.

Then it happened.

He used the lifted prints and a force bipolar gripping tool to try and open a bead, but then it all went haywire when a force-field of blue light blinded him with intense brightness that flooded the room. His own fingertips had access to controlling the beads at that point and he stroked one of the symbols releasing holographic images that floated around him with images of his father's homeland. His first introduction to the real Wakanda.

His parents caught him and Erik had a glimpse into his own future. It broke his family apart for a short time. Right before the really bad times began. When his family was broken forever.

He shook the memory away before it led to a place he didn't want to go to in that moment. The immediate goal was to figure out why the vibranium was overpowering the prosthetic controls in the arm. He couldn't do that until he knew how the mining tool worked inside and out.

After taking enough 4D photos of the interior of the arm, Erik took a break to make himself dinner.

"Yo man, you can't keep blocking the walkway."

Jerome only stared at Erik as he lounged on the cement path catching the final rays of sunlight. He walked around the iguana.

"Stop shitting near the pool too, nigga," he tossed back knowing the iguana didn't give a damn and would keep defecating wherever it pleased.

Dinner was just leftover grilled lemon chicken and a baked sweet potato. He ate his meal out on the balcony and watched the sea along with a bourbon colored sunset. He didn't feel like working on the arm again, and he didn't feel like reading or watching TV.

Sitting on the balcony in the balmy weather was pleasing to his overactive brain. His mind could become manic in a lot of ways when he worked on things. He checked his cell searching for Yani's name on the gossip site she mentioned. He saw the picture causing the ruckus and was glad that his dark glasses hid most of his face. He saved the picture in a gallery file. Something about the way they looked walking together made him feel good. Sydette was pointing to something that he was smiling at, and he could see why his dimples would make the comment section blow up. The baby was smiling too even though her eyes were blacked out, her own dimples deeper than his, and Yani clutching his arm just made them look like a little family.

He would be hard-pressed to blame Chez for thinking incorrectly about his paternity. Erik almost felt bad for the dude. Not over the paternity gossip, but for losing Yani. Ursula wasn't that much of a looker, and the other side chick he had on his couch was subpar at best.

He read the comments and the breakdown seemed evenly split, half thinking Yani had stepped out on Chez, the other half stanning Yani and applauding her for moving on from a deadbeat. He wondered how it felt for Yani to be island famous not because of her own talents, but because she had a baby with a popular man-baby. He couldn't imagine dropping babies in women back to back like that.

He checked Yani's timeline and she hadn't added any new pictures or updated her feed. He scrolled through old photos of her and her avatar popped up.

"Hello?" he said almost breathless.

"Hi," Yani said.

"Hey, what's poppin'?"

"You want to come over?"

His voice got a little cocky.

"I thought your little cousin would have a problem with me?"

He checked his watch. It was almost eight.

"My cousin ended up canceling her plans. I'm at home."

He wanted to pick her up and bring her to the compound, almost suggested doing that, but then he thought about Sydette. Shit. A baby did change a lot of things. Yani would have to pack up a bag for her and then, depending on when they left his place, they'd have to maybe wake the baby up, pack her up again while disturbing the child's nighttime routine.

It also meant that if he wanted to mess around with Yani, which he did want to, he was in Leona's home and sex was out of the question.

But he wanted to see her again.

"I'll be right over," he said.

###

They watched a sketch comedy show re-run with Sydette sitting between them on the couch. Leona was fast asleep and Twyla was in the bedroom she shared with Yani watching another TV show. When an adult animated show came on, Yani lifted up her t-shirt and slipped her bra cup aside to let Sydette do a final night feed before bed. Sydette suckled but kept her eyes on Erik, and he felt himself get a little jealous. He wanted to be on Yani and kept hoping the little girl would fall asleep soon. The thought made him think of his father again and how he would get annoyed when Erik used to linger on their bed to watch TV with his head on his mother's stomach. Somewhere in an afterlife, if there was one, his father was probably laughing at him. Erik now knew how he felt when Baba wanted alone time with his mother and Erik was blocking access.

Sydette was so sweet though, and he could see her eyes getting drowsy. Her head fell away from Yani's big dark nipple.

"At last," Yani whispered, "I'll be right back."

She scurried away with the baby and went to her room. Erik stretched his arms out on the couch and waited for Yani to return.

"You want anything else to drink?"

"No, I'm good," he said making his voice softer in volume.

Yani dimmed the lights in the room.

Alone at last.

She cuddled up next to him and they watched another episode of the animated show. He put his arm around her and she snuggled closer and he wished they were back in the living room of Klaue's house. His hand brushed against her right breast and she sighed. His eyes glanced over to the hallway. The two bedrooms had their doors closed and it was hard to see the couch from where the back rooms were.

"Give me a kiss," he said.

She tilted her head up and he kissed her, already knowing she was wanting some affection by the way she was leaning into him.

"Is Kendall coming home soon?" he whispered.

"No. He's performing tonight at a club on the other side of the island."

His lips devoured hers and she squirmed on the couch. He pulled her to sit sideways on his lap.

"My turn with them titties, baby," he said pushing her shirt up. She held it up for him with her left hand and he pulled out her breasts from the cups of her bra and latched his mouth onto the right breast. He sucked on her like he needed to be fed, his lips going back and forth to lick and nibble each nipple. His dick was already getting fat in his shorts just from how he was excited by her large nipples.

He kissed her and her hungry mouth gave as much as he could greedily take. His right hand fondled and plucked at her tips. Her head turned slightly back to check to see if anyone was stirring from the back rooms.

He pulled her hand to touch his erection that grew against his thigh.

"Look what you did," he whispered.

She tugged on him and his lips pressed into hers until her fingers curled around the head of his dick. He was free-balling in his knee-length basketball shorts. They both could see the wet stain where his clear fluid was soaking through against his thigh. She gripped him tight and he pushed his face between her breasts.

"Fuck…you got me so hard. Taste me baby…"

His fingers touched hers on his tip and he let his pre-cum wet his fingers. He brought the sticky fluid up to her mouth. She sucked on his fingers.

"Put Daddy's dick in your mouth."

Her hot tongue licked off the last of the natural lubricant from his fingers. He didn't care that he was in Leona's house at that point. He pulled down his shorts and let his erection spring free, his balls felt heavy resting on the couch.

"Take care of me, baby," he said, not liking the begging tone in his voice. He pulled her t-shirt over her head and pushed her off of his lap. He was rough with her, his desperate need to finally have her mouth on him stopped him from caring about gentle nudging. Not with those big juicy tits out like that and her perfect lips hanging open, her pink tongue licking the corner of her mouth.

She widened her legs and the soft silky green shorts she wore rode up until they were wedged tight against her inner thighs. She stroked his dick with her hand. He would normally yank a woman's hair when she didn't do what he wanted right away, but there was nothing to grab on Yani, her crispy as fuck fade sleek and gorgeous, her eyes set on his.

"C'mon girl, suck this dick, stop playin'."

He slapped at her face playfully and she ducked back from him, her thumb gliding over his glans with slow deliberation. They both watched him drip from his slit a copious amount of lubricant and she just kept fingering his wide spongy tip as it slid across her thumb and fell to the floor.

Her left hand lifted up her left breast and she squeezed it, then brought it against his dick. She let his tip rub against her nipple and more fluid dripped from him.

"Yani…"

He squirmed on the couch and her eyes stayed on his, watching him, but she still didn't give him what he wanted. Her silence unnerved him but he was hypnotized by his slick glans circling her areola.

"Fuck!"

Her mouth slipped around the top of his glans and sat there, her tongue pressed against the underside of it, resting on his frenulum and giving light pulses that made the sensitive skin tingle. He thought she would insert the rest of his length in her throat, but no, she stayed right on that glans, her tongue beginning to glide around the corona, that equally sensitive ridge surrounding the head before she dipped the tip of her tongue into his opening. Pre-cum pooled onto her tongue and her wet mouth spit into his weeping slit. Soft flicks into that hole made him clutch the cushion of the couch.

"Ah…damn…"

Erik's toes bunched up and his legs jerked with his thighs.

She let a stream of saliva drip all over his shaft as her tongue ran down the underside of his erection and suckled his balls, one by one until she had them glossy with her spit. She licked back up his length and engulfed the head again and just suckled it. Her tongue kept spreading spit around the head keeping it nice and slick. Trailing her nails past his heavily groomed pubic hairs, Yani rested her left hand on his stomach and twirled her index finger around his belly button.

She had his nuts jumping, each ball sack moving up and down. He'd never had his balls react so strongly like that and he had no control over their movement. The heels of his feet dug into the carpet because his slides had been kicked off the moment she licked the seam of his sack with that honey tongue.

His dick deepened in color and he watched his balls rise up tight.

"Hmmmmph!" he groaned when she finally took him deeper in her mouth.

His eyes darted toward the hallway opening, but it was still quiet in the back.

He tried pushing her head further down on his length, but she brushed his hand away, allowing her lips to suction down his dick so slow that he grabbed a throw pillow and shoved against his mouth to keep from yelling out loud.

By the time she was bobbing her head and slurping all over his shit, he gave up on controlling the situation. When she changed the pace back to slow and sloppy wet, he was ready to slay giants for her with his bare hands.

"Whatchu doin' to me baby?" he choked out with the pillow near his waist just in case.

Her eyes challenged him.

"Sucking your dick like you want," she said sliding her lips under the head.

"You sucking the fuck out this dick."

"You like it?"

"Fuck yeah…ohhh…don't stop…don't stop…shit baby, I wanna stick this dick in your pussy right now…stretch out them fat pussy lips…"

She released her mouth from him, her bottom lip wet with saliva from his shaft. His face contorted with pleasure and he was afraid to move or else she would do something to make him wake the household up. He gripped himself and slapped her lips with the weight of his thickness.

"Open that mouth back up…open up! Shit…got my balls still jumping…"

She did as he demanded and he thrust deep into her throat, moving his ass to the edge of the couch so he could hold her head with both hands and fuck her mouth hard. She pushed back from him when she gagged and he finally felt like he had the upper hand. Her lips and neck were drenched with spit and more of the pre-cum he released in her mouth. His balls were raised up tighter.

Yani plucked at her nipples, taking her time, gazing down at her own fingers pulling on the stiff tips. She jiggled their heft for him, and just like that, he gave in again, falling back on the couch and holding his dick up for her.

"Gimme that mouth…"

Her fingers slipped down her shorts and he could hear how wet she was down there between her folds. He shut his eyes thinking of her on his bed back at the compound as he fisted himself. Her tongue licked his balls, trailed up his length again and then she deep throated him.

Erik sat there and let his body take in all the sensations that cascaded all over him. Every nerve seemed to be vibrating in his skin and his erection was even more swollen.

"Take this fat black dick in your mouth, girl."

He felt the vibration of her groan around his dick, the veins pulsing in her mouth.

"Yeah, you like that. You like this fat dick in your mouth. Say it!"

She stared up at him, all treacly and innocent-looking in the face like she didn't have long inches of veiny black cock packing her throat. Her lips peeled back from him.

"I like this fat black dick in my mouth."

"This the only dick you gon' suck from now on. Hear me?"

"Mmmhmmmm."

"You taking it deep, baby. Make a nigga feel that shit…yeah."

She was shameless with her throat game.

"I'm gon' fuck the everlasting shit out of you…wait 'til I get you in my bed…beating them walls up. Packing that pussy deep. Sucking me so good, baby. You want Daddy to bust all in your mouth…all in that mouth. So fucking nasty wit it, Yani…so fucking nasty…oh shit baby! Oh fuck!"

Her neck was working his fat dick like there was no tomorrow. He couldn't hold out much longer. The heavy surge of semen was hot at the root of his cock. He gripped the couch pillow again ready to spring it up to his mouth.

"Yani…Yani…fuck…baby…I'm cumming…I'm cumming baby…swallow Daddy's cum…you nasty bitch…giving you this big load baby…Yani!" His throat felt red and raw from trying to keep his voice down without having to smother his face with the pillow. He wanted to watch her take his nut.

Erik's hips bucked and Yani swallowed his cum. When he hit the back of her throat, he pulled out and jerked off until more thick ropes spurted all over her face.

"Ah, yeah…that's it right there…damn girl…dassit!"

He slapped his dick on her face, the shaft still stiff as it smeared more cum across her lips and chin.

"Fuck, baby. I drenched your whole face…"

Yani opened her mouth and let his cum dribble down onto her breasts where her fingers rubbed it all over her chest. Erik bent down and picked her up, putting her side-saddle on his lap again.

"I better clean up my face—"

"Nah. Take your shorts off."

"Killmonger—"

He yanked on her shorts and the force of his grip startled her.

"Take them off."

He wasn't asking her. She looked over her shoulder.

"Nobody is waking up. Do what I tell you to do."

Her eyes widened, and for a second, he thought she was going to get up from his lap. He tugged on the waistband of her shorts and she eventually wiggled out of them. She only had her bra on twisted down her shoulders and not even covering her breasts.

He shoved open her thighs and let his index finger rest on her engorged clit. He felt it twitching under his finger.

"Don't move," he said.

The slow compact circles made her whimper.

"Killmonger—"

"Shut the fuck up."

His left hand rested around her waist and his right hand played with clit and only her clit. His head rested on her right breast but his eyes stared at her clit.

"Fat pussy," he hissed. Her outer labia were so puffy. He wanted to bite her pussy lips, mark that shit up with his slugs, make her know she was all his from now on.

She wiggled her wide backside on his thighs.

"Yani…I said don't fucking move."

He added his ring finger and circled her clit even slower.

Her thighs shook and she tried her best not to move anything more than that, but his delicate fondling made her pussy wetter, he watched her pink slit wink open spewing her stickiness out onto his lap. He started making zig-zag patterns on her nub along with the circling. Her ass cheeks clenched.

"Killmonger…please…."

"Nah. This is what you did to me. You give it, ya gotta take it too, girl. Thought I told you to shut your fucking mouth…"

Yani threw her head back and her lips curled up in a pout. His teeth grabbed onto her nipple and bit hard enough to make her gasp and stare at him. His left hand slapped her ass hard, the sound echoed in the room and her pussy spasmed.

"Got my cum all over your face. I like that shit. Get used to it. I'ma put it all over you when I get you alone—"

"We're alone now—"

He slapped her clit and her eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open.

"Stop being so fucking hard-headed."

He kept teasing her tight bud, never letting his various strokes go faster or slower, just the constant pressure that had her pushing hard sighs from her throat, made her chest heave so that her breasts jiggled, and forced her sweaty body to heat up even more against him. His dick was brutally hard again.

"Look at your pussy," he said.

Her eyes glanced down and her inner lips were covered in her slick.

"Won't need no lube when I get up in there."

Her chest heaved again and he kissed her, slipping his tongue into her mouth. She let go of his lips and looked down at her pussy again, his fingers constant sensual torture on her engorged clit.

"Killmonger!"

He was ready to scold her again, slap her vulva, but her desperate exhalation of breath caught him off guard as a bit of colorless fluid sprayed out of her urethra and her vaginal opening throbbed uncontrollably.

"I'm cumming…I'm cumming…I'm cumming…Gawd…" Her soft breathiness made his eyes roll back. Her voice was so sexy when she tried to be quiet and discreet. Her right hand clutched his shoulder with her nails digging into his skin.

Her face dropped onto his shoulder as she bit into his neck to keep from screaming out loud. Her orgasm seemed to last a long time before her teeth let him go and she slumped against him. He had a handful of sloppy wet pussy and his stiff dick was ready to beat down her walls. He reached for his shorts and realized he forgot to bring his wallet. The wallet and the two condoms he had hastily stuffed into it were left sitting on his bed when he had changed from jeans to shorts after working on Klaue's arm.

Erik laid back horizontally on the couch and pulled Yani down next to him spooning her. Rattled from the way she came on his hand he pressed his fresh erection between her thick cheeks and humped her like he was fucking her pussy. His body temperature was scorching and he felt sweat glide down his back and ass. His hands clutched her breasts and he dropped his scruffy cheek next to her face.

"I wanna be in your pussy, baby," he gasped, pumping against her fat ass.

Yani pressed back hard against him, flexing her cheeks so that her ass gripped his dick.

A noise distracted her.

"Twyla's up," Yani whispered. They could see the faint light in the hallway coming from her room.

They heard the soft stop and start cries of Sydette.

Erik kept pumping, his hips grinding his stiffness harder against Yani's ass.

"I have to take care of her—"

"Yani…wait a minute…lemme finish…I'm 'bout to bust—" "Killmonger, my baby is crying—"

"Hold on—"

She tried pulling away from him and he held her in a vice grip.

"I'm cumming baby!" he hissed in her ear.

Hot spurts shot on her back and dribbled down onto the curve of her ass.

"Goddamn," he groaned, rubbing her behind.

He released her and she ran to the bathroom with her clothes in her hand. Reaching for his clothes, he dressed quickly and sat back up on the couch. The cushion was damp so he padded into the kitchen to find paper towels to wipe up the mess they made. They should've put a towel down before they started.

Yani's body darted into her bedroom and she was gone for a long time. Erik cleaned up the couch then flipped channels on the TV. There was nothing on so he sat quietly waiting for her.

She returned carrying Sydette who had tiny jewel-like tears sitting on her cheeks. Yani took her into the kitchen and returned with a small round teething ring from the freezer. The baby's lips suckled the cold ring.

"She's in pain," Yani said.

"Baby teeth coming in are tough," he said.

Yani wouldn't sit next to him, just cradled Sydette while the baby gnawed on the ring.

"Come sit down," he said making sure he sat in the damp spot on the couch.

"I'm going to be up with her for a while…so…"

"I should leave then?"

"Yeah, it's painful for her and it'll be boring for you to stay—"

"I don't mind—"

"I'm tired. And I need to focus on her."

Her tone was neutral. He had messed up.

"I wasn't trying to keep you from her—"

"I have to deal with this now, Killmonger."

"Can I see you tomorrow?"

"I have to work."

"What time—"

"I'll call you when I can see you, okay?"

He stood up and walked over to her. He looked down at Sydette and stroked her head.

"Hey, Sweet Pea. You'll have all your teeth soon and this won't hurt anymore," he said.

It pained him to see her with tears on her face and to hear the pitiful sounds she made. He stroked her cheek and then stroked Yani's arm.

"Goodnight," he said.

He leaned in and kissed her cheek, grew bold and kissed her lips. She accepted it but pulled back quickly when Sydette started crying harder.

Walking out of the apartment, he thought of how he should've let her go to the baby. His need for pleasure and release made him ignore her need to handle her business. He'd never been with a woman with a child before. Actively avoided it. Maybe if he had seen her with her baby first, he would've ignored her.

He kept replaying his actions. He didn't keep her from Sydette that long. Maybe two minutes? And Twyla was in the room with the baby, so if it was a real emergency, an adult was there to handle it. He shook his head as he drove to the compound. He hoped she would call him.

###

Yani finished the Eco Tour intro to a group of thirty tourists. A Carnival Valor cruise ship had arrived for a six-hour excursion at the island, and this tour would take five hours with lunch. A full package tour of kayaking, hiking, and snorkeling.

"Let's go!" she said with true enthusiasm as she led the group to put on their vests and pick out their kayaks.

She sprayed sun-block on her arms and put some on her face as she slipped her high-def work shades on. She did another headcount and was shocked to see Erik climbing into a kayak with her group. She didn't even see him while she gave the intro talk.

"Where did you come from?"

Erik had his own wrap around shades on and his smile was seductive.

"Been here the whole time. I was standing in the back when you were talking."

"I didn't see you."

"I was to your right near the tree."

She didn't know if she felt annoyed or elated to see him at her job. She told him she would call him.

"I wasn't trying to jump on your tour, I just missed the earlier one by ten minutes, and I only took this one last minute. I'm not stalking you. I promise."

Taylor, Yani's co-guide on the trip, was already leading the kayakers out on the first leg to Cas Cay.

That damn smile again. Those dimples. And that body.

"Don't distract me," she said.

The paddle out to the cay was pleasant, and Yani brought up the rear of the group making sure no stragglers got stuck if they had trouble maneuvering their kayaks. Erik ignored her and spent time chatting with some women from Atlanta, two Black twins with cute braids piled on their heads and light brown skin that was slathered with an oily sunblock.

The three of them laughed a lot and Yani caught snatches of their conversation as Erik asked about neighborhoods and food places. Kayaking through the mangroves was filled with excited chatter and by the time they began the hike on the Cay two hours later, Yani was feeling a bit testy with Erik acting like she didn't exist at all. He partnered up with the twins again on the hike and when she tried to stay near them, Taylor had to keep reminding her to stay in the back for folks who had to use the restroom and needed to catch up without getting lost.

After a packed lunch they went snorkeling for the final part of the tour. The protected clear waters had people oohing and ahhing at colorful fish and when one of the women with Erik squealed out loud and jumped on him, Yani felt her blood pressure go up. The woman was clutching his biceps, her fingers on his keloids since he was topless.

"It's just a sea turtle!" Erik called out to everyone. The squealing twin took a long time letting go of him.

The turtle swam out to sea as the tourists stayed a respectful distance watching it as they snorkeled.

Erik's eyes sought out hers and something on her face made him dog paddle over to her. He looked her over and splashed a little bit of water on her.

"What's that face for?" he asked.

"Why you so touchy-feely?"

"Touchy-feely?"

His face scrunched up with confusion and then he smiled.

"She jumped on me."

She splashed water back at him.

"You must've learned a lot from your two new best friends, huh?"

"Girl, stop…"

He leaned in to kiss her.

"I'm still at work," she said backstroking away from him.

He watched her with a smirk on his lips and followed her.

"How's Sweet Pea?"

"Doing a little better. She just has to endure. We all went through it."

"Were you upset with me last night?"

Yani's eyes took in who was around them.

"You have to understand something. Sydette comes before anything. If I have to go to her, I don't care what I'm doing, I'm going to her." "Got it. Won't happen again."

He wiped his eyes and she led him further from the twins.

"Let me show you something," she said. She adjusted her tankini.

"You're at work though," he said.

"Shut up!" She said splashing water back at him.

She pulled her goggles and breathing tube back down and he did the same.

She swam over to a rock formation and pointed out some black and yellow rockfish. Erik gave her a thumbs up underwater and they saw more colorful beauties. His hand reached out and touched hers and she grabbed his hand and pulled him closer so she could see his eyes through his goggles. She lifted off the snorkel gear holding her breath and he did the same. She dived down deeper and he followed.

Baby barracudas swarmed in some mangrove roots and Erik was cautious as he swam next to her. They popped back up and his smile was bright.

"That was wavy," he said.

He treaded near her and gave her a kiss.

"People might see," she said.

"I don't care."

She kissed him back and before he could press up against her tighter, she shot away from him to return to the group.

The paddle ride back was nice mainly because Erik kept his kayak next to hers.

"You are great at this," he said, "I learned a lot."

"Good."

"I'm surprised you didn't become a marine biologist instead of a nurse. Water is your element."

"My parents used to say that."

"This job is physically taxing. You have to do this again when we get back?"

"No. We rotate. I led groups last week, and after this group is done, I'll help prep the kayaks for tonight. We do night time kayaking too."

"I should try that next time."

"It's fun."

Erik hung around as she bid the tour guests goodbye. When she was about to go clean the kayaks, he approached her. Some of her co-workers watched them.

"Call me when you have some free time," he said.

He left her standing by the dock and she wanted to leave with him. Being near him was difficult, her need to touch him was overriding her need to figure out how she would handle sex with him. When he first arrived at her Aunt's house, her clit felt like it had a heartbeat of its own. Just his arm around her was enough to make her start sweating with nervousness. She wanted him so bad, and she could tell he was going to push her to do things his way. And she wanted to do it. When he made her sit on his lap, she could not keep her mouth shut, could not keep herself from responding to his touches. When he struck her backside and her clit, she was sure her family could hear them. They couldn't mess around like that anymore in her Aunt's place. There was no such thing as simple petting with him. Or quiet make-out sessions. He was beyond that.

She finished her shift and went home to leftover peas and rice and baked chicken. She comforted Sydette with her teething ring and fell asleep before she called Erik to tell him she was home.

Working the morning shift at Eco Tours, Yani was finished by three and picked up Sydette before heading to Kmart to pick up some sales on diapers and new baby clothes. She strolled up and down the aisles with Sydette sitting in the shopping cart picking out items for the house that her Aunt would probably need.

Standing in line, she became aware of two women staring at her from behind.

"Is that Big C's baby for real?"

The woman asking had a scarf over her hair, her eyes unkind as the woman next to her stared at Sydette. Yani stood closer to the cart blocking their view of her daughter.

"You're just ignoring me?" the woman in the scarf said.

"I don't know you," Yani said turning her back toward them.

"That baby not his. Don't even look like him," the other woman slurred under her breath.

Yani started placing her items on the conveyor belt. Scarf woman took out her phone.

"Don't take pictures of my baby," Yani snapped.

The woman glared at Yani.

"I'm not hurting her—"

"Mind yuh business or leave the store."

The store clerk handling Yani's items cocked her head toward the two women, her voice loud and firm.

"Mind yours," the other woman said.

Yani picked up Sydette and kept her face away from the women.

"Do I need to call security?" said the clerk.

The two women rolled their eyes and Yani paid for her items.

"Mel, can you help this customer with her bags, please?"

Another male clerk who walked in with a few carts walked over and took Yani's things at the sales clerk's request.

"Thank you," Yani said.

Yani kept her hand over Sydette's face as she followed the young man out. No telling if other people recognized her and wanted to snap candid shots. She led the helper to her car and he placed her bags in the trunk as she put Sydette in her car seat. When she was alone, she sat quietly in the driver's seat. She was accustomed to people approaching her, but not people focusing in on her baby. It worried her.

She scrolled her social media feed and there was nothing new really. A few photos of her and Kendall under the hashtag "Juvay". A post about "Fiyahbun" being re-mixed in London with another artist adding a bar or two. Kendall was probably over the moon and Yani wondered who the other artist would be.

She checked a few other hashtags with her name and it was mainly photos of her with fans of the album, and a couple of old pictures of her and Chez in happier times. She saw the two women who were behind her in the line leave the store. She still felt unnerved. She would have to start keeping Sydette covered, or maybe go to stores later at night or early in the morning. She could handle things when it was just directed at her. But not her baby.

If she was to be with Killmonger, they would have to limit their public interactions, especially if Sydette was with them.

###

Eight days.

Eight days since Erik swam with her at Eco Tours, and eight days since she had seen him in person.

Her time had been spent working her two jobs and caring for Sydette. She left him messages twice but kept missing his calls because she would be traveling between Eco-Tours and the restaurant. His concern when he did talk to her on the third day was to make sure she was rested and able to spend quality time with Sydette, while also studying up for school in the fall. He said he was working on some things for Klaue that took up most of his time, and she missed talking to him in person. By that sixth day, he stopped leaving text or voice messages.

The eighth day of not hearing from him filled her with dismay. It was a rare day off for her, and she took the time to visit the clinic to get tested, leaving Sydette with Kendall for two hours. She spent the rest of the day looking after Sydette and checking her cell every fifteen minutes until she finally packed the baby up in her car and drove to the compound.

Standing in front of the gate in the dark, she hit the intercom button several times. She called him on the cell three times and still had no response. He didn't even have her on read for her texts.

Maybe he left the island again.

She pressed the intercom again and felt an overwhelming sadness come over her. Her lip trembled and she felt her eyes welling up.

Maybe he had changed his mind about her. Maybe he was off with someone else who didn't work all the time or have a baby to care for. Maybe he ghosted her and—

"Hey. Yani. What are you doing here? You have the baby with you?"

He stared at her face from the security vid screen.

"Hold on," he said.

She heard a loud buzz and the main gate rolled open.

She didn't bother to drive the car in, just walked in with the baby in her arms. Making her way to the main house, Erik met her halfway down.

"What's going on?" he asked.

He wore comfortable sweats with slides and some light green protective goggles rested on top of his head.

"Yani?"

She pressed her face into his chest.

He took Sydette from her arms and she buried her face more. He threw an arm around her.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

"I just want to see you," she said, "I thought you were gone."

"Ah, girl. I'm still here—"

"You never answer your phone or return my calls—"

"I've been working non-stop. So have you—"

She felt stupid for bawling into his shirt.

"Come on," he said.

He walked her and the baby down into Klaue's main house and sat her on the balcony lounger facing the ocean. He held Sydette and the baby sat quietly looking up at Yani.

Yani wiped her eyes and sat back into the cushiony softness of the lounger.

"It's been eight days since I've seen you. I've been working…I went to the clinic…I've been prepping for school. Sydette still has teeth pain…"

"It's hard doing everything by yourself. I know. I wanted to give you space to handle your life. I don't want to intrude or put pressure on you. I'm new to this type of relationship, still trying to figure out where I fit in on your schedule. I wanted to see you too. Don't think I didn't."

"I want to make time for you—"

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Yani."

Erik pulled her in closer and she rested her cheek on his shoulder. Sydette reached for her and Yani picked her up and held her as she leaned into Erik.

"It's tough. It's more crowded at my Aunt's house and I'm tired all the time."

They watched the slow lazy waves of the high tide roll in. Erik rubbed her arm and Sydette sat with her head against her chest.

"I'm just so tired…"

"Rest then," he said.

It was the last thing she heard before her eyes fell shut.

###

Water.

Sea Birds.

Fresh ocean air.

Yani's eyes popped open and she sat up fast and disoriented.

"Sydette?"

Her eyes ogled the room she was in and for a moment she thought she was dreaming because she didn't recognize her bedroom.

She wasn't in her bedroom.

She was in Erik's bedroom.

Wearing only her t-shirt that she drove over in, Yani pulled the covers back and stepped off the plush mattress and silk sheets. The wall to wall windows were partially open and she could smell clean air rushing off of the sea.

Shit. It was morning.

"Killmonger!"

She rushed out of the master bedroom and found Sydette sitting back out on the balcony with Erik. They both sat on yoga mats facing the water. Erik had his hands out in open palm prayer reception, and Sydette was right next to him, sitting up and watching his face. Her teething ring was clutched in her fingers.

Yani stopped to watch them.

She could hear Erik whispering morning prayers in Arabic, his hair tied up, and his blue linen shirt matching the morning blue of the sky.

"Mama!"

Sydette crawled to Yani as soon as she saw her, and Erik laughed at how fast she could get across the floor.

Yani reached down and picked the baby up.

Erik stood and stared at her. For a long time.

When he walked into the house, he stroked her cheek.

"What time is it?" she asked.

She was disoriented, didn't even know where her cell was, and Klaue didn't keep clocks in the house. Our Lady's Manor was to be a timeless place to relax for him.

"Nine."

"I didn't mean to fall asleep on you," she said.

"You were exhausted. I put you to bed. Sydette and I were right there with you."

"I left all her stuff—"

"I brought it in from your car when I drove it into the garage last night."

He took Sydette away from her again, and her daughter squealed and played with Erik's locs.

"Go back to rest. You can sleep as long as you want. I let Twyla know where you were."

Sleep.

God, that's all she wanted to do.

"I'll watch Sydette."

"It's past her morning meal," Yani said.

"She's good. She ate already. There was a jar of pears and peas in your baby bag. She's been bathed, diapers changed, the whole nine yards. Go on back to bed. If she needs you, I'll bring her to you."

She hesitated.

"Are we keeping you from your work?"

"Nah. Today will be an off day. All day."

She nodded and his eyes were gazing at her again in a strange way.

"What is it?"

"I want you to make a decision."

"What kind of decision?"

"I want you and the baby to stay here with me. I'll hire you to be my personal housekeeper and cook. But you don't have to do anything. Just take care of Sydette and do what you want to do before you start school. I'll pay you whatever you make at your jobs…double. I know you like the Eco Tours place a lot, so if you want to work there once or twice a week, I'll take care of Sydette, or take her to your Aunt's while you work outside the compound—"

"Killmonger, that's—"

"Let me give you this. Okay? That way we'll have time together when you want. And you don't have to worry about me not calling. I'll be right here with you."

"We're still…you're asking me to live with you…with a baby…"

"I don't want to see you crying at the front gate worried about me."

"That's huge. What if—"

"If you think I'm moving too fast, you and the baby can have any of the other two houses for yourselves. You make up your own schedule. I'll need you here to watch the place anyway when I deliver something to Klaue next month. Or maybe sooner. Your Aunt will be gone, so who else will I have? Think of it as your regular Klaue job if it makes you more comfortable with the arrangement."

She watched his face.

This man was something else.

"Any of the other two houses?"

"Your choice. Move in today if you want."

"I want to think about this."

"You know you don't have to think too hard, Yani."

Her heart palpitated.

Live here? In paradise? Beach all to herself? A big soft bed. Peace and quiet. Her baby swimming in a pool with her and being able to be in the sea whenever they wanted to be. Together. Sweet Pea crawling in the soft grass and being around trees and flowers. Getting to know Jerome. Having a mother who was relaxed and Lord Jesus…present for hours. Her baby deserved that.

"I want to take Sydette with me. I want to figure this out. Really make sure, y'know?"

Erik nodded.

She held Sydette close to her on Erik's bed. The giant king-sized luxury bed put Sydette to sleep within minutes.

Yani played with her daughter's beads.

She would stop working at the restaurant. She would stop working there any way by September, but if Erik was paying her double, no sense staying there. It was a night gig and she could be home at night from now on. Eco-Tours was a favorite place. She could work there once or twice a week just for fun and to get out of the house and meet new people.

What was holding her back? Why couldn't she say yes? And God, he was offering her a house of her own for three months. All to herself. She could have the house with the pool. A house she cleaned and prepped for other people since she was fourteen.

Erik's voice carried through the open windows.

"Bismillaahir Rahmaanir Raheem, Alhamdu lillaahi Rabbil 'aalameen…"

Yani closed her eyes.

Take what he wanted to give. Take it. It could be a vacation with her baby. Once school started, she would be so busy and so focused on doing well. Why not create a deeper bond with her child right now with this man's help?

Erik walked back into the room quietly and unwrapped his hair. He folded up the white cloth and placed it inside a bureau drawer.

"Killmonger," she whispered.

She held her hand out to him. He crawled onto the bed and spooned around her as she held onto Sydette. His cheek rested against hers and she took comfort in the weight and warmth of him surrounding her and the baby.

His breathing slowed down, matching the even pace of her own.

"Stay," he whispered.

"I will."

Chapter 12

Tag List:

@fd-writes​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514  @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling

@chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry  @honeytoffee @meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees

[nyadversary]

30 questions meme thingie... tagged by @autumnalserenade sort of ehehehe

(1.) name / nickname:

kester / kes

(2.) gender:

oh haha no thank you :)

sometimes i think about how im both a transgender bisexual and a bigender transsexual and how thats so epic of me

(3.) star sign:

aries but i think astrology is stoopid i don’t like it. watch as that turns out to be an aries stereotype or something though

(4.) height:

5′9

(5.) time:

6:37 am EST

(6.) birthday:

04/17

(7.) favorite bands/groups:

oh fuck i’m definitely going to forget something important but

mother mother, metric, the decemberists, alt-j, echo & the bunnymen, x, pixies, hole, nirvana, clipping., my chemical romance, blondie, mindless self indulgence, studio killers

(8.) favorite solo artist:

again i’m definitely gonna forget someone important here

emilie autumn, amanda palmer, fiona apple, patti smith, marina & the diamonds, yungblud, poppy, slayyyter, hozier, mika

(9.) song stuck in my head:

i’m so sorry to have to say this but. dr3 despair arc ending theme

(10.) last movie:

genuinely no idea. i try not to watch movies if i can help it

(11.) last show:

it was either hannibal or better call saul, i don’t remember which of those i watched most recently

(12.) when did i create this blog:

sometime in late 2019, i think? don’t remember exactly. i know i announced i remade in early 2020, but i’d been active on this blog for maybe about six months beforehand

(13.) what do i post:

all kinds of stupid and gay shit

(14.) last thing googled:

“in a world where clowns are real” (i was trying to find a particular tumblr post)

(15.) other blogs:

@catboyebooks (liveblogging; we’re playing dr1 right now) @sexytesting (portal sideblog)

also. i did hoard a url the other day to use as like, a danganronpa sideblog maybe? so i don’t have to be unhinged on main maybe? so i can turn search engine indexing off and hide from the fandom at large maybe? it will probably be like some percentage shitposting some percentage sloppily written meta posts i don’t really know. might drop the url if i do anything with it

(16.) do i get asks:

not often, but from time to time! i think most of my followers are mutuals so when we talk it’s mostly through DMs or something rather than asks

(17.) why did i choose this url:

no deep reasons, it’s just nya + adversary although my lovely mutual litzo junkheaded did point out it could be read as “NY adversary” which also fits, i like that too

(18.) following:

92. i’ve never been one to follow a lot of blogs, as long as my dash isn’t super slow i prefer to keep my following count low — i think most of the blogs i follow are mutuals actually

(19.) followers:

116. again i think the majority of these i’m in mutuals with

(20.) average hours of sleep:

i have bipolar disorder so no

(21.) lucky number:

1, 4, 9, 11, 17, 55, 69 (nice), 93, 95, 101, 417, 420 (nice), 428, 666 (nice), 4673

(22.) instruments:

i’m mainly a singer but i used to play fiddle (would like to pick it up again sometime), i know some very rudimentary piano/keyboard (i can do basic chords), i’m trying to learn ukulele and i’d also like to try learning guitar

also my school did force us to play the recorder but we got sort of hardcore with it, broke out the alto/tenor/bass recorders and all that. i used to play alto and tenor mainly but i’ve played like every type of recorder probably lmao

(23.) what am i wearing:

shrieking shack t-shirt with a really deep fried image of harry holding dead dobby on it

black and white checkered pants

boxered shorts

(24.) dream job:

i don’t dream about having jobs simply <3

but no ideally i wind up being some sort of author i guess?

(25.) dream trip:

anywhere. ahaha. let me out <3

(26.) favorite food:

some favorites no order: soft pretzels, like all pasta but my fave is tortellini, virtually all seafood honestly but especially crab, mussels, salmon, and anchovies, udon, ramen but not instant ramen i’ve had enough of that for one lifetime probably but will continue to eat it bc money, cheesecake, pizza but specifically like really good italian style pizza (new york style is also pretty good), garlic bread, really anything with garlic, salty foods in general

(27.) nationality:

american 😔

in terms of more specific cultural background, just for funsies: mom’s side is irish catholic mainly, her dad’s family is from county tipperary, i’m 3rd gen. she grew up on staten island and most of her family lives (or did live) in the tristate area. dad’s side is scots-irish with left welsh and has been here a while, since i think the mid or late 1600s? my paternal grandparents ended up settling and raising their family in socal (san diego) but both their families are from the southern appalachian region (grandfather on that side grew up in rural northern alabama, F to pay respects, and i don’t remember specifically about my grandmother)

(28.) favorite song:

i cannot pick. uh. the most played song in my itunes library is infinitesimal by mother mother, so, whatever that says about me

(29.) last book read:

does... does the komaeda manga count

(30.) three fictional universes you’d like to live in:

Three??? most of the fictional universes i like / am invested in are horrible nightmare realms. the only one i can think of that seems like an overall good time is pokemon and i don’t think i need to explain why that would whip ass

i tag: the girl reading this <3 or, like, whoever, you can do this if you want and say i tagged you, no obligation

[sweetcatharsis]

Get help.

I know I don’t have very many followers but maybe someone will see this and it will help them.

I have suffered from depression, anxiety/panic disorder, and ADD since probably when I was about 10 years old. In the case of ADD, probably longer. One of the “nicknames” I received as a kid was “absent-minded”.

I started taking medication for depression and panic disorder when I was 18 years old due to a massive panic attack that sent me to the E.R. Both my parents (and myself) were in denial for a long time about me having any mental illnesses. I think we were all afraid. There is a long history of bipolar, depression and anxiety on my mom’s side of the family, and alcoholism, depression, and who knows what else on my dad’s side of the family. My paternal great grandmother committed suicide, and there have been many other suicide attempts in my family. Whether or not a lot of these mental illnesses are genetic or situational, I don’t know. Considering what many of my family members have gone through I wouldn’t be surprised if it was both.

But I digress.

I started meds at 18. That is all I did. My issues were never talked about. They were largely avoided. Again I was afraid of addressing it and so were the people around me. Meds helped somewhat, but never was it enough. They also made me very sick (nausea, vomiting, occasional insomnia) but I was afraid to change my meds. I was afraid to take them. I went off and on them so many times I’ve lost count. I was afraid to look for more help so for years I did the bare minimum to keep myself afloat. I don’t feel like I was ever truly living.

I am now 26 years old. Only recently (last week) have I been officially diagnosed with ADD and started getting treated for it. I avoided it for so long. Only two years ago I finally mustered up the courage to say to a doctor that I didn’t think my meds were working. Only in these past two years since I left an abusive 8 year relationship and a toxic family situation that I have finally begun to pull myself out of this cycle.

And today for the first time in years, I feel what I imagine is normal. I can’t wait to wake up in the morning. I feel motivated. I feel positive. I believe I am finally on the right meds. I have caring people I can talk to about my problems.There is nothing wrong with getting away from what is hurting you. I finally have learned that there is nothing wrong with asking for help.

I regret the wasted years... but I greatly look forward to the better ones. I want to live a fulfilling live and I finally feel like I can.

Don’t wait. Get help.

[late-nights-and-daydreams]

“I always thought love was given and taken based on how good you were I guess I was taught at a young age that you have to earn love, earn care, earn the people around you giving a fuck Blame my dad, because he didn’t leave or just walk out the door When he was asked to move back he said no. When he put my mothers back against the wall, told her he had plane tickets He was the first person who taught me I would always come second to drugs When my brother and I were older he got arrested again I hadn’t talked to him in 6 years Every phone call every letter was up in flames I didn’t ever tell him when I was 10 that I wanted him to save me That I wanted to have memories of my parents in the same fucking room I learned after he left me for the second time That no one will want you if you aren’t useful It’s a lesson I never forgot My mother buried herself in pills and booze Taught me that sometimes escape means more then you do But how could I blame her? she’s gone now How could I blame her when she’s the only person who knew me Really knew me The only person I wanted to spend my time with I carry around so much guilt for everything I put her through I wish I wasn’t so sick anymore Because maybe then we would of had fun instead of me being sick We could of done something else with the money for all my pills and doctors visits I don’t blame her for taking me on drug runs Or for her nodding out Or for the times she got so drunk in front of my friends we couldn’t understand her I try not to blame her Blame my grandmother for all the scars she left on me For how before we buried my mother she told me it was my fault because I moved in with my mom and had to take medication For how I learned it was always my fault She taught me love was earned and the bruises and curse words were deserved She taught me that support was throwing money at a problem or an interest and then ridiculing it She mentions my medication whenever I’m with her, calls my doctor a killer I already have my mind telling me I don't need my medication even though I do Hearing it from someone out loud shakes me to the very core I don't know how to tell her it's helping because j don't even believe it But I know I haven't been suicidal for weeks and my mood stabilizer let's me get sleep I was 17 the last time she hit me Wait no. I was 19 and my friend was in the backseat when she hit me to demonstrate what happened when I was 16 was innocent Said I deserved it. When I told her I held the revolver she kept on the bed next to my head, she bitched about not being able to keep guns in the house I guess I learned there are more important things that treating a kid right When I was 8 she kicked out me, said I wanted it, and truth was I did. I spent 10 years trying to get back to my mom. Only to lose her a year and a half later I don’t think I’ll ever stop being bitter about all the time she stole from her Every visit she made me miss All the time she took me away I don’t even fucking care about her justifications anymore All I care about is that she took me from my mother Nothing else matters Or blame my paternal Grandmother Because when I said my dad was never around she threw my mother under the bus Made up lies Now I’m never sure what the past really was Blame her for the fact when she lost the custody case everyone left Maybe if my dads family or my dad had cared I wouldn’t of started taking pills and drinking and burying myself in escapes. Maybe I would know what unconditional love is Maybe I wouldn’t have been locked away in my room Maybe I wouldn’t of tried to overdose on the perfect night three months after we buried my cousin Maybe we could of seen the bipolar sooner Or blame my ex Because I watched him devolve and get a drug habit Only reaffirming that drugs were forever more important then I was I didn’t report the first time he hit me I was 16 and I never understood that someone you love shouldn’t abuse you Let him use me however he wanted Said he loved me 3 weeks before he moved in with someone else My teenage dream useless I still can’t say the name we would of had for our child Or when I was 18 and my other ex Started taking drugs behind my back When he told me the truth I never got rid of the knot in my stomach It was a week from my 19th. I'm not sure I ever recovered I do know even thinking back makes me shudder I didn’t report him either I should of Or the one person I always thought I could run to Who has our history engraved just like I do Leaving I’m not saying she made the wrong choice Just I always thought I could go back to wonderland even if it was burning down to the ground around me She still says my ex best friend who went on to be abusive is just like me. And I don't think she's wrong I still can’t say her name without my hands shaking my voice aching Or blame my best friend Because for my 19th he gave me a bottle of alcohol and PTSD from his hand around my throat From my body shaking after I don’t remember that night well But I know he and I see it differently He tells all our friends I freaked out I tell our friends he assaulted me I don’t think either version is wrong Istill make excuses for how I told him it was okay the night after How I convinced him he wasnt a monster Or blame all my friends That got so busy I haven't heard from them in weeks Who got wrapped up in lives that never touched mine They taught me if there was a better option they'd take it in a heart beat Learned really fast I was replaceable Who I stopped existing to Who will probably never read this poem I don't show up in their newsfeed anymore I don't think their wrong Because if I had a choice I wouldn't live my life either Or blame my last boyfriend Because I am still in love with him. I will always be in love with him. He was my moms friend then became my best friend I stopped seeing everyone he didn’t like Stopped going out for fear of his anger when I got back I’m not saying he was abusive or bad But that I wanted his approval more then I wanted oxygen And that’s not healthy Or the fact he developed a drug habit to keep up with how much weed I smoked Or two days after I told him I was getting sober he asked if we could get high together I didn’t ever want to tell him know Hearing his voice crack still kills me Ihate myself for leaving Blame my body For being so broken Needing so many medications to fix it To try and repair all the damage Nights spent in ER and hospital rooms A childhood white washed by sickness by brokenness Surgeries needed so I could not be crippled for the rest of my life The doctors say I need the surgery to walk I say I've spent most of my life sitting and dying I'm sick of being so fucking sick Or blame the fact I made two people I did love try and kill themselves. I am a monster disguised in human skin, if nothing else that proves it Maybe I was never worthy of love to begin with I didn't mean to turn this into a sob story Didn’t mean to write out my life’s tragedy in black and white I was trying to write a poem about my mom being gone and this is what came out Or maybe I was trying to write a poem about why I love hook up culture even though I'm a romantic Trying to use poetry to reason my want to never be emotionally attached again To want to get what I want physically and then bow out Because I'm sick of being destroyed by people I love And I'm tired of having to destroy people love me This is the scars I’ve got” why I think love is conditional, a story of errors

[suiciderealestate]

Where does my mental illness end and my sense of self begin? I have known something is amiss with my mind for a long time and I have called my affliction by many names. But now in its newest iteration it is shifting slowly from Major Depression to Bipolar Depression, or, maybe more inclusively, Majorly Bipolar Depression. With the exception of vitamin assistance, I have been unmedicated for a few years. The last time I took medication it was Wellbutrin, which made me more manic than I have ever been in my life. At half of the prescribed dosage, I was throwing McChicken’s at my mother’s head, hiding in bushes at 24 years old, planning my self-managed exodus from Nashville to Los Angeles, and getting my license to serve alcohol — I passed the test with flying colors. When I consulted my GP about the mania resultant of my medication, she told me I might be bipolar. I have and had bipolar friends, and though they say birds of a feather flock together, I didn’t feel my symptoms matched the bipolar symptoms exhibited by some of my companions. Their mania was unmedicated. My mania was medicated. Clearly there was a difference. But I’ve since learned that there are two different kinds of bipolar. As my bipolar friend Meredith would say: You’re either Amanda Bynes bipolar (Bipolar 1) or Catherine Zeta-Jones bipolar (Bipolar 2 - Bipolar Depression). Amanda Bynes has since publicly stated that her erratic behavior from 2012 to 2016 wasn’t the result of a mental illness but the result of substance abuse and all the problems that come with it. But, as I’ve found, once a sicko always a sicko. And so while she may currently be in an upswing in her cycle from stability to chaos, it pains me to say that her future holds all the inevitability of her past. That’s just the way it is for people like us. We can stage a return. We can find success. But in reality we only ever really learn how to shove the thought patterns that haunt us under the carpet, close the curtains and muffle out the noise. But the noise never goes away. It’s always there. Whether the buzzing of your mind be plaintive or strident, the buzzing persists and it never goes away.

Today I called my mother to go down the usual lists of complaints: nobody loves me, my hair is falling out, and my body is a prison that makes my life a kind of perpetual Chinese water torture of the soul. A pragmatic, sensible woman, my mother rarely knows what to say. She doesn’t know how to give me advice on topics pertaining to romance because of my homosexual lifestyle; she doesn’t know how to talk to me about my emotional struggles because she has never had a history with mental illness (neither has my father, who is in many ways the same as her); and she doesn’t understand me when I ask her for help. At best, she says, she can let me move back into a home in Nashville with no rent other than the constant tax of corrosive misunderstanding. The comfort of my home in Tennessee is a tomb perfectly prepared for me to waste the rest of my days away in anticipation of my approaching demise. But I know that I have been dying for some time now. Decomposition comes in varying stages, and in this particular manifestation the rot has started first with my mind and will then work its way outward. It is not an uncommon way to go, and in my extended family there is a history of dementia. Dementia took the mind of my next-door neighbor Dan, a former engineering professor at Vanderbilt University who struggled to remember his loved ones or even who he was in the last years of his life. It took the mind of my paternal grandmother in her last days and rendered her final bouts of consciousness a public fever dream on perfect display for my family to see. I only heard whispers of it, being that I was young at the time of her death, but I remember visiting her in the nursing home and then the hospital, and I remember the smell of sterility and decay that lived easily alongside one another. I remember the first time I saw a dead body, one that belonged to a man who was only ever called “Uncle Ronnie” and who I had never actually met. To meet someone only after they are basted with formaldehyde is a curious thing. When I saw his pale corpse in the open casket, a corpse whose lifeless pallor, resistant to every cosmetic effort, must have startled other attendees at the wake, I felt nothing. I learned that even dead bodies are held to a standard of perfection, and even dead bodies often fail to meet those standards.

Even today I often think of Uncle Ronnie. I still remember his face, his black hair, his delicate features. I remember that all I’ve ever known of him is death. For me, that is his legacy: that he died and that of all seven billion people upon the face of the Earth, his corpse was the first I ever witnessed. For my mother, bipolar disorder seems to be a kind of little death. She once had a good friend named Jill. Jill was bipolar. She forged checks and stole from her employers. She used to babysit me once upon a time, and when I was only four years old she would let me watch graphic movies like “Alien,” in which aliens can only give birth by planting their seed in the body of a living being. When the alien finally gestates and is ready to be born, it simply bursts from the host’s body and leaves them to die in a mess of blood and fleshy pulp. I remember watching the cartoon “Ren and Stimpy,” and it was at that point in my life that I learned the aesthetic potential of the grotesque and macabre. I forsook companionship with children my age for others who were three to five years older than me. Even they said I was “warped,” because my knowledge of sex, profanity and vulgarity was more advanced than anything they had known at my age. I was exposed to cigarettes early, alcohol early, everything just a tad earlier.  I learned most of what I knew from other children at St. Henry’s School, a place my parents had desperately tried to get me admitted to. It took a little coaxing from a family relative, but after much reluctance I was admitted. Even at a young age, I wasn’t looked upon as a genius or even as someone with average potential. My great aunt Emily had to harass a priest at St. Henry until they decided to give me the formality of an admissions test. And once I proved lackluster at that, she had to harass him some more. Little did my parents know, I would be reared in a den of charlatans. And though my mother constantly reminds me that she didn’t raise me to exhibit the behaviors I am prone to, she unwittingly unleashed me into a realm of the most expensive sin money can buy.

For much of my early exposure I have Jill to thank. But Jill has cemented in my mother’s mind a stigmatized perception of people with bipolar disorder. God forbid her son should have a variation of it, so even now she is in denial. When I told her over the phone today that I believe I have bipolar 2, she said, in desperation, “But you don’t have any of the symptoms!” The symptoms, according to the most direct Google search, are as follows: 1) mood swings, sadness, elevated mood, anger, anxiety, apathy, apprehension, euphoria, general discontent, guilt, hopelessness, loss of interest, or loss of interest or pleasure in activities; 2) irritability, risk taking behaviors, disorganized behavior, aggression, agitation, crying, excess desire for sex, hyperactivity, impulsivity, restlessness, or self-harm; 3) unwanted thoughts, delusion, lack of concentration, racing thoughts, slowness in activity, or false belief of superiority; 4) depression, manic episode, agitated depression, or paranoia; 5) difficulty falling asleep or excess sleepiness; 6) weight gain or weight loss; and 7) fatigue or rapid and frenzied speaking.

Looking at all of these symptoms, I can’t help but think that all of this is simply innate to the human condition. But at the end of the day, I can only speak to my human condition. In this lifetime, I can speak to no one else’s. And yet, to feel that there is some possibility of error in my cognitive makeup, that I am broken with little hope of drugless repair, is to know that there is a part of me that will always be lacking. Today I told my mother that in the last two months I stole merchandise worth thousands of dollars during my seasonal employment at Bloomingdales. More troubling still is that every time I stole from Bloomingdales I was in a good mood. With this condition it just goes to show that both highs and lows are dangerous. If I’m in a bad mood I might kill myself, and if I’m in a good mood I might happily commit several felonies. You really never know.

When I reported all of this information to my mother in demonstration of the fact that perhaps I do embody the erratic behavior she associates with bipolar disorder, she insisted on getting off the phone. She made me promise I would never steal again, which I obliged to with fingers crossed, and then she hung up. It’s not that I want to steal again. It’s just that I can’t make promises I know I can’t keep. For my mother, bipolar disorder is not unlike a prison sentence or a death sentence. Jill disappeared, and we never saw her again. We didn’t hear from her. We didn’t hear about her. She just vanished. Sometimes I wish I could do the same. I wish I could just disappear from everyone’s life over and over again, constantly remaking myself until I finally crash and burn. But these days, with social media and all the rest, it just isn’t that easy. We are bound to who we are, until we aren’t. I hope my family can salvage some sense of understanding until that day comes. I know it’s a lot to ask. I hardly understand myself.

[zhiantara]

I had been feeling that maybe I'd been petty in saying this and that it doesn't matter at all... I considered it all day and eventually realized that this isnt just a pet peeve and actually matters hugely in my life.

I received a misdiagnosis of bipolar when I was 14 or so that led me down a road of years of inappropriate treatments including countless medications to stabilize a problem I never had, and leading doctors to overlook my actual problems... and this misdiagnosis happened because of my mother telling my doctors I seemed "a little bipolar". everyone accepted this at face value at the time, with the expectation that she knew what she was implicating when she said that. She described a family history of my father and paternal grandmother "acting bipolar" and quickly earned me a diagnosis. when she talked about bipolar, myself and apparently my doctors took it to mean something along the lines of "my family members got diagnosed at some point in their life".

It was not for many, many years that I would realize when she talked about the "bipolar behavior" in my family it was a stand-in word for any kind of Crazy she perceived. My grandmother was a little bipolar in her eyes because she was unstable and suicidal, my father was a little bipolar because he was irritable, and I was a little bipolar because I talked too much. this somehow went completely overlooked. it took until my adulthood to meet professionals who actually asked what bipolar symptoms my family had, and people who asked what I was feeling during this time instead of asking how other people perceived me. I struggled needlessly for around five important, formative years of my life to correct this simple mistake and to learn I needed different treatment approaches because of a misunderstanding of what bipolar looks like.

even as the one with the diagnosis I didn't have adequate knowledge of it. I accepted that I had an atypical mild type of it or something because even I didn't understand it well enough to recognize that it wasn't what I was experiencing! so i really want people to rethink what they're saying when they throw around words like manic without having understanding about what it is lmao...

Do you ever get the impression some people on this website don’t understand what mania is at all? I see ppl out here losing 1 night of sleep or making a regrettable impulse buy and then blogging about how manic they are… before going back to talking about how lethargic and depressed they feel in the same day.. I’m like What… Please learn about what you’re saying… I’m taking the word mania away from you all until you learn how to differentiate it from short term mood swings and minor lapses in judgement…

[reylas1981]

An Intro

Hello my name is Reylas, I am 37, cis male, gay demisexual

I suffer from mental illness and mood disorders. Specifically Bipolar Type 2 with Major Depression, Generalized Anxiety and Social-phobia, Borderline Personality Disorder and Avoidant Personality Disorder, ADHD, and possibly some PTSD. I have very low self-esteem, self confidence, self image, and have trouble accepting myself. 

I am here to talk about my issues and hopefully work through them and maybe get feedback should I get any followers.

More About My Background

Born in 1981 in South West Ohio. Attended a smallish school and was in band and played the Clarinet and to this day I am still friends with my junior high band teacher and love her dearly. In high school there is one event which sticks out to me as significant for me when trying to determine how long I have been dealing with some from of depression. If you grew up in the 90′s listening to country music you may remember a song by Mark Wills entitled “Don’t Laugh At Me”. I remember sitting on the outside steps near the band room after school and listening to the song on repeat and just crying. 

While I won’t say I was bullied exactly I was more like the invisible kid. The one at the front of the room or bus that no one talked to. The one who was dressed primarily in black. While I did have a handful of people that would socialize with me it more like they were just tolerating me as opposed to actually engaging with me. The only thing I was ever really bullied about was the fact I was a fat kid. I am still fat weighing in at around 410 lbs depending on the day.

There were a lot of signs while growing up that I was homosexual at least to my memory. My brother and I were primarily raised by grandparents, our maternal great grandmother until around 1994 when she died of a brain aneurysm and afterward by our paternal grandparents until we graduated high school. 

Prior to 1994 I remember that we found an adult magazine and lets just say it wasn’t the lady parts that I was interested in not that I had the words to describe my feelings or even would have. At the time Gay wasn’t a thing that was talked about openly though I remember a game of Truth or Dare where I asked my best friend what he would do if he found out one of his friends was gay. It was not a good answer.

After ‘94 with our paternal grandparents there were more signs as we got our first computer and NetZero dial-up internet. Like the Avenue Q song says The Internet is for Porn. Primarily male but would check out hetero stuff as well so I could at least say I way bi should anyone be smart enough to check my history. 

Young Adulthood

As soon as I graduated high school my grandparents shipped me off to what was supposed to be my first real full time job in Winchester, KY. The job lasted three months and I was let go. So when I moved back I moved in with my parents in early 2000. While living in KY I had purchased several gay adult magazines off eBay but when moving my stuff back to OH I disposed of them so there would be no evidence that anyone could come across that I was gay. 

The first person that figured out I was gay was my junior high band teacher. Back in the day Yahoo had profile pages and I had selected that I was interested in Men and she viewed my Yahoo profile and saw that. I remember my heart sank when she ask. I was scared to death. She said she still loved me. She ended up telling her husband and eventually her son and also my brother. 

My best friend as an adult several years after I told her I was gay (she was the only person I ever admitted my sexuality to) told my parents. She said it was time for me to come out and tell them and when I didn’t she did. We are still friends but coming out is a major milestone for the LGBTQ+ community. I remember when I got home that night after she had told them. I couldn’t make eye contact with my parents. I was so scared and felt so ashamed of who I am. 

While my parents aren’t religious I remember being forced to church by grandparents. My grandmother saying homosexuals are disgusting and going to Hell. I remember every time my father would come across Will & Grace on TV while channel hopping would say “fucking fags”. Even as late as last year in a fight with my dad he said he would love to see me go to prison and that I would be everybody’s bitch and be passed around “but then you would probably enjoy that wouldn’t you, you fucking fag”.

Think that is enough for today

[inmomorium-blog]

Episode 1:Introduction/The Sandwich Story

Hello. I’m Matthew, and this is In Momorium, a punnily named podcast about grief.

Debra Inez Hobgood was born on February 1rst, 1955.Then, as a result of some paternity scamming on her mother’s part, she became Deborah O’Callaghan a few short years later. She grew up, married my father, and became Debbie Shepherd. Then in 1979 she gave birth to my sister and became Mom. I came along in 1982. Today would be my mother Debbie’’s 62nd birthday. We were very close, and I don’t care how cliche it is, she was my best friend, and I miss her a lot every day. Also, I was a shitty best friend, and I will never not feel guilty about that. We failed one another in a lot of ways, and I’m so sorry.

Debbie died for the first time in October of 2013. But then, an hour after doctors abandoned resuscitation efforts, her heart started again on it’s own. Through extended family meddling which we’ll talk about later, she remained sort of alive because of machines,  but in a persistent vegetative state due to anoxic brain injury for another 2 years before dying for the last time on October 13th, 2015.

In December of 2016, when Carrie Fisher had a heart attack on an aeroplane, Jacob Clifton, a writer I admire, wrote a beautiful piece about her that made me cry. I am one of those pretentious “I’ve never seen a Star War!” people. But it didn’t take long to realize why I had such an emotional reaction. My mother related a lot to Carrie Fisher. She was also a brilliant, magnetic woman with bipolar disorder and addiction issues.

Since my sister grew up and moved 2000 miles away while I remained a potential defying townie, when Mom died,  it fell on me to sort through her belongings. She was a compulsive note taker, always making lists or scribbling on any available spare paper. I have filing cabinet drawers full to bursting with her writings. To do lists, unsent letters, confessions, hatchet jobs, accusations,  mania induced ramblings. I’ve known for some time I wanted to do something with these , but every time i’ve tried, I am overcome with sadness and just can’t, so her words have stayed hidden away in my filing cabinet.

While crying over that Carrie Fisher article, it came to me that maybe this could be a podcast.

My people are a kitchen table people. My grandmother, then my mother, then me, We sit around the kitchen table, drink coffee, smoke cigarettes, and talk shit. Well I don’t smoke cigarettes anymore. But this isn’t really about me. Mother and I always thought we had quite a colorful family history, because everyone has a colorful family history. We had ambitions to write a book together about said colorful family history, and in 2009 we recorded a conversation with that in mind while we played cards, drank coffee, and smoked cigarettes. We never got around to pursuing the book idea, feeling that we had plenty of time.

In the coming weeks, I’m going to tell you a lot about Debbie, and she’s going to tell you a lot about herself and her family through her writings and precious few spoken words.  It’s not always going to be pretty. We’re going to be talking about some dark subjects including child sexual abuse, domestic violence, shocking codependency, mental illness, and other embarassing family secrets. I’m not expecting a ton of christmas cards next year. I love my mother very much. I forgive what needs forgiving, but this isn’t going to be an indulgence in our tendency as a people to immediately canonize the dead.

Rather than beginning at the beginning, I’d like to start with mom’s favorite amusing family story to tell. It’s a lighthearted tale of breaking and entering and assault about her Grandmother, Ila. Mom calls her Granny, I call her Ninny, so you’ll hear her referred to as both. The Joey she mentions is her half brother, who is, fyi, a garbage person. More about them in future episodes. Anyway, In her own words, here’s Debbie telling The Sandwich Story.

“Debbie: Joey was still a little kid, and was out in the backyard one day. Of course Granny, was during one of her periods that she was living with us. And joey was out pounding something metal with something metal, making noise. And one of the neighbors a few doors down, hollered at him and said “Joe Allen! Stop pounding’ on that and making’ that noise!”

Granny stuck her- of course back then, nobody had air conditioners, if they had anything they had a fan. So if you yelled in your house, your neighbors close by would hear you. And granny yelled back across at Joey and says “This is your yard you can make all the noise you want to, you can do whatever you want!” and the neighbor lady hollered “Oh shut up. You’re nothing but an old beer joint whore!”

Whereupon Granny got up, went out our door, went down the several doors… by this time the lady had locked her door, and Granny kicked her door in, went in and beat the hell out her. And the woman was eating a sandwich, Granny ate the rest of her sandwich, then she went into the bathroom and used the lady's comb and fixed her hair after she had done this. The took her off to jail and one of the neighbors, that i was told later was a bootlegger, gave Granny the money before she ever went to jail to bail herself out of jail.”

Fun fact: Mom spoke proper and unaccented english for most of my life. In her later years, she started to affect a country-fied accent. I think she thought it was charming, and I couldn’t decide if I found it cute or maddening.

Thanks for joining me in remembering my Mom. I’m writing this at 430 Christmas eve morning, having outlined 10 episodes, on very little sleep, and overcome with late December sadness, so I can’t tell if i’m having a good idea or a manic episode. This is not a linear story, it does not have a happy ending, and I fear it may be exploitative, but I think it’s a story that deserves to be told. Next time, we’ll start properly at the start, and hear Debbie relate memories of her mother and grandmother.