#my respiratory system is just being a bitch

[nobodybetterlookatme]

Would love to know why my body has suddenly decided that it's okay to give up on trying to function when it's actually super not okay

[jeun-bug]

One day, mc is gonna tweet something like “I wish I just let Taiga throw me out that moving train. It would’ve saved me from this” and everyone thinks that they are just being dramatic about a minor inconvenience again, only for Jiro to tweet “the inspector’s pain is being monitored and attempts to regulate it on a higher level are being investigated. All curse research is being prioritized.” And people realize “oh shit they were actually in pain, suffering, and serious this time” (only for MC to be like “My Brand™️ is “dying from minor inconveniences, smiling through major wounds”” or “I lived (unfortunately) bitches”)

this isn’t exactly what your prompt was, but the idea was so good and I wanted to play w it a little :3c featuring like… 2-3 not at all in depth google searches on the respiratory system, so pls pardon medical inaccuracies im literally just making things up.

i don’t think i’ll make this canon to the Greater tdbsmau-verse, but it was a lot of fun to make :3!!

[kirby-the-gorb]

we are about an hour into rare disease day in my timezone! (it's always the last day of february, whether that's the 28th or the 29th.) the true prevalence of mast cell disorders is unknown, as they are often misdiagnosed or ignored. and mast cell activation syndrome, the most prevalent kind of mast cell disorder, only had diagnostic criteria laid out for the first time in 2010. so whether or not it's truly rare is really up in the air!

(personally I suspect it is just aggressively underdiagnosed but I'm not a research scientist or diagnostician right now. and even if it is rare, it's gonna be a lot less so than it was 5 years ago as certain respiratory infections are known to trigger it into visibility. that's what happened to me when I got mono at the end of 2015, further compounded when I got covid in 2022.)

all chronically ill people face a lot of hurdles when it comes to seeking diagnosis, accommodation, and treatment (all of which can be severely complicated by any intersecting marginalities), but rare diseases present a special challenge.

for example, I have an immune disorder. my immune system does not like being alive, my mast cells are way too jumpy and throw a tantrum over every little thing. you'd think an immunologist would be the one to treat me, right?

I've had 6 immunology referrals rejected in the past 9 months alone. multiple major immunology clinics in my major city tied to a major research university outright refuse to see patients with "mcas" written anywhere in their chart.

after 8 years of being debilitatingly ill, and suspecting it was immune mediated for 6, and getting it confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt by the bone marrow biopsy last month, I will have my second ever appointment with an immunologist. another 2 1/2 months from now. the first immunologist lied to me about the reliability of the one available blood test, when I first came up with the hypothesis by myself 6 years ago, and forced me to abandon my (correct!!! now proven!!!) hypothesis for 3 entire years while we wandered around lost and got nowhere other than even more thorough process of elimination.

okay, well if my immune system is attacking me, maybe it's technically autoimmune? that's the rheumatologists instead of the immunologists, what do they have to say? dick all my dude, I don't have rheumatoid arthritis so they just shrug at me and go "idk, fibro? I don't know why you're here" and send me home with nothing. (I literally had a rheumatologist say to me, verbatim, "I don't know why you're here." buddy it's your job to read the chart and decide if I get seen or not, you tell me. at least he had a snazzy outfit.)

being chronically ill can be a terrible struggle no matter what, but a disease that is perceived as rare, accurate or not, adds a whole new layer of bullshit. (and of course there are much much rarer diseases out there, with even more hoops and dead ends and struggles and all-new layers of bullshit that even I don't have to deal with!)

anyway I'm having a shit time and using this awareness day as an excuse to productively bitch about it 👍

[davros42]

Rewatching Classic Doctor Who, some episodes I haven't seen in years, some of the animated reconstructions I haven't seen at all.

Marco Polo AKA Serial D

Hard to give this one a fair shake as it's video portion is entirely missing. It is one of the few original serials that has no existing motion visual elements. Thanks to the Loose Cannon folks for building a reconstruction from the audio and the prodigious number of still images available, we can at least try though.

The TARDIS arrives in the Pamir Mountains (AKA The Roof of the World) and promptly breaks down, presumably due to damage incurred during the Edge of Destruction. Or maybe just old age. It's not really clear, just that it'll take days to repair the part in question. After a few Yeti/Abominable Snowman fake outs (they'll get their chance yet) it is revealed that Marco Polo has stumbled upon the crew on one of his travels. The crew join Marco Polo's caravan since they have no shelter, food, or water thanks to the broken-down TARDIS. It doesn't help that the Doctor has developed altitude sickness, the writers having not invented the respiratory bypass system yet. However, Marco Polo contrives to steal the TARDIS in order to give it to Kublai Kahn and we spend the next five episodes going back and forth over it while Tegana the evil Mongol plots in the background and Marco Polo remains oblivious.

Oh, and Susan forms an especially close friendship with a girl named Ping-Cho. (My god, these bitches gay. Good for them.)

Eventually after many minor adventures (sandstorms, poisoning, kidnappings, fights, etc.) they finally arrive at the court of Kublai Kahn. The Doctor promptly loses the TARDIS in a game of backgammon. Ian gets captured (again). But Tegana loses to Marco Polo in an epic swordfight and kills himself. At that point Marco Polo returns the TARDIS key and the crew disappears in the manner of Tuxedo Mask, their work here done (but they didn't do anything).

A well-regarded serial at the time, it maintained the ratings of The Daleks and The Edge of Destruction and was sold on to nineteen countries for repeat viewing. It was a favorite of both Carole Ann Ford and William Hartnell. Apparently even the Walt Disney Company wanted the film rights. Can you imagine the Walt Disney Company getting their hands on Doctor Who? I wonder what that would be like.

Audio and still images alone have a hard time living up to that early reputation, however. The plot draaaaaaags without the evidently quite high visual production value behind it. I feel like this could have been a tight four parter but, ultimately, the core issue is that the TARDIS crew are more or less tourists. Marco Polo is the real star here: saving the crew, pressganging them into the caravan, eventually resolving the threat more or less by himself (but only after spreading the production costs out over seven episodes), and then deigning to send the crew on their way. Not the most... involved Doctor Who plot, really.

And just to get it out of the way, I wouldn't blame anyone for just writing this one off due to the yellowface casting, though it still manages to be less obviously racist in its depictions than Talons of Weng-Chiang despite being a decade older. Which is a low bar to clear, I suppose.

Next Time: Keys keys keys, Keys of Marinus. Let's see if Terry Nation has more up his sleeve than just Daleks.

[callsignbaphomet]

On rewatching Ginger Snaps for the quantillionth time I realized something that so many videos and posts on the movie fail to mention. Idk if this was intentional during the creation of the movie but just...all the signs are there.

Ginger is a horrible person and an abusive dickhead.

Don't get me wrong this is one of my all time favorite movies and I love Ginger a lot. So much that I named an important OC after her.

Movie starts by having Ginger completely dismiss Bridgette's worries about their "suicides" (spoiler alert: it's a school project). Bridgette is a mousy and super shy, insecure and anxious girl so being the center of attention, for her, is a nightmare. She quickly asked "What is they laugh?" To which Ginger answers dismissively and cornering her with the pact they made when they were 8. Basically forcing Bridgette to see things her way and get her to participate.

This is the norm throughout the entire movie but it gets exacerbated after Ginger gets bitten and slowly starts to lose her absolute shit. You see Ginger dismissing her sister, pushing her, calling her names, shoving her, ordering her around and never replying to her sister's phrases of devotion. Yes, I said devotion, not love.

Like the scene of the girls coming back from school.

Bridgette: "I'd rather die then be here without you."

Ginger: "Well relax, you're not, you big suck." After she replies this she pushes Bridgette.

The only times you see Ginger not doing any of the above is when she needs help or feels like she's not in total control. Like after being attacked by the werewolf or when she ate the neighbor's dog.

Even then when B is trying to help Ginger bitches her out constantly. Like at PE when B was helping Ginger hide her newly grown tail. Sure, you could argue Ginger was worried someone would see her but her attitude was just rude af.

Ginger also has this huge and messed up possession of Bridgette that's obvious throughout the whole movie. But she also shows Bridgette just how easily she could be replaced.

Example of this is when Ginger starts hanging out with Jason. Ginger tosses Jason to the ground and starts making out with him in full blown view of B who is clearly disgusted at her sister making out with some boy and in such a manner where she knows her sister can see.

However, once B starts talking to Sam, some dude who saw the girls running from the werewolf before he ran over it, Ginger takes full offense to this. She instantly starts telling B that he isn't interested in helping, he just wants to fuck B. Ginger also tries this with the male janitor who gave B a towel so she could clean herself up after Trina (the school bully) pushes B into a dead dog.

Every single time anyone that isn't Ginger gives B even 2 seconds of attention Ginger gets in the way, tries to sabotage whatever relationship B and that other person may have and tries to divert all attention back to her. If that fails Ginger basically tells her she's being used in some way and if she gets hurt Ginger won't be there for her. She also makes it seem like any dangerous or insane action Ginger commits is B's fault for "abandoning" her. Like when Trina came to their house claiming Ginger took her dog.

By the end of the movie B is sorta fighting back and "standing up to Ginger" by answering back what Ginger really means when she's trying to manipulate B.

In the end Ginger proved to be an abusive dickhead who tried her best to manipulate B and isolate her making her believe B needed her when in truth it was the other way around.

Did I just do this instead of working on my project that's due next week? Yes, cuz reading up on dog's circulatory and respiratory systems is boring. Now some 76 and theeeen I'll continue.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

May I please have sleep, meals, routine, chronic, doctor, relax, aches, and stress for Peter please?

all about health

absolutely!!

please help I love this man too much for my own good-

sleep: how many hours a night does my muse sleep? do they take naps? how restful is their sleep? do they experience nightmare? if so, how often?

On average, he gets maybe five hours. Certainly he doesn’t get as much sleep as he should. It’s sometimes because of the things the first-stringers do at night, leading him to not get back and rest until late, and sometimes he’s just in that ‘too tired to sleep’ mode thanks to everything. He doesn’t really nap too much; most of the time, once he’s up, it’s go-go-go until he falls into bed. (… He’d probably nap if his S/O dragged him into it, however.) Most of the time he does get a fairly restful sleep, but every so often he does get nightmares. And they’re not really nightmares, they’re more like memories. Once or twice a month, maybe. More if he’s unusually stressed.

meals: how many meals does my muse eat a day? what do they generally consist of?

Typically it’s twice a day for meals, pretty much that he eats whenever the rest of the troupe eats. Two meals daily ― breakfast and dinner, though often with a small snack around what most other people consider teatime. Breakfast can be anything from crumpets, eggs, sausage, bread with jam… something filling to start the day. A teatime snack might be a handful of chestnuts or an apple shared with his sister. Dinner is usually some kind of soup or stew with a few vegetables, accompanied by a small portion of fish or whatever meat happens to be cheapest that day. A biscuit or a sweet after that. All in all, despite that he probably doesn’t eat enough, his diet itself could be a lot worse.

routine: does my muse have a consistent routine in their lives? do they find it difficult to stick to a routine?

His routine is… pretty much just the routine of the circus, as well as the first-stringers’ nighttime activities. He wakes up and has breakfast, does some practice, maybe stands round one of the tents taunting newbies about “y’ can do better’n ‘at, can’t y’?!”, does the evening show, pretends to retire, and sneaks out with the others to get what they have to do over with. Then, once it’s done for now, he drags himself back to his tent with Wendy, gets what little sleep will come, and starts it all again in the morning. Although it’s consistent, and he doesn’t necessarily struggle to stick to it, he does get bored occasionally. It’s like his whole life is one big rut, he hates some of the things he has to do, he wishes life was different, and he’s desperately waiting for the day something changes. He feels so… stuck.

chronic: does my muse have any chronic health conditions / illnesses? how do these affect them from day-to-day?

Aside from whatever condition is causing his short stature and youthful appearance, something he doesn’t even know how to explain? He’s actually a pretty healthy person, on the whole. He does have a propensity toward catching colds in the winter, likely a result of having a slightly underdeveloped respiratory system. All that really means is that he usually ends up coughing and sneezing and fever-shivering his way through December… and bitching about it till May. His height means that he gets easily frustrated not being able to reach things, and he sometimes gets pain in his joints because of his size, particularly pain in his hips. Once in a rare while he hurts so badly he has trouble walking, but that’s thankfully not an everyday occurrence.

doctor: how often does my muse visit the doctor? do they tend to go routinely, or only when something is wrong?

As far as a professional doctor goes, Peter’s never actually been. Not only do he and his family not have the money for regular visits to a typical doctor, he personally doesn’t see the point. He’s pretty sure there isn’t any cure nor treatment for his condition, so why bother? He does go to Doc in the medical tent; however, he only heads over there when he’s got a complaint. Despite having never been to a formal doctor, he has very little faith in the processes of medicine in general, so if he’s feeling okay, he doesn’t see the need to visit.

relaxation: what does my muse do to relax? do they find it easy to carve out time to relax?

Logically, he doesn’t relax until he lies down to sleep. The whole day, he’s almost always got things going on. Practice or performances, or doing the Baron’s bidding at night. Even though he does have free time, after a life on the streets, he finds it incredibly difficult to truly relax. Though he’s better at doing so when a friend or S/O helps him, it’s just not easy to make his body do nothing without being anxious or having trouble relaxing.

aches: does my muse have any frequent aches? ie, muscle aches, joint aches? how do these affect them from day-to-day?

He does get aches rather often, although thankfully they’re not usually too debilitating to prevent him from doing things. Mostly they’re limited to his joints and back, and he’s describe them as “the kinda soreness y’ get after a ‘ard day’s work, y’know?”, except for the fact that the aches he gets come on without needing to have physically exerted himself. The worst for him is that he does get aches in his hips, and once in a blue moon they’re bad enough that he can’t walk without crying and cursing. Those pains increase when he’s been moving a lot or if he gains a bit of weight in his middle. Thankfully, it’s only a couple times a year when the aches get so bad he’s in excruciating pain whilst moving; otherwise, he can usually push through, even if it hurts like hell.

stress: does my muse handle stress well? what is a surefire sign for others to tell that they’ve become stressed? how does stress affect them mentally / physically?

Although one may not always notice, Peter handles stress… poorly. He’s gotten better at it after time on the streets, where being so stressed that you couldn’t function was a luxury, but it’s still not good for him. He snaps at people quite a bit normally, or at least he doesn’t conceal his anger ��� however, when stress is really getting to him, he doesn’t so much snap as yells. Normally he tries very hard not to raise his voice or get absolutely furious with people, even when they’re pissing him off. That said, everyone will know he’s angry when he is, because he doesn’t mask his emotions. It’s just… when he’s stressed, the lid he keeps on his more volatile reactions pops right off, and he will scream and hurl insults if his buttons are pushed twice, whereas normally it takes three or four pushes for him to shout or name-call. When he gets stressed like that, and he blows up at people, the guilt eats at him. He knows he overreacts when he’s stressed, and it makes him cross with himself because oughtn’t he have better control than that? It also makes him ever more tired and makes his joint aches worse… which, in turn, only stresses him out more. A vicious cycle if there ever was one.

[the-bjd-community-confess]

a plague of shart (dolls) i'm also so fuckening tired of smd becoming the face of the hobby.

the response to this is generally "you're just a jealous hater that can't handle doll daddy's success uwu"

but nah, my good bitch -- that ain't it. i've actually followed shoes since before my time in the hobby, since the Old Days of the internet- he's always been a bit of an embarrassment and a prick, but it was tolerable and at least he shared interesting information for a time. he's a bit part of the problem with smort dorts these days, but he ain't the only one. 'cause listen, i've got a few smd of my own from back when the company wasn't churning out more garbage than a gacha game during golden week, and i'll tell you this- as good as they look head-on, the side profile on some of those heads (mirai) is worse than a pug's respiratory system. rare is the motherfucker brave enough to a smart doll from the side. some of the newer heads actually have noticeable facial features, but the problem is that buying them means giving danny money. on the other hand, given how many people are willing to just casually wipe their ass with a quintet of benjamins and light them on fire for good measure, it hasn't been hard to find secondhand dolls listed- overpriced, usually- in the relevant tags.

i think the other reason many people are fed up with seeing the fucking things is because you can't escape them anymore, at least in the west. want to buy clothes for a 1:3 doll? get ready for one of mirai's clones to stare you down. animetic eyes? modeled by smd (checks smudged writing on hand) onomatopoeia, who looks exactly like smart dolls lootbox and atherosclerosis but she was sold for a 300% markup because she has twelve (12) freckles, isn't she so unique and worth the two thousand us dollarydoos she was sold for?  (no.)

the dollfie dream tags are flooded. the mini dollfie dream tags are flooded despite them being completely different sizes. even resin tags can't escape the locust plague of the lawn smart dart fan hungry for likes and follows. if they have to crowd unrelated tags to do it, then by god they're gonna. people talk about minifee chloes being everywhere but honey, you ain't seen nothin' until you've seen the sheer number of SmD mirai out there on the internet. monday's nostrils are the yawning chasm of insanity, impossible to tear my gaze away from, and woe does the void stare back. these things suck the life and creativity out of most of the people who buy them because they almost all have the most basic bitch default faceup+Z4zouDolls wig+th3d0llcl0thier outfits every single time i see one, and as if that weren't enough, they take over people's entire online presence. if they had dolls before, you'd never know it once they've got a smeg doll in their hands.

it's the glut of the things crowding out the rest of the hobby that really wears me out. i can't even block people with them when they're in all the tags and shops and community events regardless. and i genuinely like some of the damn things! people who don't enjoy any of them must be absolutely miserable. i want to get off mr. ch0o's wild ride. i am so tired. i have no problem with people buying what they like. dressing their dolls however. do whatever you want. but i'm gonna bitch about it, by god, because even if it's not morally bankrupt or problematic, it's damn annoying, and this is where we all wind up when it's time to piss out a screed on the irritating thing of the week. (and none offense meant to anyone who is a basic bitch smart doll fan, it's fine to like what you like. i'm just tired of seeing how many people share your interests to the detriment of all the people who do not.)

~Anonymous

[qslovebot]

Doubt, Denial, and Fucking Destiny: Raymond Wadsworth

Summary: After reconnecting with Raymond when he returns to town, he finds it hard to believe that he was your childhood crush due to the many years he spent believing he was unlovable. Your crush on him never left, it was simply buried, so you prove that you did like him and maybe still do?

Pairing: Raymond Wadsworth x Short Fem!Reader

Warnings/Includes: alcohol presence, mention of past verbal abuse and bullying, mention of weight loss, self-doubt, low self-esteem, kissing.

Raymond Wadsworth never thought himself deserving of any sort of proper love.

He grew up in a home where every day his stuck-up father pointed out his mental and physical flaws, his wrong choices, and his past and present failures with no hesitation or apology. Constantly under scrutiny and judgement at home, school wasn't much better. It may have even been worse.

The kids would poke fun at Raymond for his looks, his weight being the main target of most of the insults and he dug himself deeper by eating his feelings away.

To top it all off, he spent his childhood believing that he could see and communicate with the dead. With ghosts, to be more specific. And his father called him crazy for it all. You heard whispers of it around the school.

Raymond's childhood was hard, you knew that then as you knew it now, watching him prepare to drink himself away as you watched him down chocolate milk after a beating by older kids in the park years earlier. Many... years earlier. Too many- was this even Raymond?

He was taller now, maybe 6'1, nearly 6'2? He was much thinner now, but he looked decently healthy and his hair was still just as unruly as it had been all the way back then. He was, in fact here and he was also very very very attractive. To you, maybe. He'd always been attractive, even before he became who he was before he returned to the town.

Being about four years younger than him, you had admired him endlessly and achingly as a child. To be frank, he never took notice of you that way, only seeing you as the annoying little brat with the pigtails who chased him around the playground back then.

It was stupid that your heart skipped a beat the moment you knew it was truly him. It had been decades since you last saw him and you'd had many unlasting relationships since then. Here was your crush from when you were merely five and your heart fluttered? Stupid. Ahead of yourself.

But you wandered over to him anyway, sitting down next to him on the barstool. "I thought you had a blood pressure issue," you started, smiling as he froze the hand that held the shot he was about to throw back.

"Yeah... how did you know that?" He questioned before actually looking at you. The moment he lifted his head to get a glance at who was speaking to him, it was like all his organs stopped working at once. He choked on pure air at the sight of you. You couldn't help but smile.

He continued coughing and you laughed, "I don't think taking that shot is a good idea anyway... do you need water, Raymond?" You knowing his name set off a new round of coughing and you and the bartender nodded at each other as they placed a cup of water in front of Raymond.

You watched him try to recalibrate his respiratory system and eventually, he regained his breath, looking up at you through curls. "I'm sorry, uh, hot girls- they usually don't just walk up and talk to me."

"Aaand hot men usually don't choke on absolutely nothing when I approach them, so there's a first time for everything." You smiled, folding your hands and resting them under your chin. It seemed like it took him an extra second to process that you had just called him hot. He was just as shy-seeming as he was then. It seemed like he was also trying to place your face. "You don't remember me?"

"I think I do, I just can't place where..."

"I'll jog your memory," you suggested, immediately reaching to pull your hair into ponytails that stayed put with your fists. You lowered yourself a little and nodded, pulling your mouth to one side to mimic the way you looked so long ago and his jaw dropped.

"(Y/N)! No way! Oh my god, you're still 5'2!" He gasped, running a hand through his hair. So he did remember you after all. "-And you have boobs now, that's- that's great." His eyes drifted and you snapped to get his attention back up to your face. "You look- you look great, holy fuck."

"Thak you, so do you," you shook your hair out again and bit your lip. "You look so much happier."

"You can say skinnier," he shrugged.

"I would say skinnier if that's what I meant, Raymond, but I meant happier." He seemed a little bit surprised. "I see that you are but frankly it never mattered to me. I liked you anyway."

His eyebrows narrowed, "Liked me anyway? Weren't you like... five when we met? I was... nine-ish. And you... you would follow me around, was that a crush?"

"It was," you admit, a small smile tugging your lips again, eyes fluttering from his hands back up to Raymond, who looked baffled. It made sense that he thought nobody liked him back then. Your reveal to liking him then seemed to grip him with shock well enough. Wait until he understood just how long. "-And it lasted until I was thirteen and you were... seventeen. I think that's around when you went, wasn't it?"

He nodded, eyes drifting. You snapped again and his mind snapped back to where it should be. "Y-yeah. When did all this... happen, because when I left you were..."

"Conventionally unattractive." You finished. "Well there's one word to sum it up and it's puberty. It hit me, it hit you and now we are right back where we started and you seem just as likeable."

"And you're far less annoying..." he trailed off. "I cannot believe you're still here."

"I can't believe you're back." You grinned. You could see his interest in you as he sat there. Was he wearing pyjamas? It all seemed to add up. You were here, he was back, and your heart kept fluttering oddly. So you spewed it, "I think my crush for you is still here, oddly enough."

It was fun to see him joke on air again. "You still like... me?" He seemed so shocked to hear it. "Woah woah woah, no. You can't have my wallet. Or are you a prostitute now?"

"Not a prostitute, I was trying to hit on you while being sweet at the same time," I sighed, downing the shot Raymond had in front of him. He didn't seem to care much about it. He was swallowing hard now, sharp cheekbones flushed.

"Genuinely trying to hit on me?" He questioned again. He really didn't believe you, huh? But it made sense, what with his upbringing. The overweight kid who saw ghosts- the reputation didn't fare well. So you decided maybe,

"We should get out of here, Raymond. Those bitches over there are still picking on you and you can't really drink without your blood pressure killing you, so I say we just go for a walk." You suggested. His long fingers rested on the edge of the bar and you let your smaller hand close around his. "I've paid for my drinks and I will pay for yours." You slapped money down on the counter for the bartender.

"A walk?" Was all he could really say before you led him out of the bar and into the night. You could only imagine what was going on in his mind. An ugly annoying girl from his childhood was now hot and socially decent and now he finds that girl still likes him and always liked him, even at his worst... Must be exciting.

The breeze was cool outside, but the air around the flow was warm. You finally answered, once a few steps from the bar entrance. "Yes, a walk. Bar settings tense you up, look at how loose you are now. You don't even notice you're still holding my hand." You teased, giving his hand a squeeze before interlocking your fingers with his. He turned pink again and it could be seen even in the flickering lights of the street.

"I suppose I'm confused... You don't think I'm gay?"

You narrowed your eyes, "Are you?"

"NO!" He shouted back. "Why does everyone think that?"

What the fuck? "I never suspected you were but looking at you, maybe it's the ascot."

"The ascot?"

"The ascot." You replied with a small smile. "I don't think you look gay... I don't even think it's possible to look gay. You do look cute though. Maybe those other bitches who called you gay are gay."

He nodded, halfway through untying it. Both of you kept walking down the sidewalk. "Thank you." I could tell he was trying not to say too much now. He was doubting himself.

I sighed, swinging Raymond's arm over my shoulder, fingers never unlocking. I could feel his hand trembling a little. "Raymond, I know this was sprung on you, but I did and do like you. I have yet to properly figure who you are now, but I do." You made sure to look up at him so he knew you were serious.

His mouth was open as if he wanted to speak, but couldn't. Until he did. "Are you sure you're not a prostitute?"

Holy fucking shit. You began to rant, "No, Raymond! I'm just a girl. I'm just a girl and I like you and I want to maybe know you before you head off again. This whole town is a fucking gravity pit, a fucking black hole and I would like for once, for someone to want to talk to me. AND, I would like nothing more than for you to know that people are in fact capable of liking you romantically, despite everything your asshole father may have told you, or the kids at school who couldn't see your worth then or now and I-"

He spun you, fingers still intertwined and suddenly, his lips were on yours, and he wasn't particularly sweet or gentle. In fact, it was ravenous. He pushed you against the wall of the building you were passing. It seemed like the slightest bit of reassurance, the slightest bit of someone showing him how much he was worth, set him off. But you didn't really care.

Raymond's shaking hands slid into the roots of your hair, holding your face as he kissed you with great passion. With muffled 'mmmm's and wandering hands, you gripped him by the ascot, holding him down to your height.

But you couldn't kiss him much longer. "Raymond, I don't want to take advantage of your insecurities," You mumbled against his lips. You had been more confident earlier, but he had you practically unravelling. "I've always liked you, I have, and I'm so glad we just kissed, but-"

"My heart is beating too fast to properly hear, but I know you're sweet as hell and I really just want to pretend we're teenagers and make out for forty minutes nonstop, is that okay?" He interrupted with rambling, and it was more than clear what he wanted.

"How about forty-five, ghost boy?" You yanked him down by the ascot again and his hands went right back to either side of your face while he pulled you into the alleyway. He got his forty-five minutes and it ended sweetly, with him making you promise to come and see him tomorrow. You agreed, watching him go. He walked backward as to say goodbye, but tripped over a garbage can.

He was alright. There would be a conversation piece in the bruise he would probably get tomorrow. Call it fate or call it fucking destiny that he was back and your feelings were still there. All these years and you finally had what you'd wanted so long ago. Plus, it was only the beginning.

[theblogtini]

You know what annoys me the MOST about The Sussexes? The tonedeafness of it all. That was the very first thing that started turning my opinion of them - the October 2019 pity party interview.

Here’s how the last year+ of my life has gone:

September 2019 - found out I was pregnant w/ my 2nd child

October 2019 - my grandfather died

December - had COVID before it was even a known thing & have never been sicker in my life (my doctors strongly suspect it was COVID, but we can’t be 100% positive but when we had to take my 2 year old to the ER bc he was so sick they said it was “a weird new virus we’ve never seen before”)

January 2020 - it was determined I would need to have semi-emergency surgery on my abdomen at 23 weeks pregnant bc was ill — 23 weeks is before “viability” so my baby wouldn’t be monitored during the surgery & they would not intervene to help him if needed — they would not let me push the surgery out 3 days bc I was too ill

February 2020 - surgery takes place. BABY WAS FINE thank god. Couldn’t be left alone with my 2 year old or drive anywhere for 4 weeks - considered severely immune compromised due to pregnancy + surgery

March - lockdown happens. My son cuts his eyelid open and has to go get stitches and since we were on lockdown and I was pregnant the hospital wouldn’t let me be there with him (a mother’s nightmare)

April - admitted to the hospital at 35 weeks pregnant. Baby and I are both ill. Baby diagnosed with IUGR - he had stopped growing inside me 4 weeks earlier

May 6, 2020 - baby born preterm via emergency csection at 2:30am bc I started going downhill. I was unable to hold him for 10 hours as I was too ill and they were afraid I would crash and drop him. I was hooked to an IV for 2 days & basically sedated. My baby was being monitored by the NICU team (in my room bc of the pandemic) due to breathing, blood sugar, liver, and body temp issues. He was well enough to be discharged 3 days after birth but I was not. Mind you still a pandemic and now I’ve had two surgeries in 4 months so I’m still considered severely immunocompromised. And my baby weighs 4lbs and has zero immune system and breathing problems - during a pandemic that attacks the respiratory system.

May 10 - discharged home with my baby during a pandemic. No one in my family met him for weeks and weeks. My sister and dad just held him for the first time last week (10 months!!) due to his health issues and the pandemic.

Summer - trapped in house w/ 2 kids & husband. It’s a pandemic so there’s no where to go and no one can come to us. I can’t drive anyway (due to csection)

My maternity leave ended in early summer - husband & I have been WFH with 2 kids (a toddler & newborn) and zero help bc again - pandemic.

Fall/Winter 2020 - still WFH with no help. Still trapped inside w/ 2 kids & husband. I can drive now but there’s no where to go & nothing to look forward to. Pandemic related job woes start kicking in for us, which isn’t good bc we have 2 kids & 1 is medical compromised AND ITS A PANDEMIC.

Holidays 2020 (Thanksgiving & Christmas) - no family to celebrate with. Still trapped in house.

January 2021 - older sons 3 birthday, no party bc pandemic

February 2021 - still a pandemic. Job woes getting more serious. Find out that baby is only in 16% for height - not growing on the “outside” as he should due to my illness when he was on the inside. I managed to get vaccinated bc of health issues - can finally leave the house except... no where to go.

March 2021 - still in the house. Still a pandemic. Still WFH with 2 crazy kids & no outside help. Job woes really getting serious - money becoming tight. Health insurance ends this month - in a pandemic. No alone time with husband or heck even for myself really.

But go ahead Meghan... bitch on national TV about how your son isn’t A LITERAL PRINCE ... yet. Because he WILL be just not today. At least he’s healthy. At least you are not actually trapped in your home. At least you have help while you and your very wealthy husband pretend to work while the rest of us struggle.

Am I having a pity party? You betcha! 99% of my posts lately have been with a kid on my lap or holding a baby late at night because we don’t have nannies and night nurses like some royals. I’m mom-ing, working, cleaning, cooking, and STRUGGLING while Meghan is whining.

And I STILL KNOW IM LUCKY! So why doesn’t she?

[nachodroppedfood]

please stop existing

Tree could not stop screaming. Amy had once told him that you should never let the enemy know your voice in battle, but he couldn't control himself anymore. He screamed like there was no tomorrow. Little did he know, the enemy couldn't kill him if she tried, despite her being multiple times his size. What a loser. Tree began jumping at walls, trying to replicate the move he saw Amy do; jumping from wall to wall without touching the floor or making a sound. Obviously, it wasn't working, as huge dents appeared everywhere he landed. He mostly smashed into the floor and sometimes directly at the girl herself. Finally, Tree started crying so hard he had to sit down. He pushed himself into a corner in defeat as the girl leaned towards him. "Hey, calm down, I'm not here to hurt you," she said in the fakest tone ever. Luckily Tree doesn't have a respiratory system, because that motherfucker's breath REAKED of battery acid. She reached out her hand, only to be bitten by Tree. He made his escape after the girl instinctively pulled back. "What are you gonna do to me?! Why do you looks so ugly? Mama said I should never call people ugly, but if she could see you, she'd say the same! I DON'T LIKE UGLY PEOPLE!" Tree threw a bottle at her. He knew Amy would destroy him for saying such things, but he would just tell her it was for self defense. The girl dodged the bottle, but before he could cry any harder, the door busted open behind him. The child turned around in confused shock, only to see Amy furiously standing next to him. She was dressed in her battle clothes with both her swords out, so he knew she wasn't playing. She pointed them at the kidnapper and cornered her. "Why do you have my kid?" she asked with a merciless voice that made Tree shiver. Amy sliced and diced that bitch when she hesitated. She then picked Tree up and dragged him out of the house as he waited for her to scold him. To his surprise, Amy hugged him with the most affection he'd ever seen. Then the scolding started. "You're so stupid. Oh my god, I want to strangle you. This is why I hate kids. You stupid, stupid, boy. Who told you you could just leave us like that? Silly little shit. I hate you." Tree knew she didn't mean it, for she was smiling hard with relief. "Mama, that girl was so ugly. You're so lucky you didn't have to see her," he said, not noticing any harm in his words. Amy jumped swiftly and took the shortcut back to Yiji. "Yeah. Honestly, I'll take your word for it."

[comicalsansa]

I just need to scream into the void for a minute, feel free to ignore this or whatever. Sorry for the lack of break, I can't figure out how to do it on mobile.

Y'ALL LIFTED THE MASK MANDATES AND EXPECTED UNVACCINATED PEOPLE TO CONTINUE WEARING MASKS ON THE HONOR SYSTEM WHAT THE FUCK DID Y'ALL EXPECT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?!

Come on, did anyone actually expect the portion of America that has been protesting masks and downplaying the severity of Covid to a) get vaccinated and b) continue wearing a mask off they didn't? Like, with how stupidly politicized (and I do mean stupid) everything with the pandemic has been, how the fuck does anyone have the nerve to be surprised at the fact that the hospitals are filling up?

People aren't vaccinated, and they aren't wearing masking, of course the new variant is going to spread like wildfire. None of the kids are vaccinated (because we need to make sure their immune systems can handle it, there's a reason why the usual vaccines are on a schedule), and people don't make their kids wear masks.

There are literally people protesting mask mandates for the schools in my state. What the fuck. Have they already forgotten how fast illness spreads in schools? Fuck, there've been times an individual school or two has shit down because so many people (kids and adults) got the flu, or norovirus. And this shit spreads even faster. Why on god's green earth would you want your kids to not wear a mask?

Like, I get that wearing a mask is really uncomfortable and makes communication difficult. The precautions that we have to take are absolutely fucking up an entire generation.

You know what else will fuck up an entire generation? Dying. Long term effects from a serious respiratory disease. Watching their family members die; rather, watching their family members go into the hospital and never come out because they aren't allowed vistors.

Given the choice between the two flavors of trauma, I would much rather keep the kids alive and uninfected.

We are learning as we go about all of this, that's why the information keeps changing. That's how science works. Numerous studies have shown long term effects in kids already, so while it may not be as serious (oh wait, the new variant is), who knows what effects this will have on them in 20-30 years?

You know what else had serious long term effects? Fucking polio. You know why we don't have polio in the US now? Because everyone had to be vaccinated against it for decades. Fuck, they were still vaccinating against it in the 80s, I know because I remember getting a tiny cup with a swallow of liquid for one of my vaccines as a kid.

You know what else has serious long term effects? Chickenpox. And I know older people will be like, "BS, I had chickenpox and I'm fine," or, "My parents took me to a chickenpox party to make sure I got it, and I'm fine." Yeah, you ever hear of shingles? You know why you need a shingles vaccine? Because you had chickenpox. That's right, if you never had chickenpox you can't get shingles.

Point is, who the fuck knows what this is going to be doing to survivors 20-30 years down the road and if you gave a shit about your kid, you wouldn't want them to get it.

And I'm so pissed off because you know what? I fucking hate wearing a mask, too. I hate it. I don't care what the nurses with pulse oximeters say, I cannot breath as well with two layers of fabric covering my face, especially not for hours at a time (fun fact, pulse oximeters are not an accurate indicator of whether or not you can breathe as it takes time for an oxygen shortage to hit your blood--i know this from experience as an asthmatic). Everyone covering their faces and the plexiglass and paranoia and shit has been driving me nuts, I can't fucking live like this either. That's why I wore masks and got vaccinated as soon as I could, because the ONLY way this stops is with vaccines. And yeah, we're going to need boosters, we were always going to need booster shots, almost every vaccine we have requires more than one dose. And we had a period of time where cases were hella low and if you were vaccinated you didn't have to wear a mask and it was so great!

But some of you dumbfucks didn't want to get the vaccine because a) you didn't think Covid was a big deal b) it's made from aborted babies (I want to punch you if this is your objection) c) the vaccine is too new, they rushed it (it was in the works since SARS and they tweaked it, also the flu shot is new every year, your point?) d) it's the mark of the beast! (If you believe this or spread it please exit the gene pool) or e) we don't know what's in it! (This and a especially bothers me from hospital workers, who are required to get an annual flu shot).

There is exactly one valid reason to not get the damned vaccine and that is if your immune system can't handle it. So if you have a serious health condition that weakens your immune system or you're allergic to a vaccine component, you are absolutely off the hook, and none of this is directed at you. You're one of the ones who needs the rest of us to do our part to survive this, and I am so sorry.

And people keep screaming about my freedom! Look bitch, your freedom ends when it impinges on mine, and you are sorely impinging right now. You have the freedom to do what you want with your body, but not with other peoples. If you want to get Covid, fine. But you do not have the right to spread it, which is what is going to happen if you get it. Vaccinations used to be mandatory. You still need to get vaccinations if you travel to certain countries. If you join the military you are going to get injected with every vaccine we know of and probably a few we don't. Vaccines are one of the things that make modern life possible.

I understand being skeptical, I mean, I would've preferred a bit more time and more studies before getting vaccinated. But I did it anyway because:

Widespread vaccination is the only way we get out of this.

The alternative is over crowded hospitals (which is starting to happen again) and just accepting people dying. Sure, death is part of life, but this is needless and overtaxing already broken systems.

If you have not gotten your vaccine and have no medical reason not to, you are part of the problem. You are the asshole on the zombie movie who gets bitten and hides it until it's too late and you become a threat to the rest of the party.

Stop being a dumbass and do something for other people for once in your miserable life.

I am tired of wearing masks. I am tired of all the pandemic protocols. I have done everything I can do, as have many others. But it's not enough. Everyone has to do their part.

If you want this to be over, instead of protesting, get vaccinated, it's a hell of a lot more useful.

[vestigiallegs]

And more specifics: 37 Sam, 22 Ike, 36 Ancha, 41 Mira, 14 Stranger, 1 Terry, 44 Chris

THIS IS A BIG ONE!!

37: Do people have justified grudges against your character?

Oh, certainly. Another way in which Sam is a Shrek recolor is that she is not merely unfairly maligned for circumstances out of her control, she also creates problems for herself and makes situations worse than they need to be.

There are a  few ways in which she contributes to this problem, in general:

1. If someone thinks she is scary and it annoys her enough she will lean into it, “for fun.”

2. She interprets a lot of conflict as fun and games because she is kind of a dick and she does just... enjoy fighting. Since she shrugs off this fighting as fun and games, she often misjudges how much her opponent might forgive because she’s using her own skewed metric as reference.

But those are general statements. You’re probably looking for specifics, and I’m afraid I must let you know I do not really have them at this time. Despite Sam having a variety pack of enemies, I’ve developed Sam’s relationships with the people SHE has grudges against (ie Lance, Page) more than I’ve developed the specifics for anyone who has a running grudge against HER. It’s more of a nebulous crowd of people whose toes she has trampled, some from her shitty younger days, some fresh new enemies...

(I do have one specific Person With A Justified Grudge On Sam that I keep contemplating but I’m not sure if he/she/they/??? will ever make it out of the development phase and become a real character/story element.)

22: What is the worst thing your character has ever done? 

My idea was that I was going to answer this disincluding things Isaac has done to himself because that’s a rock bottom that he keeps digging deeper, but even when he does bad stuff to other people it tends to be in tandem with bad things he is doing to himself...

Isaac has plenty capacity for being a dick, and spent a good portion of his life not considering other peoples’ feelings very hard. But, at the same time, he's naturally reserved and at the time where he was the most empathy deficit he also was in the habit of minding his own business. So he was more of a jerk in passing to people than out there doing real heinous shit...

I don’t want to say “cheating with Mira and everything that happened for years after is the worst thing he has ever done” because that feels like a cop out even if it’s probably technically true...

Lying to everyone with his “ah yeah, that’s me, Able-Bodied Man” LARP is bad but in the end he’s doing more damage to himself than anyone else with that one... not that the emotional damages it does to the people who care about him don’t matter because they do...

I guess he doesn’t have a whole lot of Big Worst Moments, just a long resume of being kind of a shithead, letting himself get worse by putting himself in the company of other shithead(s) and taking their shithead advice, and then course-correcting his behavior in a way that makes him also kind of a shithead in a different way.

36: Does anyone want to harm your character?

Oh, probably. Ancha is good at making enemies for a gentle pacifist.

In her youth, participating in politics games routinely earned her all manner of dangerous enemies. Of course, she’s long since outlived anyone who wanted to assassinate her, considering that she’s outlived politics and Atlantean society in general.

Considering there are other (undeveloped at this time) immortals out there, she probably still has SOME enemies...

At the very least, Lucas would probably take a shot at her if he thought he could get away with it!

41: Would your character want to have any children?

“No” with exceptions. Mira is not a nurturing person, nor does she particularly like children, and doesn’t put any value on ideas of “continuing the bloodline” or “making the next generation better” or anything like that. She doesn’t dream of having a family. She’s very much a career woman to the exclusion of other things in life. It’s an easy cut and dried “she shouldn’t raise children which is okay because she doesn’t want them anyway” situation until it isn’t.

You see, all logical reasoning points to “Mira doesn’t want and therefore wouldn’t have children,” but she’s also not immune to the allure of dramatic projections of the future. I could see her keeping an accidental pregnancy, or procreating on purpose if her partner framed it in a romantic, ego-buffing way.

The reality would remain unappealing to her though. Best case scenario she is one of those overbearing achievement hyper-focused parents who is extremely invested in and proud of their child’s talents and accomplishments but emotionally not there.

14: What is the cutest thing your character has ever done? 

You come to my own home and ask me to write a hit piece on my own character. How dare you.

I suppose Stranger’s #1 “cute” behavior is how they behave when they fail to find an excuse to hate someone or be rude to them. Stranger doesn’t need a big reason to dislike someone, and will often pick out little things to justify being a prickly son of a bitch. But there is a method to their misanthropy, a sort of equation/assessment they run in their head in order to determine that they are Right to be a bitter and rude in a given situation. Despite the fact that this assessment is extremely rigged, occasionally they run into someone they just cannot justify being an asshole to (example: Nikki).

When this happens, they have no choice but to try feign being normal despite the agony trying not to be a freak to people brings them. They make small talk like it’s actively killing them, hissed and grunted through gritted teeth.

It’s like aw. They’re trying. Not doing a good job, but trying.

1: What is your character's biggest fear? 

Terry doesn’t have a lot of big, conscious fears. If you asked him his biggest fear he’d probably say something like, Santa Claus, or a specific Five Nights At Freddy’s jumpscare, shit in that ballpark. He’s not terribly in touch with the concept of fear, same as he’s not super in touch with the concept of mortality.

He does worry about some things that are actually real, but not very deeply and not very often. None of those worries are centered on himself either, he’s confident that he can bounce back from anything and more or less sees himself as endlessly smart, talented, evasive of consequence, and unkillable. Instead he worries about things he knows to be more fragile than himself, like Nugget with her fragile avian bones and respiratory system, or Ike with his fragile human feelings.

44: What is your character proud of? 

Chris is not proud of much, and she undermines her few real accomplishments as incomplete or not counting. During her youth as an ELF WIZARD competing in the championship challenges, she was quite accomplished. She withdrew from the tournament, though, and never made it to her televised match. She’s got one of those “if you aren’t first you’re last” sort of attitudes, so as far as she’s concerned, it’s failure all the way down.

THAT SAID she can do a sweet kickflip. She’s proud of that. She has a SWEET GAMER COLLECTION of VIDEOGAME, and she’s proud of that. And she makes for a great, reliable mafia goon! She’s really proud of that one.

[traumatized-motherfuckers]

Stress-based sickness, psychosomatic disorders, and the F word. Fibromyalgia.

Read up or listen up @t-mfrs.com (podcast available wherever you stream.)

Waking up, like I didn’t sleep for weeks. Falling asleep after five minutes on my feet. A pounding head. That sense of dread. Sticky sharp pains through in my shoulders and neck. Brain short on energy, missing a few cards from the deck. Waves of nausea and stomach cramps. Chills and sweats, depending on the body amps. Swollen lymph nodes. Muscle weakness poorly bodes. Insatiable hunger but nothing sounds edible - shit, now desire to throw up is incredible. Eyes shriveling, dry, back into my skull. The aches in my legs, pulsing and dull. Foggy thoughts. Racing heart. When will this end, why did this start?

Did I finally catch the ‘rona? Or am I just past my limit for being stressed out again? Well, I just moved, so this time I know that the answer is very likely… stressed.

So who wants to talk about getting sick? Yeah, among this group, the answer might be surprising. A lot of us do.

Why? Not because we love bitching and complaining when we feel less than ideal - spoilers, that’s every day, there’s really nothing left to say about the raging shit storms inside of us after a few years of it. We’re tired of hearing about it, too… just like we’re tired of living it, feeling it, and fearing it.

No, for us, it’s because it feels like there’s always a surprising ailment right around the corner when we least expect it. One that seemingly has no logical basis or reasonable solution. One that no one else understands. One that feels like it’s born of mental illness, somehow, while being very physically present. One that we don’t even bother bringing to doctors anymore, because no one needs to be shamed and shoved out the door again by their flippant disinterest in anything we say after the words, “Yes, I have anxiety.”

Yep. If you haven’t tried to mingle mental health with western medicine before, let me give you a quick disclaimer: unless you’re missing an arm, don’t bother. In my experience, the only thing you’ll get is an eye roll, possibly a prescription bandaid that somehow makes you feel worse, and a bored recommendation to see a psychiatrist - even if you already do.

All of this, of course, has the effect of only making you feel more upset. First, mentally, as you ruminate over the disrespect of essentially being called a liar just because the doctor doesn’t have enough training. Then, physically, as your increased stress and systemic arousal pushes your body into a new level of overdrive.

Oh, was it a mindfuck just to make the doctor appointment, get yourself there, and deal with the social anxiety of a waiting room for 30-120 minutes? I bet it felt great for someone to then invalidate your health concerns, recommend you calm down, and send you out the door without even looking you in the eye. Feeling more upset, now on a highly emotional basis? Enjoy the shame, hypertension, and lost sleep, as if you needed any more of that.

Today, I want to talk about the stress-central area of my health that hasn’t been completely figured out… and the label that I - embarrassingly - just recently learned is highly applicable to my physical condition.

But also, the outrage that I feel over said label, because, well, it explains nothing. In fact, if anything, it probably does all of us a huge disservice after we’re granted this diagnosis by pushing us into the express lane for being written off. It also separates two issues that are poorly explained, rather than combining them into one full picture that might actually yield answers. Oh, and should I mention that I think this is a larger problem of gender bias in the healthcare system? Yeah, why the fuck not. Might as well air all my grievances as a nice lead-in to another upcoming episode; is mental illness diagnosis skewed by gender?

I don’t want to let my pounding head and aching shoulders deter me too much, so let’s just get started.

History of ailments

I’ve talked about this before, but to briefly cover how fucked up this body is… let’s take a trip back to 2013 when my system failed me out of the blue. And by “out of the blue,” I mean that I had chronically overworked myself running on anxiety, obligation, and starvation for 2 years, leading to physiological revolt.

So, looking back, “duh.”

But at the time? This was all-new. It was crisis-inducing and beyond comprehension that I went from a perfectly healthy, physically resilient, surprisingly strong and low maintenance specimen to a chronically pained, systemically ill, digestively impaired, and constantly exhausted sack of wallowing self-hated.

After a lifetime of zero health concerns, I found myself bedridden and obsessed with every weird thing my body was doing to me. Which, as you’ve probably guessed, came hand in hand with the new weird things my brain was doing to me.

After a lifetime of zero health concerns, I found myself bedridden and obsessed with every weird thing my body was doing to me. Which, as you’ve probably guessed, came hand in hand with the new weird things my brain was doing to me.

You’ve probably heard the “What IS CPTSD?” episode by now, so I’m guessing you’re not a stranger to the details about the common emergence of complex trauma symptoms. Yes, that’s based on a lot of research, but it’s also a throwback to my own experience. I was a long time depression and anxiety lurker, first time complex trauma contributor around age 23, when my brain was suddenly uprooted by a series of new social and therapy-based traumas.

My depression became debilitating negative self-regard and stronger suicidal ideation. Suddenly, my social anxiety became agoraphobia. My new health issues became topics of obsessive and intrusive thoughts… you know, when I wasn’t ruminating about my role in every trauma, my worthlessness as a human, and my recently-unsettled childhood memories. My early twenties were a great time.

And with all the mental strain, came the unresolvable insomnia. Which fed right into the health problems. Which circled back to spark more mental duress. Health anxiety is not a fun way to live.

So, to call my illnesses psychosomatic is completely appropriate. But, also, completely insulting when a western medicine practitioner utters the phrase as if it was a turd slowly coming out the wrong end. And that’s exactly what happened every time I tried to seek help.

So, to call my illnesses psychosomatic is completely appropriate. But, also, completely insulting when a western medicine practitioner utters the phrase as if it was a turd slowly coming out the wrong end. And that’s exactly what happened every time I tried to seek help.

To be clear - back in the day I had some very easily detectable physical problems. I understand that doctors have a difficult job when it comes to interpreting the immeasurable inner experiences that their patients detail, but that wasn’t entirely the case here. When your body stops digesting food, well, there’s some evidence to prove that it’s a fact. When a 96oz medical grade laxative used for colonoscopy prep results in zero percent colon cleanse… uh… somebody isn’t doing their duty (pun intended). And boy, did my digestive system just decide that it was DONE doing its only job.

Everything I ate seemed to spark unpleasant physical responses, but moving materials through my guts and extracting nutrients wasn’t one of them. After months of garbage disposal failure, I was basically a walking sewer mixed with a compost pile. I found myself chronically starving, exhausted, puffy, distended, intestinally inflamed, and generally sickly. Your body doesn’t fare so well when it has no sustenance, it turns out.

At the same time, or maybe slightly predating my digestive protests, I started getting ill in weird ways. Things I had never experienced before started popping up, like chronic respiratory tract infections, sinus infections, and gum infections. I was having what seemed like allergic responses to something in my inner or outer environment. I was often covered in hives or my face and stomach were inflating like balloons for no apparent reason. I had near-constant pain in my continually-locked shoulders and neck. My actual skin, itself, hurt, as if I was being stretched to the brink of bursting. My lifelong migraines transformed into something new - disorienting tension migraines that came with horrifying loss-of-vision auras and feverish shakes.

Generally speaking, I was so tired all the time that I could barely get out of bed for more than a few moments before retreating back to my safe place to feel like garbage. My limbs felt like someone had tied weights to them and extracted several major muscle groups. I struggled even showering or washing my face, because both required holding my arms up higher than I was capable of enacting. I was so deliriously tired that I couldn’t see straight, think, or complete basic tasks.

Generally speaking, I was so tired all the time that I could barely get out of bed for more than a few moments before retreating back to my safe place to feel like garbage. My limbs felt like someone had tied weights to them and extracted several major muscle groups. I struggled even showering or washing my face, because both required holding my arms up higher than I was capable of enacting. I was so deliriously tired that I couldn’t see straight, think, or complete basic tasks.

On top of giving up my impressive life trajectory in the aftermath of the physical breakdown - because I was too fucking exhausted to consider the next steps I needed to take for grad school - this is also where I’ve previously mentioned my drive-aphobia coming into play. When you can’t count on your own faculties, you definitely don’t want to be behind the wheel. And suddenly, life gets very restricted.

I gave up my… anything life trajectory at that point. I went from a wildly social and focused student with a fantastic sense of humor about life and stronghold of self-determination to… Hiding indoors. Keeping isolated. Obsessing over my health. Googling the most embarrassing things late at night. Having no answers. Feeling like a crazy person. Hating myself. Fearing that this was the end. Assuming that my future was over. Guilting myself for fucking up my past. Replaying my tragic story of a rapid flight and a crash, after everything I had fought so hard to accomplish. Giving up.

This is riiiiight about where I pull most of my inspiration for talking about living in perpetual “trauma states” from. Being consistently triggered, out of control, and terrified. Having no answers and no one to even ask. Watching mental illness take over my world without the slightest clue of what was happening. And, oh, the perpetual torment of unpredictable physical breakdowns.

Everyday a new surprise. Every moment the opportunity for a shocking change in vitality. Every night a battle of my brain versus my chronic pains versus sleep.

And so it persisted, throughout 2013 and into several later years… despite the fact that I actually came up with an answer for myself that vastly improved a good part of the sickness struggle... but definitely didn’t fix it all.

Finding AN answer

I’m sure I’ve already mentioned this, too… but eventually I found some respite in my health struggles through no help from modern medicine. In fact, I helped myself thanks to familial clues when I decided to exclusion-diet my way into an answer. My grandpa had celiac’s disease long before it was trendy and I decided gluten was a logical place to start. And what do you know? That helped about 60% of my ailments.

So began years of obsessing over figuring out the gluten free life. Which, contrary to popular opinion, fucking sucks. I get that it became a trendy idea at exactly the wrong point in my life, but goddamnit, I hate the question, "Are you ACTUALLY gluten free, or is it by choice?" It is not a dietary walk in the park when essentially every item is contaminated with some form or another of secret sauce and your body is going to flip out at the slightest dusting.

I remember being so distraught over having these drastic dietary considerations to figure out on my own that I would spontaneously break down into tears in all sorts of places - the fridge, the grocery store, restaurants, social contexts when people kindly asked, “how about you choose where to eat this time.” I can’t choose! I can’t eat anything! I would privately bawl to myself. What a fun time that was.

But that was not nearly the end of it.

It turned out, yes, entirely cutting the glutens helped immensely. I also realized that sugar was not my friend. In fact, processed anything was not going to have a great outcome. But then… there was this other weird pattern that I started noticing in my life… sometimes I was pretty healthy and (relatively speaking) happy with the way things were going off-wheat. But sometimes I was just as sickly and digestively screwed when I definitely hadn’t consumed anything questionable. As if other tried and true components of my diet randomly became gluten analogs that upset me just as much.

Plus, there were some ailments that just never seemed to go away. The insomnia was a persistent problem that stretched back to being about 5 years old, but got more severe with time. The aches and pains in my neck and shoulders only worsened, no matter how many tennis balls I rolled on, yoga classes I attended, or muscle relaxers I popped. The exhaustion came and went with connections to my mental health and diet, but not directly related to bready food items. The brain fog didn’t clear up when I had a strictly regimented diet. The tension migraines never fully returned from where they came.

Plus, there were some ailments that just never seemed to go away. The insomnia was a persistent problem that stretched back to being about 5 years old, but got more severe with time. The aches and pains in my neck and shoulders only worsened, no matter how many tennis balls I rolled on, yoga classes I attended, or muscle relaxers I popped. The exhaustion came and went with connections to my mental health and diet, but not directly related to bready food items. The brain fog didn’t clear up when I had a strictly regimented diet. The tension migraines never fully returned from where they came.

I was still finding myself bedridden and ready to give up on the whole idea of living on a semi-regular basis. Sometimes it was every two weeks, sometimes once a month, sometimes a few months apart. But I never knew why, how long it would last, or how to control the system-wide failures.

And if you want to know how western medicine helped me with any of these continued challenges… it didn’t. I tried to get answers for years before I finally gave up. Every doctor turned me away. Every specialist was critically uninterested. Even the Mayo Clinic neglected to listen to what I said or utilize applicable resources, after I was so sure they could solve the medical mystery of my life.

So. I stopped trying at a certain point. I resolved myself to being health anxious and perpetually confused by myself. I realized that I would never know what any day was going to bring, because my discomforts and continued sicknesses seemed to come and go with the tides.

Eventually, after years of this bullshit, it got a bit better. I buckled down with - you guessed it - strict routines designed to circumvent some of the challenges.

Eventually, after years of this bullshit, it got a bit better. I buckled down with - you guessed it - strict routines designed to circumvent some of the challenges.

I realized that my diet needed to be incredibly tight, and by that, I mean “boring.” Beyond gluten, I cut out basically everything sugary, carby, and processed. I noticed that without a certain variety of physical exercise on a regimented basis, everything started slipping. I prioritized finding ways to get to sleep at night, even if it meant being rigid and assessed as “dramatic” by less slumber-impaired humans. I gave up any activities that caused neck and shoulder strain, and tried to be better about things like stretching. I also noticed that dealing with my emotions was a gateway to pain and discomfort relief, which was an uphill battle all it’s own. And, you know, eventually I learned about this Complex Trauma thing that explained a HUGE part of early to mid twenties, including a majority of the physical ailments.

But, although I began to live like an above-averagely healthy human again… I’ve still always had a few mysteries about my health.

Sure, over the course of many years I’ve figured out how to live with a semi-predictable body after long periods of never knowing what tomorrow would bring. But, unfortunately, there are still times when my system throws me a curveball. During those unanticipated spans of health failure, I’m left ruminating on a question or three that haven’t ever been answered consistently.

One of the most common inquiries is coming at you next.

Stress or sick?

So, even after all my life changes and careful modifications. All my sacrifices and seemingly over-the-top regimes. I’ve still had an ongoing health obsession that pops up from time to time when my shit starts to go downhill.

The incrementally-observed question that runs through my head on repeat… “Wait, am I communicably sick, or am I just fucking stressed out again?”

The incrementally-observed question that runs through my head on repeat… “Wait, am I communicably sick, or am I just fucking stressed out again?”

I realized a while back - maybe in my mid-late twenties - that holy hell, I sure felt like I was coming down with the flu more often than it was logical. The thing was, my symptoms only ever progressed to the point of feeling like I was still actively fighting off the sickness as it took hold. I would get the temperature dysregulation, the headache, the muscle pain, the foggy feeling, and oh boy, the exhaustion - that generally serve as your first signs of contagious trouble.

I would be too deliriously tired to get up and do anything. If I made myself go to work, it felt like wading through a dream. Half present, half falling asleep at my desk. My body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Even my head was too heavy for my neck to manage the task.

Beyond the energy void, I would genuinely start to experience pre-illness complaints, like swollen lymph nodes, congestion, and the aforementioned shivers and shakes. I would find myself incredibly hungry, as though my immune system was ramping up for a fight. I would get weak, like all my electrolytes were purged from my body. I would characterize the experience as feeling “generally under the weather” in preparation for something much larger slamming into town.

Beyond the energy void, I would genuinely start to experience pre-illness complaints, like swollen lymph nodes, congestion, and the aforementioned shivers and shakes. I would find myself incredibly hungry, as though my immune system was ramping up for a fight. I would get incredibly weak, like all my electrolytes were purged from my body. I would characterize the experience as feeling “generally under the weather” in preparation for something much larger slamming into town.

And I would respond in kind. I would retreat to bed, Nyquil and vitamin C showering over me on frequent intervals, gearing up for the systemic war of a lifetime. I would drift in and out of sleep for a day or two, fending off the weird muscle aches and sweat sessions that come with an emerging fever. Interestingly, many of my old food reactivities would rear up during this period. I would get my neti pot and vomit-bags ready for action.

And then… nothing else would happen. Assuming I chilled out and retreated to a state of forfeit when I actually treated myself with kindness and care, everything would work out. After 1-5 days of being back in my bedridden state, determined that significant contagious sickness was headed my way, it would seem to just disappear overnight. Or, clear up by about 70% overnight, to be more realistic.

It took several rounds of this pattern - I couldn’t tell you how many - before I finally realized… heyyo, my body shuts the fuck down when I’m stressed out. Every time I experienced one of these sudden falls from health, it followed (or ran in tandem with) a period of significant stress, anxiety, and/or depression. And if I let myself relax for a week, it would all be okay. If I tried to push through it because ObLiGaTiOnS, I was signing myself up for a prolonged and far more serious health failure. It happened too many times; I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Like I had postulated earlier in my adulthood - my health seemed to be drastically affected by my mental state. Particularly, my interpretations of stress, obligations, and fears.

And I can tell you, my health anxiety quieted down for a while in the aftermath of the acceptance. Call it immersion therapy. When you’ve experienced the same event over and over again, but A never leads to B, and C-alming your shit makes condition A disappear  back into the ethers... well, eventually you take it for what it is and just stop panicking so much. I think I got tired of preoccupying myself with the whole dumpster fire at some point and preferred to extinguish the flames by letting them run their course.

This is where I’ve lived for the past many years now. Realizing that if I push myself too hard mentally or physically, or if I let too many stress signals infiltrate my brain… I’m about to get fucked up. My health will slip quickly. I will be reactive to essentially every food on this planet. My body will be puffy, inflamed, and painful. Not to mention, so goddamn tired all the time. But that’s it. It won’t last forever. I’m not going to die. Telling myself the opposite makes it all last a lot longer. Don’t pile stress about your stress-induced sickness onto your existing stress, and you'll be better soon.

This is where I’ve lived for the past many years now. Realizing that if I push myself too hard mentally or physically, or if I let too many stress signals infiltrate my brain… I’m about to get fucked up. My health will slip quickly. I will be reactive to essentially every food on this planet. My body will be puffy, inflamed, and painful. Not to mention, so goddamn tired all the time. But that’s it. It won’t last forever. I’m not going to die. Telling myself the opposite makes it all last a lot longer. Don’t pile stress about your stress-induced sickness onto your existing stress, and you'll be better soon.

And yet, when it’s happening, I also never know for a fact that my stress-based illness is definitely what’s going on. The result is getting trapped in a “will I or won’t I” obsessive spiral of anticipating the worst while reassuring myself that it might be nothing at all. There’s a lot of internal and external conversation about it, as people want to know if you’re sick and you want to be able to warn them that you feel like death… but also have to throw in the caveat, “Iunno, you have to realize that this happens to me all the time and it’s usually nothing, though.”

Of course, this creates the opportunity for my brain to 1) tell me I’m probably fine, quit complaining, pussy, and 2) compare myself to everyone else on the planet, who doesn’t crumble when their brain interprets times are hard. Because, of course, I have to make myself feel mentally ridiculous for feeling physically horrible. Other people are always happy to help in this regard, too. "You sure get sick a lot. I thought you had the flu last month. Wow, it always seems like something is wrong with you." Mhm, I feel the same on all accounts.

And, Fuckers, that’s why I stopped talking about it or looking for answers a long time ago. Instead, I've just relied on the most logical answer and quit worrying. I’ve done enough research on my own, not to mention all my Animal Science schooling, to know how stress responses work. They’re significant. They have the potential to disrupt your entire body through hormonal dysregulation. And they work differently - as far as we can tell - depending on the organism.

So that’s what I’ve leaned on. Acknowledgement that stress really screws with me. It zaps my energy. It fogs up my brain. It makes me overstimulated. It causes weird pains and immune system responses. It churns up my digestive problems. It also makes me feel like I’m starving but nauseous all at once. Over long periods of time, it can lead to infections. It, obviously, ruins my sleep, which reaaaaally doesn’t help with any of it.

So that’s what I’ve leaned on. Acknowledgement that stress really screws with me. It zaps my energy. It fogs up my brain. It makes me overstimulated. It causes weird pains and immune system responses. It churns up my digestive problems. It also makes me feel like I’m starving but nauseous all at once. Over long periods of time, it can lead to infections. It, obviously, ruins my sleep, which reaaaaally doesn’t help with any of it.

That’s that. Pretty complicated but simple. Try not to stress yourself out and god help you, if you do. Chill for a few days and you’ll be alright, probably. No one knows why it happens. Doctors don’t care. Just watch out for yourself, because no one else deals with this shit.

Unless… they totally do.

So, that’s fibromyalgia

I guess this is where I tell you something that a lot of folks have probably already figured out. Sorry if you’ve been yelling at me through your headphones this whole time - chill, I’m getting to it.

There definitely is a term for everything I’ve described. There are millions of other people who experience it. And, yeah, doctors often still don’t believe it’s real… but the numbers and anecdotal evidence don’t lie.

Ever heard of fibromyalgia?

Of course you have. But have you ever really looked into what it meant? Because… I hadn’t.

Annnnd then a listener and I were chatting on Instagram a few weeks ago. And she mentioned... everything I just mentioned. And her diagnosis had been? Fibromyalgia.

Annnnd then a listener and I were chatting on Instagram a few weeks ago. And she mentioned... everything I just mentioned. And her diagnosis had been? Fibromyalgia.

Via DM, your fellow Fucker started telling me about being tired all the time, mysterious aches and pains that worsen with stress, IBS symptoms, improper temperature regulation, and over-exertion that leads to required days of recovery. My jaw hit the floor.

You know I hopped online and started doing more research of my own. And all of the information was confirmed and expanded upon in a way that drove my mandible straight into the basement.

Hey, you know how fibromyalgia is synonymous with “widespread pain?” Oh shit, if you dig into it, there is a lot more to learn. Here’s a (maybe, complete?) list of the currently known associated symptoms. Keep in mind, I couldn’t find a single comprehensive resource for this information. This list is compiled of information from the the peer-reviewed article I'm going to read from later, the American College of Rheumatology, the CDC, Healthline, and Medical News Today. And if it sounds like a bit of a "catch all" pile, I think you're right.

Pain and stiffness all over the body

Fatigue and tiredness

Depression and anxiety

Sleep problems

Problems with thinking, memory, and concentration, known as “fibro-fog”

Headaches, including migraines

Tingling or numbness in hands and feet

Pain in the face or jaw

Digestive problems, such as abdominal pain, bloating, constipation, and irritable bowel syndrome

Tenderness to touch or pressure affecting muscles, sometimes joints or even the skin

Irritable or overactive bladder

Pelvic pain

Trouble focusing or paying attention

Pain or a dull ache in the lower belly

Dry eyes

Sleeping for long periods of time without feeling rested (nonrestorative sleep)

Acid reflux

Restless leg syndrome

Sensitivity to cold or heat

Problems with vision

Nausea

Weight gain

Dizziness

Cold or flu-like symptoms

Skin problems

Chest symptoms

Breathing problems

Insulin resistance

Wait, wait, wait. THAT’S what fibro is? Because, I’m sorry, I have literally never heard any of that detail before… and although it gets so ambiguous that I suspect these ailments are all the conditions that just haven't been explained before by medical science... this list just described my life. All the way down to the tiniest detail of dry eyes, as I now recall chronically dumping drops into mine for those same years in my 20s. What. The. Shit.

Prior to this research, my symptomatic knowledge of fibro was essentially - pain, of the unexplained and incurable variety. No one ever once has mentioned anything else about the condition to me, or allll the ways that it correlated with my years of health trauma. Not my peers, not my doctors, and not even my amazing, well-informed therapist.    

So, maybe I’m really late to the game here, but long story short, my mind was blown when I heard that there’s actually a term for this experience which I had forfeited to processing as a “unique way that my body individually destroys me” for all these years. I thought I was just uniquely uncomfortable all the time and stopped burdening others with my experiences.

So, maybe I’m really late to the game here, but long story short, my mind was blown when I heard that there’s actually a term for this experience which I had forfeited to processing as a “unique way that my body individually destroys me” for all these years. I thought I was just uniquely uncomfortable all the time and stopped burdening others with my experiences.

Maybe that’s why I never had anyone clue me in to the diagnosis - I honestly stopped talking about the cyclical sickness a while back, after recognizing that people didn’t respond favorably to the narrative, “I just get too stressed out to function.” Shutting my mouth and writing off my experiences may have halted my potential for hearing a realistic account of living with fibromyalgia. Oh, how the trauma shame shenanigans never stop royally fucking you.

Of course, based on my own recent education, now I’m wondering if fibromyalgia applies to far more of us in the trauma community. Because if I hadn’t found reliable information on it in all my trauma and inflammatory illness research over the years… how many other people are in the same boat?

And this brings me to my next point. I really hate the term fibromyalgia.

Why I hate the term

There’s actually another explanation for why I never heard about everything that fibromyalgia describes. Uh, you’re going to hate me for this, but I didn’t think it was a “real” diagnosis.

Yep. I’m telling you with moderate guilt that for the longest time, I appraised fibro in the same way that western medicine considers all psychosomatic illnesses - not valid. And I’m unhappy with myself, too. Believe me, I feel like my least favorite kind of person... a hypocrite. But this also points to the systemic issue that undermines so many of our attempts to get help, and that makes me far more unhappy.

Yep. I’m telling you with moderate guilt that for the longest time, I appraised fibro in the same way that western medicine considers all psychosomatic illnesses - not valid. And I’m unhappy with myself, too. Believe me, I feel like my least favorite kind of person... a hypocrite. But this also points to the systemic issue that undermines so many of our attempts to get help, and that makes me far more unhappy.

You see, a number of years ago, as a budding counselor with a few years of experience, my therapist friend mentioned something about fibro. Specifically, that it was a common label granted to more seriously mentally affected patients… and it wasn’t believed to be a real thing. I wish I could remember more detail on the context, but the basis of the story is, someone that I trusted - someone with many trauma patients - told me that in her experience, no one took fibromyalgia seriously. People with intense mental illnesses regularly presented with unfounded complaints of pain, and this is the term they were assigned as a result.

There was no proof of their physical discomfort. The patients tended to have myriad mental and physical health issues. They tended to be more difficult clients. Professionals had doubts about how serious the complaints were. No evidence, no respect. It was just about that simple.

To give more weight to the story, here’s one quick excerpt that is actually validating to read, from an article titled, The management of fibromyalgia from a psychosomatic perspective: an overview.

“People with FM often reported dismissive attitudes from others, such as disbelief, stigmatization, lack of acceptance by their relatives, friends, coworkers, and the healthcare system, that consider them as ‘lazy’ or ‘attention seeking’ people, with their symptoms ‘all in their head’. Such dismissiveness can have a substantial negative impact on patients, who are already distressed, and also on the degree of their pain.”

So… similar to the asshole social associates described above… for years after that, I paid no attention to fibromyalgia. When people brought it up, I nodded and moved on. I didn’t disbelieve that there would be a connection between mental illness and the onset of bodily pains after my own experiences, but the term had also been shuttled to a file in my head that sidled up next to, “seeking prescription pain meds.” This was an incorrect judgement based on incorrect, oversimplified information. But unfortunately, it left an impression.

So… similar to the assholes described above… for years after that, I paid no attention to fibromyalgia. When people brought it up, I nodded and moved on. I didn’t disbelieve that there would be a connection between mental illness and the onset of bodily pains after my own experiences, but the term had also been shuttled to a file in my head that sidled up next to, “seeking prescription pain meds.” This was an incorrect judgement based on incorrect, oversimplified information. But unfortunately, it left an impression.

It took the real life account of someone with the diagnosis to show me all the ways that my previous perception was completely incorrect. I suddenly realized how reductive and insulting the false information had been. Annnd all the ways that I could have really helped myself and a few others a lot sooner if I had just investigated the term on my own, rather than lazily falling back on someone else’s casually-expressed opinion.

So, I’m saying… fuck me. 100%. That makes me really upset with myself. But it makes me even more frustrated with the medical field.

And this is why I hate the term fibromyalgia.

It doesn’t actually explain a fucking thing… and it doesn’t seem like anyone is actually trying to.

At this point, there is no known cause for the development or persistence of the disorder. Fibromyalgia has essentially become more of a label for a grouping of symptoms that we “allow” people to assume when we don’t know what the hell might be wrong with them. I say “allow” very purposely, because it feels like our medical overlords have granted us this word as a way to pacify the uncomfortable masses - not treat them.

At this point, there is no known cause or organic mechanism for the development or persistence of the disorder. Fibromyalgia has essentially become more of a label for a grouping of symptoms that we “allow” people to assume when we don’t know what the hell might be wrong with them. I say “allow” very purposely, because it feels like our medical overlords have granted us this word as a way to pacify the uncomfortable masses - not treat them.

Millions of humans have detailed the same experiences, but science hasn’t yet come up with a way to explain them, so let’s go ahead and give them a new diagnosis that boils down to “Not sure what’s going on, but they say it’s unpleasant and it sounds a little something like widespread pain. Cool, let’s call it a day. Nah, we don’t need to educate the medical community or the public - we don’t need a single list of all the known comorbidities - because we don’t get it, ourselves. Let’s make sure we put that disclaimer right in the definition, so everyone knows it’s a controversial topic."

And implicit in saying that doctors and scientists don’t understand the term, comes a negative connotation of assumed delusion or attention-seeking complaints.

Essentially, what I’m bitching about is the tendency of researchers and practitioners to shuttle things they can’t directly measure to the back of the relevancy line. Despite all of the anecdotal evidence from fibro sufferers that corroborate the same causes, symptoms, and outcomes… we can’t see what they’re talking about and we don’t have an easy explanation, so we put this in the “fake news” stack of information - AKA psychosomatic illness.

Now, it’s also worth mentioning that fibromyalgia is deeply intertwined with trauma. Something like 2/3rds of fibro patients also have confirmed PTSD symptoms, if not higher. Exact numbers depend on which study you trust. Just know, it is a prevalent, accepted, correlation between trauma and the development of fibromyalgia. And of course, no one has determined the causative or affective relationship between the two at this point in time.

Hell, we all know that a lot of mental and physical health professionals don’t even want to acknowledge trauma at this point - or, do so with a smirk and an eyebrow raise, at best. So tethering the two poorly-comprehended disorders together? Oh boy, it’s a sure-fire way to ensure that no one listens to a word you say after honestly answering their background information questions. Might as well throw down your wallet and walk yourself right out of the office at that point.

Hell, we all know that a lot of mental and physical health professionals don’t even want to acknowledge trauma at this point - or, do so with a smirk and an eyebrow raise, at best. So tethering the two poorly-comprehended disorders together? Oh boy, it’s a sure-fire way to ensure that no one listens to a word you say after honestly answering their background information questions. Might as well throw down your wallet and walk yourself right out of the office at that point.

The medical field’s lack of trauma education is a big problem. Making “psychosomatic” a dirty word isn’t helping millions of folks out there. Being invalidated by the people who could possibly help you is another mental health crisis waiting to happen. And all of this is infuriating to me, following my own experiences and thinking about other people’s.

Should we take this one outrage step further? Sure.

You know that a vast majority of fibromyalgia sufferers are… women. Sorry, about to get a tad feminist. Is anyone here surprised that primarily female voices tend to be written off by medical professionals? Ha, ha, ha. No, probably not.

For all of human history, the ladies have been getting the shit end of the stick when it comes to medical care. We all know that women were given amazing explanations for their ailments, such as having “hysterics” or "the vapors" not so long ago.

Furthermore, there is research showing that doctors do not take women’s accounts of pain severity seriously, in particular. Even fellow female doctors and nurses are given different treatment by staff when they go to the ER, versus male counterparts. And if you’re a minority or socioeconomically challenged woman? The data says you might as well take two aspirin and see what happens the next morning, because the medical attention research is even worse for those demographics. Huge surprise.

So, pulling this all together: Considering that the majority of us who receive complex trauma diagnoses are women… considering that implicit in this label, comes the increased likelihood that we’re not economically well-to-do and belong to minority groups one way or another… how do you figure we’ve ever had a chance of receiving real help for our unmeasurable physical conditions?  

So, pulling this all together: Considering that the majority of us who receive complex trauma diagnoses are women… considering that implicit in this label, comes the increased likelihood that we’re not economically well-to-do and belong to minority groups… how do you figure we’ve ever had a chance of receiving real help for our unmeasurable physical conditions?  

Yeah, we haven’t.

We’ve been given a term - complete with a wink and a nudge - that no one wants to meaningfully research or prioritize understanding. We’ve received a new phrase that doctors will “generously grant us” when we’re drowning in unexplained symptoms and pain. We’re then labeled with a word that essentially amounts to “disregard and humor” for all our future appointments. On top of it all, we’re carrying the burden of traumatic histories, which immediately qualify us for misunderstood diagnoses that more or less equate “ghosts in their blood” - because, hell, we can’t quantify mental illness, either.

The whole ordeal makes me really upset. The fact that I was inadvertently pulled into this biased disbelief makes me more upset. It also serves as quite a demonstration of how powerful or deleterious knowledge can be after it worms its way into your head involuntarily and becomes your only “go-to” piece of data, true or false.

One seemingly-trustworthy person mentioning a negative opinion of fibromyalgia one time in my past somehow infiltrated my thoughts to the extent that I didn’t have a second thought for 5 years? And we're talking about a goddamn trauma researcher - with, what I consider - an otherwise open and connection-happy mind?

The power of assumed authority and truth in opinion is significant. If I can be swayed in this way, how could less mental health informed medical professionals stand a chance in responding differently? That’s frightening and clarifying… though immensely upsetting.

So, since biomedicine hasn’t bothered to find any great information for us, despite the rapidly increasing rate of fibromyalgia diagnoses in the past two decades - how can we make sense of the information to actually help ourselves?

Let’s talk about that next.

What we can conclude

So it kindof blows finding out that you probably qualify for a new medical term… only to find out that we don’t actually know anything about said term. I say this, because if you’re waiting for me to pop off with some sweet research on fibromyalgia… uh… I haven’t found it yet. But not for lack of trying. So far every article I’ve seen has been pretty basic and uninspired.

Does fibromyalgia correspond with trauma? It does. Does stress mediate and moderate fibromyalgia, PTSD symptoms, GI problems, and depression? It does. Does it take a long time and numerous appointments to receive medical help for fibromyalgia complaints? It does. Does the comorbidity of post-traumatic symptoms make fibro more uncomfortable and challenging to overcome? What do you know - it fucking does.

(Wow. So enlightening. Having two debilitating disorders is less fun than having one. Who’s funding these research studies, anyways?)

The first thing I can conclude is, there’s not that much to conclude. This is to say, no one - that I’ve seen, so far - has revealed anything super shocking or thought-provoking about fibromyalgia.

The first thing I can conclude is, there’s not that much to conclude. This is to say, no one - that I’ve seen, so far - has revealed anything super shocking or thought-provoking about fibromyalgia.

Really, the  most interesting things I learned from my reading are that

1) insulin resistance is another associated disorder, which explains even more of my baffling life

2) sex hormones are leached from your system under stress, which, refer to point number one... explains another huge chunk of my existence, and

3) the recommendations for treating fibro long term are the same recommendations I’ve given for getting your trauma life re-ordered.

You know how I always push for people to find out what’s manageable on their own through trial and error, rather than approaching trauma recovery with preventable fires burning in every area? Hey - someone agrees.

Namely, it's recommended that in order to manage fibromyalgia you establish routines including strictly nutrition-based eating habits, non-threatening forms of consistent exercising, prioritizing tons of sleep, and controlling your environment as much as possible for stressful stimuli. Doctors can also supplement your rehab with antidepressants, because, again, fibromyalgia is related to the same underlying hormonal imbalances as depression - but the larger health issues are managed best by changing your behaviors. Just like I’ve said.

I suppose this is no surprise, since this entire time I’ve unknowingly been talking, in large part, about how I’ve controlled my own fibromyalgia symptoms. I just thought it was mandatory trauma pains I was dampening. But the word is out! There's a separate phrase for it. The doctors and I agree; stop treating yourself like a turd, and maybe you’ll stop feeling like one. Whatdoyouknow. Sometimes there are reasons for the things I notice experientially, even if they aren’t originally informed by medical lingo.

Secondly, looking at what we can conclude at this point about fibro… Well, it justifies my previous hypothesis that stress is the root of my body’s evil. There’s not much to definitively say about fibromyalgia at this point, but we know for a fact that it is agitated and potentially caused by stress.

Secondly, looking at what we can conclude at this point about fibro… Well, it justifies my previous hypothesis that stress is the root of my body’s evil. There’s not much to definitively say about fibromyalgia at this point, but we know for a fact that it is agitated and potentially caused by stress.

This perfectly aligns with my observations that a terrible work week mixed with a personally challenging month on top of a physically exhausting cleaning marathon will lead to a systemic breakdown every time. And, conversely, those times when life has actually been pretty chill correspond to periods of bodily health and limited upset - the times when I wonder “was I ever really sick at all?” and start to health gaslight my damn self.

Realizing the link between stress and sickness, of course, also begins to explain the correlation to trauma, and particularly, complex trauma.

Now, let me start by saying that there’s some debate over the downstream effects of PTSD - some researchers swear that it decreases system arousal in the face of later stress, others have collected data reflecting that a nervous system hyper-sensitization takes place. From my own trauma involvement, I’ve seen and heard more cases of the latter; we’re quick to upset and easily pushed into stressed territory. I don’t know many, if any, trauma folks who are non-responsive to disturbing life events... but that sounds more like a deep, dangerous, clinical depression symptom to me.

Personally, once I’ve been chronically stressed for a few weeks or months, then I notice the loss of stress response take over. My limbic system gives up, the HPA axis stops responding, and therefore nothing can rattle me. Perhaps you’ve also had the experience of laughing when your car breaks down, because it’s already been 3 months of disaster around every turn and there’s nothing else you can do for yourself. So, sure, people can reach a point where they legitimately don’t respond to the chaos anymore, but I’m not so sure that’s a consistent norm. I think it’s more likely that you turn off your stress reactions if you’ve been adequately prepped to dissociate for the sake of sanity or your chemical balance is so wack that your danger center has powered down.

I can tell you without a doubt that before the point when my stress threshold has been raised sky-high thanks to repeat exposures and wiring disconnections... I’m a rapid-responder when anxiety comes calling. Stimulus - rapid survival reaction - no space in between being startled and shaking from head to toe. And this is the case for basically every Motherfucker I know. I’m no expert, but I think we tend to fall more into the hypervigilant camp surrounding this podcast, rather than the laxadonical one. Always on the lookout, always ready, often bowled over by our own responses.

I’m a rapid-responder when anxiety comes calling. Stimulus - rapid survival reaction - no space in between being startled and shaking from head to toe. And this is the case for every Motherfucker I know. I’m no expert, but I think we tend to fall more into the hypervigilant camp surrounding this podcast, rather than the laxadonical one. Always on the lookout, always ready, often bowled over by our own responses

This nervous system sensitization, as they call it, explains a lot of trauma symptoms. I’ve regularly discussed the hypersensitivity problem it creates, when your brain doesn’t adequately filter out or assess neutral stimuli because it considers basically everything to be a threat. This can also contribute to the ADD and ADHD diagnoses that we receive, when our heads are too busy trying to sort all that data streaming in to direct our thoughts in a steady way. Or, the ways that we’re uniquely thrown immediately into panic mode when we sense a risk. Plus, we’ve probably all had the experience of tiny, secret triggers sneakily upsetting our bodies when the stimulation wasn’t even significant enough to pass through our cognitive recognition centers. These are all caused by the same systemic over-sensitization problem.

In general: yes, we trauma folk are sensitive to our environments - inner and outer. We are easily pushed down survival pathways to fight/flight/freeze/fawn responses. We rapidly catastrophize ambiguous information, which can convince our brains and bodies that the worst has already happened. We’re hyperaware and easily overstimulated, often agitated, and regularly on edge.

I maintain, in the face of controversial evidence, that we get stressed out easily. And our bodies react dramatically.

I feel like I should also state that this is especially true, as most of us have read, when we have unresolved emotional strain floating around in our meat jackets. We can be overstimulated and aroused (in a bad way) from the inside, out. Since the majority of us are not skilled in emotional recognition or resolution, we’re often walking around with a lifetime of hard feelings stored in our guts. And there’s been roughly zero doubt in my head about emotional and environmental stress contributing to dissociation, contributing to a vagal nerve shutdown as a big part of the digestive failure that characterizes fibromyalgia, IBS, Crohns, and so many autoimmune disorders.

On top of the unresolved emotional root of stress, this pings another episode that I've previously released. The one about being overly restrictive in your diet and exercise for the sake of appearance perfectionism. If you physically exert yourself too strongly through caloric deprivation or extreme work outs, you can easily stress your body into a survival response. It can't tell the difference between starvation for bikini season and starvation for lack of food. Running your ass off for your upcoming wedding or running your ass off for your upcoming bear attack. Your danger sensing center is sensitive and it overreacts, much like myself.

Now, considering that all these examples of central nervous system sensitization and physiological survival states that go hand in hand with Complex Trauma and Fibromyalgia, so many weird health mysteries are potentially resolved. But, not exactly the pain component. Or, is it.

Now, considering that all these examples of central nervous system sensitization and physiological survival states that go hand in hand with Complex Trauma and Fibromyalgia, so many weird health mysteries are potentially resolved. But, not exactly the pain component. Or, is it.  

Again, the authors out of Italy and Brazil who penned, The management of fibromyalgia from a psychosomatic perspective: an overview, have a potential way to think about that. They state:

“Even if the causes and pathophysiology of FM are not completely known, widespread chronic pain could be explained by a vulnerability due to a perturbation in the central processing of sensory information, named ‘central sensitivity’ or ‘central sensitization’, that amplifies the response of the central nervous system to a peripheral input. Hence, people with FM and/or other central sensitivity syndromes have a lower threshold for interpreting sensory information as noxious. Several factors, such as genetic predisposition, deficiencies in neurotransmitter levels, biochemical changes in the body, endocrine dysfunction, mood states, anxiety, sociocultural environment, psychological trauma and past experiences in general, expectancy beliefs, and catastrophization have been proposed as explanatory mechanisms of patients’ subjective experience of central sensitivity. Current research indicates that abnormal sensory and pain processing is a key factor in the pathophysiology of FM. There is robust evidence that  abnormalities in central pain processing, rather than damage or inflammation of peripheral structures, play an important role in the development and maintenance of chronic pain in patients with FM.”

Interesting, huh? I still think inflammatory responses are a big part of the 1000 piece stress puzzle, but I don’t disagree with the idea that our finely-tuned danger detection systems amplify pain and discomfort signals to deafening levels. Putting all the system data together, you can deduce a fairly complete picture of how strain, physical degradation, and pain are all related.

Finally, I have confirmation that being overly stimulated causes everything from my energy drain to my dietary responses, migraines, and autoimmune attacks... all the way down to my temperature sensitivity, random presentation of allergic reactions, and even that occasional sharp pain in my jaw… not to mention all my life-altering functional problems, like being unable to sleep at night, existing with debilitating pain, and living while feeling sedated?

Finally, I have confirmation that being overly stimulated causes everything from my energy drain to my dietary responses, migraines, and autoimmune attacks... all the way down to my temperature sensitivity, random presentation of allergic reactions, and even that occasional sharp pain in my jaw… not to mention all my life-altering functional problems, like being unable to sleep at night, existing with debilitating pain, and living while feeling sedated?

All of my strange health complaints from the past decade have aligned with this new label. And that label corresponds perfectly with my inkling that running on cortisol and overzealous guardsmen have been the major source of my health anxiety sauce. Welp, it’s been validating research for all of my educated guesses, to say the least.

Long story short, there’s not a ton of helpful information about the reasons for developing fibromyalgia or what makes it get worse. But there’s one thing we do know for a fact; stress is the enemy. At least I think it’s comforting to conclude that stress is the root of many of our C-PTSD complaints, as well as depression, anxiety, insomnia, obsessive thoughts, and now… a whole list of common maladies, labeled fibromyalgia.

Whether or not it’s really understood, at least there is a connection between everything. At least there’s something that ties ALL the random, disjointed pieces of torture together. I’m guessing that for many of us, fibromyalgia is similar to complex trauma, again, in that regard.

And, lastly, I can conclude that… I have more questions

More questions than answers

Here’s one last excerpt from the aforementioned article, which is the only one I found that’s worth hearing from.

They state: “FM is labelled, often with a negative connotation, as a ‘functional somatic syndrome’, part of a ‘somatization disorder’, ‘fashionable diagnosis’, ‘idiopathic pain disorder’, ‘non-disease’, ‘psychosomatic syndrome’, dismissing the true suffering of the patients. In the absence of a univocal identified biological cause, subjective reports of symptoms by the patients are often viewed derogatorily and discredited as ‘psychogenic.’”

Like I said, there isn’t a lot of helpful information out there if you’re looking to learn more about this controversial condition. Unfortunately, it has been categorized as a “functional somatic disorder” which essentially means that we don’t have an explanation for the organic basis of the disorder.

Like I said, there isn’t a lot of helpful information out there if you’re looking to learn more about this controversial condition. Unfortunately, it has been categorized as a “functional somatic disorder” which essentially means that we don’t have an explanation for the organic basis of the disorder.

Uh, I don’t know what could be more organic than the endogenous hormones in our own bodies creating downstream health effects, but hey, I’m not a biologist anymore, what do I know?

The fact remains - there’s a lot more to understand about the assorted mechanisms that lead from trauma into depression, generalized stress disorder, and physical manifestations of a biochemical system that’s running off-balance. And this is where I have the biggest questions.

First, I have to get this out of the way. I’m wondering about the known gender split in fibro. The numbers are horrendously skewed towards women as the primary sufferers, and that’s not helping the medical legitimacy case. So, what are the chances that men just don’t have fibromyalgia at the same rate as women? Either they don’t get stressed to the same magnitude or their bodies respond completely differently? It’s possible. OR. Is it something else?

It seems to me like this follows another similar mystery - what are the chances that men just don’t suffer from Complex Trauma at the same rate as women? Pretty poor? Probably more of a diagnostic or seeking-help issue? Yeah, I think so, too. Yet, if you look strictly at the numbers, it sure seems like there are more women hearing about C-PTSD than men.

This analogous labeling issue between the genders makes me think of a few explanations…

1) Men don’t seek help for their physical ailments the way that women do, either because they’re less in tune with their bodies or because they’re shamed for not being tough enough if they complain. Just like C-PTSD.

2) Men don’t hear about fibromyalgia, because it is an engendered diagnosis reserved for dramatic women at this point. Just like C-PTSD. They receive other partial diagnoses, like IBS, that are less controversial. This leads me into a whole spiraling rant about several genital-dependent psychological diagnoses that I feel similarly about, but one of them is…

3) Men don’t receive the same level of fibromyalgia labels as women because men don’t often receive Complex-PTSD labels, which would serve as a hint to their doctors, since trauma is a well-known predisposing factor…

This brings me to the next set of questions.

It’s unpopular opinion time, but, frankly, I don’t know that any of these trauma and fibro issues are really that separate.

It seems to me like we’re talking a lot about one particular problem that splinters off into a thousand different outcomes, depending on the circumstances, the biology, and the human in question. Not separate conditions.

It seems to me like we’re talking a lot about one particular problem that splinters off into a thousand different outcomes, depending on the circumstances, the biology, and the human in question. Not separate conditions.

First comes the trauma, then comes the presentation of downstream physical and mental symptoms. Presentation, magnitude, and personal recognition of these symptoms varies, just like severity of Complex Trauma does. But under both conditions, our experiences are often so similar - the hard part is that we struggle to describe them and often lean on abstract language which can be used in such diverse ways. We focus on different problems, depending on our own life impacts.

So, maybe we notice and report internal events differently, but it’s hard for me to believe that the two disorders aren’t more than corresponding diagnoses - and are, in fact, one and the same.

I could be very wrong, but I’d sure like to find out.

So, to the small percentage of fibromyalgia sufferers who don’t have trauma… you sure? To the depressed and anxious folks who can’t seem to get a grip on their physical health, but never saw their life as traumatic… want to take another look? To all the traumatized folks with Raynauds, food allergies, hypertension, ADD, aches, and migraines… have you really looked into the full definition of fibromyalgia?

ARE these conditions of trauma and fibromyalgia different? Or is this another complication in identifying unseeable symptoms in a population of folks who never learned to name their mental and physical experiences? Is this an artifact from a group who tends to underestimate and under-report their own experiences in light of unhealthy others’ core beliefs? How prevalent is fibromyalgia, really? Especially in the context of Trauma?

ARE these conditions of trauma and fibromyalgia different? Or is this another complication in identifying unseeable symptoms in a population of folks who never learned to name their mental and physical experiences? Is this an artifact from a group who tends to underestimate and under-report their own experiences in light of unhealthy others’ core beliefs? How prevalent is fibromyalgia, really? Especially in the context of Trauma?

Is it possible that everything boils down to one underlying event - trauma - that produces a whole host of other biological adaptations down the line? Did we create a separate term for it, simply based on a lack of standardization?

Or is this an exclusionary problem?

Have all the various ways we’ve learned to categorize and describe our experiences actually separated one full disorder into two half-disorders; one that encompasses the brain and another that covers the body? Is it our societal misunderstanding of the connection between our perceptions and our meaty husks, forcing us to separate the issues of mental and physical health that would be better understood together, as one?

I’m not sure! But I’m definitely thinking a lot about it.

Partially, from personal bias. I always considered my physical issues to be part of my trauma life, not separate from it - and that explanation made perfect sense to me. Where do these disorders really split? Maybe it’s possible to have Complex PTSD without the physical symptoms, but that's really not what I hear from people. The most of us have at least some periods of physical ailments, even if they're not persistent. To me, it seems like a distinction that should be made within the trauma diagnosis - with or without physical wellness degradation - rather than piling a separate, largely-ineffective diagnosis on the vast majority of us who have some variety of said bodily ailments.

I feel like the real issue isn’t “what is fibromyalgia?” The actual problem is a lack of biological understanding in the Psychology field. And a mirrored failure to understand Psychology in the medical field. Then, throw in a reluctance to study the conglomerate of bio-physiology and mental health issues in the scientific research literature because both experiences are difficult to measure or confirm and the studies would be less elegant.

I feel like the real issue isn’t “what is fibromyalgia?” The actual problem is a lack of biological understanding in the Psychology field. And a mirrored failure to understand Psychology in the medical field. Then, throw in a reluctance to study the conglomerate of bio-physiology and mental health issues in the scientific research literature because both experiences are difficult to measure or confirm and the studies would be less elegant.

If more psychologists actually learned system biology and more medical practitioners actually studied abnormal psychology, maybe we wouldn’t have disparate diagnoses that each come with a half-recognition. Maybe we could have one term that encompassed the full experience of trauma. Maybe these professionals could confirm all the details that we don’t understand by working with a more comprehensive approach to how humans work as a whole, rather than organ by organ. Just a fucking thought.  

Because, I can tell you, if my therapist friend had the same biological education that I did at the time, I guarantee that she wouldn’t have told me fibromyalgia was a “pseudo diagnosis.” If she had knowledge of the connection between stress hormones and bodily breakdown, plus the trauma physiology that determines our sensitivity to stress - there’s no way she would have been so flippant or insensitive with her words. But under the influence of her counseling peers, the diagnosis became a fallacy.

I think this highlights the danger of the problem at hand. It only took one industry-determined void of knowledge to pass along an unfair opinion that skewed at least my perception for years down the line. And, think about it, how many times has one innocently-baseless comment in the psychology or medical fields probably created a lifetime of bias in an up-and-coming professional?

Maybe this is why we have the self-perpetuating negative connotation of psychosomatic illness in our society that seems to crawl its way towards improvement, while every other disorder makes significant strides. A lack of personal understanding of the biology-psychology connection is easily turned into a respected opinion, and readily transmitted to unknowing people who are eager to learn from their wise mentors. And so, the next generation inherits the same set of half-baked progress-stunting ideas. Over and over and over.

Maybe this is why we have the self-perpetuating negative connotation of psychosomatic illness in our society that seems to crawl its way towards improvement, while every other disorder makes significant strides. A lack of personal understanding of the biology-psychology connection is easily turned into a respected opinion, and readily transmitted to unknowing people who are eager to learn from their wise mentors. And so, the next generation inherits the same set of half-baked progress-stunting ideas. Over and over and over.

Depressing! And enlightening.

And that’s roughly where I stand today, after days of fibromyalgia research and very few satisfactory answers. Depressed and enlightened.

More or less, asking myself more questions about the legitimacy of our entire mental and physical healthcare system and all the lines we draw in the sand. Confident that trauma leads to increased stress leads to increased brain and body trauma. Somewhat happy to know that I’m actually not the only one who consistently apologizes for feeling like shit and questions if it’s “valid” or not because it seems connected to my brain. But also, pretty pissed off that we’ve been given a word that comes with no explanations and a hellofalot of medical field judgement, as if we needed more of that.

Oh, one more factoid to throw into the end of this conversation. There’s a link between low socioeconomic status and fibromyalgia.

Oh, one more factoid to throw into the end of this conversation. There’s a link between low socioeconomic status and fibromyalgia.

Hey, the same link exists between socioeconomic status and complex trauma. Hey, it’s another predisposing factor for post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms’ emergence. Hey, big surprise, if you have a stable and predictable physical and financial environment, you’re less likely to develop the terror-based conditions brought on by earlier trauma.

If you have financial resources, you’re also less likely to be chronically stressed by the demands of life. You’re probably also more likely to receive respectable medical care. Therefore, meaning that you’re both less likely to have enough perturbation to develop over-sensitive nervous system responses and less likely to be dismissed by doctors with a label they don’t believe exists. Plus, probably more likely to have access to mental health care that could prevent the onset of Complex Trauma presentation, and likely fibromyalgia, altogether.

Oh, look, logic explains so many things. Or, fuckit, let’s just choose to believe that poor people are lazy and always want to complain about something, whether it’s in their heads or their bodies. Whatever the rich white men say.

Big issues to think about.

Like I state way too often on this show, it’s the small things in this trauma life that bring you comfort. And monumental societal failures that make you scream. (Okay, I just added that last part today.)

Wrap it

Okay, let me get out of here before I question more beliefs that are way out of my paygrade. Sorry, medical and psychological practitioners. I know that I’m just a critical observer who, like that kid everyone hates in class, perpetually asks too many questions.

At the bottom of all my complaints, I just wish that we could come up with a way to characterize these disorders that actually helped people understand what was happening. If you know how your body is reacting to what stimuli and how the symptoms are all related, that's a lot more powerful than throwing assorted barely-defined titles at them.

If we can't definitively say that fibromyalgia and trauma symptoms are one and the same, fine. Let there be a distinction. But I think it would be preferable to call fibro something more telling and true to the accepted cause. Call it semantics, but something like Stress Affective Syndrome would be more useful than the made-up word of fibromyalgia. Please, anyone feel free to come up with a better phrase, because I just made "Stress Affective Syndrome" up so I could say "I've got SAS." It already fits the bill.

I guess I’m just up in arms that I’ve tried to find answers for my brain and body health all these years, and turned up completely empty handed until random connections have eventually given me the information I’ve needed after a decade of effort. Maybe if I had my complex trauma diagnosis before I had my health complaints, someone would have mentioned fibromyalgia. Maybe, they would have knowingly smirked and sent me to a psychiatrist. Hard to say.

I guess I’m just up in arms that I’ve tried to find answers for my brain and body health all these years, and turned up completely empty handed until random connections have eventually given me the information I’ve needed after a decade of effort. Maybe if I had my complex trauma diagnosis before I had my health complaints, someone would have mentioned fibromyalgia. Maybe, they would have knowingly smirked and sent me to a psychiatrist. Hard to say.

Even if I had gotten that information about fibro, would it have helped separate from the C-PTSD diagnosis? Honestly, probably not. I would have just been harder on myself for suddenly being too weak in the face of stress. And after reading that medical professionals doubt the validity of fibromyalgia, in the first place? Well that would have been a whole other source of disbelief, anger, and negative self-regard. Maybe a whole new crisis, once my inner critic got a chance to hammer away at my head.

I suppose that figuring out the patterns of my strange bodily conditions actually needed to happen organically for this Fucker, because any semi-questioned diagnosis would have just been more fuel for my trauma fire at that point when I so thoroughly despised myself. Confirming to myself, for a fact, that stress fucks me up may have been a prerequisite for accepting that I might be “one of those fibro people.” You know, the ones who lie about their symptoms. Ha.

And, again, this says a lot about the potential damage that poorly-described labels can do to people… just as much as it says about my own reluctance to be considered a weak-minded over-reactor by outsiders.

All of this being said, I’m so grateful for finally finding out exactly what all fibromyalgia actually entails. It took too long, but honestly, the information came at the perfect time. Two days after I got it, I was stress-sick. Ahhh, it's fibro time. How’s that for irony?

As always, I do think there is some empowerment in the basic root understanding that you aren’t the only one who’s dealt with any of this. The mysterious illnesses, the pain, or the lack of care from modern medicine aren’t individual experiences. Hey, you might even be relieved to know that someone else on this planet routinely asks herself, “Do I have cancer for real this time, or am I just overworked again?”

As always, I do think there is some empowerment in the basic root understanding that you aren’t the only one who’s dealt with any of this. The mysterious illnesses, the pain, or the lack of care from modern medicine aren’t individual experiences. Hey, you might even be relieved to know that someone else on this planet routinely asks herself, “Do I have cancer for real this time, or am I just overworked again?”

After years of nobody I spoke to having a tale that even mildly resembled my autoimmune breakdown, finding anybody who related to my issues was extremely relieving. Not only was it a common experience, but it meant that I hadn’t somehow brought the discomfort on myself - through mental illness, physical shenanigans, or plain old weakness - the ways that I feared.

Furthermore, it proved that I hadn’t imagined it all. Because believe it or not, you’re surprisingly willing to throw yourself under the bus after all the pain has passed. I’ve spent the past decade telling people, “I think I have the glutens, as I call it... but I don’t really know though, it’s never been explained, sometimes other things bother me, and sometimes it’s really not a big deal, I don't know what it is” as an almost-apology. A disclaimer that I, too, doubt my own memories and conclusions because they weren’t properly validated by who I considered authority figures.

Hearing that other people had digestive disorders and autoimmune disasters in the wake of Complex Trauma, via the book The Body Keeps The Score, shocked me into self-acceptance of my prior experiences. Hearing that all of it can be encapsulated by this term fibromyalgia a few days ago - well, shit. This is a more mainstream occurrence than I ever previously thought.

And you know what? It does matter to me that I’m not the only one who falls apart when my brain gets overwhelmed. Even if it doesn’t fix anything. Even if my own postulations for how fibromyalgia is born from trauma feel more applicable than the scientifically proven ones. Even if I don’t believe the term deserves to stand alone as a medical label without further delineation - especially of the connection to and overlap with trauma. Even if I think… it might be inseparable.

And you know what? It does matter to me that I’m not the only one who falls apart when my brain gets overwhelmed. Even if it doesn’t fix anything. Even if my own postulations for how fibromyalgia is born from trauma are more enlightening than the scientifically proven ones. Even if I don’t believe the term deserves to stand alone as a medical label without further delineation - especially of the connection to and overlap with trauma. Even if I think… it might be inseparable.

Now I know. When I feel a physical breakdown coming on, with the suspected cause being stress… I don’t have to apologize for it. I don’t need to tell people that I just can’t handle the pressure with unfettered shame for my own biochemistry. I can rest assured that what I’m going through is common - far more common than we know - and completely valid. Even if there are people ready to tell you that it's not.

But, to be honest, I still probably won’t tell anyone that it’s called fibromyalgia. I’m not proud to say, I wouldn’t want them to think I’m just being dramatic.

UGH.

[nat-without-a-g]

WARNING I TALK A LOT ABOUT C*VID-19 ESPECIALLY THE EARLY DAYS OF INFECTION SCROLL DOWN IF YOU DONT WANT TO SEE THAT SHIT

Okay now that I’ve actually looked into the resident evil series how the hell can anyone just sit there and tell me that the T-virus is just like COVID back when COVID first showed up. I heard it all the time, and it never made sense to me but I didn’t know enough about resident evil at the time to really debate it. Now I do, bitches. Let’s review. In advance I’m on mobile so I can’t put this under a cut, sorry—

TL;DR: resident evil and Covid don’t bear many similarities while Covid and the Green Flu do, especially when it comes to in-universe reactions to the initial infection and the make-up of the infection itself.

First off: the T-Virus incubates and can hide in the bloodstream without people knowing, yes— but the incubation period can be anywhere from like 30 minutes (Marvin) and like eight fucking years (Alexia) YES these are different cases but they’re both strands of the T-Virus, not to mention in cases like Alexia and Wesker we see people able to basically fucking control their viruses.???That is insane that is absolutely insane. Not to mention COVID has a REAL incubation period. Everything I’ve seen looking into the Viruses suggests they don’t have an incubator period, they can be activated at any time with the right the chemical.

Lots of people in Resident Evil 2 were already infected with the T-Virus from something William had done earlier in the month including sabatoging a test chamber with flooding. The leak of it into the sewers and the infection of the rats is likely what activated a lot of them because the article I read about it suggested only people with high exposure to the water started showing symptoms (minor... but minor as in cannibalistic).

But that’s another thing; I remember seeing a meme float around saying oh look at this Chinese medicinal company; it has the same logo as Umbrella, clearly we know who’s responsible... for start, the umbrella logo could have been fucking based on the logo of the Chinese company. We don’t know how long it was there or how long it existed back when it was a company and if we do please tell me I can’t find anything their website is in all Chinese which I guess is to be expected. According to snopes it’s no longer in operation anyways.

People find one similarity (likely just this company that is likely out of operation and not even based in Wuhan) and decided Oh. That means this virus where your respiratory system goes fuck all is like the zombie virus where basically you start mutating and don’t show any symptoms until it’s too late for you to not fucking die (see Jill Valentine’s nightmare at the start of RE3. Or Marvin again.) Sure, there’s a two week period where you’re not showing COVID symptoms, but you’re still. Showing. Symptoms. It isn’t a poof you’re now dying situation, your body has some resistance when you get infected with covid initially. The thing is that the symptoms are so minor, you could just have the common cold or just a fucking headache.

If you want a virus similar to COVID to point at media and say “look at the similarities!” Look at Left 4 Dead and Left 4 Dead 2.

Yes, it’s another zombie virus, but this one actually does have an initial canonical incubation period of two weeks. There’s no evil corperation at the heart of its creation, but the government downplaying the virus to the public is the big reason it managed to spread so much. In the first two weeks after knowing about the Virus’s existance, there’s no sign of intentional social distnacing but we see in posters that It Was Encourged, as was wearing a mask. According to little bits of evidence found in the games, CEDA wanted to report on the danger of the situation accurately, but the government interviewed as to not cause a mass panic, and by the time CEDA was actually allowed to speak everyone was already sick, even employees of CEDA itself.

Not to mention this virus formed on its own, we’re not pointing fingers at closed companies, these are both naturally forming viruses. I remember hearing early on that COVID was mutating at an alarming rate, and you may think “oh like the Resident Evil mutations” but no. The VIRUS ITSELF is mutating, NOT the people it’s infected. You know what else is a virus that mutated too rapidly for proper research? The Green Flu, according to the Sacrifice comic. Yes, the virus’s infection time speeds up from two weeks to an hour, but those are just the more affective mutations the virus made. In real life mutations are a bit more clunky. I remember seeing a scare that COVID was airborne for awhile, and even though there is a difference between airborne illnesses and respiratory illnesses, it’s still closer to the airborne Green Flu than the T-Virus which you seemingly have to inject or have injected into you.

The big difference I think between the Left 4 Dead green flu and the real life coronavirus is that in Left 4 Dead they lost ALL RESPECT for the government and CEDA when it came out they were downplaying the virus. If COVID caused zombies instead of a respretory fuckary, we would probably be in the exact same situation as Left 4 Dead. We see in Left 4 Dead that people who follow CEDA’s regulations didn’t make it because they waited too long (Dead Air, ANY safe house) but we see in Swamp Fever that people who pushed out the safety regulations didn’t last long either. There’s graphetti that says the Village des Maria outlasted two major cities in New Orleans, but when you get there everyone is infected. I think they managed to shut the virus out for a long time, but because they didn’t prepare for it and socially distance or wear masks, when it did hit, it hit HARD.

I guess Real Life is what happens when the world doesn’t end so people downplay that people are dying and don’t give a shit that they were lied to in a way that actively hurt them. Honestly my argument isn’t really even that the Green Flu itself is closer to COVID then the T-virus, even though that is totally true, but it’s in-game response is. My final point of evidence: the main characters of Left 4 Dead aren’t immune, they’re asymptotic. They’re just as much a danger to other people as the Zombies and l4d2 looks into that. The main characters of Resident evil 2 seem to magically be unable catch the virus when it’s being ejected into their fucking bloodstream how does that WORK—

[sjerzgirl]

By Joshua Ross on Facebook.

Ok, so, here’s some venting and some explaining and if you don’t like it, I honestly don’t care. Move on and good day to you.

This has easily been the longest 2 months of my career, and, for that matter, my life. COVID-19 has changed everything. The way we live, the way our kids learn, the way we work. It has trashed the economy, exploded unemployment, and harmed businesses, many of them, sadly, beyond repair. But here’s the deal: it’s real and it’s here and it’s still spreading.

As a healthcare worker, I’m exhausted. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. As a manager in the the healthcare industry, it’s been one of the longest, most stressful things I’ve tackled.

First off, the truthers and the conspiracy people and the protesters, you’re not helping. The people bitching CONSTANTLY about the governor’s or whatever level of government’s handling of things, it’s not constructive.

Do you want to know why medical people, real medical people, not some crackpot quacks and kooks with a YouTube account or Facebook page, are taking this seriously? Because it’s serious. And we’re serious people when it comes to people’s health and their lives. Yes, it mostly kills at-risk populations (the elderly and those with underlying medical conditions) but it also kills perfectly healthy people with no prior diagnoses and we don’t know why. I’m so tired of people acting like there’s information that’s being cooked up or withheld. You know why there’s lots of gaps in the information? Because we’re still learning about this virus every day. It’s new. It’s never been seen. How it acts, how it spreads, why it does the things it does is all new and we’re learning on the fly. Stop mistaking genuine lack of information for misinformation or withheld information.

The numbers: this one sticks in my craw like no other. “I heard they didn’t die from COVID-19, they died from a heart attack but they were positive so they called it COVID-19 to boost the numbers and scare people.” Stop. It. You know how many people died specifically from AIDS? Zero. AIDS patients die from pneumonia or some other illness normal, healthy people fight off because the AIDS virus destroyed their immune system and they couldn’t fight off the infection. But at the heart of it, they died because of AIDS. The coronavirus attacks the respiratory system. The respiratory system is, in case you didn’t know, pretty important to sustaining life. It also has a huge impact on how other organ systems, like the heart, work. Guess what, when your lungs don’t work because they’ve basically filled with brick mortar because the virus is attacking them, that puts a bit of a strain on your ticker and very well can cause it to fail. So unless you have a basic understanding of or want to understand how interconnected organ systems are and how the body fundamentally functions: stop.

I think I can speak for a lot of medical professionals when I say, we don’t mean to be arrogant, we don’t mean to be jerks, but damn it, this bullshit is frustrating and yes, we’re going to clap back to ignorance. Ignorance is not something to be flaunted and there is a difference between ignorance and stupidity. Ignorance is being uninformed. Stop being willfully ignorant and even reveling in it because it doesn’t fit your preconceived narrative or opinion. Even worse, stop pretending you’re not ignorant because you watched some damn YouTube video or read some op-ed piece. That’s someone’s opinion, normally based on nothing. NOTHING. No research. That’s not information. That’s not factual. That’s not based in science. It’s click-bait with the sole intention of riling you up and getting you to let your guard down. And instead of being pissed at the virus that’s causing all this, it’s to direct your anger at the government or doctors or anywhere else their agenda wants it directed.

Medical people are fired up for a couple reasons. 1 month ago, we were all heroes and putting our lives on the line because this was dangerous stuff. Well, I think I can speak for most of us when I say we aren’t heroic, we’re just doing our job. But guess what, we’re still doing the same damn thing we were doing a month ago and this crap still hasn’t gone away but now we’re “just trying to scare people” because “it’s really no big deal.” We aren’t looking for a pat on the back or even a thank you, we just want you to do what we all need to do to stop this thing and avoid the spread. Listen, if you think that my big fat ass enjoys sweating like a whore in church in an isolation gown, walking around like Mr Magoo because my glasses are fogged up because of my mask, and wearing goggles that dig into the backs of my ears because I’m “just a sheep,” you are mistaken. It’s because I don’t want this virus and I don’t want to take it home to my family and I don’t want to infect my co-workers and other patients. We’re fired up because we’ve seen and even performed intubations. We don’t intubate for funsies. Outside of the surgical setting, an intubation is basically throwing a Hail Mary to save someone’s life. And when the mortality rate once that plastic tube slides between your vocal cords with COVID-19 is 85-89%, yeah, that’s terrifying. This virus is dangerous.

Lastly, stop being spoiled children about public health advisories. Stop bitching about wearing a mask when you’re in public places. Stop pretending that that is somehow infringing on your rights. Get over yourself. I wish all businesses would grow a pair and refuse service to people who refuse to wear a mask “out of principle.” Police aren’t inclined to enforce it and that’s fine but, spoiler alert, private businesses have and reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. Don’t tell me it’s ok for a bakery to refuse service to a gay couple for a wedding cake on religious grounds but not ok for a convenience store to refuse service because they don’t want the outbreak monkey strolling through their place coughing all over other patrons and their staff. Stay outside the 6ft bubble, wear a damn mask, and wash your hands. It’s that easy. Stop pretending they’re asking for a kidney. It’s as much to protect yourself as it is everyone else. People wonder why we have things like stay-at-home orders and closing of non-essential businesses. It’s because of you, jackass, you’re the problem. It’s your lack of ability to exercise common sense and your refusal to follow simple, insanely simple advice that forces the government to exercise it for you. And even then, you still thumb your nose at it in all your ignorant glory. Sorry that you feel like they’re infringing on your right to be an irresponsible child.

Look, all I’m saying is I get that it’s frustrating and I get that it’s irritating, and inconvenient and all the other bad things that it is, but please, continue to take this seriously, continue to do the little things that make a big difference. Stop denying facts, science, and the advice from people who have spent a lifetime doing what they do in the medical and research fields to ultimately make everyone’s lives healthier, safer, and better.

I’m done with my soap box now. ✌🏻

#washyourhands #wearamask

[killerswonderland]

The God Of Thunder

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Summary: You always liked the rainy thunderous nights, that is until a fateful one. When villainous occurrences come to life, threatening you and your job, will you come to love the rain again or will the drops of water only bring more death.  Warnings: Language, minor violence, mentions of death. Word Count: 2.2 k A/N:  Soooo, this is my first fanfic ever!! Any constructive criticism is very welcomed. I hope you guys like it!!!!

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It’s always raining in Gotham. The rain filled the sewers, the streets, the abandoned houses. It never mattered who was safe and who wasn’t. Who died and who didn’t. Maybe the only thing that could compare to the number of deaths caused by villainous crimes were those caused by the ineffable rain and floodings of Gotham River.

You always liked it, that is the rain, not the deaths. The refreshing sense of cold droplets falling in your face, the smell of it while in the depths of the woods, the crashing sound of thunder, roaring like it was the king of the skies. But that was a different time, a safer, calmer time, in which you could run to your mothers bedroom in seek of comfort. Now you couldn’t even call her, since she died in a robbery six years prior, after deciding to move to Gotham, much to your joy and seeing that you had convinced her the city was much more fun than the country, and she could easily stay away from the bad memories of your asshole dad.

It was in nights like this that you couldn’t sleep. You always blamed yourself, but in rainy, thunderous nights, it was worse. You could hear her screams echoing in your apartment and you could swear that you saw her standing in your window, shadow produced by the ocasional strike of lightning. Ands that’s when you decided it was best for you to leave your bed and shake it off, going towards the bathroom in your studio apartment. You splashed water in your face, ignoring the tired look you kept giving yourself in the mirror, just opening the cabinet and picking the orange cup which contained the recipe for chemical happiness, popping a pill in your mouth and swallowing it dryly.

You moved back to your bed, glancing at the time in your phone, it was 4 a.m, so you deduced you had time to get ahead in the billion of files of your work. Moving to your little desk by the window, you start shuffling the papers, reading and marking them until you had the notion of what it was being said, summing up the useful business information for todays meeting. Working for Wayne Enterprises sure sound promising, but in the end it was just like any other secretary job, overflowing and underpaid. But in the end, by two hours of reading the transactions, you were done, only needing a soothing shower and a hot cup of coffee, having the sighting of the night being long forgotten.

No later than one hour and a half later you were ready. Your so called “office clothes” were tidy, your hair was fixed and neatly done the way you thought was more professional and your makeup was light, yet enhancing. Still, your eyes kept the same tired look.

When you left the comfort of your home the rain was still raging and your heels clicked quickly through the sidewalk, moving towards the subway, which at that time was surprisingly packed with desperate people, being homeless or simply in the way of their work, looking for shelter. It was in times like this that the primal fear of getting wet and cold gathered people together,  never minding the difference between them, soothing the never-ending chaos of Gotham. Shuffling and excusing yourself,  you arrived at your stop, climbing the stairs and running with your old umbrella until you were safely inside the modern building. Being at least 10 minutes early considering the weather condition was a huge relief.

Greeting the reception guards as you walk in, you notice the elevator doors closing as you run to try to catch it, “Hold it!” you shout, as you see the piercing blue eyes look at yours and a sadistic smile forming in the mans mouth. He didn’t hold it and you face planted the elevator doors. “Asshole,” you murmured, tidying your appearance once more and pressing the elevator button.

Once you got to the top floor you went straight to your little desk, leaving your purse and organizing the documents that were going to be needed for Mr. Wayne’s 10 o’clock meeting.

“Good Morning.” a deep voice said suddenly, catching you off guard. And yet, you answered without even flinching “Good Morning Mr. Wayne”

“I already said you can call me Bruce, you’ve been working for me for about 6 years already and I think you know me as better as my butler” he argued, moving towards his office, looking behind him only to see you’re right in his tracks. “I’m sorry sir, but that would be highly unprofessional of my part” you replied, quickly updating the times of his other duties as another newspaper wished to interview Bruce before his great charity gala.

“Suit yourself then,” he declared “And before I forget, one of my sons will be coming here to collect some files from my office while I’m in the meeting, so let him in when he comes if you may” he says as both of you come closer to the meeting room, seeing that some of the chiefs of the lower departments and Lucius Fox were already inside and waiting. You nodded and gave him the files you prepared.

The next hour was passed answering calls, figuring out time tables and organizing some peculiarities of the great Wayne Charity Gala. You’ve always dreamed about being invited to one,  and sometimes catched yourself daydreaming about it too, wearing a beautiful gown and talking to important people, but that was never the case. In reality you were perpetually the one that planned and organized it, fulfilling all of your bosses weird wishes.

“I said Good Morning!” an annoyed voice spoke and you looked up, not recognizing the owner of the voice, but in an instant recognizing those eyes.

“Oh! If it isn’t one of the most rude people I have ever encountered” you snapped, standing up and noticing how the man, who towered over you, was looking with an amused grin.

“I really think Brucie wouldn’t like his P.A talking with his son like that” And that’s when it clicked, the eyes were the same. The black shiny hair was a little more messier than you expected, with a mysterious stand of white hair sticking out, but there he was, Jason Todd-Wayne, one of Bruce’s oldest. Of course now you had to apologize, not because you wanted but because you needed the damn job or you would die in the wet pavement of Gotham. But then a dry laugh came, guessing it was caused by the realization that hit your face.

“Well, I really think Brucie would’t like to know that his son crashed a party and almost  burned down a building” you replied, seeing his eyes darken and his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of the water. “You see, as your father’s P.A, it’s required of me to help him keep his  company reputation, and that may or may not involve his family sometimes. You should thank me for keeping all of the involved quiet.”, you smiled, triumphantly.

And that’s when you hear the noise. A first loud bang coming from one of the lower floors. You panicked looking around for answers, but all the floor was as quiet as you. Then it all flashed. The glass of one of the windows was blowed up, shards flying around while people screamed and ran to the nearest exit. You felt stuck, breathing uneasy, until you felt a hard tug, pulling you to under your desk.

“Snap out of it!” Jason said as he gripped your shoulders and shaked you lightly “We have to get you out of here”

“Me? You and your dad are the royalty of Gotham, we need to get YOU out” you said as you got a grip in the reality of what was happening. After all, the rain asked for death again, just as that night.

He shushed you before you could continued, putting his hand over your mouth and you forced your eyes shut. The laughter was the worse, a cold, shrieking voice erupted through the corridors, as you heard things being knocked out and people screaming. Jason pried over the table, just as his suspicions were confirmed. There were a total of five thugs, some of them armed, nothing too hard to handle if he had the upper hand. He felt your breathing in his hand, slowing down, and when he looked at you he saw your eyes opening, a calm look in them, so he took his hand off.

You moved ever so slightly reaching for you purse and opening, quickly grabbing the NAA Mini-Revolver you carried around and you handed it to Jason Although you knew it wasn’t the best choice of a gun it gave you a sense of security. You also picked up a letter opener that had fallen and tossed at your direction when everything went south. “Help your dad” and with that you raised yourself and ran and lunged yourself to one of the huge men, holding the sharp object and sticking it in his neck.

After that all hell broke loose, there was a lot of blood and the victim thug was screaming in pain while spinning, trying to detach your form from his back. You heard the other masked goons running, panicking and shooting at you trying to help their friend, but, luckily to you, they ended up shooting their friends leg, unbalancing the great giant, which fell into the ground, you underneath him.

“Get that bitch,” one of the goons said, with a raspy and clearly angry voice, “The boss wants only Wayne alive. He said that we can have a little fun with the others”. You heard footsteps right above you, moving the huge body away from you. There was little time to enjoy your functioning respiratory system after the weight was lifted from your chest, because right after that you were grabbed by one of the remaining four, his grip in your neck was certainly going to leave a bruise, that is, in your corpse. You don’t know what possessed you to have that momentarily amount of courage, but in a sense, you felt calm, knowing that now, if something happened, you could go and apologize to your mom.

You taught it was because of the lack of oxygen that you saw the great bat-form shadow fly through the window, but when the blood splattered on your face and the pressure on your neck stopped, you noticed it wasn’t just a hallucination.

“Red Hood!” you heard a deep growl as you fell onto your knees, coughing and inhaling quickly, noticing only now the sharp ringing on your ears. “I told you to just get her out of here, not to kill someone” the same voice said, that you clearly assumed it was the Batman.

“I was doing doing that, but he was in my way” a mechanical voice said, while coming at your direction. You felt his hands on your shoulder as he knelt close to you, “I’m going to pick you up now, is that ok?” he asked gently and you simply nodded at the shiny helmet, figuring you couldn’t use your voice since your throat was hurting.

“Can you take care of the rest?” he asked into his comms, you guessed, since Batman was long gone, and he nodded, seemingly receiving an answer. He then picked you up, turning the bright helmet eyes back to you “Hold on”, he spoke, seriously. And you did, as he ran in the direction of the busted window. You felt the gravity take you down, but soon after the feeling of falling stoped, being replaced by what you thought was the sensation of swinging in a forest, like Tarzan.

You presumed the travel was fast, since you had closed your eyes as firmly as possible since the beginning, and when you landed with a strong thud, you opened them, noticing how tightly you were holding the vigilante. Quickly you let him go, trying to stay as straight as possible in front of the built man, looking around you as you noticed he landed near your apartment complex.

“Thank you,” you croaked, looking at the helmet eyes “But I wasn’t the one that needed rescue, Mr Wayne..”

“Mr Wayne is safe” he interrupted, “And so is he son, who was apparently saved by you, missy…”, you could feel the amused smile he had under the red helmet as he said those words. You gave him a small smile, turning from him and looking at view, hugging yourself so you didn’t show him how fucking cold you actually were.

“You should go” you said, without turning to him “My house is near, and I really think you wouldn’t let Batman take all the credit”. You heard him chuckle and, as you heard footsteps approaching, you felt a comforting heat. He had put his leather jacket onto your shoulders.

“You’re completely right” he admitted while leaving you, going straight to the ledge of the roof.

“But your jacket! I don’t know how to find you!” you shouted, causing him to turn.

“Don’t worry, I know where to find you” he said as he jumped from the building, quickly swinging through the modern forest.

You stood there, watching until he disappeared, feeling the smell of gunpowder and whisky from his leather jacket as you hugged it tightly. The thunders roaring in the sky and the droplets of water from the rain hit you strongly in the face, cleansing the blood from it.

And that’s when you started liking rain again.