#my therapist says ive made progress but if i have then why does it feel like smthn happens every day. and its severe every time it happens.

[fagu1a]

taking a moment to ask for more advice (see last post) but um. has anyone else had a period of their life that felt.. utterly dominated by fear / anxiety. like having daily fear and anxiety / panic attacks. and if so, does it end? does it ever get better?

[vampiricgf]

also feel like dropping some crazy kita lore this morning because ive been ruminating on my upbringing or lack thereof the last few days

it's really damaging when nobody wants to tell you the truth about yourself as a kid. I knew there was stuff that was different about me and the way I lived, obviously, to kids around me growing up and I don't think adults really understand how much that bothers you as a kid

and obviously when you're a kid other kids are mean, it's just the way it is, but hearing jabs here and there about like why you don't have parents and why that makes you a freak really does harm you growing up

if everyone around me hadn't treated my parents like some big clandestine mystery it probably wouldn't have gotten as bad as it did for me. like I was showing symptoms of my mental illness as early as ten years old, which is a little crazy to think about, and everyone around me dismissed me as a "problem child" an "attention whore" or "just a bad kid"

the damage it did hearing that over and over is something I can't even describe properly. and when you're that young you don't have words like "mania" or "major depression" or even "suicidal ideation" to help people really understand what you're feeling. I was legitimately suicidal at the age of ten years old and it was scary because I had no idea why I was feeling that way or what it even was which just added to the strain of it and the endless loop of "acting out". like I would have episodes and they would call the cops on me

I was manhandled and thrown in the back of a car by officers no less than seven times. that did even more damage. a little ass girl screaming and crying out of desperation asking for her mom and the first instinct is to put hands on her and throw her in a car? like anyone with a brain can see that isn't productive in a situation like that but it is what it is

then as I got older it became more extreme, like with the arson charges and b&e. I didn't give a fuck because nobody gave a fuck about me. And then when I was 13 I landed in front of a judge that remanded me to counseling. that was the first time anybody looked at me and was like "no something else is going on here and it needs addressed". the deal was I attend counseling, zero missed days unless I was sick enough to be in a hospital, and then come back before the judge at the set time and if they said I made significant progress I wouldn't go to juvenile detention and I could get my record expunged at 18 if I stayed out of trouble. it also helped nobody was hurt during my little building burning

so my ass was at that office every single thursday for ten years. the mandate was only a couple months but I kept going for ten years. because that therapist gave a shit about me, the first adult in my life to do so

our first month of sessions were spent in complete silence. I didn't say one word to her for an hour every single thursday for a month. I was beyond resistant and defiant. and I'm sure any other therapist would've just pushed it down the line and said im not dealing with this off you go but she didn't. she was basically as stubborn as I was and it paid off because after that first month I started talking to her and then I never stopped. I kept that appointment slot faithfully despite being shuffled around from different homes that was my one constant and it was something to hold onto

idk but I think there's a lesson in there somewhere about taking kids seriously when they're very obviously having issues and to not write them off over and over because all you're doing with that is reinforcing that nobody cares about them or what they're going through and they will spiral just the way I did. and about telling them the truth. I know a lot of people thought they were sparing me some sort of pain by not telling the truth about my parents being in prison for things like dui, drug offenses, and violent murder but it wasn't doing me any favors in reality. I could've come to terms with it and probably moved on. sure my illness would've manifested sooner or later but I don't think it would've happened in quite the same way or with so much inner and outer destruction if I had known because usually during those extreme episodes I'd be sobbing about just wanting my mom while destroying shit. I knew I had one, but I didn't know anything about her and it was a real pain point for me

so idk tell your kids the truth about shit, you don't really know what someone can or can't handle and you could be fucking them up even more by keeping secrets

[taeyohonic]

stolen dances | chap. IV

summary: sometimes supporting the person you love is the hardest challenge you’ll ever face.

pairing: jeon jungkook x fem!reader

rating: m

warning: none

additional tags: f2l, ceo!jungkook, bestfriend!jungkook, shrink!yoongi, my best friend’s wedding meets 27 dresses (if the boss/secretary couple had happened), angst-y

words: 1900

links: prologue, chap. I, chap. II, chap. III, chap. IV, chap. V, chap. VI

note: lower case letters intended

chapter summary: you are this close to throwing your lava cake in jungkook’s face

“you did not just make another powerpoint”, yoongi groans but still lets you set up your device. the first slide shows up in no time and you can feel him roll his eyes behind your back.

“really, ____?”, your shrink asks as the headline ‘why you should forgive me’ lights up the screen.

“just… bear we me”, you mutter, still clicking on your presenter to let go of your nerves. yoongi has been different the last few days – ever since you came back from your mini-vacation. you get it; it’s not cool to stand up your friend who is also your therapist. still, you’d think he would be a bit more understanding… being your therapist.

“this is my way to ensure you forgive me and, - and even see this as progress!”, you start with faked enthusiasm. yoongi writes something down while shifting his glasses high up his nose.

“the invitation of jeon was non-refusable because first i needed a break as well and second there were other humans with us, creating a human shield between me and jeon”, you show him the graphic with cutouts of taehyung, seokjin and jimin, dancing around the screen.

yoongi continues to write on his ipad, after taking a few seconds to stare in disbelief at your powerpoint skills.

“my only condition – apart from the billionaires financing the whole trip – was that we would fly back on sunday; making me not late for my appointment with you.” the next slide contains a picture of you with yoongi eating funnel cake last spring, your smiles coated with grease. you are really going all in with the sentiment and you see his faint smile as he stars at the slide, not writing anything down.

“then i was so objectively selfless that i pointed out jeon’s wrongdoings. i made him fly back to his fianc��e, which left the rest of us stranded on an island… alone… without food and water”, you exclaim. maybe the photoshopped picture of you and the three remaining gentlemen on the cover of ‘lord of the flies’ wasn’t necessary. but yoongi is chuckling, so… yeah.

“to conclude: i did follow your advice to have a) some fun and b) talk to my best friend like he is … just my best friend.”

the last slide just reads ‘you should be proud’.

there is a beat of silence before the man on the couch claps rather sarcastically. well, applause is applause, you think but decide against a bow.

“sit down, ______”, yoongi orders and points to the chair you’ve become rather familiar with. still, the cushion feels itchy with the stare your therapist is gifting you.

“______”, he begins, “how did you feel when you stood up for his fiancée?”

“i-i …it was… like swallowing something sour”, you offer and yoongi just nods reassuringly for you to continue.

“their relationship; it’s so, so different from what i imagined… our relationship to be.”

“you used the past tense there”, yoongi points out. “are you no longer imagining yourself in a romantic relationship with jungkook?”

you have to think about his question. when was the last time you actively thought about the both of you – together, together?

“dunno”, you answer and avert your stare. you know it’s not enough for him. so, you try to scrap in your brain for a logical explanation.

“there is still… hm… jungkook with me… he is still so lovely… and lovable. but him handling his partner? that’s a big red flag. still, with me… it could be different, you know?”

yoongi doesn’t judge often, but this time his question does sound meaner than usual. “so, him leaving you stranded when you made him promise to take you back in time… is him being lovely?”

“i.. i made him go back”; you argue, not ready to face the truth. your therapist meets you with a raised eyebrow.

“i give you that… but he could have easily taken you home with him. why not even tell you about his decision? why did he just… leave you behind?”

his question cuts through you and you feel weirdly defensive. “why do i have to explain jungkook’s motives? this is my therapy – not his.”

you are not a mind reader. yoongi nods in agreement.

“correct. but, _______, you are allowed to question his actions. you are allowed to be mad at him. you are allowed to have negative emotions, to demand an apology”, he reassures you of your value.

“leaving without a word? that’s not okay. not when you are his girlfriend nor his best friend. it’s just… wrong.”

you spent all your week trying to apologies to yoongi and texting with taehyung and jimin, both still laughing at your rushed road trip back to seoul. but confronting jungkook? he did leave a note…

“don’t come at me with a piece of paper as an excuse”, yoongi warns you because he does know your thoughts better than most.

“______”, he softens his voice – never a good sign, “we are not here to change jungkook. we are here to make your platonic relationship with him healthier – by changing your actions.”

“so… i should be mad at jungkook?”, you whisper.

“are you mad at jungkook?”, yoongi counters.

**

“i’m not mad – i’m disappointed”, you say to ms yang, jungkook’s secretary. the wine glass between your fingertips is nearly empty and you don’t even remember taking a sip.

“understandably”, she offers and drowns the rest of her wine. the both of you are sitting on jungkook’s terrace. it’s a crisp night, but the stars are bright and the woolen blanket thick on your lap.

your best friend is inside, catering to some executives form his firm, while you gossip with his secretary far off from all the business talk.

“like… who leaves their friend on an island?”, you exclaim. the wine travelled to your head faster than you would have liked.

“mr jeon”, ms yang answers.

“exactly!”, you whisper-shout and feel the presence of jungkook’s butler behind you.

“you need a refill, miss?”, he asks politely, and you offer a faint smile in thanks.

“i’m good”, you decline to which he nods. “some desert, perhaps?”, the butler asks instead. ms yang laughs at your wide eyes. “please!”

“coming right up.”

before you can continue to bash jungkook, who hasn’t talked to you more than two sentences since the start of this business dinner, your best friend joins you outside.

“ah, so here is the real party”, jungkook greets you, his hands full with cake. it looks like a chocolate lava cake and you can already feel your wine-tinted mouth begin to water.

your friend looks way too handsome in his suit, the black stripes a soft contrast to the deep grey of the fabric. he tried to comb his hair back, but there are still a few lawless strands flailing across his head.

his smile is earnest as he sits down the desert in front of you. then jungkook falls onto the last seat at the table and looks at ms yang.

“you can go anytime, ms yang. i hadn’t noticed the time, my apologies”, he says and cuts into his cake. the chocolate flies across his plate and the smell reaches your nose in milliseconds. you do love chocolate.

“it would seem rude to leave before your guests, mr jeon”, the woman answers and looks between the both of you with a poised stare. after jungkook swallowed the first bite of chocolate, he continues to bid her farewell.

“now, they’ve left. a shuttle is driving you home – it’s already waiting. i imagine your daughter misses you too.”

his words are close to being rude; his secretary looks down and smiles politely in return.

“of course, mr jeon”, she replies and stands up, smoothing the wrinkles on her cocktail dress.

“the butler packed you up some desert to share with your family.” jungkook doesn’t get up but makes the effort to bow sitting down. you on the other hand stand up and hug his secretary goodbye.

“i’ll see you on wednesday?”, ms yang asks and pats your back. you nod and sit back down as she leaves the porch.

“did you have to be so rude?”, you confront your best friend who is already eying your cake hungrily. he hasn’t even finished his! to mark your territory, you take your plate and… lick across the lava cake. your tongue flattens against the dark brown surface and you hum in pleasure at the taste.

jungkook watches your act with fascination, but after seeing your eyes on him, he starts to chuckle while shaking his head.

“you really think your saliva would stop me from stealing your food?”

“did you have to be so rude to ms yang?”, you repeat instead of answering his rhetoric question. jungkook rolls his eyes and finishes off his desert before answering you.

“i’m not rude. she has chocolate in her bag to feed a whole army and i paid for her transportation. she’ll be home safe and sound.”

you scoff at him. “so, she gets an uber while you leave me stranded on an island?”

that’s not the levelheadedness you’d wished for after your session with yoongi. still, it’s sadistically pleasing to see your best friend flinch at the comment.

“i left a note”, jungkook defends himself, without weight behind his words.

“don’t come at me with a piece of paper as an excuse”, you say – only you knowing that you’re secretly quoting your shrink in front of your crush. jungkook’s eyes look bigger than the moon behind him as he helplessly watches you lashing out.

there is a suffocating silence between you both, but you are not backing down. your friend looks as uncomfortable as you feel. then he stares at your hands and explains himself.

“there… there is – i’m not used to include others in my plans, _____.”, he sounds sad by his confession. “there have been my bandmates, but… our agency smoothed every bad decision out, before the other member even heard about it.” jungkook still looks at your fingers with an intensity that makes you conscious of your own hands. you move them out of his view.

“even in the company… i just – it’s my company… i don’t want to reproduce that sneaker? it’s out the next day”, he continues, “she’s the first time… i have to make an effort.”

it shouldn’t hurt to hear his words, but they ice your heart with inhumane force.

“and i’m not worth the effort?”, you question him, for the first time really, really mad at jeon jungkook. his eyes widen even more at your cold voice.

“no, no, no, no, _______, no”, he chants your name like a prayer and you just watch him fumble over his actions. “you are ______, you are my best friend… you don’t need me making an effort… you are… effortless.”

__

hey guys! thank you so much for reading! i really enjoy writing this pairing and i absolutely adore sprinkling in my knowledge from therapy. and i love yoongi a whole lot… i hope you guys do to! i’d love to hear your thoughts! next update: reader is really, really mad at her best friend and he is… adorably dumb about it. love, dana

taglist: @livewittykid​  @thequeen-kat​ @kagami-s-void​ @goldenclosethobi​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​

[highwaydiamonds]

Um. Excuse me. You had cancer??

Yeah... I mean I guess I really haven't discussed it much on tumblr. I have a little bit, but only in vague ways, or rarely made veiled references in tags.

SO, get a drink, get a snack, because this is a bit of a saga, and you already know I am longwinded at the best of times. I'm going to do like Vizzini said, and go back to the beginning. I hope you're ok I'm making this public Shells, it seems easier to? And I'll put this behind a cut because I really do wax on ( and on).

It's the end of August 2018 and i appear to have gotten some kind cold/respiratory infection. I'm at work the first day of it and it feels like a cold. No big deal. (Also this is all pre-COVID so no I didn't have COVID). The next day I feel really awful, so I call off work, and figure all I need to do is rest and I'll be ok. Turns out, NOPE. The next day I feel worse- now I can tell I have a bit of a fever, my appetite was basically, " eat one baby carrot and my appetite is exhausted." Finally, I get to the point that I am having trouble lying down - as in I am becoming short of breath when I try to lie flat (sorry if I am using the wrong word - lay/lie was always a grammar issue that eluded me.) So, I decide, ok, i will be sensible girl and go get medical attention. But I am stubborn and feel the ER is overreacting, so I go to urgent care. i park in the front row of urgent car parking, but by the time I reach the intake desk I have to put my head down because I am so winded and a bit lightheaded.

They take one look at me and tell me, point blank, "we're getting a squad for you to take you to the ER." I say, " what? no, I don't need that, this is not that big a deal." They counter, " you could barely walk in the door and you you are having significant trouble breathing. We don't have the ability to see you here." So, for the first time in my life I have to go via ambulance from urgent care to a free standing ER.

I get to the ER - where they decide, OK, lady, you're a mess. Let's get some chest x-rays and we're gonna slap some IV fluids and I can't even recall if they immediately put me on IV antibiotics or not. But after two hours there they informed me, " hey.... So, we think you need to go to the hospital-hospital not the freestanding ER." I tell them well you better hand me my laptop ( I'm that bitch who takes the laptop with her juuuuust in case I am stuck in the hospital. you never know.) Because i am not going to a hospital until I figure out if they're in my health plan. I do so and then for the second time in my life, all in one night because sometimes I am an over achiever i guess, I go via ambulance to the hospital.

They admitted me and over the next few/couple/ hours ( it was hard to tell) I progressively felt worse. I had trouble breathing if I didn't sit absolutely straight up, and at that point I hadn't gotten good sleep for around 60 hours or so. Me being me I started to get teary and panicky, because I was so tired and wasn't sure what to do. I called for the nurse and she came in and then within the next half hour your girl got taken down to the ICU. By the time we arrived down in the ICU I was really getting panicky. My mom died in the ICU ( different hospital but still) and I knew the fact they took me down there was no laughing matter. I started to think about, " ok is this what death is like? this isn't what i thought it was going to be - this is panicky and scary and not all white lights and peace."

The next thing I knew - it was two days later, and I woke up intubated. Did you know that you can be conscious and intubated? I did not. I'll speed things up a bit here. I spent a total of 8 days in the ICU - I had one hell of a case of pneumonia, and there were a couple of other diagnoses thrown in ( nope, not cancer. promise, we will get there.) . The nurses I had were AMAZING. I was intubated for about 6 of those 8 days. Then I got weaned off of it. Funniest moment on the ventilator: Physical therapist comes around and says, " Hey let's get you up and walking, you think you can?" I nodded and shrugged my shoulders to try and communicate, " sure, ok!" It went totally fine, but there were nursing students, residents, other doctors and who knows who else looking out of rooms and over desks at the two of us just y'know... *walking down the hall*. I gestured to the people because it was just flipping weird. I had an audience at the exact time NOBODY wants an audience and it confused the hell out of me. PT advised me, " there aren't too many times ventilated patients are ambulatory. You're a bit of a curiosity so people want to see."

Once I got out of the ICU and was put back on a regular floor, I got to meet with other doctors re those other diagnoses I mentioned ( chronic things I just have to manage) I also mentioned that it had been a really long time since I had been to a GYN and as had been noted in the ICU I spotted quite frequently ( I have never, ever in my life been regular period-wise and it just got weirder over time, but I just didn't really consider it. So I asked while they were setting me up with new practitioners ( my previous doctor had retired) too please set me top with a gynecologist.

So I'm out of the hospital by September 10th, 2018. The gyro appointment occurs i want to say by mid- to late September. I go in and meet her and she's lovely. While I'm up on the table she says, " hey let's do all the things and get a uterine biopsy!" I say, " excellent, do the things!" We agree it's likely going to be nothing but hey we're smart people and we will play it safe. Huzzah Gyno visit accomplished! (if I were a gamer I'd make some kind of ladybits achievement unlocked now, but I'm not a gamer.)

Two or so weeks go by - or however long it takes to get those test results back (some of these spans are lost in the mists of time). Dr Boyle calls me and apologizes that the test results that she was sure would be nothing... they are not nothing. Turns out, it's endometrial cancer.

At that point you could have knocked me over with a feather. Shells, I wanted my mom to be there so badly, I can't even express it. She would have understood how I felt - she'd been there with her breast cancer. But at the same time, I was glad she wasn't there? I remember how heartsick my mom was to tell Grandmommy when Mom got cancer. I didn't want my mom to have to hear that news, to worry about that. Dr Boyle advised me that she would be referring me to a good oncologist and i should hear from them in a week or two.

Thus began MRIS and PET scans and ultrasounds, and blood work etc. The oncologist diagnosed that he figured I might be stage three, but it depended on my lymph involvement. It brought back memories of when Mom was diagnosed and when she told me she was stage three. I asked my Dad later, "what does that mean?" He told me, " there are only four stages, so what do you think?" This time around I knew what it meant. So, we put me down for surgery November 9th, 2018. That's two days before my birthday - so I joked that I was getting my cancer out for my birthday - hooray! My best friend actually flew in from texas for my surgery ( my best friend is a SAINT, and I love her more than pearls and rubies.)

Best surgery story from this experience: For my total hysterectomy (uterus and ovaries go sayonara and then also two signal lymph nodes in the chain of nodes on either side of the pelvis to se if there is any lymph complication.) I had to be tilted back - so with my head down to move as many organs away from the uterus etc during the laparoscopic procedure. I knew this going in, However, when I woke up back in my hospital room I looked at Bestie and said, " I hurt in places I didn't expect to hurt. Oh wait. My shoulders hurt because they're not used to being weight bearing, but the procedure was laproscopic - so why the heck does my vagina hurt?" Bestie in one of her best moments ever says, " I know why." I replied, " wait, YOU know why MY vagina hurts?!" She said, " yep. So your surgery was supposed to take 3-3.5 hours ended up taking 5 hours instead. Your uterus was really big. The oncologist told us they need up having to cut it in half to pull it out of you." bestie admitted she joked with the oncologist that it was like I had just birthed a baby, he looked back at her (NOT laughing) and said, " yes, that's basically what she did." I laughed so much at that ( i mean i was also well medicated, but still) I told Bestie, " I had a Uterus! Let's call it George!" ( In retrospect I am disappointed in myself that I misgendered my own uterus, I should have called it Georgina.)

So, after healing from the surgery, by about January of 2019 I started two courses (each with a few rounds) of chemo. First came what the doctors and I called "low-pro" chemo - that we did along with radiation. Honestly, though i was making a heck of a lot more bathroom trips, you wouldn't have generally known I was sick. Most of my coworkers had no idea. I just was a bit more tired than usual. After the low pro rounds - then we moved to the bigger guns. Radiation was done but I moved to more significant chemo drugs, This wasn't because things were bad - this was the plan all along :) But I knew the "high-pro" chemo was going to make me lose my hair. THAT was a psychic struggle. I cried so much knowing that was going to happen. I got hats and caps and I even got a very nice wig. I mean, I planned as much as a girl can plan when she hears that news. I even preemptively cut my long hair. It was about half way down my back at that point. So I went in and asked the stylist please braid it and put it in between two hair ties - and then cut it - so i could keep my braid. I couldn't do locks of love anyway as it was colored, and I know it's selfish, but I wanted my hair. So, the hair went from half down my back to a face framing bob. then I just waited. And then in a few weeks it happened. I could put my hands through my hair and easily, painlessly pull it out. I am not a cute bald girl. That's when people KNOW you have something going on.

I was very lucky though, there ended up NOT being lymph involvement, and even the high pro chemo didn't make me nauseous or lose appetite. I did have HORRIBLE bone pain usually the first week after chemo ( i'd get it every three weeks). I learned a hell of a lot from that. I also was able to get some meds to help alleviate it a bit, and I took time from work when the pain was at its worst. But I have never experienced pain like that - where no matter what I did - no position changes helped. Even ice packs or heat pads didn't help or do much. It was just a waiting game, a painful waiting game. Oh also - I learned that IV benadryl is nothing like oral benadryl. IV benadryl is like walking right into a brick wall made of sleep. That stuff knocked me the hell out right quick - amazing.

Right before COVID started and the world shut down I got the flu because my immune system was in the toilet- and so I spent another week in the hospital and except for the bone pain that comes with chemo, you know what is worse than chemo injections? POTASSIUM injections. Among other things, my potassium levels were low and so I got those injections with other meds. Those suckers HURT. they BURN, and so i spent a week in the hospital only to eventually come out and find out the world was starting to shut down from COVID. Not my job at that point, but my oncologist told me, " GO HOME - YOU KNOW YOU ARE IMMUNO COMPROMISED - DON'T STAY AT WORK." So, I went home until about a month after I finished chemo.

Since finishing chemo it's been about scans, which have gone ok so far... I'm not willing to talk about the R word. I just think I'll have to be careful the rest of my life - My mom always said, "once you've gotten cancer, you always have cancer." So, maybe it's the anxiety talking, but it's kind of like waiting for the other cancer shoe to drop. In the mean time though, it's business as usual - try to find good stuff in the midst of the hot mess. Cancer has been a crisis but not a reason to lose my sense of humor. I've needed it more than ever :)

So, sorry for the SERIOUSLY LONG ASS answer, but sometimes it's just better to lay it bare. I'm not ashamed of this stuff. It's been a lot. It's been a journey... It still is... it's part of the rest of my journey, which i hope isn't over by a long shot yet. I don't believe things happen for reasons - the world is WAY too absurd for that in my opinion, BUT good gravy have i been able to learn so much from this whole three ring circus. I'm not grateful for cancer, but I am grateful for the lessons.

Thanks for checking in, Shells. You're a complete sweetheart.

[loopy-froots]

Introduction Post! (TW: SA, PTSD, etc.)

Hello slasher fandom! I’m fairly new to this side of tumblr, so forgive me if I don’t understand how all this works yet! I just thought I’d introduce myself because I’ve already posted drawings and fanfiction writings so far, but maybe some of you want to know who’s behind it? If not that’s totally fine, just keep scrolling! But if you’re curious, keep reading! Btw! I’d love to get to know any of you as well, so feel free so say hi! :^]

Facts about me:

I go by the name Donn on this blog (for safety reasons I won’t be sharing my actual or preferred name anywhere on this blog, sorry!)

I chose the name Donn because of the name coming from the Celtic god of dead souls (I’m a Celtic witch by blood so I thought it’d be fitting)

My preferred pronouns when I write are she/they (leaning towards she atm because of some personal issues I deal with irl, but irl I prefer they/them more strictly… does that make any sense?)

Anyways, I’m 18+ and I very much prefer my viewers to be 18+ ONLY because of the NSFW content I post… and I also don’t want to influence anyone that impressionable cuz I have a kinda fucked up mindset atm…

But I hope that’s alright! I know kids will do what they want, and there’s not always much we can do to stop it, but please just be respectful of my wishes and DNI!

I have severe PTSD from many irl traumas that have happened to me throughout my life, and I currently live in an kind of abusive household, so my mental health has not been good…

That’s partially why I started drawing and writing fandom stuff cuz it’s currently what’s keeping me going!

I have diagnosed Adhd, but I take meds for it and am doing slightly better with my productivity! That’s why I’ve been able to crank out as much content as I have in the past few days!

I have undiagnosed autism, but it’s a work in progress cuz I’m like pretty sure I am autistic (for many reasons, the more you get the know me the more obvious it’ll get)

I am disabled in many ways: chronic physical and mental pain/illnesses, hard of hearing, etc.

I’m extremely liberal so DNI if you’re gonna be a bigot or anything cuz I will block you!

I have a partner (Who does not know about this blog yet cuz I’m v shy about sharing this kinda stuff with the people I love… partially cuz of my trauma from past relationships)

Ive suffered from THREE separate abusive romantic relationships… all of which kinda fucked with my head… so forgive my insecurities and everything! (I’m working on it tho!) but this partner I’m currently with is AMAZING AND LOVING so I’m v happy with them!

TW! I’m a S/A survivor, and it was by a friend I trusted, so I get very skittish by people irl because of the betrayal… but I find it easier to get to know people online cuz it’s not as traumatic imo

As you can see, I overshare EVERYTHING for literally no reason… like it just gushes out of me without me being able to stop it… Sorry if you’re unhappy with it! Feel free to block me if it bothers you!

I am currently seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist!! They both help me a lot with functioning as a normal person (even tho there’s no real such thing as a “normal” person imo, but it helps me survive in the society I live in)

I used to be goth, but now I’m forever torn between being goth again or being a cottagecore lesbian lol (I usually dress femme even tho my brain makes me feel like a boy a lot of the time…?)

I am extremely bisexual! Like holy shit! How come everyone is so hot?? Lol but seriously, I go all ways (I know some people say that’d make me pan but I prefer the term bisexual over being pan)

I used to be a little, but I’m not anymore because too many people took advantage of me when I was in my little mindset… I don’t let myself regress anymore unless I’m absolutely alone, but that’s rarely ever (my little age was around 10 btw)

I am extremely sensitive and am an empath! I feel my emotions EXTREMLY STRONG so I overreact to everything, am very passionate about the things I’m in love with, and cry at any given moment! I cannot and will not help it! I’ve been told too many times that I’m too sensitive and that I’m a crybaby and that my heart is too big for my body, but I don’t care anymore! Im refusing to see this as anything but a blessing for now on! Sensitive bitches are the baddest bitches lol

I used to get lots of hallucinations/psychosis, but I take meds for it and am now much better and less paranoid!

I still get paranoid about social situations tho for time to time, as im a very insecure person :(

Im a switch/power bottom! I like to be dominant on occasion, but I prefer to be a bratty sub most of the time!

I am a collector of taxidermy things!! I have several insects on my walls, as well as animal paw jewelry! If you don’t like it that’s alright! Just don’t tell me cuz I will block you! I make sure all my collection items are from humane sources and all the animals die naturally in the wild!

I am a HARDCORE clown/masked person fan… like clowns are sooo gay and sexy like why must you jingle jangle your lil clown bells when you dance like that??😩 and masked persons are just so mysterious and sexy omg

Cicero fro Skyrim was literally my clown sexual awakening… murder clown man… with a squeaky voice… yes… must have!

My first sexual awakening tho was probably Danny Phantom (Which is sooo funny cuz my partner actually named themself after him… coincidence? I think not! God does have a plan! Lol jk… unless?🥺👉🏻👈🏻)

Yes, I use the 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 emojis unironically… no, I’m not proud of it😔

HMU if you relate to any of this or just want to be friends! I’m literally so desperate for friends cuz my old roommate made me cut ties with them and then they spread rumors about me to all my other friends until no one would talk to me anymore… :( so I’m v lonely run…

But anyways, yeah that’s basically me… a huge mess but I’m on my way to getting better I guess…?

If you’re still reading all of this, THANK YOU KIND BEING! You are unlike any other…🥺❤️

Okay bye loves!

[uncloseted]

i related to effy an unhealthy amount when i was only 13 when i first watched it, but at the time i wasnt doing drugs, homewrecking, doing anything that young lol. however i was extremely mentally ill but undiagnosed, and so confused but i found solace in effys character because of how similar i felt to her. flashforward to being 20 now and im a nic addict/borderline drug and alcohol addict that forgets to take my prescribed antidepressants and antipsychotics. i cant tell you how many events of effys life have mirrored mine now 7 years later, both the pretty but mostly the ugly. it all feels like a joke to me, and the thing is of course it wasnt effy the fictional character that did this to me, it was the fact that i was genetically and epically set up to do this to me for as long as i existed and i saw myself in her too young. everyone ive ever met and started to befriend has fallen in love with me, has found me beautiful, and then seen my flaws and hated me even if they didnt tell me to my face. ive been a horrible friend and partner and im flighty and unreliable and destructive. i never saw effy, or a person like effy, find a happy ending and im afraid even when im at my manic highs i will never find a lasting happiness and will always accidentally self sabotage until i die. what im trying to ask is, how can i save me? i know its dumb to ask a random tumblr user but ive been following this blog since i was 13-14 and since you know effy through and through, you might know a little about me. its a long shot. (i’d also like to say this isnt a cry for help and im safe/not actively suicidal so i dont want you to feel like theres any pressure like that, but i did use this ask box as a free therapy session.)

I'm a bit biased, but I don't think there's anything wrong with asking a random Tumblr user at all. I'm happy to be a free therapy session when you need one, and I'm really touched that you've trusted me with your thoughts and feelings for so long. Hopefully I've been some help over the years 😆

Coping with mental illness can be really, really hard, but the good news is that with the right tools and support system, you can absolutely recover. It sounds like you already have a psychiatrist in your life, which is a great start. If you've having trouble remembering to take your medication, it might help to set calendar reminders on your phone, set up text prompts to remind you to take your pills, to link taking your pills with something else you do every day (like brushing your teeth or eating breakfast), or to reward yourself for taking your medication (for example, putting a piece of candy in your pill box that you can eat after taking your pill).

If you don't have one already, a therapist might also be a good idea. It can take a while to find the right therapist for you, so schedule a few appointments and see which therapist you "click" with. A therapist can help you work through any reluctance you might have towards taking you medications, as well as helping you come up with day to day strategies that help you achieve your goals and helping you work through the beliefs that you hold about yourself and the world that may be holding you back.

Moving on to talking about addiction for a bit. I strongly believe that addiction doesn't come from some type of inherent lack of willpower or moral failing, or even really the drug itself. It's the need to escape reality. And that's actually supported by scientific literature; most famously, the Rat Park experiment by Bruce K Alexander. Practically, we've seen that same thing in the aftermath of Portugal's decision to decriminalize all drugs. They took the money they were using to keep drug users in prison, and instead invested that money into reconnecting people who struggle with addiction to society. Their goal was to make sure that every person who struggles with addiction has a reason to get up in the morning and has a support system within the wider society. And it actually worked- injection drug use is down 50%, overdoses and HIV infections have massively decreased, and rates of addiction decreased as well. It's much easier to quit when you have something motivating you to keep going.

Why am I telling you all of this? I guess what I'm trying to get at is in order to recover from addiction, I think first people need to understand what the reality is that they're trying to escape. What can be done about those issues? Who's in your corner trying to support you, even if they're not doing the best job at it? Where else can you get the social support you might need? What are you passionate about? What would make it feel worth it to get up in the morning? I think instead of focusing on the drugs, or the alcohol, or the cigarettes, maybe we should focus on solving the root problems that make those attractive options. That's one of the reasons a therapist is a really good idea; they can help you figure out what those root problems are, and provide resources and tools to help you fix those problems.

In terms of practical, do it yourself advice for dealing with addiction, there are a couple things you might try. I did a whole post on evidence-based ways to set goals and follow through on them here, so I won't rehash it in this post, but basically:

Try to set goals that are specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time bound. For you, this might be something like "My goal is to have only one drink a day (measurable and achievable) for week (time bound) so that I can be more reliable for my friends (relevant)".

Instead of trying to quit something, replace it with something else. For example, "when I feel like smoking, I'm going to do ten minutes of learning Korean instead". Learning something new is easier and more exciting, and so new habits are easier to maintain that breaking old ones. Find a new hobby that you've always wanted to do or that's exciting to you, and try to focus your energies on that to distract yourself.

Identify any obstacles (such as environmental triggers) that you might run into, and develop contingency plans for working around them. This might be something like, "when I drink coffee in the morning, I want to smoke, so I'm going to switch to tea instead." If you can, get rid of all environmental triggers that might remind you of your addiction or trigger a craving.

Get someone else involved. Tell a friend about your goal and have them check up on you. Your fear of disappointing them will help you stay on track.

Put money on the line. Give money to a friend with the understanding that you'll get it back at a set date if you've achieved the goal you set. Tell your friend that if you fail, they should donate the money to a group or cause you really hate.

Write down the reasons you want to quit, and put them somewhere you know you'll see them. Whenever you want to engage in an addiction behavior, read through that list first.

For bonus points, add to that list your contingency plan for when you want to engage in an addiction behavior. These may include ways to redirect your attention or distract yourself until the craving passes.

76% of people who wrote down their goals, actions and provided weekly progress to a friend successfully achieved their goals.

You might also try an addiction recovery app, such as these, or doing Cognitive Behavioral Therapy worksheets on your own if you can't access a therapist right now.

There are also some things you can try in order to improve your mood. As much as I hate that this is true, consistent exercise has a huge impact on mood. If you can, try taking a 20 minute walk outside, 3 times a week. Other (boring) things, like making sure you're getting 7-9 hours of sleep a night and eating regularly, can also make a big difference in mood. Some of you might know that I'm a little bit obsessed with the free Coursera class "The Science of Well-Being". It has a lot of great evidence-based tips and tricks for how to build happiness, and I highly recommend it if you're trying to live a happier life. These include things like journaling, meditating, noting things that you're grateful for, helping other people, and having regular social interactions.

Finally, a few philosophical thoughts. One of the Four Noble Truths in Buddhism is dukkha. Basically, this is the idea that suffering is an innate characteristic of existence in our world. When I was younger, I never liked this concept, but I think now I kind of get it. It's impossible to be happy 100% of the time, and that shouldn't be our goal. Suffering is the comparison by which our lives gain meaning. But we can do our best to minimize our suffering and the suffering of others, and ride the wave of suffering when it does come. And each time we ride that wave, we can learn techniques to manage it a little bit better, and to make it easier the next time. We will sometimes sabotage ourselves out of fear, but we can learn how to do it less frequently and for the consequences to be less dire. We can learn how to forgive ourselves for our flaws and what we've done in the past, and learn from those mistakes so we don't do them again in the future. It's also okay to backslide, to struggle even after you've made progress. You're never back where you started, because you've always learned more and experienced more.

I know I've thrown kind of a lot at you in this post, and I don't expect you to try all of it or for all of it to work, but hopefully something in there is helpful to you. You can get through this. You can save yourself, but please, also remember to let others help save you. You don't need to do this on your own. And just like I have been since you were 13, I'm always here to give a free therapy session and to lend my support ❤️❤️❤️

[your-localghost]

so um who wants to read a 50 page essay of me and my mom's journey through the IT movies?

too bad you're reading it

so like i saw this goddamm clown, and i, also being a clown, said to my mom, also a clown, "lets watch this clown movie lol" and she said yes. and in the like first five minutes we are already awwing and stuff because??? omg georgie and bill are so cu- oh. oh my god. oh this us not what we thought at all-

so enter Losers. instant RELATE i am also a LOSER hellO?? hAh look at these 2 idiots theyre bickering like an old couple an- oh my fucking GOD of course there are bullies. one of them looks like draco malfoy??? guYs did draco malfoy play in this movie we see him like 2 times-

oh my god oh no poor bill he is trying to find his brother :( but alsO BEV IS SO PRETTY??? IM SO GAY???? and yeah i really feel the New Kid On The Block like same man i didnt even get to meet a pretty girl and a buncho losers who will go jump into lakes with me

OH and the lake scene? it bites me in the ass later. i fucking passed it off as a "theyre bonding" moment and then it transforms into a feelings plane and crashes into my house

--

me: they just keep leaving their bikes

mom: well It takes kids, not bikes

--

fastforward and??? the fight secene?? the fuckijgn fi Ght SCE ne??? o H M Y GO D

bill was so desperate to find georgie?? richie was so scared he would die??? beN BEING SCARED HIS FRIENDS ARE GONE?

i AM ALL OF THESE FUCKERS

and oh?? bev's dad??? hate the vibe this dude gives to me. like this dude def did more than mentally abuse her and im so glad she beat him up

uhHHH??? WHY DOES NO ONE TALK ABOUT EDDIE STANDING UP TO HIS FREAKSHOW OF A MOM??? HOW HE WAS SO MAD????? HE THREW HIS PILLS ON THE GROUND HELLO, HE STRAIGHT UP YEETED HIS FANNY PACK??? MAN the things a gay goes through for his friends

bill's speech on georgie, like, dude just fucking stab me it will hurt way less

fastforward more, the oath??? how scared stan was??? like i ddint really feel any connection with stan other than his actor played my fav character, stan, in ianowt, but uHm? i still love him??? so mUCH???

oOOOH i just realied i didnt talk about mikey

ahem

THE ROCK FIGHT THE FUKING ROCK FIGHT THE ROCK FIGHT OH MY GOD

THESE LOSERS ARE SCARED SHITLESS OF THOSE SHITBAGS BUT THEY SEE ANOTHER LOSER AND THE FIRST THING THEY DO IS THROW R O C K LIKE FUCK YEAH YOU FUCNKY LITTLE MIDDLE SCHOOLERS STAND UP FOR YOUR FELLOW BULLIED I LOVE MIKEY SO M7CH OH MY GOD

__

so between the 2 movies we realized it wasnt on netflix and went on various websites to watch the 2nd movie, got progressively angrier until i got my laptop and just watched it blindly because we are both blind

--

okay heres the tea yall

they completely erased bev's character in the 2nd movie. in the first it was emphesized SO MUCH just how brave she was compared to the others. she took the first step, she wasnt afraid to go into the house she fought her abusive dad and in the 2nd movie it was all gone. i really liked the fact that bev wqsnt a damsel in distress until in the 2nd movie she was. while in the 1st movue you forgot that gender roles existed in the 2nd it really seemed like they wrote bev as a "woman" rather than "bev" you dig me??? okay rant over. basically fuck the 2nd movie bev and im not just saying this because her 1st movie actor made me realize i was a lesbian. on to the movie

oh mY GOD HOMOSEXUALS??? WILL THEY HAVE A PART IN THIS STORY OH MY IM SO EX- oh. right. oh hey theres mikey :D

___

me: who's this??

mom: its bill look, its his surname

me:

me: you remember bill's surname but not richie or ben's names?

---

oh theyre all grown up!! oh bevs fighting an abusive man again and uh

___

mom: i have a feeling stans gonna kill himself

me: hah can you imagi

---

STANLEY??? BABEY BOY OH NO???? and also are we gonna let the spider with the baby head thing pass?

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY DONT REMEMBER ANYTHI-

"this is like a virus its been eating us for 27 years!" YEA MIKEY ITS CALLED PTSD YOU FOUGHT A FUCKING DEMON AND DIDNT SEE A THERAPIST????

also the whole tribe thing seemed really out of story and like it didnt belong there at all? idk maybe its just me but i dont wanna believe that bill's 3rd eye opened after he got drugged by his friend idk

so like hightlights because ive got many rants about the 2nd movie

what the fuck do you mean bev got out of jer specilized hell after ben recited 1 fucking poem are you kidding me are yOU FUCKING KIDDING ARE WE REALLY DOING THE SAVED BY LOVE BULLSHIT AGAIN OH OKAY

OH OKAY FUCK YOU

SO BEV GETS SAVED IN THE FIRST MOVIE AFTER BEN KISSES HER WHEN AT THE TIME HE PRIBABLY THOUGHT LOVE WAS AT ITS PEAK WHEN YOU GAVE YOUR 2ND GRADE CRUSH A BADLY WRITTEN POEM

AND UFKCING HELL IT HAPPENS IN THE 2ND MOVIE TOO??? DOES PENNYWISE JUST THINK "oh these bitches hetero bettet keep them alive" BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT? THIS WOULD ALL BE OKAY IF

IF

IF EDDIE LIVED TOO

FUCK I RELATE TO RICHIE SO MUCH??? HIS FIGHT WITH HIS PEERS AND HIS FIGHT WITH HIMSELF OVER HIS YEARS LASTING CRUSH ON EDDIE?? OH MY GOD IT WAS SO OBVIOUS THIS MOTHERFUCKER WAS GAY AND I DIDNT REALIZE UNTIL THE 2ND MOVIE WHEN HE HAS A BREAKDOWN BECAHSE HIS SOULMATE GETS STABBED BY HOMOPHOBIC FORTNITE DANCING CLOWN WHILR HE TRIES TO SAVE HIMA DN THEN FUCKIN G DIES EVEN THOUGHT THESE 2 IDIOTS HAD MORE CHEMISTRY THAN BILL+BEV AND BEN+BEV COMBINED OH MY GOD IM SO MAD THE HETEROS GET TO LIVE BY TRUE LOVE BUT THE GAYS DONT AND UG G H H G G HH "hes dead" NO HE FUCKING IS NOT THIS ISNT FAIR I LOVED EDDIE SO MUCH

well uh now that we got my love for richie on papet um

the lake scene

i cried and i had to watch heteros kiss underwater while wiping my tears. its only cool when percabeth does it guys

the lake scene aside i full on BAWLED LIKE A BABY at the ending because i felt so bad that stan died already and i felt bad that not only was richie facing years if bullying and homophobia anf the loss of his friends it finally is confirmed that richie had a crush on eddie and i

i just cried man? it hurt me so much as it weighed on me how many jokes richie made, how scared he was when he saw the missing paper of himself, his flashbacks to people calling him names, his speech to eddie and that he had to get dragged out because this fucker obviously couldnt let go of his feelings. and between all of that and stan's letter my brain blocks out everything and focuses on one

R + E

oh my god

OH MY GOD NO

NOW i dont really like watching movies. as a writer myself im really critical of everything involving the world building, the characters, the plot and all that jazz and usually the acting is so bad that i dont feel for the characters but THIS ONE. T H I S O N E

my mom turned to me and was SO SHOCKED to see my flat out CRYING because i just dont do that man, and she just asked my what made me cry and i just made a noise like "hhhnnnn" and she nodded and went "richie's love story" and i, still crying, went "hhhnnnn" but in a higher pitch

and im just so mad? that eddie didnt get to live?? we didnt get an "i love you" or even a "im gay" from richie??? we didnt get to see them holding hands and letting go of their trauma together and being gay and happy yet

yet the fucking bad-writer-white-boy and boo-hoo-i-had-no-friends and not-bev get happy endings??? mike can get a happy ending because he is a well thought out character

thESE 3 ON THE OTHER HAND OH MY GOD

bill had to change his endings which really makes me angry because ima writer yada yada

bill has been bullied his uh what whole life? he got told his opinion didnt matter and from what i remember even his parents shut down his ideas and i feel like he should have made the endings how he wanted instead of changing to what the public wanted. thats what he defended as a kid, thats why he was in the losers club unwilling to change, because they were losers. yet he changed.

ben should have stayed fat or at least have abnornal weight because that also defeats his story with bev. it makes it seem that suddenly and magically when ben is hot bev can BEGIN to consider that she loves him.

i already ranted about bev.

mike is decent i guess? i like that he didnt stay with whoever the fuck that was in the first movie because he seemed very aggreasive to me. im glad the chose to research into pennywise because others were too stupid not to (RICH AND EDDIE GET A PASS AGAIN BECAUSE THEY SHARE HALF A BRAINCELL AND I LOVE THEM)

well stan is just tragic

___

me: who the fuck is afraid of spiders why do they keep showing up

mom: its stan?

mom: he brought the hair things and all

me, about to cry: oh m y god

---

so TL;DR: we really liked the first film! the acting, the plot, the creepiness is overall better and you get to relate to a bunch of Losers who get abused by their parents

the 2nd film doesnt exist. i refuse to acknowledge it exist EXCEPT for the ending where stan writes a letter about how he would like to meet hks friends again while BREATHING and richie and eddie carve their initials on a piece of wood and get to be gay.

if your name starts with B your opinion is invalid in the 2nd movie

also can anybody give me fanfics where the fortnite dancing clown doesnt exist and richie goes to therapy to heal from the bullying and once he gets over his homophobia he gays with eddie??? specific i know but im willing to write it if it doesnt exist

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

↬ my reality is a cruel fall without you.

date: august 2020.

location: ash’s living room / ash’s therapist’s office / ash’s apartment studio.

word count: 1,822 words, excluding lyrics.

summary: -

triggers: n/a.

notes: creative claims verification.

i.

ash has been through this exact writing process three times prior and he’s picked up some tricks. defining the seasons in the context of love had become easier for him as he finished their respective songs one by one.

winter had been the cold of the world driving two people together.

spring had been the honeymoon phase.

summer had been the oppressive weight of a long-term relationship taking its toll.

now, it’s time for him to write fall.

ii.

it’s been a year.

ash can’t remember anything in his life ever feeling quite as heavy as that promise ring had the night he’d slipped it off the chain around his neck and passed it out of his grasp for the last time, a mere six months after he’d put it on his finger and thought he’d had everything figured out.

“i love you so much, but we both know this isn’t working.” 

(i love you, but not in the way i thought i’d been looking for my whole life any more.)

if he’d looked at himself from the outside, he would have felt silly for feeling his entire core splitting in half as the silver ring clattered onto the table, his resolve too weak to thrust it directly into the other man’s hand, but there’d always been the unspoken understanding that the ring was more than a silly promise.

a public declaration of forever in a relationship as an active idol is, by most accounts, socially impossible. making that forever official in the form of government documents as a same-sex couple in south korea is, by all accounts, legally impossible.

forever had been a big thought to a barely twenty-three year-old, and it’d only grown more massive the longer it hung over ash’s head blissfully unacknowledged for the sake of his own happiness, for the sake of the idea of finally getting his own happy ending. he’d get there one day. then, it wouldn’t feel so all-encompassing, so terrifying, but months had passed and he’d felt like he was only getting farther away from that one day.

it hadn’t gone unnoticed to ash that, without fail, he’d been the one to deflect from the topic of forever when talk between them became too real. with time, it started to weigh him down. one day, he looked up and found he wasn’t on that cloud high above everything anymore.

he was in a different world and he couldn’t see a way he’d ever be able to climb back up to be on even ground.

so, it had ended at ash’s hand.

ash had once heard a person needs half the time they were in a relationship to get over it, so looking at the calendar and seeing august come around once again, that hill should officially be behind him now.

so why does he still think about it with sorrow at times like these?

how are you? how are you doing without me?

he has no intentions of writing a song about him for his fall single at first. he only wants to distract himself on the anniversary of the last ending he’d faced. the last one he’d ever face if he’d learned anything worthwhile.

but when does he ever learn?

his piano is an old friend at times like these. if the wood had any consciousness within it beyond what he projects into it in his most desperate times of need, it would surely judge him for how he goes back to it like clockwork in his times of emotional distress, but the rest of the world will judge him less for it than it will for turning to the bottles in his kitchen or the exes in his phone.

there’s a pattern to it now. sit down, straighten his back (the weight of the world on his shoulders is no excuse for poor playing posture), rest his phone on the bench next to him with an application recording every note he plays, and lay a blank notebook of music staves next to it in case he decides to be formal about anything workable that comes out of his idling.

nothing noteworthy comes to him at first, but the more he plays, the more fresh ideas begin swirling in a twister in his mind against his initial intentions of merely distracting himself. he messes around with chords, keys, arpeggios. he’s been forcing it a lot lately, and it hasn’t turned out in his favor. letting it slowly seep its way out of his pores might be the better course of action now instead.

his mind is frantic but the music is slow and inspiration piles up inside of him until he decides to sit and think through a chord progression, then a top line melody, then he fleshes it out. the first step in the process is never perfect, but he isn’t stumped with where to go with it yet, and that’s a good sign. more and more, he’s felt defeated with his songwriting after idea after idea gets rejected by the only people whose opinions really matter if he ever wants his songs to make it out in the world. he could think a song is the best piece he’s ever crafted, but if it doesn’t appease the bc entertainment gods, it will never see the light of day.

he tries not to think about that while he works on this song. that’s the roadblock he’s run into too many times before trying to pluck out something he can be proud of on the strings of a guitar or on the black and white keys of a piano.

the end product is something jazzy but moody, laden with his unspoken emotions but in a way that lends itself to simplicity, but he ponders for days the right way to put words to it.

he can feel what he wants the lyrics to say. it’s when he attempts to put them into words with a rhyme scheme and an appropriate meter that he struggles. ash has become a master at packaging his emotions into a pretty song with structure and a story, but this time, it’s evading him. the feeling is emptiness, but it’s also missing something he doesn’t really want back. it’s wanting something he can’t have now and wanting to tear himself apart for wanting it. it’s looking down the dark path to his future and seeing only less and less light as it stretches out in front of him. it’s fear of the inevitable pitch black darkness at the very end of the path and how quickly it’s approaching.

iii.

it’s after his second therapy session with his new therapist that something occurs to ash that stays with him beyond the time he’d paid for.

it’s not something he brings up during the session itself, or says out loud to anyone. ash doesn’t talk about his romantic life in detail with any therapist he’s ever had, even though he’s well-aware refusing to bring it up is ignoring a festering wound that needs attention if it’s ever going to heal. he’s heard too many horror stories about professionals that were supposed to know better discovering the money for the gossip being better than adherence to the oath of confidentiality they’d made for him to find comfort in disclosing the intricacies of his private life.

there’s a part of him he’s still holding back, but he only finds comfort in not opening up completely even to the person he’s paying to allow him to do just that without too much outward judgment.

opening himself fully or not, the lyrics to the song come easier to him after that. putting what he’s feeling into words is no easy task, but he’s made progress on it already. possibilities don’t come flooding out like a broken dam, but they do trickle down through his brain steadily enough for him not to lose hope. the slow drops only come when he pries them out, but they come nonetheless.

iv.

the mood of the song evolves in a way ash hadn’t anticipated at first. it becomes sadder in tone, more wistful. that had been a given from the moment the lyrics began to flesh out, but playing around in cubase ends with him deciding the song works its best as a simple piano composition, stripped bare like his emotions.

the piano remains prominent even as he adds more percussion and the main instrumental piano track gets jazzed up more than the initial draft recording had been. in a world where his music reflects solely his gut instinct, the song would be even more bare bones than it becomes. he imagines he would have taken a direction similar to “the unknown guest” on his last album, purposefully under-produced and made to sound like something that isn’t radio friendly, but it’s still simple enough to sound stripped-down to an untrained ear. the more he works on the song, the more he understands he does want it to be played on the radio. then, maybe, he’ll be able to tell himself the right person had heard it and convince himself of the closure he needs.

there’s a feeling in his chest as he listens to the final draft version, with layers of his vocals put down and a thoroughness that only comes with a song that has found its final form, that feels a little like he’s at the top of a mountain. he can’t put a name to it other than thinness of air. it’s not disappointment or regret, and as much as he decides he does really like how it turned out, it isn’t pride either.

the song is different than he would have thought it would be when he began it — after all, at some point visions of his ex-boyfriend had begun to mix with visions of the current flame he held — but different in a way that he hopes does service to the song instead of taking away from it.

at first, it’d been about his past relationship, a love that had been suffocated by his own choice.

now?

in a way, the song is about that relationship, but, in ways, it’s about the one that had come before that. and the one before that. and then, at the end, it becomes about the next one. the one he’s not supposed to have, but the one he’s confessed to yearning for in secret in the lyrics.

i want to fall in love.

unlike so many other songs he’s written, he’s not really begging for love to return to him or cursing himself for wanting such a thing. it’s about something else.

then it hits him: it’s not any of his relationships, long passed or current or future, that he’s holding on to. it’s a lament pried out of him by the lover he’s taken up in the time since, one entirely separate, but also entirely connected that creeps in the corner of every room he enters: loneliness.

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter IV: Funiculì, Funiculà

It’s been over a year and a half since the incident. To think that so much time passed and yet I find myself unable to say “a lot has changed since then.”

Still, as my therapist often told me, it was all a process.

That I had a therapist was, in of itself, a process. One which took much deliberation. Sensible or stubborn, I refused to seek help from my old place of work, and instead sought out a private therapist who would come visit every other week. There were other places I could have gone, I realize, but I was just too afraid to venture outside. Even with the idea of a brighter future ahead, I was just so afraid of the outside world and its potential to be cruel.

Our most recent session in particular was rather devastating (but each one was, just as it was devastating to have an earnest conversation with anyone) and left me drained afterward. It had went something like this:

“I thought things would be better from here on out,” I told her, who sat across from me on the sofa, and jotted notes down as I spoke. “Like, I was finally free – and I am, don’t get me wrong. But in spite of that, I’m still so scared that there are still people out there who mean to do me harm. Or that I may snap and cause them harm. I feel like such a mean person, but I don’t want to be.”

“There are scary people out there, for sure,” was her reply.

“That’s all? No ‘but’?”

She shook her head.

“But I don’t want to live in fear!” I protested.

“It’s normal to have such a response to the outside world, given what you’ve been through.”

“It’s just...I feel so weak, you know? I feel like I used to be so strong, but now I can hardly do anything. This was supposed to be the start of better things for me, but instead I’m finding it difficult.”

“It is difficult, and the start of better things often are.”

“But it feels like I’ve regressed, rather than moved forward.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I break down easily. I think about how I used to act and it appalls me. But at the same time, I miss aspects of who I was. How I could keep in all these feelings and keep a face of someone calm. I would do whatever I felt necessary in order to do the things I wanted in my life. But...I knew it was coming to an end, even then. I just couldn’t sustain myself that way. I was starting to give up. Even back then, I missed who I was before that: someone who could fight and say whatever was on her mind. I thought I accepted the idea that if I were to die the next day, I would be content, because there nothing else I could do.”

“But here you are. You’re still strong. You need to see that just because you’ve dealt with traumatic events in your life doesn’t make you weak.”

“I know, but I don’t want to be this way.”

“Battles often aren’t without their scars.”

“I guess…” I looked away for a bit. The apartment really was small. There were so many thing I still didn’t feel ready for, yet I wanted to dive right into them. “Is there nothing I can do?”

“I wouldn’t say that. It may be difficult, but I think you can live a better life. You’ve already made so much progress, I hope you see that.”

My initial thought was to ask “such as?” Instead, I thought about what kind of progress that could be.

“Yeah. I moved into a new apartment. I still don’t feel like I can work a job, but I’ve started to cultivate some plants out on the back deck and I think I want to have an orchard eventually. This apartment is really just a first step. I want to live away from the city, have a garden in a remote area, growing my own fruits and vegetables. I’m not sure if, or when, it will happen, but at least I have someone who supports me.” I took a deep breath. “I managed to seek therapy. Talk to someone other than who I live with.”

“I’m glad you acknowledge that.”

“Yeah, I, I just don’t know,” my voice started to crack. Come on, hold back the waterworks for just five minutes. She’ll be gone soon. “I want to be able to go outside without being so afraid.”

“You don’t have to go into crowds, you know. Even just going to the back deck is something.”

“Yeah, but what if I need to, like, to get groceries or something?”

“Hmm…” She pondered, tapping the end of her pen against her chin. “Maybe you could start slow. Would it help if you held your wife’s hand and took a walk around? You don’t have to go very far.”

“Yeah, I think that could work. I’m afraid of crowds, but I think I could even visit her every now and then at the Saturday Market. She’d probably like that. I think I’d like that, too.”

“Oh yeah, you told me about that last time.”

“I’m the one who encouraged her to do so, since she’s always making things, anyway. It’s surprising, but enough people like what she does that we’re able to pay rent with the earnings.”

Why is it so surprising? You wouldn’t have encouraged her if you didn’t have confidence in her skills.

“That’s great. See? That’s a strong thing right there.”

“Mm,” I looked down. “I guess. It’s just hard. Like I’m learning to be the person I want to be.”

“Life is a constant learning process.”

There were other talks after that; back and forths about mindfulness and acknowledging each moment. By that time, however, I had already zoned most of it out and was just nodding along. I was too emotionally drained. She could tell as well, so we wrapped up our session, arranged a time for our next session, and I saw her off.

Then, I leaned my head back on the couch. One problem that never got brought up was a recent development: gaps in my memory have started to resurface. Things from long ago, and even things that by all accounts, I should’ve remembered. Like the early days with the one who I would end up spending the rest of my life with. Speaking of, I decided to text her:

Me: I’m done with my session jskjsksjksjskjskjs

Then I passed out.

I woke up to feel someone nudging me.

“Oh my! I thought you were keysmashing but turns out you fell asleep with your thumbs on your phone!”

I rubbed my eyes as I groaned. “Therapy is exhausting,” I informed her, my voice groggy.

“Uh, yeah? Everyone knows that.”

“How did I ever manage it?”

She shrugged. “Beats me. You were never that good at it.” “Hey!” I retorted.

“Well, okay, you were good at making people think you were good at it. You did what you thought would help with what little knowledge you had. Presentation counts for a lot, so your colleagues probably never thought to question it.”

“Why did you ever let me go through with it?”

“I think I said at the time that you didn’t have to, but you were pretty insistent.”

Sounds about right, given what I knew about myself.

“It’s not fair,” I grumbled. “I always end up crying during these sessions. I bet therapists never cry.”

“How much you got?” She took to a sly expression. “I bet they do. They probably wait after the session and then bawl their eyes out.”

We both laughed at that remark.

“So what’d you two talk about, anyway?”

I crossed my arms. “I don’t really want to rehash it.”

“Okay, fine by me! But I’ll be around if you do.”

“...It was just about how I’m scared to go out in public and she suggested you come with me and we could hold hands.”

She gasped. “You just breached confidentiality! You have to go to jail now!”

“What?! No! That’s not how that works!” I protested. “It’s the therapist who can’t talk about the things said without express permission from the client! I volunteered that information to you!”

“Nope. Do not pass go. Sorry, babe. I don’t make the rules. I’ll miss you, but I promise to write.”

“Oh my god! You’re too much!” I burst into laughter.

“So, wanna try it?”

“Hm?” I looked at her.

“The handholding thing. Sounds fun.”

“We’ve held hands before. Practically all the time.”

“Yeah, but wanna do it...therapeutically?”

“Yeah. I think it would help.”

“And, y’know, if it helps, I could sit in on one of your sessions sometimes. Hold your hand while you tackle tough emotions.”

To that, I shook my head. “This is something I want to confront alone.”

“There you go again, bein’ all stubborn. That part of you’s never changed,” she wagged her finger.

“Well, if you want, you could sit in on me...in the bedroom…” I covered my hands over my face. “That was phrased weird. I can’t do suggestive talk.”

She rolled around the couch in hysterics, laughing it up.

“Will there be biting?” She asked, once she finally calmed down.

“Lovingly.”

“Yay!”

We walked together into the bedroom and curled up, our legs tangled in each other. She tittered, ran her fingers through my hair, and smiled. That she acted so giddy every time we would lay together made it so that I couldn’t help but smile as well. First, we started off by kissing, arms wrapped around each other, then we sat up; I watched as she unbuttoned her blouse, and I, in turn, slipped out of my shirt.

Everything was going well, with me giving her light pecks across her neck, down her chest. But then, from the corner of my eye, I saw the scar on her shoulder and remembered the cause of her injury.

“I’m sorry,” I pulled away. The tears were already starting to work their way down even though I knew she didn’t think ill of the whole thing. “I don’t think I can continue.”

“Aw, it’s okay.”

Instead, I leaned in close, and she held me tight against her. The image would have been an odd one, had I the ability to see outside of myself. Although I was taller, often times I thought of her as the bigger person.

“Would you like to take a nap?” She asked.

“Not yet,” I muttered.

“Would you like me to take over and help you feel better?”

Weak, I nodded, then I leaned back and let her shower me in affection and pleasure. It felt wrong, selfish of me, not to reciprocate, but it was just like that: images of the past come to mind and sometimes they affected me, while other times I was able to take a more active role and exist in the moment.

At least there was no desire to be aggressive. No itch for greater and greater levels of intensity. Instead, I could take my time and let it come in its own time. There would be another opportunity to bring her pleasure later in the evening. For the time being, I found myself brought to a high, and then, as I reached my peak, I fell back. She kissed my cheek, then, snuggled up to each other, we both fell asleep.

Needless to say, there were still a few difficulties to overcome. It was all an adjustment process, I knew that. But I didn’t want to find myself so needy that I couldn’t do the most basic of things, like going outside in public, unless she was around.

So a few days later, I got up out of bed, after having slept in. She had already left earlier in the morning to go work at the Saturday Market. While home alone, I bathed, then slipped into a bath robe, made myself a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, and after, took to the couch and read a book.

Around noon, I began to grow restless. I knew that if I just waited a few hours, she would come back home, but that wasn’t it. I wanted to try going out on my own. After changing into a tie dye shirt and jeans and slipping on some shoes, I inched toward the door, my heart pounding all the while.

Once out, I started to feel more and more agitated. I wasn’t very far from home, but the thought that there were other people nearby already got to me.

“Not much further. I don’t need to go far,” I told myself under my breath. But each step, I thought to be more daring, and soon, I was near where the crowded streets began. Soon, the sea of others’ voices drowned out my own thoughts and both my mind and my heart were racing. I was about to turn back when one voice stood out among the others.

“How long does it take to do such a simple assignment? ‘Divide and conquer’, she said. Well, I’ve already taken care of my targets, so what’s taking her so long?” Came a low and icy voice, from someone who sounded rather annoyed.

Assignment? Divide and conquer? Targets? This isn’t good; I’m having irrational thoughts of what the implications of those words could mean.

I looked around to find whose voice that belonged to, and at last, I saw her: someone about as tall as I was in stature, with a thick red vest, who stood in the middle of the sidewalk, as if everyone around her didn’t exist. She shivered, was hunched over, and seemed to be typing at her phone.

Images of that incident flashed in my mind, but rather than run away and cower, I found myself approaching her, and then the words escaped from me:

“Rhea? Is that you?”

“Huh?” She turned around. It was more clear that it wasn’t her from up close: she had darker hair, almost blackened, but with a hint of red to it. “Do I know you?”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else, but you couldn’t be her, since she died.”

“I see. That’s rather strange to come up to strangers and mistake them for dead people,” she remarked as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. Beside her were a couple of bags. “Do you do that often?”

“No, I –”

“Also, I’m Remora. Not whatever you just said.”

“Sorry. Really.”

She went back to her phone. “Seriously? She still hasn’t replied?”

“Um...may I ask what’s wrong?”

“Just my partner. We were going grocery shopping and we decided to split the list, but she’s taking forever. I’m considering just leaving without her.”

“Partner? As in couple?”

She glared, almost a scowl.

“No.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

I considered walking away, since I had already troubled that Remora person enough, but I figured she was frustrated and I thought I could try to help diffuse the situation.

“Are you in a hurry?” I asked. “If not, maybe you could find something to do in the meantime.”

She looked around, her arms still huddled as she shivered, then returned her gaze to me. “No. None of these things are perishable. What would you suggest?”

Crap. I just put myself on the spot. Great.

“Well, you could, uh...sit at a park, maybe?”

“No.” She shot me down. “Hm…who are you, anyway?”

That took me by surprise, but I told her my name.

“I see. Do you want to get a drink?”

“Like, at a bar?”

“No, at the denist’s office,” she replied. Okay. I could tell when someone was being sarcastic.

She waited for a response, but when I didn’t know what to say, she spoke again: “yes, I meant a bar.”

“Maybe I should let my wife know first. I don’t know.”

“Do you need your wife’s permission to do everything?”

“It’s...It’s not like that!”

“Well, are you coming or what?” She tapped her heel.

“Y-Yes!” I didn’t know why, but I felt like I should accept the offer and hang out with her.

She started to walk off and I hurried behind, my eagerness to interact with someone other than the person I lived with outweighing my anxiousness of being out in public.

“Sorry again, by the way. You really did seem like her from a distance, you even talk and act a little like she did.”

“People don’t come back from the dead, Vesuvius.”

“Right! I know that!”

“Pick up the pace,” she instructed. I didn’t know what it was about her, but there was something there that itched at me, as if no matter how hard it was to think otherwise, it really did seem like I was face to face with Rhea with the key exception being that we were doing something so normal as going out drinking together. It both excited and terrified me.

At the bar, we next to each other at the counter. Few other occupants resided; it must have had to do with the time of day.

“Get me a cold one,” she told the bartender.

“A cold what?” He replied.

“I don’t know. Whiskey? Vodka? Does it matter? Something strong and cold.”

Just like you?

“What about you, missy?” He turned to me. That annoyed me. ‘Missy’.

“Miss is just fine,” I replied. “I’ll just have a pomegranate martini.”

“My bad, miss.”

“Good. You’re sticking up for yourself,” she commented.

That took me by surprise. I turned to her. “I try my best. People scare me, but I still need to assert myself.”

“It might irritate other people, but that shouldn’t matter,” it sounded like she was agreeing with me. “Others can deal with it, if it’s what matters to you, you should speak up about it.”

“Um, thank you?”

“Just stating facts.”

Well, in that case, I prefer Ves.”

“What?”

“My name.”

“Oh. Then why didn’t you tell me that was your name?”

“Vesuvius is my name, it’s just that I like Ves more.”

“All right, then. Ves it is.”

“Thank you.”

She shrugged. “I’m just here to kill time. I can spare a few courtesies.”

Right, and I was just there because I mistook her for someone who used to want me dead and who I, in turn, caused her death. But yeah, let’s just say we were both killing time and I wasn’t nervous as all hell.

I turned to her and noticed her arms crossed as she rubbed her hands against her upper arms while her back was hunched over. Her back was hunched over and I watched her take labored breaths.

“Are you all right?” I asked her.

“It’s the atmosphere,” she replied, brisk and low in her tone.

“You were shivering when we were outside, too.”

“I’m not used to the climate, that’s all. I live up north.”

So that’s what it was. For a second, I thought…Ah. Here I was, sitting next to someone I had just met and all I could think about was someone I barely knew for three days before said person died. To think that the time we met was so short, but I found myself so affected by her. Not to mention, how we were enemies.

“What? Why are you crying?” She sounded genuinely surprised. I reached for a napkin to wipe my eyes with.

“Sorry, I...sometimes I cry when I get sad,” I tried to explain.

“Isn’t that normal for most people?” She gave a perplexed look.

“Yeah, I suppose it is,” I replied with a soft laugh. “I’m just not used to it.”

“I see. Why is that?”

I shrugged, then tried to explain.

“Much of my life was spent on edge. Either fighting, running, or hiding. After a while, it started to weigh on me. So I kept my emotions hidden and laid low. My pain, my rage, I just held it down and instead carried a calm demeanor.”

Our drinks arrived. Hers, a glass of whiskey (not just a shot glass, either, a rather tall glass) and my pomegranate martini. I took my finger to the rim of my glass and licked the sugar off of it.

“Mm. Yeah. That’s no good. Holding in emotions is unhealthy,” she replied after downing her drink.

“What about you?”

“I don’t have many emotions to begin with. Not much to hold in.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? Doesn’t bother me.”

“Maybe so. Sorry, you seem okay, but I still can’t help but think of this other person. I guess I’m still not over her.”

“What was she to you? An ex or something?”

“Not exactly. She tried to kill me.”

“Huh? What was her reason?”

“Well, she was hired to do so and she said I was a threat to humanity. Truth is, I could see her reasoning, being that I was pretty sick at the time and it was affecting people around me.”

“You’re better now, though, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

There were many things that filled my mind then. The events of those fateful few days – how I attempted several means to give myself a better life, but they ended up only making things worse for me. Then, I found myself saying:

“I know we were enemies, but it seemed like she was just as exhausted of fighting as I was. Even if circumstances led us to being opposed to each other, I really wish I could have gotten to know her better. Maybe I could have helped her somehow.”

She took another swig of her drink, then wiped her mouth with her sleeve and set the glass down.

“Sounds like it was for the best. Everyone has their own ideas of a ‘happy ending’. Sounds like that was hers.”

I wanted to say how it was she died, but I knew it would have been incriminating. Especially in a public place.

“I take it you killed her, huh?”

“Wait, what?” I blinked.

“If you two were enemies and she’s dead, that’s how I imagine things went down.”

“Yes, but I didn’t want to. I just think she wanted me to. At least it seems that way.”

Remora looked like she was about to speak up again, but then we both heard her phone buzz. She pulled it out from her pocket.

“Oh. Great. It’s her.”

“Your partner?”

“Hold on.” She began texting. I could hear her say under her breath what she was typing. “You do not need a sombrero. That is not why we’re here.”

Cue a few seconds later, she jolted, as if she was getting pissed off.

“No. You don’t need a set of neon green throwing knives, either. What’s taking you so long?” Then she glared at me. “See what I have to deal with?”

The phone buzzed again, and again, she recited what she was typing.

“How is that relevant?”

Puzzled, I leaned over. She must have noticed, so showed me the conversation. The first thing I noticed was the contact name, which simply said ‘Pest’:

Pest: Someone’s selling sombreros! I want one!

Me: You do not need a sombrero. That is not why we’re here.

Pest: Send me money so I can buy some neon green throwing knives! I need them to look badass! ;_;

Me: No. You don’t need a set of neon green throwing knives, either. What’s taking you so long?

Pest: I just realized that my name is so close to ‘dementia’! I need to change my name! D:

Me: How is that relevant?

Pest: YOU MAY AS WELL PUT EBONY DARKNESS IN FRONT OF MY NAME AKSJKSJFSKJF ;_;

I blinked. That sure was something.

“I can see how your guys’ personalities clash.”

She shook her head. “Too high energy for me.”

“Hey, I’m married to someone who’s high energy.”

“Married couples annoy me.”

I looked down at my drink. Still hadn’t even given it a sip. Maybe I just wasn’t in the mood for it. Shame, too. It probably tasted great.

“Hey,” she poked me. “Give me your address.”

“Why?”

“So I can tell her to meet me there.”

“Oh. Uh, I guess that’s fine. She’s not dangerous, is she?”

Remora laughed. “She’s only a danger to herself.”

“That’s a relief.”

I wrote down my address on a napkin and passed it to her. Remora went ahead and texted it to her, then she ordered another drink.

“We’re not gonna head over there?” I asked.

“Knowing her, it’s gonna take another hour before she shows up.”

“Oh, well in that case…” My thoughts drifted once again to Rhea. “Can I try something out?”

“What?”

“Can I pretend it’s Rhea sitting next to me? I know it sounds weird, but I think it would help me move on.”

“Sure, if you think it’ll help.”

“Thank you,” I cleared my throat. “Okay, here goes…”

I thought of the right words to say, as if I was having a conversation with someone I could never have. How would I address them? I figured starting with their name was a good starting point.

“Rhea,” I began.

“Yeah? What is it?” Remora replied.

“What?” I paused.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to pretend to be her or not.”

“You can respond if you want. I’d mostly like it if you listened.”

“Okay. Go on.”

“It just pains me to know that there’s so much about you I’ll never know. Like what life must have been like for you. I know you gave off the impression of a cold and merciless mercenary, but for whatever reason, you showed me mercy. Even though I killed your partner, Douglas Fir. I still wish I hadn’t done that to him, even knowing how he terrorized my home, I’m still disgusted at myself for that.”

“Eh, he had it coming,” she replied.

“What?”

“Oh. Nothing. He just sounds like a sleazy guy. Carry on.”

“Now that I think of it, it wasn’t that you simply showed me mercy. You offered me a choice I could not accept. When I refused the first time, you tried to stop at nothing to kill me. When that didn’t work, you decided to try to talk with me and see if you reach a different solution. I don’t really understand why. You could have killed me while I was recovering. I wish I could have known what it was.”

She didn’t respond that time. I continued.

“You knew about me through files written on me. Could deduce my personality just through a few sentence descriptions. But I, even from what little I saw of you, still didn’t really know you. I knew you had a condition. It fascinated me, truth be told. Thoughts like ‘I wonder what it is that made you this way’. Even if I knew, I don’t think I could have helped you, as much as it pains me to say. Whether it was a physical or mental condition, I don’t think I would have known what to do. Whether or not there really was a cure, it didn’t seem like something I could have figured out.”

“Why should I feel sympathetic when our roles were more antagonistic? I cannot say. Maybe I saw us as kindred spirits, in spite of our roles. To me, it looked like you were in pain, just as I was. It may have been expressed differently, but I still sensed a pain, a certain tiredness in you. I think that’s what affected me so deeply about your death.”

“I wonder...did you really mean it when you said I was a disappointment? I know, such a strange thing to dwell on.”

She took another drink. “If you want my opinion, the only person you should worry about disappointing is yourself.”

“Well, I’m rather remorseful of how I used to act.”

“Hmm...Remorseful...Gah! I should’ve changed my last name, too! I just couldn’t come up with a pun, so I decided to leave my last name as is!”

“...What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Remora waved her hand away. “Just frustrated. I could’ve worked with that! I only chose this name because I saw a remora at an aquarium and they seemed interesting.”

“Wait, is Remora not your real name?”

“It is. I just had a previous name. I liked to work with name puns. Giving myself this name, it felt like a sense of freedom for me.”

“My birth name was Etna,” I told her in an attempt to relate.

“Yeah, but your name is Ves. Just as mine is Remora. We don’t need to worry about past names.”

“Yeah, but what about past actions? Experiences?”

“You said you acted with the intention of being happier. Well, are you happier now?”

I had to stop and think. Was I? In a way, I had made myself unhappy. But through that, I was able to experience what I had been missing for so long, so in that sense, I found it worth it.

“Yes. It’s taken me a while to get there and it’s still a long journey, but I’m in a much better place now. It’s just been a slow process.”

“Good. That’s all you need to worry about. Is making sure you keep moving forward and realize that the journey has been worth it.”

“What about you?”

“Eh. Same. It’s an adjustment, but I’m open to it.”

“That’s good. I’m glad for you.”

“Why? You just met me.”

“I don’t know. I just feel like I’ve known you already.”

She pointed at my glass. “You haven’t finished your drink.”

“Oh. Lemme do that right now,” I held up the glass and downed it in one big gulp.

“Isn’t that the wrong kind of drink to be chugging down?”

My head was already starting to feel funny. “Yes. I. Think I’m ready to go home.”

“Oh, bother,” she held her palm to her forehead and shook her head. “Are you going to be all right?”

“I should be fine.”

Besides the fact that I felt like I was going to collapse on the sidewalk.

“Here, let me walk you home. That’s where I’m meeting my partner, anyway.” She slipped a hundred dollar bill on the counter, then stood up.

Before I could object, she carried me on her shoulders as I felt myself start to get drowsy.

While we walked home, through my sleepy voice, I continued to try to strike conversation with her.

“Do you and this person live together?” I asked.

“If you’re referring to the grocery partner, no. We just happen to work at the same place and the manager asked us to go shopping here.”

“Oh? What do you do for work?”

“I work at a restaurant. I never thought I’d see myself doing that kind of work, but it’s better than my old job.”

“What was your old job?”

“I killed people.”

Ah, for whatever reason, that didn’t sound so bad. Probably because I was just hazy enough that I didn’t think much of it.

“I used to work as a therapist, myself. But I think I did more harm than good. It’s a real shame. I think I’ve done better for both mine and others’ mental health since I quit,” I droned on.

“Sometimes you just gotta say ‘fuck work’,” she replied.

“Yeah,” I agreed, then smiled. “Fuck work.

We arrived, and she let go. I managed to stand on my own. Already, I felt more clear.

“Say, would you like to meet my wife?” I asked, rather on a whim.

Remora looked around, then shrugged. “Sure. She’s still not here yet.”

I went up to the door, unsure if she had come home yet. I could have texted her, but I figured if she didn’t show up after I knocked, I’d have my answer. After my knock, she came up right away.

“Oh hey, look at you! You’re outside on your own!”

I nodded, a bright smile upon my face. “Actually, I ran into someone.”

“Oh? Who?” She leaned her head over. After she gasped, she turned back to me. “Is that the weird stalker lady?”

“No, but the resemblance is uncanny,” I whispered. “She’s friendly. Her name is Remora.”

“Oh!” She shoved past me and ran out to see Remora up close. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Why?” Remora asked in response.

“Because if Ves says you’re friendly, you must be friendly!”

“You’re cute,” Remora stated. It could have been interpreted in a sarcastic manner, and yet it came out so plain as to be nothing more than a general statement.

“Thanks! So are you! So is Ves!”

Remora looked like she was about to get a word in, but before she could, someone came running up with a backpack on and a shopping bag in their hand. I focused on the figure, she was someone small, didn’t even look five feet tall. Her hair, dark green and wavy. Plus, she wore a sombrero over her hair. The creature didn’t notice my wife and I, and instead focused on Remora.

“Found you! And look! I got it! There was a dollar on the ground and I was able to get it! Still missing the throwing knives, though…” She looked down at the ground, as if she suffered a great loss.

“Good for you. Did you get the groceries?”

“Of course! They’re in my backpack! What have you been up to?”

Remora pointed her thumb toward me.

The girl (pardon me for referring to her as “creature” just a bit ago) looked over and gasped. “I was too late! You seduced them both!”

“What are you talking about?” Remora asked.

“Or...maybe it was those two who did the seducing!”

“I’m lost.”

Me too. Did I know her? Did she know Juniper and I?

She took off the sombrero and set it on the ground, then reached into the shopping bag and pulled out a blonde wig, then placed it on her head. The wig in question had pigtails. With furious motions, she pointed at my wife, then herself, then looked up at Remora and opened her mouth, but didn’t make a sound, just had it open wide as if she would have yelled had she made a sound. But as she looked at Remora, she continued to point at the woman beside me.

“What is she doing?” Remora asked Juniper and I.

We both shrugged.

“I think it’s called pantomiming?” Juniper suggested. “I’ll be honest, though: I was never that good at charades.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I admitted.

The girl looked furious, took off the wig, then undid the pigtails and tried to straighten up the wig. Then, she took out a pair of glasses from her pocket, put them on, and then put the wig back on. This time, she chose to point at me, just as furious.

Her finger, at first at me, then back at the one beside me, then she faced her thumb at herself.

“Is she your guys’ daughter?” Remora asked my wife and I.

We both shook our heads.

She tore the wig from off of her head, threw it on the ground and stomped on it.

“I can’t believe you guys!” She yelled at last, as I assume she had been holding it in. “That’s my cousin!” She faced Remora, then pointed once again at my wife. “Juniper Bark!”

Wait. Something dawned on me. But before I could say it, Juniper spoke up instead.

“Oh, I remember you! From the wedding, right? Demetria!”

“Bingo. And I came to stop you!”

“From what?”

“From stealing Remora! I saw her first!”

Juniper clapped. “Good job!”

Demetria blinked. “Oh. Thanks. I mean, I’m not actually into her. I just think she’s cool. Yeah. That’s all.”

What was with her demeanor? At one point she really was high-energy, like the impression of her I got from Remora suggested, but now she seemed stunned.

“Uh, well, anyway,” She looked away, embarrassed. Of her previous actions? Hard to say. “Juniper, your brother’s still a doctor, right?”

“In a sense!”

“Is he here? Can I talk to him?”

Juniper shook her head. “He lives at the same apartment he did before, Vespiquen and I just moved to a new one. Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to ask him what the condition was when you see this tall, strong lady and your whole personality changes and all you can think about is being in her strong arms and how hot she is. I was wondering if he could diagnose me.”

Juniper put her hand over her mouth and had a devilish grin on her face. “Ohoho, I can tell you that right now.”

“What? You can?”

“Mhm. I’m afraid it’s terminal.”

“What?!”

“Yup! And there’s no cure!”

“That’s horrible!” Demetria cried out.

I nudged Juniper and gave her a glare.

“Oh, all right,” Juniper relented. “I diagnose you with gay.”

“I can’t believe you! You had me in quite a shock! I’m going to remember this!”

Although the focus had been on Demetria, I shifted my attention back to Remora, to which a scowl was forming on her face.

“Ves.”

Startled, I asked, “what is it?”

“Does the name ‘Clara Waters’ mean anything to you?”

I took a minute to think about it, but then it came.

“Actually, yes. That was one of the names Rhea had used.”

“Figured as much,” the last syllable on her breath had a tinge of a snarl to it.

“Which city was it that she died in?” Was the next question from her.

“This one. Why?” She seemed to be piecing something together.

“I see.”

“Is there something that I’m missing, here?” Demetria looked at all three of us.

“Demetria,” Remora growled.

“Eep! Was It something I did? I’ll behave!”

“Can you wait for me at the airport?”

There was a definite anger to her voice, though it didn’t sound like it was directed at Demetria, but someplace else.

“Oh. Yeah. I can do that.” Demetria picked up both the bag with the wig as well as the bag of groceries that Remora had carried just a bit ago. “Um, see you later?”

Remora nodded.

I opened my mouth, curiosity or concern having overtaken me. “What is this about?”

“I’m about to find out. It was nice to meet you. Now I must meet a corpse.”

“Huh?”

“This was never about grocery shopping and the fact that I didn’t figure it out sooner disgusts me.”

That didn’t clear anything up for me, but what was clear was that she was about to take off.

“Um, before you go…”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to be friends?”

“Why?”

“I think it’s what Rhea would have wanted.”

It felt rather manipulative of me; a dirty trick. Even if that was the case, I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her that the reason was that I saw it as a second chance for me. To befriend someone so similar to Rhea.

“What does this person’s wishes have to do with me?”

Oh no. Her words sounded hostile. But then, she let out a sigh.

“All right. Fine. I’ll put your number in my phone.”

“Ooh!” Juniper jumped up. “Me too!”

“Ladies, one at a time.”

After she entered our names into her contacts, we waved goodbye to her. It was somewhat of a relief to see her off, just as it was to meet her in the first place.

“So, that was interesting, huh?” Juniper observed.

“Mhm. Didn’t expect to run into Demetria, either. I thought she was pursuing her Master’s degree. Maybe she graduated already.”

“Oh! I didn’t even think about that!”

Juniper locked her fingers within mine, and the two of us went back into our apartment. The day had turned out to be quite overwhelming, though a large portion of it was a good kind of overwhelming.

Once we were both on the couch and curled up next to each other, I pieced something together of my own.

“Remora really was Rhea.”

“Huh?” Juniper looked up at me.

“Well, not the one that we knew. If I had to guess, I’d say it was similar to how I met another you once.”

Though such a thing wasn’t something I expected to encounter ever again. Still, there was no doubt in my mind; Even if I had deduced without total confirmation, since I believed I had an answer as to why I thought of Rhea so much around Remora, I also believed that was all the more reason to treat her as if she were someone new.

[sandershospitalau]

Lockdown (Part 2)

Part 1 Archive Of Our Own

I got language help! Thanks to @fanderpau for helping me perfect the Spanish used in this story, for beta reading, and for general feedback!

Tags- Medical stuff, Vomiting, Driving, Quarantine, Arguing.

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One hour after quarantine

————————

The temperature in the protective suit Logan wore made sweat collect around his glasses, but it was a small price to pay to live. What had once been one of the private examination rooms with bright white lighting and lots of space for equipment and personnel was now an isolation chamber. Plastic clung to the doors in long strips. The makeshift decontamination chamber one of the nurses whipped up (whoever said nurses weren't as smart as doctors, they were blind to reality) consumed the outer side of the door. Staff had to cross through the chamber, stuffed with biohazard suits and water sprayers, just to get to the other side of the hall. The bright white lights were swapped for dull yellow. Rodrigues' bed was pushed into the corner of the room, body covered with a sheet. Another wall of plastic separated Rodrigues from Ms. Lakin, who sat in her own bed. She'd traded her street clothes for a hospital gown that seemed too big on her thin frame. A rolling table sat in front of her with a few pill bottles and vials of cream.

"I know your rash itches," Logan said, his thick gloves grabbing one of the vials. "But when it does, use this cream instead. Don't scratch it, whatever you do. You'll be able to take another of these oral antihistamines in six hours or so."

"Alright," Ms. Lakin stammered, taking the vial from Logan. "Are you sure I have this Peanut's disease? My aunt gets these chronic rash flareups once a month, maybe it's just that?"

"That's why we took your blood, Ms. Lakin," Logan sighed. "And it's called Pinto's, not Peanut's."

"I'm sorry," Ms. Lakin stammered, wringing her hands. "I get easily stressed, and I ramble when I'm stressed. At least, that's what my therapist back in Chicago says, but my uncle- not the one who had a heart attack, his husband- he says that's just my personality. It can get annoying, he says."

"Whatever way you find best relaxes you, you may do. As long as you don't itch your rash. Now, you've been given a call button that will alert someone if you need anything. The monitors we have attached you to will beep should your heart rate and blood pressure spike.”

”That’s a part of the disease, right?”

”That is correct. Do you require anything else?”

“Can I ask you something?”

”There’s nothing stopping you.”

”I...” Ms. Lakin glanced at Rodrigues’ body. “I know you’ve seen plenty of people like me asking you a lot of questions like these, but... am I going to be ok? Am I going to suffer?” Logan paused a moment before answering. Promises were a doctor’s curse. There were no promises to make in medicine. Patton would have immediately reassured the woman, but Logan was not his husband.

”We will do our best to prevent that,” Logan answered. He gave Ms. Lakin a nod and stomped out of the isolation room, thick boots sticking to the floor. He stepped out of the dull yellow light and back into the white lights of the ED. More suits hung on a makeshift coat hanger, really a broken IV pole that held more weight than it should. Next to the pole was a large yellow bucket, a janitor's bucket used to store mops. For Logan, it was his drain. He pulled the bucket out and stepped into it, big boots smashed against the side. He grabbed the nozzle of one of the water sprayers (for once, not makeshift- gifts from the CDC) and started spraying his suit. He couldn't afford a piece of dust from Ms. Lakin's rashes to cling to his suit and spread onto whoever crossed into the chamber next. The sweat on Logan's glasses faded away. The water pooled around his boots.

He turned off the sprayer and set it back with its partners. He stepped out of the bucket, water dripping onto the floor. One step at a time, he took off his suit. First the boots, then the gloves, and finally the suit itself. He put each piece back next to the makeshift coat hanger and stepped out of the chamber, the bucket of contaminated water in his hands.

Most of the staff stuck in the ED were busy in one of the bays, comforting nervous patients or checking on someone's condition who should have been transferred to another department half an hour ago. Others clung to the island of desks, scrolling through their computers and typing things down. Roman sat in a bay with two little kids and their parent. He spoke Spanish faster than Logan could understand the words. Nate leaned against the door to another observation room, where the Yakimovs and McCallums were still being kept for their disturbance earlier. Logan trudged across the ED and dumped the water in the nearest sink. He went back to the decontamination chamber and dropped off the bucket.

"Logan," someone called. Patton padded around the desks, gray cardigan flopping behind him like a cape. "How's Ms. Lakin?"

"Her rash has not progressed any farther," Logan stated. "I've given her some anti-itch cream."

"I'm afraid I don't have any good news," Patton sighed, motioning a hand at nothing. "The blood work just came back. It's Pinto's."

"That's not a surprise," Logan huffed, fixing the collar of his coat. "As I said, the symptoms described by Ms. Lakin of Mr. Rodrigues's behavior prior to crashing combined with the rash were cause for suspicion." After all, when was Logan wrong about something? "Is the CDC processing the cure?"

"Yeah, that's gonna be a problem," Joan suddenly appeared between Patton and Logan. Patton yelped, shoulders flying up like a frightened cat.

"Higgledy-piggledy, Joan!" Patton gasped, hand to his heart. "You scared me!"

"Sorry, Patton," Joan sighed. "But I just got done FaceTiming Thomas. It'll take a day and a half for the cure to be driven in from Phoenix."

"Dr. Stokes, I don't know if Ms. Lakin has that long to wait," Logan huffed. "Pinto's is a fast-acting disease. With the added variables of traffic and weather, the cure may not arrive at Sanders in time to help her."

"Can we make her comfortable, though?" Patton asked, voice drowning in pity. "Can we do anything to get the cure here faster?"

"Thomas is working on it," Joan sighed. "He's sending someone out for some medication to buy us time. Our job, for now, is to make sure more people don't get sick and treat those still in here."

"We need to let our patients know," Patton said, glancing around the ED. "They deserve answers." He didn't wait for a response- he hurried across the ED towards Roman and the family he chatted with. Patton tapped Roman's shoulder and jabbed a thumb towards Logan and Joan. Roman said something to the two kids and bowed, forearm against his chest. The two giggled and one gave Roman a curtsy while the other copied his bow. Patton took Roman's arm and pulled him towards Logan and Joan.

"We've got news?" Roman asked. Joan filled him in on the blood work results and the cure.

"You're our people person," Patton chuckled, giving Roman's forearm a gentle squeeze. "Could you explain things to everyone else?"

"And let's not give Nate any more work," Joan muttered. Roman hummed, glancing around the ED. Then he squared his jaw.

"I've got this," Roman declared. He spun around and marched into the center of the room. He waved his arms over his head. "Can I have everyone's attention, please?" The patients looked up from their phones. Visitors stood up and moved away from the bedsides of their loved ones, gathering around Roman. The doctors and nurses stood at attention. All eyes were on Roman. The director of public services cleared his throat.

"Can someone translate this into Spanish while I speak?" Roman announced, voice booming in the quiet ED. A Latina nurse stepped beside Roman. As he spoke, she spoke Spanish. "I know you've all been demanding answers for what's happening. Now, we finally have some. An hour ago, two patients came in from a car crash, one of them dying upon arrival. Both of these patients have a disease called Pinto's. This disease is airborne, so to protect the rest of the hospital, Dr. Logan Berry declared a quarantine on the Emergency Department." Voices spiked around the crowd, but Roman continued on. "The first two patients are the only ones who have the disease so far. The doctors ask everyone to keep an eye on their arms, shoulders, and chests. If you see a rash begin to form, flag someone down. It should only take a few hours before we know if anyone else is infected. Until quarantine is lifted, you'll all be well taken care of."

Demands rippled through the room. Nate pushed himself away from the door he guarded and eyed the crowd. The nurses spread through the ED, whispering calm words. They ushered visitors back to their loved ones. Doctors scurried like ants to their patients to give further detail. Logan moved next to Roman and gave him a nod of approval. The director of public services grinned.

"Logan, do you want me to help out with any patients?" Patton asked, walking in front of Logan and Roman.

"If someone requires assistance, feel free to aid them," Logan answered, fixing his glasses. Someone moved in the corner of his eye. The parent Roman had been speaking to earlier walked towards Roman. They had long black hair that puffed around their shoulders and wore a hospital gown.

"Señor Prince, mi niños están asustados," the parent sighed, looking down at Roman. Despite being younger than Roman (Logan assumed somewhere around twenty one), they towered over Roman. "No logro calmarlos. ¿Podrías hablar con ellos? Que te adoran.” Roman smiled. His chest puffed out a little like a paradise bird.

"Por supuesto, Señora Ceballos," Roman said. The mother smiled and walked back to her two children.

"Who was that, Roman?" Patton asked.

"The Ceballos family," Roman explained. "Señora Ceballos was here thanks to some bad food truck chicken. She and her kids don't speak a lick of English. They’re puertoriqueños, from Puerto Rico. Her kids, Augustin and Jordana, are a little freaked out."

"Aw, poor things!" Patton whined, hand to his heart. Patton, being Patton, padded towards the Ceballos family in Bay 9. Roman hurried after him. Logan's eyes followed them, but halted at Bay 10. Milena Yakimov watched the ED with clear eyes, unburdened by the haze of her accident. Her bob cut hair was a rat's nest against her bed. Logan would need to talk to her.

When Roman and Patton approached the Ceballos, the two children, Augustin and Jordana, sat on the floor. They faced one another, whispering. The one facing out glanced up and saw Roman.

”¡Jordana, El Príncipe!” The child, who must have been Augustin, gasped. Jordana scrambled up and stared into Roman’s eyes.

“That is such a cute name!” Patton giggled. “Too bad I don’t know what that means.”

”¡Hola, Senorita Jordana!” Roman declared, bowing. Jordana gave him her best curtsy. “¡Tu y Augustin están siendo muy valientes!"

"¿Valientes?" Jordana scoffed. "Augustin casi lloró."

"¡Mentira!" Augustin huffed, standing up.

"Está bien, está bien," Roman chuckled. "El miedo es bueno."

"¿Pero... no es peligroso el Pinto?" Augustin asked. He tugged on the edge of his Disney World t-shirt, fingers digging into the seams. "¿Mamá está en peligro? ¿Jordana está en peligro? ¿Yo estoy en peligro? El estómago de Mamá está mal, ¡ella se enfermará!"

"Respira, Augustin," Roman muttered, crouching to the boy's level. "Respira. Los medicos ayudarán a tu madre." Roman rubbed his chin and hummed to himself. "Te gusta Disney?" Augustin looked at his shirt, like he just realized what the logo was. He nodded. Roman turned to Patton and grinned.

"Patton, I need a tray, some water, and a few things from the vending machines," Roman declared, dramatically pointing at Patton. "Candy, chips, whatever!" Patton smiled and saluted Roman like a soldier. Roman looked back to Augustin and Jordana and said "Un momento, por favor." Roman and Patton scurried off, leaving Augustin and Jordana sharing confused glances. Logan ignored the antics of his friend and husband and moved into Bay 10.

"Hello there, Ms. Yakimov," Logan said. Milena squirmed in her bed, eyes burrowing into Logan. "My name is Dr. Berry. Do you remember arriving here?"

"Uh..." Milena groaned, blinking slowly. "I think so. The car... Jessie?"

"Ms. McCallum is recovering as well," Logan sighed. "What else do you remember?" Logan grabbed a small flashlight from the various pieces of equipment in the bay. "Follow the light, please." Logan shined the light into Milena's eyes. She winced, squinting into the flashlight.

"My parents came here with me," Milena groaned. She sighed and lifted a shaking hand to gently facepalm herself. "Did Mom punch someone?"

"Your parents got into a brief altercation with the parents of Ms. McCallum," Logan sighed, putting down the flashlight. "I believe you have a concussion. However, under quarantine, we won't be able to confirm that with a CT scan."

"I think I remember the quarantine thing," Milena muttered. "I heard the dude's speech. I'm sorry about my parents. They've been fighting with the McCallums since we moved to Miami. Classic white suburban families. It's like The Burbs, but with less murder and more mowing privileges."

"Mowing privileges..." Logan muttered, squinting his eyes as he dove into his mind, trying to understand what mowing privileges were. He sighed and did a quick mental reset. "In the crash, you gained a fracture on your left tibia and a stable fracture on the right side of your pelvis. Some of the muscles in your back were torn as well. We've set your leg, and in regards to your back and pelvis, you'll simply require bed rest to allow your body to heal."

"How much trouble did my parents get into this time?" Milena asked. The hand by her face traced down her body, towards her broken leg.

"This time?" Logan asked, cocking an eyebrow. "This is not the first incident of physical violence your parents have shone?"

"Most of the time, it's passive-aggressive nonsense," Milena muttered. "Don't misunderstand what I'm saying, they're good parents, they just hate the McCallums. One day it's a few snide comments about Mr. McCallum's garden, another day they'll offer Jessie something like they don't think her parents can provide it. The McCallums act the same. That's, that's why I was in Jessie's truck, you see. My car was stuck in my faulty garage, and I needed to get to my tennis match. Me and Jessie are on the same team, so the McCallums suggested Jessie drive me there. Dad's face was tomato red, it was..." Milena chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Actually a little funny that time. But yeah, sometimes everything boils up and things get a bit out of control. Let's just say Mrs. McCallum's banned from attending Speech and Debate meetings."

"Fascinating," Logan mumbled. The soft breeze of someone racing past whisked up the tail of Logan's coat. Roman carried a metal tray under his arm. He set it down on the desks. Patton held something in his arms, covered by his cardigan. He dumped whatever he held onto the tray. As the two whispered, Augustin padded out of Bay 9, watching. He leaned back and grabbed Jordana's hand, pulling her out. Roman spun around and clapped his hands. The two children jumped slightly, eyes glancing around him to see what he had.

"Ma chère mademoiselle," Roman declared, waving a hand over his head flamboyantly. "Con gran orgullo para todos y un enorme placer te damos la bienvenida. Y ahora te invitamos a relajarte, a ponerte cómoda en tu silla, pues el comedor se representar..." Even though Logan didn't understand what Roman said, he had a vague idea what he was going to do. But did he have to do it in his ED? Roman turned back around and whispered to Patton "Follow my lead." Roman turned back around. He balanced the metal tray on one hand. A small stack of candy bars, a bag of chips, and a package of donuts sat on the tray.

"Nuestro..." Roman sang softly, crouching down to Jordana and Augustin's levels. "Huésped, sea usted, venga el servicio a probar. Una servilleta así, chérie, y yo hago lo demás." Augustin's face lit up, a giant smile spreading on his face. Señora Cebolla, who sat on the bed in Bay 9, leaned forward and watched Roman, smiling softly. Augustin tugged on his sister's sleeve like she wasn't equally fascinated by Roman's childishness.

"Soup du jour, buen hors d'oeuvres, nuestra vida es atender," Roman sang. He took the bag of chips and ripped them open with dramatic flair. He handed the bag to Jordana. "Pruebe usted que maravilla. ¿No me cree? ¡Pregunte a la vajilla!" Roman waved a hand towards Patton. Patton smiled and waved his arms around like a cartoon character running in place. Jordana laughed, taking a handful of chips. "A cantar, a bailar, está es Francia, no olvidar, ¡la comida aquí es primero ya se ve!" Roman set the tray at the children's feet. He took Jordana's hand and let her spin around. "Consulte su menú, escoja su ambigú, y pida usted nuestro huésped sea usted."

"We are in here for an hour and he's already begun singing Disney songs," Logan muttered, glancing at Milena, who looked equally as confused as he was. "I would have thought madness would need more time to take hold."

————————

"I wanna be, I wanna be, I wanna be famous!" Emile sang along to his playlist flowing out of the van speakers. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. For a man driving to save his friends, he was surprisingly relaxed. He'd changed into a Steven Universe t-shirt before he and Virgil had hopped into the van. Not wanting to wear scrubs in a strange van for ten hours, Virgil copied Emile. He'd grabbed his homemade black hoodie with the stitched on plaid purple patches from his mom's favorite shirt and an old Panic! At the Disco shirt. He still wore his Crocs, though. The theme song ended, and for a moment Virgil's ears were spared. Then a Phineas and Ferb song started playing. Worse yet, it was a rap about squirrels. Virgil bit back a groan when Emile started rapping along. Any other day Virgil would have tolerated it, maybe even enjoyed the music. Today was not that day.

The off-tan interior of the white hospital van smelled like disinfectant. The rough seat carpet belonged in the 1970's. A similarly carpeted wall blocked Virgil and Emile from the back of the van. Virgil had glanced back there before they took off- it was a mini observation room, with counters attached to the walls and a hanging light above a bed screwed into the floor. Everything was at least a few years old and in need of an update, but it served its purpose for now- get Virgil and Emile to Atlanta and get the stupid medication. A cheesy Hawaiian bobblehead sat on the car mantel, dancing along to the Phineas and Ferb song. Virgil leaned against the shotgun door and pressed his head against the warm glass.

The slow traffic in the lane to the right of Emile and Virgil blocked Virgil's view of the flooded land beside the highway. Storm clouds blocked the arrival of dusk, rain sprinkling onto the road. License plates from all across the southern U.S joined the van on its journey. The rumble of the road underneath flowed through Virgil. The van's tall shadow danced over trucks and sedans and Chevys.

"What does the GPS say for time, Virgil?" Emile asked, glancing at the nurse. Virgil grabbed Emile's phone, plugged into the speakers of the car through a strange mixture of wires and adaptors. Emile's phone cover was tan with the Bill Cipher wheel on the back. Virgil opened the phone and pulled up the GPS.

"We've still got nine hours to go," Virgil muttered. "And that's with good traffic." Virgil plopped the phone back down. He took out his own phone and started scrolling through Tumblr. It was probably a mistake to follow news threads on that site. A dozen different posts about the Sanders Hospital ED quarantine filled his screen. Questions, theories, reports, even a few memes flowed through his feed. Virgil frowned and stuffed his phone back into his hoodie. The squirrel rap ended, only to be replaced with a sci-fi sounding song Virgil didn't recognize. He chewed on his lip. Nine hours to worry about Patton, Roman, Logan, Joan, Nate, and everyone else stuck in the ED. He'd barely been able to focus over the hour it took for the blood tests to come back positive. It didn't help that what work he managed to complete was comforting nervous patients confused over the quarantine alarm.

"So if you see him you might be in for a big surprise," Emile sang softly, head bobbing to the beat. He suddenly stopped singing and let out a small gasp. Virgil straightened up, eyes darting to the road in front of them. Did Emile see something? Was there an accident? "I could dress up Ben as Ben 10 for Halloween! That would be adorable!" Virgil could almost see Emile's pupils turn star-shaped. Virgil sighed and settled back against the door, glaring at Emile.

"How are you so peppy right now?" Virgil muttered.

"Did you say something, Virgil?" Emile asked, not taking his eyes off the road. Virgil bit his lip again, but then let out a huff.

"How can you listen to cartoons at a time like this?" Virgil huffed, leaning against the back of his seat.

"I drive better with music," Emile admitted with a shrug. "Cartoons are kinda all I have on there."

"I mean, how are you not worried?" Virgil huffed. "You're singing along to Phineas and Ferb, thinking about costumes for the psych ward service dog, you're so relaxed. I don't get you, Doc. Our friends could die if we don't get to Atlanta in time. Pinto's is deadly. Those idiotic people in Phoenix refuse to put the cure on a plane. People are counting on us. If quarantine fails, we could have an epidemic on our hands! How are you calm?"

"Well," Emile sighed, slowing down enough to allow a minivan to slide into their lane. "There's nothing we can do about the quarantine except drive. It's gonna take a while to get there. Worrying all that way will only wear us out."

"There's so much that could go wrong if we mess up," Virgil muttered, one hand in his pocket digging into the semi-soft protective cover of his phone. "How am I supposed to not stress out?"

"Are you asking Emile your friend," Emile said. "Or Dr. Picani the therapist?"

"Whoever can answer my question," Virgil grumbled, glancing over the roof of the minivan in front of them. An old part of Virgil groaned inside of him. Are you really being vulnerable? That's not safe- people manipulate the vulnerable. He didn't teach you anything, did he? Virgil shoved those old thoughts down. Even after all his growth, those thoughts still occasionally popped up.

"Can you pause the music?" Emile asked. Virgil obeyed and reopened Emile's phone, pausing his music in the middle of yet another Phineas and Ferb song. "Do you remember that one episode of Ben 10-"

"Hold on," Virgil interrupted. "I've heard about the show but I never got around to watching it. It's the one with the watch that turns the kid into aliens, right?"

"Right!" Emile chirped. "Basically, Ben Tennyson is on a summer road trip with his Grandpa Max and cousin Gwen. He sneaks away one night and finds a mysterious green watch that attaches itself to his wrist. With the watch, Ben can turn into ten different aliens, though he gets more forms as the show goes on. He gets to live out the ten-year-olds classic dream of being a superhero. With Gwen and his grandpa helping him out, Ben fights alien and human threats and learns how to use his power wisely and selflessly. While Ben does his best to enjoy his summer and be a kid, there are a lot of people after him. His watch, the Omnitrix, is incredibly powerful, and could hurt a lot of people in the wrong hands. And considering it can't come off his arm..." Emile lifted a hand and karate chopped his other arm.

"Ouch," Virgil muttered.

"Yeah, ouch is an understatement," Emile chuckled. "Now throughout the show, Ben acts like the stereotypical ten-year-old boy- selfish, prideful, all of that. But one of his defining traits is his desire to help others and keep his family safe. Even when his selfishness gets him into trouble, that desire overrules everything and makes him a good hero. It also causes him a lot of stress. It's a lot for a ten-year-old to handle! Everything he does reflects onto Gwen and his grandpa. In one episode, Grandpa Max helps Ben dodge an attack, but gets hurt in the process."

"Was he ok?" Virgil asked.

"He has to go to the hospital," Emile admitted. "Ben feels like he's to blame for the danger his family is in and feels like he isn't doing enough to protect them. He stresses himself out enough that he tries to run away from Gwen and Grandpa Max so they wouldn't get involved in the danger he was in. As the series goes on, though, Ben becomes better at managing his stress and not letting himself overthink things. Sure there are aliens roaming over his head that want to chop his arm off, and that's a stressful thought, but Ben can't control that. He's stuck with the Omnitrix, like how everyone's stuck in the ED. All he can do is focus on the current bad guy he needs to fight and whoever he needs to save."

"So I'm Ben in this analogy?" Virgil asked.

"Yes!" Emile exclaimed. "It's not perfect by any means, but no analogy ever is. It's like I tell my patients, relating your experiences to a fictional character can help you better understand them. It gives you a place to analyze what's going on without personal attachment. The bad guy we're focusing on is the medication down in Atlanta. Since all we can control is getting there, I say enjoy the ride!" Emile leaned back and rolled down his window, letting the rain spitting down plop into the van. Virgil put both hands in his pockets and leaned against the door. It wasn't a shock to him that Emile was such a good therapist. Even if Virgil still wondered if a rash was appearing on Patton's arms, it didn't seem as urgent as before.

"Thanks, Doc," Virgil sighed as the wind rushed into the van.

————————

"There are a million things I could have done with my time," Joan muttered, staring at the door. "I could have done that oncology consult. I could have emailed back that old patient of mine who wanted me to come to his AA meeting. But no, I came down here to handle a PTA fight."

"Welcome to a day in the life of Nate Christopoulos," Nate snorted, leaning against the door hinges. "Holding back violent patients and more violent parents."

"How long've they been in there?" Roman asked. He stood next to Joan with crossed arms, just as thrilled as they were about the whole mess.

"A few hours by now, I think," Nate muttered. "But hey, that's what happens when you break someone's nose."

"They're oddly quiet," Roman muttered. "Like a toddler out of sight."

"Yeah, that's cause I told 'em if they picked another fight with each other I'd handcuff them to the furniture," Nate chuckled. "They've severely misjudged the number of handcuffs I have." Nate turned to the door and grabbed the doorknob. He glanced over his shoulder at Joan and Roman. "Good luck." Nate pulled the door open and Joan and Roman trudged inside.

This examination room was one of the smaller ones, but the Yakimovs and McCallums somehow made the room feel split in half. The McCallums stood beside the door, attention already on Roman and Joan. The couple could have easily claimed to be twins- they both had thick heads of curly ginger hair and slender builds. Even the laugh lines on their faces were similar. Mr. McCallum held an ice pack to his stomach. The Yakimovs stood beside the cupboards on the other side of the room, deep in conversation. Mr. Yakimov reminded Roman of a humanized Scar- matted black hair, sharp cheekbones, lean muscle. But where Mr. Yakimov was Scar, Mrs. Yakimov was Nala- sandy blonde hair that fell to her chest, youthful green eyes, and an Olympic volleyball player's build. Based on her arms alone, Roman wasn't surprised Mr. McCallum's stomach still hurt. The Yakimovs looked up when Joan shut the door.

"I really hope you all understand just how inappropriate you were," Joan huffed, crossing their arms.

"On behalf of my husband and I, I am very sorry for our behavior," Mrs. McCallum sighed. She walked up to Joan and Roman and shook both their hands. "You must be Dr. Stokes and..."

"Roman Prince," Roman said, giving a little bow. "And I believe Mr. Christopoulos is the one you should be apologizing to."

"Oh my, has his eye gotten any better?" Mrs. McCallum huffed, glancing at the door. "I was aiming for Mrs. Yakimov."

"You shouldn't have been aiming for anyone," Joan snapped. They looked around the room. "What were you thinking, fighting in our ED?"

"Things got a little heated today," Mr. Yakimov sighed. "Do either of you have children?" Joan and Roman shook their heads. "Then it may be difficult to imagine how angry you get when someone puts your child in danger."

"Jessie did not cause that accident," Mr. McCallum hissed.

"She was the one driving, wasn't she?" Mr. Yakimov huffed.

"Alright, crabby pants," Roman huffed. "You'll get to see your daughters when we clear these murky waters of war between you."

"How is Milena?" Mrs. Yakimov asked.

"She's doing alright," Joan sighed. "Listen, your fight broke the nose of one of our residents, Dr. Kylie Crown. She's thinking about pressing charges. Now she may reconsider if you all apologize to her and are willing to pay for any costs involved in fixing her nose."

"Of course," Mr. Yakimov sighed, rubbing his bruised knuckles. Mr. McCallum nodded solemnly. Roman padded around Joan and Mrs. McCallum and plopped down on the unoccupied bed in the center of the room.

"So Dr. Berry said that Milena said this has happened before," Roman huffed. "At this point, I don't think it's an issue we can ignore."

"That's just how it is between us," Mrs. Yakimov grunted. "We've never gotten along on anything."

"Well, your husband and Mr. McCallum just agreed to pay for Dr. Crown's nose," Roman pointed out, pointing at the two men. "That's something." The two men locked eyes.

"It's not as though we didn't wish things were better," Mrs. Yakimov huffed. "But from the day we arrived, the McCallums always found something to nit-pick us about. Parenting choices, garden decor, there's always something wrong with us. They even blame us for our garage breaking."

"We wouldn't even be in this situation if you took better care of your garage, Kate," Mrs. McCallum sighed. "And I'd thank you not to talk about us as though we aren't in the room."

"Don't forget who drove into the intersection, Marylin," Mrs. Yakimov snapped. "You offered Milena a spot in Jessie's car."

"I don't like what you're implying," Mrs. McCallum growled.

"What did we just say?" Roman huffed, waving his arms in the air. "No fighting!"

"Your relationships with one another should have never gotten bad enough to reach this point," Joan grunted. "How long have you known each other?"

"Kate and I have known the McCallums since Milena was seven," Mr. Yakimov explained.

"That's a decade of fighting between you," Joan huffed. "This can't be good for your daughters."

"We stay peaceful when they're around," Mrs. Yakimov stammered.

"Well that's clearly not true," Roman muttered. "Since you literally just punched each other in front of Milena and Jessie. What kid wants to see their parents like that?" For once, the couples didn't have an answer ready.

"Sanders has some group therapy sessions available," Joan sighed, rubbing the bridge of their nose. "It might be best for everyone if you attend a few sessions together." The McCallums glanced at the Yakimovs, both making eye contact for a few moments before looking away. "You all have tempers that get the better of you. No one wants that to reflect on Milena and Jessie.”

"We'd never do anything to hurt Jessie," Mr. McCallum grunted.

"Then prove it," Joan huffed. "Dr. Crown'll come in here soon to discuss potential charges and payment. I want all of you to come to some sort of agreement to keep the peace before I feel remotely comfortable letting you roam the ED. If I get another incident like that again, as soon as quarantine is lifted, I won't hesitate to have Mr. Christopoulos escort you all to jail. We're arranging dinner to be moved through the quarantine for everyone soon." With that, Joan opened the door and stalked out of the room. Roman hopped off the bed and scurried after them.

"Glad to see neither of you got punched," Nate scoffed, pushing the door closed once Roman slipped out. Roman stuck his hands into the pockets of his letter jacket.

"If they weren't around each other, I'd say they were remorseful for the fight," Roman muttered. He walked beside Joan as they padded around the ED, eyes glazing over the beds.

"We've got enough to do without worrying about those four," Joan grumbled. They walked past Bay 9, where Augustin chatted with Señora Cebolla, sitting beside her on the bed. Roman waved as he walked by.

"You know, since we're in here for a while," Roman said. "I've been meaning to ask you about this little theater idea I had." Before Roman could explain, someone started gagging. Roman and Joan shared a glance. They followed the gagging past Bay 10, where Milena looked up from her phone (which wasn't damaged in the crash, through some miracle). In Bay 11, Jessie McCallum was awake, long ginger curls puffing up around her like a mane. Her right arm was in a purple cast and bandages wrapped around her neck. She was also rolled onto her good arm, vomiting over the side of her bed. Joan cussed and rushed to Jessie's side.

"Oh, uh," Roman stammered, looking around. "Can we get a nurse over here, please?" Joan grabbed a nearby trash bin and held it under Jessie's face. The teen dry-heaved a bit, but all that came out now was spit.

"There you go, there you go," Joan muttered, patting Jessie's back.

"Is something wrong with Jessie?" Milena asked through the curtain separating the bays.

"My stomach hurts," Jessie groaned. Her left arm shook as she tried to push herself up. A nurse whooshed past Roman and gently grabbed Jessie. He and Joan helped her lay back onto the bed, keeping her on her side.

"This a new pain, hon?" the nurse asked, his voice soft as he moved the hair away from Jessie's mouth.

"I felt like this this morning," Jessie groaned. "I thought it was just bad cramps." Jessie's forehead glistened in the white ED light. It didn't take a medical degree to tell she had a fever.

"Jessie, I'm going to push on your stomach," Joan said. "Roman, grab me the gloves behind the desk." Roman snapped to attention and dove over the desk, grabbing the box of blue gloves and handing a pair to Joan. "I need you to tell me if you feel pain, and where." Jessie nodded, closing her eyes tight and gritting her teeth. Joan slipped on the rubber gloves. They moved Jessie's hospital gown to reveal her stomach. Their fingers pressed against her left side.

"Ow, yeah, that hurts, right side," Jessie gasped, her good hand gripping her bedsheets. Joan frowned slightly.

"Jessie?" Milena called again.

"Nurse Fleming, could you find an ultrasound machine?" Joan asked, looking up at the nurse. He nodded and hurried away. Roman glanced over at Bay 10. Milena leaned forward as far as she could with her injuries, trying to see what was going on. "Jessie, can you describe your pain to me? Give me some details."

"I," Jessie sighed, shaking as she tried to sit up. "I started hurting after breakfast, but I just thought it was my cramps again, so I took a Midol, but it didn't go away. It kept growing, but I needed to get to tennis..." Nurse Fleming wheeled a contraption past Roman into the bay.

"Jessie, Nurse Fleming is going to rub some gel on the right side of your stomach and get an ultrasound of you," Joan explained, glancing up at Nurse Fleming as they talked. He gave Joan a quick nod. He grabbed a tube and rubbed a clear gel against Jessie's stomach. He then pressed a rod with a round end against the gel and turned on the machine he brought with. As he moved the rod over Jessie's stomach, a hazy black and white image that Roman barely understood popped onto the machine's screen.

"Jessie," Joan said, eyes scanning the screen. "We'll run this image by radiology to make sure, but I believe you have appendicitis."

"What?" Jessie stammered.

"It's ok," Joan stammered, holding out their hands like they were calming a bull. "It's treatable. I promise." A few more nurses rushed around Roman. One started mopping up the vomit while others took Joan's spot, whispering gentle words to Jessie. Roman would never understand the strange secret language of the nurses. Joan squeezed out of the bay and to Roman's side.

"Appendicitis, is that the one you remove the appendix for?" Roman whispered, glancing at the crowded Bay 11.

"Yeah," Joan huffed, fingering the beanie in their pocket. "From the ultrasound, I don't think that appendix will stay whole until morning. Removing it is the safest bet. That is, if we weren't currently quarantined in the ED, which doesn't have enough supplies to do a safe organ removal."

"Oh," Roman said, hands clenching in his pockets.

"Yeah," Joan huffed. They grabbed Roman's arm and tugged him across the ED. "Oh."

————————

Three hours into quarantine

————————

Taglist-

@cocobearthe4th @purelyreblogstsedition @watchoutforthefanfics

[flightless-icarus]

may 20, 2020

so, since this is for my therapist, i wont be doing much introductions. yall will just have to get to know me as this goes if anyone else besides her is reading this.

today wasn't very eventful, or productive. i mean, it was a little productive, i got some of my panels done for my comic! i think about 3 or 4? i want to do a few more before i go to bed since i need to be doing 10ish a day to meet my quota. or im not gonna meet my deadline. i worry about not meeting that deadling a lot, im scared i wont be able to meet it. and i really feel like i shouldn't and cant miss this opportunity.

so as of right now, im a bit upset. it's 11pm and my mom went to take a shower, and, i know i said last time that i shouldnt be snooping but i keep getting super paranoid about them talking about me and what they're planning because, like everyone else ive ever lived with, is pretty quick to kick me out without even mentioning anything.

so i read her texts between her and my dad, and they were pretty hurtful?? i keep worrying, especially now, that i am the problem. like my dad mentioned in texts to my mom that "she hasn't talked to me in 10 days, why is she even here? is this still supposed to be part of her growth?"

1. ive been here for 2 months, who expected any growth in 2 months? especially when im still in the process of trying to solve problems and work through problems,  and 2. WHY would i want to talk to him? plus he hasnt talked to me!!! why does he think he can complain about me not talking to him when he hasn't done the same thing with me in 10 days!!

but, idk. anyway, i feel like im the problem. shitty situations follow me around and i feel like i just can't click with people anymore. i feel like im the toxic one, especially after reading those messages about my mom telling my dad she things im just full of myself, and him saying im this ungrateful, wasteful, disrespectful human being and how i trigger him so much and he's so scared i'll use shit against him, but he doesn't care to think about my feelings either?

i dont think im ungrateful, im grateful im being given a place to stay, but im not a fan of having to live with him again considering how much bullshit he put me through growing up. if i had somewhere else to go, and money to do it, i'd probably spit in his face and tell him to never speak to me again.

id love to get away from him again. despite the paranoia of him showing up at my door when i lived in oregon,  it still felt so amazing to be away from him. i know my mom isn't great but i dont know i still like her. i probably shouldnt, since she thinks im just as insufferable as he thinks.

i feel like im reverting back to how i was when i lived here the first time. i feel like theyre erasing all the progress ive made over the years with my ability to speak out when i feel likeim not being treated right. i dont even feel like i agree with the things theyre saying about me in text?? im not a bad person?? im not full of myself, or acting aggressively (unless provoked), and im not being ungrateful. im a little wasteful but that has a lot to do with my food anxiety. i wont eat anything if its been in the fridge for longer than a couple days, so i throw a lot of stuff out. and i feel bad, but if i eat it, even if its good, the anxiety of eating it will make me sick. and that just feeds the "see i shouldn't have eaten that, it made me sick"

i feel like i dont belong, i feel like im not welcome anywhere. i just want to move out and live alone and just die alone. i feel like thats the route im heading anyway.

i still find myself forcing myself not to cry, even right now.

im sad, im hurt. i feel like im the problem. i feel unwanted everywhere i go, i even feel like my own best friend only talks to me out of pity. i always worry she doesn't actually want to speak to me, she just does because she feels bad and doesn't want to take away the only friend i have. she knows shes my only friend. and has been for like 3 years now.

ive been feeling a lot of either nothing or sadness lately too, but tonights just worse that normal. part of it is from the Joker movie and part of it is from reading those texts. i want to say theyre gaslighting or theyre just saying that shit to get in my head, but those are private conversations, those are genuine, private thoughts theyre having. i mean... maybe theyre having those thoughts because they feel like im some awful person so their view of me is bad?? i dont know. i really dont. i always kinda thought my mom was at least sorta on my side, especially when she complains so much about how badly he talks about me and how she hates that he hates me.

i thought she was at least with me on this but i dont know. i dont know, and i dont like that i dont know. i dont know who to trust, or how to feel. i just feel like i should start keeping my mouth shut again because thats when the peace was being kept the best.

"dont speak unless spoken to".

right now, im: sad, anxious, a little nauseous, even sadder now that my cat has gotten off my lap, i have a headahce, and im tired but i dont think ill be able to sleep. i want to cry, i have the lump in my throat, but i don (i ended it here)

[clementiens]

Hey I’m struggling with a fresh lifetime autoimmune diagnosis that might see me disabled in the future.... and it’s nice to have a lead on my pain but it’s hard with this being definite. And you seem so positive I was wondering if you had any coping advice? Your blog and others like you is a huge inspiration being open with chronic illness.

i wish i had something a little more like..Quickly Helpful, but a concept i saw that did help me a lot especially earlier was radical acceptance, which was basically like. accept what you cant change, so you can actually get on with changing what you can. like i just cant change that i have chronic pain and my joints dislocate and all this other stuff, but i can change how my room is arranged so i can get around more comfortably, and i can change some of my goals OR How i plan on achieving those goals so its actually feasible within the limitations that i have. its going to be more productive and im going to be Happier if i try to work within that to figure out how to make a life i want to live, rather than put all my time and energy (mentally or with trying Every Every Everything anyone suggests, even if its not actually like. realistically going to do anything) into Getting Better. it made a lot of stress by setting up this feeling of constantly waiting for my life to start (so i wasnt really trying to do anything with the life i had at the time), while also feeling like a failure when things stayed how they were or progressed. accepting my body and my health for what it was so i could move on with my life made a big difference for me, even though it is kind of a work in progress, so also dont feel bad for feeling bad, its okay to be like “yeah this sucks.” (i sometimes felt like i was being a Bad Disabled Person or giving into misery stereotypes or some bullshit like that if i wasnt always feeling totally fine about being disabled, but youre entitled to feel how youre going to feel about the situation youre in.)

ive seen a lot of disabled people and specifically disabled activists talk about how harmful the Level of focus and attention on cures/Getting Better can be, when its at the expense of a lot more focus and attention (and funding) than things like services and programs for disabled people get, even though thats what would actually help us Right Now. (ofc this is like layered and not a one size fits all issue but like as far as the pressure to get better that can end up just turning into an unnecessary stress.) finding out more about the disability rights movement and reading more of what disabled people had to say about these things also helped, and i cant even really pin down why, it was just like. there are other people in this boat too, and theyre fighting, and if theyre fighting then this life can be and is worth fighting for and putting my foot down for. it was just really reassuring i guess.

when i was first diagnosed i was flipping a lot between feeling relieved to know what was going on, and being like “oh, so it is actually that bad. that sucks.“ i had to just let myself feel that, which im pretty sure ive also seen people bring up when talking about radical acceptance, like that its completely okay to feel shitty about it or angry or grieve. trying to force those feelings down doesnt really help anything, and at least in my experience it just ends up creeping out elsewhere usually VERY inconveniently, so give yourself some time and space to feel what youre feeling without pressure, so you can go back out and the feeling isnt still hanging on you quite so much. 

BUT ALSO having a diagnosis does mean you can do something about it, even if it just gives you more solid limitations so you can know more about, like, how to ration your energy and pain tolerance, so im glad you were able to get that nailed down! its the biggest pain in the ass!

finding groups for your specific diagnosis can be good too i think, both for the feeling like other people are in the same boat but they also can have some good information about a lot of things, like certain physical therapy that did or didnt work and why, is this an EDS thing or is this normal, etc. and i think therapy is good too if its an option. i was told to Go See A Therapist when i first brought up chronic pain, which was super frustrating, but i do still have trouble with things like “i cant financially support myself right now” spiraling into “AND SO im a drain and im worthless and i suck, like, just in general,” which is where having a therapist comes in. the first thought is just objectively true but the second thought is taking it to an irrational level and it can be really easy to slip into that kind of spiral without some help, but that could also just be things like worksheets online if therapy isnt an option or whatever. (i love when my therapist sends me those.)

i hope at least some of this can be helpful and sorry if it turned into kind of an essay, but im glad you at least got some answers! this feels kind of jumbled up but im not really sure how to unjumble it so i can clarify something if its not clear

[masterturner]

long drawn out personal post

this is a bit stream of consciousness, so if you’re reading this and trying to make sense of it, im sorry. its okay if youd rather not. its a lot and its emotional labour to even read it probably. it’s been almost a year since the breakup now. every day closer to the anniversary of it, i feel a little more broken. i’ve had two suicide attempts since then, a prolonged IOP thing, and i no longer see a therapist (though i really should start again). im not crying about borderline personality disorder though. this is all breakup shit. still.  im still holding together somehow. i dont really know how, some days. ive gone through the whole cycle of grieving multiple times now, cycling again and again through denial and bargaining and all that, ‘til i reach acceptance and think the hurricane is at its end. then i find i’m just in the eye of the storm, and it’ll soon pass as i get caught up in the winds again. then i do the whole cycle over and over again. thats what the therapists in the IOP said it was. a grieving process. you can grieve the terminus of a relationship the same way you grieve a dead person. it sounds so silly when i make that comparison. they also said that progress and healing are nonlinear and that it’s not really necessarily going to be as simple as passing through the grieving process a single time.  i said it sounds silly. its not silly though. its real, and i have to remind myself of that from time to time. i dont usually talk about anything personal on here, and its a little weird that im doing it now. but i guess im doing it because i dont know where else to do it. i could do it on facebook, but it feels attention-grabby, needy in a way i always feel weird being. doing it here under a little ‘read more’ thing feels less obtrusive and private, but not so private that im completely trapped in my own skull again. i hate feeling trapped in my own skull.  the anxiety bubbled up and got bad again pretty constantly. it got that way tonight. i felt my heart race while i tried to sleep. usually the worst points stemmed from me looking my ex up and seeing how their life was progressing along without me. unlike me, my ex has a drive and interest in the performance of social media that i generally lack. my social media experience begins and ends in shallow ways: i look at cute butts on tumblr, reblog dumb memes and get vague impressions of things going on in the world and such through the sometimes nonsensical things other people reblog. thats about it. my ex, though, shes the kind of person that does things like update her facebook profile picture at least once in a 6 month period, unlike yours truly.  i dont even follow her or have her friended anymore on facebook. heaven forbid i had an instagram to see what kind of stuff was going on there. it always got the worst when i saw her with her new SO. now i get to look at that every time i get the nerve to message her. its literally painful to even look to the extent i have to archive or delete every stray line of text we send to one another afterward.  i was seriously in denial - i talked myself into believing the SO wasnt an obstacle, wasnt a big deal, he was just a rebound and it didnt invalidate me. it didnt make me lesser, and it didnt mean that i was being replaced. after all, what stranger can replace 5 years of memories and experiences together? but i was a rebound too, and that led to a deep and intense relationship. why couldnt it this time too?  i was naive, i think. hopeful and naive, and i really wanted to believe this and that. ‘i know her’ i’d tell myself. ‘i know her, and i know she wouldn’t think this’ or ‘she wouldn’t do this’. but it’s wishful thinking.  maybe a part of me always did know better. maybe i stopped listening to that part of my own psyche because i started to recognize how harmful it was.  it’s kind of messed up how that works though? like... you can be happy with someone, but also be terrified of that day when they realize they can do better. and then it becomes a sort of twisted, fucked-up self-fulfilling prophecy because that thought sucks the life and passion out of you. it’s insidious and slow.  and it’s tempting to look at it like ‘i was right all along, everyone will leave me’, but that’s not really how it necessarily is. thats just the trauma talking, the fear, the part of my mind that’s lazy and resigned to suffering and collapse. it was that fear that made it real. maybe if i’d learned to manage that fear, though, things could have been different. would have been different.  it’s pointless to speculate on that though. the reason i say it isnt to speculate though, it’s because im trying to remind myself that it can apply to right now. the friendships and relationships i have now - few and far between as they may be, stretched thin as they may be, damaged and in dire need of repair as they may be - aren’t doomed to failure just because i’m afraid of loss and abandonment. the collapse doesnt have to be inevitable.  maybe talking like i’ve learned and figured something out from all this will make me feel better. maybe believing it all had a purpose will make it feel like it was worth it. eventually. right now, though, it doesnt.  i’m still so upset. i’m still miserable and i still long for things i can’t have. i miss affection. i miss being touched, even in a plain and nonsexual way. i miss being kissed and i miss being hugged. i miss being wanted, and every day i wonder if ill ever feel that again. and then i get to thinking, would it be enough to feel that from just anyone again? why do i feel so starved for... any kind of affection at all? why do i feel so desperate for something - anything like this? could anyone ever love me the way my ex did? i guess the cynical and plain answer to that is no, but thats okay. and maybe someone else can love me better. and maybe that desperate longing to be loved, cherished, cared about, touched, anything is just a symptom of an addiction that’s yet to pass. kind of a cold and clinical way to put it though, and i dont know if thats really me. yet i dont want someone else because its not enough to just have anyone. my ex left me, and now i still have that feeling of being invalidated, devalued, abandoned, and ultimately replaced. even if someone else came along and professed undying love for me, no matter how i welcomed it, that feeling of being tossed aside would remain. and i dont know how to come back from it.  i hate how much my mind... fixates on it. like... everything makes me think of it. i cant make a status on facebook without wondering if my ex will see it, what she might think. i cant leave my house and go somewhere without wondering, what if my ex sees me? what would she think of what im doing? would she approve, or be proud of me? would it impress her? or would it disappoint her? it saps the joy out of almost everything i do. i cant watch an old show without feeling bad im watching it without her. i cant help but wonder if she feels the same, or if shes gotten over it. and a part of me doesnt want to know the answer to that wonder. does she still listen to mili? coheed? does she listen to ‘old flames’ on repeat like i do? when ‘sweater weather’ comes on, does she think of me or someone else?  even now as i write this, i wonder if my ex still stops to peer at my dumb blog from time to time for a hint of how im doing and what im thinking. and i dont even know if id want to know, because seeing this message in that light casts a pall over it that makes me feel sick. i didnt want my ex to see how not okay i am. i didnt want her to see the part of me that feels so sick still. and i dont want to know that she doesn’t look at this either. so here i am at an impasse, writing words and tossing them into the void of the internet, hoping for and expecting only silence, while also hating and fearing the very same. id like to think that maybe this is a sign i dont care anymore, but i think i know better than to really believe that.  i force myself every day to just... not reach out. not say anything to her thats real or vulnerable - the few times ive talked to her it feels forced and fake. and it feels like ive cut off a limb, because im so used to leaning and relying on her. but i feel like i have to, because expecting that level of emotional labour from someone that has cut those ties with me seems silly and foolish... not to mention selfish.  why? maybe a part of me thinks that by hiding it, i’d win her back someday. or maybe im just afraid of being burdensome and difficult. or maybe i just... genuinely do want her to be happy without me. i wish it was that last one. i wish i could just back off and be happy that shes with someone else that maybe will treat her good in a way that i couldnt, or didnt.  i dont know what i want, though. i know what i dont want though. i know i hate feeling like this and i wish i could make it stop, but i cant. its not really getting easier. i had the borderline shit before this, and i could end up meeting the criteria my whole life for all i know. the breakup is just a massive complication in that whole mess, but i dont know if id even know what was wrong with me if i didnt have that relationship in the first place.  there was a day a few days ago, or maybe a week or two ago (i dont remember) where i wanted to hurt myself (not physically though for whatever reason), and in order to do it, i made myself do something i was starting to break the habit of doing. i browsed her facebook profile and scoured it for anything that’d make it sting again. i succeeded - it didnt take much. a few pictures, a relationship status change, that was pretty much it. my mind filled in the blanks after that because of course it did. it snowballed into full blown catastrophizing. they’re probably madly in love. they’re probably moving in together, if they havent’ already done so. they’re probably making plans to get married. they’re probably this and that and this and that - like it matters. like it affects me somehow.  but it doesnt. not really, not physically anyway. i dont have to look, and its like i hope not looking will make it hurt less. but not looking makes me hope, and hope has bred more hurt than anything else in the past year.  since i last looked her up in that fog of need to hurt myself emotionally, a lot of that dreadful hope i had that i could win her back drained away, and i want to believe that the pain will go away now. i havent talked to her since then. i still think about her. i still dream. i still fear and i still wonder and reflect. but i havent talked to her. is that good? is it bad? is it anything other than what it is? does it matter? maybe someday ill be over this. a part of me yearns for that. and a part of me is afraid to ever let go, because what if love wins in the end and all the time we had together meant something after all?  did it not mean anything if it didnt end up taking the shape i wanted it to take? no, it still meant something, but does that matter now?  i dont know. all i know is that to this day it hurts and... that’s all. thats all i know.  eleven months later and it still hurts. but i guess expecting it to be all better after 5 years of dating is a little unrealistic. i thought we were gonna be together forever. forever is a long time, though, i guess.  she makes it look easy, but maybe it isnt for her either, even if she’s better at making it look a certain way. i have no way of knowing and thats maddening in its own way. if i had the ability to close that distance... hear her out, be there for her, could i do it? could i get over my own fear and hurt to build a connection again? id love to find out. but i cant seem to get that far.  it doesnt matter though. its her life, and she has every right to move on without me. its easy to say ‘poor me’, but theres two sides to every story. a lot of pain that led up to the end. questions i still have that will never go answered, and closure i might not ever obtain.  ctrl+a, delete, backspace. that’s all it’ll take, tyler. then maybe you can sleep.  but no, instead you’re going to post this. for what? why? is it a cry for help? complaining for the sake of complaining?  i dont know. i cant leave it all in my own head though.  but the silence that i get back in response is liable to be deafening all the same  

[inenaffable]

Rito Village (From “The Legend Of Zelda: Breath Of The Wild”)

i think im making progress, though i still hate this white, white background. i dont know, really. my therapist tells me every week how good im doing, and i feel like, i do, i do. but thats just because ive been ignoring everything. thats because ive been lying.

once i saw a video of  a girl raging about how could people lie to their therapists when she would kill to just have someone qualified to talk to. its not like that, it doesnt work like that. i dont lie, i dont lie, ijust dont tell things, i cant.

how could i tell her? i could never. i dont want to believe im right. she made me reach out for a friend i wasnt talking to, but that made it worse, that made it worse. its not destroyed, no,, its so easy when somethings destroyed, its over, and thats it, and oh lord, for once it wasnt even my fault. but now i have expectations, and i can feel it, i can feel it, its just not gonna be the same, were just gonna... drift away. and theres nothing i can do. nothing. nothing. think about it.

im just running, running, running, running, like i always do. im sorry, i cant change, im so so sorry. i know what to do, i just cant. what, what? ive done it all wrong now, theres no way i could go back. im tired. maybe im just not made for people. i cant let go, im so sorry. you mustnt even think about me anymore, and im still here, all of you. its so hot, so hot, so hot.

im a child, im a child, dont you see? please, please, i know im a baby. dont say that, dont say it, dont you know ill never forget it? im so tired. i wish people could just understand. is it my fault? its not, its not, what am i supposed to do?

im sitting there, im sitting there, and everyone is talking, and i just dont know what the fuck theyre talking about, what am i supposed to do?

im tired of pretending i care. i dont. i wanna sit there and stare at space and do nothing, fuck you, fuck you, youre all talking about something i cant keep up with, cant you see it? cant you fucking stop and look at me and say oh lets change the subject real quick! so i can fucking join you?

am i being too selfish? im sorry. i dont like you. youre not my bestfriends. you dont understand. i hate those people. i hate them. its like, hey, hello, nice to see you, but thats over. weve never been more than that, and well never be. i dont know why im trying.

im not built for this. im not. i want to sit silently and do nothing, i dont want to join your conversation. i dont care, could you please understand that?

i should just accept that im not good with these people. with no people. even with my bestfriends. i cant talk forever. i cant concentrate forever. sometimes i just get wornout. no, i cant keep up with your conversations. no, i dont find humor in the same things you do. and im tired. im so tired of pretending to care all the time. i just dont want to talk about it.

god, im so sick of people. i miss laying down with my ex, silently, sometimes doing dumb little things. i miss the floor, i really do. it triggers me, but thats just where i belong. alone. ive always felt better like that. theres no need to pretend, youre no good at this. its just time. im sorry if you cant deal with it. im also carryying something inside of me, its also hard for me to just accept im uncomfortable and leave it be. i took two whole years and an anxiety attack to get over it, and it wasnt even entirely. ill take my time. im over you, everyone.

except im not. yet. it doesnt even make sense, does it? youre cool and all, but.

she says it doesnt need to be like this. that i dont need to overload everything with emotions. but just look at this. im getting tired. for real. but i wont have anything to do if i stop writing. im sick and i slept the whole afternoon and now i wont be able to sleep again even though my whole body hurts. i need to do a blood test. and a lot of other exams. im kinda scared of how my body has been lately, but maybe thats my fault for not taking care of it well enough. isnt it funny how we cant see anything wrong and then sudenly our body is just fucking rotting from the insides?

i dont want a bunch of people. i just want one. but maybe its for the better that im alone. i cant keep depending emotionally on other people. it hurts so much but i cant move. except im moving, my fingers, haha. im trying not to do what i always do, but its hard. asking you, asking you a bunch of weird questions. im sorry. imagine if someone read this. its funny, im sorry. its funny cause it looks so much like im pretending. is that what you think? god. i miss cuddling so much. im sorry if im weird sometimes. i just need to let it out. but im okay now. oh, and my hair is purple. and pink. its pretty cute. haha. yeah.

[xadoheandterra]

Title: Don’t Write Me A Postscript Chapter: V (I / II / III / IV / VI / VII / VIII / IX / X / XI / XII / XIII) Fandom: Red vs Blue Characters: David Church | Agent Washington | Recovery One, Micheal Caboose | Agent California | Micheal-210, Church | Alpha Summary: He was all sorts fucked up and didn’t want to admit it. Being alone for fourteen months didn’t help matters--except, well, Church was tired of being alone. Tired of people leaving and dying--and he thought, no more. I’m done. I’m out.

Won’t Say You’re Sorry (I / II / III)

Do You Even Feel Compassion? (I / II)

There were a lot of things Agent Washington expected when he interacted with the Sim Troopers. A lack of fundamental understanding of how the army actually functioned, the realization that they weren’t actually in the middle of a civil war, or the knowledge that Freelancer’s where merely using them as training grounds. Wash didn’t anticipate running into a Sim Trooper like Caboose, who had team kills by the hundreds, who talked to vehicles as if they were alive, and who half the time made no sense at all until hours down the road.

Caboose actually reminded Wash a lot of Idaho. He missed the triplets. They used to talk and hang out a lot before he got bumped up to Alpha Squad—and before they went completely missing. Wash closed his eyes behind his helmet and rubbed at the back of his neck where his implants burned with psychosomatic pain. The real kicker though, after Kaikaina ‘Sister’ Grif and meeting the AWOL Captain of Red Team Sarge, was honestly Church. Wash eyed Caboose who stood in front of the base with his arms spread out wide.

“Fuck! I missed him!”

Wash watched as the bullets missed Caboose, sometimes by a hair, and yet the larger SPARTAN-esque Sim Trooper just stood there, happy. It defied logic and reason and Washington couldn’t understand it. Was there something in the water? He has to be hallucinating. That was the only thing that made sense.

Wash sucked in a breath. Breath, David, he’s a shit shot and you are fine.

“This is your friend?” Washington asked, and he felt a part of his throat tighten because what kind of friend fires live arounds at another?

Caboose lowered his arms and turned to look at Washington through his helmet and he sounded kind of exasperated as he said, “Yeah.”

“And he’s…shooting at you?” Washington asked, because he felt like he needed to clarify. Who thought shit like this was normal? Several more shots rang out, followed by ever increasing vitriolic curses, and Wash forced himself to breath. He counted back and muttered under his breath the exercises his therapist taught him.

Wash came back at the tail end of Caboose’s response.

“…something up about me killing him, but uh, that’s only the truth. Uh,” Caboose paused, then hastily corrected, “it’s a joke.”

I had to have misheard, Washington thought weakly.

“You can play along if you want!” Caboose chirped.

“That—that doesn’t—you did—you—killed him?” Wash squeaked.

Three more shots went off, and then Church actually popped his head up and shrieked at them and Washington wanted to bury his head and groan.

“Seriously! Get the fuck outta here!”

Maybe there was something in the water at Blood Gulch? Washington thought while Caboose yelled back—and then Church reached a pitch that went right through his brain and he rubbed at his implants again with a faint grown. Or maybe I’m hallucinating due to starvation or something. When was the last time I ate? That…ration bar? How long ago was that? Yesterday?

“What is wrong with you?!” Church shrieked again, and Washington decided he had enough. He stepped out from behind the rock, then quickly jumped back when a shot hit the dirt in front of him.

Wash raised his hands, sucked in a breath, and shouted, “Open the gate!” because fuck—he felt like he was in some weird film and his head hurt with forgotten memories.

“No can do!” Church shouted back down. At least, Wash noted weakly, he’d shouldered his weapon. “This here is a secure facility. No one in, no one out! So scram! Get! And don’t come back!”

Wash stared up at Church, then glanced over to the caution taped and marked off giant hole in the wall, and then back to Church. He wondered if he should even bother to deadpan a reply. They stared at one another for a moment longer, and Wash closed his eyes.

“You have a giant fucking hole in your oh so secure wall,” Washington said bluntly. “I could, of course, just walk in.”

A beat, a moment of silence, and then a loud groan and a growled response of, “Fine!” Washington waited for the door to grind open on damaged gears.

Caboose tore into the facility first. He practically bounced up to Church and squeezed him into a hug while Washington gingerly stepped along behind him. The place was an utter wreck. Vaguely Washington remembered pulling the files on Outpost 48—the two Sim Teams wiped one another out so completely that Command had issues in filling in replacements and repairs.

“Put—put me down! Caboose! Put me down dammit!”

Washington stared, watched as Church struggled in Caboose’s grip for a moment, and then sighed heavily. This was going to be a headache, he could already tell.

Thirty minutes of Caboose squeezing and chattering on about all that happened at Rats Nest and Church had, miraculously, guided them toward the decrepit kitchenette in the base. Somehow he got Caboose to sit still, and Caboose actually tore off his helmet when Church rummaged through the fridge—he grumbled something about how half the food was rotted and he’d need to put in a request again before he pulled out what looked like orange juice.

“Smell that for me buddy,” Church said and handed the cartoon to Caboose. “Let me know if it’s still good.”

Caboose cheerfully accepted the carton and twisted off the cap. He took a sniff and crinkled his nose before he tipped the carton back and began to drink. Church scrambled to grab the carton away and Wash watched it all with the fascination of a train wreck in progress.

“Goddammit moron don’t drink it! Fuck just tell me if it’s rancid—you’re going to make yourself sick you stupid—” Church wrestled the carton away and tossed it into the bin before he scrambled for a cup and quickly twisted the faucet for water. He shoved that at Caboose, along with what looked like some sort of pills, and quickly commanded the large man to drink.

“It was okay! Only a little bad!” Caboose said, but he drank as ordered and Washington felt like an outsider. “My stomach is lead-based. I’ll be fine, I think, won’t I Church?”

Church groaned and flopped down into another chair. Washington thought he mumbled something about how it was a miracle that Caboose wasn’t dead yet before he raised his helmeted head to look at Wash and somehow Washington could just tell the man was exasperated as much as he was happy.

“So,” Church said blandly. “A Freelancer Agent. Here.”

Washington blinked behind his mask. “Recovery Agent actually.”

“Even fucking better,” Church spat out and leaned his head back.

Washington wondered if he should just ask—the food was apparently rotted and as far as he could tell there was no one else in this decrepit, rundown base. He sucked in a breath and decided to just go for it. “Uhm, how—how long have you been here?”

Church rubbed at his helmet in the way one would rub at their hair and then glanced up at Wash tiredly. “What day is today?” Church questioned.

“Tuesday,” Washington said quickly.

“Fourteen months,” Church shot back just as quick and Washington wondered what the day had to do with calculating the length of time in High Ground. “To the day,” Church added, and Wash gaped.

“F—fourteen months? Alone? Here?”

“Yeah,” Church said tiredly. “Been great. Just…really fucking awesome.” Church glanced to Caboose. “Caboose, drink all of it.”

“Okay!”

Wash glanced to Caboose as well and watched the man tip back the glass and drank.

Church sucked in a breath and turned back to Wash and said blandly, “So, Recovery Agent, what the fuck are you doing here at High Ground?” After a second he added, “And how did you even know I was here?”

Caboose answered for him before he could—and he looked rather sheepish about it all too. Washington was reminded how Caboose explained that he snuck a look at the transfer papers and how Church hadn’t really wanted him to know.

“Oh that’s my fault,” Caboose said. “Agent Washingtub wanted people who dealt with Omega and you dealt with Omega the most and I knew where you were so I said I’d lead him here! And here we are!”

Church turned to Caboose. “Caboose,” he said, and the words were ground out with frustration. “It was supposed to be a secret.”

“But what if you were in trouble, Church?” Caboose whined. “What if I needed to rescue you?”

Church sighed again and turned back to Washington. “Does Command know you’re here?”

Washington blinked. “Not yet. I haven’t updated them to the situation. Which reminds me I should—”

“Wait, wait! Don’t call Command yet!” Church scrambled across to grab Washington’s hand like that would stop him from activating his radio. He listened, however, curious as to what the man wanted to say. “This is about Omega?”

Washington said slowly, “Yes, and no.”

Church scowled beneath his helmet. “That is not a fucking answer!”

Washington opened his mouth to respond when Caboose started speaking up again. “Church. Church.”

“Oh my god Caboose finish your water,” Church ground out—he didn’t even bother to look at the other soldier.

“But I did. I finished the water. But, uh, my tummy feels a bit weird?” There was a pause, before Caboose continued, “Uhm, yeah, I am going to be sick.”

Church groaned, held up a hand to stall Washington, and quickly started leading Caboose out of the kitchenette.

“This is why you don’t drink spoiled food, rookie!” Church snapped out while he walked away. Washington wondered how he was going to survive being surrounded by morons. Was this divine punishment? Washington wondered, for a long moment, if he really was suffering from some sort of fever dream brought on by hunger.

“Oh my god Caboose in the toilet! In the toilet!”

Wash dropped his head to the table and wished for simpler days.

They left Agent Washington for thirty minutes, and part of that was because fuck did Church miss this, and fuck did Caboose miss this too. After the mess in the bathroom Church helped Caboose out of his armor—minimal help needed, the man knew how to get his own armor off he just liked to get Church to help him. Church discarded his own armor, resolved to dump them off to get clean later because right now he just—

(his caboose)

(he came back)

—just wanted to rest. Caboose wanted to cuddle. They made the best of the mess and settled down onto Church’s rarely used bed, Church with his back to the fortified wall and Caboose half in his lap, face pressed to his lower stomach, arms wrapped tight around him in a hug. Church sighed and let it just be. Subconsciously his hands stroked through Caboose’s hair, and they rested there for a half hour.

(he came back)

When thirty minutes ticked over Church nudged at Caboose.

“Buddy I need to go and get our armor situated,” Church said.

“Dunwanna,” Caboose mumbled.

“I get that,” Church replied calmly, “but if I don’t dump them into the tub to get cleaned they’re going to smell like vomit forever.”

“I dun’like vomit,” Caboose mumbled again. “I’sucks.”

Church snorted. “Of course it does. Should’ve just did what I said rookie and not drank the damn thing.”

“Jus’a little.”

“Nope, we are not doing this,” Church nudged Caboose a bit harder. “Come on. You dragged a damn Freelancer agent into my base. We left him alone for thirty minutes, and our armor stinks.”

“S’nice,” Caboose mumbled. “’Ashingtub.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m sure he’s a real peach,” Church drawled, “but I don’t trust him.”

“’st’me?” Caboose shifted, tightened his grip. Church sighed, his fingers in Caboose’s dark-wheat-like hair, and they tightened slightly.

“Yeah, buddy,” Church mumbled. “Of course I do.”

For a second nothing happened, then Caboose sighed and shifted off of Church. He grabbed at the pillow and buried his face into it, and Church relaxed just a bit.

“’Ome back,” Caboose said, and he shifted to look at Church with one pale blue eye.

“Of course. Just gotta take care of shit,” Church said as he got up from the bed. “Just relax. I’ll get you some more water too. If you have to throw up, for the love of god make sure you get it in the bucket.”

“Kay.”

Church rubbed a hand over his face and resigned himself to having to clean up vomit if Caboose did have to throw up again. The man lived to try his patience sometimes. With a huff and purpose Church strode out of the room. He headed first to the bathroom, thankfully he couldn’t smell, and gathered up the soiled bits of armor.

This particular base had an automated system for cleaning armor. When Church first discovered it he’d stared and wondered why. At Blood Gulch if the armor got dirty they had to clean it themselves. This was higher tech than any Sim Outpost should rightly had. Not only did it clean the armor, but it helped removed unwanted smells that Church and Caboose and Tucker otherwise had to live with when they cleaned their armor themselves. Sure it took longer to work but the benefits outweighed anything. Plus, Church really didn’t want to clean up vomit off of power armor.

Once he’d dumped the armor into place, wiggled and finagled the power to actually get the machine to work, Church headed back to the kitchenette. Agent Washington was not there, and Church cursed loudly. Just fucking perfect. Now he had a Freelancer Agent, Recovery Agent or not, wandering around High Ground unattended. He didn’t like the itch he felt with that. He didn’t know Agent Washington.

(he should be dead)

(he is dead)

(who is this?)

He didn’t know this Agent Washington. Church felt something was off, something was wrong. He hissed a breath and turned on heel. He needed to find the Freelancer, and now.

[dont-follow-me-im-scared]

This weeks assignment per my therapist

"Be nice to yourself"

RELATIONSHIP: Ive been down on myself lately and feeling guilty. "No one else has these thoughts. Everyone else has to be happily married and I'm just not getting it" I thought this. For a long time. I was mean to myself and told myself I didnt deserve my family because of the thoughts ive had. Ive forced myself to be way more intimate with H even on nights I honest to the gods cringed at the idea. I pushed myself back toward that stepford mentality of house needs to be clean dinner needs to be made everything needs to be done get it done. Thats not healthy for me. Maybe it works for others im sure it does but none of this is healthy for me. So I'm going to back off. I'm going to say no to fishing when I need help with the house. I'm going to say no when the thought of being touched by anyone makes me want to cry because ive had a tiny human all over me. I'm going to say no to dinner request when ive already done a couple this week. I'm going to say no and not feel guilty. If he needs an explanation I'll give one but hes not like that. I'll tell him no and he will say ok and move on. He understands I get overwhelmed and shut down. He tries to help bless him but he usually cant unless I tell him EXACTLY what to do. I'm going to try and be more sincere and playful like when we were dating. I'm going to try and set aside some time to actually talk to him and not about work or D. I'm going to try and show him I still see my amazing husband in there because I do. We both just need to relax a little.

MOTHERHOOD: I'm definitely horrible to myself in this department. Most nights im in bed wondering what I did wrong and how I can do better tomorrow. Most the time my almost 2 year old can push me to yell. I really try not to and I try not to spank her but she just does not listen. I often see myself in the attitude thrown my way and can combat it well but im afraid its going to hurt our relationship in the future. I resented my mom for alot of things and I'm terrified of that. So this week im going to tell myself how kick ass I actually am. Shes almost potty trained completely. Shes making a transition to a toddler bed on her birthday. Shes sleeping through the night now fully no midnight sippy. Shes speaking in almost full senteces and the child loves her books. She has a cubby hole in her closet with a light she can reach where she can get on Top of her hope chest and read her books. Which she does. I mean she looks at the pictures but she can do it for about 45 minutes before she has to potty. She eats basically everything put in front of her. She throws away her trash. She says please and thank you. She can point to where shes not feeling good and she tells me when shes ready for bed. And she can name like 10 different animals and make their noises. Like for a two year old I feel like shes doing great and ive 80% raised her because H has been away for work. I need to be nicer to myself. I need to let myself be ok with her playing solo and me getting some chores done or just enjoy my coffee. And its ok to ignore house work some days and focus on her. What weve been doing seems to be working just fine so I'm going to sick with it until I have to change.

MY BODY: so for a while ive had a problem. It just kinda snuck up on me. I went to the gym everyday for two months and worked out until I puked. I pushed myself harder than I ever had. And yet when I looked in the mirror I literally saw myself getting worse looking in my own eyes. All the progress I clearly knew I was making was twisted in my brain. So I pushed myself harder I ate less I took higher scoops of my prework out and I smoked like a freight train. So I had to stop going all together when I just kinda realized what was slowly happening. I was getting some kind of body disorder because I needed to place some guilt somewhere. It was the only way I could beat myself up and no one could say anything. It was the only time I could truly make myself feel like shit and no one would actually noticed. I'm going to start back in the gym this week. But I am not going to deny my own progress when it happens. I will not go if I honestly dont feel like it or if I feel like I'm going to be mean to myself. I will be nicer to my body because its been through some serious shit and its still going.

These are going to be hard for me but that's the point of therapy right. To give us tools to help break down stuff in our life and help make it better. We arent meant to do it alone so why do we. Be nicer to yourselves this week y'all. Pick an area and focus.