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teenmomcentral · 10 months

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Ryan Edwards has been arrested…again.

According to The Sun, the Teen Mom dad was cuffed Tuesday while in the courtroom for a check-in hearing–– a check-in that was scheduled after Ryan plead guilty to driving under the influence and simple possession on November 6.

Judge Gary Starnes (who had long been a big supporter of Ryan) made it clear that he was angry that Ryan has continued to break the law and has reportedly not followed through with the terms of his probation. In addition, the judge was made aware that Ryan was not staying current on his Vivitrol shots. (Vivitrol is a prescription injectable medicine designed to help curb alcohol and/or opioid dependence that Ryan has been taking getting since July.)

The outlet reports that during Tuesday’s hearing, District Attorney Coty Wamp expressed to Judge Starnes that he was “interested to see” if Ryan could pass a drug screening, as he had last been screened November 8, “the same time he was released from Oasis [rehab].”

“It raises concern he could fail a drug screening,” the DA stated. “If he’s not doing [Council for Alcohol and Drug Abuse Services] CADAS outpatient, he’s not doing the support groups. Can we drug test him in court today, judge?”

Judge Starnes gave the go ahead to get Ryan drug-tested and an hour later, Ryan–- who is currently on furlough from a year-long jail sentence–- was called to the stand. At this point, the DA noted that Ryan was late getting his Vivitrol injections, pointing out that, without the injections, Ryan will be able to get high and feel the full effects of the drugs.

“He was supposed to get it on November 17,” the DA said. “We know what happens when you go longer than a month. The rehab representative believes it is way past overdue. That would correspond with his behavior at the bar.”

(As The Ashley previously told you, Ryan and his girlfriend Amanda Connor were recently booted from a Chattanooga, Tennessee, bar after the two were allegedly involved in a bar brawl.)

The DA went on to state that, while Ryan had been drug-screened on Monday, the results of that screening would not be available until Friday. The DA requested that Ryan be taken into custody in the event that he does not pass, arguing that Ryan “agreed to submit a report on his continuing care and follow-up,” but has failed to do so.

“If he does not do that by Friday and show he went to AA … If he doesn’t go, if he fails drug screens, the state will file this petition,” the DA added.

Rather than waiting for the results of the drug screening, Judge Starnes ordered that Ryan be taken into custody on the spot.

“He’s going into custody,” Judge Starnes said. “My patience is gone. You had chance after chance after chance. The results will be back Friday.”

While Ryan requested permission to speak in court, the judge denied that request and Ryan was handcuffed and taken out of the courtroom.

Interestingly, Ryan’s mother, Jen Edwards, did not attend this hearing, despite attending nearly every hearing Ryan has had this year. Ryan’s dad, Larry, was in attendance for some of the hearing.

Ryan’s baby mama, Maci Bookout— who has been very vocal in her support of Ryan this year— was not in attendance.

Ryan will return to court on Friday, December 8, where the results of his drug test will be revealed. He will remain in jail on no bond at least until then.

#teen mom the next chapter #mtv #teen mom #ryan edwards #arrests #court #rehab #maci bookout

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briamichellewrites · 10 months

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Brad was not a bad guy. He was struggling with depression and anxiety, along with self-confidence issues. The thoughts in his head made him turn to alcohol. Mike saw the little boy inside of him. He invited him to the studio to talk with him and Chester. Chester shared his experience with addiction. It was something he was currently struggling with. He was an alcoholic and a drug user. It affected his relationship with his wife and children.

Why did he start using drugs? Sexual abuse and his parents’ divorce. He was so angry that he wanted to run away and hurt others. Instead, he started using drugs when he was eleven years old. His mother kicked him out because of his addiction and he moved in with his father. Brad didn’t want to be vulnerable because he didn’t want people to know that he wasn’t Brad Pitt.

Who was he? He was William from Oklahoma. A kid who tried living up to his parents’ expectations for him. That wasn’t him. He didn’t want to be that guy. Brad was a role he played. He was confident and everyone loved him. William was scared of his own shadow. He wanted to retreat inside himself. But if he stayed there for too long, that was when he started having trouble getting out. He got lost in his head and he started believing the things his mind told him.

He was supposed to graduate college and become a journalist. Instead, he dropped out and came to LA. He never wanted to be famous or have the media’s attention. The attention wasn’t what he wanted for Bria, either. He wanted to protect her from that. What would William think about Brad Pitt? He wouldn’t recognize him.

“He would think that he got too far into Hollywood that he lost who he was.”

“I don’t think it’s Hollywood necessarily. It’s mental illness. It’s the chemicals in your brain. The more you try to cover that up with alcohol, the further you get away from yourself. Until you lose who you are completely. Right now, you can get help and heal William. I’ll go to rehab with you. We can do this together”, Chester offered.

He held out his hand to him. After nodding, he took his hand and shook it. Mike stated how proud he was of both of them.

Where’s Chester? That was the question Joe asked on Monday. He was in outpatient rehab with Brad. They wanted to know what happened, so he went through everything. Bria left Brad because of his drinking. Tiny was stressed out, so she took her out of the house. She then proceeded to pack up his stuff and have the locks changed before they moved back in.

The house was in her name, even though they both paid for it. He looked over the paperwork with her. That meant she could legally kick him out. Chester offered to go to rehab with him, so he could help him through it. That was definitely something he would do. They were happy to hear he was finally getting help. He had been open about his drug use but he denied being an addict. They wanted him to get help but he refused. Chester became angry when he was using drugs.

When he was sober, he was the guy they loved. Just like Brad. Their addictions made them into someone they didn’t want to be. Brad kept his hookup with Bria a secret. It wasn’t anyone’s business. At the end of the day, Mike and Phoenix went over to her place. They found Tiny walking around downstairs. She came over to them meowing.

They said hello to her and asked her where Bria was. She would show them! They followed her upstairs to the master bathroom. Bria was lying inside the bathtub. They asked her what the hell she was doing. She was hiding from the thoughts in her head. They sat down beside the tub while she sat up. Wasn’t that uncomfortable? Very. She used to do it when she was younger because she was scared of monsters in her bedroom.

Somehow the bathtub felt safe. Her father never understood it. What monsters were she hiding from? There weren’t any specific ones. Just in general. She got out and picked up Tiny, who didn’t understand what her human was doing. Humans were strange creatures. She fed her after setting her down on the floor.

Mike hugged her because she was going through a rough time. It would get better eventually. They had compassion for her. The house looked pretty empty since all of Brad’s stuff was gone. She put it into storage for him to collect when he finished rehab. Since she didn’t feel like cooking, they ordered pizza. While they waited for it to be delivered, they sat on the floor of the living room with Tiny. Bria was going back and forth between having a shopping spree at Saks, buying a property in Alsace or Paris; or buying adopting another kitten.

What was the least expensive option? Adopting another kitten. Why did she want to buy property in France? Where even was Alsace or whatever she said?

“Alsace is in eastern France. It borders Germany and Switzerland, so its languages are French and German. You can go to Switzerland and find people who speak French. I’ve never been to Switzerland but I want to eventually because I heard it’s beautiful there because of the mountains.”

“What about Paris?”

“Paris is full of history. Some buildings have been around since the French Revolution. It’s a city with shops and restaurants all over the place. It also has Paris Fashion Week, which is a huge event. Cannes is right by the ocean. France in general is a beautiful place.”

The last time she went to Cannes, a woman recognized her because she used to go there with her father as a child. She asked her how her father was and she had to tell her that he died. The woman was horrified because she had no idea. That’s the kind of people the French were. They would have to go there someday. She joked that they could go to France while she went to Japan. They laughed. Phoenix was Scottish and Irish. She could tell because of his red hair. They laughed.

She found out from Linda that she was from the bloodline of Robert the Strong of France, who lived from 830-866. Her relative was Prince Lorenz of Belgium, though he was a very distant relative. What did that mean for her? Nothing. She didn’t have any ties to the French monarchy. It was just a very interesting fact she recently learned about. She thought it would be cool to meet him someday.

Meow! Bria had stopped petting Tiny again. She apologized before going back to petting her. The guys laughed. She was such a cute kitten. What was her final decision? Adopting another kitten for Tiny to play with. She would go to the animal shelter the following day and see what they had. That was a good idea. She could bring her new kitten in for them to meet. That she would do.

They could have some kitten therapy. What were they going to do with Chester being in rehab? He was in outpatient rehab, so he would be able to continue working. Though, he would have someone coming with him to make sure he wasn’t using drugs or drinking. It was the only way they could finish the album without getting into trouble with their label. Brad was in inpatient rehab. They would see each other during the evenings. She hoped both of them got the help they needed. So did they.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

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addiction-recovery-support · 11 months

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Cocaine in Meconium: How Long Does it Stay in the Body?

An increasing amount of people are being tested for drugs in meconium during the time of birth or shortly afterward. Meconium is a baby’s first bowel movement and can carry levels of drugs used by the mother which can be detected for up to 48 hours after birth. Cocaine detox can cause lengthy issues if not addressed quickly. How long does cocaine stay in meconium and is it dangerous? Cocaine is a drug that can have varying levels of impact when a person uses it, and it’s even more significant when a baby is exposed to it while in the womb. Cocaine is metabolized by humans quickly, which is a good thing but in this case negates its detectability. Cocaine can be detected in meconium for a varying amount of time depending upon the frequency and quantity used by the mother. Typically, cocaine can be detected in meconium for up to 3 days after a single use. In cases of prolonged use, the drug’s detectability in meconium can be as long as 10 days. The presence of cocaine, or any drug, in meconium can cause various issues for the newborn. This includes an increased risk for prematurity, small for gestational age, and lower birth weight. These effects can extend long past the baby’s birth and can often lead to issues such as developmental delays. This is why it’s important to understand the impacts and how long cocaine can be detected in meconium. Some of the consequences associated with this very serious situation can be addressed with help from a drug rehab center. Here are a few key points to consider:

Cocaine can be detected in meconium for up to 3 days after a single use.

In cases of prolonged use, the drug’s detectability in meconium can be as long as 10 days.

The presence of cocaine in meconium can cause issues for the newborn, such as prematurity, small for gestational age, and lower birth weight.

Negative effects of cocaine use can often be addressed by seeking help from a drug rehabilitation center. If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, it’s important to seek professional help. Banyan Treatment Centers provide quality addiction treatment centers throughout the country in both residential and outpatient settings.

#Drug Detox #Substance Abuse Treatment #Drug Rehab #Alcohol Rehab #Opiate Addiction

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ledenews · 1 year

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Today’s Bob Ney – Part 2 – ‘I Needed to Survive”

(Publisher’s Note: This article is the second of a two-part series written by new contributing writer Dimitri Vassilaros. Vassilaros hosts “Dimitri - Live & Dangerously Local!” on River Talk – Ohio Valley 100.1/100.9FM and AM1290/1430 each week Monday through Wednesday from 7-9 a.m.) Mom was in a Wheeling hospital. Perforated colon. Might not make it. That was the news delivered by Bob Ney’s sister the same evening he left a Cleveland alcohol rehab center after just three days. His mother, though, somehow survived. After visiting her in the hospital, Ney headed back home that night from West Virginia when he saw a familiar interstate exit in Ohio that was the shortest route to his favorite bar in Cambridge. It was well before midnight. He was alone in the bar’s parking lot. Ney said that he was planning to go in to drink because “Mom lived.” He knew he would have done the same had she died. “I’m three days sober, whoop-de-do,” Ney said to himself. He calls that the start of his “bright-light moment.” “I’m like, oh my God, I’m insane. What the hell’s wrong with me? There is something horribly, horribly wrong with me. I’m about to go in there. I know what I’m about to do,” Ney said. Ney joined President George W. Bush for the signing of the Help Americans Vote Act. But he didn’t take that first step toward the bar. Instead, Ney started calling other recovery centers and found an affordable one that would accept him as an outpatient. Ney started going to recovery meetings about that time. In the first 90 days of his journey to find sobriety, Ney said that he attended at least 360 recovery meetings. When he wasn’t at a meeting, he was stuffing 693 boxes with his worldly possessions to take them out of the home that the mortgage company soon would repossess. Even though he had stopped drinking and had begun to address the underlying causes and conditions that triggered his desire for alcohol, life started to become more challenging. Ney had lost most of his material possessions. And now, being homeless, he couch-surfed in the homes of family and friends for about two months before heading to Morgantown. But there was one issue that was more embarrassing to Ney than all the other trials he’d endured. And it was announced at that very public pre-trial hearing; Ney was insolvent. Humiliations continued to pile on during his incarceration, long after the initial body-cavity search. The head counselor of the prison’s drug-and-alcohol recovery program was stern with a biting sense of humor. She told her celebrity inmate “You ran the House, but you couldn’t run your own house.” One of the inmates blamed his imprisonment on Ney. “Hey! You that congressman? You put me in here.” he said to Ney. Sponsoring even one anti-drug bill that can be a tool for law enforcement to arrest and convict users and sellers does not make former congressmen popular in federal prisons. At least, not at the Morgantown facility. “I was dejected, broke and nervous,” Ney said. But he didn’t drink or drugs, even though almost any prisoner there could get just about any illegal substance if he wanted it badly enough, he said. This recovery coin was given to Ney a few days after he stopped drinking back in 2006. Ney also was committed to attending the prison drug and alcohol recovery program, which included grueling group therapy, and raw rigorous honesty in front of a captive audience of 59 other addicts. Ney said he had had so many resentments that they could be computerized. He had much to say at those meetings. And his cellmates freely offered scathing tough-love feedback after he spoke. Ney decided that the first step to solving his prison problem was the same one that he was using for his drinking problem; “I needed to survive, one day at a time,” he said. Ney also embraced the prison philosophy of “be friends with everybody, but don’t be friends with anybody.” Ney completed his sentence, but he hasn’t stopped working on his daily reprieve from alcoholism. He now believes that there’s no such thing as a “functional alcoholic,” even though Ney thought he was one before the scandal. “It’s beyond stopping,” Ney said. “You need behavioral change. Alcoholics are not bad people, just sick ones. Recovery is medicine.” Ney stopped drinking on September 13, 2006. He knows he could start tomorrow. The 24-hour recovery coin that he accepted a few days after he stopped remains tucked safely in his wallet. It reads “… this road is a long one, but together, all of us as one, will win back our self-respect and begin walking our new road to this beautiful thing called life.” That coin gradually embossed itself on one side of Ney’s bi-fold wallet. It’s stark relief for anyone who feels that serenity is priceless. Ney offers to help other alcoholics, including being a sponsor - a type of guide or mentor to help steer a newcomer away from his current mindset and towards a sober one. Ney co-sponsored the Help Americans Vote Act, and he received a "Thank You" phone call from President Jimmy Carter after its passage. The lessons that Ney learned in the prison recovery program still are useful. He tells those who he sponsors not to play him if they don’t want recovery. Be honest. Develop a sense of gratitude for what they have. When Ney is having a bad day, he thinks about the juice and the raisins at that hospital in Afghanistan that his congressional delegation had visited. The unit included 10 severely malnourished Afghan children who drank from juice bottles and ate raisins to help them stay alive. As a gesture of profound gratitude for the aid that America had given that tortured pile of rocks in South Central Asia, the mothers of those near-starving kids offered Ney and their other foreign guests some of their children’s juice bottles and raisins. After Ney translated what the moms were saying, everyone in his group wept. When there is a temptation to drink, Ney said to think of the worst thing you’ve ever seen in order to be grateful, juice bottles and raisins, for instance. “Stay in the moment,” he said. An attitude of gratitude, in program-speak. Mere fender-benders also can be life collisions. Ney said that in order for him to stay alive, to survive, and to thrive, he still makes many meetings. If there’s one key to his survival, it is this: “Meeting makers make it.” Now, leading by example is how he’s going to show them, and how he’s going to teach them. “I think it is the right thing to do,” Ney said. https://ledenews.com/todays-bob-ney-part-1-things-collide-in-life/ Read the full article

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drjohngkuna · 2 years

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Therapist Bloomsburg, Pa

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These extreme psychological circumstances embody bipolar dysfunction, melancholy, and schizophrenia. Those with anxiety or depression can consider outpatient remedy. This provides them time to work one on one with a therapist, learning more about the situation and the way they'll get higher. Many of these affected by dependancy additionally endure from mental or emotional illnesses like schizophrenia, bipolar dysfunction, despair, or anxiety issues. Rehab and different substance abuse services treating those with a twin diagnosis or co-occurring dysfunction administer psychiatric therapy to deal with the person's mental well being problem in addition to drug and alcohol rehabilitation. Mental well being services in Bloomsburg can present treatment and counseling for a extensive range of psychological health points and problems.

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abbatoirablaze · 2 years

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Teller Morrow Tragedy, Season 1, Chapter 7

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: mentions of rehab facilities, underage drinking, underage smoking, tense situation

Gemma’s POV

"What do you mean I missed a call?" I asked Luanne, as she handed me my cell. My brow furrowed as I glared at her. April had walked off, feeling accomplished as I'd told her the good news, but I was being pulled in every direction. How was I going to keep everyone in line?

"I don't know," she said, putting my cell on the table, "Call them back."

I sighed and turned around, picking my cell up. I looked at the missed call log to see it was the rehab center, "shit. Luann it was the rehab center Mandy's doing outpatient stuff in."

"Oh shit," she gasped, "Everything okay?"

I walked away from her and dialled the number.

"Charming Rehabilit-"

"This is Gemma, the mother of Amanda Morrow. I just missed a call from you," I said quickly, cutting them off, "what's going on? Is Amanda alright?"

"Mrs. Mor-"

"Gemma," I corrected them, "what is going on with my daughter?"

"We need you to pick up Amanda. We are going to reject any further outpatient work with her. Today she tried to sneak in cigarettes in a tampon wrapper, and a flask was found sewn into her jacket lining. This is the last straw."

"Shit," I cursed, pushing a hand through my hair, "I'm uh...I'm setting up for a fundraiser, but I'll have my husband send someone to pick her up."

"She's talking to the therapist right now, but we insist that you have her picked up within the ho-"

"Fine," I said in an angry tone, hanging the phone up. I went to call Clay before remembering they were at Stockton. I dialled the prospects number, "Half sack I need you to pick up Mandy from the center. They're kicking her out. Bring her straight here."

"I uh-I can't do that, Gemma. They got me on the first shift for Chucky."

"Well, who the fuck is free?"

"I'll get someone to pick her up."

"Get on it." I growled, “they’re kicking her out right now!”

I hung up the phone without a second thought and began to head back to the table. Luann was waiting for me, "well?"

"My junkie bitch of a daughter got kicked out of rehab."

"What the hell did she do now?" Luann asked, in an amused voice. I glared at her and her look didn’t falter.

"Snuck cigs and a flask in."

She began to shake her head, "should just have her come work with me. I'll keep her on the straight and narrow."

"Bullshit,” I scoffed, knowing that she did more drugs than half the croweaters combined, “My daughter isn't going to ride dick for a living, Luann."

"She wouldn't be the one doing it," Luann laughed, "I'd have her to do office stuff or something."

“Sounds like code for you’ll have her sucking the dick off camera,” I muttered. I shook my head, "get back to cutting the onions. When that little bitch gets here, I'll put her to work."

"Oh, you should make her do the kissing booth."

I stopped and turned to stare at her, "are you trying to pimp my daughter out?"

Luann laughed, "it'd keep her hands and her mouth busy. Wouldn't have to deal with her sassing you the whole day."

I turned around and shrugged, "I hadn't thought of that. Good idea Lu."

"I have those sometimes," she giggled, “I’m not always thinking about putting something in a hole, Gem.”

I rolled my eyes at my best friend and together we prepped the rest of the booths. I'd just helped Wayne hang the banner on their booth when Mandy came into view, Juice trailing behind her.

"Looks like the kid got her," Luann said, coming up behind me. I felt myself leave the ground and she laughed, knowing that she'd surprised me, “isn’t the one that’s been sniffing around her for years?”

"Damn it Luann," I said, holding my chest, "don't do that shit, I got a bad heart."

"Sorry sweetie," she said with another laugh, "it was almost too good an opportunity to pass up."

I rolled my eyes at her and crossed my arms as Mandy came up to me. She popped her gum and gave me a sarcastic expression, "why am I here?"

I raised a brow at her, "what, you too good to help out the community? Maybe I should just let Unser throw some cuffs on you. Underage drinking. Smoking...drugs?"

She looked mortified, "mom keep your voice down."

"Here's the deal, kid," I said stern as all hell, "that was the only place willing to take you after your relap-"

"I didn't relapse. I told you a million times, I didn't do the do-"

"I don't want to hear it, " I said, cutting her off, "whether you did or didn't do the heroin, you did admit that you got blackout drunk. That's still illegal. Since you got kicked out of an outpatient rehab program, that means you're stuck with me or someone from the club. At all times. You aren't going to have any privacy, because frankly, you go do shit you aren't supposed to do, when you do have it. So today, you're going to be running the kissing booth with one of the cops. You'll be in my direct line of vision. Understand?"

She didn't respond. The damn kid didn't even look me in the eyes.

I wanted to feel bad for her, but I couldn't. She'd put the whole family through so much. And right after Melissa...I just...I couldn't.

"AMANDA!"

"I heard you," she whispered, “god…I heard you.”

"Good, "I sighed. I reached out to pull her into a hug, but she shifted away from me and made her way over to the kissing booth, “Little fucking bitch.”

"Don't take it personally Gemma. She was really mad when I pick--"

"I don't care Juice," I growled, "just keep an eye on her and don't fuck her."

He paled, "why does everyone tell me that?"

"Because they've seen the way you look at her," I replied before going back over to the booth, “thinking I’m fucking stupid…”

Soon enough everyone started coming down. Everything was going to plan. The busses had made their way down from the senior living center and the auction was going great. There was also a very long line of men at the kissing booth.

"Looks like someone might be more popular than Jackson."

"Looks like it, Luann."

"Should let her work for me. She could make a lot of money."

"She's not some trashy porn star," Juice said, nursing his beer. His eyes never left Mandy, "she's way better than any girl you've got working for you."

I raised my brow, "you're awfully defensive of Mandy, Juice."

"She's a minor," he said, jumping for a defense, “and she doesn’t need to run to a career riding someone’s dick. She’s better than that.”

"That didn't stop the two of you from dating."

He turned to me, eyes wide, "she told you?"

I nodded, "after we got her out of the hospital. She made me promise not to tell Clay though. That's why your balls are still intact."

"We never did anything."

"She said you wouldn't fuck her," I said slowly, “That you wouldn’t let her touch you.”

"So how's she any better than any of my girls?" Luanne asked, leading him on, "you've fucked a few of my girls before a few years back. But you won't fuck Mandy?"

"She means something. She's special, Luann," he growled, finishing off his beer. I handed him a ticket and he looked at me with a confused face, "what's this for?"

"If you have a ticket, she's gotta kiss you," I sighed, "get in the end of the line, and kiss her. After that, take her back to the club. It's 2 PM. She's got an online class in an hour."

He nodded and headed towards her.

Esai’s POV

I need to talk to you without having any kind of club things happening," I said quickly. Gemma raised a brow at me, but said nothing, "I know the club life isn't good to be raising a kid in...I want to make sure that if anything happens to me someone can take care of Rizario."

"What, your familia won't take care of him?"

"Gemma, I'm being serious," I sighed, not able to look her in the eye, "please…let's just be civil."

"Gammaw," Rizario cooed from my hip, reaching out to her. She softened and came around from the booth before taking him in her arms. He giggled and wrapped his arms around her, "I love youuuuuu!"

"I love you too sweet cheeks."

"Gemma," I asked, "can we please sit down. I want to talk to you about it all."

"Why didn't you just come by another day, and stop at the house, or the shop?"

"You know that both clubs would just try and to make it political. But this is what is best for your grandson," I began, pulling the manilla envelope out. It had all the papers about my will, and what is to happen if anything happened to me.

"What's this?" she asked, confused.

"Can we sit down?"

She nodded, "Okay."

I put the envelope on the table, "if anything happens to me, I know that Missy's original wish was that you guys take care of Rizario. I'm getting around to updating my will, and I want you to be the person who takes Rizario if anything happens. My dad is trying to push me into having him be the guardian, but I know what Missy wanted."

"And you came here, today to...what?" I asked, "make a big show of it? What's your end game, Esai."

"Look, Gemma. I've got nothing against you. I loved your daughter. We'd made a son together...I just know that if anything happens to me, you guys would be the best people to take care of him. My dad and has a wife my age. She wants a baby, but she's made it abundantly clear she wants nothing to do with Rizario. I'm not trying to play any games here. I'm just trying to do what's best for my son. Nothing less. Do you want him, or no?"

She looked at me as if I had some ulterior motives.

"If you think it's best," she said slowly. I nodded and slid the envelope over to her, “I’ll do it if that’s what you and Missy wanted.”

"This is all the paperwork I had the lawyer draw up. Take it to yours if you don't trust me. But when you sign it call me and we'll take it to a notary, so everything is official."

"Esai," she whispered, "is everything okay?"

"Things are changing in Oakland Gemma. I want Rizario as far away from danger as possible..."

"Charming ain't much safer."

"Well I have a feeling that you guys will manage to outlive me. Being the president's son has a target on my back already...but my dad has been having me do things that make that target even bigger."

"What kind of things?"

I began to shake my head, "don't worry about it. It's club stuff."

"You're not part of my club. Tell me what's going on or I won't take Rizario."

"Gemma!"

I looked at her in shock. What I normally saw as a sweet grandmother to my son, had reverted back to being the cold, heartless gatekeeper of the Sons of Anarchy. And she was digging.

"Spill."

"If you don't want to take Rizario if something happens, fine....give me my son back. I made a mistake coming here," I said, calling her bluff, and holding out my arms. I added in a huff before thumbing my wedding ring, "I'm sorry baby, I tried."

Gemma caught that little nuance and she gave me a sympathetic look. Her harshness faded away, and she looked into my son's eyes. A few tears welled up into her thickly lined eyes, "he has her smile, you know....and her dimples."

"I know."

"I'm not saying we are going to take him or anything right now," she said quickly, "my lawyer is going to look over everything...but should anything happen to you, we'll take care of Rizario."

"You will?"

She nodded, "yeah. He may be an Alvarez, but he's also a Teller."

Chapter 8

@Lohnes16, @evyiione

#soa #sons of anarchy #samcro #motorcycle #motorcycle clubs #mc #charming #gemma teller #esai alvarez #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz #juan carlos #luann

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dovebuffy92 · 3 years

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INTRODUCTION

Spoilers Below

In Euphoria Season Two Episode Six, ” A Thousand Trees of Blood,” directed and written by creator Sam Levinson, Rue Bennett (Zendaya), with the help of her family, attempts to pull herself out of her suicidal path to a drug overdose. At the same time, Cassie Howard (Sydney Sweeney) continues down her path to self-destruction with Nate Jacobs (Jacob Elordi). Leslie Bennett (Nika King) takes care of her daughter Rue as she suffers through withdrawals. Leslie feels overwhelmed by her daughter’s suffering, but she holds fast for her children. Gia Bennett (Storm Reid) supports her big sister without getting the love that she needs. Rue feels terrible about all the horrible things she said and apologizes to her sponsor Ali (Colman Domingo). Ali hangs out with the Bennett family. He gives Gia permission to be angry with Rue and not trust her.

Kat Hernandez (Barbie Ferreira) messily breaks up with Ethan Daley (Austin Abrams). Next, Lexi Howard (Maude Apatow) watches Stand by Me with her crush Fezco (Angus Cloud). Meanwhile, the brothers’ roommate, drug addict Faye (Chloe Cherry), learns that her boyfriend Custer (Tyler Chase) ratted on Fez and Ashtray (Javon Walton).

Cassie flashes between crying in her bedroom while desperately calling Nate and yelling at her family about how she is not a terrible person. Angry, depressed Maddy Perez (Alexa Demie) plots Cassie and Nate’s downfall. Nate forces Maddie to give him the sex tape. The sex tape of Cal Jacobs (Eric Dane) sleeping with Jules Vaughn (Hunter Shafer). Nate returns the sex tape to Jules as an apology. Nate knows she will never share it with anybody, so his family’s reputation is safe. Nate ends the night by sleeping with Cassie even though he doesn’t care about her.

A MOTHER’S PAIN

Two of the most emotionally powerful scenes in ” A Thousand Trees of Blood” reveal the pain Leslie feels helplessly watching her daughter suffer. The opening shot is a medium close-up of a sweating jittering Rue yawning as she stares at a red jolly rancher. Her hands are shaking so hard that she can barely pick up the candy. Leslie walks into the kitchen across the room and stares back at Rue. The mother turns on the water faucet to fill up a glass of water. A close-up shot of Leslie’s face as she closes her eyes reveals her emotional anguish. She can’t look at Rue in her vulnerable state. The water glass overflows. Leslie pulls herself back together because Rue needs her to be strong. It’s clear that Rue’s withdrawals hurt Leslie’s soul, but she can’t take the time to feel anything fully. Rue needs almost constant care. Leslie and Gia’s needs come second.

Episode six ends with Leslie breaking down during a call to a rehab. The camera pans over to a long shot of Leslie sitting up in her bed, answering a phone call in her darkened bedroom. The viewers only hear one side of the conversation. Leslie sounds defeated though calm and assertive while answering questions. The camera pulls further back as Leslie explains that she took Rue to the hospital for detox. The mother raises her voice and insists that her daughter needs to go to rehab. Now the viewer can only see a sliver of the bedroom.

The emotion rises in Leslie’s voice while she states that Rue needs to be placed in an in-house treatment center to stop taking opioids. The viewer can imagine the measured pre-written responses that the worker on the other side of the call says. There is not enough room in the rehab, or the policy says we give outpatient treatment to those already in detox. Leslie pleads for Rue’s life, refusing to let the worker pawn her off. The camera pans to Rue and Gia asleep in bed together while Leslie explains that her eldest daughter will kill herself if she doesn’t get proper help. Leslie bursts into tears as she begs the person, ” Don’t do this!” The camera pans over into darkness as the mother completely breaks down. Leslie is reaching out for professional help to save Rue’s life, but the system refuses to authorize the assistance her eldest daughter needs to stay clean. The darkness of the screen gives the viewer no other choice but to imagine the pain of mothers like Leslie, who are blocked from saving their children by a broken system.

NATE’S REAL FEELINGS

Nate remains one of Euphoria’s most abusive toxic characters, but he genuinely cares about Jules. The teenage boy’s sweet-ish treatment of Jules reveals how he doesn’t love Maddy or Cassie. Nate doesn’t become physically violent with Jules when he doesn’t get his way as he does with his other love interests.

The two teenagers meet up in his car. After offering Jules a beer, Nate admits he has done “shitty” things but promises that he means no harm. Nate genuinely apologizes to Jules for hurting her to protect his father. The teenager takes responsibility for his actions. However, he usually refuses to take ownership of his “shitty” actions. For example, Nate becomes angry when his mother, Marsha Jacobs (Paula Marshall), brings up how he strangled Maddy. Marsha’s abusive drunken words to her son trigger him. Maybe the world doesn’t only have Cal to blame for Nate’s bullying behavior? Nate hands Jules the sex tape. Now he is not giving up the sex tape for entirely selfless reasons. Nate cares about his family’s reputation because people knowing his father is a “pedophile” will screw up his life. He is all about image. Jules will never spread the sex tape because she is embarrassed by it. Nate proves that he cares about Jules by telling her that he meant everything he wrote when they were secretly texting last season. Nate confesses his feelings, knowing that he won’t get anything out of it. Jules will never forgive him.

Meanwhile, Nate scars Maddy for life by holding a gun first to her head and then his head while pulling the trigger. He threatens to kill Maddy to get back the sex tape, so she can’t use it to take revenge on him for sleeping with Cassie. Earlier in the episode, Nate doesn’t sound upset when he tells his mother that Maddy will never talk to him again. Nate doesn’t answer Cassie’s thousands of calls and then has what appears to be emotionally one-sided sex with her. Nate doesn’t love Cassie or Maddy. It appears Nate cares for Jules, but toxic masculinity won’t allow him to embrace his feelings for her openly.

LAST THOUGHT

Cassie’s need for love stops her from taking responsibility for her misdeeds involving Nate or admitting that he is a toxic bully. Cassie yells at her mother, Suze Howard (Alanna Ubach), about how her mom thinks she doesn’t have any self-respect. The popular girl is projecting onto her mom because she doesn’t see herself as worthy of having a boyfriend who treats her right. Let me know what you think of Euphoria Season Two Episode Six in the comments below.

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songtoyou · 4 years

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Epiphany - Part One

Paring: Luke Crain x Female Reader

Chapter Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2,204

Warnings: Talks of drug use and recovery, mention death of a family member.

Description: Life has never been easy for Luke Crain. After the death of Nell, Luke realizes that he needs to make some changes. He decided to stay in Massachusetts and attend rehab. He was determined to remain on his path of sobriety. When you get assigned to be Luke’s sponsor, it opens a new door of possibilities that neither you nor Luke expected.

A/N: I finally watched the Haunting of Hill House a while back. I found Luke to be very interesting. This is my take on how Luke would go on with life after Nell’s death and how his continued path to remain sober would look like.

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Updated: Cleaned up for grammar and punctuation errors.

An epiphany is when a sudden and intuitive perception of insight into reality. It can provide a great moment of revelation and present itself as symbolic insight. Some people experience it while others often search for it.

Life was not easy for Luke Crain or his siblings. After the recent events of Hill House, Luke was scared of a life without his twin sister, Nell. Despite Luke being ninety seconds older, he always felt that Nell was his big sister. She was his protector. The only person to believe in him when others constantly sowed doubt. Unfortunately, Hill House ended up taking Nell in the end, along with his father Hugh. Luke was scared. More scared than he had ever been now that Nell was gone.

However, Luke was determined to get clean. To remain clean. He had to do it, not only for Nell but for himself. Both Steve and Theo pitched in to help pay for a good rehab center for Luke to stay. At first, Luke told them, no, but it was Theo who adamantly expressed her desire to support him.

“Luke, you have made it to 90-days. I can tell you want to remain clean. We all see it. Nell still believes in you and so do we. I want to be supportive of you because you’re my little brother and I love you,” said Theo.

With the support and help of his siblings, Luke decided to stay in Massachusetts for treatment. He took up residence with Shirley in the guest house since Theo decided to move out to live on her own. Despite her worries, Shirley believed in her little brother and his determination to remain clean. One could say it was her way to make amends for the guilt she held by not allowing Luke to attend Nell’s wedding.

It was actually Shirley’s husband Kevin, who recommended Banyan Treatment Center in Wilmington, Massachusetts. “One of my sisters went there for her alcohol addiction. She responded well to the program and has continued to stay sober for two-years. Banyan has a good family counseling program, along with outpatient therapy. Pretty much will have everything you need to continue your path for sobriety,” said Kevin one night after dinner.

It did not take long for Steve and Theo to be on board with Luke deciding on Banyan. Both liked what they read of the place. The treatment center was not uber fancy, like the one Shirley paid for all those years ago but also was a tad upscale compared to the rehab center in Los Angeles Luke recently attended.

The therapists and case managers at Banyan were nice and friendly. Rob, Luke’s primary therapist, helped ease him into a routine. Even though Luke was now over 90 days sober, Rob recommended intensive outpatient therapy every day for an hour session. Luke admitted to Rob, along with his siblings, that he was worried about relapsing due to Nell and Hugh’s deaths. He did not want to fall back into old and dangerous habits.

For 30 days, Luke was committed to his intensive outpatient therapy. Talking over his childhood trauma at Hill House and the recent events helped, not only explain his phobias but also tackle his post-traumatic stress. Hill House had a long-lasting effect that damaged his entire family. So much so, that all he wanted to be was numb. To not have to deal with the images in his mind or how the loss of his mother disturbed him.

When Luke “graduated” from intensive outpatient therapy to regular outpatient therapy, Rob recommended a sponsor for him. The Center’s alumni recovery program allowed for past patients who have succeeded in their program to help mentor those currently in the early stages of detox, treatment, and recovery. Having a strong and influential network of sober peers can make all of the difference between an addict relapsing or staying strong through hard times.

That is how you came into Luke Crain’s life. Rob recommended you to Luke as a sponsor. You had just celebrated your third anniversary of recovery. It was not that you had a bad childhood as the reason you turned to drugs. You were not abused, both of your parents were still alive, nor had you experienced any other forms of childhood trauma. Similar to Luke, heroin was your choice of escapism; the way to ease the feeling of pain and suffering. Not your own, but other peoples’.

That was the downside of being an empath.

Of course, no one believed you about being an empath. Your mother had always referred to you as an overly sensitive child and that stress was not something you handled very well. When having to deal with the ability to sense what people are feeling, whether the emotions are happy, sad, scared, stressed, disturbed, or angry, can be a lot for a person to handle. There came a time when taking on the pain of others became too much. You no longer wanted that burden. You no longer wanted to feel anything.

It did not matter how many rehab facilities your parents sent you to or how many times they pleaded; you did not care. For once, you put yourself first. Heroin helped you stop feeling. Helped you feel numb and content. You were happy. Of course, when the high wore off, as it always does, you were back to reality. You hated reality.

The last hit you had made you end up in the hospital. The doctor explained how you overdosed but were able to resuscitate you in time. That was when you finally realized you needed to change. Needed to get clean once and for all. You knew it would take time and patience. That you would not magically become clean and sober overnight. It was a process. Setbacks were a possibility. However, there was always a little voice in the back of your head that helped pull you through the dark times, to motivate you to keep going.

Now here you were about to meet the new mentee that Rob assigned you to. He only gave a little backstory about Luke, but not many other details. You ended up texting Luke asking him to meet you on Sunday at your favorite coffee shop, the As Good As It Gets Café. He promptly replied that he would see you there around noon.

When Sunday finally rolled around, you headed to the café and waited. It was a quarter past twelve and Luke still had not shown up. You were starting to get nervous and wondering if he would ever appear. You were on the verge of texting him when the bell on the entry door chimed, indicating that someone was entering the café. You looked up and saw a very tall, scruffy, and attractive looking man standing by the door. The way he was looking around with a lost kind of look helped pinpoint that this was Luke. You got up from your booth and walked over to him.

“Luke?” you politely asked.

“Yes,” he said.

You introduced yourself and held your hand out for him to shake, which he took. You immediately became overwhelmed with the emotions that permeated this man. There was a lot of pain and loss underneath. But there was also a sense of hope and happiness that felt nice.

“Are you okay?” Luke asked wondering why all of a sudden you had a weird look on your face.

“Hmm? I’m sorry. I’m fine. I didn’t mean to…daze off for a second,” you laughed and pointed over to the booth you previously occupied. You walked over with Luke following.

“I’m sorry that I’m late. I was finishing up some homework and didn’t track the time properly,” Luke shared.

“Oh, where do you go to school?”

“Uh…I take a creative writing course at Bunker Hill Community College,” he replied.

“Nice. How are you liking it so far?” you asked him.

Before Luke could respond, one of the waitresses came over asking if Luke wanted anything to drink. Indicating that he just wanted coffee, the two of you were soon left alone.

“I like it. The instructor is really nice. It is the only course I am taking, so it doesn’t take up too much of my time. My older brother, Steve, actually encouraged me to enroll after I shared some of my writing with him. He’s a writer himself. I don’t know if you ever heard of him, Steven Crain? He has written a lot of books, mostly ghost stories. His most famous one is, ‘The Haunting of Hill House’. Have you read that book?”

“I have not. I tend to stay away from horror genres,” you told Luke.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. Luke was adverting his gaze to anywhere but you. It was easy to tell that he was nervous and unsure of himself.

“Luke,” you spoke up to get his attention and said, “You don’t have to be anxious or feel uneasy. Getting here, to this step, is a big freaking deal. I get it, trust me. I absolutely get it. I never thought I’d be here. To be completely frank, I always pictured myself dead somewhere in the streets. I’m sure you pictured the same for yourself. But it didn’t. You’re here today because you wanted more for yourself. That is something to be proud of.”

Letting out a sigh, Luke sat back in the booth and crossed his arms over his chest. Sometimes he did not feel proud. He missed Nell. He missed her all of the time. She always believed in him no matter how many times he broke her heart. Nell always forgave him. She was always there when he needed someone to bail him out of trouble.

“You okay, Luke? If you would rather do this another time, that is okay. We can reschedule,” you offered. You could sense a feeling of grief underneath the surface of the man sitting before you.

“No. No, I’m sorry. I…uh…I was thinking about Nellie. My twin sister. She…she died recently. Well, not recent, two months ago. So, it’s still…very…it’s still a lot to handle.”

“I’m sorry,” you told him earnestly. “What was it like having a twin? I don’t have any siblings, so I always like to hear other people’s sibling stories.”

“Having siblings has its pros and cons,” Luke laughed, but continued, “They can be much at times, but I’m glad to have them. Especially now that Nellie is gone. They have been incredibly supportive, which makes all the difference in the world.”

“I really appreciate you sharing this with me, Luke. I know it can’t be easy. I am a stranger after all. You’re actually my second mentee from the alumni recovery program. My previous one …well her story didn’t have a happy ending,” you shared with Luke.

He could relate. When he left the clinic in Los Angeles to find Joey and bring her back to get her clean again. She was nine-months clean at the time but ended up using while being back on the streets. Luke would be lying to himself if he did not say he was rather disappointed in Joey. To him, Joey was someone who he could look up to while trying to get clean. He should have known something was off with her during what would be their last night at the clinic. Joey reminded him of Nell, so he could not stand by and do nothing. Joey helped him during his first week at the clinic. So, Luke felt that he owed it to her to return the favor.

Unfortunately, Joey did not want his help in the end. To this day, Luke still does not know what really happened to her after she swiped the drugs off him and headed towards that alley. But deep inside, Luke knew she did not make it. That her body would either be discovered or continue to rot in that alley. Theo would tell him that Joey was not his responsibility. That he had to put himself first when it came to recovery.

Luke pushed his coffee cup to the side and leaned on the table. You were so focused on your own coffee cup that you did not notice him staring at you intently. He was taking you in and assessing you. So far, he could admit that he found you attractive. You had a nice built. Your clothing was not too flashy. He could tell that you were the type to choose comfortable clothing over fashionable attire. However, it was your eyes that stood out. There was a softness and warmness to them that he found quite soothing. There were no ulterior motives behind them or any sense of malice. Luke could see that your intentions with him were good and that you really wanted to help him in his recovery by being a supportive mentor.

“Hey,” he said to get your attention. “I promised that I’ll come to talk to you if I ever feel like I might…. Or if I just feel like I need someone to talk to.”

“I appreciate that, Luke,” you told him sincerely.

#luke crain #luke crain x female reader #luke crain x reader #the haunting of hill house #oliver jackson cohen

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studyingsobriety · 3 years

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Why Did I Get Help NOW

This was my second exercise for my rehab program. It's called "Why Now?" The purpose is to explain why we got help now and not a month ago or a month later. What led up to the point where I decided that I need help right now? Then, I had to write what could've happened had I not decided to get help.

Here's my story:

I was sitting in my bathroom floor. I was home alone, depressed, and wanted to get that daily high, but I wanted more this time. So I had a 100 pack of whippets (whipped cream chargers or cartridges of nitrous oxide which you can inhale). I felt guilty, ashamed, depressed, alone. I was having a panic attack so bad that I was retching into the toilet while I loaded up another whippet and hit another after another.

I knew whippets could cause seizures or even kill you, I had done enough research on it. But I liked them too much to care, they eased the pain. Part of me even hoped in that moment something dangerous would happen. That was my "rock bottom," as some call it. That was when I knew I had to change. This happened around Christmas time in 2020. As the days and weeks went by, I stopped doing the, everyday like I had been. But I would still give in every time the cravings were too intense to ignore. One day, I had another breakdown after using again. I was "sick and tired of feeling sick and tired." I was determined, and I was whippet-free for 3 weeks.

Until one day, I had another panic attack, and those cravings just came back. "It'll make you feel better." "They numb your body and your mind." "It'll make your emotions less intense." All of which were true while you're using...but after, it only gets worse. But I didn't think about the aftermath until I was sitting in my car, hitting a whippet, when someone walked up to my window. It was my roommates...I could see their hearts breaking, and it broke mine too. I wish I could say that's what brought me here and that I haven't done them since. But I did them the next day. And the next. And the next... Next thing I knew I had been using everyday again for a week.

I drained my bank account, both checking and savings. I would ask my parents for money for food and gas, but that's not what I was spending it on. I relied on my boyfriend and friends for any food. This whole time I was lying to everyone around me. Friends suspected but were too afraid to speak up. That last time I used, it was a Monday, I had class at 12. I told myself, "well, I'm going to be late anyway, might as well get some," so I did. I didn't go to class. I hit my last whippet. I had to use the bathroom, so I walked into a building on campus to use the restroom. I suddenly started crying, uncontrollably.

I felt that guilt and shame again, like I was a liar, a drug addict, I was hiding and taking money from my parents. I felt like a bad person, like I didn't deserve anything good. On top of that, I was having suicidal thoughts. I broke down, I asked my friends for help, I told them the truth. I'm lucky to have such understanding and supportive friends. One of them told me I should call the 24-hour on-call counselor we have on campus, so the next day, I did. She really, really wanted me to go to a rehab, but she wanted me to be in an inpatient rehab, which is a huge step and a big decision that I wasn't ready to make.

She set up an assessment for me with an inpatient rehab, but told me I didn't have to go if I wasn't ready. I've been in inpatient care before. In 2019, I admitted myself to a hospital for having suicidal thoughts. I had some...interesting experiences in there that scarred me a little. Of course, a rehab is different than a psych ward, but I think that lonely feeling would still be there. So I started researching outpatient rehab treatment programs. The first one I found was Lion Rock. I talked to them, and it sounded like a good fit for me. I wouldn't have to drop out of school for the semester, leave work for a few weeks, and I could still have my main support system with me (my friends and family). So it just seemed to be the best fit for me. And that's how I got here.

Now, here is what could have happened if I didn't reach out for help:

Had I not reached out for help or told anyone about my continuous use, I would've continued to use. It would've continued to be that endless cycle of "I'm depressed, some whippets would help" and "I did whippets again, I feel like I'm just a stupid drug addict." The depression would've progressed. I would continue to drown my anxiety and depression in intoxication. I would hide it from all the people willing to hold me accountable, because I wouldn't want to be held accountable. I'd rather get high than do what's best for me.

At some point after using regularly and hiding it for weeks or even months, there is only these negative outcomes of continuous use with no help:

I would be mid-whippet when my heart decides to stop or my body has a seizure from my organs getting so cold. Someone would find me in my car, with the canister still in my hand, with my lips purple, and my face cold. Whoever it would've been to find me, it would be a horrific scene for them. It would likely traumatize them for life.

I would be so depressed, so suicidal, I'd be blaming myself for everything. I'd tell myself, "this is who I am now." I would use the whippets as an act of self harm, hoping it'd kill me or give me a seizure. Praying that I'm putting myself in danger. It would be what I want. I'd want to physically hurt myself so that people can physically see my emotional pain. People don't understand what you're going through until they see it physically. Since people can't see your mental health, it's harder to understand how severe it gets sometimes unless you physically show them. And in that moment of self harming by whippets, I would hope I could physically show them my pain.

I would continue to use in a riskier manner. What I mean is, I would continue to drive while high on whippets. Driving down the road, loading one up, hitting it, holding my breath until I load up the next one, exhale, and hit another. It would be a high possibility I could kill myself. Or someone else. Worse case scenario, I kill someone else and am totally safe myself and have to live the rest of my life with the consequences. I could kill somebody's child, somebody's wife or husband, somebody's best friend, somebody's mother or father. I could have another incident where I black out while driving except actually passing out this time. I could run into a tree, run a pedestrian over, hit a motorcyclist, or just have a horrific freak vehicular accident. Granted, I could be totally fine and never actually get to the point of passing out while driving, but all of these are possibilities.

I could be sitting in my parked car or even driving down the road, hitting whippets, and a cop could possibly catch a glimpse of me inhaling something that doesn't quite look like a cigarette or vape at all. If they were to catch a glimpse and question what I'm doing, they could easily come up to my car or pull me over and ask what I was just doing. As someone who doesn't lie well, I'd freeze up, but there's no way I'd admit to a cop that I'm inhaling nitrous oxide in public or on the road. I'd probably say something like, "Oh, I was just sitting here on my phone," or "Oh, I'm just driving home, I was just hitting my vape." But they'd suspect. The bigger problem is if they'd ask me to step out of the car. That's where I'd be terrified. During my use, because I would do them so frequently in my car, there'd be piles of cartridges and boxes for whip-its! in the back of my car. They would find the numerous cartridges filling up my console, underneath the seat, in the cup holder, everywhere. The cop might not know right off the bat what it is exactly, but it would definitely be suspicious. They would ask, "what are these?" I would--not being able to lie--tell them they are whipped cream chargers. That they are used to make whipped cream. They would ask me, "why are there so many in your car?" That...I don't know what I would say. But I only see myself getting arrested at this point and possibly being reported to a rehab and being court-ordered to attend an inpatient rehab. Inpatient rehabs are scary to imagine, but being forced to be in one...even scarier.

"Whippets" could turn into something else. Like how marijuana turned into Adderall. And Adderall turned into the whippets. How do I know I wouldn't find a new substance to replace the whippet addiction? I don't know. I had tried Xanax a couple times and really liked it and craved it often, I just didn't have a source of finding it easily. I remember worrying Xanax was the next move. How would I know this replacement of one drug to another wouldn't lead me to heroin, meth, crack, or something terrible? Something that would take over my life the way marijuana, Adderall, and whippets did but is much harder to hide, harder to control. How do I know I wouldn't fuck up my brain from all the drugs? I could kill so many brain cells that I can't function. I was once hospitalized for severe anxiety and depression, I've met people who can't even function like a human because they were so messed up from the drugs they've used. I met people who couldn't relax without some xanny. How do I know that wouldn't be me in the future? I didn't know, I still don't know. It could've been me if I had continued.

Like I said, any of these scenarios would have been possibilities had I not reached out for help sooner. They were all possibilities when I was using and that's scary to think about. I have to say that I am grateful that I reached out for help myself. I wanted help before one of these scenarios became a reality. I am doing this all for me.

My takeaway from this exercise:

Writing out what led up to the point of getting help makes it clearer just how bad it really was. It's kind of sad. I knew it was a rough time, but reading it in black and white really opens my eyes, and it's crazy.

Writing what could've happened really makes me just feel...like the face palm emoji. Because not only were these scenarios possible had I continued to use, but they were all possible when I was using. And that's really scary. These scenarios really paint a picture, and not a pretty one. Overall, this exercise made me incredibly grateful that I decided to get help when I did.

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exjunkiebaby · 4 years

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Neurotypicals - they can't comprehend

It's so hard living with neurotypicals. I feel judged. I feel misunderstood. I feel like no matter how hard I try to explain my addiction/mental illnesses, they can't ever comprehend the severity. How it affects every aspect of my life. How my thoughts are my disease. How my internal monologue includes two people: One evil, one angelic. It isn't black and white, but I don't know how to explain it. I don't know how to not sound "crazy."

It isn't just the drugs. That would be too simple. It's anything and everything that provides immediate comfort. Anything that creates oxytocin. Anything that causes my endorphins to flood. Anything that gives me adrenaline. It's food. It's my bloody scalp. It used to be starvation. It used to be cuts on my thighs. It used to be pulling my hair out until I had several bald spots. It's binging and purging. It's an eating disorder. It's picking at my head, opening scabs, and letting scorching hot water sting the wounds. It's trichotillomania. It's words they don't understand. It's pain that gives me relief. It's not normal. Take away one bad habit and another old habit pops up. It's like playing whack-a-mole. It's ultimately Russian roulette. And the potential murderer? She lives inside of me.

I'm not saying that I will eventually kill myself, but I know my toxic behaviors might send me to the grave. Sometimes I think I can heal. Sometimes I believe I can work through every mental illness, one by one. But sometimes I think it's impossible. Sometimes I think I will never get better. Sometimes I think, "If I'm 30 and still in the same place, I might as well get high until I die." It's morbid. It disgusts me. I hate it. This is why I loathe myself. The thoughts that pop into my head are delusional and insane and shameful. Sometimes I think no "normal, healthy" person could ever truly love me. I don't want to be alone but I do. I love my boyfriend. I love my friends. I love my family. I feel so much love but I don't know how to express it or show it. I come off as rude, mean, and ungrateful.

I wish I could sob into my mother's arms. I wish I could let people in, and tell them that I'm in pain. Sometimes all I need is an embrace. Somebody to lay next to me, and look me in the eyes. Somebody who tries to understand. But nothing will change if nothing changes. I can't sit around and expect them to rush to my aid. They can't read my mind. I need to make that first step.

I've asked for help so many times that I feel ashamed to ask for it again. In my head, there is a "limit" and a number of "chances" I'm allowed to have. Going to outpatient, then rehab, then another outpatient, then group therapy, then another outpatient, then another rehab, then 2 more outpatients, and then moving into a sober living - I'm fucking exhausted.

I'm not going to give up. I'm going to try another sober living. I might fuck it up. I might finally obtain subtancial clean time. I hate how my clean time defines my success. I hate the disappointment in their eyes when I let a drug craving win. I wish they could see that I've never stopped trying.

I love my blog, and I love that I can be honest with you. You understand. You know the pain that plagues my mind. You comprehend the anxiety, the panic attacks, the PTSD, the depression, the eating disorder, the obession. I just hope I've never disappointed you, either. Sometimes, you're the only person I can turn to. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. My dream is for people to read my words, to feel them. I don't write for myself. It's all for you. If I can help you feel less alone, I've accomplished one of my life goals. I hope one day I can reach a bigger audience. I hope one day I can publish a memoir, but with a light at the end of the tunnel. I hope, as I lay dying, my final thoughts are "I'm going to be okay."

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redemptioninterlude · 4 years

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[ nightmare ] for Alec and rue?

word prompts meme (accepting ) + @livesremembered // alec [ nightmare ] for your muse to wake mine from a nightmare

Rehab’s kind of a mother fucking trip.

Well, that’s more of the POLITE WAY of putting it in front of others, the way that she remembered to answer when other people asked her the first time, to grin, to smile, to say that things were all better, even as she was asking her friends to piss in a Tylenol bottle so that she could pass whatever next home drug test her mom administered after she’d just done a bender at whoever the fuck’s house party. And if it wasn’t a party, it was lines in the bathroom, anything to keep herself stress free when drifting, unmoored, through school, a remembrance of times where she could literally sleep walk through her classes and homework and conversations with Gia while so blasted that she’d come to, days later, with the last few nothing but a blurring blank in her memory.

But rehab the second time meant you usually had to get outpatient treatment too, which was where she met him. Alec. Who was pretty cool and had like, that whole accent thing going on which was nice and soothing to listen to in group therapy, unlike half the fucks here who had that Southern twang thing going on which to Rue most of the time meant that they were all like, Trump 2020 or some other bullshit that she couldn’t deal with. But Alec was nice, soft, and half the time sort of totally OUT OF IT, which she could relate to and, she spent time with him usually talking about stuff that he missed, or the people she wanted to see, and the both of them collectively talked about the school they weren’t getting, or were so behind on.

Everyone dreaming about going to college or whatever around her, and where was she going? Into senior year with another year downed to rehab, and, she’s tired... maybe that’s why she falls asleep there, in that bench outside with him, her eyes all heavy for once, because, SHE CAN’T SLEEP in the itchy metal cot they give her at the center. Everyone’s there and it’s weird and uncomfortable when you hate just about everyone around you and you have this weird, crawling feeling that someone there’s a narc or someone’s got your next fix but it’s gonna cost you more than you’re willing to give, and, Rue can’t say now that she’s got it in her to say no, no matter how humiliating.

But she sees her there in her dreams. That way that Jules looked at her when she didn’t climb onto the platform, how her lips had felt against her knuckles, bruised still, from wanting to punch Nate in the face for the threats that he’d levelled in Jules’ direction, how, she cried and cried until she’d done a line of crushed up vicodin and had woken up DAYS LATER in the hospital again, but this time her mom wasn’t there, neither was Gia. What it felt like, for the first time, to be truly alone, unawares that she was fidgeting and moaning and twitching until Alec was shaking her awake, concern etched onto her features as her hand pawed at her face, coming away wet - fuck. “S-sorry I...” she wants to give excuses - it’s easier that way, but she’s too fucking tired, and, the worry on his face is too fucking real. “... I was having a bad dream. S-sorry...”

#livesremembered #❝ r. bennett ❞ ┆ canon verse ┆ drugs are kind of cool !#❝ r. bennett ❞ ┆ meme reply ┆ everything feels so permanent !

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spaciousreasoning · 4 years

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A Song Uniquely My Own

It was January 1987. I was walking from the Public Relations office behind the hospital where I worked to the main campus. I had an appointment with a counselor at the drug and alcohol rehab center. Because it was Tucson, I wasn’t wearing a jacket. Lo and behold, a few light, fluffy snowflakes started falling. It seemed like kind of an omen. A good one, as it turned out.

The counselor’s name was Ann. At least that’s my memory. Perhaps because she reminded me of Ann Richards, later the first woman governor of Texas. The appointment with her was made after an individual session with another therapist. The same one who had suggested previously that my then-wife and I needed separate counseling before we could work together on our marriage problems.

Ann introduced me to a questionnaire that resembled the one in a pamphlet published by a 12 Step program. It started with “Do you ever use alone?” At the end, the question is “Do you think you might have a drug problem?” I answered just about everything in the affirmative, including the final one.

Then followed an intensive, eight-week outpatient program, consisting of four-hour sessions five nights a week. It was during this program that I was first introduced to the 12 Steps and the Anonymous program. I attended my first fellowship meetings, some of which were held in the big living room at the rehab center.

The 12 Step meetings were a new and thrilling experience. I immediately felt at home, knowing my isolation was coming to an end. I learned all the little phrases — Let Go and Let God; Easy Does It; One Day at A Time — that initially sounded so trite but truly contained much of the wisdom of the program that I eventually came to appreciate.

The introductory readings at each meeting resonated with me from the first time I heard them. My whole life had centered around drugs in one form or another. I lived to use and used to live. I was in the grip of a continuing and progressive illness. I did not want to ends up in jail, institutions or… well, dead. The fellowship’s literature also mentions the word “dereliction.” I’m pretty sure that was a feature of my life before coming to recovery.

“Derelict” is a harsh term. My life wasn’t always that way. When I started with my first toke on the roof of the barracks at the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, California, in 1973, I was looking for something that was missing in my life. A spiritual connection, as it turned out. I thought I had found it when my first real “high” came not long after, listening to a Grateful Dead album with some of my fellow Air Force members.

After that enlightening experience, the “getting and using” part began. My drug choice expanded. Without hesitation I popped a pill not long after that left me wandering the post in the rain enjoying the “smell” of the purple light that seemed to engulf me.

Alcohol was not on my list yet. I was born into a religious household. My father was a minister in a conservative southern denomination, one of those that frowned on drinking and swearing and dancing and playing cards. I’m sure those things went on in some families, but not ours. He and my mother met at a Bible college in South Carolina, and they had planned at one point to become missionaries. The religion was strong, but spirituality was never a component.

The one or two times during my youth I tasted alcohol — usually cheap stuff like Boone’s Farm — I was not impressed. I agreed with my mother’s assessment that it tasted like horse piss. During my military service — after my introduction to drugs in Monterey — I overcame my dislike for wine and liquor, but I didn’t take to beer until I finished my enlistment in 1975 and started college, where it was a cheap — often free — alternative to expensive liquor. At keg parties, I would fill my plastic cup and get back in line for more.

There were small consequences to using during my college career — like my first arrest for drunk & disorderly at a bar near campus — but nothing serious enough to keep me from earning a degree and finding a job. In the fall of 1980, after running through the last little bit of my GI Bill, I was hired as a reporter for a small newspaper in Nogales, Arizona. That job kept me busy for almost three years, but eventually my addiction became the primary focus. Close enough to the border to buy in bulk, I spent a good bit of time in a fog.

Then began a series of “geographicals,” going on the run to escape the consequences of my actions. When the publisher of the Nogales newspaper decided I had run out of steam, I took off for Berlin, where my father — now a chaplain in the Army — was stationed. My six months there were spent drinking on a regular basis and attempting to hide the depth of my habit from the family. Mostly unsuccessfully.

At the beginning of 1984, a temporary job with United Press International brought me back to the U.S., to Louisville, Kentucky. During the course of four months there, a second D&D arrest came, an occurrence that most likely prevented me from getting a permanent job with the company when the temp spot ended.

I wound up couch surfing with a friend in Tucson, unemployed and broke but still able to come up with enough money to feed my habits. When the friend got tired of enabling me, I headed to Virginia, where some of my mother’s family took me in until I managed to score another newspaper job in September 1984.

Drugs didn’t cause any job-related hardships, but I wasted so much money on my addiction that my car was repossessed. Relatives came to my rescue again, but I did not learn the right lessons. I escaped further consequences when another old college friend offered me the hospital PR in Tucson. I returned to Arizona in November 1985 with a brand-new wife in tow.

Not surprisingly, our relationship became difficult once my “getting and using” began to take precedence again. They honeymoon period had ended. After a particularly nasty drunken argument one evening — my wife liked her alcohol, too — she suggested marriage counseling, and, mostly to shut her up, I agreed.

And that’s when the fun began. We didn’t get to the marriage counseling — until several years later — but we did find ourselves in a much better space after working through the outpatient program.

What clicked for me immediately was understanding that I was an addict. I had a disease. Powerlessness over that disease made my life unmanageable. It was why I was never been successful in fixing the broken parts of my life. I needed treatment, and the program of recovery was that treatment.

Being of service to the fellowship has kept me deeply connected with the other members, even during times of personal struggle, such as my divorce in 2013 and my diabetes-related health crisis in 2014. Whenever I find myself struggling with life — because the desire to use was lifted long ago — the fellowship is there for me, giving me the strength to grow, change, and continue to recover.

The program is a miracle. I have been fortunate to personally see it in action well beyond Tucson and Arizona and the U.S. — even before Zoom. It is indeed a worldwide program. I am grateful every single day for the gift of my recovery and the amazing opportunity to live a clean and happy life. Thank you all for being a part of it.

#history #recovery

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maskedheroics · 5 years

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𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 / 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍* / DO NOT REBLOG OR COPY

In which Holmes is adapted into a present day setting, and how he would be different from other modern interpretations

Born in Sussex, Sherlock Holmes was the youngest son of Violet and Siger Holmes and brother to Mycroft, twelve years his senior. He grew up, much like his brother before him, exceptionally gifted. By age seven, he was playing the Violin - after being recognized with a natural affinity for it. Sherlock himself enjoyed the mobility and complexity of it. A puzzle waiting to be cracked by his mind, his bow and his hands. When he explained such, it became clear to all that he was an unusual child.

if you asked his nanny about him; she’d likely tell you that he was a child who always had a habit of getting into mischief. Scraped knees and torn, dirty clothes were a common fixture of his appearance. She’d also tell you to watch that mouth of his. She would likely mean that he often spoke without consideration and thought he knew a lot more than he did (he was a child after all).

If you asked his teacher; he’d likely breath a deep heavy sigh at how complicated it was to settle on if he was a good student or not. When Sherlock applied himself to the work, he was brilliant. He was easily the smartest boy in his grade, if not the school (as his brother, Mycroft, had already graduated). Except, because there is always a conditional with complicated students, he often did not apply. He found the lectures tedious and could typically derail them if an instructor was foolish enough to engage.

Many notes were sent to his mother and father; who would shake their heads disparagingly and go to give the same lecture they had given before in a letter to their son. For what more could they do? They were intelligent enough to know that people as clever as them clashed with society standards. Even their eldest, and Sherlock’s respected brother, had such notes once. He would grow out of it to a serviceable amount, it was just a phase.

On this occasion, his parents were correct (which could not be said for all occasions); Sherlock eventually would focus more on school - but it was his brother’s encouragement that made him do so (they had a rather civil relationship). The sooner he focused here, the sooner he could choose his studies. A prospect that felt much more enticing than what his professors were forcing upon the class.

Sherlock eventually graduated with high marks, before attending Oxford University with sights focused on chemistry. Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for him to be found elsewhere in other departments when it piqued his interests. He did a bit of theater in university. Not in study, but there was a club and he joined it initially because he was shadowing someone who attended the meetings. He was really good, and the skills come in handy on the case now. Additionally, he had grown curious in the sport of boxing and joined the university team in his second year.

However, it was not all well and good. While he had experimented with the concept of recreational drugs and alcohol at boarding school; it was in university that this world opened up to him. Mixed with his own chemist-based mind, Sherlock became addicted to the use of Morphine and Cocaine in what he considered to be controlled doses to further his mind and assist his work. This, of course, did not remain as such as he fell down the hole and his studies suffered. It was his brother who stepped in after his first accidental overdose landed him in hospital. He attempted to balance his brother’s forced attempts at sobriety with school, Sherlock barely managed to do so but he wasn’t taking it seriously.

For a few years, Sherlock was on and off programs and falling off and climbing back on wagons. He was living in bad areas and in dens, while working inconsistently to keep himself and his habits alive. There were even a number of times he had run into trouble with the law, and had to be bailed out by his brother.

He hated this, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t give it up because it was one of the few times he felt in control of his mind. Sherlock was miserable, but stuck in a vicious cycle before he eventually suffered his second overdose.

This time, Mycroft was harsher; and while Sherlock resented it at the time - he was ultimately thankful. He was sent to Rehab out of Oxford. Away from his contacts and friends. While there he was set up with a number of therapists and doctors that didn’t quite understand him. It wasn’t until his seventh month outpatient that he was successful in finding a therapist and although it took a while - he was actually able to start getting through to him. It remained a struggle for awhile, but now Sherlock was wanting this. He worked for it. He began searching for other things to take the place of drugs; it was what led him to become the highly skilled boxer that he was, among other things.

One day, while watching the news, Sherlock found a report about a case gone cold. Police baffled, it claimed. Yet, as he studied the information shared in the press; the solution formed quickly in his mind. He attempted to inform Police; but was dismissed. Thus, the young man took it upon himself to bring it to justice. Once the culprit had been cuffed and Police embarrassed and impressed by the man’s cleverness; Sherlock had realised that the police looked at the world through a specific lens - he used another. Perhaps they could help each other out.

The police took awhile to take him seriously; but it didn’t stop him from placing an advert online. It began small; but he quickly gained momentum. He was earning enough money, as well as had enough saved to find himself accommodations in the city. He was able to end up with a flat on Baker Street after the landlady had offered him them, as gratitude for a case involving her husband.

Thus, Sherlock Holmes branded himself once more (and now, with welcome cooperation from the Metropolitan Police) as:

Sherlock Holmes / Consulting Detective.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Sherlock Holmes is an eccentric; he’s a professional hobbyist with interests ranging from chemistry, biology, botany, sensationalist media, etc. His personal fashion isn’t exactly Seville Row but he understands the concepts of different styles for disguise purposes.

He branded himself with the job title of Consulting Detective once Scotland Yard’s inspectors ceased charging him with interference of police business; obstruction of justice and withholding information ( even if it was usually pardoned ).

He’s played the violin since he was seven, enjoying the mobility of the instrument and it’s complex nature. Unlike his BBC Counterpart, he’s still already sober by the time he meets John Watson; but he’s still actively going to group therapy in regards to his addictions. Even if his career leads to his attendance being all over the place.

He could easily be a professional fighter; and fights in amateur and non-league matches. In fact, he found boxing to be a great help when he was first getting sober.

Sherlock had some rougher years towards the end of university and after, when his problem with drug use was more rampant and out of control. He tried to hide it, but it was discovered and eventually helped by someone ( personal head canon: Mycroft, but open to plotting otherwise, who has helped him each time he’s fallen off the wagon )

He has a rap sheet including: theft, obstruction of justice, trespassing, using and possessing illegal substances, attacking an officer; breaking and entering; he was once charged for killing someone, but was later cleared as it was an action of self defense. Many charges were later cleared either through deals cut with the police, or when his actions led to the resolution of a case; but not all.

He did a bit of theater in university. Not in study, but there was a club and he joined it initially because he was shadowing someone who attended the meetings. He was really good, and the skills come in handy on the case now.

He’s had sex quite a few times — He’s had sex in his young adulthood; and at least a couple times in the last two decades. Unlike his BBC Counterpart, he partakes in sexual activity recurring with both men and women.

His family is rather affluent, and Sherlock has a small fortune because of this. It took quite a hit for a few years; but he’s amassed a fair amount of it back through his casework.

He does not charge on a fixed rate for his work; there have been several instances of charging no fee whatsoever.

Other than stubble or needing to grow it out; Sherlock does not have facial hair. He does have several fake hair pieces if needed though.

#CASE: REOPENED ( ritchie holmes* )#THE GAME IS ON ( bbc holmes* )#HOLMES / AU 001: MODERN*#PERSONALS DO NOT INTERACT*#DO NOT REBLOG*#SHERLOCK / HEADCANONS*

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drjohngkuna · 2 years

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Therapy for Bloomsburg

These extreme mental situations embody bipolar disorder, depression, and schizophrenia. Those with anxiety or despair can contemplate outpatient remedy. This gives them time to work one on one with a therapist, learning more concerning the situation and the way they can get higher. Many of those suffering from addiction also suffer from psychological or emotional sicknesses like schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depression therapist Bloomsburg pa, or anxiousness disorders. Rehab and other substance abuse facilities treating these with a twin prognosis or co-occurring dysfunction administer psychiatric therapy to address the individual's psychological well being concern in addition to drug and alcohol rehabilitation. Mental well being services in Bloomsburg can provide remedy and counseling for a extensive range of mental well being issues and issues.

Northumberland County Bh/ids Programs offers Outpatient treatment. Northumberland County Bh/ids Programs offers Trauma therapy, Individual psychotherapy and Psychotropic medication to Seniors sixty five or older, Adults and Young adults. Some different providers offered by Northumberland County Bh/ids Programs include Intensive case administration, Housing companies and Supported housing. Everyone can profit from mental health treatment, whether or not they reside in Bloomsburg or in different components of Pennsylvania or elsewhere within the nation. Teenagers, adolescents or adults with extreme forms of mental sickness will profit probably the most, particularly if they attend inpatient residential remedy.

He is there to be here with you every step of the greatest way to realize your goals and balance, whether I need to help you process through difficult feelings, problem-solve with you, hold you accountable, give you a wholesome perspective, or just hear. I discover self-care and self-compassion essential to your ongoing mental/social/physical/emotional wellness. I also believe a positive rapport will solely assist us to work in the course of your remedy goals and desires collectively. The individual doesn’t need to hire their very own legal professional, which can be expensive. Harrisburg, Pa. — In the closing days of his final time period in office, Gov. Tom Wolf is backing a regulatory change that may formalize nondiscrimination protections for LGBTQ folks whereas therapist Bloomsburg pa circumventing the legislature.

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angrybisexualravenclaw · 5 years

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My mother is Too Jewish for her own good

My grandmother is in a rehab center right now, but she was in the hospital for a bit because she’s getting chemo treatment as an outpatient and got a UTI and needed to stay in the hospital...it’s a long story but basically my mom has been in the city staying with my grandma for over a week and this is what has happened that has made me want to put her in time out:

She comes home to get more stuff after 3 days and apparently my grandmothers hospital roommate is an older woman who A) has Alzheimers and B) keeps trying to escape the bed that the nurses have put her in (which has two lovely large escape holes, one on each side) and that my mother has spent an entire night standing in as secondary nurse to sit with this woman, keep her from escaping (because there is only one nurse sitting with this woman, you do the math...) and talk to her because my mother is the most forward and helpful person I know. Which is great but you know what I don’t like? C) This womans lovely husband happens to be a big wig terrifying lawyer who protects THE FUCKING MOB. So you know what, mom? PLEASE DIAL DOWN YOUR JEWISHNESS FOR GODS SAKE, I DON’T CARE IF YOU COME HOME SAYING THAT THE NURSES AND THE FAMILY ARE SAYING YOU’RE “SO HELPFUL” AND THANKING YOU, YOU ARE TERRIFYING ME.

She also brings back a pair of LEGGINGS for the woman and is talking about how maybe this womans daughter will do a direct sales party with her because “they like the clothing” and such and GOOD LORD PLEASE STOP SELLING STUFF FOR ONE MINUTE. (she can’t hold a conversation without selling something, be it a reccommendation for glasses ((zennioptical)), a school, food, clothing, whatever direct sales company she works for at the time, whatever direct sales company her friends work for, an item on a menu, a coupon, a sale going on somewhere, you get the point...)

And then! She does the same thing with the roommate of my grandmother at the rehab center. Not the wife of a lawyer, which is good...

You know, just a drug dealer.

Also, she’s going to be knitting this woman a hat (WWHHYY????) and tie-dying her a dress because “she loves the colors so much” and my mom tie-dyed it herself (oh, and she tie-dyes stuff for other people, there’s another thing she sells--I should have said she doesn’t always sell stuff for money, she just gives stuff too but I maintain its the same as selling)

In conclusion, MY MOTHER IS TOO FUCKING JEWISH AND I CAN’T TAKE THIS MUCH LONGER.

At least she’s home for a while.

#angrilysquawking #jewish problems

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