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modernidolater · 4 years ago

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TW: Violence, dark humor, all that jazz. Go no further, angry shit, yadda.

So, yanno...i'm just gonna yell into the void about something.

When i was very young, I read a lot of encyclopedias. Most of my knowledge of the world was attributable to the Encyclopedia Britannica, which my mother kept because well, a home should have a nice, impressive looking set of books. Along with a bunch of other old books that just...really weren't the best choice for a regressive anti-technology apocalyptic fundamentalist cult, but then, as we used to joke, my mother doesn't have to make sense, she just has to make decisions.

So, I eventually started plumbing the depths to try and figure out "what the hell is wrong with my family."

While i didn't get an answer about my family in general, I did note that i seemed to be oddly suited to the definition of "psychopath," minus the whole "being a problem for society at large" thing. Asocial, low empathy, lack of guilt, inability to plan cohesively, difficulty conceptualizing consequences, near total lack of emotions except curiosity and rage, both of which are carefully stifled, aggressive tendencies...frankly, I look at my younger siblings and i can definitely assure anyone that asks that had I not been raised quite far away from society, or if I'd stayed in the cult, I would most definitely have been a problem for society.

But psychopaths are *monsters,* you see. They're so, so bad, you see. Everyone assured me, at great length, that I couldn't be that, no, no sirree. I was too nice. Too kind. I didn't punch people nearly often enough (largely because I don't like being punched outside of sex, and I like to be in charge of where I'm being punched, and even that mostly cause I'm kinda badly out together physically, but that's aside the point.)

I wasn't *hate-able.* My empathy was too high.

On that last note, I have spoken elsewhere and i believe here regarding my empathy. My empathy is specifically a learned skill picked up by reading Edgar Allen Poe's Auguste Dupin stories. Dupin explains his near preternatural ability to get inside people's heads by his learned skill of micro-mimicking body and facial language and then analyzing what he feels when he copies someone else. Works absolute wonders, particularly as up to that point (i was 8-9), I was using the classical technique of provoking and hurting people around me to experimentally figure out how other people worked. Admittedly, it's somewhat like recording a speech and listening to it at the lwvel of a whisper in a crowded room, but then mimicry is far less likely to get you punched, and see previous for my feelings on getting punched.

But now i had, for all intent, a system to demonstrate empathy. Thanks to my mother's abuse, I had a complete paranoid delusion aping guilt. I could check plans past others, and once I got my hands on Google at 14, I had the capacity to directly look up what the general, societal consequences of most actions were and model behaviors that achieved my ends. I further had 18 years of direct training in mind control and manipulation, thanks to my cult.

You may notice that what you just read sounds like the origin story of a serial killer. Ape people around them to avoid detection, paranoia making them scrupulous enough to not get caught, and careful study of laws to find the lines, plus a hyper manipulative persona.

Roll with me here. This continues forward.

So, i'm out and about, 2, 5, 6 years free of my cult. I have married a self avowed psychopath who actually HAS been diagnosed with antisocial disorder thanks to a teenage habit of theft and punching people. He is fairly sure I am not one, since I perform guilt and empathy fantastically, by rote at this point. I literally have days that my face hurts from faking emotions for too long, i am slowly developing agoraphobia because there are far too many people to mimic in a retail job, and my guilt subroutine is just a voice chanting in my head, "they're coming to get you, don't fuck up" 24/7 to the point that i am developing hallucinations, but yeah. It's definitely not psychopathy. At this point, that's just ASPD, and i'm just too darn social. Never that. I'm no monster, you see. I'm "nice."

About this point, I have learned to use mind control techniques to help people, carefully applying them with direct permission to help people open up and discuss problems. My near preternatural ability to get into people's heads, my ability to find information, and my absolute lack of fucks about morals (thus making me wildly nonjudgemental), makes me the go-to confidant for many of my friends. This neatly surrounds me with people that can smooth my life out, but you can't tell people you're friends with them cause the world is made of grey paste and you're deathly bored 24/7 and being allowed to pick through people's minds and help them optimize is the closest you get to not wanting to shoot yourself or others. Or that you carefully maintain contact with people so you can check and make sure you're not doing anything jail worthy. Or that a large group to mimic lets you blend in easier, and finding one that also is transgressive, but socially permissable (thanks, kink) blows off some steam.

Of course, people that don't know me find me deeply off-putting, as I am at this point rapidly learning to turn off the mimicry when not immediately interacting with people. This results in me appearing utterly emotionless, but as soon as people talk to me, bing, back on. I had also joined the kink subculture, giving my hedonistic and transgressive sides an outlet.

I'd also gone to the trouble of getting a multifaceted degree. Ostensibly, my degree is "multimedia journalism." If you aren't aware, this means I have a degree in research, interpersonal communication, public speaking, written communication, mass communication, some psychology, critical thinking, media creation and analysis. In short, I have the literal perfect degree for figuring out, communicating with, and functionally understanding people, as well as a vastly enhanced ability to locate obscure information.

Fast forward again. Three mental breakdowns, four years of therapy, poking at my gender, figuring out a lot of mental health problems, and a rotating series of diagnoses, life is...slowly improving. I've left a toxic marriage (toxic on both sides), moved to a completely new place, started over. I have sort of resigned myself to focusing on my (admittedly annoyingly complex and wide ranging) physical disabilities.

And it comes up, in talking to my partner, that his adoptive mother displayed (she's dead) quite a few signs of ASPD. And he asks curiously if there's any connection between ADHD, autism, and ASPD, mainly cause the "personality disorder" part. PD's can, with long or early exposure, sometimes be passed on, you see.

Guess what's being studied, right now? Not a connection between ASPD and ADHD. A connection between psychopathy and ADHD. Wait, but I thought psychopathy wasn't a thing, says I? I thought there was only ASPD, now?

Ah, but for you see, the DSM is a load of horseshit. And i have heard that from multiple communities with different relations to it, and from multiple therapists, psychiatrists, professors...as a general rule, when the people who use it, the people it's used on, and the people who teach it all agree that a document is manure, I get a touch distrustful. I get more so when current studies use umbrella terms disavowed by a document known for being reductivist and that has been noted as having a great number of entries that were manipulated deliberately to make them as narrow and unusable as possible.

So anyway.

Turns out that while no, ADHD and Autism don't make you a psychopath, there's a distinct overlap. Empathy issues are a possiblity in all three, though both ADHD and autism can create *hyper*empathy. Inability to navigate social constructs is another point of overlap.

But really, it's the serotonin deficiency that hurls it across the line for me. And the genetic factors. Can psychopathy result from environment? Yeah, seems so. But there does seem to be a genetic and neurochemical component. Which is...curious for a disorder presented as purely a traumatic abreaction that creates dangerous amorals.

I then looked it up. And wouldn't you know, psychopathy is only pathologized as ASPD/APD, and DPD? The former is the sort of psychopathy that is characterized by violent amd criminal antisocial behavior, and the other an inability to understand and perform social mores at all. But this is the DSM, so these are of course diagnosed by problems caused for others as a first line.

Violation of societal norms, lack of emotions other than rage, aggression...it's almost like the same people that named a serotonin and function deficiency Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder to enshrine the disorder only by those aspects that make neurotypical people uncomfortable rather than seeking to help the neurodivergent person, the same people that invented torturous behavioral correction therapies to "fix" the neurodivergent person? Those strike me as people that might possibly have looked a serotonin deficiency that causes rage, limited emotions, impulsivity, difficulty conceptualizing consequence, and potentially a hell of a lot of other fun side shit and decided to call that "Doesn't get along with others well" disorder.

What really kicks it in the teeth for me, however, is that psychopathy used to mean more than "a social pariah." You see, Theodore Millon, the guy that wrote the book on personality disorders, noted between 5 and 10 subtypes. Do you know what they are?

Nomadic

(including schizoid and avoidant features)

Drifters; roamers, vagrants; adventurer, itinerant vagabonds, tramps, wanderers; they typically adapt easily in difficult situations, shrewd and impulsive. Mood centers in doom and invincibility

Malevolent

(including sadistic and paranoid features)

Belligerent, mordant, rancorous, vicious, sadistic, malignant, brutal, resentful; anticipates betrayal and punishment; desires revenge; truculent, callous, fearless; guiltless; many dangerous criminals, including serial killers.

Covetous

(including negativistic features) Rapacious, begrudging, discontentedly yearning; hostile and domineering; envious, avaricious; pleasures more in taking than in having.

Risk-taking

(including histrionic features) Dauntless, venturesome, intrepid, bold, audacious, daring; reckless, foolhardy, heedless; unfazed by hazard; pursues perilous ventures.

Reputation-defending

(including narcissistic features) Needs to be thought of as infallible, unbreakable, indomitable, formidable, inviolable; intransigent when status is questioned; overreactive to slights.

(It should be noted: the features listed above are simply what each presentation is most likely to display if disordered. A reputation-defender may not display narcissm, a risk taker may not be histrionic. A malevolent [what a terribly judgy name...] could be negativistic, or avoidant, or histrionic. And so on.)

Now, ya may be going, "wait, hold up, narcissism is on there! We still have that! Schizoid is on there, we have that! Sadism, paranoia, we got all those things!"

Flash quiz: do you know what a personality disorder is? It's a series of learned behaviors that require moderation and unlearning.

Why yes, they did spin multiple neurotypes off into diagnoses that require behavioral therapy to "fix." Why on earth would you think they wouldn't? They're still trying to use reparative therapy on auties. Hell, near as I can figure, histrionic got spun into Borderline Personality disorder. You know what the therapy for that is? DBT, aka, "it IS your fault and you SHOULD feel bad."

Beyond knowing there used to be different flavors, did you know that there is about a millionty scare articles about how psychopaths are everywhere? Guess why.

What do you get when someone has an absolute need to see what's on the other side of the hill and no real fucks to give about how you get there? You get scientists, explorers, people utterly driven to find out. Think about how many of our science and exploration heros are noted as deeply weird and off-kilter. We have whole stereotypes about this. There are books and articles devoted to the transgressive personas and behaviors of famous scientists and explorers.

What do you get when someone is belligerent, paranoid, truculent, violent, fearless? Snipers. Literally. The army has openly stated they like psychopaths quite a lot. Someone that can look at a map of human lives and commit calculus with the phrase "acceptable losses" makes a damn fine general, wouldn't you say? Hunters, too. Make a good king? Or bounty hunter. Or, if we're going to be honest, a martial artist. Hell, think of all the ways our society accepts violence in real terms and symbolically. Management. Video gamer. Espionage. Actuary. Pest control. There are THOUSANDS of of societal uses for people like this.

Covetous? Well, banks are openly quite loving towards psychopaths. CEOs are indicated here. Businessmen. Fandoms with collection as a function have any number of anecdotes of individuals who have an intense drive to get more. "Focused on the chase, rather than the victory, to the exclusion of all else" is considered a positive, laudable personality trait. To put it in other terms, "can't stop, won't stop, never done." Sports players, yes? Football, rugby, hockey...

Risk takers are the real standouts, in terms of societal love. Doctors. Firemen. EMT's. Skydivers. Extreme sports players. Equipment testers. The list goes on. Society loves risk taking psychopaths. Hell, look at the diagnostic criterion up there: it's mostly traits with high positive connotations.

Reputation defending? Politics. Law. Advertising. Acting. Writing. Religion. Leadership of any kind.

I'm not talking out my ass here. All those fields have been noted as friendly towards, attractive to, and having a high representation of people who fit the behavioral model of psychopath.

But only if they're useful. Like literally every other non-normative neurotype.

Society loves ADHD and autistic people when they're displaying savant abilities or when they can mask well enough to use their sensory and cognitive differences to societal ends.

And if they're a problem for people around them, that's treated. The underlying difficulties? The societal structures that punish and harm them? The pain of adapting their entire neurobiome to do all the work of interfacing with different neurotypes while being driven to harness anything useful and discard the rest of their brain? No, we don't treat that. That's just the price of doing business. "Pull yourself up and don't be a problem."

And here's the problem, in plain terms: psychopaths who learn to cope, to mask, to adapt like I did are never diagnosed. I have spent most of my life fairly concerned about the fact that I seem not to have emotions or compunction, that i am always consciously working to figure out and connect to people around me on the most basic level, that I am constantly working to keep an active model of social norms going at all times. And I don't mean "shake hands, eye contact." I mean I have the same mental conversation regarding "don't shoot that person" and "use a turn signal." All prosocial behaviors, all social behaviors period, are a struggle to understand.

The funny thing is, it also makes antisocial behaviors difficult. Shooting someone seems remarkably inconvenient in many cases. Regardless of whether I care about getting caught or not, shooting somone will interrupt my day.

Not shooting them also seems remarkably inconvenient in many cases. Yes, it'd be a pain in the ass to shoot them, but then again, if I do it correctly, I only have to do it once.

But again, "correctly" is a wildly unfixed variable, and the whole question won't come up if I always ensure I fail the "do i currently have a firearm" step. And I don't. Ever.

That's how my brain works. Y'all go on about moral and ethical and legal reasons. That's an exhausting conscious mental conversation to have every other day, so my shortcut is:

"Should I shoot them? Oh, right, I don't have a gun. Guess not. Should I get one? No, cause I might shoot someone, and that'd be a pain in the ass. Welp, no shooting people."

And so it goes. I don't understand any social norms. Good or bad. I have all the problematic issues still, mind you. Environmental factors. I mimic and I was raised in an apocalypse cult in Oklahoma. I spend a lot of brain space sorting between prosocial behaviors and the violent antisocial behaviors I was taught were prosocial.

Because, you see, I can't really understand the prosocial behaviors, but I can see they work. And antisocial behaviors don't, really. Have i impulsively pocketed something? Couple times. Even got away with. Can't steal a house, though. And theft gets boring, for me.

Ok, except piracy. I may quite enjoy piracy.

Cooperation with a larger whole can and does yield benefits. Forcing myself to sit through mind numbing gratification delays does seem to yield results that are beneficial, though I really try to keep that one to a minimum. I refuse to be bored if I can help it. Making nice talky sounds gets me shit faster than making angry talky sounds.

Possibly this is a result if being raised manipulative. No idea. Kinda don't care.

Point is, I'm one of the psychopaths that, while not immediately useful, is also not actively a problem. So no-one will listen when i talk about everything being gray and cold and exhaustingly complicated because people make no sense and almost all my emotions are dialed so far down it's a joke i lack the ability to laugh about.

No one has believed me that the one emotion I have in spades is rage and that i have to literally consciously work out from first principles why violence is a bad option as my sole method of controlling that, my ONLY EMOTION OF ANY STRENGTH, which I cannot allow myself to feel for any length of time because I start losing sight of that consequence model and I worry i'll make a mistake I can't unmake. Or that it took me two decades to learn not to smash things I need when someone looks at me funny. Or just smash them.

Or that i have to keep my hands in my pockets and chant "don't steal" in my head some days. That I wear tight clothing with shallow pockets to make stealing harder so that, like guns, I simply can't do it easily and therefore short circuit my behaviors.

People are more than happy to hurl me at any problem that requires a lack of emotion, but if I dare to be less than appropriately emotional on a date? At a wedding? Funeral? If I make an error and don't diagnose it myself and perform contrition appropriately, regardless of if I knew there was a social or personal rule there? Well, I'm fired/broken up with/punished/evicted.

But I am not actively a problem for society. So none of those things are worth diagnosing. Or helping in any way.

And those that are useful? Are often fed utter horseshit and encouraged to break society. Bankers creating recessions. Generals commanding useless wars. Cops. Doctors that uphold a broken system. Politicians that pursue a broken society.

I know, I can see, that ASPD people catch a shit ton of shit cause they get blamed for "useful" psychopaths mistakes, and none of the benefits when said same psychopaths are lionized. Looking back at what it was, and what it is now, pathologically speaking, it makes perfect fucking sense for the asshats that designed a diagnosis to only include the people they don't like as the "sick" ones, and label the "good" ones as "heroes." Makes a nice distinction there between people we want to demonize and people we want to lionize for having the exact same chemical imbalance, and neatly creates a fall group when any of the "heroes" trip up. Silence those who can't cope, elevate those that can, treat neither effectively, and if an elevated one stops coping, we can just "realize" they were "sick" all along, and oh, yeah, those sick people are so bad, you guys, nothing like those heroes at allllllll.

I am...so tired of this society bullshit.

So anyway, I'm a psychopath. Paranoid, some schizoid. So whatever grains of salt you feel like taking, grab 'em, I guess. I'd mostly like for people like me to stop being weaponized, lionized, or punished for having a different neurotype. I'd like to be able to talk to a doctor about that and for there to be some options beyond "stop that," "get locked up," "have you considered the army" (yes, a doctor actually asked me that as a teenager) or "you seem fine, tho."

And if you resonate with this, well...I'm 32, never been arrested, mostly managed to avoid terrible shit, and I've got a life, couple partners, and I'm surviving, so like. You can do this. Lotta people wanna tell you you can't have this or that cause "you're not bad, tho." They're stupid. Y'ain't evil, just different. Don't let them get to you.

And (this is a joke) if you decide to shoot someone, do it once, correctly. Saves time.

#actuallymentallyill #vent #tw violence

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abundanceofsoph · 4 years ago

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SkyFire 3: Chapter 7

Harry at the BBC, Flicker Sessions & the other side of marriage: August/September 2017

Word count: 3.4k

SkyFire 3 MASTERLIST

I’m finally back! December really kicked my ass: I moved house, and I’m a manager in retail so christmas is always a nightmare but covid definitely made it worse. Anyway I’m back with another chapter and I’ve got the next few blocked out so hopefully I can get back to semi-regular updates :) Please help this story find new readers by reblogging and commenting.

As summer neared its end, Harry and Aurora travelled north to Manchester where they met up with the rest of the band as well as Jeff and Nick Grimshaw. It was hard for both of them to be back in town for the first time since the funeral, and even harder to be staying in Anne’s house which now felt far too empty without Robin’s infectious laugh and booming voice. They had arrive in town two days before the taping and both Aurora and Harry found themselves immensely grateful for the extensive soundchecks and filming obligations that kept them in town most of the time, only returning to the house in the evenings and turning in for bed relatively early to avoid the uncomfortable atmosphere in the home. On the day of the performance, after all Harry and Nicks segments were filmed and the band was ready to go, the doors were opened, and the small crowd was welcomed into the venue and prepared for the procedures of the taping.

The show was a huge success, with the crowd absolutely loving the entire thing. Aurora found herself unable to hold back her laughter several times while Nick interviewed Harry and she was often grinning as he danced around the stage, revelling in the infectious atmosphere of the crowd. Following the last song, well after the crowd had left and the only ones left inside were the band, Nick Grimshaw and their families, the crew worked on breaking down the set and everyone milled around with drinks in hand. They laughed together, sharing stories and eagerly discussing the upcoming tour. Aurora was tucked up against Harry’s side, his arm thrown comfortably around her shoulders as she lent her head against one of the swallows hidden beneath his shirt. She caught Anne’s eyes across the small group and the two women shared a soft smile as Harry’s booming laughter filled the air. In that moment she felt that despite the pain still felt in Robin’s absence, at the end of the day Anne was going to be ok. Both Harry and Rori had worried about heading off on a world tour and leaving her at home, but now Rori was confident that while her mother-in-law still had plenty of healing to go, she would be just fine while they were away from her. It was with clear consciences that the young couple were able to pack up their car and return to London the following day.

xXx

A few days after returning home from Manchester, Aurora took the opportunity to do something she had done quite often back in New York before she and Harry got married and made a permanent home for themselves in London. Life had been so busy since Jays passing the previous year that she hadn’t had a chance to start back up again in London and with the tour only weeks away she knew this was her final spare moment.

It took the better part of an hour for her to arrive after first taking a bus north to Knightsbridge from which she caught the Piccadilly line over to Russell square. She paused for a moment in the small patch of trees of Queen Square Gardens to collect herself before heading up the front steps and through the entry to the Great Ormond Street Hospital. An administrator was waiting in the lobby for her and after a quick greeting and handshake, Aurora was led upstairs and onto one of the kids' wards.

No matter how many times she made these visits, the first moment was always confronting. It was always upsetting to see so many tiny kids so sick and the exhausted, shattered expressions on their parents faces. No matter how often she did this there was always the briefest moment when her eyes threatened to tear up and she had to bite the inside of her cheek before plastering a bright smile on her face.

She spent most of the day there with the kids, admiring their drawings, singing songs for them, and playing with their toys. She spoke with the parents too, trying as best she could to brighten their day even if just a little bit. By the time she left she could feel the tears threatening to fall and instead of subjecting herself to crying on the tube, she ordered an Uber to get her home to where Harry was waiting with open arms and hot cup of tea.

She fell into those arms the moment she stepped into their living room, her entire body shaking with the great heaving sobs breaking through her chest. He didn’t say anything, knowing exactly how painful these visits were, having made enough of his own over the years. Whenever it had been his turn, his wife had been the safe harbour for him to return home to and now it was just his turn to help her weather the storm. He pulled a blanket over them as they settled into the sofa and he hummed softly, rubbing her back until her breathing finally slowed and she drifted to sleep, laying on his chest.

xXx

They hadn’t seen much of the boys since the wedding, so with Niall’s album launch fast approaching, Aurora was immensely excited to join him on stage to perform their duet Seeing Blind at his second stop on his Flicker Sessions tour. Following the first show in Dublin on the Tuesday evening, Niall flew into London early the following morning and Aurora met him at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire to rehearse ahead of the show the following evening. After a full day of rehearsals, Niall joined Aurora on her drive home, hugging Harry tightly as they arrived back at the Battersea Flat.

“Alright, alright,” Harry chuckled as he finally let go of the Irishman. “Get in here before dinner gets cold.”

They all sat down around the dining table, digging into the pasta dish Harry had made, catching each other up on the summers between bites.

“Can’t believe we’re both off on solo tours,” Niall said as Aurora cleared the table. “Seems mental to not all be cramming ourselves into the bus together.”

“I know,” Harry agreed sadly. “Feels weird to be making all the decisions on my own. Exciting though.”

“Agreed,” Niall chuckled. “Can’t bloody wait. Last night was absolutely buzzing and tomorrow’s gonna be so bloody great with Rors.”

“Gonna be so much fun Ni,” Rori echoed. “Been looking forward to this for weeks.”

“Speaking of,” Harry said. “Gem said she should get back into town about an hour before the doors open so I’ll probably wait for her and we can head over together. That work for you two?”

“Sounds good mate,” Niall nodded.

“Works for me baby,” Rori agreed, kissing Harry on the cheek. “I’m planning to arrive a few hours before doors open so I have time to get dressed and get hair and makeup done.”

xXx

The following evening Aurora waited backstage as Niall stepped out into the spotlight and began the show with The Tide. The crowd sounded electric and Aurora found herself far more excited than nervous to soon been joining him. The minutes flew by and Niall was quickly welcoming her out into the spotlight to a round of applause. He was smiling brightly as he started playing and sang the opening lines of the song, before Aurora joined him, a matching smile lighting up her own face. As they reached the chorus, Rori found herself dancing across the stage, the hem of her dress flaring out above her knees as she twirled. The song was over far too soon for her liking and she found herself more eager than ever for Harry’s own tour to kick off.

xXx

As September began, the stress had been building between the Styles’ for days. With the tour only weeks away Harry was already overworked and exhausted. He was so full of anxiety, waking in the middle of the night to call Jeff to check on some tiny detail he’d just thought of and it had just kept piling up. Aurora had wanted to help him, wanted to calm him, and tell him that it would be ok, but she was consumed by her own fears. Despite how much she had enjoyed singing with Niall and how well their TV performances had gone over the past few months, she hadn’t lied to Liam all those months ago when she’d shared her fears with him that her disability would make her a liability to the tour. She couldn't use her prosthetic every waking hour of the day; it wasn’t healthy, both on a physical and mental level. Physically the prosthetic was never entirely comfortable, leaving her constantly aware that something foreign was attached to her body and mentally, while the transmitter was a technological marvel, using it for longer than a few hours left her exhausted and if she kept it on too long she was assaulted by the worst migraines imaginable. The fear of being unable to perform, of failing Harry, of not being what he needed was drowning her. She knew he loved her of course, but they had barely been married 5 months and she was terrified of being a burden, or worse still, of disappointing him and hurting his career.

All of this was building up between the two of them, the stress feeling like a thick fog filling their flat and weighing down everything in it. A week after Aurora performed with Niall in Shepherds Bush, and two weeks before they were set to fly out to San Francisco, it all came to a head, boiling over in a fit of anger and frustration; both of them saying things they didn’t mean just to win a point against the other. She wasn’t even sure what had ignited the flame but as soon as it sparked, neither could hold back until Rori knew she needed to leave before either of them said something they couldn’t recover from. Somehow, she managed to hold back the tears until the door closed behind her and she crossed the hall to the elevator, leaving her husband in their apartment, angry and alone. She let the tears fall as she rode the lift down the underground garage, thankful that it didn’t stop to pick up anyone else along the way. She was gasping for breath, sobbing hideously by the time she climbed into her car and started the engine. She wasn’t even sure where to go but she knew that she needed to go somewhere.

She was furious and she was hurt. They'd bickered over the years, they wouldn’t be human if they hadn’t, but he’d never raised his voice at her the way he did tonight and she’d crossed the line too, said things she didn’t mean and things he didn’t deserve. She wasn’t paying attention to where she was going but didn’t find herself all that surprised when she pulled up out the front of the Golden Stag. She parked the car in the side alley to avoid getting a ticket the following morning and made her way inside, attempting to wipe her tear stained cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater with her right hand, her prosthetic long forgotten back at the apartment.

It was nearing midnight and the place was mostly empty, only a few stragglers left in a booth by the fireplace. Helen was behind the bar, not looking up as she heard the door open. “We’re closing up,” she called out.

“Sorry,” Rori mumbled, causing Helen’s head to snap up, her face pinching in worry as she took in the young woman’s expression. She rushed out from behind the bar, pulling Rori against her chest and tucking her under her chin.

“What happened sweetheart?”

“Harry and I had a fight and I just had to get out of the house,” Rori admitted. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

“Of course baby,” Helen soothed. “How about we get you settled in your old room upstairs?”

Aurora nodded and allowed herself to be led towards the staircase and up to the small apartment where she’d grown up. She toed off her shoes and climbed under the duvet, while Helen sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hand over Rori’s hair.

“Do I need to go knock some sense into that boy of yours?” she asked.

Aurora shook her head. “He didn’t say anything worse than what I said to him.”

“Do you want to talk to me about it?”

“No.”

“Ok sweetheart. Try to get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.” Helen stood up and headed for the door. Just as she was about to step through, Aurora's voice gave her pause.

“Thank you, Gran,” she mumbled.

“Get some sleep baby,” she repeated, closing the door softly behind her.

When she woke the next morning, she crept downstairs, noting the missed calls from Harry when she checked her phone. The pub wasn’t open yet, so it was deserted but for Helen and Greg cleaning up and preparing for the day ahead.

“Good morning sweetheart,” Helen greeted as Aurora perched herself on one of the many bar stools. “You hungry?” Aurora shook her head. “How about a coffee?”

“Yes please,” she mumbled, smiling softly.

“Helen said you didn’t want us giving Harry a piece of our minds,” Greg added while his wife turned to the coffee machine, “but if you change your mind you just let me know. If he hurt you...”

“He didn’t,” Aurora cut him off. “At least not how you mean.”

She was interrupted from explaining further as her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket, glad that it wasn’t Harry’s face on her screen. She answered the call with a soft “Hello?”

“Rori, where are you? Are you safe?” Louis asked, worry clear in his voice.

“I’m fine Lou,” Rori promised. “I’m at the pub.”

“Thank god,” she heard him sigh. “H called this morning to see if you crashed at mine, said he’d already checked with El. He’s worried about you.”

“Well he can worry a bit longer, I’m not ready to talk to him.”

“He feels terrible for what he said,” Louis said.

“Don’t,” Rori sighed. “Please don’t get in the middle of this.”

“I won’t, sorry,” Louis replied. “Just promise you’ll text him and let him know you’re safe and that you’re not ready to talk. You and I both know he’ll spiral if he doesn’t hear from you soon.”

“I will,” she promised. “I gotta go.”

“Ok, love you.”

“Love you too Lou.”

Once she hung up, she did as she’d promised and texted Harry to let him know where she was and that she needed some time alone before she was ready to see him.

After finishing her coffee, Aurora left the pub and drove back home to Battersea after promising to call Helen later to let her know that everything was ok. She parked the car in its usual spot but instead of heading to the elevator and up to where she knew her husband would be waiting for her, she instead headed out to the street level and wandered along the banks of the Thames until she reached the Peace Pagoda. The sun was shining but there was a chill breeze blowing in off the water, not uncommon for autumn in London and Aurora pulled her thin cardigan tighter around her, lamenting not having a jacket while she walked. After staring at the familiar pagoda for a while, she turned left and headed into the park, passing the bandstand until she reached her favourite section of the park, the subtropical garden. She found a seat on a nearly dry bench and sat, watching people as they roamed between flower beds and posed for photos. The previous night’s argument played through her head. It was far from the first argument she and Harry had ever had. They’d been together for almost 4 years and it was only natural to bicker and disagree, but they’d never really had a smack down, drag out fight like this one before. He’d never yelled at her the way he had, standing across from each other in the kitchen, and she’d never stormed out the way she had. This was uncharted territory for them both and while she regretted what she’d said, she worried that Harry would not be so quick to forgive. He wore his heart on his sleeve and she had witnessed over the years how unwilling he could be to forgive when he felt that he had been betrayed. For much of the year, Louis had been trying to convince him to mend things with Zayn and while Harry was happy that the two men were reconnecting, he had no intention of forgiving his ex-bandmate after all these years.

It was all of this that was running through Auroras head as she sat in the park, trying to figure out how to apologize for the terrible things she had yelled. She already forgave Harry for his own hurtful barbs, but she was feeling so unprepared and out of her depth when it came to repairing the damage rendered to her marriage. Not only did the thought of Harry hating her or resenting her cut at her like a knife, but the start of tour was only 2 weeks away and she knew that they needed to address what had happened and try to fix it, or the tour would be doomed before it even began.

Eventually Aurora accepted that she had stalled long enough and headed for home, finding the apartment worryingly silent when she finally stepped inside. She padded along the hall, peering into each room as she passed, eventually finding Harry at the piano in their studio, his shoulders slumped and his hunched back to the door. She leaned against the doorframe as she watched him run his hands along the keys, only moving forward when she noticed the way his shoulders shook with every shaky breath. He stirred when he heard her footsteps, immediately lurching to his feet and she felt her heart break a lit bit more at the look on his face. The moment he turned to face her it was clear that he had barely slept since she left the night before. His eyes were red and puffy and filled with so much sadness that Aurora felt her own eyes grow warm with tears seeing the man she loved more than anything in so much pain.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, quickly closing the distance between them, and throwing her arms around him.

Harry held onto her just as tightly, whispering his own apologies in her ear as they both cried. They simply held each other for long minutes before finally pulling apart and looking into each other’s eyes.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Harry said. “God I’m so sorry I love. I never meant to say any of that.”

“I know H,” Rori replied softly. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said any of what I did either. We were both stressed, and I know it doesn’t excuse what we did but I know that you didn’t intend to hurt me, and I hope you know I’d never want to hurt you either.”

“Of course, I know that,” Harry gasped. “Never doubted it for a second.”

“So, what do we do now?” she asked. “How do we fix this?”

“We can’t pretend it didn’t happen,” Harry admitted. “Think we need to sit down and talk about what we said. Figure out why, so we never get there again.”

“Ok,” Rori agreed. “Think maybe we could just snuggle up on the sofa for a bit first?”

“God yes,” Harry sighed. “Maybe a little nap too. Couldn’t sleep at all without you and I’m bloody exhausted.”

“A nap sounds pretty great,” she agreed with a small smile, intertwining their fingers as they headed down the hall together. They both knew the conversation awaiting them wouldn’t be easy, but they both knew that they belonged together and they would get through this speedbump just as they had overcome ever other obstacle that had faced together over the years.

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

#skyfire fic #Husband Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #dad!tony #ptsd #domestic fluff #angst #iron dad #step dad steve rogers #aurora stark #Harry Styles #tony stark

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deliriumsetin · 4 years ago

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So here’s the thing...

I’m really freaking hard to scare. Unlike my cat that just booked it into another room when our UPS guy dropped a package off at the door. Perfect timing, Percy. Perfect timing...

Anyways! I have NOT had a good scare in probably two decades. No matter what fiction I pick up that promises to chill and thrill me, neither happens.

Now keep this in mind.

As of right now I am launching a business and yes, this will tie into the weird opener. Be patient, please.

I am launching Vox et Liber, a publishing house for ALL kinds of stories and ALL kinds of voices. I started working on this in November 2019, what do you mean that was only 8 months ago?! I originally thought the publishing house up after learning a bunch of facts about the publishing world over the summer.

VeL publishing will be a new kind of publishing and I can say that with 100% confidence because I am building this beast from the ground up, with the help of @hazandlouwho, my fiance, and a few other amazing people!

Because this business is getting started independently, which means no investors, we are working with a VERY small amount of cash reserved for start up. Initially all works will be published digitally. We do plan on launching a Kickstarter in September/October to get enough funds to keep this going and to do it right which means getting stories published physically and sold to both indie bookstores and Barnes and Noble. Please be on the look out for that.

If any awesome people want to donate to help us not break my own personal bank, which will be easy to do since Covid-19 forced me to quit my job working with the public because I’m high risk and unemployment has kept me in limbo for going on 3 weeks, you can tip us on Ko-Fi by clicking here. ALL donations and funds raised go towards launching VeL and all projects under the VeL umbrella.

Bringing it around to the scares. VeL is launching our first project and we need all you awesome writers’ help. As of today we are opening submissions for our first ever anthology, Graveyard Visits. It’s horror with the theme of marginalized voices written as Own Voice fiction. Meaning stories written by marginalized groups with their marginalized groups as main characters.

Submissions are going to be open from July 1st until August 12th 11:59pm EST. Stories are expected to be between 2.5k-5k words in length. We will be paying $.02 per word as well as giving you a digital copy of the anthology. Submission Guidelines can be found here.

Now the whole me being hard to scare; I want to be scared. Submit your best, your scariest, and most bone-chilling stories.

Also, not so subtly gonna add a nudge to @thebibliosphere because I feel like she might have something up her sleeve. If not for this anthology then definitely our erotica one that will be announced later this summer.

We also have a podcast series in the works but I will do another post on that once I or my awesome soon to be brother in law (that’s STILL weird) have a moment to do up some graphics.

Click below for my rant on why traditional publishing right now is a soul sucking leech on EVERYONE.

On average with hardcover books an author is lucky to make $1.50 off each one sold and that’s only AFTER they sell enough to cover their advance. I also found out the average advance is like 3k per book. Some (not including the wicked big names who get a shit ton more) can get as high as 5k but others can get as low as a 1k. An author is lucky to see that twice a year (selling 2 books) because they have to spend time MARKETING book 1 instead of writing book 2.

Keep in mind fiction hardcovers are generally sold between 19.99 (usually YA) or 29.99 (usually adult). Wicked big difference, huh? I get there’s a lot that goes into making a book, trust me I do but the split between should leave the authors getting around $4 per copy instead of less than $2. That $2.50 is just extra that the publishing house takes because it can.

Then there are the mass paperbacks which an author gets paid 50 damn cents per copy. Yes, those books retail for anywhere between 7.99 and 14.99 per book and sell way faster than hardcovers. Take it from an ex-bookseller.

Most books take on average 500 to 1,000 hours of work put into them before they even get handed off to the publisher for the FIRST time. At minimum that author sees an hourly return wage of $6 which is BELOW the United fucking States shit-tastic minimum peasant wage. We devalue the arts so fucking much- arg! But that can be a separate rant for another day.

Then after doing more research I realized just how off balanced the publishing world STILL is in the year of hell 2020. Don’t believe me click the link. Sarah Park Dahlen did a great article with a great graphic on it.

As of 2015, yes I’m paraphrasing to continue to rant, children’s books had ALMOST more books about anthropomorphic cars, household items, and animals than there were books about Black kids, Asian Pacific kids, Latinx kids, or Native American/First Nation kids combined. Talking teakettles and their kindred got a whopping 12.5% while if you add up all the groups above you get 14.2%. None on there own beat out the freaking Easter Bunny! Of course books about White kids are the highest at 73.3%. Yes, this was as of 2015 but as an avid reader who reads middle-grade and up books for fun I can tell you nothing much has changed. Books about black kids maybe SLIGHTLY higher since the BLM movement (fuck yes progress!!) but I’d be heartstoppingly shocked if they beat out talking fucking trucks.

And that’s just race. From what I gathered with all the publishing houses less than 100 books with LGBTQIAP+ main characters are published each year. Wtf? And among that as of 2015 55% percent are about cisgendered males and 31% are cisgendered females. (Thank you @malindalo, you are awesome and I’ve enjoyed meeting you at the Boston Teen Author festival the last few years.) So, just focusing on those 2 first letters, huh? I want to read a story about a kickass transwoman that has to deal with transitioning WHILE demons have torn their way out of hell. That would be badass! Holy shit, someone trans write that!

Same goes for people that live with disabilities whether they are physical or mental, including mental illness and neurodivergents like myself. If you haven’t figured out by this rant just how ADHD I am than you might need an ADHD in your life. My brain works differently and I would have killed growing up to read about characters that have to deal with what I deal with. We have Percy Jackson now and his all ‘verse but it’s not enough and it wasn’t published until I was on my way to college.

All that aside we now have all the bs coming out about what’s been going on in traditional publishing. About all the dickweeds that have been using their power and pull to sexually harass new authors, most often the new authors are young women. I unfollowed people and canceled a pre-order because fuck that shit! Also, I don’t give a fuck how big a name someone is if the hate they spew makes all their trans fans collectively feel like shit for not believing the simple fact that transwomen are women then they deserve to get dropped like the bag of shit they are. TERFs can fuck right off.

All the publishing bs has made me more determined to get VeL off the ground because no, no, no. We’ll have none of that. All the listed above reasons can go play in traffic. We will be paying our authors better and taking care of them from day 1. We will be making sure our catalog is so damn diverse that you’d have to be looking at the wrong website to not find a story that you can’t see yourself in and lastly, if we hear of any of our authors pulling a Myke Cole or a Sam Sykes than they are dropped. It is in the best interests of our authors futures that they aren’t shitbags. /end rant

If y’all have any questions about anything of this, I think my dms are open or if I’m wrong just tag me. My days lately have been chained to my shit dell computer with one or both cats pinning me to the couch. I finish this up as Percy settles in on my legs. Also, thunderstorm is starting up and both are sleeping through it? If only I could be so lucky when the fiance and I have kids...

#publishing #anthology #writing #writing challenge #writers unite #supernatural #horror #writblr

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vio1315 · 4 years ago

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Mmmm aa, life update I guess

So I quit my job. Last day is on the 24th cuz I wanted to stick around for them for the rest of the holiday season

A lot has basically gone on and I forget how much I have or haven’t said about it, but basically the issue of being shortstaffed is too great

I want less hours because I physically and mentally can’t be doing near full time for this long, but it’s just not possible

I think I mentioned before but we are having the busiest Christmas season, I’d say busier than last year, but two of our registers are broken and one is considered too close to the line to use for social distancing, so we only have 5 operational registers and that’s when we even have enough staff to run those. The wait time in line is like an hour and a half consistently this last week and def for each weekend, employment is like a revolving door because despite being very difficult because of all this we only pay like 10 an hour when businesses next to us do 13-15 an hour

And this is because (likely) while it is a stingy place we also lose thousands of dollars a month (likely tens of thousands) to blatant theft, and we only have 1 loss prevention worker and he’s heavily restricted in what he can do (though he works extremely hard so they better treat him well)

And everything is such a mess, we don’t even have anymore bags, basically We were out of normal bags first, and we just ran out of our super large ones, meaning all that’s left for the foreseeable future is bags meant for 1-2 shirts or similar small items

This is not an uncommon occurrence

We sometimes are out of vital things like that for a month or more

One of the CSS who quit and went to a grocery that pays 15 an hour said they are properly staffed and they don’t get near as busy as us and when they ran out of bags everyone was shocked because it never happens there

And honestly I can handle all this, but not at full time. I can’t do full time work, I can not

People at my work do not understand this it seems

My manager wanted to encourage me because when I tried to express the guilt I feel about not doing enough, as in, not coming in as much as I’m needed, she only said I never seem disabled/handicapped at all because my work is so good etc

But that’s not at all the point. It’s not that I feel this is making my work worse (though it is a little in terms of I’m less patient/kind than I want to be) but that when I go home I am basically paralyzed. I am too tired to even play videogames after I work a shift, I just do nothing. It’s only on days off I can get anything done, and even then I can’t if I have had a bunch of 8 hour shifts prior. I want some semblance of living and working on personal things again.

And last year I did their near 40 hour shifts (which this year I was scheduled for 40 hours on a week actually) because I could say ‘it will be over in January and my hours will go down’ and it did a little bit, but this year I can’t say that. We are so understaffed my hours will never go down.

When I said I was quitting they asked what they could do to change my mind, and I gave them the number of hours I was gonna seek out elsewhere, and still I was scheduled 6 and 8 hours over that in the following weeks

They simply can’t do what I need

And even then I considered staying all the way up to like a week ago when I started having intensive nervous breaks during work which I was able to hold out on until I got home and just had all kinds of mental trouble. My nerves are so frayed I can physically feel it, like in a literal way

And my last job I ignored this type of stuff until when I finally lost that job I couldn’t look for work for /8 months/. I can’t push myself that far again

And yet the guilt I feel is extreme. I have had grief and anguish at even just seeing my manager flash a sad face for like 1 second at hearing I was indeed leaving, I was like nearly crying at my station. Knowing that I am directly making things harder for others and letting them down is so extremely hurtful to me, and I even really had enjoyed being at a point where I’m very skilled in my work, but somehow it’s not enough. I just don’t get any satisfaction from it, none of the things I like feel impactful at all anymore, but small annoyances suddenly feel much bigger. And I am definitely less kind and patient towards customers than I used to be.

Retail is where I learned how to have considerably more empathy, it’s where I learned to talk to people, it’s where I learned to stop feeling like everyone was watching me for any little mistake to use against me. It’s where I learned to trust people to just see me as some random person and enjoy our brief exchange and know we would both forget it. And so reaching a point where I don’t show my customers much care or kindness or feel good very often about helping them to me is kinda significant, and I don’t want to go down that path

So that’s an update. Idk where I’m going next, I just hope a smaller store or something. I am gonna wait a week or two, already cleared with my parents they’re okay with it, and then see if I can get in somewhere for the hours I want. Idk what it’s gonna be like when it’s finally done. I know that usually after stuff like this it feels worse for awhile as you don’t have to hold it together anymore, so we’ll see how it is I guess I don’t even have to write these updates, I just like to, idk. It’s more info than anyone needs but like it’s there

#Vio's Personal #There are other life things going in too but #I can’t write that in public spaces #Nothing serious just kinda people being mean irl to my loved ones

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greenbergsays · 5 years ago

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So I'm an author and an artist in a few different mediums, but I'm disabled, so a lot of times the time it takes me longer than most people to get my projects done. Most of my stuff is custom order so I time my work hours, and usually charge about $6 an hour, which is less than half of minimum wage, cause I work so much slower than an average worker, but my friends say I should be charging at least minimum wage for myself cause I'm worth it. What do you think? I could use some advice 😢

I think you should listen to your friends!

I’m a hypocrite for saying that, ofc, because my friends tell me the same thing. Ked says, specifically, “$1/100 words is highway robbery for the writer.”

I think as creators, we tend to downplay our own skill level, but there’s also the issue of, like. I know nobody’s gonna pay me to write them shit if I go by freelance writer standards. Nobody’s gonna pay $50 for 500 words, ya know?

Plus, I feel bad asking people to pay for stuff that I usually write for free. I LIKE writing fanfic, I only ever ask for commissions if I really need the money, and then I close ‘em as soon as I can. The whole process makes me feel weird.

So I tend to undersell myself, both because this is something I usually do for free and just to get the business. I’m not saying it’s right, but it’s what I do.

Either way, I think your friends are right: you should at least charge minimum wage for your services. It doesn’t matter if you work slower than the “average” person, you’re still taking the hours out of your day to do a job and you need to be paid accordingly.

Also–and I am just assuming this, so if I’m wrong, please correct me–as a disabled individual, the work is probably harder on you, no?

I know that working in retail is a grueling job, but it was doubly grueling for me, because I have severe anxiety, and at the time that I worked retail, I wasn’t on medication. The mental exhaustion I felt after each shift was always, always worse than the physical, just from forcing myself not to freeze up.

I absolutely know that that’s not the same thing as being disabled, but I hope you see the point I’m trying to make. If nothing else, you should charge for the toll it takes on you.

You shouldn’t be making double the effort for half the pay and nobody should expect you to. That’s the exact opposite of fair consumer practices.

#nani asks #greenberg replies #commission rates #i'm not really sure how to tag this

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kaikhaos · 6 years ago

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The Hurricane Sandy Saga Continues…

So here’s the story of my life since October 28, 2012 and all the chaos that has come with it. This is not a happy story, so far, but I’m hoping you guys can help make it one, or at least help prevent a bad end. This is a story of corrupt banks, government bullsh*t, and a 25 year old disabled trans queer who just wants to go home. Over the next five thousand words, I hope you realize the extent of how life has repeatedly NOPED at any sense of logic. At the end of my story, I’m going to ask you to help me out if you can and to spread the word either way.

The tl;dr version is that my family is facing homelessness for the fourth time in eighteen months and I really need you guys’ help to get us back into a stable situation so this never happens again. The mortgage company has screwed us yet again and is holding on to $250,000 that is supposed to be ours. So while we own one house and one newly demolished lot, we have nowhere to live. If you can at all help out, please do. My paypal link is here: http://paypal.me/mihaelkai .

My name is Aleks. This is my story.

First, let’s get one thing out of the way: I’m disabled. I have been legally recognized as disabled since I was 18. I have a combination of mental health issues and physical health issues that make it so my capacity on any given day varies greatly from “I made it through a day at a con thanks to lots of painkillers!” to “I brushed my teeth today and didn’t cry doing it!” But I try. Anxiety, depression, C-PTSD, & ADD are just a few of the things I’ve been diagnosed with by my therapist and psychiatrist, paired with diagnoses from my doctors of migraines, fibromyalgia, and a degenerative connective tissue disorder known as Ehlers-Danlos that all combine to leave me in fairly constant pain basically everywhere. My brain and my body attack me constantly but I still try to do what I can. Unfortunately, it means I can’t just go out and get a 9-5 or retail job to help fix my situation. I can only do what I can do and I have to know my limits.

I live with my mother and my QPP Luca who are both also disabled.

You may know in 2012 we were hit by Hurricane Sandy. If you don’t know that, you’re about to find out. We had six feet of water in our house and my grandfather’s house next door (AKA: my inheritance) floated off of its foundation and was straight up condemned. Ever since then, life has been, in a word, chaos. It’s gotten to be a theme in our house that if it can go wrong, it will go wrong. Even my therapist has given up on making any kind of treatment plan and is basically just focusing on damage control. And honestly, at this point, I just wanna go home.

But Aleks, it’s been seven years, why aren’t you home yet? Oh boy, I am SO glad you asked. Let’s get into this history.

First, a prequel. I’m not rich, my family isn’t rich, but we get by. Our house wasn’t big, but it was beautiful. In 2006, my mother bought two tiny houses next door to each other from an old man who wanted to sell them to a family the way he’d grown up in the smaller house while his parents lived in the other house. The one house was a six hundred square foot bungalow that would become my grandfather’s and its neighbor was a seven hundred square foot house that would become mine and my mother’s.

Our house was gorgeous and cute. Built in the early 1900s by a tinsmith with scraps from all of his jobs, all of the walls were tin instead of sheetrock or plaster, the floors were gorgeous hardwood, and the three bedrooms were each under a hundred square feet. It was tiny but it was ours.

On August 28th, 2011, that house was hit by Tropical Storm Irene. Our house was flooded by two feet of water on the first floor. The Atlantic Ocean took out our floors, cabinets, appliances, electrical outlets, the bathroom tile, and the furniture, not to mention rusting the heck out of the bottom of the tin walls. It took six months to get the final eighty thousand dollar settlement out of the insurance company.

The check was deposited by the mortgage company who said they would hold onto it and dole it out as we hired contractors or finished repairs. But here’s the thing: The settlement barely covered enough for the supplies, so we maxed out credit cards and depleted personal savings and finished our repairs a few months later with the help of very few contractors and a lot of DIY.

We installed our kitchen appliances as the last step and called the mortgage company that day to ask them to come and inspect and verify the repairs were done so they could release the other seventy thousand dollars that they were holding onto. They said they were backed up and that they would come and inspect in a month.

Our new stove was 22 days old when Hurricane Sandy hit us.

Where Irene was manageable, Sandy was devastating. My grandfather’s house floated on the storm surge and landed three feet away from its foundation. The legs of our lawn table were bent and sticking out from under the house like the damn wicked witch or something. Our house on the other hand shifted by an inch. Not much, you’d think, but enough to break every pipe in the house and damage the entire structural stability of the house.

The town building department condemned my grandfather’s house and wrote ours up as “more than 50% damaged”.

Needless to say, both houses were left completely and totally uninhabitable.

The mortgage company inspector came and said because everything was wet and ruined that they “couldn’t certify the repairs were completed” even when we were standing there with a stack of receipts and before and after pictures, clearly proving everything had been replaced since most of the materials had been changed. So they decided they wouldn’t release the $70,000 they were holding onto from Irene until the new SANDY repairs were done. Even though we’d already spent that money on repairs and run up debt because of it, they decided they were just going to hold onto it for longer.

And honestly? Fuck those guys. They are the root of some of the most evil parts of this, as you’ll see.

So back to the Sandy damages. First, the insurance company offered us a FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLAR damage assessment. Fifteen thousand bucks when we had six feet of water in our house. For perspective, fourteen months before Hurricane Sandy, Tropical Storm Irene sent 24 inches of water into our house and the insurance company gave us eighty thousand dollars to make those repairs. So yeah, fifteen thousand wasn’t gonna do it. The construction estimates for the repairs were coming in around two hundred and fifty thousand.

So, of course, we appealed. Our engineer said parts of the house were outright dangerous from the damage and had to be torn down and replaced. We told the insurance company this and they told us they would send their own engineer. And… well… they sent SOMEBODY. Was that guy a licensed engineer? Nope. Did they tell us he was? Yup.

So then we appealed to FEMA. The judge from FEMA told them outright to send a LICENSED engineer in his decision and left it at that. So then they did. This guy now said he thought fifty thousand was gonna do it. The insurance company looked at his report and went “mmm… so how about thirty thousand?”

So… no. So then we had to hire a lawyer and took them to court. We weren’t the only ones, thousands of people had to file these lawsuits. The lawyer told us not to let the mortgage company cash the $30,000 of checks we’d been given for the storm so far because it could be argued to be us agreeing to that number. He said we just had to WAIT. So the checks got too old to cash.

The Visiting Nurse Service started sending a therapist to our house once a week for each of the three of us to help with “Hurricane-Related PTSD”. Yup. Cool. On top of my regular C-PTSD. Awesome. But the guy was nice and having therapists to talk to twice a week (my regular one and this guy) was helpful. And he gave me some worksheets that helped me kind of have more of a tool kit. Everything still sucked but hey, we all trudged on.

Pretty sure this was around when the first roofing shingles started falling off of our rental house. We told the landlord that this was a problem and that the property was going to start getting leaks in the roof. We pointed out that it said in our lease that he was supposed to fix this little ‘issue’.

Repeatedly.

Including in writing and by sending him photos of the slowly growing stack of shingles that were not on the roof anymore and the leaky window.

And he still did diddly squat about it.

For five years.

Meanwhile during this whole… process, New York State started the New York Rising program to help rebuild the houses who were tied up in lawsuits like ours or who didn’t have insurance like my grandfather’s. We applied right away. It seemed like an answer!

…So then uh… New York Rising LOST our file.

…Uh… Twice.

And when they finally DID decide to properly process our application, they gave us a grand total of $88,000 and put us in the ‘Build a whole new house’ category. Our house is, as I said, under 900 square feet in size. You literally cannot build a house in our area for that price at that size. Especially when it’s a property that needs 14 foot deep helical pilings and a nine foot high foundation to comply with current code. The foundation alone is $50,000. The lowest estimate we found from any construction company after no less than TEN bids was $180,000 NOT counting the architect who’s another $15,000. NY Rising expected us to be able to rebuild for a fraction of that. So we started looking into finding other financing possibilities while waiting on the lawsuit to continue going through.

We decided to hire our neighbour’s architect because he was something resembling almost affordable. We gave him a deposit. …A few weeks later, he had a heart attack while leaving the building department’s office. …A few weeks after that, he started being investigated for embezzling money from his clients.

At this point, we’d been out of our house for years. And more and more shingles kept falling off of the roof of the rental. Then a siding tile fell off too because the landlord’s son’s landscaping company crashed a lawnmower into it.

We started looking at houses to buy so that at least we would own something.

Then my grandfather (who had been a major contributor to our household finances) had a severe stroke. Six months later, he died. Suddenly we were $3,000 tighter per month. The possibility of buying a house went out the window. But we made do as best as we could.

FEMA was paying for the rental house we were living in while going through all of the appeal and lawsuit procedures and, when we hit their funding cap, New York Rising’s IMA program stepped in to pay “whichever is less, your rent or mortgage”. It still meant higher costs as the rent around here is more than our mortgage, but it made it so we could get by.

The one silver lining was that once my grandfather was out of the picture (since he’d been living with us in a shared rental since Sandy), I was able to start on testosterone injections. January 28, 2015, I was able to start my injections and officially begin the medical side of my transition.

Then New York Rising hit a cap on IMA funding. Which… sucked pretty fucking hard because then there was a few thousand a month more money we had to find to shell out. But then the program was extended and that was awesome.

Then our cat, Pickles, developed severe kidney problems. She was my best friend since the day she showed up on our doorstep a week after we bought our house in 2006 and wandered into the kitchen demanding petting. She moved into our lives and never left. I couldn’t give her up without a fight. So I spent all of my savings on her medical bills and started giving her saline injections twice a day every day to help her kidneys flush the toxins they couldn’t handle themselves.

Then the IMA ran out again. So back to the land of suck. They told us we would be eligible for a little more funding. But only if we demolished the existing house.

In order to legally demolish the house, we had to pay for a construction company to do it under their license. New York Rising expected us to be able to demo the house for $5,000. The lowest bid we received was for $9,000. When we told them this, their reaction was essentially “yeah, yeah, we know, just make it work”. Make it work is a cool and funny phrase when spoken by an aging fashion consultant on television. It’s not so cool or funny when it’s being told to you by the people who are supposed to help you fix your house. It is stressful as hell.

Then Pickles got sicker. And sicker. And her at-home dialysis wasn’t enough to keep her going anymore. Pickles passed in May 2016.

In 2017, we finally won our lawsuit. The judge ruled the insurance company had to release a full payment to the policy maximum of $250,000! Those jerks tried giving us $15,000 and the judge was like ��Uh… no, this is $250,000 of damage”. Victory! But we were still out our legal fees because, unlike homeowner’s insurance where the insurance company pays the fees, flood insurance is federally underwritten so you’re not allowed to get the legal fees paid for. Some flood insurance companies realized they’d fucked up and as a result agreed to pay for the legal fees. Our flood insurance company… wasn’t so generous. But a check was still generated by the flood insurance company thanks to the judge. Huzzah, light at the end of the tunnel!

…Then the lawyer refused to sign the check.

Apparently our lawyer has had dealings with our mortgage company before and run into the same problem as we had with their “we’ll release your funding at the end” theory. Except for him that meant “we won’t pay out your legal fees until the house is finished” and he didn’t like that. So they wanted him to sign the check over to them and he wanted them to sign the check over to him. They spent years arguing over a piece of paper with some dollar signs on it while we got needlessly further into debt.

Then one of my ferrets, Wasabi, my emotional support animal, got really sick really suddenly.

By the time the vet scrambled to find out what was wrong, it was too late and he was gone. It turned out that he had a rare autoimmune condition caused by heavy metal exposure from the water. His sister survived, but now Lemon was alone and she and I were both devastated. Watching the way she would get excited and then sad any time we brought out a toy with Wasabi’s scent on it broke my heart so I replaced her toys.

A month later, people came knocking on our door offering free water filters if they would let us track the toxic plume of decades old industrial chemicals and waste spreading unhindered through the groundwater supply that had apparently reached us and was contaminating our pipes.

Eventually, during all this, New York Rising started to realize that their $160 per square foot amount just wasn’t enough when it came to houses like ours. So they started a program called the Recon 100 program. The goal of this program was supposed to be that New York Rising would take over the build process, they would hire contractors and architects in bulk, essentially hiring them for ‘bundles’ of 10 or 20 properties at a time to get them to accept a lower profit per house because they would be guaranteed months of solid work. We were signed up into the program.

Now, as a condition of this program, we had to stop doing any work on our own, we’d have to return whatever hadn’t been spent on repairs already, and we’d have to give them any insurance checks. But New York Rising was bragging about how they had programs that would allow you to repay the funding over several years because they knew everyone was using a little bit here or there to make ends meet. And that was all well and dandy because once the repairs were done, the mortgage company would release what they were holding one way or another. They would have to. …Right?

Meanwhile, our rental assistance hit the next cap. New York Rising told us not to worry because once this paperwork was approved, we’d be eligible for a higher cap of extended rental assistance. It was just a matter of waiting for the paperwork to get approved, they said.

Then our caseworker at New York Rising decided she was going to deny our receipts for the funds already spent. And that she wasn’t going to file the appeals to that denial that we explicitly asked her in writing to file.

Then on top of that, we discovered that at some point our NYR caseworker had decided to NOT sign us up for the extended timeline repayment thing because… fuck knows why, honestly? And that now she wasn’t going to apply us for it because “oh it’s full now”. So NY Rising decided that, before they’d do anything, they wanted us to give THEM the money that was still sitting in those pre-lawsuit paper checks that went old immediately. The government decided that we either had to magic the money of an un-cashed check out of thin air or else it was up to us to: 1, get them reissued, 2, get them deposited by the mortgage company, and 3, somehow get the mortgage company to issue that money to New York Rising.

And they wanted all this done in less than a week because they decided this in the last phase of our approval process and there were other deadlines really close. …Needless to say, the mortgage company was like “lol um nah” even to the theoretical idea of giving the money to NY Rising for the repairs, nevermind the hassle of getting the checks reissued by the flood insurance company with an active lawsuit ongoing.

New York Rising only said “too bad, figure it out yourself and PS because you’re not in this program anymore, we won’t give you the continued rental assistance, why aren’t you done rebuilding your house yet?” Meanwhile, we were waiting on them for months because they told us it was just waiting for the paperwork to go through.

Meanwhile, we had a new jerk of a builder/flipper neighbour. He’d bought the house next door to us when the family with the new baby decided it wasn’t worth waiting so many years to have their own house fixed. Let’s call him Fish Head. He decided to have his building supplies delivered to our neighbour’s yard WITHOUT her permission because there wasn’t enough room on his property. Straight up, he had a whole pallet of building supplies just dumped on her yard. She complained, obviously, and her husband threatened to call the cops. So he moved his shit to to OUR yard because we happened to not be there that day. It took WEEKS to get him to move the shit, even WITH calling the cops.

Turns out, cops don’t give a shit if someone puts hundreds of pounds of building materials on your yard. They’ll tell you you’re well within your rights to move it yourself but if you don’t have a forklift or a whole team of burly humans to assist you in the move then too bad so sad.

Thanks, Fish Head.

But back to the housing. We were months overdue on the rent because we were “just waiting for the paperwork to finish processing”. They told us we’d get all the back stuff in one lump payment. They lied and now we were up shit’s creek.

Our scummy landlord finally sent a notice saying “I’ve waited long enough, get out”. So that was… cool. We were able to keep him from coming after the back rent by pointing out that he was a slum lord and that we’d notified him in writing about being a slumlord, but it still meant we had to move out immediately and in a rush. Thankfully, it was May.

So on June 1st 2018, we moved into our RV parked at a local campsite. Three adults, a cat, and a ferret, crammed into an RV that was anything but recreational.

We installed cameras on our house around this point because Fish Head kept having his workers trample all over our property and they kept breaking things and leaving garbage everywhere.

Then the engineer said he thought he could figure out a way to save the main body of our house and raise it, that we’d only have to demolish off the back room and possibly the bathroom in order to raise it. It was another light at the end of a repeatedly lengthening tunnel. So we changed tracks completely and had him start drafting stuff up for us to raise the existing house, rebuilding only the porch.

Now, here’s the thing about the local campsites, we don’t have many of them and they sell out pretty quickly. Especially for the height of the summer. So they didn’t have any of their ‘full hook-up’ sites, AKA the ones that get you electricity and everything, but we had water and a bathroom and a shower facility and the barbecue to cook food, and it was… survivable. Not exactly comfortable but survivable.

We started doing the work to repair the house instead of following the line of thinking of rebuilding it. We cashed in everything we could and scraped together every scrap of money we possibly could, we sold things, we asked for help where we could, we got a very understanding contractor to give us the lowest prices we could. We managed to get the mortgage company to pay out some of the Tropical Storm Irene money directly to the contractors. Remember that guy, wayyyy back in 2011? And the mortgage inspector who missed a pre-Sandy inspection by a week? Yeah. They still had that money. So even though it was technically Sandy damages as we’d already done the work from Irene, we managed to get them to pay that out. But WHATEVER. It got it paid.

We had a looming deadline from New York Rising that they wanted the house raised by December 31st. Or at least that they wanted it lifted and pending the new foundation. They call this ‘cribbing’ and it basically means your house goes up on Jenga Towers and that you can’t live in it for a while until the foundation is done and it goes back down. So we had to somehow make that happen. But first things first, the campground was closing for the season and we had to have a place to live.

On November 1st 2018, we were able to move back into our house.

Temporarily, at least, while permits and construction drawings and everything went through for getting the house raised.

So we applied to the mortgage company to get the remaining $40,000 that they had from Tropical Storm Irene, the full final payout. And, amazingly, we got it. In it came and went right back out it went to the contractors who were supposed to be working on raising the house because that December 31st deadline was still looming.

Then Fish Head who we keep running into issues with, FINALLY got a stop work order on his house for not having the right permits. Serves you right, Fish Head. But, in retaliation, he decided to lie to the building department that we were living there without utilities? Somehow? When we literally had all our utilities? And had gotten the “90% complete” inspection from our mortgage company? So THAT was a whole mess to try to straighten out. When we met with the head of the building department, he literally turned to the guy next to him and said “See, remember I told you about this guy? This is the retaliation I was telling you about” because he was the guy who had personally signed the stop work order on Fish Head.

So the next big concern was that December 31st deadline. Everyone kept debating whether or not New York Rising would extend it at the last minute again (as they’d done that once before), and we started scrambling to try to find somewhere to live while the house was raised. Ideally, we were looking for somewhere that WASN’T the cold tiny RV in the middle of a New York winter. We applied to a few apartments but because we were paying the mortgage and everything our debt to income ratio didn’t qualify.

On December 24th, 2018, we got the $250,000 check from the flood insurance company with our name and the mortgage company’s name. It seemed like a Christmas Miracle. So we immediately sent it over to the mortgage company so they could cash it and we could apply to have those funds released, remember, our house was FINISHED and HABITABLE, except for needing to be raised per the new flood zoning stuff. At the very least, we had the 90% inspection, and on our next inspection we got a 99%.

So we immediately started applying for the final permits for getting the house raised and my grandfather’s house demolished. The lady at the building department is… nice but not very organized. So we had to deal with the town jerking us around with the permits taking forever to get done, well past the time estimates they tell you on the phone when you call and ask about time estimates.

We rushed to have our disconnects done. Water, electric, sewer. The house was all wrapped up in a pretty bow ready to be raised. We moved into a hotel. All we needed was the final elevation permit and the money from the mortgage company.

So back to the mortgage company and that $250,000. The mortgage company denied the payout 3 times saying, “Oh we don’t have… this paper or that paper” for papers we had confirmation they had. The guy on the phone one time when we were like “….We submitted that one on x date while speaking to Z employee”, he tried saying, “Oh this fax isn’t legible…” and we were just like “…FAX… you mean the scanned in PDF we submitted via your web upload?” And he was like “…Oh. hold please…” and suddenly he could read the form. Magic. So basically they were just LYING to us. Why? Fuck knows.

Then it was, “Everything is fine and it’ll be issued in 3 days” on the 23rd. And we got the elevation permit! And the demo permit on my grandfather’s house! Everything was rolling along and it was all going to be fine! Right?

Not so fast.

On the 31st we still had no check. We called and it was, “Oh it has to go to this other department because it’s over $70,000, but everything is approved and they’ll issue the check in 5 to 7 days, HONEST”.

We called back on the 5th and THAT lie had turned into “Oh well… we sold your loan effective the 4th, you’ll have to ask the new guys”. The mortgage company SOLD OUR LOAN to another company WHILE our payout was “APPROVED AND SENT TO THE CHECK ISSUING DEPARTMENT”.

We called the new guys who told us, “Oh we don’t even have a ID NUMBER assigned for your loan yet, call back in a week to get your loan number and then it’s another week until we can even see your funds and start your payout claim oh and we probably need to schedule our own inspection.”

So it’ll be easily a month OR MORE before we get the money.

We are trying to expedite this whole process as best as we can. We managed to get the ID number in only 4 days. They seem to be arguing with themselves about whether or not they need a whole new inspection or not.

Meanwhile, we only really had the money for the hotel for the lift time but all the disconnects have been done (there is no heat, water, or electricity) so it’s not like we can just go BACK HOME during the delay either.

We have $250,000 on the way and we’re about to be homeless. Again. For the third time in 18 months.

If we can just get $5,000, we can pay to have the house RECONNECTED AGAIN to everything so we can wait these fuckers out and get the payout.

Every little bit helps.

Please.

The other option is living in the RV again just to have a roof over our heads. But unlike last time when it was warm, it is February and we are in NY. It snowed yesterday. RVs aren’t designed to keep warm when there’s snow out.

Please help me and my family stay in a house.

My paypal link is here: http://paypal.me/mihaelkai .

I am also taking a limited number of 1000 word or less commissions! That’s about the limit of what I can handle committing to right now! DM me for details!

(Mutuals/Friends: If you can’t donate but you can loan us some for two months or so, we can pay you back as soon as we get that check? Please let me know if it is a donation or if you would like to be paid back so I can keep a record.)

#transcrowdfund #trans crowd fund #please help #please consider donating #donation #donations

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s1mpl3sp0ng3 · 7 years ago

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i know everyone on tumblr is always super depressed or dodgy about self-help advice, but i just wanna share some stuff i've been practicing recently that's helped me a lot; especially as a student with a full load of classes and intense amounts of stress because of that. so while you can apply this stuff to your daily life, this is stuff i find useful as a constantly anxious college student.

positive ideation. things are never as bad as you think they are. when you get confronted with a bad situation, try to list out some positive aspects. if you feel like a breakdown is coming on, reassure you that you WILL get things done and you WILL sort this out. if it's an issue with an assignment, calmly contact your professor to inform them of your issue/situation or talk to them in class the next day. most of them will work with you, and turning something in that's half-done is much better than turning in absolutely nothing. it at least shows that you tried and you've got room for improvement for next time. take it as a teaching moment.

the stuff they told you about college in high school is largely untrue. most of your professors are not big bad stern oppressors who will fail you if you just look at them the wrong way. every professor can be reasoned with, and if they can't then do the best you can. most of them are relatively chill and are willing to discuss deadlines with you, and the ones that aren't? take it as a learning experience. it'll prepare you more for future hardass professors you might have.

find things to do inbetween classes. go out and get some friends. play video games. draw. do whatever you have to. if your entire life is just school and studying, you're not going to be very happy. i know tumblr hates extroverts for some reason, but try to find people you have stuff in common with and build a relationship with them. talk to the people in your classes, you don't even have to introduce yourself; just make a joke or an observation and see how they respond.

but also, don't shirk off your work in pursuit of a good time. make sure you can get it done and set aside time to get it done SO you can have fun. try to limit your procrastination and the amount of all-nighters you pull. if working on something is stressing you out or you're not feeling it and you have time to relax, then relax! you can always come back to it later.

find a personal anthem. this is more of a personal thing, but sometimes having a positive song in my head helps me sort through the bad stuff. chop to the top from the spongebob musical REALLY resonates with me, especially the part that's like "i know you're scared, just be brave, you can do it! you've gotta give it all you've got inside!" find something that resonates with you and keep it in your mind as you work or go about your other business. find something that lights a fire in your belly.

eat healthy. eating nothing but takeout or stuff from the campus restaurants isn't just bad for you physically, but it can take a toll on your emotions too. if you eat nothing but shit, then you just end up feeling like shit. you don't have to COMPLETELY get off of fast food though, just make sure you drink some water and eat some greens at least once a day. find a vegetable you really like and start snacking on it regularly (for me it's spinach and, for some reason, dried seaweed). put good in, get good out.

tea before bed. once again, it's a personal thing, but stuff like chamomile really helps clear your head after a long day. it's good for sleep too. i probably wouldn't try this in the morning though, as it can make you a bit sleepy. find some breakfast tea you like for that.

once again, think of the positives. if you can't find something positive in a certain situation, think about things you're looking forward to. think about your dog. think about your best friend. think about that funny youtube video you watched last night. take a moment to laugh and find yourself when things begin to fall out of order.

curb your negative coping mechanisms, if you can. set limits for yourself (even just small ones until you can get up to the point where you can wean yourself off of it), like if you're into retail therapy then try to keep your purchases under control; find cheap little things to distract yourself with. it also helps to write or draw your feelings out. get yourself a stress ball or something you can squeeze when you feel tense.

don't self-deprecate constantly. find things about yourself that you like and flaunt 'em. like i said earlier, put good in and get good out. when you feel the need to berate yourself, stop and think about the good stuff. everyone makes "i hate myself" jokes, but do it in small doses. don't let every other word out of your mouth be negative. if you get a negative thought, replace it with something positive. it doesn't even have to be about you specifically.

don't compare your successes to other people. appreciate the things you can do well and work on the areas you're having trouble with. ask the people you're harboring jealousy for what their secret is or ask them to help you out with something. not everyone at a higher skill level than you is an arrogant asshole out to destroy you or make you feel bad.

seriously, stop with the "we can't all be neurotypical, karen" mindset. yeah it's funny on a text post, but it can be REALLY self-destructive. if you push away every helping hand, you can never hope to get any better. you don't have to do anything alone, there are always going to be people -- professionals and personal figures in your life -- that want to help you out. any comments like that on this post are gonna go ignored, take that negative shit and turn it into something constructive. eat a snickers or something.

on that note take some time away from tumblr/social media. it's no secret that people on tumblr love to fetishize mental illness and use it as an excuse to be a shitty person. you don't need that negativity in your life constantly. if tumblr just puts you in a bad mood, then take a break! your followers will more than likely understand, and the ones that don't can get fucked. social media today can be so overwhelmingly negative that it can really warp your perspective on things. the world isn't always as horrible as the internet makes it sound.

i hope this helps someone. this isn't like an exhaustive list of things that will absolutely cure your depression or me shouting at disabled people "JUST BE HAPPY I'LL PRAY FOR YOU" either. if this stuff doesn't work for you, then that's fine. find stuff that DOES work for you.

you're all doing great and i know you can do it. love urself or i'll love urself for u.

#self help #depression #anxiety

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askjennie · 8 years ago

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I’m having a crisis

I would like this to be anonymous.

So I guess I’ll start off by saying that I’m an 18 year old female and a senior in high school. A few days ago I had spent the night at my best friend’s house and we had gotten into a really deep conversation about life and fears of the future and things like that. It got to the point where we were both crying and kinda freaking out, I eventually cracked a few jokes and we had calmed down and went to bed around 5am. During this conversation she had mentioned that I should probably seek out professional counseling. I have thought about this for a few years now but recently it has been on my mind a lot. Last year I had a real bad break up which led to a lot of negative emotions and my mom could see that I wasn’t happy, and even according to her it became apparent even before I started dating. Unfortunately it also led to my mom finding out I’m gay because I was having a panic attack and basically spilled everything out at once. Not exactly how I wanted to come out to my mom… This then led to a “the talk” type of discussion later, where she made sure I knew that she has no problem with my sexuality but isn’t sure how to, in her words, “parent someone like that”. So she forbade anyone spending the night and vice versa, except my super close friend since 2nd grade I mentioned in the beginning. Now the decision doesn’t effect me because I really don’t have many friends but at the time it did. We haven’t discussed my sexuality since. She did however, ask me if I wanted to seek counseling because she felt I wasn’t happy, which at the time I said no because I thought it would be a burden on her (we aren’t in the best place financially and my mom takes great pride in being a parent and I thought telling her that I’d like counseling would be a big slap in the face). I have little to no ambition when it comes to my future and school. I really hate school and I don’t plan on attending college, my mom has sorta figured that out. So last summer she suggested I join the US Air Force. At the time it seemed like a good idea, get experience and maybe even give me a better work ethic when it comes to life. So currently I’m enrolled in the DEP program and do not currently have a contract for a job. Nothing is set in stone until I leave for basic training, so I can drop out anytime, and I’ve been thinking about it. I’m really worried I wouldn’t be able to handle it physically and mentally. Like I said before I have no ambition and no commitment, I feel like I’d get eaten alive out there for not taking anything seriously. It’s not that I can’t be fit and in shape, it’s just I lack the commitment to make myself work out. That’s why I ended up quitting competitive swimming a few years ago after 8 years of it because it was becoming overwhelming for me (my mom still hasn’t let that one down). I honestly think there may be something wrong with me mentally, like I have some learning disability, I procrastinate WAY too much, I have since elementary school. I like English (I’m in an AP Lit class now even, which I regret tbh) but it pains me to read because I have to reread sentences or paragraphs because I forget what I just read or it hasn’t processed or something. I space out or tune out teachers during lectures and find myself coming back like 10-20 min later, or even my friends sometimes as well, we’d be talking in a group and I’d miss half of what was said because I drifted off. I catch myself falling asleep in class more than I think I should (that also might be because of my 4-6 hours of sleep, I literally just lay there thinking about things trying real hard to sleep). This all became my number one worry recently when I found myself doing these things during a recruiting session for the Air Force. I had missed a lot of what was going on, and if I can’t pay attention now I don’t how I’m gonna make it in the real deal especially when they’re more in-your-face about it, I’m afraid I’d just start to have a mental break. So I guess my question would be, how do I break it to my mom that, the thing I’ve been telling her and all my family I’m gonna do for the past year, is something I don’t want to do anymore. I’m worried about further disappointment from my mother and also fear for myself because I don’t know what I want to do with my life. Also, once I get past the breaking the bad news, ask her if I could attend counseling. I would really like to talk to someone but I’m worried my mom would feel I don’t need it now or something. I’m pretty good at art, I love it, so I was thinking maybe do some art commissions or something while working retail (I currently work retail now so I already have that) after I graduate and just see what happens from there? Save up money for an apartment or something, I don’t want to live where I am now. That’s also another thing I’m terrible with money I have no impulse control whatsoever, I also hoard useless shit. There’s a lot going on. Anyway, I know this was really long but thank you so much for taking time to read this and thank you for your advice. Have a lovely day!

Jennie: It does sound like seeking professional counselling would be a really good idea. You’ve got a lot on your mind right now - your mental health, your sexuality, your future - and talking things through with someone trained to help could enable you to sort through your feelings about all of this, and learn healthy ways of coping with these difficult situations.

Being in therapy isn't being a burden. In fact, it's making sure that you're not a burden, by taking care of yourself. It doesn't reflect on your mom's parenting. So many people in happy, loving families still benefit from therapy. It sucks that sometimes it can cost a lot, but you can research low cost options in your area, and ultimately, this is about your health, and that's something worth spending money on, when you need to.

Honestly, it does sound possible that you have some kind of learning disability. I hope you don't take that as an insult, because having a learning disability isn't anything to be ashamed or embarrassed about, and it doesn't mean that you're unintelligent or unable to succeed. It just means that someone with a learning disability has a brain that works slightly differently, and learns slightly differently, and maybe they would benefit from adjustments being made to the way they learn, so that they can learn successfully.

I'm not a professional, so I can't say whether you do actually have one or not. But if you're concerned, it's worth finding out. Speak to your doctor, or to a teacher or school counsellor if that kind of testing is available through your school.

If you don't want to join the Air Force, then you don't have to. It's okay to change your mind. Lots of people don't know what they want to do with their life when they're 18, and lots of people think they know, and then change their mind later in life. You don't have to have your entire life path set up right now. You've got time.

But, it is a good idea to have a plan of what you want to do when you leave school. If you already have a job that you could continue, maybe switching to full time hours instead of part time, that's great. If you think you could do that while also doing art commissions, and save up to move out, that sounds like a decent plan. When you talk to your mom, make sure you tell her that you have a plan of what you'd like to do, and ask for her help to make it work. Maybe that would involve her helping you learn to manage your money. It's okay to not know how to do that at 18, but it will become important as you move into adulthood.

Be honest with your mom about what you want, and what you need. Maybe the news that you don't want to join the Air Force might be a little disappointing, but it doesn't have to be 'bad news'. If she cares about you, she's not going to want you to do something with your life that you really don't want to do, especially if you have a better idea.

#advice #ask me anything #counselling #gay #learning disabilities #family #school #advice blog #advice column #askjennie

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kaikhaos · 6 years ago

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The Hurricane Sandy Saga: Feb 2019 Edition

My name is Aleks. This is my story.

I live with my mother and my QPP Luca who are both also disabled.

But Aleks, it’s been seven years, why aren’t you home yet? Oh boy, I am SO glad you asked. Let’s get into this history.

Our new stove was 22 days old when Hurricane Sandy hit us.

The town building department condemned my grandfather’s house and wrote ours up as “more than 50% damaged”.

Needless to say, both houses were left completely and totally uninhabitable.

And honestly? Fuck those guys. They are the root of some of the most evil parts of this, as you’ll see.

Repeatedly.

Including in writing and by sending him photos of the slowly growing stack of shingles that were not on the roof anymore and the leaky window.

And he still did diddly squat about it.

For five years.

…So then uh… New York Rising LOST our file.

…Uh… Twice.

We started looking at houses to buy so that at least we would own something.

Then the IMA ran out again. So back to the land of suck. They told us we would be eligible for a little more funding. But only if we demolished the existing house.

Then Pickles got sicker. And sicker. And her at-home dialysis wasn’t enough to keep her going anymore. Pickles passed in May 2016.

In 2017, we finally won our lawsuit. The judge ruled the insurance company had to release a full payment to the policy maximum of $250,000! Those jerks tried giving us $15,000 and the judge was like “Uh… no, this is $250,000 of damage”. Victory! But we were still out our legal fees because, unlike homeowner’s insurance where the insurance company pays the fees, flood insurance is federally underwritten so you’re not allowed to get the legal fees paid for. Some flood insurance companies realized they’d fucked up and as a result agreed to pay for the legal fees. Our flood insurance company… wasn’t so generous. But a check was still generated by the flood insurance company thanks to the judge. Huzzah, light at the end of the tunnel!

…Then the lawyer refused to sign the check.

Then one of my ferrets, Wasabi, my emotional support animal, got really sick really suddenly.

Thanks, Fish Head.

So on June 1st 2018, we moved into our RV parked at a local campsite. Three adults, a cat, and a ferret, crammed into an RV that was anything but recreational.

We installed cameras on our house around this point because Fish Head kept having his workers trample all over our property and they kept breaking things and leaving garbage everywhere.

On November 1st 2018, we were able to move back into our house.

Temporarily, at least, while permits and construction drawings and everything went through for getting the house raised.

Not so fast.

So it’ll be easily a month OR MORE before we get the money.

We have $250,000 on the way and we’re about to be homeless. Again. For the third time in 18 months.

If we can just get $5,000, we can pay to have the house RECONNECTED AGAIN to everything so we can wait these fuckers out and get the payout.

Every little bit helps.

Please.

Please help me and my family stay in a house.

My paypal link can be found through the big PLEASE HELP button at the top of my page on desktop as well as will be pinned to both of my twitters (MihaelKai & HedonistInk) and I’ll also be regularly reblogging a version of this post here WITH the link.

I am also taking a limited number of 1000 word or less commissions! That’s about the limit of what I can handle right now! DM me for details!

(Mutuals: If you can’t donate but you can loan us some for two months or so, we can pay you back as soon as we get that check? Please let me know if it is a donation or if you would like to be paid back so I can keep a record.)

#trans crowd fund #please consider donating #donations #transcrowdfund #homelessness #please help #hurricane #hurricane sandy

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